Wilmington Journal

From the St. Louis Reveille.
Swallowing Oysters Alive.
BY SOLITAIRE.

A SUCKER—HIS FIRST OYSTER—SWALLOWING
IT ALIVE—TERRIBLE SITUATION—THE RES-
CUE—DISAPPEARANCE.

At a late hour the other night, the door
of an oyster house in our city was thrust
open, and in stalked a hero from the Sucker State. He was quite six feet high, spare,
somewhat stooped, with hungry, anxious
countenance, and his hands pushed clear
down to the bottom of his breeches pockets.
His outer covering was hard to define, but after surveying it minutely, we
came to the conclusion that his suit had
been made in his boyhood, of a dingy, yellow linsey-woolsey, & that, having sprouted up with astonishing rapidity, he had
been forced to piece it out with all colors,
in order to keep pace with his body.
In
spite of his exertions, however, he had
fallen in arrears about a foot of the necessary length, and, consequently, stuck that
far through his inexpressibles. His crop
of hair was surmounted by the funniest
little seal skin cap imaginable. After taking a position, he indulged in a long stare
at the man opening the bivalves, and slowly ejaculated—'Isters!'

'Yes, sir,' responded the attentive operator, 'and fine ones they are, too.'

'Well. I've hearn tell of isters afore,
says he, 'but this is the first time I've seed
'em, and prehaps I'll know what thar
made of afore I git out of town.'

Having expressed this desperate intention, he cautiously approached a plate, and
scrutinized the uncased shell fish with a
gravity and interest which would have
done honor to the most illustrious searcher into the hidden mysteries of nature. At
length he began to soliloquize on the difficulty of getting them out, and how queer
they looked when out.

'I never seed any thin' hold on so—
"takes an aiazin' site of screwin', hoss,
to get 'em out, and aint they slick and
slip'ry when they does come? Smooth
as an eel! I've a good mind to give that
feller lodgin's, jest to realize the effects,
as Uncle Jess used to say about speculation.'"

'Well, sir,' was the reply, 'down with
two bits, and you can have a dozen.'

'Two bits!' exclaimed the Sucker.
'now, come, that's stickin' it on rite strong,
hoss, for isters. A dozen on 'em aint
nothin' to a chicken, and there's no gittin'
more'n a picayune a piece for them. I've
only re-alized 45 picayunes on my first
ventur' to St. Louis. I'll tell you what,
I'll gin you two chickens for a dozen, if
you'll conclude to deal.'

A wag, who was standing by indulging
in a dozen, winked to the attendant to
shell out, and the offer was accepted.

'Now, mind,' repeated the Sucker,
'all fair—two chickens for a dozen—you're
witness, mister,' turning at the same time
to the wag; 'none of your tricks, for I've
hearn tell that you city fellers arc mighty
slip'ry coons.'

The bargain being fairly understood,
our Sucker squared himself for the onset
—deliberately put off his seal-skin, tucked up his sleeves, and fork in hand awaited the appearance of No. 1. It came—he
saw—and quickly it was bolted! A moment's dreadful pause ensued.
The wag
dropped his knife and fork with a look of
amazement and horror—something akin
to Shakspeare's Hamlet on seeing his daddy's ghost—while he burst into the exclamation—
'Swallowed alive! as I'm a Christian.'

Our Sucker hero had opened his mouth
with pleasure a moment before, but now it
stood open.
Fear——
a horrid dread of he
didn't know what—a consciousness that
all wasn't right, and ignorance of the extent of the wrong—the uncertainty of that
moment was terrible.
Urged to desperation, he faltered out
'What on airth's the row'
'Did you swallow it alive?' enquired
the wag.

'I swallowed it jest as he gin it to me?'
shouted the Sucker.

'You're a dead man!' exclaimed his
anxious friend: 'the creature is alive, and
will eat right through you,' added he, in
a most hopeless tone.

'Git a pizen pump, and pump it out!'
screamed the Sucker, in a frenzy, his eyes
fairly starting from their sockets. 'Oh,
gracious!—whiat'll I do?—It's got hold of
my innards already, and I'm dead as a
chicken!—do somethin' for me, do—don't
let the infarnal sea-toad eat me afore your
eyes.'

'Why didn't you put some of this on
it?' enquired the wag, pointing to a bottle
of strong pepper-sauce.

The hint was enough—the Sucker, upon the instant, seized the bottle, and, desperately wrenching out the cork, swallowed half the contents at a draught. He fairly squealed from its effects, and gasped,
and blowed, and pitched, and twisted, as
if at were coursing through him with electric effect, while at the same time his eyes ran a stream of tears. At length, becoming a little composed, his waggish adviser
approached, almost bursting with suppressed laughter, and enquired—
'How are you now, old fellow? did
you kill it?'

'Well, I did, hoss—ugh—ugh—o—o—o my
innards. If that ister critter's agonies didn't stir a ruction in me equal to a
small airthquake, then 'taint no use sayin'
it—it squirmed like a sarpent when that
killin' stuff touched it; but'—and here,
with a countenance made up of suppressed
agony, and present determination, he paused as if to give force to his words, and
slowly and deliberately remarked—'If you
git two chickens from me for that live animal, I'm dd!' and seizing his seal-skin
he vanished.

The shout of laughter, and the contortions of the company at this finale, would
have made a spectator believe that they
had all been 'swallowing oysters alive.'