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Title: The Smut
Author: Juliana Horatia Ewing [
More Titles by Ewing]
The councillor's chimney smoked. It always did smoke when the wind was
in the north. A Smut came down and settled on a brass knob of the
fender, which the councillor's housekeeper had polished that very
morning. The shining surface reflected the Smut, and he seemed to
himself to be two.
"How large I am!" said he, with complacency. "I am quite a double Smut.
I am bigger than any other. If I were a little harder, I should be a
cinder, not to say a coal. Decidedly my present position is too low for
so important an individual. Will no one recognize my merit and elevate
me?"
But no one did. So the Smut determined to raise himself, and taking
advantage of a draught under the door, he rose upwards and alighted on
the nose of the councillor, who was reading the newspaper.
"This is a throne, a crimson one," said the Smut, "made on purpose for
me. But somehow I do not seem so large as I was."
The truth is that the councillor (though a great man) was, in respect
of his nose, but mortal. It was not made of brass; it would not (as the
cabinet-makers say) take a polish. It did not reflect the object seated
on it.
"It is unfortunate," said the Smut. "But it is not fit that an
individual of my position (almost, as I may say, a coal) should have a
throne that does not shine. I must certainly go higher."
But unhappily for the Smut, at this moment the councillor became aware
of something on his nose. He put up his hand and rubbed the place. In an
instant the poor Smut was destroyed. But it died on the throne, which
was some consolation.
Moral.
More chimneys smoke than the councillor's chimney, and there are many
Smuts in the world. Let those who have found a brass knob be satisfied.
[The end]
Juliana Horatia G Ewing's short story: Smut
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