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FACETIA
AMERICANA
FACBTIA
AMFRICAtfA
FIRESIDE CONVERSATION
A FRENCH CRISIS
LITTLE WILLIE
THE OLD BACKHOUSE
Articles by
MARK TWAIN
EUGENE FIELD
JAMES WHITCOMB RILEY
PRIVATELY PRINTED FOR SUBSCRIBERS ONLY
NINETEEN HUNDRED AND TWENTY-FIVE
Fireside Conversation
—Mark Twain.
fil ESTERNITE toke Her Majestie, ye
Queen, a fantasie such as she is some-
times stricken withal, and had to her
closet certain that doe write plays,
r 1 bokes, and such like, these being My
Lord Bacon, His Worship Sir Walter
Raleigh, Mr. Ben Johnson, and ye childe Fran-
cis Beaumont, which being but sixteen, hath
yet turned his hand to ye doing of ye Latin
masters into our English tongue with grete dis-
cretion and much applause. Also came with
ye famous Shaxpur. A right strange mixing
truly of mighty blood with mean, ye more in
especial since ye Queen's Grace was present, as
likewise these following, to-wit:
Ye Duchess of Bilgewater, twenty-six years of
age; Ye Countess of Granby, thirty-six; her
daughter, Ye Lady Helen, fifteen; as also these
two maidens of honor, to-wit: Ye Lady Mar-
gery Boothby, sixty-five, and Ye Lady Alice Dil-
bury, turned seventy, she being two years Ye
Queen's Grace's elder.
I being her Majestie's cub-bearer, had no
choice but to remain and behold rank forgot,
and ye high holde converse with ye low as upon
equal terms, a grete scandal an ye world did
heare about it.
In ye heat of ye talk it befel that one did
break wind, yielding an exceeding mighty and
distressful stink, whereat all did laugh full sore,
and then:
5
YE QUEEN:
Verily in mine eight and sixty years have I
not heard ye fellow of this fart. Meseemeth, by
ye grete sound and clamour of it, it was male;
yet ye belly it did lurk behind should now fall
lean and, flat against ye spine of him that hath
been delivered of so stately and so vast a bulk;
whereas ye guts of them that doe quiffsplitters
bear, stand comely stiff and rounde. Prithee let
ye author confess ye offspring. Will my Lady
Alice testify?
LAD ALICE:
God, Your Grace, if I had room for such a
thundergust within mine ancient bowels, 'tis not
in reason I could discharge ye same and live to
thank God that He did chose handmaid so hum-
ble whereby to show His power. Nay, 'tis not I
that have brought forth this rich and o'ermas-
tering fog, this fragrant gloom; so, pray seek ye
further.
YE QUEEN:
Mayhap ye Lady Margery hath done ye com-
pany this favour?
LADY MARGERY:
So please your Madam, my limbs are feeble
with ye weighte and drouth of five and sixty
winters, and it behooveth that I be tender unto
them. In ye goode providence of God, if I had
contained this wonder, forsoothe wolde I have
.given ye whole evening of my sinking life to ye
6
dribbling of it forth, with trembling and uneasy
soul, not launching it sudden in its matchless
might, taking mine own life with violence, rend-
ing my weak frame like rotten rags. It was not
I, Your Majestie.
YE QUEEN:
0 God's name, who has favoured us? Hath
it come to pass that a fart shall fart itself? Not
such an one as this, I trow. Young Master
Beaumont—but no; 't would have wafted him
to heaven like down of goose's body. 'Twas not
ye little Lady Helen—nay, ne'er blush childe;
thoul't tickle thy tender maidenhedde with many
a mousie-squeak before thou learnest to blow a
hurricane like this. Was't you, my learned and
ingenious Jonson?
BEN JOHNSON:
So fell a blast has ne'er mine ears saluted,
nor yet a stench so all-pervading and immortal.
5t was not a novice did it, good Your Majestie,
but one of veteran experience, else had he failed
of confidence. In sooth it was not I.
YE QUEEN:
MY Lord Bacon?
LORD BACON:
Not from my lean entrails hath this prodigy
burst forth, so please Your Grace. Naught doth
so befit the grete as grete performance; and hap-
pily shall you finde that 'tis not from mediocrity
this miracle hath issued.
7
(Though the subject be but a fart, will this
tedious sink of learning ponderously philos-
ophize. Meantime did ye foul and deadly stink
pervade to that degree, that never smelt I ye like
before, yet dared I not leave ye presence, albeit
I was like to suffocate.)
YE QUEEN:
What sayeth Ye Worshipful Master Shak-
spur?
SHAKSPUR:
In ye grete hand of God I stand, and so pro-
claim mine innocence. Tho ye sinless hosts of
heaven had foretold ye coming of this most
desolatnig breath, proclaiming it a work of un-
inspired man, its quaking thunders, its firma-
ment-clogging rottenness, his own achievements
in due course of nature, yet had I not believed
it; but had said ye pit itself hath furnished ye
stink, and heaven's artillery hath broke ye globe
in admiration of it.
(Then there was stillness for a space, and
each did turn toward ye Worshipful Sir Walter
Raleigh, that browned, embattled, bloody swash-
buckler, who rising up did smile and simpering
say:)
SIR WALTER:
Most Gracious Majestic, 'twas I that did it,
but indeed it was so poor and frail a note, com-
pared with such as I am, wont to. furnish, that
in sooth I was .ashamed to call ye weakling mine
in so august a presence. It was nothing—less
8
than nothing—I did it but to clear my nether
throat; but had I come prepared, then had I
delivered something worthy. Bear with me,
please Your Grace, till I can make amends,
(Then delivered he himself of such a godless
and rock-shivering blast that all were fain to
stop their ears, and following it did come so
dense and foul a stink, that that which went
before, did seem a poor and trifling thing be-
side it. Then saith he, feigning that he blushed
and was confused: "I perceive that I am weak
today, and cannot do justice unto my powers;"
and sat him down as though to say: "there, it
is not much; yet he that hath an arse to spare,
let him follow it if he think he can." By God
if I were Ye Queen, I would e'en tip this swag-
gering braggart out of ye court, and let him
air his grandeurs and break his intolerable wind
before ye deaf and such as suffocation pleas-
eth).
Then fell ye talk about ye manners and cus-
toms of many people and Master Shaxspur
spake of ye boke of ye Sieur Michael de Mon-
taine, wherein was mentioned of ye custom of
ye widows of Perigord to wear upon ye head-
dress, in sign of widowhood, a jewel in ye simil-
itude of a man's member wilted and limber,
whereat ye Queen did laugh and say widows
in England doe wear pricks, too, but betwixt ye
thighs, and not wilted neither, till coition hath
done that office for them. Master Shaxspur did
likewise observe how ye Sieur de Montaine hath
spoken of a certain Emperor of such mighty
9
prowess that he did take ten maiden-heddes in
ye compass of a single night, while his Em-
press did entertain two and twenty lusty knights
between her sheetes, yet was not satisfied;
whereat ye merrie Countess Granby saith a ram
is ye Emperor's superior, since he will tup above
a hundred ewes twixt sun and sun, and after,
if he can have none more to shag will mastur-
bate until he hath enriched whole acres with his
seed.
Then spake ye damn windmill, Sir Walter, of
a people in ye uttermost parts of America, that
copulate not until they be five and thirty years
of age, ye women being eight and twenty, and
do it then but once in seven years.
YE QUEEN:
How doth that like my little Lady Helen?
Shall we send thee thither and preserve thy
belly?
LADY HELEN:
Please Your Highness' Grace, mine old nurse
hath told me there are more ways of serving
God than by locking ye thighs together; yet am
I willing to serve Him that way, too, since Your
Highness' Grace hath set ye example.
YE QUEEN:
God's woundes, a good answer, childe.
10
LADY ALICE:
Mayhap 'twill weaken when ye hair doth
sprout below ye navel.
LADY HELEN:
Nay, it sprouted two years since; I scarce can
more than cover it with my hand now.
YE QUEEN:
Hear ye not that, my little Beaumont? Have
you not a little birdie about you that stirs at
hearing of so sweet a nest?
BEAUMONT:
Tis not insensible most illustrious madam,
but mousing owls and bats of low degree may
not aspire to bliss so 'whelming and ecstatic as
is found in ye downy nest of birdies of para-
dise.
YE QUEEN:
By the gullet of God! 'Tis a neat-turned com-
pliment. With such a tongue as thine, lad,
thou'lt spread ye ivory thighs of many a willing
maid in thy good time, an thy codpiece be as
handy as thy speeche.
Then spake ye Queen of how she met old
Rabelais when she was turned of fifteen, and he
did tell of a man his father knew that had a
double pair of bollocks, whereon a controversy
followed as concerning ye most just way to spell
ye word, ye contention running higji betwixt ye
11
learned Bacon and ye ingenious Jonson, until at
last ye Lady Margery, wearying of it all, saith:
"Gentles, what mattereth how ye shall spell
ye word? I warrant you when you use your
bollocks you shall not think of it; and my Lady
Granby, be you content, let the spelling be; you
shall enjoy the beating of them on your but-
tocks just the same, I trow. Before I had
gained my fourteenth year, I had learnt that
those who would a cunt explore stopt not to
consider ye spelling o't."
In sooth, when a shift's turned up, delay is
mete for naught but dalliance. Boccaccio hath
a story of a priest that did beguile a maid into
his cell, then knelt him in a corner to pray for
grace to be rightly thankful for this tender
maidenhedde ye Lord hath sent him; but ye
Abbott, spying through ye keyhole, did see a
tuft of brownish hair with white flesh about;
wherefore when ye priest's prayer was done, his
chance was gone, forasmuch as ye little maid
had but one cunt, and that was already occu-
pied to her satisfaction.
Then conversed they of religion, and ye migh-
tie work ye old dead Luther did doe and Mas-
ter Shaxpur did read a part of his King Henry
IV ye whiche, it seemeth unto me, is not of the
value of an arseful of ashes, yet they praised it
bravely, one and all. Ye same did read a por-
tion of his Venue and Adonis, to their prodigious
admiration, whereas I, being sleepy and fatigued
12:
withal, did deem it but paltry stuff and was the
more discomfited in that ye bloody buccaneer
had got his wind again and did turn his mind
to farting with such a vilain's zeal that present-
ly I was like to choake once more. God damn
this windy ruffian and all his bloody breed. I
wolde that hell might get him.
They talked about ye wonderful defense which
old Sir Nicholas Throgmorton did make for
himself before ye judges in ye time of Mary;
which was unlucky matter to broach, since it
fetched out ye Queen with: "a pity that he,
having so much wit, had yet not enough to save
his doter's maidenhedde for her marriage-bed."
And ye Queen did give ye damned Sir Walter a
looke that made him wince for she hath not
forgot he was her own lover in ye olde day.
There was silence to uncomfortableness now.
'Twas not a good turn for talk to take, since if
Ye Queen must find offense in a little harm-
less debauching, when pricks were stiff and
cunts not loathe to take ye stiffness out of
them, who of this company was sinless? Be-
hold was not ye wife of Master Shaxpur four
months gone with child when she stood up be-
fore ye altar? Was not Her Grace of Bilge-
water rogered by four Lords before she had a
husband? Was not ye little Lady Helen born on
her mother's wedding day? And beholde, were
not Ye Lady Alice and Ye Lady Margery, mouth-
ing religion there, whores from the cradle?
In time came they to discourse of Cervantes
and of the new painter, Rubens, that is begin-
ning to be heard of. Fine words and dainty-
wrought phrases from the ladies now, one or
18
two of them being in other days, pupils of that
poor ass Lille himself. And I marked how that
Johnson and Shaxpur did fidget to discharge
some venom of sarcasm, yet dared they not in
ye presence of ye Queen's Grace, she being ye
very flower of ye Euphuists herself. But, be-
hold there be those that having a specialty, and
admiring it in themselves, be jealous when a
neighbor doth essaye it, nor can they abide it in
them long. Wherefore it was observable that
Ye Queen waxed uncontent; and in time a la-
bored grandiose speeche out of ye mouth of
Lady Alice, who manifestly did mightily pride
herself thereon, did quite exhause Ye Queen's
endurance, who listened till ye gaudy speeche
was done, then lifted up her brows, and with
vast irony, mincing saith:
"O shitte!"
Whereat they all did laugh, but not ye Lady
Alice, ye foolish old bitche.
Now was Sir Walter minded of a tale he once
did hear ye ingenious Margarette of Navarre
relate, about a maid, which being like to suffer
rape by an old Archbishoppe, did smartly con-
trive a device to save her maidenhedde, and said
to him: "first, My Lord, I prithee, take out thy
Holy tool and piss before me," which doing, lo!
his member felle and would not rise again.
14
A French Crisis
—Eugene Field.
INGE Butler sang of dildoes, and Villon
loved to treat
Of certain cross-grained margots whom
he'd rogered on the street;
Since Rabelais and Rochester and
Chaucer chose to sing
Of that which gave them subtle joy—that is to
say, "the thing,"
Why should not I, an humble bard, be par-
doned if I write
Of a certain strange occurrence which has late-
ly come to light?
One evening in December, on the Boulevard de
Prix,
While the sombre bells of Notre Dame an-
nounced the hour of six,
A dapper wight named Edward, met tripping on
her way
A madame with a character and gown quite
decollet;
A babbling, buxom, blooming, billowy-bubbied
dame,
Camille Maria Jesus Hector Limousin, by
name.
Tho fair she was of countenance, she was as
lewd a bitch
As ever wallowed in a bed or mouzled in a
ditch;
And maugre wealth of family, she was as foul
a minx
As ever fondled scabby cods or nursed gangres-
cent dinks.
She tumbled one American, and with his drool-
ing yard
The august house of "Grevy" fell, and fell al-
mighty hard.
17
She toyed with Simon's senile tape, and burned
Clemenceau's tail;
With howling Rochefort had she drunk of
Mother Watkin's ale.
With Perier, and with Carnot, she had wrestled
for a fall;
She had drained old Goulet till he lay, no good,
against the wall.
She did not swive for sustenance, she rather
lived to swive,
And at the two-backed beast she beat the veriest
whore alive.
No prurient dame of high degree, nor wench of
tarnished fame,
Could be compared with Limousin at this close-
buttock game.
The Greeks had sixteen postures, and the Hin-
doos sixty-four,
And Cleopatra's aggregate was seventy-five or
more.
What were a hundred postures to this fantastic
quaen?
She had at least a thousand, and each of them
tres bien.
On top, the pumping method, or lying on the
side,
Or spread upon her billowy bum, a la the blush-
ing bride,
Or standing up, or sitting down, or resting on
all four,*
Whereby the visitor could take his choice of
either door;
#This was. the favorite posture of the Russian
sian Empress whore.
(The ■ above line, probably not in the original, is
added in one copy of the poem,.)
18
Or dressed or naked, every way her geinus could
invent
To catch the silvery substance that tickleth when
'tis spent.
She'd nig-nog, duffle, snuggle, concomitate and
quag;
She'd dance the "Shaking of the Sheets," fa-
doodle, wap and shag;
She'd "Come the Caster," niggle* jerk, and "Hear
the Nightingale;"
She'd nest-hide, dance "St. Lager's Round," and
do it with her tail;
She'd break her leg above the knee, pound, click
and tread as well,
And with a Holy Father, put the Devil into
hell.
She'd wrestle, bang, cohabit, futuore, fornicate
and frig;
Go goosing or grousing, and if needs be cooning
go,
Rasp, roger, didle, bugger, screw, canoodle, kife
and mow.
There was no form of harlotry, nor any size of
tarse,
That had not run the gauntlet 'twixt her nos-
trils and her arse.
What shall I term that slimy pit-like orifice of
sin,
That let her liquefactions out, and other factions
in?
A* tuppence, twitchet, coney, commodity or
nock,
Pundendum, titmouse, dummelherd, quaint mer-
kin, naf or jock?
Call it whatever you please, there's nothing in a
name,
19
And though it had been dubbed a rose, it would
have smelt the same.
And he? He was as fine a buck as ever topped
a ewe,
Or with his facile penis clave a virgin's clam in
two.
The flush of lusty manhood lent its beauty
to his face,
And the outlines of his study frame were full of
virile grace.
But what seemed fairer far than these, to
Limousin's fair eyes,
Was the ne plus ultra yelper that swung be-
tween his thighs.
To this illustrious pego and its adjacent flop,
Let other kingoes, lobs, and yards, in adoration
drop;
These other virgas, placket-rackets, pintles,
stunts and jocks,
And all the brood of praipismic candidates for
pox;
Fie, on the mewing mentulae, for what, oh, what
were these
Beside that phallic glory that hung below his
knees?
Your pillycocks are competent for tickling
mouses' ears,
And tools hight lobs are brute enough to bring
forth bridal tears,
But the yelper that's ambitious to enact heroic
roles
Must be of such proportions as to stretch the
roomiest holes;
With dornicks so proficient that when they cease
to spout,
20
The lady cannot pee the dose but has to cough
it out.
This tool of his was one foot long, and had
three corners to it;
Its bevelled velvet head stood up, when in the
mood to do it,
And as it stood, and breathed and purred, and
murmured sort o' sadly,
What woman, if she felt at all, but hankered
for it madly?
And then those cods, when dainty hands in
amorous dalliance squeezed 'em,
They'd throw a stream which ladies say, be-
yond all telling pleased 'em.
This monumental penis had firigged through all
creation,
The jibby, bouser, beagle, bawd of every na-
tion;
The courtesan, the concubine, the siren and the
harlot.
The widow in her grassy weeds, the splatter-
dash in scarlet;
The madam in her drawing room, with social
homage honored,
The washee-washee almond eye, whose quim is
cat-a-cornered.
From Colorado in the west, to Mannheim in
the east,
(And that's a goodly distance—six thousand
miles at least),
This prick had mown a swath of twats of every
size and age,
So numerous I could not write their number
on this page.
Where'er he went he left behind a gory, gum-
my trail
21
Of lacerated, satiated, ripped-up female tail.
'Twas to the bearer of this tool that Limousin
applied,
For the pleasant little service that he'd never
yet denied,
And when she asked him, "Voulez?" he was
fly enough to see
He would have to meet a crisis, so he bravely
answered "Oui!"
A crisis is a crisis, but a French one, we've
heard tell,
Out-crises all crises, and that is simply hell.
He modestly unfolded his Brobdingnagian prick,
And hit that foreign madam's thing just one
gosh-awful lick;
She gave a grewsome tremor, and shrieked
aloud, "Mon Dieu!"
Her eye-balls rolled up in her head, her lips
turned black and blue;
But there he lay and sozzled 'till he pumped her
full, and then
He went and hired a doctor to sew her up
again.
22
Little Willie
—Eugene Field.
HEN Willie was a little boy,
Not more than five or six,
Right constantly he did annoy
His mother with his tricks.
Yet not a picayune cared I
For what he did or said,
Unless, as happened frequently,
The rascal wet the bed.
Closely he cuddled up to me
And put his hand in mine,
Till all at once I seemed to be
Afloat in seas of brine.
Sabean odors clogged the air,
And filled my soul with dread,
Yet I could only grin and bear
When Willie wet the bed.
Tis many times that rascal has
Soaked all the bed-clothes through,
Whereat I'd feebly light the gas
And wonder what to do.
Yet there he lay, so peaceful-like;
God bless his curly head!
1 quite forgave the little tyke
For wetting of the bed.
Ah, me! those happy days have flown,
My boy's a father too,
And little Willies of his own
Do what he used to do.
And I, ah! all that's left for me
Are dreams of pleasure fled;
My life's not what it used to be
When Willie wet the bed.
25
The Old Backhouse
—James Whiteomb Riley.
HEN memory keeps me company and
moves to smiles or tears,
A weather-beaten object looms through
the mist of years;
Behind the house and barn it stood, a
half a mile or more,
And hurrying feet a path had made, straight
to the swinging door.
Its architecture was a type of simple classic
art,
But in the tragedy of life it played a leading
part;
And oft the passing traveler drove slow, and
heaved a sigh
To see the modest hired girl slip out with
glances shy.
We had our posy garden that the women loved
so well;
I loved it too, but better still, I loved the
stronger smell
That filled the evening breezes so full of homely
cheer,
And told the night-o'ertaken tramp that human
life was near.
On lazy August afternoons, it made a little
bower,
Delightful, where my grandfather sat and whiled
away an hour.
For there the summer morning its very cares
entwined,
And berry bushes reddened in the steaming soil
behind.
AH day fat spiders spun their webs to catch the
buzzing flies,
That flitted to and from the house, where Ma
was baking pies.
29
And once a swarm of hornets bold had built a
palace there,
And stung my unsuspecting aunt—I must not
tell you where;
Then father took a flaming pole—that was a
happy day—
He nearly burned the building up, but the hor-
nets left to stay.
When summer bloom began to fade and winter
to carouse,
We banked the little building with a heap of
hemlock boughs.
But when the crust was on the snow and the
sullen skies were gray,
In sooth the building was no place where one
could wish to, stay.
We did our duties promptly, there no purpose
swayed the mind;
We tarried not, nor lingered long on what we
left behind.
The torture of that icy seat could make a Spar-
tan sob,
For needs must scrape the goose-flesh with a
lacerating cob
That from a frost-encrusted nail was suspended
by a string—
My father was a frugal man and wasted not a
thing.
When grandpa had to "go out back" and make
the morning call,
We'd bundle up the dear old man with a muf-
fler and a shawl.
I know the hole on which he sat—'twas padded
all around,
And once I dared to sit there—'twas all too
wide, I found;
30
My loins were all too little and I jack-knifed
there to stay;
They had to come and get me out, or I'd a
passed away.
Then father said ambition was a thing the boys
should shun,
And I must use the children's hole 'till child-
hood days were done.
But still I marvel at the craft that cut those
holes so true;
The baby hole, and the slender hole that fitted
Sister Sue.
That dear old country landmark; I've trampled
around a bit,
And in the lap of luxury my lot has been to
sit;
But ere I die I'll eat the fruit of trees I robbed
of yore,
Then seek the shanty where my name is carved
upon the door.
I ween the old familiar smell will soothe my
faded soul;
I'm now a man but none the less I'll try the
children's hole.
si