The Wit and Humor of America, Volume I | Page 7

Leston Taylor, Juliet Wilbor Tompkins, Elizabeth Stuart Phelps
Ward, Eugene F. Ware, Anne Warner French and Stanley Waterloo for
permission to reprint selections from their works and for many valuable
suggestions.

THE WIT AND HUMOR OF AMERICA

MELONS
BY BRET HARTE
As I do not suppose the most gentle of readers will believe that
anybody's sponsors in baptism ever wilfully assumed the responsibility
of such a name, I may as well state that I have reason to infer that
Melons was simply the nickname of a small boy I once knew. If he had
any other, I never knew it.
Various theories were often projected by me to account for this strange
cognomen. His head, which was covered with a transparent down, like
that which clothes very small chickens, plainly permitting the scalp to
show through, to an imaginative mind might have suggested that
succulent vegetable. That his parents, recognizing some poetical

significance in the fruits of the season, might have given this name to
an August child, was an oriental explanation. That from his infancy, he
was fond of indulging in melons, seemed on the whole the most likely,
particularly as Fancy was not bred in McGinnis's Court. He dawned
upon me as Melons. His proximity was indicated by shrill, youthful
voices, as "Ah, Melons!" or playfully, "Hi, Melons!" or authoritatively,
"You Melons!"
McGinnis's Court was a democratic expression of some obstinate and
radical property-holder. Occupying a limited space between two
fashionable thoroughfares, it refused to conform to circumstances, but
sturdily paraded its unkempt glories, and frequently asserted itself in
ungrammatical language. My window--a rear room on the ground
floor--in this way derived blended light and shadow from the court. So
low was the window-sill that, had I been the least disposed to
somnambulism, it would have broken out under such favorable
auspices, and I should have haunted McGinnis's Court. My
speculations as to the origin of the court were not altogether gratuitous,
for by means of this window I once saw the Past, as through a glass
darkly. It was a Celtic shadow that early one morning obstructed my
ancient lights. It seemed to belong to an individual with a pea-coat, a
stubby pipe, and bristling beard. He was gazing intently at the court,
resting on a heavy cane, somewhat in the way that heroes dramatically
visit the scenes of their boyhood. As there was little of architectural
beauty in the court, I came to the conclusion that it was McGinnis
looking after his property. The fact that he carefully kicked a broken
bottle out of the road somewhat strengthened me in the opinion. But he
presently walked away, and the court knew him no more. He probably
collected his rents by proxy--if he collected them at all.
Beyond Melons, of whom all this is purely introductory, there was little
to interest the most sanguine and hopeful nature. In common with all
such localities, a great deal of washing was done, in comparison with
the visible results. There was always some thing whisking on the line,
and always some thing whisking through the court, that looked as if it
ought to be there. A fish-geranium--of all plants kept for the recreation
of mankind, certainly the greatest illusion--straggled under the window.

Through its dusty leaves I caught the first glance of Melons.
His age was about seven. He looked older from the venerable whiteness
of his head, and it was impossible to conjecture his size, as he always
wore clothes apparently belonging to some shapely youth of nineteen.
A pair of pantaloons, that, when sustained by a single suspender,
completely equipped him, formed his every-day suit. How, with this
lavish superfluity of clothing, he managed to perform the surprising
gymnastic feats it has been my privilege to witness, I have never been
able to tell. His "turning the crab," and other minor dislocations, were
always attended with success. It was not an unusual sight at any hour of
the day to find Melons suspended on a line, or to see his venerable head
appearing above the roofs of the outhouses. Melons knew the exact
height of every fence in the vicinity, its facilities for scaling, and the
possibility of seizure on the other side. His more peaceful and quieter
amusements consisted in dragging a disused boiler by a large string,
with hideous outcries, to imaginary fires.
Melons was not gregarious in his habits. A few youth of his own age
sometimes called upon him, but they eventually became abusive, and
their visits were more strictly predatory incursions for old bottles and
junk which formed the staple of McGinnis's Court. Overcome by
loneliness one day, Melons inveigled a blind harper into the court. For
two hours did that wretched man prosecute his unhallowed calling,
unrecompensed, and going round and round