9. Small boxes containing a dingy powder.
10. A wheel-barrow, on which Bill vainly attempts to carry the rest of his goods.
We have been thus minute in describing his equipment, knowing him to be at the head of his profession, and hoping that any youth aspiring to celebrity in it, who may chance upon these pages, will profit therefrom. We regret to be obliged to state that there are some so utterly out of sympathy with the cause of art, as to assert that the greater portion of Bill's utensils are useless; and that by much puttering he loses time without improving his work. These persons we are inclined to class among those zealous but unthinking lovers of simplicity, whose misdirected reformatory efforts in other departments of life are so well known. As might be expected, Bill treats these sacrilegious innovators with the contempt they so justly merit. Were an officious stranger to try to convince an artist that one color would answer all his purposes as well as a greater number, would the suggestion of the untutored interloper cause the artist to waver in the sternness of his faith? And shall the subject of this sketch revolutionize his mode of stove-blacking at the promptings of an untaught spectator?
It would be by no means surprising if such nicety of execution as that to which we have alluded tended to draw his attention from rhetorical themes. Yet, spite of this apparently necessary result, some of his grandest and most startling flights of oratory have had their inspiration from incidents connected with stove-nigrification. Bill has, as it were, soared on the legs of the stove, like Perseus on Mercury's sandals, to unexplored realms of space and thought. At such moments the stove-pipe becomes to him a magic telescope, through which he peers far into the unfathomable depths.
There are times when, through the influence of passion, he for a little time lays aside his oratorical embellishments. We remember one such occasion. He had just finished sawing a pile of wood, when a student, who was looking from a window, told him there was one stick which he had not sawed, and taunted him with intending to purloin it. Instantly his countenance became livid with rage, his lips separated, showing a fine dental formation, and he exclaimed in pure Anglo-Saxon:—
"You're a liar. You lie."
The student, perceiving from Bill's descent to the vernacular of common men that his ire was roused, abjectly and unqualifiedly apologized.
"Well," said the orator, threateningly, "you'd better take that back. I've sawed wood more'n thirty year, an' no man ever 'cused me o' stealin'." Then gradually becoming good-natured, he added, "Crucifixin' yourself in the observatories of life in the gray dawn over your jewelry. No sir, I never stole nothin'. You do. You'd steal if you wan't afraid to. Ottah!"
We regret to be obliged to chronicle one incident that would seem to indicate something of malevolence. The impartial historian, however, must not shrink from the full performance of his duty.
Another of the notables of this region, of sable lineage, called, on account of a peculiar propensity to split two-inch planks with his head, "Abe Bunter," not long since honored the students of this institution with a series of calls for the purpose of soliciting money to purchase for himself a bovine, to replace one providentially taken from him. His success may he inferred from a remark let fall by Bill, accompanied by a demoniac chuckle: