Twain on a Marshal of Many Talents

A stable man. Someone with police duties. The official on a ship who oversees the carrying out of punishments.

“Toward dawn we got under way again, and presently as we sat with raised curtains enjoying our early morning smoke and contemplating the first splendor of the rising sun as it swept down the long array of mountain peaks, flushing and gilding crag after crag and summit after summit, as if the invisible Creator reviewed his gray veterans and they saluted with a smile, we hove in sight of South Pass City. The hotelkeeper, the postmaster, the blacksmith, the mayor, the constable, the city marshal and the principal citizen and property holder, all came out and greeted us cheerily, and we gave him good day. He gave us a little Indian news, and a little Rocky Mountain news, and we gave him some plains information in return. He then retired to his lonely grandeur and we climbed on up among the bristling peaks and the ragged clouds. South Pass City consisted of four log cabins, one of which was unfinished, and the gentleman with all those offices and titles was the chiefest of the ten citizens of the place. Think of hotelkeeper, postmaster, blacksmith, mayor, constable, city marshal, and principal citizen all condensed into one person and crammed into one skin. Bemis said he was ‘a perfect Allen’s revolver of dignities.’ And he said that if he were to die as postmaster, or as blacksmith, or as postmaster and blacksmith both, the people might stand it, but if he were to die all over, it would be a frightful loss to the community.”

Mark Twain, Roughing It (1871).

Pickers and Pickers

Someone who picks or gathers fruit, flowers, roots, hops, cotton, potatoes, and other produce. Someone who picks through rags, refuse, and garbage, looking for things of some worth. A thief who makes off with anything that isn't nailed down.

“Forty-five thousand men and women subsisting on pickings from household rubbish. There are pickers and pickers, grades, aristocrats and plebeians in this profession as in every other.”

Daily News (1893).

Spinmeister

A dizzier.

“The importance of this story derives from the fact that the campaign of lying about Upton Sinclair was ordered by the biggest business men in California and paid for with millions of their dollars. It was carried out by the best newspaper brains, the best advertising brains, the best motion picture brains, the best political brains—so on all the way down the line. In putting the facts before the public I am not whining, or seeking sympathy; I am telling the people of California what was done to them by their big business masters; I am telling the people of the other forty-seven States, what they have to expect when their turn comes. For this old dying system has a great deal of vicious life in it yet. It will fight to its last gasp, and this is the way it will fight; all this bitter sneering, these slanders and forgeries, these cruel falsehoods taken up and repeated millions of times over, pounded into the feeble minds of poor people who are overworked and over-driven, and have very little education, and often no power to absorb education. If you take this book rightly you will consider it a textbook of military strategy; a book of maps and other data needed for the planning of forty-nine campaigns of the future: forty-eight of these to take our States out of the hands of organized greed and knavery, and the forty-ninth, the biggest of all, to take our nation out of the same hands.”

Upton Sinclair, I, Candidate for Governor and How I Got Licked (1934).

Lamb on Swineherd

A herder of pigs or hogs. A master of the swinish and porcine.

“The manuscript goes on to say, that the art of roasting, or rather broiling (which I take to be the elder brother) was accidentally discovered in the manner following. The swine-herd, Ho-ti, having gone out into the woods one morning, as his manner was, to collect mast for his hogs, left his cottage in the care of his eldest son Bo-bo, a great lubberly boy, who being fond of playing with fire, as younkers of his age commonly are, let some sparks escape into a bundle of straw, which kindling quickly, spread the conflagration over every part of their poor mansion, till it was reduced to ashes. Together with the cottage (a sorry antediluvian make-shift of a building, you may think it), what was of much more importance, a fine litter of new-farrowed pigs, no less than nine in number, perished.”

Charles Lamb, The Essays of Elia, “A Dissertation upon Roast Pig” (1823).