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Updated: May 20, 2025
And, lo, when the pursuit ceased and we had gained the machine, there, hiding behind it, was the frightened calf. Brentwood warned us to be cautious, and crept up on it like a wolf or tiger. Knife and cleaver had been left behind, but Brentwood still had his hands, and over and over on the ground he rolled with the poor little calf as he throttled it.
He was armed with a huge bowie-knife, which he carried slung like a sword. It was at least two feet long, heavy as a butcher's cleaver, and was thrust into a sheath of undressed hide. He called this pleasant instrument an Arkansas toothpick. He bestrode, as well as his diminutive legs would let him, an Indian pony as shaggy as himself.
To complete it, she seated herself in a chair by the side of the little chair, and protectingly drew under her arm the spare hand that crept up to her. 'This is what your loving Jenny Wren calls the best time in the day and night, said the person of the house. Her real name was Fanny Cleaver; but she had long ago chosen to bestow upon herself the appellation of Miss Jenny Wren.
When this period of worship is over the "josh-house" disappears, and the idols are unceremoniously stowed away among other useless lumber. He shaves with an instrument resembling a butcher's cleaver in miniature. Nature generally denies him beard, so he shaves what a sailor would term the fore and after part of his head. He reaps his hirsute crop dry, using no lather.
With that he crept gently down the stairs. In a corner, at the foot of the staircase, lay sundry matters, a few faggots, and a cleaver. He caught up the last. "Aha," he muttered; "and there's the sledge-hammer somewhere for Walters." Leaning himself against the door, he then applied his eye to a chink which admitted a dim view of the room within, lighted fitfully by the fire. "What have we here?
Had you dropped into the Spring Garden Market in Philadelphia forty years ago, you would have found a portly gentleman, clad in a white apron, and armed with a cleaver, presiding over a shop decorated with the design "Peter A. B. Widener, Butcher."
He heard dark stories of Ribbonism, and was gravely assured that if Mr. Cleaver's Catholic coachman, otherwise an excellent servant, were ordered to shoot his master, he would obey. Very likely Mr. Cleaver was right, though the event did not occur.
But if the butcher neglect to do this, and you have no cleaver with which to do it, it is better to cut slices down to the ribs parallel with the backbone, as directed in the saddle of mutton, than to suffer the annoyance of hacking at the joints. Before cooking a loin of pork, gash through the fat between the ribs; this will give more of the crisp fat, and will aid in separating the ribs.
The barber collects his razors together and worships them with similar rites. The writing-master sacrifices to the iron pen or style, with which he writes upon the palm-leaf the tailor to his needles, the weaver to his loom, the butcher to his cleaver.
"An thou would'st chop it with this cleaver thou wert a good fellow," continued the cook, as, having got the beast upon the bench, he surveyed its goodly proportions, and handed the cleaver to his newly-found helpmate. "Nay, I am no butcher, I am but a woodsman, and should cut it wrong, I fear," returned Manners, as he laid the chopper down. "Were it a tree "
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