The Cyclopeedy

(Chicago News.)

Havin' lived next door to the Hobart place for goin' on thirty years I calc'late thet I know jest as much about the case as anybody else now on airth, exceptin', perhaps, it's ol' Jedge Baker, and he's so plaguy old 'n' so powerful feeble thet he don't know nothin'.

It seems that in the spring of '47—the year Cy Watson's oldest boy was drownded in West River—there come along a book agent sellin' volyumes 'n' tracts f'r the diffusion of knowledge; 'n' havin' got the recommend of minister 'n' of the select-men, he done an all-fired business in our part of the country. His name was Lemuel Higgins, 'n' he was as likely a talker as ever I heerd, barrin' Lawyer Conkey, 'n' everybody allowed that when Conkey was 'round he talked so fast that the town pump'd have to be greased every twenty minutes.

One of the first of our folks that this Lemuel Higgins struck was Leander Hobart. Leander had jest marr'd one o' the Peasley girls 'n' had moved into the old homestead on the Plainville road—ol' Dea Hobart havin' given up the place to him, the other boys havin' moved out West (like a lot of darned fools that they wuz! ). Leander was feelin' his oats jest about this time 'n' nuthin was too good f'r him.

« Hattie, » says he, « I guess I'll have to lay in a few books for readin' in the winter time, 'n' I've half a notion to subscribe f'r a cyclo-peedy. Mr Higgins here says they're invalerable in a family, and that we orter have 'em bein' as how we're likely to have the fam'ly bimeby. »

« Lor's sakes, Leander, how you talk! » says Hattie, blushin' all over, as brides allers does to hearn tell of sich things.

Waal, to make a long story short, Leander bargained with Mr Higgins f'r a set o' them cyclopeedies, 'n' he signed his name to a long printed paper that showed how he agreed to take a cyclopeedy oncet in so often, which was to be as often as a new one o' the volyumes was printed. A cyclopeedy ain't printed all to oncet, because that would make it cost too much; consekently the man that gits it up has it strung along fur apart, so as to hit folks oncet every year or two, and gin'rally about harvest time. So Leander kind o' liked the idee, and he signed the printed paper, 'n' made his affidavit to it afore Jedge Warner.

The fust volyume o' the cyclopeedy stood on a shelf in the old seckertary in the settin' room about four months afore they had any use f'r it. One night Squire Turner's son came over to visit Leander 'n' Hattie, 'n' they got to talkin' about appples, 'n' the sort of apples that was the best. Leander allowed that the Rhode Island greenin' was the best, but Hattie 'n' the Turner boy stuck up for the Roxberry russet; till at last a happy idee struck Leander, an' says he, « We'll leave it to the cyclopeedy, b'gosh! Whichever one the cyclopeedy says is the best will settle it! »

« But you can't find nothin' 'bout Roxberry russets nor Rhode Island greenin's in our cyclopeedy, » says Hattie.

« Why not, I'd like to know? » says Leander, kind of indignant like.

« Cause ours hain't got down to the R yet, » says Hattie. « All ours tells about is things beginnin' with A. »

« Well, ain't we talking about apples? » says Leander. « You aggervate me terrible, Hattie, by insistin' on knowin' what you don't know nothin' 'bout. »

Leander went to the seckertary 'n' took down the cyclopeedy 'n' hunted all through it f'r Apples, but all he could find was « Apple —see Pomology.))

« How in thunder kin I see Pomology, » says Leander, « when there ain't no Pomology to see? Gol durn a cyclopeedy, anyhow! »

An' he put the volyume back onto the shelf 'n' never sot eyes onto it again.

That's the way the thing run f'r years 'n' years. Leander would a' gin up the plaguy bargain, but he couldn't; he'd signed a printed paper 'n' swore to it afore a justice of the peace. Higgins would have had the law on him if he had throwed up the trade. The most aggervatin' feature of it all was that a new one o' them cussed cyclopeedies was allus sure to show up at the wrong time —when Leander was hard up or had jest been afflicted some way or other. His barn burnt down two nights afore the volyume containin' the letter B arrived, and Leander needed all his chink to pay f'r lumber; but Higgins sot back on that, affidavit and defied the life out of him.

« Never mind, Leander, » says his wife, soothin' like, « its a good book to have in the house, anyhow, now that we've got a baby. »

« That's so' » says Leander. « Babies does begin with B, don't it? »

You see their fust baby had been born; they named him Peasley—Peasley Hobart— after Hattie's folks. So, seein' as how it was payin' f'r a book that told 'bout babies, Leander didn't begredge that five dollars so very much, after all.

« Leander, » says Hattie one forenoon, « that B cyclopeedy ain't no account. There ain't nothin' in it about babies except « See Maternity. »

« Waal, I'll be gosh durned|! » says Leander. That was all he said, 'n' he couldn't do nothin' at all, f'r that book agent, Lemuel Higgins, had the dead wood on him—the mean, sneakin' critter!

So the years passed on—one o' them cyclopeedies showin' up now 'n' then, sometimes every two years 'n' sometimes every four, but allus at a time when Leander found it pesky hard to give up a fiver. It warn't no use cussin' Higgins; Higgins just laffed when Leander allowed that the cyclopeedy was no good 'n' that he was bein' robbed.

Meantime Leander's family was increasing 'n' growin'. Little Sarey had the whoopin' cough dreadful one winter, but the cyclopeedy didn't help out at all, cause all it said was, « Hoopin'-Cough—see Whoopin' Cough » —'n' of course there warn't no Whoopin' Cough to see, bein' as how the W hadn't come yet.

Oncet when Hiram wanted to dreen the home paster, he went to the cyclopeedy to find out about it, but as he diskivered was, « Drain—see Tile. » This was in 1859, and the cyclopeedy had only got down to G.

The cow was sick with lung fever one spell, and Leander laid her dyin' to that cussed cyclopeedy, 'cause when he went to readin' about cows it told to « See Zoology. »

But what's the use of harrowin' up one's feelin's talkin' 'n' thinkin' about these things? Leander got so after awhile that the cyclopeedy didn't worry him at all; he grew to ook at it as one o' the crosses that human critters has to bear without complainin' through this vale of tears. The only thing that bothered him was the fear that mebby he wouldn't live to see the last volyume—to tell the truth, this kind o' got to be his hobby, 'n' I've hearn him talk about it many a time, settin' around the stove at the tavern 'n' squirtin' tobacco juice at the sawdust box. His wife, Hattie. passed away with the yaller janders the winter W come, and all that seemed to reconcile Leander to survivin' her was the prospect of seein' the last volyume o' that cyclopeedy. Lemuel Higgins, the book agent, had gone to his everlastin' punishment; but his son, Hiram, had succeeded to his father's business, 'n' continued to visit the folks his old man had roped in.

By this time Leander's children had growed up; all on 'em was marr'd, 'n' there was numeris grandchildren to amuse the old gentleman. But Leander wuzn't to be satisfied with the common things of airth; he didn't seem to take no pleasure in his grandchildren like most men do; his mind was allers sot on somethin' else; for hours 'n' hours, yes, all day long, he'd set out on the front stoop lookin' wistfully up the road for that book agent to come along with a cyclopeedy. He didn't want to die till he'd got all the cyclopeedies his contract called for; he wanted to have everything straightened out before he passed away.

When—oh, how well I recollect it!—when Y come along, he was so overcome that he fell over in a fit of paralysis, 'n' the old gentleman never got over it. For the next three years he dropped 'n' pined, and seemed like he couldn't hold out much longer. Finally he had to take to his bed, he was so old and feeble; but he made 'em move the bed up against the winder so he could watch for that last volyume of the cyclopeedy.

The end come one balmy day in the spring of '87. His life was a-ebbin' powerful fast; the minister was there, 'n' me, 'n' Dock Wilson, 'n' Jedge Baker, 'n' most o' the fam'ly. Lovin' hands smoothed the wrinkled forehead 'n' brushed back the long, scant, white hair, but the eyes of the dyin' man was sot upon that piece of road down which the cyclopeedy man allus come. All to oncet a bright 'n' joyful look came into them eyes, 'n' old Leander riz up in bed 'n' says, « Its come! »

« What is it, father? » asked his daughter Sarey, sobbin' like.

« Hush! » says the minister, solemnly: « he sees the shinin' gates of the Noo Jerusalem. »

« No, no, » cried the aged man; « its the cyclopeedy—the letter Z — it's comin'! »

An' sure enough! The door opened 'n' in walked Higgins—he tottered rather than walked, f'r he had growed old 'n' feeble in his wicked perfession.

« Here's the Z cyclopeedy, Mr Hobart, » says Higgins.

Leander clutched it; he hugged it to his pantin' bosom; then, stealin' one pale hand under the piller, he drew out a faded bank note 'n' gave it to Higgins.

« I thank thee for this boon, » says Leander, rollin' his eyes up devoutly; then he gave a deep sigh.

« Hold on, » says Higgins, excitedly, « You've made a mistake—it isn't the last. » —

But Leander didn't hear him—his soul had fled from its mortal tenement, 'n' had soared rejoicin' to realms of everlastin' bliss.

« He is no more, » says Dock Wilson, metaphorically.

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« Then who are his heirs? » asked that mean critter Higgins.

« We be, » says the fam'ly.

« Do you conjointly 'n' severally acknowledge 'n' assume the obligation of deceased to me? » he asked.

« What obligation? » asked Peasley Hobart, stern like.

« Deceased died owin' me f'ra cyclopeedy! » says Higgins.

« That's a lie! » says Peasley. « We all seen him pay for the Z. »

« But there's another one to come, » says Higgins.

« Another? » they all asked.

« Yes, the index! » says he.

So there was, 'n' I'll be eternally gol durned if he ain't a-suin' the estate in the probate court now f'r the price of it.