sketches new and old-第3节

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　　　　　felicity　of　the　wording　which　clothes　them；　and　the　sublimity　of　the
　　　　　imagery　whereby　they　are　illustrated；　have　singled　out　that　stanza；
　　　　　and　made　it　more　celebrated　than　any　that　ever

＇〃Now；　not　a　word　out　of　younot　a　single　word。　　Just　state　your　bill
and　relapse　into　impenetrable　silence　for　ever　and　ever　on　these
premises。　　Nine　hundred；　dollars？　　Is　that　all？　　This　check　for　the
amount　will　be　honored　at　any　respectable　bank　in　America。　　What　is　that
multitude　of　people　gathered　in　the　street　for？　　How？'looking　at　the
lightning…rods！'　　Bless　my　life；　did　they　never　see　any　lightning…rods
before？　　Never　saw　'such　a　stack　of　them　on　one　establishment；'　did　I
understand　you　to　say？　　I　will　step　down　and　critically　observe　this
popular　ebullition　of　ignorance。〃＇

THREE　DAYS　LATER。We　are　all　about　worn　out。　　For　four…and…twenty　hours
our　bristling　premises　were　the　talk　and　wonder　of　the　town。　　The
theaters　languished；　for　their　happiest　scenic　inventions　were　tame　and
commonplace　compared　with　my　lightning…rods。　　Our　street　was　blocked
night　and　day　with　spectators；　and　among　them　were　many　who　came　from
the　country　to　see。　　It　was　a　blessed　relief　on　the　second　day　when　a
thunderstorm　came　up　and　the　lightning　began　to　〃go　for〃　my　house；　as　the
historian　Josephus　quaintly　phrases　it。　　It　cleared　the　galleries；　so　to
speak。　　In　five　minutes　there　was　not　a　spectator　within　half　a　mile　of
my　place；　but　all　the　high　houses　about　that　distance　away　were　full；
windows；　roof；　and　all。　　And　well　they　might　be；　for　all　the　falling
stars　and　Fourth…of…July　fireworks　of　a　generation；　put　together　and
rained　down　simultaneously　out　of　heaven　in　one　brilliant　shower　upon　one
helpless　roof；　would　not　have　any　advantage　of　the　pyrotechnic　display
that　was　making　my　house　so　magnificently　conspicuous　in　the　general
gloom　of　the　storm。

By　actual　count；　the　lightning　struck　at　my　establishment　seven
hundred　and　sixty…four　times　in　forty　minutes；　but　tripped　on　one　of
those　faithful　rods　every　time；　and　slid　down　the　spiral…twist　and　shot
into　the　earth　before　it　probably　had　time　to　be　surprised　at　the　way　the
thing　was　done。　And　through　all　that　bombardment　only　one　patch　of　slates
was　ripped　up；　and　that　was　because；　for　a　single　instant；　the　rods　in
the　vicinity　were　transporting　all　the　lightning　they　could　possibly
accommodate。　　Well；　nothing　was　ever　seen　like　it　since　the　world　began。
For　one　whole　day　and　night　not　a　member　of　my　family　stuck　his　head　out
of　the　window　but　he　got　the　hair　snatched　off　it　as　smooth　as　a
billiard…ball；　and；　if　the　reader　will　believe　me；　not　one　of　us　ever
dreamt　of　stirring　abroad。　　But　at　last　the　awful　siege　came　to　an
end…because　there　was　absolutely　no　more　electricity　left　in　the　clouds
above　us　within　grappling　distance　of　my　insatiable　rods。　　Then　I　sallied
forth；　and　gathered　daring　workmen　together；　and　not　a　bite　or　a　nap　did
we　take　till　the　premises　were　utterly　stripped　of　all　their　terrific
armament　except　just　three　rods　on　the　house；　one　on　the　kitchen；　and　one
on　the　barnand；　behold；　these　remain　there　even　unto　this　day。　　And
then；　and　not　till　then；　the　people　ventured　to　use　our　street　again。
I　will　remark　here；　in　passing；　that　during　that　fearful　time　I　did　not
continue　my　essay　upon　political　economy。　　I　am　not　even　yet　settled
enough　in　nerve　and　brain　to　resume　it。

TO　WHOM　IT　MAY　CONCERN。Parties　having　need　of　three　thousand　two
hundred　and　eleven　feet　of　best　quality　zinc…plated　spiral…twist
lightning…rod　stuff；　and　sixteen　hundred　and　thirty…one　silver…tipped
points；　all　in　tolerable　repair　（and；　although　much　worn　by　use；　still
equal　to　any　ordinary　emergency）；　can　hear　of　a　bargains　by　addressing
the　publisher。






THE　JUMPING　FROG　＇written　about　1865＇

IN　ENGLISH。　　THEN　IN　FRENCH。　　THEN　CLAWED　BACK　INTO　A　CIVILIZED　LANGUAGE
ONCE　MORE　BY　PATIENT；　UNREMUNERATED　TOIL。

Even　a　criminal　is　entitled　to　fair　play；　and　certainly　when　a　man　who
has　done　no　harm　has　been　unjustly　treated；　he　is　privileged　to　do　his
best　to　right　himself。　　My　attention　has　just　beep　called　to　an　article
some　three　years　old　in　a　French　Magazine　entitled；　'Revue　des　Deux
Mondes'　（Review　of　Some　Two　Worlds）；　wherein　the　writer　treats　of　〃Les
Humoristes　Americaines〃　（These　Humorist　Americans）。　　I　am　one　of　these
humorists　American　dissected　by　him；　and　hence　the　complaint　I　am　making。

This　gentleman's　article　is　an　able　one　（as　articles　go；　in　the　French；
where　they　always　tangle　up　everything　to　that　degree　that　when　you　start
into　a　sentence　you　never　know　whether　you　are　going　to　come　out　alive　or
not）。　　It　is　a　very　good　article　and　the　writer　says　all　manner　of　kind
and　complimentary　things　about　mefor　which　I　am　sure　thank　him　with　all
my　heart；　but　then　why　should　he　go　and　spoil　all　his　praise　by　one
unlucky　experiment？　　What　I　refer　to　is　this：　he　says　my　jumping　Frog　is
a　funny　story；　but　still　he　can't　see　why　it　should　ever　really　convulse
any　one　with　laughterand　straightway　proceeds　to　translate　it　into
French　in　order　to　prove　to　his　nation　that　there　is　nothing　so　very
extravagantly　funny　about　it。　　Just　there　is　where　my　complaint
originates。　　He　has　not　translated　it　at　all；　he　has　simply　mixed　it　all
up；　it　is　no　more　like　the　jumping　Frog　when　he　gets　through　with　it　than
I　am　like　a　meridian　of　longitude。　　But　my　mere　assertion　is　not　proof；
wherefore　I　print　the　French　version；　that　all　may　see　that　I　do　not
speak　falsely；　furthermore；　in　order　that　even　the　unlettered　may　know　my
injury　and　give　me　their　compassion；　I　have　been　at　infinite　pains　and
trouble　to　retranslate　this　French　version　back　into　English；　and　to　tell
the　truth　I　have　well…nigh　worn　myself　out　at　it；　having　scarcely　rested
from　my　work　during　five　days　and　nights。　　I　cannot　speak　the　French
language；　but　I　can　translate　very　well；　though　not　fast；　I　being　self…
educated。　　I　ask　the　reader　to　run　his　eye　over　the　original　English
version　of　the　jumping　Frog；　and　then　read　the　French　or　my
retranslation；　and　kindly　take　notice　how　the　Frenchman　has　riddled　the
grammar。　　I　think　it　is　the　worst　I　ever　saw；　and　yet　the　French　are
called　a　polished　nation。　　If　I　had　a　boy　that　put　sentences　together　as
they　do；　I　would　polish　him　to　some　purpose。　　Without　further
introduction；　the　jumping　Frog；　as　I　originally　wrote　it；　was　as　follows
＇after　it　will　be　found　the　French　version　（French　version　is　deleted
from　this　edition）；　and　after　the　latter　my　retranslation　from　the
French＇




THE　NOTORIOUS　JUMPING　FROG　OF　CALAVERAS　COUNTY　＇Pronounced　Cal…e…va…ras＇

In　compliance　with　the　request　of　a　friend　of　mine；　who　wrote　me　from　the
East；　I　called　on　good…natured；　garrulous　old　Simon　Wheeler；　and　inquired
after　my　friend's　friend；　Leonidas　W。　Smiley；　as　requested　to　do；　and　I
hereunto　append　the　result。　　I　have　a　lurking　suspicion　that　Leonidas　W。
Smiley　is　a　myth　that　my　friend　never　knew　such　a　personage；　and　that　he
on　conjectured　that　if　I　asked　old　Wheeler　about　him；　it　would　remind　him
of　his　infamous　Jim　Smiley；　and　he　would　go　to　work　and　bore　me　to　death
with　some　exasperating　reminiscence　him　as　long　and　as　tedious　as　it
should　be　useless　to　me。　　If　that　was　the　design；　it　succeeded。

I　found　Simon　Wheeler　dozing　comfortably　by　the　bar…room　stove　of　the
dilapidated　tavern　in　the　decayed　mining　camp　Angel's；　and　I　noticed　that
he　was　fat　and　bald…headed；　and　had　an　expression　of　winning　gentleness
and　simplicity　upon　his　tranquil　countenance。　　He　roused　up；　and　gave　me
good　day。　　I　told　him　that　a　friend　of　mine　had　commissioned　me　to　make
some　inquiries　about　a　cherished　companion　of　his　boyhood　named　Leonidas
W。　SmileyRev。　Leonidas　W。　Smiley；　a　young　minister　of　the　Gospel；　who
he　had　heard　was　at　one　time　resident　of　Angel's　Camp。　　I　added　that　if
Mr。　Wheeler　could　tell　me　anything　about　this　Rev。　Leonidas　W。　Smiley；
I　would　feel　under　many　obligations　to　him。

Simon　Wheeler　backed　me　into　a　corner　and　blockaded　me　there　with　his
chair；　and　then　sat　down　and　reeled　off　the　monotonous　narrative　which
follows　this　paragraph。　　He　never　smiled　he　never　frowned；　he　never
changed　his　voice　from　the　gentle　flowing　key　to　which　he　tuned　his
initial　sentence；　he　never　betrayed　the　slightest　suspicion　of
enthusiasm；　but　all　through　the　interminable　narrative　there　ran　a　vein
of　impressive　earnestness　and　sincerity；　which　showed　me　plainly　that；
so　far　from　his　imagining　that　there　was　anything　ridiculous　or　funny
about　his　story；　he　regarded　it　as　a　really　important　matter；　and　admired
its　two　heroes　as　men　of　transcendent　genius　in　'finesse。'　　I　let　him　go
on　in　his　own　way；　and　never　interrupted　him　once。

〃Rev。　Leonidas　W。　　H'm；　Reverend　Lewell；　there　was　a　feller　here；　once
by　the　name　of　Jim　Smiley；　in　the　winter　of　'49　or　maybe　it　was　the
spring　of　'50I　don't　recollect　exactly；　somehow；　though　what　makes　me
think　it　was　one　or　the　other　is　because　I　remember　the　big　flume　warn't
finished　when　he　first　come　to　the　camp；　but　anyway；　he　was　the
curiousest　man　about　always　betting　on　anything　that　turned　up　you　ever
see；　if　he　could　get　anybody　to　bet　on　th