Assets and Asses.

Slumps, dumps, bumps and “humps” are only an outward indication of inward perturbation—a skin eruption on the derm of Destiny, a result of wrongness in the “righteous,” and of sin in sincerity. The only slump possible is a slump in salubrity, and as long as the world wears whiskers, there is no dearth on the earth. Which reminds me that I met an ass in a paddock.

“Good morrow,” says I.

“Chin-chin brother,” says he, “and when I say chin-chin I don't mean just chin.”

“How so?” says I.

“Well, ass-k yourself brother,” says he. “Looking at things as a plain ass, they seem pretty good to me. Take this paddock f'instance! Why, you never seen sich clover, and a stream that's always as cool as a cow's nose; and when it's sunny the sun seems warmer if it's been raining the day before—and there's a thrush with the greatest voice you ever did hear, that sings in the elder-berries every evening. No brother, chin-chin is no exaggeration of the situation.”

“But this dreadful slump!” says I.

“What slump?” says he.

“Why, this awful depression,” says I.

“What depression?” says he. “I've been in this ‘ere paddock nigh fifteen years and I've never heerd tell of no sich animal; what's it like? Does it kick, does it bite?”

“No, it's just a condition,” says I.

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“Where is it, then?” says the ass.

“It's all over the world,” says I.

“Well it might be,” says he; “but I've never heerd of it, and when I've never heerd of a thing it naturally don't exist.”

“It's difficult to explain,” says I.

“Well, a thing that's difficult to explain ain't worth explaining,” says the ass. “Does it wither the crops or nip off the grass, or put a cloud over the sun, or kill the trees, or silence the birds, or turn the soil sour, or kill the beasts?”

“Oh, no,” says I; “it doesn't do any of that.”

“Well,” says the ass; “as far as I can judge brother, you've been done in the eye. Believe me, there ain't no sich animal. Look at the turnips, sniff the hay, count the cows, see the sheep, hear the separator a'singing, look at the sun, smell the breeze, and cast your peepers over this ‘ere grass. Hear the birds a-warblin', the wind in the trees, see the fat clouds a-burstin’ to water the earth, and tell me if you see anything wrong with this ‘ere outfit. Brother, this’ were slump is only a gnat under your hat, and your trouble is that your face is too long, your ears are too short, and your nose is too far from the earth. Take my tip, brother, give up trying to be something you're not and be just a plain ass like me.”

So saying, the ass lifted his loudspeaker until he looked just like a real elocutionist, and got it off his bronchials as follows: —

“I'm an ass
Calm and crass,
Not versed in euphonics
Or new economics,
I'm simply a cross
Twixt a donk’ and a “hoss” —
I'm an ass!
But I judge
From such fudge,
And your verbal expression
About this depression,
It's lucky for me
That I happen to be —
Just an ass.
And I guess —
More or less —
That you'd far better be
Just a muggins like me,
Than be what you are,
Which is not very far —
From an ass.