# The Art of Self Defense



## Bill Mattocks (Jan 3, 2010)

*http://tiny.cc/qlAbw*

Harper's New Monthly Magazine
December, 1894

THE ART OF SELF-DEFENCE.

He was fairly tall, broad-shouldered, and heavy-limbed, and he had a general appearance of muscularity that created a favorable impression as he strode up to the bar at the Imperial Palace Hotel in Wildcat City, Montana. That is to say, it would have created a favorable impression if it had been properly backed up by his attire; but his clothes were of a kind that no well-regulated Wildcatter could endure. They were store clothes, cut in the fashion of Chicago, and they proclaimed him a tenderfoot. He carried a good-sized grip-sack, which he deposited in front of the bar. Then he turned, and gently elevating the brim of his hat by a dexterous fillip with his second finger, he said, in confident tones,

_"Gentlemen, step up and nominate your poison."
_
Sago Bill looked gravely at Old Missouri, as one who should say, _"What is this?"_ Then they both hitched up their pistol-holsters and led the entire delegation to the bar. Not a word was said until the empty glasses were replaced on the damp counter. That being done, Old Missouri looked calmly at the newcomer and said,

_"Stranger, I reckon you're new to these parts."_
_
"Right you are, pard,"_ said the tenderfoot, whose manner of speech was certainly _"tough"_ enough to satisfy the most captious critic.

_"An' might I go so fur as to enquire whar you come from?"_ continued Old Missouri, with great urbanity.

_"Sure, Mike,"_ was the brisk reply. _"I come from the core o' the world, Chicago."_

_"An' wot's your game?"_

_"Well, here's my business card."_

With that the stranger handed to Old Missouri a bit of pasteboard, on which were printed the words _"Prof. Jim Blakely, champion middle-weight of America."_ Old Missouri read the card gravely, and said,

_"I reckon from this here that you're a fightin'gent."_

_"You bet your best boots I am,"_ answered the Professor. _"I've knocked out the whole gang East and West, and now I'm a-confinin' of my attention to edicatin' other fellows. That's why I'm called Perfesser."_

_"An' you've come here&#8212;"_

_"To teach the manly art o' self-defence. I guess there ain't no part o' the country where a man needs to know how to put up his hands more'n he does right out here."_

_"S'posin' you was to give us a specimen o' your game right now," _suggested Sago Bill, while Old Missouri nodded in solemn approval.

_"All right, my son,"_ said the Professor, opening his bag and pulling out a set of boxing gloves. _"Will some gent oblige by puttin' on a pair o' these?"_

Yellow Jake accommodated the Professor, who had taken off his coat and pulled on his gloves.

_"Put up your hands,"_ he said, and Jake obeyed, only to receive a stinging blow between the eyes.

_"You want to look out fur them."_ said the Professor, _"an' get your hands in the way so as to stop 'em."_

Yellow Jake held his hands before his face, and the Professor jovially punched him in the spot known to the elect as _"the wind."_ That made Jake angry, and he hit out wildly, only to be thumped viciously.

_"Hole on!"_ remarked Old Missouri. _"The specimen are puffickly satisfactory. Now, Perfesser, d'ye see this?"_

And Old Missouri pulled out his _"gun."_

_"Yes,"_ said the Professor, somewhat dubiously.

_"Waal,"_ continued Old Missouri, _"it are loaded with seven cartridges, an' now [click, click] it are cocked, an' now it are p'inted at your head."_

_"Don't,"_ said the Professor; _"it might go off."_

_"That are so,"_ admitted Old Missouri; _"it might. Now take off them gloves."_

_"What?"_

_"Take 'em off. That's a good boy. Now go over yonder an' face that door. Now slug it the way you slugged Y'aller Jake."
_
Old Missouri stood a little to one side of the Professor, with the _"gun" _pointed at his head. The pugilist struck out modestly.

_"That don't go,"_ said Missouri. _"Hit 'er harder, Perfesser, or I'll pull."_

The Professor hit harder, and the blood flowed from his knuckles.

_"Harder an' quicker," _said Missouri. And for ten minutes he kept the unfortunate Professor pounding away at the heavy oak door, till his hands were bruised and cut dreadfully.

_"Now, my son&#8212;I b'lieve that's wot you called me&#8212;you pack them playthings away into your grip, an' you climb right out o' here on the fust stage,"_ said Old Missonri, impressively. _"An' w'en you want to teach the art o' self-defence, as you call it, in this part o' the country, you carry one o' these. It'll beat four o' them every time."_

And the Professor hurried back to Chicago.


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## Andy Moynihan (Jan 3, 2010)

Somewhere along the way we as a country appear to have lost that bit of wisdom.

It does however appear to be resurfacing even in the most hopelessly overrun states.


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