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Chapter I

DIRECTIONS.

This book is not designed specially for any one class of people. It is for all. It is a universal repository of thought. Some of my best thoughts are contained in this book. Whenever I would think a thought that I thought had better remain unthought, I would omit it from this book. For that reason the book is not so large as I had intended. When a man coldly and dispassionately goes at it to eradicate from his work all that may not come up to his standard of merit, he can make a large volume shrink till it is no thicker than the bank book of an outspoken clergyman.

This is the fourth book that I have published in response to the clamorous appeals of the public. Whenever the public got to clamoring too loudly for a new book from me and it got so noisy that I could not ignore it any more, I would issue another volume. The first was a red book, succeeded by a dark blue volume, after which I published a green book, all of which were kindly received by the American people, and, under the present yielding system of international copyright, greedily snapped up by some of the tottering dynasties.

But I had long hoped to publish a larger, better and, if possible, a redder book than the first; one that would contain my better thoughts, thoughts that I had thought when I was feeling well; thoughts that I had emitted while my thinker was rearing up on its hind feet, if I may be allowed that term; thoughts that sprang forth with a wild whoop and demanded recognition.

This book is the result of that hope and that wish. It is my greatest and best book. It is the one that will live for weeks after other books have passed away. Even to those who cannot read, it will come like a benison when there is no benison in the house. To the ignorant, the pictures will be pleasing. The wise will revel in its wisdom, and the housekeeper will find that with it she may easily emphasize a statement or kill a cockroach.

The range of subjects treated in this book is wonderful, even to me. It is a library of universal knowledge, and the facts contained in it are different from any other facts now in use. I have carefully guarded, all the way through, against using hackneyed and moth-eaten facts. As a result, I am able to come before the people with a set of new and attractive statements, so fresh and so crisp that an unkind word would wither them in a moment.

I believe there is nothing more to add, except that I most heartily endorse the book. It has been carefully read over by the proof-reader and myself, so we do not ask the public to do anything that we were not willing to do ourselves.

I cannot be responsible for the board of orphans whose parents read this book and leave their children in destitute circumstances.

Bill Nye

CONTENTS

DIRECTIONS.

ALPHABETIZED CONTENTS

My School Days.

Recollections of Noah Webster.

To Her Majesty.

Habits of a Literary Man.

A Father's Letter.

Archimedes.

To the President-Elect.

Anatomy.

Mr. Sweeney's Cat.

The Heyday of Life.

They Fell.

Second Letter to the President.

Milling in Pompeii.

Broncho Sam.

How Evolution Evolves.

Hours With Great Men.

Concerning Coroners.

Down East Rum.

Railway Etiquette.

B. Franklin, Deceased.

Life Insurance as a Health Restorer.

The Opium Habit.

More Paternal Correspondence.

Twombley's Tale.

On Cyclones.

The Arabian Language.

Verona.

A Great Upheaval.

The Weeping Woman.

The Crops.

Literary Freaks.

A Father's Advice to His Son.

Eccentricity in Lunch.

Insomnia in Domestic Animals.

Along Lake Superior.

I Tried Milling.

Our Forefathers.

In Acknowledgement.

Preventing a Scandal.

About Portraits.

The Old South.

Knights of the Pen.

The Wild Cow.

Spinal Meningitis.

Skimming the Milky Way.

A Thrilling Experience.

Catching a Buffalo.

John Adams.

The Wail Of A Wife.

Bunker Hill.

A Lumber Camp.

My Lecture Abroad.

The Miner at Home.

An Operatic Entertainment.

Dogs and Dog Days.

Christopher Columbus.

Accepting the Laramie Postoffice.

A Journalistic Tenderfoot.

The Amateur Carpenter.

The Average Hen.

Woodtick William's Story.

In Washington.

My Experience as an Agriculturist.

A New Autograph Album.

A Resign.

My Mine.

Mush and Melody.

The Blase Young Man.

History of Babylon.

Lovely Horrors.

The Bite of a Mad Dog.

Arnold Winkelreid.

Murray and the Mormons.

About Geology.

A Wallula Night.

Flying Machines.

Asking for a Pass.

Words About Washington.

The Board of Trade.

The Cow-Boy.

Stirring Incidents at a Fire.

The Little Barefoot Boy.

Favored a Higher Fine.

“I Spy.”

Mark Anthony.

Man Overbored.

“Done It A-Purpose.”

Picnic Incidents.

Nero.

Squaw Jim.

Squaw Jim's Religion.

One Kind of Fool.

John Adams' Diary.

John Adams' Diary

“Heap Brain.”

The Approaching Humorist.

What We Eat.

Care of House Plants.

A Peaceable Man.

Biography of Spartacus.

Concerning Book Publishing.

A Calm.

The Story of a Struggler.

The Old Subscriber.

My Dog.

A Picturesque Picnic.

Taxidermy.

The Ways of Doctors.

Absent Minded.

Woman's Wonderful Influence.

Causes for Thanksgiving.

Farming in Maine.

Doosedly Dilatory.

Every Man His Own Paper-Hanger.

Sixty Minutes in America.

Rev. Mr. Hallelujah's Hoss.

Somnambulism and Crime.

Modern Architecture.

Letter to a Communist.

The Warrior's Oration.

The Holy Terror.

Boston Common and Environs.

Drunk in a Plug Hat.

Spring.

The Duke of Rawhide.

Etiquette at Hotels.

Fifteen Years Apart.

Dessicated Mule.

Time's Changes.

Letter From New York.

Crowns and Crowned Heads.

My Physician.

All About Oratory.

Strabusmus and Justice.

A Spencerian Ass.

Anecdotes of Justice.

The Chinese God.

A Great Spiritualist.

General Sheridan's Horse.

A Circular.

The Photograph Habit.

Rosalinde.

The Church Debt.

A Collection of Keys.

Extracts from a Queen's Diary.

Shorts.

“We.”

A Mountain Snowstorm.

Lost Money.

Dr. Dizart's Dog.

Chinese Justice.

Answers to Correspondents.

Great Sacrifice of Bric-a-brac.

A Convention.

Come Back.

A New Play.

The Silver Dollar.

Polygamy as a Religious Duty.

The Newspaper.

Wrestling with the Mazy.

Anecdotes of the Stage.

George the Third.

The Cell Nest.

Parental Advice.

Early Day Justice.{2}

The Indian Orator.

You Heah Me, Sah!

Plato.

The Expensive Word.

Petticoats at the Polls.

The Sedentary Hen.

A Bright Future for Pugilism.

The Snake Indian.

Roller Skating.

No More Frontier.

A Letter of Regrets.

Venice.

She Kind of Coaxed Him.

Answering an Invitation.

Street Cars and Curiosities.

The Poor Blind Pig.

Daniel Webster.

Two Ways of Telling It.

All About Menials.

A Powerful Speech.

A Goat in a Frame.

To a Married Man.

To an Embryo Poet.

Eccentricities of Genius.

ALPHABETIZED CONTENTS

About Geology

About Portraits

A Bright Future for Pugilism

Absent Minded

A Calm

Accepting the Laramie Postoffice

A Circular

A Collection of Keys

A Convention

A Convention A Father's Advice to his Son

A Father's Letter

A Goat in a Frame

A Great Spiritualist

A Great Upheaval

A Journalistic Tenderfoot

A Letter of Regrets

All About Menials

All About Oratory

Along Lake Superior

A Lumber Camp

A Mountain Snowstorm

Anatomy

Anecdotes of Justice

Anecdotes of the Stage

A New Autograph Album

A New Play

An Operatic Entertainment

Answering an Invitation

Answers to Correspondents

A Peaceable Man

A Picturesque Picnic

A Powerful Speech

Archimedes

A Resign

Arnold Winkelreid

Asking for a Pass

A Spencerian Ass

A Spencerian Ass Astronomy

A Thrilling Experience

A Wallula Night

B. Franklin, Deceased

Biography of Spartacus

Boston Common and Environs

Broncho Sam

Bunker Hill

Care of House Plants

Catching a Buffalo

Causes for Thanksgiving

Chinese Justice

Christopher Columbus

Come Back

Concerning Book Publishing

Concerning Coroners

Crowns and Crowned Heads

Daniel Webster

Dessicated Mule

Dogs and Dog Days

Doosedly Dilatory

Doosedly Dilatory “Done It A-Purpose”

Down East Rum

Dr. Dizart's Dog

Drunk in a Plug Hat

Drunk in a Plug Hat Early Day Justice

Eccentricities of Genius

Eccentricity in Lunch

Etiquette at Hotels

Every Man His Own Paper-Hanger

Extracts from a Queen's Diary

Farming in Maine

Favored a Higher Fine

Fifteen Years Apart

Flying Machines

General Sheridan's Horse

George the Third

George the Third Great Sacrifice of Bric-a-Brac

Habits of a Literary Man

Habits of a Literary Man “Heap Brain”

History of Babylon

Hours With Great Men

How Evolution Evolves

How Evolution Evolves In Acknowledgment

Insomnia in Domestic Animals

In Washington

In Washington “I Spy”

I Tried Milling

John Adams

John Adams' Diary

John Adams' Diary John Adams' Diary, (No. 2.) John Adams' Diary, (No. 3.)

Knights of the Pen

Knights of the Pen Letter from New York

Letter to a Communist

Life Insurance as a Health Restorer

Literary Freaks

Lost Money

Lovely Horrors

Man Overbored

Man Overbored Mark Antony

Milling in Pompeii

Modern Architecture

More Paternal Correspondence

Mr. Sweeney's Cat

Murray and the Mormons

Mush and Melody

My Dog

My Experience as an Agriculturist

My Lecture Abroad

My Mine

My Physician

My School Days

Nero

No More Frontier

On Cyclones

One Kind of Fool

Our Forefathers

Parental Advice

Petticoats at the Polls

Picnic Incidents

Plato

Polygamy as a Religious Duty

Preventing a Scandal

Railway Etiquette

Recollections of Noah Webster

Rev. Mr. Hallelujah's Hoss

Roller Skating

Rosalinde

Second Letter to the President

She Kind of Coaxed Him

Shorts

Sixty Minutes in America

Skimming the Milky Way

Somnambulism and Crime

Spinal Meningitis

Spring

Squaw Jim

Squaw Jim's Religion

Stirring Incidents at a Fire

Stirring Incidents at a Fire Strabismus and Justice

Street Cars and Curiosities

Taxidermy

The Amateur Carpenter

The Approaching Humorist

The Arabian Language

The Average Hen

The Bite of a Mad Dog

The Blase Young Man

The Board of Trade

The Cell Nest

The Chinese God

The Church Debt

The Church Debt The Cow Boy

The Crops

The Duke of Rawhide

The Expensive Word

The Heyday of Life

The Holy Terror

The Indian Orator

The Little Barefoot Boy

The Miner at Home

The Newspaper

The Old South

The Old Subscriber

The Opium Habit

The Photograph Habit

The Poor Blind Pig

The Sedentary Hen

The Silver Dollar

The Snake Indian

The Story of a Struggler

The Story of a Struggler The Wail of a Wife

The Warrior's Oration

The Ways of Doctors

The Weeping Woman

The Wild Cow

They Fell

Time's Changes

To a Married Man

To an Embryo Poet

To Her Majesty

To Her Majesty To The President-Elect

Twombley's Tale

Two Ways of Telling It

Venice

Verona

Verona “We”

What We Eat

Woman's Wonderful Influence

Woodtick William's Story

Words About Washington

Words About Washington Wrestling With the Mazy “You Heah Me, Sah!” {Illustration: WE WERE NOT ON TERMS OF INTIMACY.}

My School Days.

Looking over my own school days, there are so many things that I would rather not tell, that it will take very little time and space for me to use in telling what I am willing that the carping public should know about my early history.

I began my educational career in a log school house. Finding that other great men had done that way, I began early to look around me for a log school house where I could begin in a small way to soak my system full of hard words and information.

For a time I learned very rapidly. Learning came to me with very little effort at first. I would read my lesson over once or twice and then take my place in the class. It never bothered me to recite my lesson and so I stood at the head of the class. I could stick my big toe through a knot-hole in the floor and work out the most difficult problem. This became at last a habit with me. With my knot-hole I was safe, without it I would hesitate.

A large red-headed boy, with feet like a summer squash and eyes like those of a dead codfish, was my rival. He soon discovered that I was very dependent on that knot-hole, and so one night he stole into the school house and plugged up the knot-hole, so that I could not work my toe into it and thus refresh my memory.

Then the large red-headed boy, who had not formed the knot-hole habit went to the head of the class and remained there.

After I grew larger, my parents sent me to a military school. That is where I got the fine military learning and stately carriage that I still wear.

My room was on the second floor, and it was very difficult for me to leave it at night, because the turnkey locked us up at 9 o'clock every evening. Still, I used to get out once in a while and wander around in the starlight. I did not know yet why I did it, but I presume it was a kind of somnambulism. I would go to bed thinking so intently of my lessons that I would get up and wander away, sometimes for miles, in the solemn night.

One night I awoke and found myself in a watermelon patch. I was never so ashamed in my life. It is a very serious thing to be awakened so rudely out of a sound sleep, by a bull dog, to find yourself in the watermelon vineyard of a man with whom you are not acquainted. I was not on terms of social intimacy with this man or his dog. They did not belong to our set. We had never been thrown together before.

After that I was called the great somnambulist and men who had watermelon conservatories shunned me. But it cured me of my somnambulism. I have never tried to somnambule any more since that time.

There are other little incidents of my schooldays that come trooping up in my memory at this moment, but they were not startling in their nature. Mine is but the history of one who struggled on year after year, trying to do better, but most always failing to connect. The boys of Boston would do well to study carefully my record and then—do differently.

Recollections of Noah Webster.

Mr. Webster, no doubt, had the best command of language of any American author prior to our day. Those who have read his ponderous but rather disconnected romance known as “Websters Unabridged Dictionary, or How One Word Led on to Another.” will agree with me that he was smart. Noah never lacked for a word by which to express himself. He was a brainy man and a good speller.

It would ill become me at this late day to criticise Mr. Webster's great work—a work that is now in almost every library, school-room and counting house in the land. It is a great book. I do believe that had Mr. Webster lived he would have been equally fair in his criticism of my books.

I hate to compare my own works with those of Mr. Webster, because it may seem egotistical in me to point out the good points in my literary labors; but I have often heard it said, and so do not state it solely upon my own responsibility, that Mr. Webster's book does not retain the interest of the reader all the way through.

He has tried to introduce too many characters, and so we cannot follow them all the way through. It is a good book to pick up and while away an idle hour with, perhaps, but no one would cling to it at night till the fire went out, chained to the thrilling plot and the glowing career of its hero.

Therein consists the great difference between Mr. Webster and myself. A friend of mine at Sing Sing once wrote me that from the moment he got hold of my book, he never left his room till he finished it. He seemed chained to the spot, he said, and if you can't believe a convict, who is entirely out of politics, who in the name of George Washington can you believe?

Mr. Webster was most assuredly a brilliant writer, and I have discovered in his later editions 118,000 words, no two of which are alike. This shows great fluency and versatility, it is true, but we need something else. The reader waits in vain to be thrilled by the author's wonderful word painting. There is not a thrill in the whole tome. I had heard so much of Mr. Webster that when I read his book I confess I was disappointed. It is cold, methodical and dispassionate in the extreme.

As I said, however, it is a good book to pick up for the purpose of whiling away an idle moment, and no one should start out on a long journey without Mr. Webster's tale in his pocket. It has broken the monotony of many a tedious trip for me.

Mr. Webster's “Speller” was a work of less pretentions, perhaps, and yet it had an immense sale. Eight years ago this book had reached a sale of 40,000,000, and yet it had the same grave defect. It was disconnected, cold, prosy and dull. I read it for years, and at last became a close student of Mr. Webster's style, yet I never found but one thing in this book, for which there seems to have been such a perfect stampede, that was even ordinarily interesting, and that was a little gem. It was so thrilling in its details, and so diametrically different from Mr. Webster's style, that I have often wondered who he got to write it for him. It related to the discovery of a boy by an elderly gentleman, in the crotch of an ancestral apple tree, and the feeling of bitterness and animosity that sprung up at the time between the boy and the elderly gentleman.

Though I have been a close student of Mr. Webster for years, I am free to say, and I do not wish to do an injustice to a great man in doing so, that his ideas of literature and my own are entirely dissimilar. Possibly his book has had a little larger sale than mine, but that makes no difference. When I write a book it must engage the interest of the reader, and show some plot to it. It must not be jerky in its style and scattering in its statements.

I know it is a great temptation to write a book that will sell, but we should have a higher object than that.

I do not wish to do an injustice to a man who has done so much for the world, and one who could spell the longest word without hesitation, but I speak of these things just as I would expect people to criticise my work. If we aspire to monkey with the literati of our day we must expect to be criticised. That's the way I look at it.

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