![\"Mark](\"https:\/\/wp-media.patheos.com\/blogs\/sites\/81\/2015\/11\/Mark-Twain.jpg\")
<\/a>\nIt was on this day in 1865 that Samuel Clemens leapt onto the world stage when the New York Saturday Press published Mark Twain\u2019s Jim Smiley and His Jumping Frog. There are now a couple of versions floating around. Here\u2019s one.<\/em> <\/p>\n
The Celebrated Jumping Frog of Calaveras County<\/p>\n
Mr. A. Ward,<\/p>\n
Dear Sir: \u2014 Well, I called on good-natured, garrulous old Simon Wheeler, and inquired after your friend, Leonidas W. Smiley, as you requested me to do, and I hereunto append the result. If you can get any information out of it you are cordially welcome to it. I have a lurking suspicion that your Leonidas W. Smiley is a myth \u2014 that you never knew such a personage, and that you only conjectured that if I asked old Wheeler about him it would remind him of his infamous Jim Smiley, and he would go to work and bore me nearly to death with some infernal reminiscence of him as long and tedious as it should be useless to me. If that was your design, Mr. Ward, it will gratify you to know that it succeeded.<\/p>\n
I found Simon Wheeler dozing comfortably by the bar-room stove of the old, dilapidated tavern in the ancient mining camp of Boomerang, and I noticed that he was fat and bald-headed, and had an expression of winning gentleness and simplicity upon his tranquil countenance. He roused up and gave me good-day. I told him a friend of mine had commissioned me to make some inquiries about a cherished companion of his boyhood named Leonidas W. Smiley \u2014 Rev. Leonidas W. Smiley \u2014 a young minister of the Gospel, who he had heard was at one time a resident of this village of Boomerang. I added that if Mr. Wheeler could tell me any thing about this Rev. Leonidas W. Smiley, I would feel under many obligations to him.<\/p>\n
Simon Wheeler backed me into a corner and blockaded me there with his chair \u2014 and then sat me down and reeled off the monotonous narrative which follows this paragraph. He never smiled, he never frowned, he never changed his voice from the gentle-flowing key to which he tuned the initial sentence, he never betrayed the slightest suspicion of enthusiasm \u2014 but all through the interminable narrative there ran a vein of impressive earnestness and sincerity, which showed me plainly that, so far from his imagining that there was any thing ridiculous or funny about his story, he regarded it as a really important matter, and admired its two heroes as men of transcendent genius in finesse. To me, the spectacle of a man drifting serenely along through such a queer yarn without ever smiling was exquisitely absurd. As I said before, I asked him to tell me what he knew of Rev. Leonidas W. Smiley, and he replied as follows. I let him go on in his own way, and never interrupted him once:<\/p>\n
There was a feller here once by the name of Jim Smiley, in the winter of \u201949 \u2014 or maybe it was the spring of \u201950 \u2014 I don\u2019t recollect exactly, somehow, though what makes me think it was one or the other is because I remember the big flume wasn\u2019t finished when he first came to the camp; but any way, he was the curiosest man about always betting on any thing that turned up you ever see, if he could get any body to bet on the other side, and if he couldn\u2019t he\u2019d change sides \u2014 any way that suited the other man would suit him \u2014 any way just so\u2019s he got a bet, he was satisfied. But still, he was lucky \u2014 uncommon lucky; he most always come out winner. He was always ready and laying for a chance; there couldn\u2019t be no solitry thing mentioned but that feller\u2019d offer to bet on it \u2014 and take any side you please, as I was just telling you. If there was a horse-race, you\u2019d find him flush, or you\u2019d find him busted at the end of it; if there was a dog-fight, he\u2019d bet on it; if there was a cat-fight, he\u2019d bet on it; if there was a chicken-fight, he\u2019d bet on it; why, if there was two birds setting on a fence, he would bet you which one would fly first \u2014 or if there was a camp-meeting, he would be there reglar, to bet on Parson Walker, which he judged to be the best exhorter about here, and so he was, too, and a good man. If he even seen a straddle-bug start to go any wheres, he would bet you how long it would take him to get wherever he was going to, and if you took him up, he would foller that straddle-bug to Mexico but what he would find out where he was bound for and how long he was on the road. Lots of the boys here has seen that Smiley, and can tell you about him. Why, it never made no difference to him \u2014 he would bet on anything \u2014 the dangdest feller. Parson Walker\u2019s wife laid very sick, once, for a good while, and it seemed as if they warn\u2019t going to save her; but one morning he come in, and Smiley asked him how she was, and he said she was considerable better \u2014 thank the Lord for his inf\u2019nit mercy \u2014 and coming on so smart that, with the blessing of Providence, she\u2019d get well yet \u2014 and Smiley, before he thought, says, \u201cWell, I\u2019ll resk two-and-a-half that she don\u2019t, anyway.\u201d<\/p>\n
Thish-yer Smiley had a mare \u2014 the boys called her the fifteen-minute nag, but that was only in fun, you know, because, of course, she was faster than that \u2014 and he used to win money on that horse, for all she was so slow and always had the asthma, or the distemper, or the consumption, or something of that kind. They used to give her two or three hundred yards\u2019 start, and then pass her under way; but always at the fag-end of the race she\u2019d get excited and desperate-like, and come cavorting and straddling up, and scattering her legs around limber, sometimes in the air, and sometimes out to one side amongst the fences, and kicking up m-o-r-e dust, and raising m-o-r-e racket with her coughing and sneezing and blowing her nose \u2014 and always fetch up at the stand just about a neck ahead, as near as you could cipher it down.<\/p>\n
And he had a little small bull pup, that to look at him you\u2019d think he warn\u2019t worth a cent, but to set around and look ornery, and lay for a chance to steal something. But as soon as money was up on him, he was a different dog \u2014 his underjaw\u2019d begin to stick out like the fo\u2019castle of a steamboat, and his teeth would uncover, and shine savage like the furnaces. And a dog might tackle him, and bully-rag him, and bite him, and throw him over his shoulder two or three times, and Andrew Jackson \u2014 which was the name of the pup \u2014 Andrew Jackson would never let on but what he was satisfied, and hadn\u2019t expected nothing else \u2014 and the bets being doubled and doubled on the other side all the time, till the money was all up \u2014 and then all of a sudden he would grab that other dog jest by the j\u2019int of his hind leg and freeze to it \u2014 not chaw, you understand, but only jest grip and hang on till they thronged up the sponge, if it was a year. Smiley always come out winner on that pup, till he harnessed a dog once that didn\u2019t have no hind legs, because they\u2019d been sawed off in a circular saw, and when the thing had gone along far enough, and the money was all up, and he come to make a snatch for his pet holt, he saw in a minute how he\u2019d been imposed on, and how the other dog had him in the door, so to speak, and he \u2018peared surprised, and then he looked sorter discouraged-like, and didn\u2019t try no more to win the fight, and so he got shucked out bad. He give Smiley a look, as much as to say his heart was broke, and it was his fault, for putting up a dog that hadn\u2019t no hind legs for him to take holt of, which was his main dependence in a fight, and then he limped off a piece and laid down and died. It was a good pup, was that Andrew Jackson, and would have made a name for hisself if he\u2019d lived, for the stuff was in him, and he had genius \u2014 I know it, because he hadn\u2019t had no opportunities to speak of, and it don\u2019t stand to reason that a dog could make such a fight as he could under them circumstances, if he hadn\u2019t no talent. It always makes me feel sorry when I think of that last fight of his\u2019n, and the way it turned out.<\/p>\n
Well, thish-yer Smiley had rat-tarriers, and chicken cocks, and tom-cats, and all of them kind of things, till you couldn\u2019t rest, and you couldn\u2019t fetch nothing for him to bet on but he\u2019d match you. He ketched a frog one day, and took him home, and said he cal\u2019klated to edercate him; and so he never done nothing for three months but set in his back yard and learn that frog to jump. And you bet you he did learn him, too. He\u2019d give him a little hunch behind, and the next minute you\u2019d see that frog whirling in the air like a doughnut \u2014 see him turn one summerset, or may be a couple, if he got a good start, and come down flat-footed and all right, like a cat. He got him up so in the matter of ketching flies, and kept him in practice so constant, that he\u2019d nail a fly every time as far as he could see him. Smiley said all a frog wanted was education, and he could do most anything \u2014 and I believe him. Why, I\u2019ve seen him set Dan\u2019l Webster down here on this floor \u2014 Dan\u2019l Webster was the name of the frog \u2014 and sing out, \u201cFlies, Dan\u2019l, flies!\u201d and quicker\u2019n you could wink, he\u2019d spring straight up, and snake a fly off\u2019n the counter there, and flop down on the floor again as solid as a gob of mud, and fall to scratching the side of his head with his hind foot as indifferent as if he hadn\u2019t no idea he\u2019d been doin\u2019 any more\u2019n any frog might do. You never see a frog so modest and straightfor\u2019ard as he was, for all he was so gifted. And when it come to fair-and-square jumping on a dead level, he could get over more ground at one straddle than any animal of his breed you ever see. Jumping on a dead level was his strong suit, you understand, and when it come to that, Smiley would ante up money on him as long as he had a red. Smiley was monstrous proud of his frog, and well he might be, for fellers that had traveled and ben everywheres, all said he laid over any frog that ever they see.<\/p>\n
Well, Smiley kept the beast in a little lattice box, and he used to fetch him down town sometimes and lay for a bet. One day a feller \u2014 a stranger in the camp, he was \u2014 come across him with his box, and says:<\/p>\n
\u201cWhat might it be that you\u2019ve got in the box?\u201d<\/p>\n
And Smiley says, sorter indifferent like, \u201cIt might be a parrot, or it might be a canary, may be, but it ain\u2019t \u2014 it\u2019s only just a frog.\u201d<\/p>\n
And the feller took it, and looked at it careful, and turned it round this way and that, and says, \u201cH\u2019m \u2014 so \u2019tis. Well, what\u2019s he good for?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cWell,\u201d Smiley says, easy and careless, \u201cHe\u2019s good enough for one thing, I should judge \u2014 he can out-jump ary frog in Calaveras county.\u201d<\/p>\n
The feller took the box again, and took another long, particular look, and give it back to Smiley, and says, very deliberate, \u201cWell \u2014 I don\u2019t see no p\u2019ints about that frog that\u2019s any better\u2019n any other frog.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cMaybe you don\u2019t,\u201d Smiley says. \u201cMaybe you understand frogs, and maybe you don\u2019t understand \u2019em; maybe you\u2019ve had experience, and maybe you ain\u2019t only a amature, as it were. Anyways, I\u2019ve got my opinion, and I\u2019ll resk forty dollars that he can outjump ary frog in Calaveras county.\u201d<\/p>\n
And the feller studied a minute, and then says, kinder sad, like, \u201cWell, I\u2019m only a stranger here, and I ain\u2019t got no frog \u2014 but if I had a frog, I\u2019d bet you.\u201d<\/p>\n
And then Smiley says, \u201cThat\u2019s all right \u2014 that\u2019s all right \u2014 if you\u2019ll hold my box a minute, I\u2019ll go and get you a frog.\u201d And so the feller took the box, and put up his forty dollars along with Smiley\u2019s, and set down to wait.<\/p>\n
So he set there a good while thinking and thinking to hisself, and then he got the frog out and prized his mouth open and took a tea-spoon and filled him full of quail shot \u2014 filled him pretty near up to his chin \u2014 and set him on the floor. Smiley he went to the swamp and slopped around in the mud for a long time, and finally he ketched a frog, and fetched him in, and give him to this feller, and says:<\/p>\n
\u201cNow if you\u2019re ready, set him alongside of Dan\u2019l, with his fore-paws just even with Dan\u2019l\u2019s, and I\u2019ll give the word.\u201d Then he says, \u201cOne \u2014 two \u2014 three \u2014 jump!\u201d and him and the feller touched up the frogs from behind, and the new frog hopped off, but Dan\u2019l give a heave, and hysted up his shoulders \u2014 so \u2014 like a Frenchman, but it wasn\u2019t no use \u2014 he couldn\u2019t budge; he was planted as solid as an anvil, and he couldn\u2019t no more stir than if he was anchored out. Smiley was a good deal surprised, and he was disgusted too, but he didn\u2019t have no idea what the matter was, of course.<\/p>\n
The feller took the money and started away; and when he was going out at the door, he sorter jerked his thumb over his shoulders \u2014 this way \u2014 at Dan\u2019l, and says again, very deliberate, \u201cWell, I don\u2019t see no p\u2019ints about that frog that\u2019s any better\u2019n any other frog.\u201d<\/p>\n
Smiley he stood scratching his head and looking down at Dan\u2019l a long time, and at last he says, \u201cI do wonder what in the nation that frog throw\u2019d off for \u2014 I wonder if there ain\u2019t something the matter with him \u2014 he \u2018pears to look mighty baggy, somehow\u201d \u2014 and he ketched Dan\u2019l by the nap of the neck, and lifted him up and says, \u201cWhy, blame my cats, if he don\u2019t weigh five pound!\u201d \u2014 and turned him upside down, and he belched out a double-handful of shot. And then he see how it was, and he was the maddest man \u2014 he set the frog down and took out after that feller, but he never ketchd him. And\u2014-<\/p>\n
[Here Simon Wheeler heard his name called from the front yard, and got up to go and see what was wanted.] And turning to me as he moved away, he said: \u201cJust set where you are, stranger, and rest easy \u2014 I an\u2019t going to be gone a second.\u201d<\/p>\n
But, by your leave, I did not think that a continuation of the history of the enterprising vagabond Jim Smiley would be likely to afford me much information concerning the Rev. Leonidas W. Smiley, and so I started away.<\/p>\n
At the door I met the sociable Wheeler returning, and he button-holed me and recommenced:<\/p>\n
\u201cWell, thish-yer Smiley had a yeller one-eyed cow that didn\u2019t have no tail, only jest a short stump like a bannanner, and \u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cO, curse Smiley and his afflicted cow!\u201d I muttered, good-naturedly, and bidding the old gentleman good-day, I departed.<\/p>\n
Now if reading this is too much trouble, here\u2019s someone who will do it for you.<\/em><\/p>\n