The Newtown bee. (Newtown, Conn.) 1877-current, 1879-09-10
A Seasick HumOrist.

We left Portland in the evening and a
bit of storm. There was a heavy sea,
with its usual depressing influences.
The sea grew rougher, and as the pitch
ing and rolling of the good steamer
New York increased my spirits did not
rise. Your spirits are not apt to rise,
find They are the only things about
you that don't rise, however.
My subject ofrefection having eluded
my rather inactive mind, became
sensible of a kind of a sort of a languor
that suggested repose. / did not feel
like standing up and singing. wanted
repose. / wasn't particular what kind
of repose. The repose of the grave
would have suited me perfectly well.
But there was no grave handy. And
when | went out and looked out to sea-
ward and gazed at the land less expanse
of angry, tossing waters, didn't see any
material to make a grave. And then,
when returned to the stateroom, it be-
gan to dawn upon me, very dlmly, that
the repose was about as seldom as the
grave. The ocean made me feel as
though / bad swallowed it whole, and
was afraid 1 would have to spread a
little to hold it.
believed | would retire and abandon
the struggle with my feelings, for felt
| was on the verge of quoting poetry.
stood on my feet and took off some of my
things. Then | leaned up against the
door and took off few. Then l stood
on my head and got off one or two.
Then | lay down on my back and kicked
off the rest of them.
Then l looked up at my berth.
1t was 900 feet from the floor and was
still going.
[ cast an anxious, despairing glance
at it, reached out and dragged a travel
ing shawl over me and tried to MARBLE
a merry stave of rollicking sea song.
When | bought my passage Of the In
ternational Steamship Company, | did
not contract to sleep in a skyrocket, and
that l should not get into my berth until
it came down close enough for me to
grab at it.
The sense Of utter forlul mess, the
feelings of desolation and goneness the
impression, generally correct, that
every well person in the ship is laugh
ing at you; the saddening thought that
there is no chance of dying; the depress-
ing knowledge that there is no help for
it, anyhow; the confidence that nobody
/ is going to do anything for you, and the
philosophical resolution that you don't
care a constitutional red cent if they
don't; the hope that you will be over it
by morning; the fear that it will last a
week; the forlorn hope, now and then,
that the pilot will get frightened and
tie the ship up to tree at some place,
only for little while; the despairing
sense of disappointment that steals over
you as it becomes evident that the pilot
hasn't the remotest thought of doing
anything Of the kind; and at last the
fervent, earnest, despairing wish that
the boiler will blow up, the ship strike a
rock, catch on fire, capsize, be run down
| by an iron steamship, get struck by
| lightning and sink in 600 Iathoms of
water, and do it all most powerful
quick, too. This is the final spasm.
Why. even after fell asleep, dreamed
that / was a boy again; happy, guile
less, barefoot boy, and that was in
Peoria, sitting behind the woodshed in
the old yard on Monroe street, where the
postoffice now stands, making, in boyish
solitude, my maiden efforts on my
first and most serreptitious cigar. And
l dreamed that the cigar was just about
half smoked out, and was lying on the
chopping- block beside me, and that the
curtain had Just rung for the second act.
-BWrdette, IN Haa06eye.