The Devil's Dictionary by Ambrose Bierce (feel good books .txt) 📕

>I don’t dare to go where there is light enough to read it.”

Rear-Admiral Schley and Representative Charles F. Joy were

standing near the Peace Monument, in Washington, discussing the

question, Is success a failure? Mr. Joy suddenly broke off in the

middle of an eloquent sentence, exclaiming: “Hello! I’ve heard that

band before. Santlemann’s, I think.”

“I don’t hear any band,” said Schley.

“Come to think, I don’t either,” said Joy; “but I see General

Miles coming down the avenue, and that pageant always affects me in

the same way as a brass band. One has to scrutinize one’s impressions

pretty closely, or one will mistake their origin.”

While the Admiral was digesting this hasty meal of philosophy

General Miles passed in review, a spectacle of impressive dignity.

When the tail of the seeming procession had passed and the two

observers had recovered from the transient blindness caused by its

effulgence —

“He seems to be enjoying himself,” said the Admiral.

“There is nothing,” assented Joy, thoughtfully, “that he enjoys

one-half so well.”

 

The illustrious statesman, Champ Clark, once lived about a mile

from the village of Jebigue, in Missouri. One day he rode into town

on a favorite mule, and, hitching the beast on the sunny side of a

street, in front of a saloon, he went inside in his character of

teetotaler, to apprise the barkeeper that wine is a mocker. It was a

dreadfully hot day. Pretty soon a neighbor came in and seeing Clark,

said:

“Champ, it is not right to leave that mule out there in the sun.

He’ll roast, sure! — he was smoking as I passed him.”

“O, he’s all right,” said Clark, lightly; “he’s an inveterate

smoker.”

The neighbor took a lemonade, but shook his head and repeated that

it was not right.

He was a conspirator. There had been a fire the night before: a

stable just around the corner had burned and a number of horses had

put on their immortality, among them a young colt, which was roasted

to a rich nut-brown. Some of the boys had turned Mr. Clark’s mule

loose and substituted the mortal part of the colt. Presently another

man entered the saloon.

“For mercy’s sake!” he said, taking it with sugar, “do remove that

mule, barkeeper: it smells.”

“Yes,” interposed Clark, “that animal has the best nose in

Missouri. But if he doesn’t mind, you shouldn’t.”

In the course of human events Mr. Clark went out, and there,

apparently, lay the incinerated and shrunken remains of his charger.

The boys did not have any fun out of Mr. Clarke, who looked at the

body and, with the non-committal expression to which he owes so much

of his political preferment, went away. But walking home late that

night he saw his mule standing silent and solemn by the wayside in the

misty moonlight. Mentioning the name of Helen Blazes with uncommon

emphasis, Mr. Clark took the back track as hard as ever he could hook

it, and passed the night in town.

 

General H.H. Wotherspoon, president of the Army War College, has a

pet rib-nosed baboon, an animal of uncommon intelligence but

imperfectly beautiful. Returning to his apartment one evening, the

General was surprised and pained to find Adam (for so the creature is

named, the general being a Darwinian) sitting up for him and wearing

his master’s best uniform coat, epaulettes and all.

“You confounded remote ancestor!” thundered the great strategist,

“what do you mean by being out of bed after naps? — and with my coat

on!”

Adam rose and with a reproachful look got down on all fours in the

manner of his kind and, scuffling across the room to a table, returned

with a visiting-card: General Barry had called and, judging by an

empty champagne bottle and several cigar-stumps, had been hospitably

entertained while waiting. The general apologized to his faithful

progenitor and retired. The next day he met General Barry, who said:

“Spoon, old man, when leaving you last evening I forgot to ask you

about those excellent cigars. Where did you get them?”

General Wotherspoon did not deign to reply, but walked away.

“Pardon me, please,” said Barry, moving after him; “I was joking

of course. Why, I knew it was not you before I had been in the room

fifteen minutes.”

 

SUCCESS, n. The one unpardonable sin against one’s fellows. In

literature, and particularly in poetry, the elements of success are

exceedingly simple, and are admirably set forth in the following lines

by the reverend Father Gassalasca Jape, entitled, for some mysterious

reason, “John A. Joyce.”

 

The bard who would prosper must carry a book,

Do his thinking in prose and wear

A crimson cravat, a far-away look

And a head of hexameter hair.

Be thin in your thought and your body’ll be fat;

If you wear your hair long you needn’t your hat.

 

SUFFRAGE, n. Expression of opinion by means of a ballot. The right

of suffrage (which is held to be both a privilege and a duty) means,

as commonly interpreted, the right to vote for the man of another

man’s choice, and is highly prized. Refusal to do so has the bad name

of “incivism.” The incivilian, however, cannot be properly arraigned

for his crime, for there is no legitimate accuser. If the accuser is

himself guilty he has no standing in the court of opinion; if not, he

profits by the crime, for A’s abstention from voting gives greater

weight to the vote of B. By female suffrage is meant the right of a

woman to vote as some man tells her to. It is based on female

responsibility, which is somewhat limited. The woman most eager to

jump out of her petticoat to assert her rights is first to jump back

into it when threatened with a switching for misusing them.

 

SYCOPHANT, n. One who approaches Greatness on his belly so that he

may not be commanded to turn and be kicked. He is sometimes an

editor.

 

As the lean leech, its victim found, is pleased

To fix itself upon a part diseased

Till, its black hide distended with bad blood,

It drops to die of surfeit in the mud,

So the base sycophant with joy descries

His neighbor’s weak spot and his mouth applies,

Gorges and prospers like the leech, although,

Unlike that reptile, he will not let go.

Gelasma, if it paid you to devote

Your talent to the service of a goat,

Showing by forceful logic that its beard

Is more than Aaron’s fit to be revered;

If to the task of honoring its smell

Profit had prompted you, and love as well,

The world would benefit at last by you

And wealthy malefactors weep anew —

Your favor for a moment’s space denied

And to the nobler object turned aside.

Is’t not enough that thrifty millionaires

Who loot in freight and spoliate in fares,

Or, cursed with consciences that bid them fly

To safer villainies of darker dye,

Forswearing robbery and fain, instead,

To steal (they call it “cornering”) our bread

May see you groveling their boots to lick

And begging for the favor of a kick?

Still must you follow to the bitter end

Your sycophantic disposition’s trend,

And in your eagerness to please the rich

Hunt hungry sinners to their final ditch?

In Morgan’s praise you smite the sounding wire,

And sing hosannas to great Havemeyher!

What’s Satan done that him you should eschew?

He too is reeking rich — deducting you.

 

SYLLOGISM, n. A logical formula consisting of a major and a minor

assumption and an inconsequent. (See LOGIC.)

 

SYLPH, n. An immaterial but visible being that inhabited the air when

the air was an element and before it was fatally polluted with factory

smoke, sewer gas and similar products of civilization. Sylphs were

allied to gnomes, nymphs and salamanders, which dwelt, respectively,

in earth, water and fire, all now insalubrious. Sylphs, like fowls of

the air, were male and female, to no purpose, apparently, for if they

had progeny they must have nested in accessible places, none of the

chicks having ever been seen.

 

SYMBOL, n. Something that is supposed to typify or stand for

something else. Many symbols are mere “survivals” — things which

having no longer any utility continue to exist because we have

inherited the tendency to make them; as funereal urns carved on

memorial monuments. They were once real urns holding the ashes of the

dead. We cannot stop making them, but we can give them a name that

conceals our helplessness.

 

SYMBOLIC, adj. Pertaining to symbols and the use and interpretation

of symbols.

 

They say ‘tis conscience feels compunction;

I hold that that’s the stomach’s function,

For of the sinner I have noted

That when he’s sinned he’s somewhat bloated,

Or ill some other ghastly fashion

Within that bowel of compassion.

True, I believe the only sinner

Is he that eats a shabby dinner.

You know how Adam with good reason,

For eating apples out of season,

Was “cursed.” But that is all symbolic:

The truth is, Adam had the colic.

 

G.J.

T

T, the twentieth letter of the English alphabet, was by the Greeks

absurdly called tau. In the alphabet whence ours comes it had the

form of the rude corkscrew of the period, and when it stood alone

(which was more than the Phoenicians could always do) signified

Tallegal, translated by the learned Dr. Brownrigg, “tanglefoot.”

 

TABLE D’HOTE, n. A caterer’s thrifty concession to the universal

passion for irresponsibility.

 

Old Paunchinello, freshly wed,

Took Madam P. to table,

And there deliriously fed

As fast as he was able.

 

“I dote upon good grub,” he cried,

Intent upon its throatage.

“Ah, yes,” said the neglected bride,

“You’re in your table d’hotage.”

 

Associated Poets

 

TAIL, n. The part of an animal’s spine that has transcended its

natural limitations to set up an independent existence in a world of

its own. Excepting in its foetal state, Man is without a tail, a

privation of which he attests an hereditary and uneasy consciousness

by the coat-skirt of the male and the train of the female, and by a

marked tendency to ornament that part of his attire where the tail

should be, and indubitably once was. This tendency is most observable

in the female of the species, in whom the ancestral sense is strong

and persistent. The tailed men described by Lord Monboddo are now

generally regarded as a product of an imagination unusually

susceptible to influences generated in the golden age of our pithecan

past.

 

TAKE, v.t. To acquire, frequently by force but preferably by stealth.

 

TALK, v.t. To commit an indiscretion without temptation, from an

impulse without purpose.

 

TARIFF, n. A scale of taxes on imports, designed to protect the

domestic producer against the greed of his consumer.

 

The Enemy of Human Souls

Sat grieving at the cost of coals;

For Hell had been annexed of late,

And was a sovereign Southern State.

 

“It were no more than right,” said he,

“That I should get my fuel free.

The duty, neither just nor wise,

Compels me to economize —

Whereby my broilers, every one,

Are execrably underdone.

What would they have? — although I yearn

To do them nicely to a turn,

I can’t afford an honest heat.

This tariff makes even devils cheat!

I’m ruined, and my humble trade

All rascals may at will invade:

Beneath my nose the public press

Outdoes me in sulphureousness;

The bar ingeniously applies

To my undoing my own lies;

My medicines the doctors use

(Albeit vainly) to refuse

To me my fair and rightful prey

And keep their own in shape to pay;

The preachers by example teach

What, scorning to perform, I teach;

And statesmen, aping me, all make

More promises than they can