One youngster made a political speech from the top of
the table; another impersonated Hamlet; and finally Elder Brown was
lifted into a chair, and sang a camp-meeting song. This was rendered
by him with startling effect. He stood upright, with his hat jauntily
knocked to one side, and his coat tails ornamented with a couple of
show-bills, kindly pinned on by his admirers. In his left hand he
waved the stub of a cigar, and on his back was an admirable
representation of Balaam's head, executed by some artist with billiard
chalk.
As the elder sang his favorite hymn, "I'm glad salvation's free," his
stentorian voice awoke the echoes. Most of the company rolled upon the
floor in convulsions of laughter.
The exhibition came to a close by the chair overturning. Again Elder
Brown fell into his beloved hat. He arose and shouted: "Whoa, Balaam!"
Again he seized the nearest weapon, and sought satisfaction. The young
gentleman with political sentiments was knocked under the table, and
Hamlet only escaped injury by beating the infuriated elder into the
street.
What next? Well, I hardly know.
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