Democratic Sentinel, Volume 6, Number 1, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 3 February 1882 — Yankeeisms. [ARTICLE]

Yankeeisms.

One Sunday morning, Bishop Williams, of Connecticut, drove over Middletown to Meriden to bifid an or dination. Driving up to a livery stable he asked the man in charge; “Can I have my team taken care of here?” “I guess so.” tt “But I want to know. “Oh, yes; I guess so.” “My friend,” said the now slightly irritated prelate, “I want a plain answer to my question: Can my team be cared for at this stable?” “And I tell you that I guess so,” said the man with all honesty of purpose and with a manifestation of great surprise. The good bishop told his coachman to turn around and go to some stable where people knew what they could do without guessing. The man meant nothing by his replies, it was his manner of speech. Acute, industrious, frugal and blessed with a speculative admiration of his own peculiarities, the Yankee beats a Quaker in the pertinacity with which he seeks to avoid giving a direct answer. I remember well, when I first visited New England as a youug man, the candid verdancy with which I answered all questions* about myself at first, and the anger I felt afterward. Sti’l, there is much that is amusing in it A few years ago, traveling through central New York on a slow train, I was intensely amused at a conversation between two Yankees, strangers to each other. One of them had “pumped” all the other passengers to whom he could get access, and at last he attacked his brother Down Easter somewhat as follows: “Well, now, which way may you be traveling?” “Going straight West, don’t you see?” “Are you going far?” “Well, really, I don’t recollect how many miles the distance is.” “I expect you’ll be from New York?” “Yes, I’ve been to York city pretty often.” “Then I guess you don’t live there?” “I do a great deal of business there.” “No doubt, “I suppose you’ll be going to Chicago to see the West?” “Folks say all the world is going to Chicago, and I sxpect a good sight of them is.” “Do you calculate on stopping long when you get as far as you are going?” “My business will have to settle that, I expect.” “Then it’s not for pleasure you’re taking a trip this time. Perhaps it’s your health.” “My health don’t trouble me much, I guess.” “Glad to hear it. How’s the wheat market? ’ “I ain’t just able to say.” “A deal of money is made by just looking after the article at the fountain head, and that appears to be Chicago.” “You may say that.” “Do you look to go in heavily on produce out there?” “I haven’t said I was going there yet. ” “I calculate you’ll find the market changeable these times.” “I guess you read the papers same as I do.” “Well, yes. But what is your principal article of produce?” “That which I make the most by, I should say.” “Of course. But what do you call your most particular branch?” “Well it would puzzle a Mohawk Dutchman to say.” So these two men went on, without giving or taking an inch, and each seemed to derive no little amusement from the mutual attempt to get ahead. The ineradicable audacity of the men from the land of steady habits was well illustrated years ago in the anecdote told concerning a well-known naval officer, who had risen to the office of captain by personal gallantry in the war of 1812 and had neyer gained the accomplishments of the modern naval school. His frigate being anchored off Naples, the gallant captain had invited the Pope and the King of Naples, the Bourbon “Bomba,” to visit him, and the invitation had been accepted. The illustrious guests were received with all due honors, the ship was inspected and everything went off well. But the captain was at once anxious to discharge the duties of hospitality and at the same time fearful of offending his spiritual visitor. Calling his first lieutenant he said: “Lieutenant, please take charge of Pope. Pope excuse us. King, come into the cabin and have a drink.” To this anecdote the Italian proverb well applies—si non e vero e ben trovato —if it is not true it ought to be!