



Produced by Charles Aldarondo






THE FIEND'S DELIGHT

By Dod Grile


"Count that day lost whose low descending sun Views from thy hand no
worthy action done."

New York:

1873.



TO THE IMMUTABLE AND INFALLIBLE GODDESS, GOOD TASTE, IN GRATITUDE
FOR HER CONDEMNATION OF ALL SUPERIOR AUTHORS, AND IN THE HOPE OF
PROPITIATING HER CREATORS AND EXPOUNDERS, This Volume is reverentially
Dedicated BY HER DEVOUT WORSHIPPER,

THE AUTHOR.




PREFACE.


The atrocities constituting this "cold collation" of diabolisms are
taken mainly from various Californian journals. They are cast in the
American language, and liberally enriched with unintelligibility. If
they shall prove incomprehensible on this side of the Atlantic, the
reader can pass to the other side at a moderately extortionate charge.
In the pursuit of my design I think I have killed a good many people
in one way and another; but the reader will please to observe that they
were not people worth the trouble of leaving alive. Besides, I had the
interests of my collaborator to consult. In writing, as in compiling,
I have been ably assisted by my scholarly friend Mr. Satan; and to this
worthy gentleman must be attributed most of the views herein set forth.
While the plan of the work is partly my own, its spirit is wholly his;
and this illustrates the ascendancy of the creative over the merely
imitative mind. Palmam qui meruit ferat--I shall be content with the
profit.

DOD GRILE.




SOME FICTION.


"One More Unfortunate."


It was midnight--a black, wet, midnight--in a great city by the sea. The
church clocks were booming the hour, in tones half-smothered by the
marching rain, when an officer of the watch saw a female figure glide
past him like a ghost in the gloom, and make directly toward a wharf.
The officer felt that some dreadful tragedy was about to be enacted,
and started in pursuit. Through the sleeping city sped those two dark
figures like shadows athwart a tomb. Out along the deserted wharf to
its farther end fled the mysterious fugitive, the guardian of the night
vainly endeavouring to overtake, and calling to her to stay. Soon she
stood upon the extreme end of the pier, in the scourging rain which
lashed her fragile figure and blinded her eyes with other tears than
those of grief. The night wind tossed her tresses wildly in air, and
beneath her bare feet the writhing billows struggled blackly upward
for their prey. At this fearful moment the panting officer stumbled and
fell! He was badly bruised; he felt angry and misanthropic. Instead of
rising to his feet, he sat doggedly up and began chafing his abraded
shin. The desperate woman raised her white arms heavenward for the final
plunge, and the voice of the gale seemed like the dread roaring of the
waters in her ears, as down, down, she went--in imagination--to a black
death among the spectral piles. She backed a few paces to secure an
impetus, cast a last look upon the stony officer, with a wild shriek
sprang to the awful verge and came near losing her balance. Recovering
herself with an effort, she turned her face again to the officer, who
was clawing about for his missing club. Having secured it, he started to
leave.

In a cosy, vine-embowered cottage near the sounding sea, lives and
suffers a blighted female. Nothing being known of her past history, she
is treated by her neighbours with marked respect. She never speaks of
the past, but it has been remarked that whenever the stalwart form of a
certain policeman passes her door, her clean, delicate face assumes an
expression which can only be described as frozen profanity. The Strong
Young Man of Colusa.

Professor Cramer conducted a side-show in the wake of a horse-opera, and
the same sojourned at Colusa. Enters unto the side show a powerful young
man of the Colusa sort, and would see his money's worth. Blandly and
with conscious pride the Professor directs the young man's attention to
his fine collection of living snakes. Lithely the blacksnake uncoils
in his sight. Voluminously the bloated boa convolves before him. All
horrent the cobra exalts his hooded head, and the spanning jaws fly
open. Quivers and chitters the tail of the cheerful rattlesnake;
silently slips out the forked tongue, and is as silently absorbed. The
fangless adder warps up the leg of the Professor, lays clammy coils
about his neck, and pokes a flattened head curiously into his open
mouth. The young man of Colusa is interested; his feelings transcend
expression. Not a syllable breathes he, but with a deep-drawn sigh he
turns his broad back upon the astonishing display, and goes thoughtfully
forth into his native wild. Half an hour later might have been seen that
brawny Colusan, emerging from an adjacent forest with a strong <DW19>.

Then this Colusa young man unto the appalled Professor thus: "Ther ain't
no good place yer in Kerloosy fur fittin' out serpence to be subtler
than all the beasts o' the field. Ther's enmity atween our seed and ther
seed, an' it shell brooze ther head." And with a singleness of purpose
and a rapt attention to detail that would have done credit to a lean
porker garnering the strewn kernels behind a deaf old man who plants
his field with corn, he started in upon that reptilian host, and
exterminated it with a careful thoroughness of extermination.




The Glad New Year.


A poor brokendown drunkard returned to his dilapidated domicile early on
New Year's morn. The great bells of the churches were jarring the creamy
moonlight which lay above the soggy undercrust of mud and snow. As he
heard their joyous peals, announcing the birth of a new year, his heart
smote his old waistcoat like a remorseful sledge-hammer.

"Why," soliloquized he, "should not those bells also proclaim the advent
of a new resolution? I have not made one for several weeks, and it's
about time. I'll swear off."

He did it, and at that moment a new light seemed to be shed upon his
pathway; his wife came out of the house with a tin lantern. He rushed
frantically to meet her. She saw the new and holy purpose in his eye.
She recognised it readily--she had seen it before. They embraced and
wept. Then stretching the wreck of what had once been a manly form to
its full length, he raised his eyes to heaven and one hand as near
there as he could get it, and there in the pale moonlight, with only
his wondering wife, and the angels, and a cow or two, for witnesses, he
swore he would from that moment abstain from all intoxicating liquors
until death should them part. Then looking down and tenderly smiling
into the eyes of his wife, he said: "Is it not well, dear one?" With a
face beaming all over with a new happiness, she replied:

"Indeed it is, John--let's take a drink." And they took one, she with
sugar and he plain.

The spot is still pointed out to the traveller. The Late Dowling,
Senior.

My friend, Jacob Dowling, Esq., had been spending the day very agreeably
in his counting-room with some companions, and at night retired to the
domestic circle to ravel out some intricate accounts. Seated at his
parlour table he ordered his wife and children out of the room and
addressed himself to business. While clambering wearily up a column of
figures he felt upon his cheek the touch of something that seemed
to cling clammily to the skin like the caress of a naked oyster.
Thoughtfully setting down the result of his addition so far as he had
proceeded with it, he turned about and looked up.

"I beg your pardon, sir," said he, "but you have not the advantage of my
acquaintance."

"Why, Jake," replied the apparition--whom I have thought it useless to
describe--"don't you know me?"

"I confess that your countenance is familiar," returned my friend, "but
I cannot at this moment recall your name. I never forget a face, but
names I cannot remember."

"Jake!" rumbled the spectre with sepulchral dignity, a look of
displeasure crawling across his pallid features, "you're foolin'."

"I give you my word I am quite serious. Oblige me with your name, and
favour me with a statement of your business with me at this hour."

The disembodied party sank uninvited into a chair, spread out his
knees and stared blankly at a Dutch clock with an air of weariness and
profound discouragement. Perceiving that his guest was making himself
tolerably comfortable my friend turned again to his figures, and
silence reigned supreme. The fire in the grate burned noiselessly with
a mysterious blue light, as if it could do more if it wished; the Dutch
clock looked wise, and swung its pendulum with studied exactness, like
one who is determined to do his precise duty and shun responsibility;
the cat assumed an attitude of intelligent neutrality. Finally the
spectre trained his pale eyes upon his host, pulled in a long breath and
remarked:

"Jake, I'm yur dead father. I come back to have a talk with ye 'bout the
way things is agoin' on. I want to know 'f you think it's right notter
recognise yur dead parent?"

"It is a little rough on you, dear," replied the son without looking up,
"but the fact is that [7 and 3 are 10, and 2 are 12, and 6 are 18] it is
so long since you have been about [and 3 off are 15] that I had kind of
forgotten, and [2 into 4 goes twice, and 7 into 6 you can't] you know
how it is yourself. May I be permitted to again inquire the precise
nature of your present business?"

"Well, yes--if you wont talk anything but shop I s'pose I must come
to the p'int. Isay! you don't keep any thing to drink 'bout yer, do
ye--Jake?"

"14 from 23 are 9--I'll get you something when we get done. Please
explain how we can serve one another."

"Jake, I done everything for you, and you ain't done nothin' for me
since I died. I want a monument bigger'n Dave Broderick's, with an
eppytaph in gilt letters, by Joaquin Miller. I can't git into any kind
o' society till I have 'em. You've no idee how exclusive they are where
I am."

This dutiful son laid down his pencil and effected a stiffly vertical
attitude. He was all attention:

"Anything else to-day?" he asked--rather sneeringly, I grieve to state.

"No-o-o, I don't think of anything special," drawled the ghost
reflectively; "I'd like to have an iron fence around it to keep the cows
off, but I s'pose that's included."

"Of course! And a gravel walk, and a lot of abalone shells, and fresh
posies daily; a marble angel or two for company, and anything else
that will add to your comfort. Have you any other extremely reasonable
request to make of me?"

"Yes--since you mention it. I want you to contest my will. Horace Hawes
is having his'n contested."

"My fine friend, you did not make any will."

"That ain't o' no consequence. You forge me a good 'un and contest
that."

"With pleasure, sir; but that will be extra. Now indulge me in one
question. You spoke of the society where you reside. Where do you
reside?"

The Dutch clock pounded clamorously upon its brazen gong a countless
multitude of hours; the glowing coals fell like an avalanche through the
grate, spilling all over the cat, who exalted her voice in a squawk like
the deathwail of a stuck pig, and dashed affrighted through the window.
A smell of scorching fur pervaded the place, and under cover of it the
aged spectre walked into the mirror, vanishing like a dream. "Love's
Labour Lost."

Joab was a beef, who was tired of being courted for his clean, smooth
skin. So he backed through a narrow gateway six or eight times, which
made his hair stand the wrong way. He then went and rubbed his fat sides
against a charred log. This made him look untidy. You never looked worse
in your life than Joab did.

"Now," said he, "I shall be loved for myself alone. I will change my
name, and hie me to pastures new, and all the affection that is then
lavished upon me will be pure and disinterested."

So he strayed off into the woods and came out at old Abner Davis' ranch.
The two things Abner valued most were a windmill and a scratching-post
for hogs. They were equally beautiful, and the fame of their comeliness
had gone widely abroad. To them Joab naturally paid his attention. The
windmill, who was called Lucille Ashtonbury Clifford, received him with
expressions of the liveliest disgust. His protestations of affection
were met by creakings of contempt, and as he turned sadly away he was
rewarded by a sound spank from one of her fans. Like a gentlemanly beef
he did not deign to avenge the insult by overturning Lucille Ashtonbury;
and it is well for him that he did not, for old Abner stood by with a
pitchfork and a trinity of dogs.

Disgusted with the selfish heartlessness of society, Joab shambled off
and was passing the scratching-post without noticing her. (Her name was
Arabella Cliftonbury Howard.) Suddenly she kicked away a multitude of
pigs who were at her feet, and called to the rolling beef of uncanny
exterior:

"Comeer!"

Joab paused, looked at her with his ox-eyes, and gravely marching up,
commenced a vigorous scratching against her.

"Arabella," said he, "do you think you could love a shaggy-hided beef
with black hair? Could you love him for himself alone?"

Arabella had observed that the black rubbed off, and the hair lay sleek
when stroked the right way.

"Yes, I think so; could you?"

This was a poser: Joab had expected her to talk business. He did not
reply. It was only her arch way; she thought, naturally, that the best
way to win any body's love was to be a fool. She saw her mistake. She
had associated with hogs all her life, and this fellow was a beef!
Mistakes must be rectified very speedily in these matters.

"Sir, I have for you a peculiar feeling; I may say a tenderness.
Hereafter you, and you only, shall scratch against Arabella Cliftonbury
Howard!"

Joab was delighted; he stayed and scratched all day. He was loved for
himself alone, and he did not care for anything but that. Then he went
home, made an elaborate toilet, and returned to astonish her. Alas!
old Abner had been about, and seeing how Joab had worn her smooth and
useless, had cut her down for firewood. Joab gave one glance, then
walked solemnly away into a "clearing," and getting comfortably astride
a blazing heap of logs, made a barbacue of himself!

After all, Lucille Ashtonbury Clifford, the light-headed windmill, seems
to have got the best of all this. I have observed that the light-headed
commonly get the best of everything in this world; which the
wooden-headed and the beef-headed regard as an outrage. I am not
prepared to say if it is or not. A Comforter.

William Bunker had paid a fine of two hundred dollars for beating his
wife. After getting his receipt he went moodily home and seated
himself at the domestic hearth. Observing his abstracted and melancholy
demeanour, the good wife approached and tenderly inquired the cause.
"It's a delicate subject, dear," said he, with love-light in his eyes;
"let's talk about something good to eat."

Then, with true wifely instinct she sought to cheer him up with pleasing
prattle of a new bonnet he had promised her. "Ah! darling," he sighed,
absently picking up the fire-poker and turning it in his hands, "let us
change the subject."

Then his soul's idol chirped an inspiring ballad, kissed him on the top
of his head, and sweetly mentioned that the dressmaker had sent in her
bill. "Let us talk only of love," returned he, thoughtfully rolling up
his dexter sleeve.

And so she spoke of the vine-enfolded cottage in which she fondly hoped
they might soon sip together the conjugal sweets. William became rigidly
erect, a look not of earth was in his face, his breast heaved, and the
fire-poker quivered with emotion. William felt deeply. "Mine own," said
the good woman, now busily irrigating a mass of snowy dough for the
evening meal, "do you know that there is not a bite of meat in the
house?"

It is a cold, unlovely truth--a sad, heart-sickening fact--but it must be
told by the conscientious novelist. William repaid all this affectionate
solicitude--all this womanly devotion, all this trust, confidence, and
abnegation in a manner that needs not be particularly specified.

A short, sharp curve in the middle of that iron fire-poker is eloquent
of a wrong redressed. Little Isaac.

Mr. Gobwottle came home from a meeting of the Temperance Legion
extremely drunk. He went to the bed, piled himself loosely atop of it
and forgot his identity. About the middle of the night, his wife, who
was sitting up darning stockings, heard a