The Southern Literary Messenger, Vol. I., No. 13, September, 1835Various
History
The Southern Literary Messenger, Vol. I., No. 13, September, 1835
Various
American literature -- 19th century -- Periodicals
"How _can_ you?--how--_can_--you?"--interrupted the object of my
animadversions, gasping for breath, and tearing off, with a desperate
exertion, the bandage around his jaws--"how _can_ you, Mr.
Lacko'breath, be so infernally cruel as to pinch me in that manner by
the nose? Did you not see how they had fastened up my mouth--and you
_must_ know--if you know any thing--what a vast superfluity of breath
I have to dispose of! If you do _not_ know, however, sit down and you
shall see. In my situation it is really a great relief to be able to
open one's mouth--to be able to expatiate--to be able to communicate
with a person like yourself who do not think yourself called upon at
every period to interrupt the thread of a gentleman's discourse.
Interruptions are annoying and should undoubtedly be abolished--don't
you think so?--no reply, I beg you,--one person is enough to be
speaking at a time. I shall be done, by and bye, and then you may
begin. How the devil, sir, did you get into this place?--not a word I
beseech you--been here some time myself--terrible accident!--heard of
it I suppose--awful calamity!--walking under your windows--some short
while ago--about the time you were stage-struck--horrible occurrence!
heard of 'catching one's breath,' eh?--hold your tongue I tell you!--I
caught somebody else's!--had always too much of my own--met Blab at
the corner of the street--would'nt give me a chance for a
word--could'nt get in a syllable edgeways--attacked, consequently,
with Epilepsis--Blab made his escape--damn all fools!--they took me up
for dead, and put me in this place--pretty doings all of them!--heard
all you said about me--every word a
lie--horrible!--wonderful!--outrageous!--hideous!--incomprehensible!--et
cetera--et cetera--et cetera--et cetera"----
It is impossible to conceive my astonishment at so unexpected a
discourse; or the extravagant joy with which I became gradually
convinced that the breath so fortunately caught by the gentleman--whom
I soon recognized as my neighbor Windenough--was, in fact, the
identical expiration mislaid by myself in the conversation with my
wife. Time--place--and incidental circumstances rendered it a matter
beyond question. I did not however, immediately release my hold upon
Mr. W.'s proboscis--not at least during the long period in which the
inventor of lombardy poplars continued to favor me with his
explanations. In this respect I was actuated by that habitual prudence
which has ever been my predominating trait.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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