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steel； I was in the act of resigning my berth on the paper when the chief
arrived； and with him a rabble of charmed and enthusiastic friends。 Then
ensued a scene of riot and carnage such as no human pen； or steel one
either； could describe。 People were shot； probed； dismembered； blown up；
thrown out of the window。 There was a brief tornado of murky blasphemy；
with a confused and frantic war…dance glimmering through it； and then all
was over。 In five minutes there was silence； and the gory chief and I
sat alone and surveyed the sanguinary ruin that strewed the floor around
us。
He said； 〃You'll like this place when you get used to it。〃
I said； 〃I'll have to get you to excuse me； I think maybe I might write
to suit you after a while； as soon as I had had some practice and learned
the language I am confident I could。 But； to speak the plain truth； that
sort of energy of expression has its inconveniences； and a； man is liable
to interruption。
You see that yourself。 Vigorous writing is calculated to elevate the
public； no doubt； but then I do not like to attract so much attention as
it calls forth。 I can't write with comfort when I am interrupted so much
as I have been to…day。 I like this berth well enough； but I don't like
to be left here to wait on the customers。 The experiences are novel；
I grant you； and entertaining； too； after a fashion； but they are not
judiciously distributed。 A gentleman shoots at you through the window
and cripples me； a bombshell comes down the stovepipe for your
gratification and sends the stove door down my throat； a friend drops in
to swap compliments with you； and freckles me with bullet…holes till my
skin won't hold my principles； you go to dinner； and Jones comes with his
cowhide； Gillespie throws me out of the window； Thompson tears all my
clothes off； and an entire stranger takes my scalp with the easy freedom
of an old acquaintance； and in less than five minutes all the blackguards
in the country arrive in their war…paint； and proceed to scare the rest
of me to death with their tomahawks。 Take it altogether； I never had
such a spirited time in all my life as I have had to…day。 No； I like
you； and I like your calm unruffled way of explaining things to the
customers； but you see I am not used to it。 The Southern heart is too
impulsive； Southern hospitality is too lavish with the stranger。 The
paragraphs which I have written to…day； and into whose cold sentences
your masterly hand has infused the fervent spirit of Tennesseean
journalism； will wake up another nest of hornets。 All that mob of
editors will comeand they will come hungry； too； and want somebody for
breakfast。 I shall have to bid you adieu。 I decline to be present at
these festivities。 I came South for my health； I will go back on the
same errand； and suddenly。 Tennesseean journalism is too stirring for
me。〃
After which we parted with mutual regret； and I took apartments at the
hospital。
THE STORY OF THE BAD LITTLE BOY＇Written about 1865＇
Once there was a bad little boy whose name was Jimthough； if you will
notice； you will find that bad little boys are nearly always called James
in your Sunday…school books。 It was strange； but still it was true； that
this one was called Jim。
He didn't have any sick mother； eithera sick mother who was pious and
had the consumption； and would be glad to lie down in the grave and be at
rest but for the strong love she bore her boy； and the anxiety she felt
that the world might be harsh and cold toward him when she was gone。
Most bad boys in the Sunday books are named James； and have sick mothers；
who teach them to say； 〃Now； I lay me down；〃 etc。； and sing them to sleep
with sweet； plaintive voices； and then kiss them good night； and kneel
down by the bedside and weep。 But it was different with this fellow。
He was named Jim； and there wasn't anything the matter with his mother
no consumption； nor anything of that kind。 She was rather stout than
otherwise； and she was not pious； moreover； she was not anxious on Jim's
account。 She said if he were to break his neck it wouldn't be much loss。
She always spanked Jim to sleep； and she never kissed him good night； on
the contrary； she boxed his ears when she was ready to leave him。
Once this little bad boy stole the key of the pantry； and slipped in
there and helped himself to some jam； and filled up the vessel with tar；
so that his mother would never know the difference； but all at once a
terrible feeling didn't come over him； and something didn't seem to
whisper to him； 〃Is it right to disobey my mother？ Isn't it sinful to do
this？ Where do bad little boys go who gobble up their good kind mother's
jam？〃 and then he didn't kneel down all alone and promise never to be
wicked any more； and rise up with a light； happy heart； and go and tell
his mother all about it； and beg her forgiveness； and be blessed by her
with tears of pride and thankfulness in her eyes。 No； that is the way
with all other bad boys in the books； but it happened otherwise with this
Jim； strangely enough。 He ate that jam； and said it was bully； in his
sinful； vulgar way； and he put in the tar； and said that was bully also；
and laughed； and observed 〃that the old woman would get up and snort〃
when she found it out； and when she did find it out； he denied knowing
anything about it； and she whipped him severely； and he did the crying
himself。 Everything about this boy was curiouseverything turned out
differently with him from the way it does to the bad Jameses in the
books。
Once he climbed up in Farmer Acorn's apple tree to steal apples； and the
limb didn't break； and he didn't fall and break his arm； and get torn by
the farmer's great dog； and then languish on a sickbed for weeks； and
repent and become good。 Oh； no； he stole as many apples as he wanted and
came down all right； and he was all ready for the dog； too； and knocked
him endways with a brick when he came to tear him。 It was very strange
nothing like it ever happened in those mild little books with marbled
backs； and with pictures in them of men with swallow…tailed coats and
bell…crowned hats； and pantaloons that are short in the legs； and women
with the waists of their dresses under their arms； and no hoops on。
Nothing like it in any of the Sunday…school books。
Once he stole the teacher's penknife； and； when he was afraid it would be
found out and he would get whipped； he slipped it into George Wilson's
cap poor Widow Wilson's son； the moral boy； the good little boy of the
village； who always obeyed his mother； and never told an untruth； and was
fond of his lessons； and infatuated with Sunday…school。 And when the
knife dropped from the cap； and poor George hung his head and blushed；
as if in conscious guilt； and the grieved teacher charged the theft upon
him； and was just in the very act of bringing the switch down upon his
trembling shoulders； a white…haired； improbable justice of the peace did
not suddenly appear in their midst； and strike an attitude and say；
〃Spare this noble boythere stands the cowering culprit！ I was passing
the school door at recess； and； unseen myself； I s