b'\n:\xe2\x96\xa0 \n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nMm* \\.f *\xc2\xbb: \n\n\n\n*? \xc2\xbb\xe2\x80\xa2\xe2\x80\xa2\xe2\x80\x94 \n\n\n\n^ \n\n\n\n\nA \xe2\x80\xa2 t I B <$> Q ^ c O " C \xe2\x80\x9e ^ \n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nvv \n\n\n\nr ^cy \n\n\n\n\xc2\xa3^ \n\n\n\n\n\n\n^o 1 \n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nPUBLIC AND PARLOR READINGS \n\n\n\nPEOSE AJTO POETET \n\n\n\nFOR THE USE OF \n\n\n\nBEADING CLUBS \n\n\n\nPUBLIC AND SOCIAL ENTEPtTAINMENT. \n\n\n\nHUMOROUS. \n\n\n\nEDITED BY \n\n\n\nLEWIS B. MONROE. \n\n\n\nBOSTON \nLEE AND SHEPARD PUBLISHERS \n\n1899 \n\n\n\n\n\xc2\xab*\xe2\x96\xa0& \n\n\n\n29639 \n\n\n\nEntered, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1871, \n\nBy LEWIS B. MONROE, \nIn the Office of the Librarian of Congress, at "Washington. \n\nCopyeight, 1899, by Adeline F. Moneoe. \n\n\n\nAll Eights Reserved. \n\n\n\nHumoeous Readings. \n\n\n\nTWO COPIED KSCCiVcD, \n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nPREFACE. \n\n\n\nONE of the great needs in our busy American com- \nmunity is innocent recreation. As a relief from the \ncares of business, as a substitute for exciting and dan- \ngerous pleasures, as diversion in the quiet workshop, as a \nmeans of cheering the aged and infirm, as amusement for \nthe family and social circle, as entertainment for the Ly- \nceum and Literary Club, and finally as a personal accom- \nplishment, what is more desirable than reading aloud ? \n\nIn this volume are thrown together choice specimens \nof wit and humor found in American and English litera- \nture, with an occasional dash from original sources. In \nmaking a selection, the question has not been asked, Has \n: t passed the ordeal of the learned critics ?. but, Will it \ninspire an innocent laugh? If so, it is a benefaction, \nand it shall have the wings of this book to fly abroad, \npossibly in a wider circle, at least into some little nooks \nand corners where it would not otherwise have alighted, \nand accomplish there its genial mission. \n\nEeaders desiring selections of a more serious character \nmay find something to their taste in the forthcoming \nvolumes of this series. \n\n\n\nIV PKEFACE. \n\nMy thanks are due the distinguished authors and pub- \nlishers to whom I am indebted for extracts. I am under \nespecial obligations to Messrs. James K. Osgood and Com- \npany for permission to use selections from their copy- \nright editions of the works of Fields, Holmes, Lowell, \nTrowbridge, Saxe, Mrs. Stowe, Murray, and Bret Harte. \n\nL. B. M. \n\n\n\nCONTENTS. \n\n\n\nPagh \n\nA Senator Entangled James de Mitte ... 1 \n\nMonsieur Tonson 7 \n\nFather Phil\'s Collection Samuel Lover .... 12 \n\nDarius Green and his Flying-Machine . J. T. Trowbridge . . 22 \n\nMusic at Mrs. Ponto\'s Thackeray 30 \n\nPraise op Little Women Juan Ruiz de Eita . . 32 \n\nCrossing the Carry ......... Rev. W. H. E. Murray 33 \n\nDame Fredegonde Aytoun 40 \n\nOur Guide in Genoa and Rome .... Mark Twain .... 42 \n\n" Jim." F. Bret Earte ... 46 \n\nJoys and Sorrows of Eggs Rev. E. W. Beecher . 48 \n\nMore Hullahbaloo ! Thomas Eood .... 52 \n\nLord Dundreary Proposing F. J. Skill 57 \n\nPyramus and Thisbe John G. Saxe .... 63 \n\nSpeech-Making 66 \n\nThe Courtin\' J. R. Lowell .... 68 \n\nMr. Pickwick\'s Dilemma Dickens 71 \n\nThe Baker\'s Reply to the Needle-Pedler 75 \n\nThe Twins 76 \n\nTravelling under the Care of a Gentleman Gail Eamilton . ... 77 \n\nConjugal Love R. S. Sharpe .... 79 \n\nTopsy\' s First Lesson E. B. Stotoe .... 81 \n\nMolly Muldoon 86 \n\nThe Pursuit of Legal Advice under Dif- \nficulties. \xe2\x80\x94 A Family Scene .... Theodore Eook ... 91 \nThe Knife- Grinder George Qmving ... 95 \n\n\n\nVI CONTENTS. \n\nJosh Billings on Gongs 90 \n\nAn Orator\'s first Speech in Parliament . Alexander Bell . . 97 \n\nThe Dumb-Waiter Frederic S. Cozzens 98 \n\nLove and Murder 101 \n\nFemale Tenderness Douglas Jerrold . . 103 \n\nJudging by Appearances 104 \n\nA Dutchman in England Alexander M. Bell . 105 \n\nThe Throes of Science F. Bret Earte . . 112 \n\nThe Difficulty about that Dog 113 \n\nHigher 118 \n\nA Frenchman on Macbeth 119 \n\nThe Lost Heir Thomas Hood ... 120 \n\nThe Quiet Mr. Smith Fanny Fern . . . 124 \n\nThe Maiden\'s Request Lover 125 \n\nMy first Interview with Artemus Ward Mark Twain ... 126 \n\nWax Work 129 \n\nOration on the Crisis 132 \n\nThe Three Sailors Thackeray .... 133 \n\nMr. Pickwick\'s Romantic Adventure with a \n\nmiddle-aged Lady in yellow Curl-Papers Dickens 135 \n\nThe Alarmed Skipper J. T. Fields . . . 142 \n\nThe Gridiron Sam. Lover ... 144 \n\nSong of Saratoga John G. Saxe . . . 147 \n\nThe Bewitched Clock 148 \n\nThe Widow G. F. Gellert ... 151 \n\nA Dry Experiment John Neal .... 154 \n\nOrator Puff Thomas Moore . . 156 \n\nA Night with a Ventriloquist Henry Cockton . .157 \n\nThe Charcoal-Man J. T. Trowbridge . 166 \n\nA Lesson in Reading Leigh Hunt. . . . 167 \n\nScotch Words Robert Leighton . . 168 \n\nHezekiah Bedott F. M. Whitcher . . 171 \n\nTo the Terrestrial Globe 174 \n\nLord Dundreary at Brighton, and the \n\nRiddle he made there 174 \n\n\n\nCONTENTS. vii \n\nTrtfi Stuttering Lass J. G. Saxe .... 178 \n\nSigns and Omens 179 \n\nThe Kiss in School W. P. Palmer . . 180 \n\nThe Great Beep-Contract Mark Twain . . . 181 \n\nThe Retort 188 \n\nA Rural Lesson in Rhetoric 189 \n\nThe Big Oyster George, Arnold . . 190 \n\nChicken on the Brain . . 193 \n\nThe University op Gottingen George Canning . . 194 \n\nAppeal to the Kind Symmetrie of our \n\nNature 196 \n\nThe Frenchman and the Rats 197 \n\nEpisode in the Life of Miss Tabitha Tre- \n\nnoodle Belgravia .... 199 \n\nThe Facetious Story of John Gilpin . . Cowper 211 \n\nThe Hypochondriac Dr. Valentine. . . 216 \n\nTo the " Sextant." 217 \n\nArtemus Ward\'s Fourth of July Oration C. F. Browne . . . 219 \n\nThe Green Mountain Justice 220 \n\nA most Extraordinary Calamity that be- \nfell Mr. Winkle Dickens 223 \n\nThe Pied Piper of Hamelin R. Browning . . . 229 \n\nThe Widow Bedott\'s Poetry F. M. Whitcher . . 237 \n\nThe Domicile erected by John 241 \n\nMelting Moments 243 \n\nTruth in Parenthesis T.Hood 245 \n\nA Tough Snuff Story \xe2\x80\xa2 Howard Paul . . . 246 \n\nThe little Vulgar Boy \xc2\xab, Rev. R. H. Barham . 248 \n\nA Literary Question discussed 251 \n\nExclamatory 253 \n\n"How Mother did It" 255 \n\nThe Whistle Robert Story . . . 256 \n\nPrince Henry and Falstaff Shakespeare . . . 257 \n\nOpera Music for the Piano 261 \n\nThe Origin of Roast Pig Charles Lamb . . . 263 \n\n\n\n\xe2\x80\xa2vail CONTENTS. \n\nHere she goes, and there she goes . . . James Nack . . . 267 \n\nEumpty Dumpty Mother Goose for Old Folks 272 \n\nA Ventriloquist on a Stage-Coach . . . Henry Cockton . . 273 \n\nA Helpmate A. Melville Bell . . 281 \n\nHenry V.\'s Wooing Shakespeare . . . 283 \n\nThe One-Hoss Shay; or, the Deacon\'s Mas- \nterpiece 0. W. Holmes. . . 287 \n\nMrs. Caudle urging the Need of Spring \n\nClothing Jerrold 291 \n\nHans in a Fix 293 \n\nVictuals and Drink Mother Goose for Old Folks 294 \n\nThe Country Squire Bentley Ballads . . 295 \n\nThe Perplexed Housekeeper 296 \n\nThe Blind Men and the Elephant . . . J. G. Saxe . . . . 298 \n\nGape-Seed 300 \n\nThe Good Wife 301 \n\nA Leap-Year Wooing David Macrae . . 303 \n\nThe Menagerie J- Honeywell . . . 317 \n\nBase Ball 319 \n\nKitty 322 \n\nGetting under Way Mark Twain ... 322 \n\nMiss Maloney on the Chinese Question . Mary Mopes Dodge 324 \n\n\n\nPUBLIC AND PARLOR READINGS, \n\n\n\nA SENATOR ENTANGLED. \xe2\x80\x94 James de Mille. \n\nOUR Senator was a man who by mere force of character, \napart from the adventitious aids of culture and refine- \nment, had attained wealth and position. He found it agree- \nable \xe2\x80\x94 as so many other Americans have done \xe2\x80\x94 to take a \ntrip abroad. \n\nHe chanced to be in Florence during the recent struggle for \nItalian independence. His friend, the Minister, took him to \nthe houses of the leaders of society, and introduced him as \nan eminent American statesman and member of the Senate. \n\nCould any recommendation be equal to that 1 Republi- \ncanism ran high. America was synonymous with the Prom- \nised Land. To be a statesman in America was as great a \ndignity as to be prince in any empire on earth. \n\nSo if the Florentines received the Senator with boundless \nhospitality, it was because they admired his country, and \nreverenced his dignity. They liked to consider the presence \nof the American Minister and Senator as an expression of \nthe good-will of the American government. They were de- \ntermined to lionize him. It was a new sensation to the \nSenator. \n\nFor two or three days he was the subject of an eager \ncontest among all the leaders of society. At length there \nappeared upon the scene the great Victrix in a thousand con- \ntests such as these. The others fell back discomfited, and \nthe Senator became her prey. \n\nThe Countess di Nottinero was not exactly a Recamier, but \n\n1 A \n\n\n\n2 PUBLIC AND PARLOR READINGS. \n\nshe was a remarkably brilliant woman, and the acknowledged \nleader of the liberal part of Florentine society. \n\nShe was generally known as La Cica, a nickname given by \nher enemies, though what " Cica " meant no one could tel) \nexactly. \n\nLa Cica did her part marvellously well. She did not speak \nthe best English in the world ; yet that could not account fox \nall the singular remarks which she made. Still less could it \naccount for the tender interest of her manner. She had re- \nmarkably bright eyes. Why wandered those eyes so often to \nhis, and why did they beam with such devotion, \xe2\x80\x94 beaming \nfor a moment only to fall in sweet innocent confusion % La \nCica had the most fascinating manners, yet they were often \nperplexing to the Senator\'s soul. The little offices which she \nrequired of him did not appear, in his matter-of-fact eyes, as \nstrictly prudent. The innate gallantry which he possessed \ncarried him bravely along through much that was bewildering \nto his nerves. Yet he was often in danger of running away \nin terror. \n\n" The Countess," he thought, " is a most remarkable fine \nwoman ; but she does use her eyes uncommon, and I do wish \nshe would n\'t be quite so demonstrative." \n\nThe good Senator had never before encountered a thorough \nwoman of the world, and was as ignorant as a child of the \ninnumerable little harmless arts by which the power of such \na one is extended and secured. At last the Senator came to \nthis conclusion, \xe2\x80\x94 La Cica was desperately in love with him. \n\nShe appeared to be a widow. At least she had no husband \nthat he had ever seen. Now if the poor Cica was hopelessly \nin love, it must be stopped at once. But let it be done deli- \ncately, not abruptly. \n\nOne evening they walked on the balcony of La Cicds noble \nresidence. She was sentimental, devoted, charming. \n\nThe conversation of a fascinating woman does not sound \nso well when reported as it is when uttered. Her power is \nin her tone, her glance, her manner. Who can catch the \nevanescent beauty of her expression or the deep tenderness \nof her well-modulated voice? \xe2\x80\x94 who indeed 1 ? \n\n\n\nA SENATOR ENTANGLED. o \n\n" Does ze scene please you, my Senator 1 " \n\n" Very much indeed." \n\n" Youar countrymen haf tol me zey would like to stay here \nalio way." \n\n" It is a beautiful place." \n\n" Did you aiver see any thin moaire loafely 1 " And the \nCountess looked full in his face. \n\n" Never," said the Senator, earnestly. The next instant he \nblushed. He had been betrayed into a compliment. \n\nThe Countess sighed. \n\n" Helas ! my Senator, that it is not pairmitted to moartals \nto sociate as zey would laike." \n\n" \' Your Senator,\' " thought the gentleman*thus addressed ; \n" how fond, how tender, \xe2\x80\x94 poor thing ! poor thing ! " \n\n" I wish that Italy was nearer to the States," said he. \n\n" How I adamiar youar style of mind, so difFerente from ze \nItaliana ! You are so strong, \xe2\x80\x94 so nobile. Yet would I laike \nto see moar of ze poetic in you." \n\n" I always loved poetry, marm," said the Senator, desper- \nately. \n\n" Ah \xe2\x80\x94 good \xe2\x80\x94 nais \xe2\x80\x94 eccelente. I am plees at zat," cried \nthe Countess, with much animation. "You would loafe it \nmoar eef you knew Italiano. Your langua ees not sufficiente \nmusicale for poatry." \n\n" It is not so soft a language as the /talian." \n\n"Ah \xe2\x80\x94 no \xe2\x80\x94 not so soft. Very well. And what theenka \nyou of ze Italiano 1 " \n\n" The sweetest language I ever heard in all my born days." \n\n"Ah now \xe2\x80\x94 you hev not heard much of ze Italiano, my \nSenator." \n\n" I have heard you speak often," said the Senator, naively. \n\n"Ah, you compliment ! I sot you was aboove flattera." \n\nAnd the Countess playfully tapped his arm with her little \nfan. \n\n" What Ingelis poet do you loafe best 1 " \n\n" Poet 1 English poet 1 " said the Senator, with some sur- \nprise. "0 \xe2\x80\x94 why, marm, I think Watts is about the best of \nthe lot I" \n\n\n\n4 PUBLIC AND PARLOE READINGS. \n\n" Watt 1 Was he a poet ? I did not know zat. He who \ninvented ze stim-injaine 1 And yet if he was a poet it is natu- \nrale zat you loafe him best." \n\n" Steam-engine 1 no ! This one was a minister." \n\n" A meeneestaire 1 Ah ! an abbe 1 I know him not. Yet \nI haf read mos of all youar poets." \n\n" He made up hymns, marm, and psalms, \xe2\x80\x94 for instance, \n< Watts\' s Divine Hymns and Spiritual Songs.\'" \n\n" Songs ? Spirituelle 1 Ah, I mus at once procuaire ze \nworks of Watt, which was favorit poet of my Senator." \n\n" A lady of such intelligence as you would like the poet \nWatts," said the Senator, firmly. " He is the best known by \nfar of all our poets." \n\n" What ! better zan Sakespeare, Milton, Bairon ? You much \nsurprass me." \n\n" Better known and better loved than the whole lot. Why, \nhis poetry is known by heart through all England and \nAmerica." \n\n" Merciful Heaven ! what you tell me ! ees eet possbl ! An \nyet he is not known here efen by name. It would please me \nmooch, my Senator, to haire you make one quotatione. Know \nyou Watt 1 Tell to me some words of his which I may re- \nmembaire." \n\n" I have a shocking bad memory." \n\n" Bad memora ! 0, but you remember somethin, zis mos \nbeautful charm nait \xe2\x80\x94 you haf a nobile soul \xe2\x80\x94 you mus be \nafFecta by beauty \xe2\x80\x94 by ze ideal. Make for a me one quota- \ntione." \n\nAnd she rested her little hand on the Senator\'s arm, and \nlooked up imploringly in his face. \n\nThe Senator looked foolish. He felt even more so. Here \nwas a beautiful woman, by act and look showing a tender \ninterest in him. Perplexing, \xe2\x80\x94 but very nattering, after all. \nSo he replied, \xe2\x80\x94 \n\n" You will not let me refuse you anything." \n\n" Aha ! you are vera willin to refuse. It is difficulty for \nme to excitaire youar regards. You are fill with the grands \n\n\n\nA SENATOK ENTANGLED. 5 \n\nideas. But come, \xe2\x80\x94 will you spik for me some from youi \nfavorit Watt 1 " \n\n" Well, if you wish it so much," said the Senator, kindly ; \nand he hesitated. \n\n" Ah, \xe2\x80\x94 I do wis it so much ! " \n\n" Ehem ! " \n\n" Begin," said the Countess. " Behold me. I listen. I \nhear every sin, and will remembaire it forava." \n\nThe only thing that the Senator could think of was a \nverse which had been running in his head for the last few \ndays, its measured rhythm keeping time with every occupa- \ntion : \xe2\x80\x94 \n\n" \' My willing soul would stay \xe2\x80\x94 \' " \n\n" Stop one moment," said the Countess. "I weesh to learn \nit from you " ; and she looked fondly and tenderly up, but \ninstantly dropped her eyes. \n\n" \' Ma willina sol wooda sta \xe2\x80\x94 \' " \n\n" \' In such a frame as this,\' " prompted the Senator. \n\n" \' Een socha framas zees.\' Wait \xe2\x80\x94 \' Ma willina sol wooda \nsta in socha frama zees.\' Ah, appropriat ! but could I hope \nzat you were true to zose lines, my Senator 1 Well 1 " \n\n" \' And sit and sing herself away,\' " said the Senator, in a \nYaltering voice, and breaking out into a cold perspiration for \nfear of committing himself by such uncommonly strong lan- \nguage. \n\n"\'Ansit ansin hassaf awai,\'" repeated the Countess, her \nface lighting up with a sweetly conscious expression. \n\nThe Senator paused. \n\n"Well?" \n\n"I \xe2\x80\x94 ehem ! I forget." \n\nu Forget % Impossible ! " \n\n"I do really." \n\n" Ah now ! Forget ! I see by youar face \xe2\x80\x94 you desave. \nSay on." \n\nThe Countess again gently touched his arm with both oi \nher little hands, and held it as though she would clasp it. \n\n" Have you fear 1 Ah, cruel J " \n\n\n\n6 PUBLIC AND PARLOR READINGS. \n\nThe Senator turned pale, but, finding refusal impossible, \nboldly finished : \xe2\x80\x94 \n\n" \' To everlasting bliss \' \xe2\x80\x94 there ! " \n\n" \' To affarlastin blees thar.\' Stop. I repeat it all : \' Ma \nwillina sol wooda sta in socha framas zees, ansit ansin hassaf \nawai to affarlastin blees thar.\' Am I right ?" \n\n" Yes," said the Senator, meekly. \n\n"I knew you war a poetic sola," said the Countess, con- \nfidingly. " You are honesto \xe2\x80\x94 true \xe2\x80\x94 you cannot desave. \nWhen you spik I can beliv you. Ah, my Senator ! an you \ncan spik zis poetry ! \xe2\x80\x94 at soch a taime ! I nefare knew \nbefoare* zat you was so impassione ! \xe2\x80\x94 an you air so artaful ! \nYou breeng ze confersazione to beauty \xe2\x80\x94 to poatry \xe2\x80\x94 to ze \npoet Watt \xe2\x80\x94 so you may spik verses mos impassione ! Ah ! \nwhat do you mean] Santissima madre ! how I wish you spik \nItaliano." \n\nThe Countess drew nearer to him, but her approach only \ndeepened his perplexity. \n\n" How that poor thing does love me ! " sighed the Senator. \n" Law bless it ! she can\'t help it, \xe2\x80\x94 can\'t help it nohow. She \nis a goner ; and what can I do 1 I \'11 have to leave Florence." \n\nThe Countess was standing close beside him in a tender \nmood waiting for him to break the silence. How could he 1 \nHe had been uttering words which sounded to her like love ; \nand she \xe2\x80\x94 "a widow ! a widow ! a widow ! wretched man that \nlam!" \n\nThere was a pause. The longer it lasted the more awkward \nthe Senator felt. What upon earth was he to do or say 1 \nWhat business had he to go and quote poetry to widows \xe2\x80\x9e \nWhat an old fool he must be ! But the Countess was very \nfar from feeling awkward. Assuming an elegant attitude she \nlooked up, her face expressing the tenderest solicitude. \n\n" What ails my Senator 1 " \n\n" Why, the fact is, marm \xe2\x80\x94 I feel sad \xe2\x80\x94 at leaving Flor- \nence. I must go shortly. My wife has written summoning \nme home. The children are down with the measles." \n\nbase fabrication ! false Senator ! There was n\'t a word \n\n\n\nMONSIEUK TONSON. 7 \n\nof truth in that remark. You spoke so because you wished \nLa Cica to know that you had a wife and family. Yet it was \nvery badly done. \n\nLa Cica changed neither her attitude nor her expression. \nEvidently the existence of his wife and the melancholy situ- \nation of his unfortunate children awakened no sympathy. \n\n" But, my Senator, \xe2\x80\x94 did you not say you wooda seeng \nyousellef away to affarlasteen belees 1 " \n\n" marm, it was a quotation, \xe2\x80\x94 only a quotation." \n\nBut at this critical juncture the conversation was broken up \nby the arrival of a number of ladies and gentlemen. \n\nThe Dodge Club* \n\n\n\n\n\n\nMONSIEUR TONSON. \n\nTHERE lived, as Fame reports, in days of yore, \nAt least some fifty years ago, or more, \nA pleasant wight on Town, yclept Tom King, \nA fellow that was clever at a joke, \nExpert in all the arts to tease and smoke ; \n\nIn short, for strokes of humor quite the thing. \n\nTo many a jovial club this King was known, \nWith whom his active wit unrivalled shone : \n\nChoice spirit, grave free-mason, buck and blood, \nWould crowd his stories and bon-mots to hear, \nAnd none a disappointment e\'er could fear, \n\nHis humor flowed in such a copious flood. \n\nTo him a frolic was a high delight : \n\nA frolic he would hunt for, day and night, \n\nCareless how prudence on the sport might frown. \nIf e\'er a pleasant mischief sprang to view, \nAt once o\'er hedge and ditch away he flew, \n\nNor left the game till he had run it down. \n\n\n\nPUBLIC AND PAELOR READINGS. \n\nOne night, our hero, rambling with a friend, \nNear famed St. Giles\'s chanced his course to bend, \n\nJust by that spot, the Seven Dials hight. \n\'T was silence all around, and clear the coast, \nThe watch, as usual, dozing on his post, \n\nAnd scarce a lamp displayed a twinkling light. \n\nAround this place there lived the numerous clans \nOf honest, plodding, foreign artisans, \n\nKnown at that time by name of refugees. \nThe rod of persecution from their home \nCompelled the inoffensive race to roam, \n\nAnd here they lighted, like a swarm of bees. \n\nWell ! our two friends were sauntering through the street, \nIn hopes some food for humor soon to meet, \n\nWhen, in a window near, a light they view ; \nAnd, though a dim and melancholy ray, \nIt seemed the prologue to some merry play, \n\nSo towards the gloomy dome our hero drew* \n\nStraight at the door he gave a thundering knock \n(The time we may suppose near two o\'clock). \n\n" I \'11 ask," says King, " if Thompson lodges here." \n"Thompson," cries t\' other, "who the devil \'s he 1 ?" \n" I know not," King replies, " but want to see \n\nWhat kind of animal will now appear." \n\nAfter some time a little Frenchman came ; \n\nOne hand displayed a rushlight\'s trembling flame, \n\nThe other held a thing they called culotte. \nAn old striped woollen nightcap graced his head, \nA tattered waistcoat o\'er one shoulder spread ; \n\nScarce half awake, he heaved a yawning note. \n\nThough thus untimely roused he courteous smiled, \nAnd soon addressed our wag in accents mild, \nBending his head politely to his knee, \xe2\x80\x94 \n\n\n\nMONSIEUR TONSON. \n\nu Pray, sare, vat vant you, dat you come so late ? \nI beg your pardon, sare, to make you vait ; \n\nPray tell me, sare, vat your commands vid me 1 " \n\n" Sir," replied King, " I merely thought to know, \nAs by your house I chanced to-night to go \n\n(But, really, I disturbed your sleep, I fear), \nI say, I thought, that you perhaps could tell, \nAmong the folks who in this quarter dwell, \n\nIf there \'s a Mr. Thompson lodges here?" \n\nThe shivering Frenchman, though not pleased to find \nThe business of this unimportant kind, \n\nToo simple to suspect \'t was meant in jeer, \nShrugged out a sigh that thus his rest was broke, \nThen, with unaltered courtesy, he spoke : \n\n"No, sare, no Monsieur Tonson lodges here." \n\nOur wag begged pardon, and toward home he sped, \nWhile the poor Frenchman crawled again to bed. \n\nBut King resolved not thus to drop the jest ; \nSo, the next night, with more of whim than grace, \nAgain he made a visit to the place, \n\nTo break once more the poor old Frenchman\'s rest. \n\nHe knocked, \xe2\x80\x94 but waited longer than before ; \nNo footstep seemed approaching to the door ; \n\nOur Frenchman lay in such a sleep profound- \nKing with the knocker thundered then again, \nFirm on his post determined to remain ; \n\nAnd oft, indeed, he made the door resound. \n\nAt last King hears him o\'er the passage creep, \nWondering what fiend again disturbed his sleep : \n\nThe wag salutes him with a civil leer ; \nThus drawling out to heighten the surprise, \nWhile the poor Frenchman rubbed his heavy eyes, \n\n\xe2\x80\xa2 \xe2\x96\xa0 Is there \xe2\x80\x94 a Mr. Thompson \xe2\x80\x94 lodges here 1 " \n\n\n\n10 PUBLIC AND PAELOE EEADINGS. \n\nThe Frenchman faltered, with a kind of fright, \xe2\x80\x94 \n" Vy, sare, I \'m sure I told you, sare, last night \n\n(And here he labored, with a sigh sincere), \nNo Monsieur Tonson in the varld I know, \nNo Monsieur Tonson here, \xe2\x80\x94 I told you so ; \n\nIndeed, sare, dare no Monsieur Tonson here ! " \n\nSome more excuses tendered, off King goes, \nAnd the old Frenchman sought once more repose. \n\nThe rogue next night pursued his old career. \n\'T was long indeed before the man came nigh, \nAnd then he uttered, in a piteous cry, \n\n" Sare, \'pon my soul, no Monsieur Tonson here ! " \n\nOur sportive wight his usual visit paid, \n\nAnd the next night came forth a prattling maid, \n\nWhose tongue, indeed, than any Jack went faster ; \nAnxious, she strove his errand to inquire, \nHe said \'t was vain her pretty tongue to tire, \n\nHe should not stir till he had seen her master. \n\nThe damsel then began, in doleful state, \nThe Frenchman\'s broken slumbers to relate, \n\nAnd begged he \'d call at proper time of day. \nKing told her she must fetch her master down, \nA chaise was ready, he was leaving town, \n\nBut first had much of deep concern to say. \n\nThus urged, she went the snoring man to call, \nAnd long, indeed, was she obliged to bawl, \n\nEre she could rouse the torpid lump of clay \nAt last he wakes ; he rises ; and he swears : \nBut scarcely had he tottered down the stairs, \n\nWhen King attacked him in his usual way. \n\nThe Frenchman now perceived \'t was all in vain \nTo his tormentor mildly to complain, \n\nAnd straight in rage began his crest to rear : \n\n\n\nMONSIEUR TONSON. 11 \n\n" Sare, vat the devil make you treat me so 1 \nSare, I inform you, sare, three nights ago, \n\nGot tarn \xe2\x80\x94 I swear, no Monsieur Ton son here ! " \n\nTrue as the night, King went, and heard a strife \nBetween the harassed Frenchman and his wife, \n\nWhich would descend to chase the fiend away. \nAt length, to join their forces they agree, \nAnd straight impetuously they turn the key, \n\nPrepared with mutual fury for the fray. \n\nOur hero, with the firmness of a rock, \nCollected to receive the mighty shock, \n\nUttering the old inquiry, calmly stood. \nThe name of Thompson raised the storm so high, \nHe deemed it then the safest plan to fly, \n\nWith " Well, I \'11 call when you \'re in gentler mood." \n\nIn short, our hero, with the same intent, \n\nFull many a night to plague the Frenchman went, \n\nSo fond of mischief was the wicked wit : \nThey threw out water ; for the watch they call ; \nBut King expecting, still escapes from all, \xe2\x80\x94 \n\nMonsieur at last was forced his house to quit. \n\nIt happened that our wag, about this time, \n\nOn some fair prospect sought the Eastern clime ; \n\nSix lingering years were there his tedious lot. \nAt length, content, amid his ripening store, \nHe treads again on Britain\'s happy shore, \n\nAnd his long absence is at once forgot. \n\nTo London, with impatient hope, he flies, \nAnd the same night, as former freaks arise, \n\nHe fain must stroll, the well-known haunt to trace. \n"Ah ! here \'s the scene of frequent mirth," he said; \n" My poor old Frenchman, I suppose, is dead. \n\nEgad, I \'11 knock, and see who holds the place." \n\n\n\nVA PUBLIC AND PAELOE EEADINGS. \n\nWith rapid strokes he makes the mansion roar, \nAnd while he eager eyes the opening door, \n\nLo ! who obeys the knocker\'s rattling peal 1 \nWhy, e\'en our little Frenchman, strange to say ! \nHe took his old abode that very day, \xe2\x80\x94 \n\nCapricious turn of sportive Fortune\'s wheel ! \n\nWithout one thought of the relentless foe, \nWho, fiend-like, haunted him so long ago, \n\nJust in his former trim he now appears ; \nThe waistcoat and the nightcap seemed the same; \nWith rushlight, as before, he creeping came, \n\nAnd King\'s detested voice astonished hears. \n\nAs if some hideous spectre struck his sight, \nHis senses seemed bewildered with affright, \n\nHis face, indeed, bespoke a heart full sore ; \nThen, starting, he exclaimed, in rueful strain, \n" Begar ! here \'s Monsieur Tonson come again ! " \n\nAway he ran, \xe2\x80\x94 and ne\'er was heard of more. \n\n\n\nFATHER PHIL\'S COLLECTION. \xe2\x80\x94 Sam. Lover. \n\nFATHER BLAKE was more familiarly known by the \nname of Father Phil. By either title, or in whatever \ncapacity, the worthy Father had great influence over his \nparish, and there was a free-and-easy way with him, even \nin doing the most solemn duties, which agreed wonderfully \nwith the devil-may-care spirit of Paddy. Stiff and starched \nformality in any way is repugnant to the very nature of \nIrishmen. There are forms, it is true, and many in the \nRomish church, but they are not cold forms, but attractive \nrather, to a sensitive people ; besides, I believe those very \nforms, when observed the least formally, are the most \ninfluential on the Irish. \n\n\n\nFATHER PHIL\'S COLLECTION. 13 \n\nWith all his intrinsic worth, Father Phil was, at the same \ntime, a strange man in exterior manners ; for with an abun- \ndance of real piety, he had an abruptness of delivery, and a \nstrange way of mixing up an occasional remark to his congre- \ngation in the midst of the celebration of the mass, which \nmight well startle a stranger ; but this very want of formality \nmade him beloved by the people, and they woulri do ten times \nas much for Father Phil as for the severe Fathe ominick. \n\nOn the Sunday in question Father Phil intended deliver- \ning an address to his flock from the altar, urging them to the \nnecessity of bestirring themselves in the repairs of the chapel, \nwhich was in a very dilapidated condition, and at one end let \nin the rain through its worn-out thatch. A subscription was \nnecessary ; and to raise this among a very impoverished \npeople was no easy matter. The weather happened to be \nunfavorable, which was most favorable to Father Phil\'s pur- \npose, for the rain dropped its arguments through the roof \nupon the kneeling people below, in the most convincing man- \nner ; and as they endeavored to get out of the wet, they \npressed round the altar as much as they could, for which they \nwere reproved very smartly by his Reverence in the very \nmidst of the mass. These interruptions occurred sometimes \nin the most serious places, producing a ludicrous effect, of \nwhich the worthy Father was quite unconscious, in his great \nanxiety to make the people repair the chapel. \n\nA big woman was elbowing her way towards the rails of \nthe altar, and Father Phil, casting a sidelong glance at her, \nsent her to the right-about, while he interrupted his appeal \nto Heaven to address her thus : \xe2\x80\x94 \n\n" Agnus Dei \xe2\x80\x94 You \'d betther jump over the rails of the \nalthar, I think. Go along out o\' that, there \'s plenty o\' room \nin the chapel below there \xe2\x80\x94 " \n\nThen he would turn to the altar, and proceed with the ser- \nvice, till, turning again to the congregation, he perceived some \nfresh offender. \n\n" Orate, fratres ! \xe2\x80\x94 Will you mind what I say to you, and \ngo along out of that, there \'s room below there. Thrue for \n\n\n\n14 PUBLIC AND PARLOR READINGS. \n\nyou, Mrs. Finn, \xe2\x80\x94 it \'s a shame for him to be thramplin\' on \nyou. Go along, Darby Casy, down there, and kneel in the \nrain, \xe2\x80\x94 it \'s a pity you have n\'t a decent woman\'s cloak under \nyou, indeed ! \xe2\x80\x94 Orate, fratres I " \n\nThen would the service proceed again, till the shuffling of \nfeet edging out of the rain would disturb him, and, casting a \nbackward glance, he would say, \xe2\x80\x94 \n\n" 1 hear you there, \xe2\x80\x94 can\'t you be quiet, and not be dis- \nturbin\' my mass, you haythens 1 " \n\nAgain he proceeded, till the crying of a child interrupted \nhim. He looked round quickly \xe2\x80\x94 \n\n" You \'d betther kill the child, I think, thramplin\' on him, \nLavery. Go out o\' that, \xe2\x80\x94 your conduct is scandalous \xe2\x80\x94 \nDominus vobiscum ! " \n\nAgain he turned to pray, and after some time he made an \ninterval in the service to address his congregation on the sub- \nject of the repairs, and produced a paper containing the \nnames of subscribers to that pious work who had already \ncontributed, by way of example to those who had not. \n\n" Here it is," said Father Phil, \xe2\x80\x94 " here it is, and no denying \nit, \xe2\x80\x94 down in black and white ; but if they who give are down \nin black, how much blacker are those who have not given at \nall ! But I hope they will be ashamed of themselves when \nI howld up those to honor who have contributed to the up- \nhowlding of the house of God. And is n\'t it ashamed o\' your- \nselves you ought to be, to lave His house in such a condition 1 \nand does n\'t it rain a\'most every Sunday, as if He wished \nto remind you of your duty ? \xe2\x80\x94 are n\'t you wet to the skin \na\'most every Sunday 1 0, God is good to you ! to put you in \nmind of your duty, giving you such bitther cowlds that you \nare coughing and sneezin\' every Sunday to that degree that \nyou can\'t hear the blessed mass for a comfort and a benefit to \nyou ; and so you \'11 go on sneezin\' until you put a good thatch \non the place, and prevent the appearance of the evidence \nfrom Heaven against you every Sunday, which is condemning \nyou before your faces, and behind your backs too, for don\'t I \nsee this minit a strame o\' wather that might turn a mill run.- \n\n\n\nFATKEE PHIL\'S COLLECTION. 15 \n\nning down Micky Mackavoy\'s back, between the collar of his \ncoat and his shirt 1 " \n\nHere a laugh ensued at the expense of Micky Mackavoy, \nwho certainly was under a very heavy drip from the imperfect \nroof. \n\n" And is it laughing you are, you haythens % " said Father \nPhil, reproving the merriment which he himself had purposely \ncreated, that he might reprove it. " Laughing is it you are, \nat your backslidings and insensibility to the honor of God, \xe2\x80\x94 \nlaughing because when you come here to be saved, you are \nlost entirely with the wet ; and how, I ask you, are my words \nof comfort to enter your hearts when the rain is pouring \ndown your backs at the same time 1 Sure I have no chance \nof turning your hearts while you are undher rain that might \nturn a mill, \xe2\x80\x94 but once put a good roof on the house, and I \nwill inundate you with piety ! Maybe it \'s Father Dominick \nyou would like to have coming among you, who would grind \nyour hearts to powdher with his heavy words." (Here a low \nmurmur of dissent ran through the throng.) "Ha! ha! so \nyou would n\'t like it, I see, \xe2\x80\x94 very well, very well, \xe2\x80\x94 take \ncare then, for if I find you insensible to my moderate re- \nproofs, you hard-hearted haythens, you malefacthors and cruel \npersecuthors, that won\'t put your hands in your pockets \nbecause your mild and quiet poor fool of a pasthor has no \ntongue in his head ! I say, your mild, quiet, poor fool of a \npasthor, (for I know my own faults partly, God forgive me !) \nand I can\'t spake to you as you deserve, you hard-living vag- \nabonds, that are as insensible to your duties as you are to the \nweather. I wish it was sugar or salt that you are made of, \nand then the rain might melt you if I could n\'t ; but no, \nthem naked rafthers grins in your face to no purpose, \xe2\x80\x94 you \nchate the house of God, \xe2\x80\x94 but take care, maybe you won\'t \nchate the Divil so aisy." (Here there was a sensation.) "Ha ! \nha ! that makes you open your ears, does it 1 More shame \nfor you ; you ought to despise that dirty enemy of man, and \ndepend on something better, \xe2\x80\x94 but I see I must call you to a \nsense of your situation with the bottomless pit undher you, \n\n\n\n16 PUBLIC AND PAELOE READINGS. \n\nand no roof over you. dear ! dear ! dear ! I \'m ashamed \nof you, \xe2\x80\x94 throth, if I had time and sthraw enough, I \'d rather \nthatch the place myself than lose my time talking to you ; \nsure the place is more like a stable than a chapel. 0, think \nof that ! \xe2\x80\x94 the house of God to be like a stable J \xe2\x80\x94 for though \nour Redeemer was born in a stable, that is no reason why you \nare to keep his house always like one. \n\n" And now I will read you the list of subscribers, and it \nwill make you ashamed when you hear the names of several \ngood and worthy Protestants in the parish, and out of it, too, \nwho have given more than the Catholics." \n\nHe then proceeded to read the following list, which he \ninterlarded copiously with observations of his own ; making \nviva voce marginal notes as it were upon the subscribers, which \nwere not unfrequently answered by the persons so noticed, \nfrom the body of the chapel, and laughter was often the con- \nsequence of these rejoinders, which Father Phil never permit- \nted to pass without a retort. Nor must all this be considered \nin the least irreverent. A certain period is allowed between \ntwo particular portions of the mass, when the priest may \naddress his congregation on any public matter, an approach- \ning pattern, or fair, or the like, in which exhortations to pro- \npriety of conduct, or warnings against faction, fights, &c, are \nhis themes. Then they only listen in reverence. But when \na subscription for such an object as that already mentioned is \nunder discussion, the flock consider themselves entitled to \n"put in a word " in case of necessity. This preliminary hint \nis given to the reader, that he may better enter into the spirit \nof Father Phil\'s \xe2\x80\x94 \n\nSUBSCRIPTION" LIST \n\nFOE, THE REPAIRS AND ENLARGEMENT OF BALLYSLOUGHGTJTTHERY \nCHAPEL. \n\nPhilip Blake, P. P. \n\nMicky Hickey, \xc2\xa30 7s. 6d. "He might as well have made \nit ten shillings ; but half a loaf is betther than no bread." \n" Plaze your Reverence," says Mick, from the body of the \n\n\n\nFATHEK PHIL\'S COLLECTION. 17 \n\nchapel, " sure seven and sixpence is more than the half of ten \nshillings." (A laugh.) \n\n" 0, how witty you are ! Faith, if you knew your prayers as \nwell as your arithmetic, it would be betther for you, Micky." \n\nHere the Father turned the laugh against Mick. \n\nBilly Riley, \xc2\xa30 3s. <ld. " Of course he means to subscribe \nagain 1 " \n\nJohn Dwyer, \xc2\xa30 15s. Od. "That\'s something like! I\'ll \nbe bound he \'s only keeping back the odd five shillings for a \nbrush full o\' paint for the althar; it\'s as black as a crow, \ninstead o\' being as a dove." \n\nHe then hurried over rapidly some small subscribers as \nfollows : \xe2\x80\x94 \n\nPeter Hefferman, \xc2\xa30 Is. 8d. \n\nJames Murphy, \xc2\xa30 2s. 6d. \n\nMat Donovan, \xc2\xa30 Is. 3d. \n\nLuke Dannely, \xc2\xa30 3s. Od. \n\nJack Quigly, \xc2\xa30 2s. Id. \n\nPat Finnegan, \xc2\xa30 2s. 2d. \n\nEdward O\'Connor, Esq., \xc2\xa32 0s. Od. "There\'s for you! \nEdward O\'Connor, Esq., \xe2\x80\x94 a Protestant in the parish, \xe2\x80\x94 two \npounds." \n\n" Long life to him ! " cried a voice in the chapel. \n\n"Amen!" said Father Phil; "I\'m not ashamed to be \nclerk to so good a prayer." \n\nNicholas Fagan, \xc2\xa30 2s. 6d. \n\nYoung Nicholas Fagan, \xc2\xa30 5s. Od. "Young Nick is betther \nthan owld Nick, you see." \n\nTim Doyle, \xc2\xa30 7s. 6d. \n\nOwny Doyle, \xc2\xa3 1 0s. Od. " Well done, Owny na Coppal, \xe2\x80\x94 \nyou deserve to prosper, for you make good use of your thriv- \nings." \n\nSimon Leary, \xc2\xa30 2s. 6d ; Bridget Murphy, \xc2\xa30 10s. Od. \n" You ought to be ashamed o\' yourself, Simon : a lone widow- \nwoman gives more than you." \n\nSimon answered,, " I have a large family, sir, and she has \nno childhre." \n\n\n\nl\'S PUBLIC AND PARLOE READINGS. \n\n" That \'s not her fault," said the priest, \xe2\x80\x94 " and maybe she \'U \nmend o\' that yet." This excited much merriment, for the \nwidow was buxom, and had recently buried an old husband, \nand, by all accounts, was cocking her cap at a handsome \nyoung fellow in the parish. \n\nJude Moylan, \xc2\xa30 5s. Od. "Very good, Judy, the women \nare behaving like gentlemen ; they \'11 have their reward in the \nnext world." \n\nPat Finnerty, \xc2\xa30 8s. id. "I\'m not sure if it is 8s. id. or \n3s. id., for the figure is blotted, but I believe it is 85. id." \n\n"It was three and fourpince I gave your Reverence," said \nPat from the crowd. \n\n"Well, Pat, as I said eight and fourpence, you must not \nlet me go back o\' my word, so bring me five shillings next \nweek." \n\n" Sure, you would n\'t have me pay for a blot, sir ? " \n\n" Yis, I would, \xe2\x80\x94 that \'s the rule of backmannon, you know, \nPat. When I hit the mark, you pay for it." \n\nHere his Reverence turned round, as if looking for some one, \nand called out, " Rafferty ! Rafferty ! Rafferty ! Where are \nyou, Rafferty 1 ?" \n\nAn old gray-headed man appeared, bearing a large plate, \nand Father Phil continued, \xe2\x80\x94 \n\n" There now, be active \xe2\x80\x94 I \'m sending him among you, \ngood people, and such as cannot give as much as you would \nlike to be read before your neighbors, give what little you can \ntowards the repairs, and I will continue to read out the names \nby way of encouragement to you, and the next name I see is \nthat of Squire Egan. Long life to him ! " \n\nSquire Egan, \xc2\xa35 Os. Od. "Squire Egan \xe2\x80\x94 five pounds \xe2\x80\x94 - \nlisten to that \xe2\x80\x94 a Protestant in the parish \xe2\x80\x94 five pounds ! \nFaith, the Protestants will make you ashamed of yourselves \nif you don\'t take care." \n\nMrs. Flanagan, \xc2\xa3 2 Os. Od. " Not her own parish, either, \xe2\x80\x94 \na kind lady." \n\nJames Milligan of Roundtown, \xc2\xa31 Os. Od. "And here 1 \nmust remark that the people of Roundtown has not been \n\n\n\nFATHER PHIL\'S COLLECTION. 19 \n\nbackward in coming forward on this occasion. I have a long \nlist from Roundtown, \xe2\x80\x94 I will read it separate." He then \nproceeded at a great pace, jumbling the town and the pounds \nand the people in the most extraordinary manner : " James \nMilligan of Roundtown, one pound; Darby Daly of Round- \ntown, one pound ; Sam Finnigan of Roundtown, one pound ; \nJames Casey of Roundpound, one town ; Kit Dwyer of Town- \npound, one round \xe2\x80\x94 pound, I mane; Pat Roundpound \xe2\x80\x94 \nPounden, I mane \xe2\x80\x94 Pat Pounden a pound of Poundtown \nalso \xe2\x80\x94 there \'s an example for you ! \xe2\x80\x94 \n\nBut what are you about, Rafferty 1 I don\'t like the sound \nof that plate^of yours, \xe2\x80\x94 you are not a good gleaner, \xe2\x80\x94 go \nup first into the gallery there, where I see so many good- \nlooking bonnets, \xe2\x80\x94 I suppose they will give something to keep \ntheir bonnets out of the rain, for the wet will be into the \ngallery next Sunday if they don\'t. I think that is Kitty \nCrow I see, getting her bit of silver ready ; them ribbons \nof yours cost a thrifle, Kitty \xe2\x80\x94 Well, good Christians, here \nis more of the subscription for you. \n\nMatthew Lavery, \xc2\xa30 2s. Qd. "He doesn\'t belong to \nRoundtown, \xe2\x80\x94 Roundtown will be renowned in future ages \nfor the support of the church. Mark my words ! Round- \ntown will prosper from this day out, \xe2\x80\x94 Roundtown will be a \nrising place." \n\nMark Hennessy, \xc2\xa30 2s. 6d. ; Luke Clancy, \xc2\xa30 2s. 6d. ; \nJohn Doolin, \xc2\xa30 2s. 6d. "One would think they all agreed \nonly to give two and sixpence apiece. And they comfortable \nmen, too ! And look at their names, \xe2\x80\x94 Matthew, Mark, Luke, \nand John, \xe2\x80\x94 the names of the blessed Evangelists, and only \nten shillings among them ! 0, they are apostles not worthy \nthe name, \xe2\x80\x94 we \'11 call them the poor apostles from this out ! " \n(Here a low laugh ran through the chapel.) "Do you hear \nthat, Matthew, Mark, Luke, and John 1 Faith ! I can tell you \nthat name will stick to you." (Here the laugh was louder.) \n\nA voice, when the laugh subsided, exclaimed, " I \'11 make \nit ten shillin\'s, your Reverence." \n\n" Who \'s that 1 " said Father Phil. \n\n\n\n20 PUBLIC AND PARLOR READINGS. \n\n" Hennessy, your Reverence." \n\n" Very well, Mark. I suppose Matthew, Luke, and John \nwill follow your example ] " \n\n" We will, your Reverence." \n\n" Ha ! I thought you made a mistake ; we \'11 call you now \nthe faithful apostles, \xe2\x80\x94 and I think the change in the name \nis better than seven and sixpence apiece to you." \n\n" I see you in the gallery there, Rafferty. What do you \npass that well-dressed woman for? thry back \xe2\x80\x94 Ha ! see that, \nshe had her money ready if you only asked her for it, \xe2\x80\x94 don\'t \ngo by that other woman there \xe2\x80\x94 ho ! So you won\'t give \nanything, ma\'am? You ought to be ashamed of yourself. \nThere is a woman with an elegant sthraw bonnet, and she \nwon\'t give a farthing. Well now, \xe2\x80\x94 afther that, remember, \xe2\x80\x94 \nI give it from the althar, that from this day out sthraw bon- \nnets pay fi\'penny pieces." \n\nThomas Durfy, Esq., \xc2\xa31 0s. Od. " It\'s not his parish, and \nhe \'s a brave gentleman." \n\nMiss Fanny Dawson, \xc2\xa31 0s. Od. "A Protestant, out of the \nparish, and a sweet young lady, God bless her ! faith, the \nProtestants is shaming you ! " \n\nDennis Fannin, \xc2\xa30 7s. Qd. "Very good indeed, for a \nworking mason." \n\nJemmy Riley, \xc2\xa30 + 5s. Od. " Not bad for a hedge carpen- \nther." \n\n" I gave you ten, plaze your Reverence," shouted Jemmy ; \n" and by the same token, you may remember it was on the \nNativity of the blessed Vargin, sir, I gave you the second five \nshillin\'s." \n\n" So you did, Jemmy," cried Father Phil, " I put a little \ncross before it, to remind me of it ; but I was in a hurry to \nmake a sick call when you gave it to me, and forgot it afther : \nand indeed myself does n\'t know what I did with that same \nfive shillings." \n\nHere a pallid woman, who was kneeling near the rails of \nthe altar, uttered an impassioned blessing, and exclaimed, \n" 0, that was the very five shillings, I \'m sure, you gave to \n\n\n\nFATHER PHIL\'S COLLECTION. 21 \n\nme that very day, to buy some little comforts for my poor \nhusband, who was dying in the fever ! " and the poor woman \nburst into loud sobs as she spoke. \n\nA deep thrill of emotion ran through the flock as this acci- \ndental proof of their poor pastor\'s beneficence burst upon \nthem ; and as an affectionate murmur began to rise above the \nsilence which that emotion produced, the burly Father Philip \nblushed like a girl at this publication of his charity, and even \nat the foot of that altar where he stood, felt something like \nshame in being discovered in the commission of that virtue so \nhighly commended by the Providence to whose worship that \naltar was raised. He uttered a hasty " Whisht, whisht ! " \nand waved with his outstretched hands his flock into silence. \n\nIn an instant one of those sudden changes so common to \nan Irish assembly, and scarcely credible to a stranger, took \nplace. The multitude was hushed, the grotesque of the sub- \nscription list had passed away and was forgotten, and that same \nman and that same multitude stood in altered relations, \xe2\x80\x94 \nthey were again a reverent flock, and he once more a solemn \npastor ; the natural play of his nation\'s mirthful sarcasm was \nabsorbed in a moment in the sacredness of his office ; and, \nwith a solemnity befitting the highest occasion, he placed his \nhands together before his breast, and, raising his eyes to \nheaven, he poured forth his sweet voice, with a tone of the \ndeepest devotion, in that reverential call for prayer, " Orate, \nfratres ! " \n\nThe sound of a multitude gently kneeling down followed, \nlike the soft breaking of a quiet sea on a sandy beach ; and \nwhen Father Philip turned to the altar to pray, his pent-up \nfeelings found vent in tears, and while he prayed he wept. \n\nI believe such scenes as this are of not unfrequent occur- \nrence in Ireland, \xe2\x80\x94 that country so long suffering, so much \nmaligned, and so little understood. \n\nrulers of Ireland ! why have you not sooner learned to \nlead /that people by love, whom all your severity has been \nunable to drive ? \n\n\n\n22 PUBLIC AND PARLOR READINGS. \n\nDARIUS GREEN AND HIS FLYING - MACHINE. \nJ. T. Trowbridge. \n\nIF ever there lived a Yankee lad, \nWise or otherwise, good or bad, \nWho, seeing the birds fly, did n\'t jump \nWith flapping arms from stake or stump, \n\nOr, spreading the tail \n\nOf his coat for a sail, \nTake a soaring leap from post or rail, \n\nAnd wonder why \n\nHe could n\'t fly, \nAnd flap and flutter and wish and try, \xe2\x80\x94 \nIf ever you knew a country dunce \nWho did n\'t try that as often as once, \nAll I can say is, that \'s a sign \nHe never would do for a hero of mine. \n\nAn aspiring genius was D. Green : \n\nThe son of a farmer, \xe2\x80\x94 age fourteen ; \n\nHis body was long and lank and lean, \xe2\x80\x94 \n\nJust right for flying, as will be seen ; \n\nHe had two eyes as bright as a bean, \n\nAnd a freckled nose that grew between, \n\nA little awry, \xe2\x80\x94 for I must mention \n\nThat he had riveted his attention \n\nUpon his wonderful invention, \n\nTwisting his tongue as he twisted the strings, \n\nAnd working his face as he worked the wings, \n\nAnd with every turn of gimlet and screw \n\nTurning and screwing his mouth round too, \n\nTill his nose seemed bent \n\nTo catch the scent, \nAround some corner, of new-baked pies, \nAnd his wrinkled cheeks and his squinting eyes \nGrew puckered into a queer grimace, \nThat made him look very droll in the face, \n\nAnd also very wise. \n\n\n\n\n\n\nDAKIUS GKEEN AND HIS FLYING-MACHINE. 23 \n\nAnd wise he must have been, to do more \nThan ever a genius did before, \nExcepting Daedalus of yore \nAnd his son Icarus, who wore \n\nUpon their backs \n\nThose wings of wax \nHe had read of in the old almanacs. \nDarius was clearly of the opinion, \nThat the air is also man\'s dominion, \nAnd that, with paddle or fin or pinion, \n\nWe soon or late \n\nShall navigate \nThe azure as now we sail the sea. \nThe thing looks simple enough to me ; \n\nAnd if you doubt it, \nHear how Darius reasoned about it. \n\n" The birds can fly, \n\nAn\' why can\'t I ? \n\nMust we give in," \n\nSays he with a grin, \n\n" \'T the bluebird an\' phoebe \n\nAre smarter \'n we be 1 \nJest fold our hands an\' see the swaller \nAn\' blackbird an\' catbird beat us holler % \nDoos the leettle chatterin\', sassy wren, \nNo bigger \'n my thumb, know more than men 1 \n\nJest show me that ! \n\nEr prove \'t the bat \nHez got more brains than \'s in my hat, \nAn\' I \'11 back down, an\' not till then ! " \n\nHe argued further : " Ner I can\'t see \nWhat \'s th\' use o\' wings to a bumble-bee, \nFur to git a livin\' with, more \'n to me ; \xe2\x80\x94 > \n\nAin\'t my business \n\nTmportanter \'n hisn is 1 \n\n\n\n24 PUBLIC AND PARLOR READINGS. \n\n" That Icarus \n\nWas a silly cuss, \xe2\x80\x94 \nHim an\' his daddy Dsedalus. \nThey might \'a\' knowed wings made o\' wax \nWould n\'t stand sun-heat an\' hard whacks. \n\nI \'11 make mine o\' luther, \n\nUr suthin er other." \n\nAnd he said to himself, as he tinkered and planned \n\n" But I ain\'t goin\' to show my hand \n\nTo nummies that never can understand \n\nThe fust idee that \'s big an\' grand. \n\nThey \'d \'a\' laft an\' made fun \n\n0\' Creation itself, afore \'t was done ! " \n\nSo he kept his secret from all the rest, \n\nSafely buttoned within his vest ; \n\nAnd in the loft above the shed \n\nHimself he locks, with thimble and thread \n\nAnd wax and hammer and buckles and screws, \n\nAnd all such things as geniuses use ; \xe2\x80\x94 \n\nTwo bats for patterns, curious fellows ! \n\nA charcoal-pot and a pair of bellows ; \n\nAn old hoop-skirt or two, as well as \n\nSome wire, and several old umbrellas ; \n\nA carriage-cover, for tail and wings ; \n\nA piece of a harness ; and straps and strings ; \n\nAnd a big strong box, \n\nIn which he locks \nThese and a hundred other things. \n\nHis grinning brothers, Reuben and Burke \nAnd Nathan and Jotham and Solomon, lurk \nAround the corner to see him work, \xe2\x80\x94 \nSitting cross-legged, like a Turk, \nDrawing the waxed-end through with a jerk, \nAnd boring the holes with a comical quirk \nOf his wise old head, and a knowing smirk. \nBut vainly they mounted each other\'s backs, \n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nDARIUS GREEN AND HIS FLYING-MACHINE. 25 \n\nAnd poked through knot-holes and pried through cracks; \nWith wood from the pile and straw from the stacks \nHe plugged the knot-holes and calked the cracks ; \nAnd a bucket of water, which one would think \nHe had brought up into the loft to drink \n\nWhen he chanced to be dry, \n\nStood always nigh, \n\nFor Darius was sly ! \nAnd whenever at work he happened to spy \nAt chink or crevice a blinking eye, \nJ\xc2\xa3e let a dipper of water fly. \n" Take that ! an\' ef ever ye git a peep, \nGuess ye \'11 ketch a weasel asleep ! " \n\nAnd he sings as he locks \n\nHis big strong box : \xe2\x80\x94 \n\nSONG. \n\n" The weasel\'s head is small an\' trim, \n\nAn\' he is little an\' long an\' slim, \n\nAn\' quick of motion an\' nimble of limb, \n\nAn\' ef yeou \'11 be \n\nAdvised by me, \nKeep wide awake when ye \'re ketchin\' him ! " \n\nSo day after day \nHe stitched and tinkered and hammered away, \n\nTill at last \'t was done, \xe2\x80\x94 \nThe greatest invention under the sun ! \n"An\' now," says Darius, " hooray fer some fun ! " \n\n\'T was the Fourth of July, \n\nAnd the weather was dry, \nAnd not a cloud was on all the sky, \nSave a few light fleeces, which here and there, \n\nHalf mist, half air, \nLike foam on the ocean went floating by, \xe2\x80\x94 \nJust as lovely a morning as ever was seen \nFor a nice little trip in a flying-machine. \n\n\n\n26 PUBLIC AND PARLOR READINGS. \n\nThought cunning Darius : " Now I sha\' n\'t go \nAlong \'ith the fellers to see the show. \nI \'11 say I \'ve got sich a terrible cough ! \nAn\' then, when the folks \'ave all gone off, \n\nI \'11 hev full swing \n\nFer to try the thing, \nAn\' practyse a leettle on the wing." \n\n"Ain\'t goin\' to see the celebration 1 ?" \nSays Brother Nate. " No ; botheration ! \nI \'ve got sich a cold \xe2\x80\x94 a toothache \xe2\x80\x94 I \xe2\x80\x94 \nMy gracious ! \xe2\x80\x94 feel \'s though I should fly ! " \n\nSaid Jotham, " \'Sho ! \n\nGuess ye better go." \n\nBut Darius said, "No! \nShould n\'t wonder \'f yeou might see me, though, \n\'Long \'bout noon, ef I git red \n0\' this jumpin\', th ampin\' pain \'n my head." \nFor all the while to himself he said : \xe2\x80\x94 \xe2\x96\xa0 \n\n" I tell ye what ! \nI \'11 fly a few times around the lot, \nTo see how \'t seems, then soon \'s I \'ve got \nThe hang o\' the thing, ez likely \'s not, \n\nI \'11 astonish the nation, \n\nAn\' all creation, \nBy fly in\' over the celebration ! \nOver their heads I \'11 sail like an eagle ; \nI \'11 balance myself on my wings like a sea-gull ; \nI \'11 dance on the chimbleys ; I \'11 stan\' on the steeple ; \nI \'11 flop up to winders an\' scare the people ! \nI \'11 light on the libbe\'ty-pole, an\' crow ; \nAn\' I \'11 say to the gawpin\' fools below, \n\n\' What world \'s this \'ere \n\nThat I \'ve come near 1 \' \nFer I \'11 make \'em b\'lieve I \'m a chap f \'m the moon ; \nAn\' I \'11 try a race \'ith their ol\' bulloon ! " \n\n\n\nDAKIUS GREEN AND HIS FLYING-MACHINE. 27 \n\nHe crept from his bed ; \nAnd, seeing the others were gone, he said, \n" I \'m a gittin\' over the cold \'n my head." \n\nAnd away he sped, \nTo open the wonderful box in the shed. \n\nHis brothers had walked but a little way, \n\nWhen Jotham to Nathan chanced to say, \n\n" What on airth is he up to, hey 1 " \n\n" Don\'o\', \xe2\x80\x94 the\' \'s suthin\' ur other to pay, \n\nEr he would n\'t \'a\' stayed to hum to-day." \n\nSays Burke, " His toothache \'s all \'n his eye ! \n\nHe never \'d miss a Fo\'th-o\'-July, \n\nEf he hed n\'t got some machine to try." \n\nThen Sol, the little one, spoke : " By darn ! \n\nLe\' \'s hurry back an\' hide \'n the barn. \n\nAn\' pay him fer tellin\' us that yarn ! " \n\n" Agreed ! " Through the orchard they creep back, \n\nAlong by the fences, behind the stack, \n\nAnd one by one, through a hole in the wall, \n\nIn under the dusty barn they crawl, \n\nDressed in their Sunday garments all ; \n\nAnd a very astonishing sight was that, \n\nWhen each in his cobwebbed coat and hat \n\nCame up through the floor like an ancient rat. \n\nAnd there they hid ; \n\nAnd Reuben slid \nThe fastenings back, and the door undid. \n\n" Keep dark ! " said he, \n" While I squint an\' see what the\' is to see.\' 1 \n\nAs knights of old put on their mail, \xe2\x80\x94 \n\nFrom head to foot \n\nAn iron suit, \nIron jacket and iron boot, \nIron breeches, and on the head \nNo hat, but an iron pot instead, \n\n\n\n28 PUBLIC AND PARLOR READINGS. \n\nAnd under the chin the bail, \n(I believe they called the thing a helm,) \nAnd the lid they carried they called a shield ; \nAnd, thus accoutred, they took the field, \nSallying forth to overwhelm \nThe dragons and pagans that plagued the realm, \xe2\x80\x94 \n\nSo this modern knight, \n\nPrepared for flight, \nPut on his wings and strapped them tight ; \nJointed and jaunty, strong and light ; \nBuckled them fast to shoulder and hip, \xe2\x80\x94 \nTen feet they measured from tip to tip ! \nAnd a helm had he, but that he wore, \nNot on his head, like those of yore, \nBut more like the helm of a ship. \n\n" Hush ! " Reuben said, \n\n" He \'s up in the shed ! \nHe \'s opened the winder, \xe2\x80\x94 I see his head ! \n\nHe stretches it oiit, \n\nAn\' pokes it about, \nLookin\' to see \'f the coast is clear, \n\nAn\' nobody near ; \xe2\x80\x94 \nGuess he don\'o\' who \'s hid in here ! \nHe \'s riggin\' a spring-board over the sill ! \nStop laffin\', Solomon ! Burke, keep still ! \nHe \'s a climbin\' out now \xe2\x80\x94 Of all the things ! \nWhat \'s he got on 1 I van, it \'s wings ! \nAn\' that t\' other thing 1 I vum, it \'s a tail ! \nAn\' there he sets like a hawk on a rail ! \nSteppin\' careful, he travels the length \nOf his spring-board, and teeters to try its strength. \nNow he stretches his wings, like a monstrous bat ; \nPeeks over his shoulder, this way an\' that, \nFer to see \'f the\' \'s any one passin\' by ; \nBut the\' \'s on\'y a ca\'f an\' a goslin\' nigh. \nThey turn up at him a wonderin\' eye, \n\n\n\nDARIUS GREEN AND HIS FLYING-MACHINE. 29 \n\nTo see \xe2\x80\x94 The dragon ! he \'s goin\' to fly ! \nAway he goes ! Jimminy ! what a jump ! \n\nFlop \xe2\x80\x94 flop \xe2\x80\x94 an\' plump \n\nTo the ground with a thump ! \nFlutt\'rin\' an\' flound\'rin\', all \'n a lump ! " \n\nAs a demon is hurled by an angel\'s spear, \n\nHeels over head, to his proper sphere, \xe2\x80\x94 \n\nHeels over head, and head over heels, \n\nDizzily down the abyss he wheels, \xe2\x80\x94 \n\nSo fell Darius. Upon his crown, \n\nIn the midst of the barn-yard, he came down, \n\nIn a wonderful whirl of tangled strings, \n\nBroken braces and broken springs, \n\nBroken tail and broken wings, \n\nShooting-stars, and various things, \xe2\x80\x94 \n\nBarn-yard litter of straw and chaff, \n\nAnd much that was n\'t so sweet by half. \n\nAway with a bellow fled the calf, \n\nAnd what was that ? Did the gosling laugh ] \n\n\'T is a merry roar \n\nFrom the old barn-door, \nAnd he hears the voice of Jotham crying, \n" Say, D\'rius ! how do yeou like flyin\' ? " \n\nSlowly, ruefully, where he lay, \n\nDarius just turned and looked that way, \n\nAs he stanched his sorrowful nose with his cuff. \n\n" Wal, I like flyin\' well enough," \n\nHe said ; " but the\' ain\'t sich a thunderin\' sight \n\n0\' fun in \'t when ye come to light." \n\nMORAL. \n\nI just have room for the moral here : \n\nAnd this is the moral, \xe2\x80\x94 Stick to your sphere. \n\nOr if you insist, as you have the right, \n\nOn spreading your wings for a loftier flight, \n\nThe moral is, \xe2\x80\x94 Take care how you light. \n\n\n\n30 PUBLIC AND PARLOR READINGS. \n\n\n\nMUSIC AT MRS. PONTO\'S. \xe2\x80\x94 Thackeeay. \n\nTHE jingling of a harp and piano announced that Mrs. \nPonto\'s ung pu de Musick had commenced, and the smell \nof the stable entering the dining-room, in the person of Stripes, \nsummoned us to caffy and the little concert. She beckoned \nme with a winning smile to the sofa, on which she made room \nfor me, and where we could command a fine view of the backs \nof the young ladies who were performing the musical enter- \ntainment. Very broad backs they were too, strictly according \nto the prevailing mode, for crinoline or its substitutes is not \nan expensive luxury, and young people in the country can \nafford to be in the fashion at very trifling charges. Miss \nEmily Ponto at the piano, and her sister Maria at that some- \nwhat exploded instrument, the harp, were in light-blue \ndresses that looked all flounce and spread out like Mr. Green\'s \nballoon when inflated. \n\n" Brilliant touch Emily has, \xe2\x80\x94 what a fine arm Maria\'s is ! " \nMrs. Ponto remarked good-naturedly, pointing out the merits \nof her daughters, and waving her own arm in such a way as \nto show that she was not a little satisfied with the beauty of \nthat member. I observed she had about nine bracelets and \nbangles, consisting of chains and padlocks, the Major\'s minia- \nture, and a variety of brass serpents with fiery ruby or tender \nturquoise eyes, writhing up to her elbow almost in the most \nprofuse contortions. \n\nWhen the performance was concluded, I had the felicity of \na presentation and conversation with the two tall and scraggy \nMiss Pontos ; and Miss Wirt, the governess, sat down to en- \ntertain us with variations on " Sich a Gettin\' up Stairs." They \nwere determined to be in the fashion. \n\nFor the performance of the " Gettin\' up Stairs," I have no \nother name but that it was a stunner. First Miss Wirt, with \ngreat deliberation, played the original and beautiful melody, \ncutting it, as it were, out of the instrument, and firing off \neach note so loud, clear, and sharp that I am sure Stripes \nmust have heard it in the stable. \n\n\n\n\n\n\nMUSIC AT MES. PONTO\'S. 31 \n\n" What a finger ! " says Mrs. Ponto ; and indeed it was a \nfinger, as knotted as a turkey\'s drumstick, and splaying all \never the piano. When she had banged out the tune slowly, \nshe began a different manner of " Gettin\' up Stairs," and did \nso with a fury and swiftness quite incredible. She spun up \nstairs ; she whirled up stairs ; she galloped up stairs ; she \nrattled up stairs ; and then, having got the tune to the top \nlanding, as it were, she hurled it down again, shrieking, to the \nbottom floor, where it sank in a crash as if exhausted by the \nbreathless rapidity of the descent. \n\nThen Miss Wirt played the " Gettin\' up Stairs " with the \nmost pathetic and ravishing solemnity : plaintive moans and \nSobs issued from the keys, \xe2\x80\x94 you wept and trembled as you \nwere gettin\' up stairs. Miss Wirt\'s hands seemed to faint \nand wail and die in variations : again, and she went up with \na savage clang and rush of trumpets, as if Miss Wirt was \nstorming a breach ; and although I knew nothing of music, \nas I sat and listened with my mouth open to this wonderful \ndisplay, my caffy grew cold, and I wondered the windows did \nnot crack and the chandelier start out of the beam at the \nBound of this earthquake of a piece of music. \n\n" Glorious creature ! is n\'t she % " said Mrs. Ponto. " Squirtz\'s \nfavorite pupil, \xe2\x80\x94 inestimable to have such a creature. Lady \nCarabas would give her eyes for her ! A prodigy of accom- \nplishments ! Thank you, Miss Wirt!" And the young ladies \ngave a heave and a gasp of admiration, \xe2\x80\x94 a deep-breathing, \ngushing sound, such as you hear at church when the sermon \ncomes to a full stop. \n\nMiss Wirt put her two great double-knuckled hands round \na waist of her two pupils, and said : "My dear children, I hope \nyou will be able to play it soon as well as your poor little \ngoverness. When I lived with the Dunsinanes, it was the \ndear Duchess\'s favorite, and Lady Barbara and Lady Jane \nMeBeth learned it. It was while hearing Jane play that, I \nremember, that ^dear Lord Castletoddy first fell in love with \nher ! and though he is but an Irish Peer, with not more than \nfifteen thousand a year, I persuaded Jane to have him. Dq \n\n\n\n32 PUBLIC AND PARLOR READINGS. \n\nyou know Castletoddy, Mr. Snob 1 \xe2\x80\x94 round towers, \xe2\x80\x94 sweet \nplace, \xe2\x80\x94 County Mayo. Old Lord Castletoddy (the present \nLord was then Lord Inishowan) was a most eccentric old \nman, \xe2\x80\x94 they say he was mad. I heard his Royal Highness \nthe poor dear Duke of Sussex, (such a man, my dears, but \nalas ! addicted to smoking !) \xe2\x80\x94 I heard his Royal Highness \nsay to the Marquis of Anglesea, * I am sure Castletoddy is \nmad ! \' but Inishowan was n\'t, in marrying my sweet Jane, \nthough the dear child had but her ten thousand pounds pour \ntout potage /" \n\n" Most invaluable person," whispered Mrs. Major Ponto to \nme. " Has lived in the very highest society " ; and I, who \nhave been accustomed to see governesses bullied in the world, \nwas delighted to find this one ruling the roost, and to think \nthat even the majestic Mrs. Ponto bent before her. \n\n\n\nPRAISE OF LITTLE WOMEN. \xe2\x80\x94 Juan Ruiz de Hita. \n\nTRANSLATED BY LONGFELLOW. \n\nTO praise the little women Love besought me in my musing; \nTo tell their noble qualities is quite beyond refusing : \nSo I \'11 praise the little women, and you \'11 find the thing \n\namusing ; \nThey are, I know, as cold as snow, whilst flames around dif- \nfusing. \n\nIn a little precious stone what splendor meets the eyes ! \nIn a little lump of sugar how much of sweetness lies ! \nSo in a little woman love grows and multiplies : \nYou recollect the proverb says, \xe2\x80\x94 A word unto the wise. \n\nA pepnercorn is very small, but seasons every dinner \nMore than all other condiments, although \'tis sprinkled thinner: \nJust so a little woman is, if Love will let you win her, \xe2\x80\x94 \nThere \'s not a joy in all the world you will not find within her \n\n\n\nCROSSING THE CARRY. 33 \n\nAnd as within the little rose you find the richest dyes, \nAnd in a little grain of gold much price and value lies, \nAs from a little balsam much odor doth arise, \nSo in a little woman there \'s a taste of paradise. \n\nEven as the little ruby its secret worth betrays, \nColor, and price, and virtue, in the clearness of its rays, \xe2\x80\x94 \nJust so a little woman much excellence displays, \nBeauty, and grace, and love, and fidelity always. \n\nThe skylark and the nightingale, though small and light of wing, \nYet warble sweeter in the grove than all the birds that sing : \nAnd so a little woman, though a very little thing, \nIs sweeter far than sugar, and flowers that bloom in spring. \n\nThere \'s naught can be compared to her throughout the wide \n\ncreation ; \nShe is a paradise on earth, \xe2\x80\x94 our greatest consolation ; \nSo cheerful, gay, and happy, so free from all vexation ; \nIn fine, she \'s better in the proof than in anticipation. \n\nIf as her size increases are woman\'s charms decreased, \nThen surely it is good to be from all the great released. \nNow, of two evils choose the less, said a wise man of the East ; \nBy consequence, of woman-kind be sure to choose the least. \n\n\n\nCROSSING THE CARRY. \xe2\x80\x94 Rev. W. H. H. Murray. \n\n" "TOHN," said I, as we stood looking at each other across \n*J the boat, " this rain is wet." \n\n" It generally is, up in this region, I believe," he responded, \nas he wiped the water out of his eyes with the back of his \nhand, and shook the accumulating drops from nose and chin ; \n" but the waterproof I have on has lasted me some thirty- \neight years, and I don\'t think it will wet through to-day." \n" Well ! " I exclaimed, " there is no use of standing here in \n2* o \n\n\n\n34 PUBLIC AND PARLOR READINGS. \n\nthis marsh-grass any longer ; help me to load up. I \'11 take \nthe baggage, and you the boat." \n\n" You \'11 never get through with it, if you try to take it all \nat once. Better load light, and I \'11 come back after what \'s \nleft," was the answer. "I tell you," he continued, "the \nswamp is full of water, and soft as muck." \n\n" John," said I, " that baggage is going over at one load, \nsink or swim, live or die, survive or perish. I \'11 make the \nattempt, swamp or no swamp. My life is assured against \naccidents by fire, water, and mud ; so here goes. What \'s life \nto glory ! " I exclaimed, as I seized the pork-bag, and dragged \nit from under the boat ; " stand by and see me put my armor \non." \n\nOver my back I slung the provision-basket, made like a \nfisherman\'s creel, thirty inches by forty, filled with plates, \ncoffee, salt, and all the impedimenta of camp and cooking \nutensils. This was held in its place by straps passing over \nthe shoulders and under the arms, like a Jew-pedler\'s pack. \nThere might have been eighty pounds\' weight in it. Upon \nthe top of the basket John lashed my knapsack, full of bul- \nlets, powder, and clothing. My rubber suit and heavy blan- \nket, slung around my neck by a leather thong, hung down in \nfront across my chest. On one shoulder the oars and paddles \nwere balanced, with a frying-pan and gridiron swinging from \nthe blades ; on the other was my rifle, from which were sus- \npended a pair of boots, my creel, a coffee-pot, and a bag of \nflour. \n\nTaking up the bag of pork in one hand, and seizing the \nstock of the rifle with the other, from two fingers of which \nhung a tin kettle of prepared trout, which we were loath to \nthrow away, I started. Picture a man so loaded, forcing \nhis way through a hemlock swamp, through whose floor of \nthin moss he sank to his knees ; or picking his way across \noozy sloughs on old roots, often covered with mud and water, \nand slippery beyond description, and you have me daguerreo- \ntyped in your mind. Well, as I said, I started. \n\nFor some dozen rods I got on famously, and was congratu- \n\n\n\nCROSSING THE CAREY. 35 \n\nlating myself with the thought of an easy transit, when a \nroot upon which I had put my right foot gave way, and, \nplunging headlong into the mud, I struck an attitude of pe- \ntition ; while the frying-pan and gridiron, flung off the oars \nand forward by the movement, alighted upon my prostrated \nhead. An ejaculation, not exactly religious, escaped me, and \nwith a few desperate flounces I assumed once more the per- \npendicular. Fishing the frying-pan from the mud, and lash- \ning the gridiron to my belt, I made another start. It was \nhard work. \n\nThe most unnatural adjustment of weight upon my back \nmade it difficult to ascertain just how far behind me lay the \ncentre of equilibrium. I found where it did not lie several \ntimes. Before I had gone fifty rods the camp-basket weighed \none hundred and twenty pounds. The pork-bag felt as if it \nhad several shoats in it, and the oar-blades stuck out in the \nexact form of an X. If I went one side of a tree, the oars \nwould go the other side. If I backed up, they would manage \nto get entangled amid the brush. If I stumbled and fell, the \nconfounded things would come like a goose-poke athwart my \nneck, pinning me down. \n\nAs I proceeded, the mud grew deeper, the roots farther \napart, and the blazed trees less frequent. Never before did I \nso truly realize the aspiration of the old hymn, \xe2\x80\x94 \n\n" 0, had I the wings of a dove ! " \n\nAt last I reached what seemed impossible to pass, \xe2\x80\x94 an \noozy slough, crossed here and there by cedar roots, smooth \nand slippery, lay before me. From a high stump which I had \nclimbed upon I gave a desperate leap. I struck where I ex- \npected, and a little farther. The weight of the basket, which \nwas now something over two hundred pounds, was too much \nfor me to check at once. It pressed me forward. I recov- \nered myself, and the abominable oars carried me as far the \nother way. The moccasons of wet leather began to slip along \nthe roots. They began to slip very often, and at bad times. \nI found it necessary to change my position suddenly. I \n\n\n\n36 PUBLIC AND PARLOR READINGS. \n\nchanged it. It was n\'t a perfect success. I tried again. It \nseemed necessary to keep on trying. \n\nI suspect I did not effect the changes very steadily, for the \ntrout began to jump about in the pail and fly out into the \nmud. The gridiron got uneasy, and played against my side \nlike a steam-flapper. In fact, the whole baggage seemed \nendowed with supernatural powers of motion. The excite- \nment was contagious. In a moment, every article was \njumping about like mad. I, in the meantime, continued to \ndance a hornpipe on the slippery roots. \n\nNow I am conscientiously opposed to dancing. I never \ndanced. I did n\'t want to learn. I felt it was wicked for me \nto be hopping around on that root so. What an example, 1 \nthought, if John should see me ! What would my wife say 1 \nWhat would my deacons say? I tried to stop. I couldn\'t. \nI had an astonishing dislike to sit down. I thought I would \ndance there forever, rather than sit down, \xe2\x80\x94 deacons or no \ndeacons. \n\nThe basket now weighed any imaginable number of pounds. \nThe trout were leaping about my head, as if in their native \nelement. The gridiron was in such rapid motion that it was \nimpossible to distinguish the bars. There was, apparently, \na whole litter of pigs in the pork-bag. I could not stand \nit longer. I concluded to rest awhile. I wanted to do \nthe thing gracefully. I looked around for a soft spot, and, \nseeing one just behind me, I checked myself. My feet flew \nout from under me. They appeared to be unusually light. \nI don\'t remember that I ever sat down quicker. The motion \nwas very decided. The only difficulty I observed was, that \nthe- seat I had gracefully settled into had no bottom. \n\nThe position of things was extremely picturesque. The \noars were astride my neck, as usual. The trout-pail was \nbottom up, and the contents lying about almost anywhere. \nThe boots were hanging on a dry limb overhead. A capital \nidea. I thought of it as I was in the act of sitting down. \nOne piece of pork lay at my feet, and another was sticking \nup, some ten feet off, in the mud. It looked very queer, \xe2\x80\x94 \n\n\n\nCROSSING THE CARRY, 37 \n\nslightly out of place. With the same motion with which I \nhung my boots on a limb, as I seated myself, I stuck my \nrifle carefully into the mud, muzzle downward. I never saw \na gun in that position before. It struck me as being a good \nthing. There was no danger of its falling over and breaking \nthe stock. The first thing I did was to pass the gridiron \nunder me. When that feat had been accomplished, I felt \nmore composed. It \'s pleasant for a man in the position I \nwas in to feel that he has something under him. Even a \nchip or a small stump would have felt comfortable. As I sat \nthinking how many uses a gridiron could be put to, and esti- \nmating where I should then have been if I had n\'t got it \nunder me, I heard John forcing his way, with the boat on his \nback, through the thick undergrowth. \n\n" It won\'t do to let John see me in this position," I said ; \nand so, with a mighty effort, I disengaged myself from the \npack, flung off the blanket from around my neck, and, seizing \nhold of a spruce limb which I could fortunately reach, drew \nmyself slowly up. I had just time to jerk the rifle out of \nthe mud, and fish up about half of the trout, when John \ncame struggling along. \n\n" John," said I, leaning unconcernedly against a tree, as if \nnothing had happened, \xe2\x80\x94 " John, put down the boat, here \'s \na splendid spot to rest." \n\n" Wei], Mr. Murray," queried John, as he emerged from \nunder the boat, " how are you getting along 1 " \n\n" Capitally ! " said I ; " the carry is very level when you \nonce get down to it. I felt a little out of breath, and \nthought I would wait for you a few moments." \n\n" What \'s your boots doing up there in that tree 1 " ex- \nclaimed John, as he pointed up to where they hung dangling \nfrom the limb, about fifteen feet above our heads. \n\n"Boots doing!" said I, "why they are hanging there, \ndon\'t you see 1 You did n\'t suppose I \'d drop them into this \nmud, did you *? " \n\n"Why, no," replied John, "I don\'t suppose you would ; \nbut how about this 1 " he continued, as he stooped down and \n\n\n\n38 PUBLIC AND PARLOE HEADINGS. \n\npulled a big trout, tail foremost, out of the soft muck ; " how \ndid that trout come there 1 " \n\n" It must have got out of the pail, somehow," I responded. \n" I thought I heard something drop just as I sat down." \n\n" What in thunder is that, out there 1 " exclaimed John, \npointing to a piece of pork, one end of which was sticking \nabout four inches out of the water; " is that pork ?" \n\n" Well, the fact is, John," returned I, speaking with the \nutmost gravity, and in a tone intended to suggest a mystery, \n\xe2\x80\x94 " the fact is, John, I don\'t quite understand it. This carry \nseems to be all covered over with pork. I would n\'t be sur- \nprised to find a piece anywhere. There is another junk, \nnow," I exclaimed, as I plunged my moccason into the mud \nand kicked a two-pound bit toward him ; " it \'s lying all \nround here loose." \n\nI thought John would split with laughter, but my time \ncame, for as in one of his paroxysms he turned partly round, \nI saw that his back was covered with mud clear up to his \nhat. \n\n" Do you always sit down on your coat, John," I inquired, \n" when you cross a carry like this 1 " \n\n" Come, come," rejoined he, ceasing to laugh from very \nexhaustion, " take a knife or tin plate, and scrape the muck \nfrom my back. I always tell my wife to make my clothes a \nground color, but the color is laid on a little too thick this \ntime, any way." \n\n" John," said I, after having scraped him down, "take the \npaddle and spear my boots off from that limb up there, while \nI tread out this pork." \n\nPlunging into the slough, balancing here on a bog and \nthere on an underlying root, T succeeded in concentrating the \nscattered pieces at one point. As I was shying the last junk \ninto the bag, a disappointed grunt from John caused me to \nlook around. I took in the situation at a glance. The boots \nwere still suspended from the limb. The paddle and two \noars had followed suit, and lay cosily amid the branches, \nwhile John, poising himself dexterously on the trunk of a \n\n\n\nCEOSSING THE CARRY 39 \n\nfallen spruce, red in the face and vexed at his want of success, \nwas whirling the frying-pan over his head, in the very act of \nletting it drive at the boots. \n\n" Go in, John ! " I shouted, seizing hold of the gridiron \nwith one hand and a bag of bullets with the other, while \ntears stood in my eyes from very laughter ; " when we \'ve got \nall the rest of the baggage up in that hemlock, I \'11 pass up \nthe boat, and we \'11 make a camp." \n\nThe last words were barely oft* my lips, when John, having \nsucceeded in getting a firm footing, as he thought, on the \nslippery bark, threw all his strength into the cast, and away \nthe big iron pan went whizzing up through the branches. \nBut, alas for human calculation ! the rotten bark under his \nfeet, rent by the sudden pressure as he pitched the cumbrous \nmissile upward, parted from the smooth wood, and John, with \na mighty thump which seemed almost to snap his head oft*, \ncame down upon the trunk; while the frying-pan, gyrating \nlike a broken-winged bird, landed rods away in the marsh. \nBy this time John\'s blood was up, and the bombardment \nbegan in earnest. The first thing he laid his hand on was \nthe coffee-pot. I followed suit with the gridiron. Then my \nfishing-basket and a bag of bullets mounted upward. Never \nbefore was such a battle waged, or such weapons used. The \nair was full of missiles. Tin plates, oar-locks, the axe, grid- \niron, and pieces of pork, were all in the air at once. How \nlong the contest would have continued I cannot tell, had it \nnot been brought to a glorious termination ; but at last the \nheavy iron camp-kettle, hurled by John\'s nervous wrist, \nstriking the limb fair, crashed through like a forty-pound \nshot, and down came boots, oars, paddle, and all. Gathering \nthe scattered articles together, we took our respective bur- \ndens, and pushed ahead. Weary and hot, we reached at \nlength the margin of the swamp, and our feet stood once \nmore on solid ground. \n\nAt last (for all journeys will have an end) we stood upoia \nthe coveted beach. The dreaded carry was crossed. \n\n\n\n40 PUBLIC AND PARLOR READINGS. \n\n\n\nDAME FRE\'DEGONDE. \xe2\x80\x94 Aytoun. \n\nWHEN folks, with headstrong passion blind, \nTo play the fool make up their mind, \nThey \'re sure to come, with phrases nice \nAnd modest air, for your advice. \nBut, as a truth unfailing make it, \nThey ask, but never mean to take it. \n\'T is not advice they want, in fact, \nBut confirmation in their act. \nNow mark what did, in such a case, \nA worthy priest who knew the race. \n\nA dame more buxom, blithe, and free \nThan Fredegonde you scarce would see. \nSo smart her dress, so trim her shape, \nNe\'er hostess offered juice of grape, \nCould for her trade wish better sign ; \nHer looks gave flavor to her wine, \nAnd each guest feels it, as he sips, \nSmack of the ruby of her lips. \nA smile for all, a welcome glad, \xe2\x80\x94 \nA jovial coaxing way she had ; \nAnd \xe2\x80\x94 what was more her fate than blame \xe2\x80\x94 \nA nine months\' widow was our dame. \nBut toil was hard, for trade was good, \nAnd gallants sometimes will be rude. \n" And what can a lone woman do ? \nThe nights are long and eerie too. \nNow, Guillot there \'s a likely man, \nNone better draws or taps a can ; \nHe \'s just the man, I think, to suit, \nIf I could bring my courage to \'t." \nWith thoughts like these her mind is crossed : \nThe dame, they say, who doubts, is lost. \n" But then the risk 1 I \'11 beg a slice \nOf Father Raulin\'s good advice." \n\n\n\nDAME FREDEGONDE. 41 \n\nPranked in her best, with looks demure, \nShe seeks the priest ; and, to be sure, \nAsks if he thinks she ought to wed : \n" With such a business on my head, \nI \'m worried off my legs with care, \nAnd need some help to keep things square. \nI \'ve thought of Guillot, truth to tell ! \nHe \'s steady, knows his business well. \nWhat do you think 1 " When thus he met her : \n" 0, take him, dear, you can\'t do better ! " \n" But then the danger, my good pastor, \nIf of the man I make the master. \nThere is no trusting to these men." \n" Well, well, my dear, don\'t have him then I " \n" But help I must have, there \'s the curse, \nI may go farther and fare worse." \n" Why, take him then ! " " But if he should \nTurn out a thankless ne\'er-do-good, \xe2\x80\x94 \nIn drink and riot waste my all, \nAnd rout me out of house and hall 1 " \n" Don\'t have him, then ! But I \'ve a plan \nTo clear your doubts, if any can. \nThe bells a peal are ringing, \xe2\x80\x94 hark ! \nGo straight, and what they tell you, mark. \nIf they say \' Yes ! \' wed, and be blest, \xe2\x80\x94 \nIf \' No,\' why, \xe2\x80\x94 do as you think best." \n\nThe bells rung out a triple bob : \n0, how our widow\'s heart did throb ! \nAnd thus she heard their burden go, \n" Marry, mar-marry, mar-Guillot ! " \nBells were not then left to hang idle : \nA week, \xe2\x80\x94 and they rang for her bridal. \nBut, woe the while, they might as well \nHave rung the poor dame\'s parting knell. \nThe rosy dimples left her cheek, \nShe lost her beauties plump and sleek ; \n\n\n\n42 PUBLIC AND PARLOR READINGS. \n\nFor Guillot oftener kicked than kissed, \nAnd backed his orders with his fist, \nProving by deeds, as well as words, \nThat servants make the worst of lords. \n\nShe seeks the priest, her ire to wreak, \nAnd speaks as angry women speak, \nWith tiger looks, and bosom swelling, \nCursing the hour she took his telling. \nTo all, his calm reply was this, \xe2\x80\x94 \n" I fear you \'ve read the bells amiss. \nIf they have led yon wrong in aught, \nYour wish, not they, inspired the thought. \nJust go, and mark well what they say." \nOff trudged the dame upon her way, \nAnd sure enough the chime went so, \xe2\x80\x94 \n" Don\'t have that knave, that knave Guillot ! " \n\n" Too true," she cried, " there \'s not a doubt : \nWhat could my ears have been about ! " \nShe had forgot that, as fools think, \nThe bell is ever sure to clink. \n\n\n\nOUR GUIDE IN GENOA AND ROME. \xe2\x80\x94 Mark Twai*. \n\nEUROPEAN guides know about enough English to tangle \neverything up so that a man can make neither head nor \ntail of it. They know their story by heart, \xe2\x80\x94 the history of \nevery statue, painting, cathedral, or other wonder they show \nyou. They know it and tell it as a parrot would, \xe2\x80\x94 and if \nyou interrupt, and throw them off the track, they have to go \nback and begin over again. All their lives long, they are em- \nployed in showing strange things to foreigners and listening \nto their bursts of admiration. \n\nIt is human nature to take delight in exciting admiration. \n\n\n\nOUR GUIDE IN GENOA AND ROME. 43 \n\nIt is what prompts children to say "smart" things, and do \nabsurd ones, and in other ways " show off " when company is \npresent. It is what makes gossips turn out in rain and storm \nto go and be the first to tell a startling bit of news. Think, \nthen, what a passion it becomes with a guide, whose privilege \nit is, every day, to show to strangers wonders that throw them \ninto perfect ecstasies of admiration! He gets so that he \ncould not by any possibility live in a soberer atmosphere. \n\nAfter we discovered this, we never went into ecstasies any \nmore, \xe2\x80\x94 we never admired anything, \xe2\x80\x94 we never showed any \nbut impassible faces and stupid indifference in the presence \nof the sublimest wonders a guide had to display. We had \nfound their weak point. We have made good use of it ever \nsince. We have made some of those people savage, at times^ \nbut we have never lost our serenity. \n\nThe doctor asks the questions generally, because he can \nkeep his countenance, and look more like an inspired idiot, \nand throw more imbecility into the tone of his voice than \nany man that lives. It comes natural to him. \n\nThe guides in Genoa are delighted to secure an American \nparty, because Americans so much wonder, and deal so much \nin sentiment and emotion before any relic of Columbus. Our \nguide there fidgeted about as if he had swallowed a spring \nmattress. He was full of animation, \xe2\x80\x94 full of impatience. \nHe said : \xe2\x80\x94 \n\n" Come wis me, genteelmen ! \xe2\x80\x94 come ! I show you ze let- \nter writing by Christopher Colombo ! \xe2\x80\x94 write it himself ! \xe2\x80\x94 \nwrite it wis his own hand ! \xe2\x80\x94 come ! " \n\nHe took us to the municipal palace. After much impres- \nsive fumbling of keys and opening of locks, the stained and \naged document was spread before us. The guide\'s eyes spark- \nled. He danced about us and tapped the parchment with his \nfinger : \xe2\x80\x94 \n\n" What I tell you, genteelmen ! Is it not so % See ! hand- \nwriting Christopher Colombo ! \xe2\x80\x94 write it himself ! " \n\nWe looked indifferent, \xe2\x80\x94 unconcerned. The doctor exam- \nined the document very deliberately, during a painful pause. \nThen he said, without any show of interest, \xe2\x80\x94 \n\n\n\n44 PUBLIC AND PARLOR READINGS. \n\n" Ah, \xe2\x80\x94 Ferguson, \xe2\x80\x94 what \xe2\x80\x94 what did you say was the \nname of the party who wrote this 1 " \n\n" Christopher Colombo ! ze great Christopher Colombo ! " \n\nAnother deliberate examination. \n\n" Ah, \xe2\x80\x94 did he write it himself, or \xe2\x80\x94 or how 1 " \n\n" He write it himself ! \xe2\x80\x94 Christopher Colombo ! he \'s own \nhandwriting, write by himself I " \n\nThen the doctor laid the document down and said, \xe2\x80\x94 \n\n" Why, I have seen boys in America only fourteen years \nold that could write better than that." \n\n" But zis is ze great Christo \xe2\x80\x94 " \n\nu I don\'t care who it is ! It \'s the worst writing T ever saw. \nNow you must n\'t think you can impose on us because we are \nstrangers. We are not fools, by a good deal. If you have \ngot any specimens of penmanship of real merit, trot them \nout ! \xe2\x80\x94 and if you have n\'t, drive on ! " \n\nWe drove on. The guide was considerably shaken up, but \nhe made one more venture. He had something which he \nthought would overcome us. He said, \xe2\x80\x94 \n\n" Ah, genteelmen, you come wis me ! I show you beau- \ntiful, 0, magnificent bust Christopher Colombo ! \xe2\x80\x94 splendid, \ngrand, magnificent ! " \n\nHe brought us before the beautiful bust, \xe2\x80\x94 for it was beau- \ntiful, \xe2\x80\x94 and sprang back and struck an attitude : \xe2\x80\x94 \n\n" Ah, look, genteelmen ! \xe2\x80\x94 beautiful, grand, \xe2\x80\x94 bust Chris- \ntopher Colombo ! \xe2\x80\x94 beautiful bust, beautiful pedestal ! " \n\nThe doctor put up his eye-glass, \xe2\x80\x94 procured for such \noccasions : \xe2\x80\x94 \n\n" Ah, \xe2\x80\x94 what did you say this gentleman\'s name was 1 " \n\n" Christopher Colombo ! ze great Christopher Colombo ! " \n\n" Christopher Colombo, \xe2\x80\x94 the great Christopher Colombo. \nWell, what did he do?" \n\n" Discover America ! \xe2\x80\x94 discover America, 0, ze devil ! " \n\n" Discover America. No, \xe2\x80\x94 that statement will hardly \nwash. We are just from America ourselves. We heard \nnothing about it. Christopher Colombo, \xe2\x80\x94 - pleasant name, \xe2\x80\x94 \nis \xe2\x80\x94 is he dead 1 " \n\n\n\nOUR GUIDE IN GENOA AND ROME. 45 \n\n" 0, corpo di Baccho ! \xe2\x80\x94 three hundred year ! " \n\n"What did he die of ?" \n\n" I do not know. I cannot tell." \n\n"Small-pox, think?" \n\n"I do not know, genteelmen, \xe2\x80\x94 I do not know what he \ndie of." \n\n" Measles, likely ? " \n\n" Maybe, \xe2\x80\x94 maybe. I do not know, \xe2\x80\x94 I think he die of \nsomethings." \n\n" Parents living 1 " \n\n" Im-posseeble ! " \n\n"Ah, \xe2\x80\x94 which is the bust and which is the pedestal?" \n\n" Santa Maria ! \xe2\x80\x94 zis ze bust ! \xe2\x80\x94 zis ze pedestal ! " \n\n"Ah, I see, I see, \xe2\x80\x94 happy combination, \xe2\x80\x94 very happy \ncombination indeed. Is \xe2\x80\x94 is this the first time this gentle- \nman was ever on a bust 1 " \n\nThat joke was lost on the foreigner, \xe2\x80\x94 guides cannot master \nthe subtleties of the American joke. \n\nWe have made it interesting for this Roman guide. Yester- \nday we spent three or four hours in the Vatican again, that \nwonderful world of curiosities. We came very near express- \ning interest sometimes, even admiration. It was hard to \nkeep from it. We succeeded, though. Nobody else ever \ndid, in the Vatican museums. The guide was bewildered, \nnonplussed. He walked his legs off, nearly, hunting up \nextraordinary things, and exhausted all his ingenuity on us, \nbut it was a failure ; we never showed any interest in any- \nthing. He had reserved what he considered to be his greatest \nwonder till the last, \xe2\x80\x94 a royal Egyptian mummy, the best \npreserved in the world, perhaps. He took us there. He felt \nso sure, this time, that some of his old enthusiasm came back \nto him : \xe2\x80\x94 \n\n" See, genteelman ! \xe2\x80\x94 Mummy ! Mummy ! " \n\nThe eye-glass came up as calmly, as deliberately as ever. \n\n" Ah, \xe2\x80\x94 Ferguson, \xe2\x80\x94 what did I understand you to say the \ngentleman\'s name was 1 " \n\n" Name 1 \xe2\x80\x94 he got no name ! Mummy ! \xe2\x80\x94 \'Gy ptian mummy ! " \n\n\n\n46 PUBLIC AND PARLOR READINGS. \n\n" Yes, yes. Born here ? " \n\n"No. \'Gyptian mummy." \n\n" Ah, just so. Frenchman, I presume % " \n\n" No ! \xe2\x80\x94 not Frenchman, not Roman ! \xe2\x80\x94 born in Egypta ! " \n\n" Born in Egypta. Never heard of Egypta before. Foreign \nlocality, likely. Mummy, \xe2\x80\x94 mummy. How calm he is, how \nself-possessed ! Is \xe2\x80\x94 ah ! \xe2\x80\x94 is he dead ?" \n\n" 0, sacre bleu ! been dead three thousan\' year ! " \n\nThe doctor turned on him savagely : \xe2\x80\x94 \n\n" Here, now, what do you mean by such conduct as this 1 \nPlaying us for Chinamen because we are strangers and trying \nto learn! Trying to impose your vile second-hand carcasses \non us ! Thunder and lightning ! I \'ve a notion to \xe2\x80\x94 to \xe2\x80\x94 If \nyou \'ve got a nice fresh corpse, fetch him out ! \xe2\x80\x94 or, by George, \nwe \'11 brain you ! " \n\nWe make it exceedingly interesting for this Frenchman. \nHowever, he has paid us back, partly, without knowing it. \nHe came to the hotel this morning to ask if we were up, and \nhe endeavored, as well as he could, to describe us, so that the \nlandlord would know which persons he meant. He finished \nwith the casual remark that we were lunatics. The obser- \nvation was so innocent and so honest that it amounted to a \nvery good thing for a guide to say. \n\nOur Roman Ferguson is the most patient, unsuspecting, \nlong-suffering subject we have had yet. We shall be sorry to \npart with him. We have enjoyed his society very much. We \ntrust he has enjoyed ours, but we are harassed with doubts. \n\nThe Innocents Abroad. \n\n\n\n" JIM." \xe2\x80\x94 F. Bret Harte. \n\nSAY there ! P\'r\'aps \nSome o\' you chaps \nMight know Jim Wild ] \nWell, \xe2\x80\x94 no offence : \nThar ain\'t no sense \n\n\n\njim." 47 \n\n\n\nIn gittin\' riled. \nJim was my chum \n\nUp on the Bar : \nThat \'s why I come \n\nDown from up thar, \nLookin\' for Jim. \nThank ye, sir ! you \nAin\'t of that crew, \xe2\x80\x94 \n\nBlest if you are ! \n\nMoney 1 \xe2\x80\x94 Not much : \nThat ain\'t my kind ; \n\nI ain\'t no such. \n\nRum % \xe2\x80\x94 I don\'t mind, \n\nSeein\' it \'s you. \n\nWell, this yer Jim, \nDid you know him 1 \xe2\x80\x94 \nJess \'bout your size ; \nSame kind of eyes 1 \xe2\x80\x94 \nWell, that is strange : \nWhy, it \'s two year \nSince he come here, \nSick, for a change. \nWell, here \'s to us ! \n\nEh? \nDead, you say ! \nThat little cuss? \n\nWhat makes you star,\xe2\x80\x94 \nYou over thar % \nCan\'t a man drop \n\'s glass in yer shop \nBut you must rar\' 1 \nIt would n\'t take \nDerned much to break \nYou and your bar. \n\n\n\n48 \n\n\n\nPUBLIC AND PAELOR READINGS. \n\n\n\nDead? \nPoor \xe2\x80\x94 little \xe2\x80\x94 Jim 1 \nWhy thar was me, \nJones, and Bob Lee, \nHarry and Ben, \xe2\x80\x94 \nNo-account men ; \nThen to take him ! \n\nWell, thar, \xe2\x80\x94 Good by. \nNo more, sir, \xe2\x80\x94 I \xe2\x80\x94 \n\nEh? \nWhat \'s that you say % \nWhy, dern it ! \xe2\x80\x94 sho ! \xe2\x80\x94 \nNo* Yes! By Jo! \n\nSold! \nSold ! Why, you limb, \nYou ornery, \n\nDerned old \nLong-legged Jim ! \n\n\n\nJOYS AND SORROWS OF EGGS.\xe2\x80\x94 Rev. H. W. Beecher. \n\nBORN in the country, oar amusements were few and \nsimple ; but what they lacked in themselves we supplied \nfrom a buoyant and overflowing spirit of enjoyment. A string \nand a stick went further with us, and afforded more hearty \nenjoyment, than forty dollars\' worth of trinkets to our own \nchildren. Indeed, it would seem as if the enjoying part of \nour nature depended very much upon the necessity of pro- \nviding its own pleasures. There are not man}^ of our earlier \nexperiences which we should particularly care to renew. We \nare content to renew our wading and grubbing after sweet- \nflag root only in memory. The nuttings were excellent in \ntheir way, the gathering of berries, the building of snow- \nhouses, and the various games of summer and winter, on \nland, ice, or snow. We keep them as a pleasant background \n\n\n\nJOYS AND SORROWS OF EGGS. 49 \n\nof recollection, without any special wish to advance them \nagain into the foreground. \n\nOne thing we shall never get over. We shall never lose \nenthusiasm for hen\'s-nests. The sudden cackling outcry of a \nfaithful old hen, proclaiming the wonder of her eggs, we shall \nnever hear without the old flush and wish to seek and bring \nin the vaunted trophy. The old barn was very large. It \nabounded in nooks, sheds, compartments, and what-nots, \nadmirably suited to a hen\'s love of egg-secretiveness. And \nno lover ever sought the post-office for an expected letter with \nhalf the alacrity with which we used to search for eggs. \nEvery barrel, every manger and bin, every pile of straw or \nstack of cornstalks, every mow and grain-room, was inspected. \nAnd there was always the delightful hope that a new nest \nwould suddenly open up to us. For every one properly born \nand well brought up knows that hen\'s-nests are fortuitous, \nand are always happening in the most surprising manner, and \nin the most unexpected places. And though you bring all \nyour great human brain to bear upon the matter, a silly old \nhen will tuck away a dozen eggs, right under your eyes, and \nwill walk forth daily after each instalment, with a most \ndomestic air and tone of taunting, saying, as plain as inar- \nticulate sounds can proclaim it, "I \'ve laid an egg ! I \'ve laid \nan egg! I\'ve laid another! You can\'t find it! You won\'t \nfind it ! I know you won\'t ! " \n\nAnd sure enough we can\'t find it, and don\'t find it, until, \nafter a due time, the gratified old fuss leads forth all her \neggs with infinite duckings responsive to endless peepings ! \nBehold ! there was a nest in a clump of grass not a yard \nfrom a familiar path. \n\nThe knowledge that a nest might dawn upon us at any \ntime kept our youthful zeal more alert than ever Columbus \nwas to discover this little nest of a continent. Sometimes we \ndetected the sly treasure in the box of a chaise ; sometimes \nan old hat held more in it when cast into a corner than in its \npalmy days. The ash-bin was an excellent spot. The fire- \nplace under an old abandoned Dutch oven was a favorite \n\n3 D \n\n\n\n50 PUBLIC AND PAELOE EEADINGS. \n\nhaunt. We have crept, flat as a serpent, under the whole \nbarn, fearless of all the imaginary monsters which, to a boy\'s \nimagination, populate dark holes, and have come forth flaxed \nfrom head to foot with spider\' s-webs, well rewarded if only a \nfew eggs were found. \n\nAh, how it comes back to us now ! \xe2\x80\x94 the re and, rosy face \nof a younger brother ; the quiet, dreaming search of a sister, \nwho always was looking, and never finding what she did look \nfor, and always finding what she did not. And then, when \nthe spring was wide-awake, rearing her brood of flowers, and \nthe air smelt of new-growing things, and showers were warm, \nand clouds were white and fleecy, and wandered about the \npale blue heaven, like straggling flocks of pasturing sheep ; \nand new-mated birds kept honeymoon in every bush and tree, \nand sang amatory poems that Burns might have envied ; and \nnew furrows in every field attracted flocks of worm-loving \nblackbirds, and everything was gay and glad and musical, the \nvery flies having music in their wings ; and bees, like wicked \npoets, singing of the flowers which they have robbed (well, \nlet \'s see, this long sentence has bewildered us, and we forget \nwhat we started for. 0, now we remember !) Well, in these \nfervent, soft, brooding days even hens felt the celestial fire, \nand piled up their poetical duties in full and overflowing \nnests, till boys\' hearts fairly throbbed with delight, and the \npans in the closet swelled up in rounded heaps, until egg \ncould no longer lie upon egg ! \n\nNow it sometimes happened that, when busy about the \n"chores," foddering the horse, throwing down hay to the \ncows, we discovered a nest brimming full of hidden eggs. \nThe hat was the bonded warehouse, of course. But some- \ntimes it was a cap not of suitable capacity. Then the pocket \ncame into play, and chiefly the skirt pockets. Of course, we \nintended to transfer them immediately after getting into the \nhouse, for eggs are as dangerous in the pocket, though for \ndifferent reasons, as powder would be in a forgeman\'s pocket. \nAnd so, having finished the evening\'s work, and put the pin \ninto the stable-door, we sauntered toward the house, behind \n\n\n\nJOYS AND SORROWS OF EGGS. 51 \n\nwhich, and right over Chestnut Hill, the broad moon stood \nshowering all the east with silver twilight ! All earthly cares \nand treasures were forgot in the dreamy pleasure, and at \nlength entering the house, \xe2\x80\x94 supper already delayed for us, \xe2\x80\x94 \nwe drew up the chair, and peacefully sank into it, with a \nsuppressed and indescribable crunch and liquid crackle under- \nneath us, which brought us up again in the liveliest manner, \nand with outcries which seemed made up of all the hens\' \ncackles of all the eggs which were now holding carnival in \nour pockets ! Facilis descensus averno, sed revocare gradum, \n&c, which means, It is easy to put eggs into your pocket, but \nhow to get them out again, that \'s the question. And it was \nthe question ! Such a hand-dripping business, \xe2\x80\x94 such a scene \nwhen the slightly angry mother and the disgusted maid \nturned the pockets inside out ! \n\nWe were very penitent ! It should never happen again ! \nAnd it did not \xe2\x80\x94 for a month or two. Then a sudden nest, \nvery full, tempted us, and we fortified our courage, as, of \ncourse, the same accident could not happen twice. The \nmemory of the old disaster would certainly prevent any such \nsecond ridiculous experience ! \n\nBut it chanced there was company in the house, \xe2\x80\x94 cousins \nand gladly-received neighbors. And amidst the gratulations \nand the laugh and the hand-shakings, they began to sit down, \nand we also sat quietly down, but rose up a great deal \nquicker ! Our disgrace was total. Such a tale as we un- \nfolded ! \n\nThree times within our melancholy remembrance did we \nperform this shameful act, until a hen\'s-nest affected us with \npeculiar horror. \n\nAre we the only man that sits down on eggs 1 Is not the \nwhole world hunting nests, and laying up their treasures in \npockets behind them, and sitting down on all their spoils, \nwhen it is too late 1 Are there not other things beside eggs, \nwhich are very fair on the outside, and very clean if tenderly \nhandled, which, when broken, are most foul to the raiment \nand tfce touch 1 Are there no men whose experience of long- \n\n\n\n52 PUBLIC AND PARLOR READINGS. \n\nsought love is but eggs in the pocket of one who sits down 1 \nAre there no men filling their pockets with thin-shelled, \ngolden eggs, which Fortune lays, and which they mean to \ncarry home, and employ for all domestic uses, but which in \nthe end are crushed, and only soil their pockets 1 \n\nWe said we performed the feat three times. Why should \nwe conceal the fact that we have understated the number 1 \nLet us make a clean pocket of the matter, and confess that \nit happened offcener, and even after we were grown up and \nmarried ! The wife\'s admirable conduct on the occasion \nestablished her reputation. And if any one, before venturing \nupon the untried navigation of matrimony, would test the \npatience and gentleness of any angelic person, we would \nadvise him to sit down on a dozen eggs in her presence, and \nwitness then the developments of her disposition in the \ndisaster. There are a hundred women who would follow \nFlorence Nightingale into a plague hospital, where there is \none who would put her hand into his pocket after such a \ndrear experience as we have narrated ! \n\n\n\nMORE HULLAHBALOO!\xe2\x80\x94 Thomas Hood. \n\nAMONGST the great inventions of this age, \nWhich every other century surpasses, \nIs one, \xe2\x80\x94 just now the rage, \xe2\x80\x94 \n\nCalled "singing for all classes," \xe2\x80\x94 \nThat is, for all the British millions, \nAnd billions, \nAnd quadrillions, \nNot to name Quintilians, \nThat now, alas ! have no more ear than asses, \nTo learn to warble like the birds in June, \n\nIn time and tune, \nCorrect as clocks, and musical as glasses ! \n\n\n\nMOKE HULLAHBALOO! 53 \n\nIn fact, a sort of plan, \nIncluding gentleman as well as yokel, \n\nPublic or private man, \nTo call out a militia, \xe2\x80\x94 only vocal \n\nInstead of local, \nAnd not designed for military follies, \nBut keeping still within the civil border, \nTo form with mouths in open order, \nAnd sing in volleys. \n\nWhether this grand harmonic scheme \nWill ever get beyond a dream, \n\nAnd tend to British happiness and glory, \nMaybe no, and maybe yes, \nIs more than I pretend to guess, \xe2\x80\x94 \nHowever here \'s my story. \n\nIn one of those small, quiet streets, \n\nWhere Business retreats, \nTo shim the daily bustle and the noise \n\nThe shoppy Strand enjoys, \nBut Law, Joint Companies, and Life Assurance \n\nFind past endurance, \xe2\x80\x94 \nIn one of those back streets, to Peace so dear, \nThe other day a ragged wight \nBegan to sing with all his might, \n" / have a silent sorrow here ! " \n\nHeard in that quiet place, \nDevoted to a still and studious race, \n\nThe noise was quite appalling! \nTo seek a fitting simile and spin it, \n\nAppropriate to his calling, \nHis voice had all Lablache\'s body in it ; \nBut 0, the scientific tone it lacked, \n\nAnd was, in fact, \nOnly a forty-boatswain-power of bawling ! \n\n\n\n54 PUBLIC AND PARLOR READINGS. \n\n\'T was said, indeed, for want of vocal nous, \n\nThe stage had banished him when he tempted it, \n\nFor though his voice completely filled the house, \nIt also emptied it. \nHowever, there he stood \n\nVociferous, - \xe2\x80\x94 a ragged don ! \n\nAnd with his iron pipes laid on \nA row to all the neighborhood. \n\nLouder, and louder still, \nThe fellow sang with horrible good-will, \nCurses both loud and deep his sole gratuities, \nFrom scribes bewildered making many a flaw \nIn deeds of law \nThey had to draw ; \nWith dreadful incongruities \nIn posting ledgers, making up accounts \nTo large amounts \nOr casting up annuities, \xe2\x80\x94 \nStunned by that voice, so loud and hoarse, \nAgainst whose overwhelming force \nNo invoice stood a chance, of course ! \n\nFrom room to room, from floor to floor, \n\nFrom Number One to Twenty-four \n\nThe nuisance bellowed, till, all patience lost, \n\nDown came Miss Frost, \nExpostulating at her open door, \xe2\x80\x94 \n\n" Peace, monster, peace ! \n\nWhere is the New Police ! \nI vow I cannot work, or read, or pray, \n\nDon\'t stand there bawling, fellow, don\'t ! \nYou really send my serious thoughts astray, \nDo, \xe2\x80\x94 there \'s a dear, good man \xe2\x80\x94 do, go away.* \n\nSays he, " I won\'t ! " \n\nThe spinster pulled her door to with a slam, \nThat sounded like a wooden d n, \n\n\n\nMORE HULLAHBALOO ! 55 \n\nFor so some moral people, strictly loath \nTo swear in words, however up, \nWill crash a curse in setting down a cup, \nOr through a doorpost vent a banging oath, \xe2\x80\x94 \nIn fact, this sort of physical transgression \nIs really no more difficult to trace \nThan in a given face \nA very bad expression. \n\nHowever, in she went, \nLeaving the subject of her discontent \nTo Mr. Jones\'s clerk at Number Ten ; \nWho, throwing up the sash, \nWith accents rash, \nThus hailed the most vociferous of men : \n\n" Come, come, I say, old fellor, stop your chant ! \nI cannot write a sentence, \xe2\x80\x94 no one can\'t ! \nSo just pack up your trumps, \nAnd stir your stumps \xe2\x80\x94 " \nSays he, " I sha\'n\'t ! " \n\nDown went the sash \nAs if devoted to " eternal smash," \n(Another illustration \nOf acted imprecation,) \nWhile close at hand, uncomfortably near, \nThe independent voice, so loud and strong, \nAnd clanging like a gong, \nEoared out again the everlasting song, \n" I have a silent sorrow here ! " \n\nThe thing was hard to stand ! \n\nThe music-master could not stand it, \xe2\x80\x94 \nBut, rushing forth with fiddlestick in hand, \n\nAs savage as a bandit, \nMade up directly to the tattered man, \n\n\n\n56 PUBLIC AND PAKLOR READINGS. \n\nAnd thus in broken sentences, began, \nBut playing first a prelude of grimaces, \n\nTwisting his features to the strangest shapes, \nSo that, to guess his subject from his faces, \nHe meant to give a lecture upon apes, \xe2\x80\x94 \n" Com \xe2\x80\x94 com \xe2\x80\x94 I say ! \nYou go away ! \nInto two parts my head you split, \xe2\x80\x94 \nMy fiddle cannot hear himself a bit \n\nWhen I do play \xe2\x80\x94 \nYou have no bis\'ness in a place so still ! \nCan you not come another day 1 " \nSays he, "I will." \n\nNo, no \xe2\x80\x94 you scream and bawl ! \nYou must not come at all ! \nYou have no rights, by rights, to beg, \xe2\x80\x94 \nYou have not one off leg, \xe2\x80\x94 \n\nYou ought to work, \xe2\x80\x94 you have not some complaint, \xe2\x80\x94 \nYou are not cripple in your back or bones, \xe2\x80\x94 \nYour voice is strong enough to break some stones," \xe2\x80\x94 \xe2\x96\xa0 \nSays he, " It ain\'t ! " \n\n" I say you ought to labor ! \nYou are in a young case, \nYou have not sixty years upon your face, \n\nTo come and beg your neighbor, \nAnd discompose his music with a noise \nMore worse than twenty boys, \xe2\x80\x94 \nLook what a street it is for quiet ! \nNo cart to make a riot, \n\nNo coach, no horses, no postilion, \nIf you will sing, I say, it is not just \nTo sing so loud." Says he, " I must! \n\nI \'m SINGING FOR THE MILLION ! " \n\n\n\nLORD DUNDREARY PROPOSING. 57 \n\n\n\nLORD DUNDREARY PROPOSING. \xe2\x80\x94 F. J. Skill. \n\n" A NY fellah feelth nervouth when he knowth he \'th \n-i-A- going to make an ath of himself." \n\nThat \'s vewy twue, \xe2\x80\x94 I \xe2\x80\x94 I \'ve often thed tho before. But \nthe fact is, evewy fellah doth n\'t make an ath of himthelf, at \nleast not quite such an ath as I \'ve done in my time. 1 \xe2\x80\x94 \ndon\'t mind telling you, but \'pon my word now, \xe2\x80\x94 I \xe2\x80\x94 I\'ve \nmade an awful ath of mythelf on thome occathions. You don\'t \nbelieve it now, \xe2\x80\x94 do you 1 I \xe2\x80\x94 thought you would n\'t, \xe2\x80\x94 but \nI have now \xe2\x80\x94 weally. Particularly with wegard to women. \n\nTo say the twuth, that is my weakneth, \xe2\x80\x94 I s\'pose I \'m what \nthey call a ladies\' man. The pwetty cweachaws like me, \xe2\x80\x94 I \nknow they do, \xe2\x80\x94 though they pwetend not to do so. It \xe2\x80\x94 \nit \'s the way with some fellahs. There was hith late Majesty, \nGeorge the Fourth. I never thaw him mythelf, you know, \nbut I \'ve heard he had a sort of way with him that no woman \ncould wesist. They used to call him a cam \xe2\x80\x94 what is it ] a \ncamelia \xe2\x80\x94 no, camel-leopard, no \xe2\x80\x94 chameleon, is n\'t it 1 that \nattwacts people with its eyes \xe2\x80\x94 no, by the way that \xe2\x80\x94 that \'s \nthe bwute that changes color \xe2\x80\x94 it could n\'t have been that you \nknow, \xe2\x80\x94 Georgius Wex \xe2\x80\x94 never changed color, \xe2\x80\x94 he \xe2\x80\x94 he \'d \ngot beyond blushing, he had \xe2\x80\x94 he only blushed once \xe2\x80\x94 early \n\xe2\x80\x94 vewy early in life, and then it was by mistake \xe2\x80\x94 no cam \xe2\x80\x94 \nchameleon \'s not the word. What the dooth is it 1 0, stop, \xe2\x80\x94 \nit begins with a B. By the way, its \'stonishing how many \nwords begin with a B. 0, an awful lot ! No \xe2\x80\x94 no wonder \nDr. Watts talked about the \xe2\x80\x94 the busy B. Why, he \'s more \nwork than all the west of the alphabet. However, the word \nbegins with a B, and its Bas \xe2\x80\x94 Basiloose \xe2\x80\x94 yes, that \'s it \xe2\x80\x94 \nstop, I \'d better look it out in the dictionary to make certain. \nI \xe2\x80\x94 I hate to make mistakes \xe2\x80\x94 I do \xe2\x80\x94 especially about a \nthimple matter like this. 0, here we are \xe2\x80\x94 B. Basilica. \n\nNo it \xe2\x80\x94 that can\'t be the word you know \xe2\x80\x94 George was \nking, and if \xe2\x80\x94 if Basilica means a royal palace \xe2\x80\x94 they \xe2\x80\x94 they \nmight have been \xe2\x80\x94 welations \xe2\x80\x94 but that \'s all \xe2\x80\x94 no, it is n\'t \n3* \n\n\n\n58 PUBLIC AND PAELOE EEADINGS. \n\nBasilica \xe2\x80\x94 it \xe2\x80\x94 it \'s Basilisk \xe2\x80\x94 yes, I \'ve got it now \xe2\x80\x94 it \'s \nBathilith. That \'s what his Majesty was \xe2\x80\x94 a Bathilith, and \nfascinated fair creachaws with his eye. Let me see \xe2\x80\x94 where \nwas II 0, I rekomember \xe2\x80\x94 or weckolect \xe2\x80\x94 which is it 1 \nNever mind, I was saying that I was a ladies\' man. \n\nI wanted to tell you of one successful advenchaw I had, \xe2\x80\x94 \nat least, when I say successful, I mean it would have been as \nfar as / was concerned, \xe2\x80\x94 but of course when two people are \nengaged \xe2\x80\x94 or wather \xe2\x80\x94 when one of \'em wants to be engaged, \none fellah by himself can\'t engage that he \'11 engage aifections \nthat are otherwise engaged. By the way, what a lot of \'gages \nthat was in one thentence, and yet \xe2\x80\x94 it seems quite fruitless. \nCome, that \'s pwetty smart, that is, \xe2\x80\x94 for me. \n\nWell, as I was saying, \xe2\x80\x94 I mean as I meant to have said, \xe2\x80\x94 \nwhen I was stopping down at Wockingham, with the Widleys, \nlast autumn, there was a mons\'ous jolly girl staying there too. \nI don\'t mean too girls you know \xe2\x80\x94 only \xe2\x80\x94 only one girl \xe2\x80\x94 But \nstop a minute, \xe2\x80\x94 is that right 1 How could one girl be stop- \nping there two ? What doosid queer expressions there are in \nthe English language ! . . . Stopping there two ! It \'s vewy \nodd / \xe2\x80\x94 I \'11 swear there was only one girl, \xe2\x80\x94 at least, the one \nthat / mean was only one \xe2\x80\x94 if she \'d been two, of course I \nshould have known it \xe2\x80\x94 let me see now, one is singular, and \ntwo is plural, \xe2\x80\x94 well, you know, she was a singular girl \xe2\x80\x94 and \nshe \xe2\x80\x94 she was one too many for me. Ah, I see now, \xe2\x80\x94 that \naccounts for it, \xe2\x80\x94 one two many \xe2\x80\x94 of course \xe2\x80\x94 I knew there \nwas a two somewhere. She had a vewy queer name, Miss \xe2\x80\x94 \nmiss \xe2\x80\x94 Missmiss, no not Miss Missmiss \xe2\x80\x94 I always miss the \nwrong \xe2\x80\x94 I mean the right name, \xe2\x80\x94 Miss Chaffingham, \xe2\x80\x94 that \'s \nit, \xe2\x80\x94 Charlotte Chaffingham. I weckom ember Charlotte, be- \ncause they called her Lotty, \xe2\x80\x94 and one day at bweakfast \xe2\x80\x94 I \nmade a stunning widdle \xe2\x80\x94 I said, \xe2\x80\x94 " Why is Miss Charlotte \nlike a London cabman 1 " Well, none of them could guess it. \nThey twied and twied, and at last my brother Sam, \xe2\x80\x94 he gave \na most stupid anthwer, \xe2\x80\x94 he said, " I know," he said, \xe2\x80\x94 "She \'s \nlike a London cabman because she \'s got a fair hack.\'\'\'\' \n\nDid you ever hear anything so widiculous % Just as if her \n\n\n\nLOKD DUNDKEAKY PROPOSING. 59 \n\nface was n\'t much pwettier than her back ! Why, I could see \nthat, for I was sitting opposite her. It \'s twue Sam was just \nbehind her, offering some muffins, but \xe2\x80\x94 you know he\'d \nseen her face, and he weally ought to have known better. I \ntold him so, \xe2\x80\x94 I said, " Tham, you ought to be athamed of \nyourthelf, that \'th not the anther." \n\nWell, of course then they all wanted to know, and I \xe2\x80\x94 I \ntold \'em \xe2\x80\x94 ha, ha ! my answer was good, was n\'t it 1 0, \nI forgot I have n\'t told you, \xe2\x80\x94 well, \xe2\x80\x94 here it is, \xe2\x80\x94 I said, \xe2\x80\x94 \n\n" Miss Charlotte is like a London cabman, because she \'s a \nLotty Chaffingham " (of course I meant, lot o\' chaff in him). \nD\' ye see 1 Doosid good / call it, \xe2\x80\x94 but would you believe 1 all \nthe party began woarwing with laughter all wound. At first \nI thought they were laughing at the widdle, and I laughed \ntoo, but at last Captain Wagsby said (by the way, I hate \nWagsby, \xe2\x80\x94 he \'s so doosid familiar) \xe2\x80\x94 Captain Wagsby said, \n"Mulled it again, my Lord." From this low expwession, \xe2\x80\x94 \nwhich I weckollect at Oxford, \xe2\x80\x94 I thought that they thought \nI had made a mithtake, and asked them what they meant by \nwoarwing in that absurd manner. \n\n"Why, don\'t you see, Dundreary," some one said, \xe2\x80\x94 "it \nwon\'t do, \xe2\x80\x94 you \'ve forgotten the lady\'s sex, \xe2\x80\x94 Miss Charlotte \ncan\'t be said to have any chaff in him. It ought to be chaff \nin her" \xe2\x80\x94 and then they began to woar again. Upon my word \nnow, it had n\'t occurred to me certainly before, but I don\'t \nsee now that it was such a mistake. What \'s the use of being \nso doosid particular about the sense of a widdle as long as it \'s \na good one 1 Abthurd ! \n\nWell, after breakfast we went out for a stroll upon the \nlawn, and somehow or other Miss Chaffingham paired off with \nme. She was a doosid stunning girl, you know. A fellah \noften talks about stunning girls, and when you see them \nthey \'re not so stunning after all ; but Lotty weally was a \ndoosid stunning girl, \xe2\x80\x94 fair eyes and beautifully blue, ha \xe2\x80\x94 \nno ! blue hair and fair \xe2\x80\x94 I (confound it, I always make that \nmistake when there\'s more than one adjective in a thentence) \xe2\x80\x94 \nI mean fair hair and beautifully blue eyes, and she had a way \n\n\n\n60 PUBLIC AND PARLOR READINGS. \n\nof looking at one that \xe2\x80\x94 that weally almost took one^s \nbweath away. I \'ve often heard about a fellah\'s falling in \nlove. I never did tho rnythelf, you know, \xe2\x80\x94 at least not that \n1 weckomember, \xe2\x80\x94 I mean, weckollect, \xe2\x80\x94 before that morning. \nBut weally she did look so jolly bweaking her egg at bweak- \nfast, \xe2\x80\x94 so bewitching when she smashed the shell all wound \nwith her thpoon before she began to eat it, \xe2\x80\x94 I, I weally \nbegan to feel almost thpooney rnythelf. Ha, ha! there I am \nat it again ; I weally must bweak rnythelf off this habit of \njoking ; it \'s vewy low, you know, \xe2\x80\x94 like a beathly clown in a \nb-beathly pantomime, \xe2\x80\x94 I ought n\'t to have said beathly twice, \nI know. A fellah once told me, that if \xe2\x80\x94 if a man says the \nsame adjective twice in one thentence he\'s taught ological. \nBut he \'s wrong, you know, \xe2\x80\x94 for / often do, and I \'m sure / \nnever was taught anything of the kind. \n\nHowever, Lotty was a stunning girl, and we walked all \nabout the lawn, \xe2\x80\x94 down into the shwubbery to look into some \nbush after a wobin wedbweast that she said had built a nest \nthere, \xe2\x80\x94 and, sure enough, when we got to it, there was this \nweddin \xe2\x80\x94 wob \xe2\x80\x94 I mean wobbin \xe2\x80\x94 wed \xe2\x80\x94 beast looking out \nof a gweat lump of moss. I thought Lotty would be pleased \nif I caught it, and so I thwust my hand in as quick as I could, \nbut you know those little wedding \xe2\x80\x94 wobbin \xe2\x80\x94 web-beasts \nare so doosid sharp, \xe2\x80\x94 and I \'m dashed if it did n\'t fly out \non the other side. \n\n" You thupid man," Lotty thaid. " Why \xe2\x80\x94 you \xe2\x80\x94 you Vo \nfwitened the poor little thing away." \n\nI was wather wild at first at being called thupid, \xe2\x80\x94 that \'s a \nsort of thing \xe2\x80\x94 no fellah likes, but \xe2\x80\x94 dash it ! I \'d have stood \nanything from Lotty, \xe2\x80\x94 I \xe2\x80\x94 I \'d have carried her pwayer- \nbook to church, \xe2\x80\x94 I \'d have parted my hair on one side, \xe2\x80\x94 or \n\xe2\x80\x94 no \xe2\x80\x94 yes \xe2\x80\x94 I think I \'d have thaved off my whiskers for \nher thake. \n\n" Poor, dear little wobbin," she said, \xe2\x80\x94 "it will never come \nback any more ; I\'m afraid you\'ve made it desert." What \ndid she mean by that % I thought she meant the eggs, so, \ntaking one up, I said, " You \xe2\x80\x94 you don\'t mean to thay they \neat these specky things after dinner % " I said. \n\n\n\nLORD DUNDREARY PROPOSING. 61 \n\n" Of course not," she weplied, \xe2\x80\x94 and I think I had hit the \nwite nail on the head, for she began to laugh twemendously, \nand told me to put the egg quietly in its place, and then \npwaps the little wobbin would come back. Which I hope \nthe little beggar did. \n\nAt the top of the long walk at Wockingham there is a \nsummer-house, \xe2\x80\x94 a jolly sort of place, with a lot of ferns and \nthings about, and behind there are a lot of shrubs and bushes \nand pwickly plants, which give a sort of rural or wurwal \xe2\x80\x94 \nwhich is it 1 blest if I know \xe2\x80\x94 look to the place, and as it \nwas vewy warm, I thought if I \'m ever to make an ath of \nmythelf by pwoposing to this girl, \xe2\x80\x94 I won\'t do it out in the \neye of the sun, \xe2\x80\x94 it \'s so pwecious hot. So I pwoposed we \nshould walk in and sit down, and so we did, and then I \nbegan : \xe2\x80\x94 \n\n" Miss Chaffingham, now, don\'t you think it doosid cool 1 " \n\n" Cool, Lord D.," she said ; " why, I thought you were com- \nplaining of the heat." \n\n" I beg your pardon," I said, "I \xe2\x80\x94 I \xe2\x80\x94 can\'t speak vewy \nfast " (the fact is, that a beathly wasp was buthhing about me \nat the moment), " and I had n\'t quite finished my thentence. \nI was going to say, Don\'t you think it\'s doosid cool of \nWagsby to go on laughing \xe2\x80\x94 at \xe2\x80\x94 at a fellah as he does 1 " \n\n" Well, my Lord," she said, " I think so, too ; and I wonder \nyou stand it. You \xe2\x80\x94 you have your remedy, you know." \n\n" What remedy 1 " 1 said. " You \xe2\x80\x94 you don\'t mean to say \nI ought to thwash him, Miss Charlotte 1 " \n\nHere she \xe2\x80\x94 she somehow began to laugh, but in such a \npeculiar way that I \xe2\x80\x94 I could n\'t think what she meant. \n\n"A vewy good idea," I said. "I\'ve a vewy good mind to \ntwy it. I had on the gloves once with a lay figure in a paint- \ner\'s studio, \xe2\x80\x94 and gave it an aw T ful licking. It \'s true it \xe2\x80\x94 it \ndid n\'t hit back, you know \xe2\x80\x94 I \xe2\x80\x94 / did all \xe2\x80\x94 all the hitting \nthen. And pwaps \xe2\x80\x94 pwaps Wagsby would hit back. But if \n\xe2\x80\x94 if he did anything so ungentlemanlike as that, I could \nalways \xe2\x80\x94 always \xe2\x80\x94 " \n\n" Always what, my Lord 1 " said Lotty, who was going on \nlaughing in a. most hysterical manner. \n\n\n\n62 PUBLIC AND PARLOR READINGS. \n\n"Why I could always say it was a mithtake, and \xe2\x80\x94 and it \nshouldn\'t happen again, you know." \n\n" Admirable policy, upon my word," she said, and began \ntittering again. But what the dooth amused her so 7" never \ncould make out. Just then we heard a sort of rustling in \nthe leaves behind, and I confess I felt wather nervouth. \n\n" It \'s only a bird," Lotty said ; and then we began talking \nof that little wobin-wedbreast, and what a wonderful thing \nNature is, \xe2\x80\x94 and how doosid pwetty it was to see her laws \nobeyed. And I said, " Miss Chafhngham ! " I said, " if I \nwas a wobin \xe2\x80\x94 " \n\n" Yes, Dundreary," she anthered, \xe2\x80\x94 vewy soft and sweet. \nAnd 1 thought to mythelf, \xe2\x80\x94 Now \'s the time to ask her, \xe2\x80\x94 \nnow \'s the time to \xe2\x80\x94 I \xe2\x80\x94 I was beginning to wuminate again, \nbut she bwought me to my thenses by saying, \xe2\x80\x94 \n\n" Yes ? " inter woggatively. \n\n" If I was a wobbin, Lotty, \xe2\x80\x94 and \xe2\x80\x94 and you were a wob- \nbin \xe2\x80\x94 "I \xe2\x80\x94 exclaimed, \xe2\x80\x94 with a voice full of emothun. \n\n"Well, my Lord 1" \n\n" Would n\'t it be \xe2\x80\x94 jolly to have thpeckled eggs evewy \nmorning for breakfast 1 " \n\nThat was n\'t quite what I was going to say ; but just then \nthere was another rustling behind the summer-house, and in \nwushed that bwute Wagsby. \n\n"What\'s the wow, Dundreary?" said he, grinning in ft \ndweadfully idiotic sort of way. " Come, old fellow " (I \xe2\x80\x94 \nI hate a man who calls me old fellow, \xe2\x80\x94 it \'s so beathly \nfamiliar). And then he said he had come on purpose to fetch \nus back, (confound him !) as they had just awwanged to start \non one of those cold-meat excursions, \xe2\x80\x94 no, that \'s not the \nword, I know, \xe2\x80\x94 but it has something to do with cold meat, \n\xe2\x80\x94 pic \xe2\x80\x94 pickles, is it 1 \xe2\x80\x94 no, pickwick 1 pic \xe2\x80\x94 I have it \xe2\x80\x94 \nthey wanted us to go picklicking, \xe2\x80\x94 I mean picknicking with \nthem. \n\nHere was a dithappointment. Just as I thought to have a \nnice little flirtathun with Lotty, \xe2\x80\x94 to be interwupted in this \nmanner ! Was ever anything so pwovoking 1 And all for a \n\n\n\nPYRAMUS AND THISBE. 63 \n\npicnic, \xe2\x80\x94 a thort of early dinner without chairs or tables, \nand a lot of flies in the muthtard ! I was in such a wage ! \n\nOf course I did n\'t get another chance to say all I wanted. \nI had lost my opportunity, and, I fear, made an ath of my- \nthelf. \n\n\n\nPYRAMUS AND THISBE. \xe2\x80\x94 John G. Saxe. \n\nTHIS tragical tale, which, they say, is a true one, \nIs old ; but the manner is wholly a new one. \nOne Ovid, a writer of some reputation, \nHas told it before in a tedious narration ; \nIn a style, to be sure, of remarkable fulness, \nBut which nobody reads on account of its dulness. \n\nYoung Peter Pyramus \xe2\x80\x94 I call him Peter, \nNot for the sake of the rhyme or the metre, \nBut merely to make the name completer ; \nFor Peter lived in the olden times, \nAnd in one of the worst of pagan climes \nThat flourish now in classical fame, \nLong before either noble or boor \nHad such a thing as a Christian name, \xe2\x80\x94 \nYoung Peter, then, was a nice young beau \nAs any young lady would wish to know ; \nIn years, I ween, he was rather green, \nThat is to say, he was just eighteen, \xe2\x80\x94 \nA trifle too snort, a shaving too lean, \nBut " a nice young man " as ever was seen, \nAnd fit to dance with a May-day queen ! \n\nNow Peter loved a beautiful girl \n\nAs ever ensnared the heart of an earl \n\nIn the magical trap of an auburn curl, \xe2\x80\x94 - \n\nA little Miss Thisbe, who lived next door \n\n(They lived, in fact, on the very same floor,. \n\n\n\n64 PUBLIC AND PARLOR READINGS. \n\nWith a wall between them and nothing more, \xe2\x80\x94 \n\nThose double dwellings were common of yore), \n\nAnd they loved each other, the legends say, \n\nIn that very beautiful, bountiful way \n\nThat every young maid and every young blade \n\nAre wont to do before they grow staid, \n\nAnd learn to love by the laws of trade. \n\nBut (alackaday for the girl and boy !) \n\nA little impediment checked their joy, \n\nAnd gave them awhile the deepest annoy ; \xe2\x80\x94 \n\nFor some good reason, which history cloaks, \n\nThe match did n\'t happen to please the old folks. \n\nSo Thisbe\'s father, and Peter\'s mother \n\nBegan the young couple to worry and bother, \n\nAnd tried their innocent passion to smother \n\nBy keeping the lovers from seeing each other ! \n\nBut who ever heard of a marriage deterred \n\nOr even deferred \n\nBy any contrivance so very absurd \n\nAs scolding the boy and caging the bird 1 \n\nNow Peter, who was not discouraged at all \n\nBy obstacles such as the timid appall, \n\nContrived to discover a hole in the wall, \n\nWhich was n\'t so thick but removing a brick \n\nMade a passage, \xe2\x80\x94 though rather provokingly small. \n\nThrough this little chink the lover could greet her, \n\nAnd secrecy made their courting the sweeter, \n\nWhile Peter kissed Thisbe, and Thisbe kissed Peter, \xe2\x80\x94 \n\nFor kisses, like folks with diminutive souls, \n\nWill manage to creep through the smallest of holes ! \n\n\'T was here that the lovers, intent upon love, \n\nLaid a nice little plot to meet at a spot \n\nNe,ar a mulberry-tree in a neighboring grove ; \n\nFor the plan was all laid by the youth and the maid, \n\nWhose hearts, it would seem, were uncommonly bold ones, \n\n\n\nPYRAMUS AND THISBE. 65 \n\nTo run off and get married in spite of the old ones. \nIn the shadows of evening, as still as a mouse, \nThe beautiful maiden slipped out of the house, \nThe mulberry-tree impatient to find ; \nWhile Peter, the vigilant matrons to blind, \nStrolled leisurely out, some minutes behind. \n\nWhile waiting alone by the trysting tree, \nA terrible lion as e\'er you set eye on \nCame roaring along quite horrid to see, \nAnd caused the young maiden in terror to flee \n(A lion \'s a creature whose regular trade is \nBlood, \xe2\x80\x94 and " a terrible thing among ladies"), \nAnd losing her veil as she ran from the wood, \nThe monster bedabbled it over with blood. \n\nNow Peter arriving, and seeing the veil \nAll covered o\'er and reeking with gore, \nTurned, all of a sudden, exceedingly pale, \nAnd sat himself down to weep and to wail ; \nFor, soon as he saw the garment, poor Peter \nMade up his mind in very short metre, \nThat Thisbe was dead and the lion had eat her ! \nSo, breathing a prayer, he determined to share \nThe fate of his darling, " the loved and the lost," \nAnd fell on his dagger, and gave up the ghost ! \n\nNow Thisbe returning, and viewing her beau \nLying dead by her veil (which she happened to know), \nShe guessed in a moment the cause of his erring ; \nAnd, seizing the knife that had taken his life, \nIn less than a jiffy was dead as a herring. \n\nMoral. \n\nYoung gentlemen ! \xe2\x80\x94 pray recollect, if you please, \nNot to make appointments near mulberry-trees. \nShould your mistress be missing, it shows a weak head \n\n\n\n66 PUBLIC AND PARLOR READINGS. \n\nTo be stabbing yourself till you know she is dead. \nYoung ladies ! \xe2\x80\x94 you should n\'t go strolling about \nWhen your anxious mammas don\'t know you are out ; \nAnd remember that accidents often befall \nFrom kissing young fellows through holes in the wall 1 \n\n\n\nSPEECH-MAKING. \n\nHOW truly fortunate the age and country in which w\xc2\xab \nlive, when and where every event is set forth and duly \ncelebrated in a magnificent speech ! These ready speech- \nmakers seem determined to effect what Milton implored of \n\nhis muse : \xe2\x80\x94 \n\n"What is low, raise and support." \n\nWe are told by the newspapers, that at a " mowing-match," \nlately got up in New Hampshire, the " Hon. Mr. Such-a-one \ndelivered an elegant and appropriate address." Now, this is \nnothing to the style in which we do things in the Old Bay \nState. We could relate a score of instances, if we pleased, \nwhere as fine speeches as ever were blown were made on far \nless occasions than the one above mentioned. I will content \nmyself with a single instance. \n\nIn a village on one side or other of the Connecticut River \nthere is a pound, for the imprisonment of such unruly four- \nfooted animals as render themselves obnoxious to the civil \nauthority. This same pound having lost off one of the hinges \nof the gate, it became a matter of prudence to replace it by \na new one. \n\nThe making and putting on of a single hinge on a gate of \nno great magnitude is not a thing necessarily requiring a \ngreat deal of noise, saving and excepting what is made by the \nhammer and the anvil. But this only shows more fully the \nvast perfection to which the sublime art of speech-making is \nalready brought in this happy land. \n\nOn this occasion the Hon. Spouter Puffer was unanimously \nchosen to deliver the address. And the able and perfect \n\n\n\nSPEECH-MAKING. 67 \n\nmanner in which he did the thing shows, clearer than noon- \nday, the wisdom of the choice. The carpenter had taken the \nhinge in his hand, and was about nailing it fast to the gate, \nwhen the honorable gentleman arose, and after alluding ta \nthe importance of the occasion, his utter inability to do any, / \nthing like justice to it, and craving the indulgence of th* \naudience, he thus proceeded : \xe2\x80\x94 \n\n" When I look about me, and behold this vast empire of \nour republic, extending from sea to sea, and from ocean to \nocean ; when I contemplate the growing condition of this \nState ; when I reflect on the magnitude of this country ; \nwhen I consider the ineffable importance of this \'ere town, \nwith its dense and enlightened population; and, especially, \nwhen I turn my eyes to the wide circumference of the pound \nbefore us, I am lost in admiration of the magnitude of our \ndestinies. \n\n" Europe is no more to us than a filbert-shell to a meeting- \nhouse. If any one doubts that we have arrived at the pin- \nnacle of arts, let him come forward to-day, and view the \nperfection of this hinge, pounded, as it has been, on the \nanvil of Independence, and beaten into shape by the hammer \nof Wisdom. \n\n" On this hinge turns the fate of empires ; on this hinge \ndepends the starvation of horses, and bringing into subjection \nthe flesh of unruly beef. Here they may chew the bitter cud \nof nonentity ; here they may learn to prize the inestimable \nprivileges of being impounded in a land of liberty ; here \xe2\x80\x94 " \n\nBut we will not now pursue the subject any further, as it is \nutterly impossible to do anything like justice to the eloquence \nof the honorable gentleman without quoting the whole speech ; \nwhich, as it would occupy nine closely printed columns, and \nwe understand it is to be laid before the public in a pamphlet \nform, we dismiss for the present, just observing, that the hon- \norable gentleman surpassed all his former examples of elo- \nquence ; and such was the attention and stillness of an audi- \nence composed of at least twenty persons that the walls of \nthe pound might have fallen down " slam bang ! " without \nonce being heard. \n\n\n\n68 PUBLIC AND PARLOR READINGS \n\n\n\nTHE COURTIN\'. \xe2\x80\x94 J. R. Lowell. \n\n&OD makes sech nights, all white an\' still \nFur \'z you can look or listen, \nMoonshine an\' snow on field an\' hill, \nAll silence an\' all glisten. \n\nZekel crep\' up quite unbeknown \n\nAn\' peeked in thru\' the winder, \nAn\' there sot Huldy all alone, \n\n\'Ith no one nigh to hender. \n\nA fireplace filled the room\'s one side \n\nWith half a cord o\' wood in, \xe2\x80\x94 \nThere war n\'t no stoves (tell comfort died) \n\nTo bake ye to a puddin\'. \n\nThe wa\'nut logs shot sparkles out \n\nTowards the pootiest, bless her, \nAn\' leetle flames danced all about \n\nThe chiny on the dresser. \n\nAgin the chimbley crook-necks hung, \n\nAn\' in among \'em rusted \nThe ole queen\'s-arm thet gran\'ther Young \n\nFetched back from Concord busted. \n\nThe very room, coz she was in, \n\nSeemed warm from floor to ceilin* ; \n\nAn\' she looked full ez rosy agin, \nEz the apples she was peelin\'. \n\n\'T was kin\' o\' kingdom-come to look \n\nOn such a blessed creetur, \nA dogrose blushin\' to a brook \n\nAin\'t modester nor sweeter. \n\n\n\nTHE COUKTIN\'. 69 \n\nHe was six foot o\' man, A 1, \n\nClean grit an\' human natur\' ; \nNone could n\'t quicker pitch a ton \n\nNor dror a furrer straighter. \n\nHe \'d sparked it with full twenty gals, \nHe \'d squired \'em, danced \'em, druv \'em, \n\nFust this one, an\' then thet, by spells, \xe2\x80\x94 \nAll is, he could n\'t love \'em. \n\nBut long o\' her his veins \'ould run \n\nAll crinkly like curled maple, \nThe side she breshed felt full o\' sun \n\nEz a south slope in Ap\'il. \n\nShe thought no v\'ice hed sech a swing \n\nEz hisn in the choir ; \nMy ! when he made Ole Hunderd ring, \n\nShe hnowed the Lord was nigher. \n\nAn\' she \'d blush scarlit, right in prayer, \n\nWhen her new meetin\' bunnet \nFelt somehow thru\' its crown a pair \n\n0\' blue eyes sot upon it. \n\nThet night, I tell ye, she looked some ! \n\nShe seemed to \'ve gut a new soul, \nFor she felt sartin-sure he \'d come, \n\nDown to her very shoe-sole. \n\nShe heered a foot, an\' knowed it tu, \n\nA raspin\' on the scraper, \xe2\x80\x94 \nAll-ways to once her feelin\'s flew \n\nLike sparks in burnt-up paper. \n\nHe kin\' o\' l\'itered on the mat, \n\nSome doubtfle o\' the sekle, \nPis heart kep\' goin\' pity-pat, \n\nBut hern went pity Zekle. \n\n\n\n70 \n\n\n\nPUBLIC AND PARLOR READINGS. \n\n\n\nAn\' yit she gin her cheer a jerk \nEz though she wished him furder, \n\nAn\' on her apples kep\' to work, \nParin\' away like murder. \n\n" You want to see my Pa, I s\'pose ? " \n\n" Wal .... no .... I come designin\' \xe2\x80\x94 n \n\n" To see my Ma % She \'s sprinklin\' clo\'es \nAgin to-morrer\'s i\'nin\'." \n\nTo say why gals acts so or so, \n\nOr don\'t, \'ould be presumin\' ; \nMebby to mean yes an\' say no \n\nComes nateral to women. \n\nHe stood a spell on one foot fust, \n\nThen stood a spell on t\' other, \nAn\' on which one he felt the wust \n\nHe could n\'t ha\' told ye nuther. \n\nSays he, " I \'d better call agin " ; \n\nSays she, " Think likely, Mister " ; \nThet last worcl pricked him like a pin, \n\nAn\' .... Wal, he up an\' kist her. \n\nWhen Ma bimeby upon \'em slips, \n\nHuldy sot pale ez ashes, \nAll kin\' o\' smily roun\' the lips \n\nAn\' teary roun\' the lashes. \n\nFor she was jes\' the quiet kind \n\nWhose naturs never vary, \nLike streams that keep a summer mind \n\nSnowhid in Jenooary. \n\nThe blood clost roun\' her heart felt glued \n\nToo tight for all expressin\', \nTell mother see how metters stood, \n\nAnd gin \'em both her blessin\'. \n\n\n\nMR. PICKWICK\'S DILEMMA. 71 \n\nThen her red come back like the tide \n\nDown to the Bay o\' Fundy, \nAn\' all I know is, they was cried \n\nIn meeTin\' come nex\' Sunday. \n\n\n\nMR. PICKWICK\'S DILEMMA. \xe2\x80\x94 Dickens. \n\nMR PICKWICK\'S apartments in Goswell Street, although \non a limited scale, were not only of a very neat and \ncomfortable description, but peculiarly adapted for the resi- \ndence of a man of his genius and observation. \n\nHis landlady, Mrs. Bardell, \xe2\x80\x94 the relict and sole executrix \nof a deceased custom-house officer, \xe2\x80\x94 was a comely woman of \nbustling manners and agreeable appearance, with a natural \ngenius for cooking, improved by study and long practice into \nan exquisite talent. There were no children, no servants, no \nfowls. The only other inmates of the house were a large man \nand a small boy ; the first a lodger, the second a production \nof Mrs. Bardell\'s. The large man was always home precisely \nat ten o\'clock at night, at which hour he regularly condensed \nhimself into the limits of a dwarfish French bedstead in the \nback parlor ; and the infantine sports and gymnastic exercises \nof Master Bardell were exclusively confined to the neighbor\' \ning pavements and gutters. Cleanliness and quiet reigned \nthroughout the house ; and- in it Mr. Pickwick\'s will was law* \n\nTo any one acquainted with these points of the domestic \neconomy of the establishment, and conversant with the admi- \nrable regulation of Mr. Pickwick\'s mind, his appearance and \nbehavior, on the morning previous to that which had been \nfixed upon for the journey to Eatanswill, would have been \nmost mysterious and unaccountable. He paced the room to \nand fro with hurried steps, popped his head out of the window \nat intervals of about three minutes each, constantly referred \nto his watch, and exhibited many other manifestations of im- \npatience, very unusual with him. It was evident that some- \nthing of great importance was in contemplation ; but what \n\n\n\n72 PUBLIC AND PARLOR READINGS. \n\nthat something was, not even Mrs. Bardell herself had been \nenabled to discover. \n\n" Mrs. Bardell," said Mr. Pickwick, at last, as that amiable \nfemale approached the termination of a prolonged dusting of \nthe apartment. \n\n" Sir," said Mrs. Bardell. \n\n" Your little boy is a very long time gone." \n\n" Why, it \'s a good long way to the Borough, sir," remon- \nstrated Mrs. Bardell. \n\n" Ah," said Mr. Pickwick, " very true ; so it is." \n\nMr. Pickwick relapsed into silence, and Mrs. Bardell re- \nsumed her dusting. \n\n" Mrs. Bardell," said Mr. Pickwick, at the expiration of a \nfew minutes. \n\n" Sir," said Mrs. Bardell again. \n\n" Do you think it \'s a much greater expense to keep two \npeople than to keep one 1 " \n\n" La, Mr. Pickwick," said Mrs. Bardell, coloring up to the \nvery border of her cap, as she fancied she observed a species \nof matrimonial twinkle in the eyes of her lodger, \xe2\x80\x94 " la, Mr. \nPickwick, what a question ! " \n\n" Well, but do you ? " inquired Mr. Pickwick. \n\n" That depends," said Mrs. Bardell, approaching the duster \nvery near to Mr. Pickwick\'s elbow, which was planted on the \ntable, \xe2\x80\x94 " that depends a good deal upon the person, you know, \nMr. Pickwick ; and whether it \'s a saving and careful person, \nsir." \n\n" That \'s very true," said Mr. Pickwick ; " but the person \nI have in my eye (here he looked very hard at Mrs. Bardell) I \nthink possesses these qualities ; and has, moreover, a consid- \nerable knowledge of the world, and a great deal of sharpness, \nMrs. Bardell ; which may be of material use to me." \n\n" La, Mr. Pickwick," said Mrs. Bardell ; the crimson rising \nto her cap-border again. \n\n" I do," said Mr. Pickwick, growing energetic, as was his \nwont in speaking of a subject which interested him, \xe2\x80\x94 " I do, \nindeed ; and, to tell you the truth, Mrs. Bardell, I have made \nup my mind." \n\n\n\nMR. PICKWICK\'S DILEMMA. 73 \n\n" Dear me, sir," exclaimed Mrs. Bardell. \n\n" You \'11 think it not very strange now," said the amiable \nMr. Pickwick, with a good-humored glance at his companion, \n"that I never consulted you about this matter, and never \nmentioned it, till I sent your little boy out this morning, \xe2\x80\x94 \neh?" \n\nMrs. Bardell could only reply by a look. She had long \nworshipped Mr. Pickwick at a distance, but here she was, all \nat once, raised to a pinnacle to which her wildest and most \nextravagant hopes had never dared to aspire. Mr. Pickwick \nwas going to propose, \xe2\x80\x94 a deliberate plan, too, \xe2\x80\x94 sent her lit- \nde boy to the Borough to get him out of the way, \xe2\x80\x94 how \nthoughtful, \xe2\x80\x94 how considerate ! \n\n" Well," said Mr. Pickwick, " what do you think 1 " \n\n" Mr. Pickwick," said Mrs. Bardell, trembling with agi- \ntation, " you \'re very kind, sir." \n\n" It will save you a great deal of trouble, won\'t it 1" said \nMr. Pickwick. \n\n" 0, I never thought anything of the trouble, sir," replied \nMrs. Bardell ; " and of course, I should take more trouble to \nplease you then than ever ; but it is so kind of you, Mr. \nPickwick, to have so much consideration for my loneliness." \n\n" Ah, to be sure," said Mr. Pickwick : " I never thought of \nthat. When I am in town, you \'11 always have somebody to \nsit with you. To be sure, so you will." \n\n" I \'m sure I ought to be a very happy woman," said Mrs. \nBardell. \n\n" And your little boy \xe2\x80\x94 " said Mr. Pickwick. \n\n" Bless his heart," interposed Mrs. Bardell, with a mater- \naal sob. \n\n" He, too, will have a companion," resumed Mr. Pickwick, \xe2\x80\x94 \n" a lively one, who \'11 teach him, I \'11 be bound, more tricks in \n& week than he would ever learn in a year." And Mr. Pick- \nWick smiled placidly. \n\ni( G you dear \xe2\x80\x94 " said Mrs. Bardell. \n\nMr Pickwick started. \n\n" you kind, good, playful dear," said Mrs. Bardell ; and \n4 \n\n\n\n74 PUBLIC AND PAELOE EEADINGS. \n\nwithout more ado she rose from her chair, and flung her arms \nround Mr. Pickwick\'s neck, with a cataract of tears, and a \nchorus of sobs. \n\n"Bless my soul!" cried the astonished Mr. Pickwick; \xe2\x80\x94 \n" Mrs. Bardell, my good woman, \xe2\x80\x94 dear me, what a situation, \n\xe2\x80\x94 pray consider. Mrs. Bardell, don\'t \xe2\x80\x94 if anybody should \ncome \xe2\x80\x94 " \n\n"0, let them come," exclaimed Mrs. Bardell, frantically. \n" I \'11 never leave you, \xe2\x80\x94 dear, kind, good soul " ; and, with \nthese words, Mrs. Bardell clung the tighter. \n\n" Mercy upon me," said Mr. Pickwick, struggling violently. \n" I hear somebody coming up the stairs. Don\'t, don\'t, there \'s \na good creature, don\'t." But entreaty and remonstrance were \nalike unavailing, for Mrs. Bardell had fainted in Mr. Pick- \nwick\'s arms ; and before he could gain time to deposit her on \na chair, Master Bardell entered the room, ushering in Mr. \nTupman, Mr. Winkle, and Mr. Snodgrass. \n\nMr. Pickwick was struck motionless and speechless. He \nstood with his lovely burden in his arms, gazing vacantly on \nthe countenances of his friends, without the slightest attempt \nat recognition or explanation. They, in their turn, stared at \nhim ; and Master Bardell, in his turn, stared at everybody. \n\nThe astonishment of the Pickwickians was so absorbing, and \nthe perplexity of Mr. Pickwick was so extreme, that they might \nhave remained in exactly the same relative situations until the \nsuspended animation of the lady was restored, had it not been \nfor a most beautiful and touching expression of filial affection \non the part of her j^outhful son. Clad in a tight suit of cor- \nduroy, spangled with brass buttons of a very considerable size, \nhe at first stood at the door astounded and uncertain ; but by \ndegrees, the impression that his mother must have suffered \nsome personal damage, pervaded his partially developed mind, \nand, considering Mr. Pickwick the aggressor, he set up an ap- \npalling and semi-earthly kind of howling, and, butting forward \nwith his head, commenced assailing that immortal gentleman \nabout the back and legs with such blows and pinches as the \nstrength of his arm and the violence of his excitement allowed. \n\n\n\nTHE BAKER TO THE NEEDLE-PEDLER. 75 \n\n* Take this little villain away," said the agonized Mr. Pick- \nwick, " he \'s mad." \n\n" What is the matter 1 " said the three tongue-tied Pick- \nwickians. \n\n" I don\'t know," replied Mr. Pickwick, pettishly. " Take \naway the boy " (here Mr. Winkle carried the interesting boy, \nscreaming and struggling, to the farther end of the apartment). \n" Now help me to lead this woman down stairs." \n\n" 0, I \'m better now," said Mrs. Bardell, faintly. \n\n" Let me lead you down stairs," said the ever-gallant Mr. \nTupman. \n\n"Thank you, sir, \xe2\x80\x94 thank you," exclaimed Mrs. Bardell, \nhysterically. And down stairs she was led accordingly, accom- \npanied by her affectionate son. \n\n"I cannot conceive," said Mr. Pickwick, when his friend \nreturned, \xe2\x80\x94 "I cannot conceive what has been the matter with \nthat woman. I had merely announced to her my intention \nof keeping a man-servant when she fell into the extraordinary \nparoxysm in which you found her. Very extraordinary thing ! " \n\n" Very," said his three friends. \n\n" Placed me in such an extremely awkward situation," con- \ntinued Mr. Pickwick. \n\n" Very," was the reply of his followers, as they coughed \nslightly, and looked dubiously at each other. \n\nThis behavior was not lost upon Mr. Pickwick. He re- \nmarked their incredulity. They evidently suspected him. \n\n" There is a man in the passage now," said Mr. Tupman. \n\n" It \'s the man that I spoke to you about," said Mr. Pick- \nwick. " I sent for him to the Borough this morning. Have \nthe goodness to call him up, Snodgrass." \n\n\n\nTHE BAKER\'S REPLY TO THE NEEDLE-PEDLER. \n\nI NEED not your needles, \xe2\x80\x94 they \'re needless to me ; \nFor kneading of needles were needless, you see ; \nBut did my neat trousers but need to be kneed, \nI then should have need of your needles indeed. \n\n\n\n76 PUBLIC AND PARLOR READINGS. \n\n\n\nTHE TWINS. \n\nIN form and feature, face and limb, \nI grew so like my brother \nThat folks got taking me for him, \n\nAnd each for one another. \nIt puzzled all our kith and kin, \n\nIt reached an awful pitch ; \nFor one of us was born a twin, \nAnd not a soul knew which. \n\nOne day (to make the matter worse), \n\nBefore our names were fixed, \nAs we were being washed by nurse, \n\nWe got completely mixed. \nAnd thus you see, by Fate\'s decree, \n\n(Or rather nurse\'s whim), \nMy brother John got christened me, \n\nAnd I got christened him. \n\nThis fatal likeness even dogged \n\nMy footsteps when at school, \nAnd I was always getting flogged, \xe2\x80\x94 \n\nFor John turned out a fool. \nI put this question hopelessly \n\nTo every one I knew, \xe2\x80\x94 \nWhat would you do, if you were me, \n\nTo prove that you were you ? \n\nOur close resemblance turned the tide \n\nOf our domestic life ; \nFor somehow my intended bride \n\nBecame my brother\'s wife. \nIn short, year after year the same \n\nAbsurd mistakes went on ; \nAnd when I died, \xe2\x80\x94 the neighbors came \n\nAnd buried Brother John ! \n\n\n\n\nTRAVELLING UNDER THE CARE OF A GENTLEMAN. 77 \n\n\n\nTRAVELLING UNDER THE CARE OF A GENTLE- \nMAN. \xe2\x80\x94 Gail Hamilton. \xc2\xbb \n\nI REMEMBER well the agonizing stupidity of a journey \nwhich I undertook with great expectations. Harlicarnas- \nsus was obliged to leave me on the road, and I contemplated \na solitary completion of my expedition with unbounded \ndelight ; but at the very last moment he hunted up an old \nschoolmate, and consigned me to him, ready invoiced and \nlabelled ! I yielded with a resigned and quiet despair. \n\nHe proved to be a very sensible man, and \xe2\x80\x94 slept most of \nthe time, except when I spoke to him, which I did occasion- \nally for the sake of seeing him jump. He knew that it was \nnot polite for him to sleep, but he cherished the pleasing \nillusion that I did not know it, but fancied him lost in pro- \nfound meditation. Bless his dear soul ! If he only could \nhave known that it was the most agreeable disposition he \ncould possibly have made of himself, \xe2\x80\x94 though, as far as my \nobservation goes, men certainly look better awake than asleep. \n\nSlumber is not becoming to the masculine gender. Look \nat the next man you see asleep in church. What absolute \nlack of expression ! what falling jaws ! what idiocy in the \nbobbing head ! what lack-lustre vacancy about the eyes and \nin the eyes, when they drag themselves slowly open ! how \nsenseless are the fingers ! and how, when he awakes, he half \nlooks about, and then suddenly looks straight at the minister \nfor two minutes, and pretends he has been awake all the \ntime ! \xe2\x80\x94 just as if everybody did n\'t know. It is as good as \na pantomime. \n\nBut I was glad my fellow-traveller slept, for our attempts \nat conversation were really distressing to a sensitive mind. \nHe had a habit of receiving my most trifling remarks with an \nair of deep solemnity, which was very provoking. It is bad \nenough to say foolish things, and to know they are foolish \nwhen you say them; but it is a great deal worse to have \npeople think that you think you have said something wise. \n\n\n\n78 PUBLIC AND PAKLOK READINGS. \n\nThen lie never would understand what I said the first time ; \nconsequently it had to be repeated. Now, when you are put- \nting about in distress for a remark, you do often seize hold of \nany platitude, and give it audible utterance, despising your- \nself all the while ; but when it has done duty, and you have \nshoved it from you in disgust, to be forced to stretch out \nyour hand and draw it back once more. Eheu ! \n\nOur conversation might be daguerreotyped thus : \xe2\x80\x94 \n\nI. " This is a fine country." \n\nHe. "Ma\'am?" \n\n/. " This is a fine country, I said." \n\nHe. " Yes, a very fine country ! " (Pause. Profound \nmeditation on both sides.) \n\n/. "Is that an eagle 1 " (with an attempt at animation.) \n\nHe. " Ma\'am 1 " (with a start, and a wild, bewildered look.) \n\n/. " I asked if that was an eagle, but he is gone now ! " \n(Of course he was \xe2\x80\x94 a mile off.) \n\nHe. " I don\'t know, really. I didn\'t quite see him." (Re- \nlapse into meditation.) \n\n/. "Do we change cars at B V \n\nHe. "Ma\'am?" \n\n/. "Do you know whether we change cars at B , \n\nBirr \n\nHe. "I don\'t know, but I think we do. I will ask the \nconductor ! " \n\n/. "0 no ! Pray don\'t, sir ! I dare say we shall find \nout when we get there." (Third course of meditation, and so \non.) \n\nWhen we did have to change cars, \xe2\x80\x94 and it seemed to me \nas if this occurred at irregular intervals of from ten to twenty \nmiles, : \xe2\x80\x94 [I desire to enter my protest against it. One is \nscarcely seated comfortably, with valise and satchel on the \nfloor, shawl on the arm, and bundles tacked on the rack, be- \nfore " Passengers for Blank change cars " ; and up must come \nthe satchel, with a jerk, and down come the bundles with a \nthud, and off we elbow our way through a crowd, across a \ndusty track, into another car, where the same process is re- \n\n\n\nCONJUGAL LOVE. 79 \n\npeated. When people are satisfactorily adjusted, why can\'t \npeople be let alone 1] \n\nAs I was saying, whenever we had to change, he was sure \nto be sound asleep, and I would spare his feelings and not \nwake him, knowing that the people jostling against him in \npassing would do that, and suddenly he would rouse, gaze \nwildly around, and exclaim, " Are you going to get out 1 " as if \nall the commotion were caused by me; and I would turn from \nthe window at which I had been steadfastly staring, and an- \nswer calmly, and as if I had just thought of it, " Perhaps we \nwould better, sir ; the people seem to be getting out ! " And \nso, by constant watchfulness and studied forbearance, I man- \naged to pick up his goods for him, and land him safely at \n\nH , with great respect for his many virtues, and great \n\ncontempt for his qualifications as guide and protector. \n\nYet I was currently reported to be travelling under the care \nof Mr. Lakeman of Alabama \\ as if I could n\'t take care of \nmyself fifty thousand times better than that respectable \nstupidity could take care of me ! \n\n\n\nCONJUGAL LOVE. \xe2\x80\x94 R. S. Sharpe. \n\nI READ of the Emperor Conrad the Third, \nAs pleasing a story as ever I heard. \nAs it may not have happened to come in your way, \nPerhaps you \'11 allow me to tell it to-day. \n\n" The city of Wensburg I mean to besiege," \n\nHe said ; and his soldiers said, " Do you, my liege % \n\nWe are all at your service ; command, we obey." \n\nSo " blockade and bombard " was the rule of the day. \n\nI can\'t avoid saying, I think it a pity \nA king should seek fame by destroying a city ; \nWhat a very small portion of glory he shares, \nAnd how it deranges the city\'s affairs ! \n\n\n\n80 PUBLIC AND PARLOR READINGS. \n\nThink of peaceable citizens all at their duties, \nTheir wives at their needlework (bless \'em! the beauties!) \nTo be frightened, and have the house broken to bits, \nAnd, maybe, the little ones thrown into fits, \n\nFor the purpose of raising an emperor\'s fame, \xe2\x80\x94 \nI hope \'t is no treason to say, \xe2\x80\x94 " It \'s a shame." - \nYou will pardon, I trust, this parenthesis long, \nBut one cannot be silent when people do wrong. \n\nThe firing continued, the famine began, \n\nFor all had good appetites there to a man, \n\nAnd because of the noise, as they slept not a wink, \n\nThey had more time remaining to eat and to drink. \n\nThat Conrad would conquer the ladies knew then, \nFor the women oft see twice as far as the men ; \nSo their tongues and their heads then together they laid, \nAnd an active and eloquent senate they made. \n\nThey remained full two hours in close consultation, \nAnd during the whole of their confabulation \nNo noise did they hear of ram, mortar, or ball, \xe2\x80\x94 \nCould it be the fair council was louder than all % \n\nNo, bless their kind hearts ! not a word let us hear \nAgainst ladies whose memories all must revere ; \nThese excellent women, my story will show, \nAll talked to some purpose, \xe2\x80\x94 (most women do so.) \n\nTo Conrad they sent a well-written petition, \nTo beg him to pity their hapless condition ; \nTheir city (and welcome) to take and to sack, \nSo each lady pass free, \xe2\x80\x94 with a load on her bach. \n\n" Yes, dear little creatures," the emperor said ; \n\n"To be sure ! let each load both her back and her head ; \n\n\n\nTOPSY\'S FIRST LESSON. 81 \n\nThe contents of their bandboxes cannot be much, \nLet them take what they will, not a thing will I touch ; \nThey may take their whole wardrobe, and welcome for me; \nAll shall pass unmolested, \xe2\x80\x94 I sign the decree." \n\nIn beautiful order the army arrayed \nIn two lines a magnificent spectacle made ; \nImpatient, the emperor cried out, " Who waits 1 \nA nourish of trumpets, and open the gates ! " \n\nThe gates were thrown wide, the procession began, \nFive hundred fair ladies, each bearing \xe2\x80\x94 a man. \n\'T was her husband, her person thus proud to bedeck, \nWith his arms \xe2\x80\x94 where they ought to be \xe2\x80\x94 round his wife\'s \nneck ! \n\n\'T is said that the emperor melted to tears \nAt the sight of these ladies thus saving their dears ; \nRelinquished his spoils, spared the citizens\' lives, \nAnd pardoned the men for the sake of their wives. \n\nMy story is finished, I must not impair \nThe beautiful truth \'t is intended to bear ; \nThat the " wealth of the mind " is all other above, \nAnd the richest of treasures is " Conjugal Love." \n\n\n\nTOPSY\'S FIRST LESSON. \xe2\x80\x94 H. B. Stowe. \n\nMISS OPHELIA began with Topsy by taking her into a \nchamber the first morning, and solemnly commencing \na course of instruction in the art and mystery of bed-making. \nBehold, then, Topsy, washed and shorn of all the little \nbraided tails wherein her heart had delighted, arrayed in a \nclean gown, with well-starched apron, standing reverently \nbefore Miss Ophelia, with an expression of solemnity well \nbefitting a funeral. \n\n4* L \n\n\n\n82 PUBLIC AND PARLOR READINGS. \n\n" Now, Topsy, I \'m going to show you just how my bed is to \nbe made. I am very particular about my bed. You must \nlearn exactly how to do it." \n\n" Yes, ma\'am," says Topsy, with a deep sigh, and a face of \nwoful earnestness. \n\n" Now, Topsy, look here ; this is the hem of the sheet, this \nis the right side of the sheet, and this is the wrong, \xe2\x80\x94 will you \nremember ] " \n\n" Yes, ma\'am," says Topsy, with another sigh. \n\n"Well, now, the under sheet you must bring over the \nbolster, \xe2\x80\x94 so, \xe2\x80\x94 and tuck it clear down under the mattress \nnice and smooth, \xe2\x80\x94 so, \xe2\x80\x94 do you see ? " \n\n" Yes, ma\'am," said Topsy, with profound attention. \n\n" But the upper sheet," said Miss Ophelia, " must be brought \ndown in this way, and tucked under firm and smooth at the \nfoot, \xe2\x80\x94 so, \xe2\x80\x94 the narrow hem at the foot." \n\n" Yes, ma\'am," said Topsy, as before ; but we will add \xe2\x80\x94 \xe2\x80\xa2 \nwhat Miss Ophelia did not see \xe2\x80\x94 that, during the time when \nthe good lady\'s back was turned, in the zeal of her ma- \nnipulations, the young disciple had contrived to snatch \na pair of gloves and a ribbon, which she had adroitly slipped \ninto her sleeves, and stood with her hands dutifully folded \nas before. \n\n" Now, Topsy, let \'s see you do this," said Miss Ophelia, \npulling off the clothes, and seating herself. \n\nTopsy, with great gravity and adroitness, went through \nthe exercise completely to Miss Ophelia\'s satisfaction, smooth- \ning the sheets, patting out every wrinkle, and exhibiting, \nthrough the whole process, a gravity and seriousness with \nwhich her instructress was greatly edified. By an unlucky \nslip, however, a fluttering fragment of the ribbon hung out \nof one of her sleeves, just as she was finishing, and caught \nMiss Ophelia\'s attention. Instantly she pounced upon it. \n" What \'s this % You naughty, wicked child, \xe2\x80\x94 you \'ve been \nstealing this ! " \n\nThe ribbon was pulled out of Topsy\'s own sleeve, yet \nwas she not in the least disconcerted : she only looked \n\n\n\nTOPSY\'S FIRST LESSON. 83 \n\nat it with an air of the most surprised and unconscious inno- \ncence. \n\n" Laws ! why that ar \'s Miss Feely\'s ribbon, an\'t it 1 How \ncould it a got caught in my sleeve 1 " \n\n" Topsy, you naughty girl, don\'t you tell me a lie ! you \nstole that ribbon ! " \n\n" Missis, I declar for \'t, I did n\'t ; never seed it till dis yer \nblessed minnit." \n\n" Topsy," said Miss Ophelia, " don\'t you know it \'s wicked \nto tell lies %" \n\n" 1 never tells no lies, Miss Feely," said Topsy, with virtu- \nous gravity ; " it \'s jist the truth I \'ve been a tellin\' now, and \nan\'t nothin\' else." \n\n" Topsy, I shall have to whip you, if you tell lies so." \n\n" Laws, Missis, if you \'s to whip all day, could n\'t say no \nother way," said Topsy, beginning to blubber. " I never seed \ndat ar, \xe2\x80\x94 it must have got caught in my sleeve. Miss Feely \nmust have left it on the bed, and it got caught in the clothes, \nand so got in my sleeve." \n\nMiss Ophelia was so indignant at the barefaced lie, that she \ncaught the child and shook her. \n\n" Don\'t you tell me that again ! " \n\nThe shake brought the gloves on to the floor, from the \nother sleeve. \n\n" There, you ! " said Miss Ophelia, " will you tell me now \nyou did n\'t steal the ribbon 1 " \n\nTopsy now confessed to the gloves, but still persisted in \ndenying the ribbon. \n\n" Now, Topsy," said Miss Ophelia, " if you \'11 confess all \nabout it, I won\'t whip you this time." Thus adjured, Topsy \nconfessed to the ribbon and gloves, with woful protestations of \npenitence. \n\n" Well, now, tell me, \xe2\x80\x94 I know you must have taken other \nthings since you have been in the house, for I let you run \nabout all day yesterday. Now tell me if you took anything, \nand I sha\' n\'t whip you." \n\n" Laws, Missis ! I took Miss Eva\'s red thing she wars on \nher neck." \n\n\n\n84 PUBLIC AND PARLOR READINGS. \n\n" You did, you naughty child ! \xe2\x80\x94 Well, what else 1 * \n\n" I took Rosa\'s yer-rings, \xe2\x80\x94 them red ones." \n\n" Go bring them to me this minute, both of \'em." \n\n" Laws, Missis ! I can\'t, \xe2\x80\x94 they \'s burnt up ! " \n\n" Burnt up ! \xe2\x80\x94 what a story ! Go get \'em, or I Tl whip \nyou." \n\nTopsy, with loud protestations, and tears, and groans, de- \nclared that she could not. " They \'s burnt up, \xe2\x80\x94 they was." \n\n" What did you burn \'em for 1 " said Miss Ophelia. \n\n" \'Cause I \'s wicked, I is. I \'s mighty wicked, any how, \xe2\x80\x94 \nI can\'t help it." \n\nJust at that moment Eva came innocently into the room, \nwith the identical coral necklace on her neck. \n\n" Why, Eva, where did you get your necklace 1 " said Miss \nOphelia. \n\n" Get it ? why, I \'ve had it on all day," said Eva. \n\n" Did you have it on yesterday 1 " \n\n" Yes ; and what is funny, Aunty, I had it on all night. I \nforgot to take it off when I went to bed." \n\nMiss Ophelia looked perfectly bewildered ; the more so, as \nRosa, at that instant, came into the room, with a basket of \nnewly ironed linen poised on her head, and the coral ear-drops \nshaking in her ears ! \n\n" I \'m sure I can\'t tell anything what to do with such a \nchild ! " she said, in despair.- " What in the world did you \ntell me you took those things for, Topsy % " \n\n" Why, Missis said I must \'fess ; and I could n\'t think of \nnothin\' else to \'fess," said Topsy, rubbing her eyes. \n\n" But, of course, I did n\'t want you to confess things you \ndidn\'t do," said Miss Ophelia; " that\'s telling a lie, just as \nmuch as the other." \n\n" Laws, now, is it 1 " said Topsy, with an air of innocent \nwonder. \n\n" La, there an\'t any such thing as truth in that limb," \nsaid Rosa, looking indignantly at Topsy. " If I was Mas\'r \nSt. Clare, I \'d whip her till the blood run. I would, \xe2\x80\x94 I \'d \nlet her catch it ! " \n\n\n\nTOPSY\'S FIRST LESSON. 85 \n\n" No, no, Rosa," said Eva, with an air of command which \nthe child could assume at times ; " you must n\'t talk so, Rosa. \nI can\'t bear to hear it." \n\n" La sakes ! Miss Eva, you \'s so good, you don\'t know noth- \ning how to get along with niggers. There \'s no way but to \ncut \'em well up, I tell ye." \n\n"Rosa!" said Eva, "hush! Don\'t say another word of \nthat sort ! " and the eye of the child flashed, and her cheek \ndeepened its color. \n\nRosa was cowed in a moment. \n\n" Miss Eva has got the St. Clare blood in her, that \'s plain. \nShe can speak, for all the world, just like her papa," she said, \nas she passed out of the room. \n\nEva stood looking at Topsy. \n\nThere stood the two children, representatives of the two \nextremes of society. The fair, high-bred child, with her \ngolden head, her deep eyes, her spiritual, noble brow, and \nprince-like movements; and her black, keen, subtle, cring- \ning, yet acute neighbor. They stood, the representatives of \ntheir races. The Saxon, born of ages of cultivation, com- \nmand, education, physical and moral eminence ; the Afric, \nborn of ages of oppression, submission, ignorance, toil, and \nvice! \n\nWhen Miss Ophelia expatiated on Topsy\'s naughty, wicked \nconduct, Eva looked perplexed and sorrowful, but said sweet- \n\niy.- \n\n11 Poor Topsy, why need you steal 1 You \'re going to be \ntaken good care of now. I \'m sure I \'d rather give you any- \nthing of mine than have you steal it." \n\nIt was the first word of kindness the child had ever heard \nin her life ; and the sweet tone and manner struck strangely \non the wild, rude heart, and a sparkle of something like a tear \nBhone in the keen, round, glittering eye. \n\n\n\n86 PUBLIC AND PARLOR READINGS. \n\n\n\nMOLLY MULDOON. \n\nMOLLY MULDOON was an Irish girl, \nAnd as fine a one \nAs you \'d look upon \nIn the cot of a peasant, or hall of an earl. \nHer teeth were white, though not of pearl, \nAnd dark was her hair, but it did not curl ; \nYet few who gazed on her teeth and her hair \nBut owned that a power o\' beauty was there. \n\nNow many a hearty and rattling gorsoon, \nWhose fancy had charmed his heart into tune, \nWould dare to approach fair Molly Muldoon, \nBut for that in her eye \nWhich made most of them shy, \nAnd look quite ashamed, though they could n\'t tell why,- \nHer eyes were large, dark blue, and clear, \n\nAnd heart and mind seemed in them blended. \nIf intellect sent you one look severe, \n\nLove instantly leapt in the next to mend it. \nHers was the eye to check the rude, \nAnd hers the eye to stir emotion, \nTo keep the sense and soul subdued, \nAnd calm desire into devotion. \n\nThere was Jemmy O\'Hare, \n\nAs fine a boy as you \'d see in a fair, \n\nAnd wherever Molly was he was there. \n\nHis face was round and his build was square, \n\nAnd he sported as rare \n\nAnd tight a pair \nOf legs, to be sure, as are found anywhere. \n\nAnd Jemmy would wear \n\nHis caubeen and hair \nWith such a peculiar and rollicking air, \n\nThat I \'d venture to swear \n\nNot a girl in Kildare, \nNor Victoria \'s self, if she chanced to be there, \n\n\n\nMOLLY MULDOON. 87 \n\nCould resist his wild way, \xe2\x80\x94 called " Devil may care." \nNot a boy in the parish could match him for fun, \nNor wrestle, nor leap, nor hurl, nor run \nWith Jemmy, \xe2\x80\x94 no gorsoon could equal him, \xe2\x80\x94 none. \nAt wake or at wedding, at feast or at fight, \nAt throwing the sledge with such dexterous slight, \nHe was the envy of men, and the women\'s delight. \n\nNow .Molly Muldoon liked Jemmy O\'Hare, \n\nAnd in troth Jemmy loved in his heart Miss Muldoon. \nI believe in my conscience a purtier pair \n\nNever danced in a tent at a pattern in June,\xe2\x80\x94 \nTo a bagpipe or fiddle, \n\nOn the rough cabin door \nThat is placed in the middle, \xe2\x80\x94 \nYe may talk as ye will, \nThere \'s a grace in the limbs of the peasantry there, \nWith which People of Quality could n\'t compare. \nAnd Molly and Jemmy were counted the two \nThat would keep up the longest, and go the best through \nAll the jigs and the reels \nThat have occupied heels \nSince the days of the Murtaghs and Brian Boru. \n\nIt was on a long, bright, sunny day, \n\nThey sat on a green knoll side by side, \nBut neither just then had much to say ; \n\nTheir hearts were so full that they only tried \nTo do anything foolish just to hide \n\nWhat both of them felt, but what Molly denied. \nThey plucked the speckled daisies that grew \nClose by their arms, \xe2\x80\x94 then tore them too ; \nAnd the bright little leaves that they broke from the stalk \nThey threw at each other for want of talk ; \n\nWhile the heart-lit look and the sunny smile \nKeflected pure souls without art or guile. \nAnd every time Molly sighed or smiled \nJem felt himself grow as soft as a child ; \n\n\n\n88 PUBLIC AND PARLOR READINGS. \n\nAnd he fancied the sky never looked so bright, \n\nThe grass so green, the daisies so white : \n\nEverything looked so gay in his sight, \n\nThat gladly he \'d linger to watch them till night. \nAnd Molly herself thought each little bird, \nWhose warbling notes her calm soul stirred, \n\nSang only his lay but by her to be heard. \nAn Irish courtship \'s short and sweet, \nIt \'s sometimes foolish and indiscreet ; \nBut who is wise when his young heart\'s heat \nWhips the pulse to a galloping beat, \xe2\x80\x94 \nTies up his judgment neck and feet, \nAnd makes him the slave of a blind conceit ] \nSneer not therefore at the loves of the poor, \nThough their manners be rude, their affections are pure ; \nThey look not by art, and they love not by rule, \nFor their souls are not tempered in fashion\'s cold school. \n0, give me the love that endures no control \nBut the delicate instinct that springs from the soul, \nAs the mountain stream gushes its freshness and force, \nYet obedient, wherever it flows, to its source ! \nYes, give me the love that but nature has taught, \nBy rank unallured and by riches unbought ; \nWhose very simplicity keeps it secure, \xe2\x80\x94 \nThe love that illumines the hearts of the poor. \n\nAll blushful was Molly, or shy at least, \n\nAs one week before Lent \n\nJem procured her consent \nTo go the next Sunday and spake to the priest. \n\nShrove-Tuesday was named for the wedding to be, \nAnd it dawned as bright as they \'d wish to see. \nAnd Jemmy was up at the day\'s first peep, \nFor the livelong night no wink could he sleep. \nA bran new coat, with a bright big button, \nHe took from a chest and carefully put on, \xe2\x80\x94 \nAnd brogues, as well lampblacked as ever went foot on, \n\n\n\nmvjlly muldoon. 89 \n\nWere greased with the fat of a quare sort of mutton ! \nThen a tidier gorsoon could n\'t be seen \nTreading the Emerald Sod so green, \xe2\x80\x94 \nLight was his step, and bright was his eye, \nAs he walked through the slobbery streets of Athy. \nAnd each girl he passed bid " God bless him " and sighed, \nWhile she wished in her heart that herself was the bride. \n\nHush ! here \'s the Priest, \xe2\x80\x94 let not the least \nWhisper be heard till the Father has ceased. \n\n" Come, bridegroom and bride, \n\nThat the knot may be tied, \nWhich no power upon earth can hereafter divide." \nUp rose the bride and the bridegroom too, \nAnd a passage was made for them both to walk through ; \nAnd his Reverence stood with a sanctified face, \nWhich spread its infection around the place. \nThe bridesmaid bustled and whispered the bride, \nWho felt so confused that she almost cried : \nBut at last bore up and walked forward, where \nThe Father was standing with solemn air ; \nThe bridegroom was following after with pride, \nWhen his piercing eye something awful espied ! \n\nHe stopped and sighed, \n\nLooked round and tried \nTo tell what he saw, but his tongue denied ; \n\nWith a spring and a roar \n\nHe jumped to the door, \nAnd the bride laid her eyes on the bridegroom no more ! \n\nSome years sped on, \n\nYet heard no one \nOf Jemmy O\'Hare, or where he had gone. \nBut since the night of that widowed feast, \nThe strength of poor Molly had ever decreased ; \nTill, at length, from earth\'s sorrow her soul, released, \nFled up to be ranked with the saints at least. \nAnd the morning poor Molly to live had ceased, \n\n\n\n90 PUBLIC AND PARLOE READINGS. \n\nJust five years after the widowed feast, \n\nAn American letter was brought to the priest, \n\nTelling of Jemmy O\'Hare deceased ! \nWho, ere his death, \nWith his latest breath, \n\nTo a spiritual father unburdened his breast, \n\nAnd the cause of his sudden departure confessed, \xe2\x80\x94 \n" Father ! " says he, " I \'ve not long to live, \nSo I \'11 freely confess, and hope you \'11 forgive \xe2\x80\x94 \nThat same Molly Muldoon, sure I loved her indeed ; \nAy, as well as the Creed \nThat was never forsaken by one of my breed ; \n\nBut I could n\'t have married her after I saw " \xe2\x80\x94 \n\n" Saw what ! " cried the Father, desirous to hear, \xe2\x80\x94 \nAnd the chair that he sat in unconsciously rocking, \xe2\x80\x94 % \n\n" Not in her \'karacter,\' yer Eev\'rince a flaw " \xe2\x80\x94 \n\nThe sick man here dropped a significant tear, \n\nAnd died as he whispered in the clergyman\'s ear, \xe2\x80\x94 \n\n" But I saw, God forgive her, a hole in her STOCKING ! * \n\nThe Moral* \nLady readers, love may be \nFixed in hearts immovably, \nMay be strong and may be pure ; \nFaith may lean on faith secure, \nKnowing adverse fate\'s endeavor \nMakes that faith more firm than ever ; \nBut the purest love and strongest, \nLove that has endured the longest, \nBraving cross and blight and trial, \nFortune\'s bar, or pride\'s denial, \nWould \xe2\x80\x94 no matter what its trust \xe2\x80\x94 \xe2\x96\xa0 \nBe uprooted by Disgust ; \xe2\x80\x94 \nYes, the love that might for years \nSpring in suffering, grow in tears, \nParents\' frigid counsel mocking, \nMight be \xe2\x80\x94 where \'s the use in talking ?~- \nUpset by a broken stocking ! \n\n\n\nPURSUIT OF LEGAL ADVICE UNDER DIFFICULTIES. 91 \n\n\n\nTHE PURSUIT OF LEGAL ADVICE UNDER DIFFL* \nCULTIES. \xe2\x80\x94 A FAMILY SCENE. \n\nCHARACTERS REPRESENTED. \n\nColonel Arden, a dry and pompous old army officer. \n\nRobert Abberly, Esq., a lawyer. \n\nMrs. Maria Abberly, his wife. \n\nGeorgiana, Sophy, Tom, William, Robert, the Abberly Children. \n\nCOLONEL ARDEN, who has come to town for the express \npurpose of reclaiming his profligate nephew, dines with \nMr. Abberly, his attorney. \n\nThe meal was speedily finished, the dessert put down, \nand the Colonel, who was anxious to converse about hia \nmisguided nephew, commenced a series of inquiries upon \nthe interesting subject, when Mrs. Abberly interrupted \nthe conversation by asking her husband "just to ring the \nbell." \n\nThis request having been complied with, a servant appeared, \nto whom his mistress whispered : " Tell Dawes to bring the \nchildren." \n\nThe Governess soon made her appearance, attended by seven \nfine healthy creatures, varying in their height from four \nfeet two to two feet four, and in their ages from ten to three \nyears. They were first taken to the Colonel to be praised. \nThe old gentleman, who was not particularly fond of nest- \nlings at any time, but whose whole heart and soul were \njust now occupied in the affairs of his prodigal nephew, \nkissed one and patted the other, and "blessed the little heart " \nof this one, and " pretty deared " that one, when the conver- \nsation was resumed. \n\n" And pray now," said the Colonel, " what is your real opin- \nion, Mr. Abberly, of the state of poor George\'s pecuniary af- \nfairs?" \n\n" Sir," said Abberly, " I really think, if you wish me to \nspeak candidly \xe2\x80\x94 Maria, my dear, look at Georgiana, \xe2\x80\x94 she \nis spilling all the sugar over the table." \n\n\n\n92 PUBLIC AND PARLOR READINGS. \n\n" Georgiana," said Mrs. Abberly, emphatically, " keep still, \nchild ; Sophy, help your sister to some sugar." \n\n"I really believe," continued Mr. Abberly, " that Mr. George \nArden \xe2\x80\x94 Sophy, put down that knife, \xe2\x80\x94 Maria, that child \nwill cut her fingers off ; how can you let her do so, \xe2\x80\x94 I won- \nder at you, \xe2\x80\x94 upon my word, Sophy, I am quite ashamed of \nyou" \n\n" Sophy, you naughty girl," cried her mother, " put down \nthat knife directly, or I \'11 send you up stairs." \n\n" I was only cutting the cake, ma," said Sophy. \n\n" Don\'t do it again, then, and sit still," exclaimed the moth- \ner ; and turning to Louisa, the Colonel\'s niece who had ac- \ncompanied him, added in an undertone, " Pretty dears, it is so \ndifficult to keep them quiet at that age." \n\n" Well, sir," again said the Colonel, "but let me beg you to \ntell me seriously, what you advise then to be done in the first \ninstance." \n\n"Why, there is but one course," answered the lawyer, who \nwas a man of first-rate talent ; " you know, sir, there are dif- \nferent modes of treating different cases, but in this instance, \nthe course, I think, is clear and evident \xe2\x80\x94 Tom, you naughty \nchild, you \'11 be down ; get off the back of Colonel Arden\'s \nchair directly." \n\n" What a funny wig ! " exclaimed somebody, in reference to \nan article of that sort worn by the Colonel. Sophy laughed, \nand slapped her brother\'s shoulder. \n\n" Hush, William ! " exclaimed Mrs. Abberly, holding up her \nhand in a menacing posture. \n\n" And that course," continued the master of the house, " if \nthere be a chance yet left of preserving the young man, it \nwill be absolutely necessary to pursue." \n\n" Tell me," said the Colonel, deeply interested and highly \nagitated, " what you propose should be our first measure." \n\n" George, my love," exclaimed Mrs. Abberly to her husband, \n" will you be good enough to speak to Robert 1 He won\'t \nleave Sophy alone, and he don\'t mind me the least in the \nworld." \n\n\n\nPURSUIT OF LEGAL ADVICE UNDER DIFFICULTIES. 93 \n\n" Robert, be quiet ! " thundered out his father, in an awful \ntone. \n\n" She won\'t give me any cherries, pa," said Robert. \n\n" That \'s a story, now, Robert," said the eldest girl. \n\n" I \'m sure you have had more than Sophy, \xe2\x80\x94 only you are \na rude boy." \n\n" Bless my heart ! " said the Colonel, half aside, and warm- \ning a little with events, " I beg your pardon, what did you say \nyou would advise, Mr. Abberly 1 " \n\n" Decidedly this," said Abberly, " I \xe2\x80\x94 " \n\n"My love," interrupted Mrs. Abberly once more, "there is \na certain little lady," looking very archly at Miss Maria, \n" wants very much to let Colonel Arden hear how well she \ncan repeat a little poem without book." \n\n" I shall be charmed, madam," said the Colonel, heaving a \nsigh. And accordingly the child stood up by his side, and \nbegan that beautiful bit of Barbauldism, called " The Beggar\'s \nPetition." Arden could not, however, suppress a significant \nejaculation, quite intelligible to his niece, when the dear lit- \ntle Maria, smelling of soap and bread-and-butter, with her \nshoulders pushed back, her head stuck up, and her claviculse \ndeveloped like drumsticks, squeaked out the opening line, \xe2\x80\x94 \n" Pity the sorrows of a poor old man." \n\n" Ah ! " exclaimed Mr. Arden, at the same time pushing \nback his chair and twirling his thumbs. \n\n" Pity the sorrows of a poor old man," \ncontinued the sweet innocent, \n\n" Whose trembling limbs has bore him to oo door, \nWhose dace are dwilden\'d to is sortest pan, \n\xe2\x80\x94 " \n\n" Give relief," said Mrs. Abberly. \n\n" Give a leaf," said the child. \n\n" And Heaven," continued Mrs. Abberly. \n\n" Give a leaf and Heaven \xe2\x80\x94 " repeated Maria. \n\n" And Heaven \xe2\x80\x94 Well, what \'s next 1 " said Mr. Abberly. \n\n" Give a leaf and Heaven, well, what\'s next 1 " said the child. \n\n\n\n94 PUBLIC AND PARLOR READINGS. \n\n" Heaven will bless your store ! " \n\n" No, my dear love," said her papa, patting her little head. \nWhy, you said it yesterday, my darling, without missing a \nsingle word." \n\n" Heaven \xe2\x80\x94 will bless your store," said the child. \n\n" Now that \'s all learnt from the book, Colonel," said Mrs. \nAbberly, " not by rote." \n\n"Very pretty indeed, ma\'am," said the Colonel; "very \nclever ! " \n\n"Ah! but there are six more verses, sir," said Sophy; \n" she only knows three, \xe2\x80\x94 I can say \'em all ! " \n\n" That you can\'t," said Tom. " I can say \'em better than \nyou ; besides, I can say all about \' The Black-Beetle\'s Ball,\' \nand \' The Bull and the Watering-Pot.\' " \n\n" you story-teller, Tom ! " \n\n" I can," said Tom; " you may go and ask Miss Gubbins if \nI can\'t ! " \n\n"I know you can\'t, Tom, and Miss Gubbins said so only \nyesterday," replied Sophy. \n\n" Hush, hush, my dears ! " said the master of the house ; \n" never mind who says that ; you know you are older than \nTom, my love." \n\nThe various fidgetings and twistings of old Arden had \nnot escaped the observation of Mrs. Abberly, who saw with \na mother\'s eye that "the Colonel was not fond of chil- \ndren." The old gentleman whispered to his niece as \nshe chanced to pass him, "0 for the days of good King \nHerod ! " \n\nThis fatal speech was overheard by Mrs. Abberly, and \nwhen the exemplary parent was confiding the little com- \nmunity again to the governess, she observed to that trus- \nty servant that "Colonel Arden was next door to a \nbrute." \n\n\n\nTHE KNIFE-GRINDER. \n\n\n\n95 \n\n\n\nTHE KNIFE-GRINDER.\xe2\x80\x94 George Canning. \n\nFRIEND OF HUMANITY. \n\n~^T~EEDY Knife-grinder ! whither are you going % \njLN Rough is the road, \xe2\x80\x94 your wheel is out of order, - \nBleak blows the blast ; your hat has got a hole in \'t, \nSo have your breeches ! \n\nWeary Knife-grinder ! little think the proud ones, \nWho in their coaches roll along the turnpike- \nRoad, what hard work \'t is crying all day \' Knives and \nScissors to grind ! \n\nTell me, Knife-grinder, how you came to grind knives 1 \nDid some rich man tyrannically use you ? \nWas it the squire % or parson of the parish 1 \xe2\x80\xa2 \nOr the attorney 1 \n\nWas it the squire, for killing of his game ? or \nCovetous parson, for his tithes distraining 1 \nOr roguish lawyer, made you lose your little \nAll in a lawsuit 1 \n\n(Have you not read the Rights of Man, by Tom Paine 1) \nDrops of compassion tremble on my eyelids, \nReady to fall, as soon as you have told your \nPitiful story. \n\n\n\nKNIFE-GRINDER. \n\nStory ! God bless you ! I have none to tell, sir, \nOnly last night, a drinking at the Chequers, \nThis poor old hat and breeches, as you see, were \nTorn in a scuffle. \n\nConstables came up for to take me into \nCustody ; they took me before the justice ; \nJustice Oldmixon put me in the parish- \nStocks for a vagrant. \n\n\n\n96 PUBLIC AND PARLOR READINGS. \n\nI should be glad to drink your Honor\'s health in \nA pot of beer, if you will give me sixpence ; \nBut for my part, I never love to meddle \n\nWith politics, sir." \n\nFEIEND OF HUMANITY. \n\nI give thee sixpence ! I will see thee hang\'d first, \xe2\x80\x94 \n\n"Wretch ! whom no sense of wrongs can rouse to vengeance, \xe2\x80\x94 \n\nSordid, unfeeling, reprobate, degraded, \n\nSpiritless outcast ! \n\n[Kicks the Knife-grinder, overturns his wheel, and exit in a transport \nof enthusiasm and universal philanthropy.] \n\n\n\nJOSH BILLINGS ON GONGS. \n\nJOSH BILLINGS relateth his first experience with the \ngong thusly : \xe2\x80\x94 \n\nI never can erradicate holi from mi memory the sound ov \nthe fust gong I ever herd. I was settin on the front steps ov \na tavern in the sitty of Buffalo, pensively smokin. The sun \nwas goin to bed, and the hevins for an hour was blushin at \nthe performance. The Ery knal, with its golden waters, was \non its way to Albany, and I was perusin the line botes a flotin \nby, and thinkin ov Italy (where I usen to liv), and her gon- \ndolers and gallus wimmin. My entire sole wuz, as it were, in \na swet. I wanted to klime, I felt grate, I actually grew. \n\nThere are things in this life tu big tu be trifled with ; there \nare times when a man breakes luce from hisself, when he sees \nsperrets, when he can almost tuch the mune, and feel as tho \nhe kud fill both hands with the stars uv hevin, and almost \nsware he was a bank president. That \'s what ailed me. \n\nBut the korse ov true luv never did run smoothe (this is \nShakespeare\'s opinion, too). Just as I was duin my best \xe2\x80\x94 \ndummer, dummer, spat bang, beller, crash, roar, ram, dummer, \ndummer, wriang, rip, rare, rally, dummer, dummer, dum \xe2\x80\x94^ \n\n\n\nAN ORATOR\'S FIRST SPEECH IN PARLIAMENT. 97 \n\nwith a tremenjus jump I struck the center ov the sidewalk, \nwith another I cleared the gutter, and with another I stood in \nthe middle of the street snortin like an Indian pony at a band \nof music. \n\nI gazed in wild despair at the tavern stand, mi hart swell- \ning up as big as a outdoor oven, my teeth was as luce as a \nstring of bedes, I thot all the crockery in the tavern had fell \ndown, I thot of fenomenons, I thot of Gabrel and his horn ; I \nwas jest on the pint ov thinken ov somethin else when the \nlandlord kum out on the frunt stupe ov the tavern, holdin by \na string the bottom ov a old brass kettle. He kawled me \ngently with his hand. I went slola and slola up to him, he \nkammed my fears, he said it was a gong, I saw the kussed \nthing, he said supper was ready, and axed me ef I wud have \nblack or green tee, and I sed I wud. \n\n\n\nAN ORATOR\'S FIRST SPEECH IN PARLIAMENT.\xe2\x80\x94 \nAlexander Bell. \n\nTHE virgin Member takes his honored place, \nWhile beams of modest wisdom light his face ; \nMultum in parvo in the man you see ; \nHe represents the people\'s majesty ! \nBehold their choice ! the pledged, midst many a cheer, \nTo give free trade ! free votes ! free bread and beer ! \nBlest times ! \xe2\x80\x94 He sits at last within the walls \nOf famed St. Stephen\'s venerated halls ! \n\nshades of Pitt and Fox ! is he within \n\nThe House of Commons 1 How his senses spin ! \nProud man ! has he then caught the speaker\'s eye ? \nNo, not just yet, \xe2\x80\x94 but he will, by and by. \n\n1 wonder if there are reporters here *? \n\nIn truth there are, and hard at work, don\'t fear. \nhappy man ! By the next post shall reach \nYour loved constituents, the maiden speech ! \n\n5 \n\n\n\n98 PUBLIC AND PARLOR READINGS. \n\nThe Press (great tell-tale !) will to all reveal, \nHow you have \xe2\x80\x94 spoken for your country\'s weal ! \nIn gaping wonder will the words be read, \n" The new M. P., Lord Noodle, rose and said." \n\nThis pillar of " ten-pounders " rises now, \n\nAnd towards the Speaker makes profoundest bow. \n\nUnused to so much honor, his weak knees \n\nBend with the weight of senate-dignities ; \n\nHe staggers, almost falls, stares, strokes his chin, \n\nClears out his throat, and ventures to begin. \n\n" Sir, I am sensible \xe2\x80\x94 " (some titter near him) \xe2\x80\x94 \n\n" I am, sir, sensible " \xe2\x80\x94 "Hear ! hear ! " (They cheer him.) \n\nNow bolder grown, for praise mistaking pother, \n\nHe hoists first one arm up, and then the other. \n\n" I am, sir, sensible, \xe2\x80\x94 I am, indeed, \xe2\x80\x94 \n\nThat, though \xe2\x80\x94 I should \xe2\x80\x94 want \xe2\x80\x94 words \xe2\x80\x94 I must proceed ; \n\nAnd, for the first time in my life, I think, \xe2\x80\x94 \n\nI think \xe2\x80\x94 that \xe2\x80\x94 no great orator \xe2\x80\x94 should \xe2\x80\x94 shrink ; \n\nAnd, therefore, \xe2\x80\x94 Mr. Speaker, \xe2\x80\x94 I for one \xe2\x80\x94 \n\nWill speak out freely. Sir, \xe2\x80\x94 I \'ve not yet done. \n\nSir, in the name of those enlightened men \n\nWho sent me here to \xe2\x80\x94 speak for them, \xe2\x80\x94 \n\nWhy then, to do my duty, \xe2\x80\x94 as I said before, \n\nTo my constituency, \xe2\x80\x94 I \'ll say \xe2\x80\x94 no more." \n\n\n\nTHE DUMB-WAITER.\xe2\x80\x94 Frederic S. Cozzens. \n\nWE have put a dumb-waiter in our house. A dumb- \nwaiter is a good thing to have in the country, on ac- \ncount of its convenience. If you have company, everything \ncan be sent up from the kitchen without any trouble, and if \nthe baby gets to be unbearable, on account of his teeth, you can \ndismiss the complainant by stuffing him in one of the shelves, \nand letting him down upon the help. To provide for contin- \ngencies, we had all our floors deafened. In consequence you \n\n\n\nTHE DUMB-WAITER. 99 \n\ncannot hear anything that is going on in the story below ; and, \nwhen you are in an upper room of the house, there might be \na democratic ratification-meeting in the cellar, and you would \nnot know it. Therefore, if any one should break into the \nbasement, it would not disturb us ; but, to please Mrs. Spar- \nrowgrass, I put stout iron bars in all the lower windows. Be- \nsides, Mrs. Sparrowgrass had bought a rattle when she was in \nPhiladelphia ; such a rattle as watchmen carry there. This \nis to alarm our neighbor, who, upon the signal, is to come to \nthe rescue with his revolver. He is a rash man, prone to pull \ntrigger first, and make inquiries afterward. \n\nOne evening Mrs. S. had retired, and I was busy writing, \nwhen it struck me a glass of ice-water would be palatable. \nSo I took the candle and a pitcher, and went down to the \npump. Our pump is in the kitchen. A country pump, in the \nkitchen, is more convenient ; but a well with buckets is cer- \ntainly most picturesque. Unfortunately our well-water has \nnot been sweet since it was cleaned out. First I had to open \na bolted door that lets you into the basement-hall, and then I \nwent to the kitchen door, which proved to be locked. Then I \nremembered that our girl always carried the key to bed with \nher, and slept with it under her pillow. Then I retraced my \nsteps ; bolted the basement door, and went up in the dining- \nroom. As is always the case, I found, when I could not get \nany water, I was thirstier than I supposed I was. Then I \nthought I would wake our girl up. Then I concluded not to \ndo it. Then I thought of the well, but I gave that up on \naccount of its flavor. Then I opened the closet doors, \xe2\x80\x94 there \nwas no water there ; and then I thought of the dumb-waiter ! \nThe novelty of the idea made me smile ; I took out two of the \nmovable shelves, stood the pitcher on the bottom of the dumb- \nwaiter, got in myself with the lamp ; let myself down, until I \nsupposed I was within a foot of the floor below, and then let go ! \n\nWe came down so suddenly that I was shot out of the ap- \nparatus as if it had been a catapult ; it broke the pitcher, ex- \ntinguished the lamp, and landed me in the middle of the \nkitchen at midnight, with no fire, and the air not much above \n\n\n\n100 PUBLIC AND PAELOR READINGS \n\nthe zero point. The truth is, I had miscalculated the dis- \ntance of the descent, \xe2\x80\x94 instead of falling one foot, I had fall- \nen five. My first impulse was to ascend by the way I came \ndown, but 1 found that impracticable. Then I tried the kitchen \ndoor ; it was locked. I tried to force it open ; it was made of \ntwo-inch stuff and held its own. Then I hoisted a window, \nand there were the rigid iron bars. If I ever felt angry at \nanybody it was at myself, for putting up those bars to please \nMrs. Sparrowgrass. I put them up, not to keep people in, \nbut to keep people out. \n\nI laid my cheek against the ice-cold barriers and looked out \nat the sky; not a star was visible; it was as black as ink \noverhead. Then I thought of Baron Trenck, and the prisoner \nof Chillon. Then I made a noise ! I shouted until I was \nhoarse, and ruined our preserving-kettle with the poker. That \nbrought our dogs out in full bark, and between us we made \nnight hideous. Then I thought I heard a voice, and listened, \n\xe2\x80\x94 it was Mrs. Sparrowgrass calling to me from the top of the \nstaircase. I tried to make her hear me, but the infernal dogs \nunited with howl, and growl, and bark, so as to drown my \nvoice, which is naturally plaintive and tender. Besides, there \nwere two bolted doors and double deafened floors between us ; \nhow could she recognize my voice, even if she did hear it % \nMrs. Sparrowgrass called once or twice, and then got fright- \nened ; the next thing I heard was a sound as if the roof had \nfallen in, by which I understood that Mrs. Sparrowgrass was \nspringing the rattle ! That called out our neighbor, already \nwide awake ; he came to the rescue with a bull-terrier, a New- \nfoundland pup, a lantern, and a revolver. The moment he \nsaw me at the window he shot at me, but fortunately just \nmissed me. I threw myself under the kitchen table, and ven- \ntured to expostulate with him, but he would not listen to \nreason. In the excitement I had forgotten his name, and that \nmade matters worse. It was not until he had roused up \neverybody around, broken in the basement door with an axe, \ngotten into the kitchen with his cursed savage dogs and shoot- \ning-iron, and seized me by the collar, that he recognized me, \xe2\x80\x94 \n\n\n\nLOVE AND MURDER. 101 \n\nand then he wanted me to explain it ! But what kind of an \nexplanation could I make to him 1 I told him he would have \nto wait until my mind was composed, and then I would let him \nunderstand the whole matter fully. But he never would have \nhad the particulars from me ; for I do not approve of neighbors \nthat shoot at you, break in your door, and treat you, in your \nown house, as if you were a jail-bird. He knows all about it, \nhowever, \xe2\x80\x94 somebody has told him, \xe2\x80\x94 somebody tells every- \nbody everything in our village. \n\n\n\nLOVE AND MURDER \n\nIN Manchester a maiden dwelt, \nHer name was Phoebe Brown ; \nHer cheeks were red, her hair was black, \nAnd she was considered by good judges to be by all odds the \nbest-looking girl in town. \n\nHer age was nearly seventeen, \n\nHer eyes were sparkling bright ; \nA very lovely girl she was, \nAnd for about a year and a half there had been a young man \npaying his attention to her, by the name of Reuben Wright. \n\nNow Reuben was a nice young man \n\nAs any in the town, \nAnd Phoebe loved him very dear, \nBut on account of his being obliged to work for a living, he never \ncould make himself agreeable to old Mr. and Mrs. Brown. \n\nHer parents were resolved \n\nAnother she should wed, \xe2\x80\x94 \nA rich old miser in the place, \xe2\x80\x94 \nAnd old Brown frequently declared, that rather than have his \ndaughter marry Reuben Wright, he \'d sooner knock him in \nthe head. \n\n\n\n102 PUBLIC AND PAELOE EEADINGS. \n\nBut Phoebe\'s heart was brave and strong, \n\nShe feared not her parents\' frowns ; \nAnd as for Reuben Wright so bold, \nI Ve heard him say more than fifty times that (with the ex- \nception of Phoebe) he did n\'t care a cent for the whole race \nof Browns. \n\nSo Phoebe Brown and Reuben Wright \n\nDetermined they would marry ; \nThree weeks ago last Tuesday night, \nThey started for old Parson Webster\'s, determined to be \nunited in the holy bonds of matrimony, though it was \ntremendous dark, and rained like the old Harry. \n\nBut Captain Brown was wide awake, \n\nHe loaded up his gun, \nAnd then pursued the loving pair ; \nHe overtook \'em when they \'d got about half-way to the Par- \nson\'s, and then Reuben and Phoebe started off upon the run. \n\nOld Brown then took a deadly aim \n\nToward young Reuben\'s head, \nBut, oh ! it was a bleeding shame, \nHe made a mistake, and shot his only daughter, and had the un- \nspeakable anguish of seeing her drop right down stone dead. \n\nThen anguish filled young Reuben\'s heart, \n\nAnd vengeance crazed his brain, \nHe drew an awful jack-knife out, \nAnd plunged it into old Brown about fifty or sixty times, so \nthat it \'s very doubtful about his ever coming to \n\nThe briny drops from Reuben\'s eyes \nIn torrents poured down, \xe2\x80\x94 \nAnd in this melancholy and heart-rending manner terminates \nthe history of Reuben and Phoebe, and likewise old Captain \nBrown. \n\n\n\nFEMALE TENDERNESS. 103 \n\n\n\nFEMALE TENDERNESS. \xe2\x80\x94Douglas Jerrold. \n\nI WAS one of a party of five in the inside of a stage-coach ; \namong whom were a jolly butcher, and an elderly maiden \nlady in green spectacles. \n\nAt a stopping-place the coachman was regaling himself \nwith some foaming ale, when he was accosted by an ofncial- \nlooking personage ; and some whispers passed, from which I \nlearned that a convict was about to be forwarded to the next \nseaport. The coachman, however, to do him justice, softened \nthe matter to the passengers with all possible skill. \n\n" If you please, ma\'am and gemmen, I wants to make room \nhere for an individual." \n\n" Is he a gentleman, coachman 1 and has he any pipe ? " \nasked the lady in green spectacles. \n\n" Quite a gentleman, ma\'am, and not a morsel of backey \nabout him ; and what \'s more, has n\'t a ha\'penny to buy a \nbit." \n\n" Why, who is he *? he has not much the cut of a gentle- \nman ! \xe2\x80\x94 where \'s he bound for 1 " \n\n"Why, he \'s going out of the country on the service of \ngovernment." \n\n" On the service of government ! \xe2\x80\x94 a scientific man, doubt- \nless ? What does he know 1 \xe2\x80\x94 chemistry or geology ? or is he \nacquainted with botany ? " \n\n" Why, not yet, ma\'am \xe2\x80\x94 though that \'s what he \'s going \nfor. The fact is, ma\'am \xe2\x80\x94 " \n\n" Now, no nonsense, coachman," says the butcher ; " is he \nnot a convict 1 " \n\n" Why, that \'s what the unfeeling calls \'em ; but we as have \npity says, unfortunate." \n\n" Pho ! pho ! why, he has the gallows in his face ! " \n\n"Yes, sir ; and now he\'s worn irons, he\'s got a Newgate in \nhis legs ! " \n\n"0,1 can\'t admit a felon ; I shall leave the coach ! " \n\n" Lord bless you, ma\'am ! he is n\'t a felon, \xe2\x80\x94 he \'s only \nfound guilty of burglary ! " \n\n\n\n104 PUBLIC AND PARLOE READINGS. \n\n" Burglary, \xe2\x80\x94 What ! ride with a burglar ! I would n\'t \nfor the world. I will leave the coach ! \xe2\x80\x94 I will leave the \ncoach ! " \n\n" Don\'t do that, ma\'am, \xe2\x80\x94 there \'s no occasion ; the poor \nfellow says, to make himself agreeable, he \'11 wear handcuffs \nfor the rest of the journey." \n\n" But, burglary ! he has committed burglary, Mr. Coach- \nman ! I would n\'t ride with him for the world ! " \n\n" Burglary! who said burglary 1 ? I said bigamy, \xe2\x80\x94 bigamy, \nma\'am, \xe2\x80\x94 he \'s transported for marrying seven wives ! " \n\n" Seven wives ! Poor fellow ! let him come in." \n\n\n\nJUDGING BY APPEARANCES. \n\nSOME years ago, ere civil war\'s alarms \nDisturbed the quiet of our Western farms, \nA backwoodsman, unused to towns and cities, \nTheir fashions, usages, quirks, and oddities, \nResolved to travel. But we cannot furnish \nParticulars of the object of his journeys, \nOr when, or how, or where, \xe2\x80\x94 that \'s not our purpose, \nBut just one incident to paint in picture verbose. \n\nHe came at length to see those " floating palaces," \n\nThe Don of Waters tips like mighty chalices \n\nOn liquid lips; and sips, devours if he wishes, \n\nNot waiting to be dry, the contents and the dishes. \n\nOur friend had seen some craft, yet most a dreamer, \n\nNo marvel like a Mississippi steamer. \n\nHe stepped aboard, and setting down his " plunder," \n\nBegan to explore the splendid floating wonder. \n\n" My eyes ! " said he, " what lots of gold and silver ! \n\nThe owners of this boat run up a mighty bill for \n\nThis furniture, and all this other fixin\' ; \n\nAnd how the painters, too, have put the licks in ! \n\nI\' wonder what that deuced door there leads to ? " \n\n\n\nA DUTCHMAN IN ENGLAND. 105 \n\nAnd stepping towards it, stopped, as he must needs do, \n\nQuite short, confronted by another Hoosier, \n\nWho stared, and seemed to say, " Well, who are you, sir ? " \n\nOur hero moved to let the stranger pass, \n\nNor once suspected \'t was a full-length glass ! \n\nMaking the circuit of the grand saloon, \n\nNot strange to tell, the selfsame party soon \n\nAgain before him stood. " Hello ! you stranger ! at about \n\nWhat time is this \'ere boat a goin\' out % \n\nSay, stranger ! can\'t ye tell me V No response. \n\nThe traveller turned ; his hat upon his sconce \n\nIndignantly he crushed, berating thus : \n\n" Well, I \'m not quarr\'lsome, or we \'d have a muss ! \n\nFeels grand ! Won\'t speak ! He \'s mighty proud ; but now \n\nA judgirf from the looks, he ainH much any how I \n\n\'Tis thus in other j udgments that we make. \nOurselves are seen in just the views we take. \nOne man declares the world is all awry, \xe2\x80\x94 \nHis own discordant nature we descry ; \nAnother finds a heaven here below, \xe2\x80\x94 \n\'T is the reflection of his soul, we know. \n\n\n\nA DUTCHMAN IN ENGLAND. \xe2\x80\x94 " Good Words." \n\nADAPTED BY ALEXANDER MELVILLE BELL. \n\nMY friend, Mynheer Steven Van Brammelendam, pro- \nnounced English remarkably well, \xe2\x80\x94 better, indeed, \nthan he understood it ; but he was never at a loss in speak- \ning ; for when he wanted a word, he would simply take the \nfirst he remembered in any language, and, giving it something \nof an English form, launch it forth with perfect confidence. \n\nI expected him to call early in the day at my office, but he \nhad not arrived when I went home in the evening. It appears \nthat he had reached London at half past ten o\'clock at night, \nwhere he took a cab and drove directly to my office. \n\n5* \n\n\n\n106 PUBLIC AND PARLOR READINGS. \n\nHe rang the bell, and rang, and rang again, before Mrs. \nJenkins, our housekeeper, got to the door. The good woman \nwas disturbed in the luxury of her first sleep. He handed her \nhis card. \n\n" Is my gentleman Dobson to house 1 " \n\n" I can\'t read, sir. Take it back." \n\n"Is my gentleman Dobson to house 1" \n\n"Sir?" \n\n" Yes, yes : Sir Dobson." \n\n" What about Sir Dobson, sir 1 " \n\n" About ] \xe2\x80\x94 Ah ! \xe2\x80\x94 Is he to house 1 " \n\n" What house 1 I don\'t understand you, sir." \n\n" Give this card to your gentleman." \n\n" My gentleman ! There \'s no gentleman here, sir. Call \nto-morrow morning at ten o\'clock." \n\n"Ah!" (Shrug.) \n\nAnd she shut the door upon the benighted Brammelendam. \n\nThe cabman now came to the rescue. \n\n" You \'11 have to take a bed at the hinn for the night, sir." \n\n" Yes, very well. Take me to a \xe2\x80\x94 what 1 " \n\n" A hinn, sir." \n\n" Yes, take me to a hinn." \n\nThe cabman drove him across four or five streets, and put \nhim down at the entrance of an establishment which displayed \nthe words, " Chops, steaks, and well-aired beds." \n\nSteven pulled out his purse and asked, " What am I guilty \nto you 1 " \n\n" Guilty, \xe2\x80\x94 don\'t know, unless you run away without pay- \ning me." \n\n" Paying, \xe2\x80\x94 ah, yes." He understood that word. " Yes, I \nwill pay the load, \xe2\x80\x94 how much % " \n\n" Half a crown." (The fare was only eighteen pence.) \n\n" What is half a crown % " \n\n" Why, it \'s two and six." \n\n" Frightful ! Twenty-six shilling, \xe2\x80\x94 only for riding me such \na short end ! " \n\n" Here, sir, I \'11 help myself." (And the cabman selected \nthe amount and drove off.) \n\n\n\nA DUTCHMAN IN ENGLAND. 107 \n\nSteven entered the tap-room, which consisted of twelve \nboxes, six on each side. \n\n" This is a place for horses. There is precisely room here \nfor twelve horses." \n\nHe saw, however, that other persons were seated in the \n"horse stables," as he called them; so he entered one and \nordered his supper. \n\n" Give me a butterham, with flesh and a half-bottle wine." \n\n"No bread ?" \n\n" Natural." He meant, " of course," but he did not know \nthat phrase. \n\nThe waiter brought up some butter and a few slices of ham. \n\n" Which wine do you take, sir, sherry or port?" \n\n" None of both, \xe2\x80\x94 give me Bordeaux." \n\n" Don\'t know that wine." \n\n" I aim at red wine." \n\n" Why, that is port." \n\n" No port. Port is too heady to me." \n\n" Perhaps you mean French wine ! " \n\n" Mean French wine ! No, sir ; French wine is not mean. \nIt is drunk by kings and princes. Pour me a glass." \n\n" Those conceited Englishmen ! Everything which is not \nEnglish they call mean." \n\n" Where is the butterham ? " \n\n" Why, it \'s before you. This is the butter, and this is the \nham." \n\n" yes, natural ! This is butter and ham, but I ordered a \nbutterham. I aim at bread for smearing the butter upon it." \n\nHe had meant a sandwich, and now at length he got his \nwants supplied. \n\nBefore retiring for the night, he wished to order a barber for \nthe morning. " What is the word? \xe2\x80\x94 scrape? No. Plane? \nNo. It is \xe2\x80\x94 knife to scrape ? Ra-ra-ra \xe2\x80\x94 razor ! " He called \nthe landlord. \n\n" Can I be razed to-morrow ? " \n\n" Raised ? yes, to be sure you can." \n\n" Will you, then, send a man to raze me ? " \n\n\n\n10 8 PUBLIC AND PARLOR READINGS. \n\n\xc2\xab I will raise you myself." \n\n\xc2\xab Ah, very well. At nine o\'clock, if yon please. \n\n\xc2\xab Good night, sir ! " knocked \n\nThe next morning, punctual to time, \n\na ^\xc2\xbb >H a! Very well. Come in. Ye, Where is \n\nyour knifed" \n\n"My knife % What for*" \n"Well, to raze me." \n\n\'I^\'/lTottS\' You must rase me-along my \n\nvisage *" + +n V,p shaved You must go to a \n\n"0, I see, you want to be snavea. \n\nfore crossing, however, h i was ^^ d the name f \n\nof the "f-^n ^ t ^S minted out, and \nthe street. He walkea up t s having-place \n\n="r, "\'..:*"\xe2\x80\xa2 -?- \xe2\x96\xa0 \xe2\x80\x94 ft - -" \n\nplaced to be saved. He e " tCT showed him that he was \n\nSl^Sr^WiU as, this young .an \n\nto help me on my way." \n\n\xc2\xab What can I do for you . but he \n\nSteven wanted at once to explain .f**\xe2\x84\xa2^ ^^ \ndid not know the word ^hati* __ \xc2\xab pe rverto," - and, \nHe translated th \\ \' OT ^ \'\xc2\xb0t n , aid \'" My gentlemen, I see \nliving it an English termination, said, my \xe2\x80\x9e \nI am perverted, -I wish to he saved. \n\n\n\nI \n\n\n\nA DUTCHMAN IN ENGLAND. 109 \n\n" What ! you are perverted, are you ^ " \n\n" Yes, I see I am here on the perverted place, but perhaps \nyou will me be so good of to help me on my way." \n\n" Do you want to deposit some money % " \n\n" Yes, I have money. I must be saved with a razor along \nmy visage." \n\n"Ha, ha ! " The whole office echoed with the laughter of \nthe clerks. Steven heartily joined them ; and the young man \npolitely went with him to a barber\'s-shop. \n\nOn leaving the barber\'s after being duly "razed," he did \nnot know which way to turn. He walked up street after \nstreet, but could not find the " hinn." At length he asked \na person whom he met : " Can you tell me where is Truman, \nHanbury, Buxton, k Co.\'s Entire 1 " \n\n" I don\'t know, I \'m sure. Ask the cabman over there." \n\n"Do you know where is Truman, Hanbury, Buxton, & Co.\'s \nEntire % n \n\n" I \'11 take you there, sir, jump in." Steven entered the \ncab, and after half an hour\'s drive he found himself at the \nentrance of Truman, Hanbury, Buxton, & Co.\'s Brewery at \nSpitalfields. Of course cabby was ordered to drive back, but \nthis time Steven gave him my address ; and he was driven to \nmy office. \n\n"Why, where have you passed the night 1 ?" \n\n"Well, in an entire, \xe2\x80\x94 Truman, Hanbury, Buxton, & Co.\'s \nEntire." \n\n"Ha, ha, ha!" I could not help the laugh, however im- \npolite. \n\n" Do you know the name of the street ? " \n\n" Yes, here it is. It is " Stick no Bills." \n\n"Ha, ha, ha!" \n\n"Well, but there is more. It is also F. P. 13 feet." \n\n"How in the world did you get that address 1 ?" \n\n" Well, on a church at the corner of the street." \n\nIt was no easy task to find the place from this address, but \nthe church helped us ; and after an hour\'s search we found \nthe "Entire," and soon were on our way to my house in \nChelsea. \n\n\n\n110 PUBLIC AND PARLOR READINGS. \n\nSteven studied the shops as we drove along. "You are a \ngreat nation. I see you have here warehouses for separate \nnationalities, \xe2\x80\x94 Italian warehouses, I suppose for pictures and \nstatues; and Babylonian warehouses, I suppose for antiqui- \nties from Babylon." \n\n"0 no, the Italian warehouses have nothing to do with art \nor literature. They are only shops for preserved fruits and \ndainties. And as to the Babylonian warehouses I do not know \nthat there are any in this country." \n\n" Well, there is one." \n\nI looked out of the window. It was a baby-linen ware- \nhouse. Steven laughed as heartily as I did at the mistake. \nHe then asked me to explain an inscription which he had no- \nticed at the railway station. It was " Tuo Yaw." He had \nlooked into his pocket-dictionary which he always carried, but \ncould find no solution of the difficulty. After much question- \ning and musing I discovered that he had simply read back- \nwards the direction on the glass door, " Way Out." \n\nNext day, as I was engaged in some important business, I \nleft Steven to see London by himself. He refused to take a \nguide, as he was provided with his dictionary and a map. " On \nthis manner shall I the city better learn to know, apd I \nshall better to my eyes give the food." After walking a \ncouple of hours he found that he must "give the food" also \nto something else ; and, passing a pie-house, he entered. \n\n" Can I here a little eat % " \n\n" Yes, what do you want 1 " \n\n" What have you ?" \n\n" I can give you a pork-pie." \n\n" Pork-pie ! " He had never seen the word before. He \ntook his dictionary, and soon, as he thought, found it. \n\n** What ! do you eat these beasts in this country 1 " \n\n** Of course we do ; why should n\'t we ? " \n\n*\xc2\xab Tastes it nicely 1 " \n\n"Very." \n\n" Give xne a piece, if you please." \n\n" I can\'t give you a piece, \xe2\x80\x94 you must take a whole one." \n\n\n\nA DUTCHMAN IN ENGLAND. Ill \n\n" But I cannot eat a whole porcupine." \n\n" Ha, ha, ha ! No. Did you think I was to give you a \nhedge-hog 1 ? No, sir; a pork-pie is made of a pig." \n\n" Pick ] " Steven again referred to his dictionary, and \nfound that " pick " was a sort of hammer. He was bewil- \ndered, and so was the landlady. She called her husband, and \nhe at once produced a pie and said, " Hugo, hugo, hugo ! " \nSteven understood the language of pigs, and ate the pie with \ncomfort and relish. \n\nIn the evening we were to go to a tea-party. " We will \ntake a cab," I said to him. \n\n" A cap 1 Is that usage in this country by evening par- \nties?" \n\n" yes ; why not 1 You see it is going to rain." \n\n" Ah, yes, I see ; it would corrupt our hats ; very well." \n\nThe cab was at the door, bat Steven had rung the bell for \na candle and gone up stairs to his room. \n\n" What keeps you ? " \n\n" Why, I cannot find it. I left it on the cloth-rake ; but \nthe servant said to me it is here upon my sleep-room." \n\n" What is here 1 " \n\n" Why, the cap." \n\n" Ha, ha, ha ! Come along and put on your hat. The cab \nis at the door." \n\nAnd Steven now discovered that " cab " was the common \nEnglish contraction for " cabriolet," which word he would \nhave understood perfectly. \n\nHe found great fault with our national contractions, which \nhe said were only heads or tails of words which we chopped \noff and threw away the body ; as in " cab," the head of a \ncabriolet, and "bus," the tail of an omnibus. \n\n" Then you are very irregular and arbitrarious in the use \nof your prepositions, You say, \' depend upon,\' \' glad o/,\' \n1 sorry /or,\' and \' disgusted with.\' Just the word upside down ! \nWe in Dutch say, \' depend from, 1 and \' glad for,\' \' disgusted \nfrom? and \' pleased with ! \' We do not want to be with \nwhat disgusts us. We are disgusted from it. 0, I am dis- \n\n\n\n112 PUBLIC AND PARLOR READINGS. \n\ngusted from such irregularities ! Who can learn what you \nmean by \' put about,\'\' and \' put by] and \' put dow?i, J and \' put \nforth, 7 and \' put off,\' and \' put out 7 and \' put on,\' and \' put \nup, 9 and \' put to,\' and \' put upon \' 1 \n\n" 0, I am put out by such absurdities, and put to my wit\'s \nend ! You should put forth some rational effort to put down \nso much irrationality." \n\n" Ha, ha ! " There was a good deal of truth in Mynheer \nVan Brammelendam\'s observations. We are too inconsiderate \nto foreigners in all that pertains to our language, both as \nwritten and as spoken. \n\nThen the next time we meet with a Dutchman at home, \nLet us think we are foreigners all when we roam. \nDon\'t make fun of his blunders, but help him along ; \n"We may need his assistance ourselves when we \'re wrong. \n\n\n\nTHE THROES OF SCIENCE. \xe2\x80\x94 F. Bret Harte. \n\nI RESIDE at Table Mountain, and my name is Truthful \nJames ; \n1 am not up to small deceit, or any sinful games ; \nAnd I \'11 tell in simple language what I know about the row \nThat broke up our society upon the Stanislaus. \n\nBut first I would remark that it \'s not a proper plan \nFor any scientific gent to whale his fellow-man ; \nAnd if a member don\'t agree with his peculiar whim, \nTo lay for that same member for to " put a bead " on him. \n\nNothing could be finer, or more beautiful to see, \n\nThan the first six months\' proceedings of that same society ; \n\nTill Brown of Calaveras brought a lot of fossil bones \n\nThat he found within the tunnel near the tenement of Jones. \n\nThen Brown, he read a paper, and he reconstructed there, \nFrom these same bones, an animal that was extremely rare. \nAnd Jones then asked the chair for a suspension of the rules, \nTill he could prove that those same bones were one of his lost \nmules. \n\n\n\n\n\n\nTHE DIFFICULTY ABOUT THAT DOG. 113 \n\nThen Brown, he smiled a bitter smile, and said his greatest fault \nWas that he had been trespassing on Jones\'s family vault. \nHe was the most sarcastic man, this quiet Mr. Brown, \nAnd on several occasions he had cleaned out the town. \n\nNow, I hold it is not decent for a scientific gent \nTo say another is an ass, \xe2\x80\x94 at least, to all intent ; \nNor should the individual who happens to be meant \nReply by heaving rocks at him to any great extent. \n\nThen Abner Dean, of Angel\'s, raised a point of order, when \nA chunk of old red sandstone took him in the abdomen ; \nAnd he smiled a sort of sickly smile, and curled up on the floor, \nAnd the subsequent proceedings interested him no more. \n\nThen, in less time than I write it, every member did engage \nIn a warfare, with the remnants of a palezoic age ; \nAnd the way they heaved those fossils, in their anger, was a sin, \nAnd the skull of an old monarch caved the head of Thomp- \n\n\n\nAnd this is all I have to say of these improper games, \nFor I live at Table Mountain, and my name is Truthful James ; \nAnd I \'ve told in simple language what I know about the row \nThat broke up our society upon the Stanislaus. \n\n\n\nT \n\n\n\nTHE DIFFICULTY ABOUT THAT DOG. \nHIS was the cause of all the trouble : \xe2\x80\x94 \n\n\n\nLost. \xe2\x80\x94 On the 10th instant, a small Terrier dog, with a brass collar \nupon his neck, and the tip of his tail gone. Answers to the name of \n"Jack." Five dollars\' reward will be given to the person who returns \nhim to John Quill, No. 84 Rickety Row. \n\nI inserted the above in the Daily Flipflap, in the hope that \nI might recover the animal, to which I was much attached. \nThe Flipflap goes to press at five a. m. At half past six I was \n\n\n\n114 PUBLIC AND PARLOR READINGS. \n\nawakened by a pull at my door-bell. I got up and opened \nthe window. As I looked out I saw a man standing in \nmy front yard with a mongrel dog tied to a rope. He gazed \nup and observed : \xe2\x80\x94 \n\n" Hello ! Are you the fellow who lost a dorg % " \n\n" Yes, lam." \n\n" Well, then, I \'ve fetched him," said the man. \n\nI then explained to this wretched human being that my \ndog was a terrier, while his looked more like a log of wood \nwith half the bark off, and propped up on four sticks, than a \ndog of any kind. \n\n" Well, ain\'t you a going to take him 1 " \n\n" I would n\'t have him as a gift. And I want you to move \noff now, or I \'11 call the police." \n\n" Now, I guess you think you \'re smart, don\'t you? I \'d \nbust you over the jaw for five cents, I would. You don\'t \nknow a good dorg when you see him, you don\'t," and he \nwent out, after ripping the palings off the fence. \n\nIn about a half-hour there was another ring at the bell. I \nwent down. There was a man with six dogs, of a variety of \nbreeds. \n\n" Wh-wh-which of em \'s him, b-b-boss," said this fellow, for \nhe stuttered as if he would strangle on a small syllable. \n\n" Neither of them." \n\n" Y-you said his n-na-name was J- Jack, d-did n\'t you ? " \n\n"Yes, that\'s it." \n\n" W-well then, wh-wh-what d\' ye call th-that 1 " says he, \nas he sung out "Jack," and the whole six dogs looked \nup and wagged their tails like a lot of spavined oxen in \nfly time. \n\n" Why, I call it confounded nonsense to expect me to take \nthe whole six dogs because they \'re named Jack. I don\'t \nwant to start a sausage-mill, you understand. Mince-meat \nis n\'t in my line." \n\n" W-w-w-well, ain\'t you going to take him 1 " \n\n" Certainly not ; do you suppose I am a gibbering idiot ? " \n\n" W-w-w-well, you sh-sha\' n\'t have him now if you want him- \n\n\n\nTHE DIFFICULTY ABOUT THAT DOG. 115 \n\nI w-w-would n\'t trust a decent d-d-dog with a m-m-man like \nyou, anyway." \n\nAnd the six canines fell into line, and trotted down the \nstreet after him. \n\nI had not got fairly into the house before there was another \nring. Seedy-looking man with a semi-decayed yellow dog. \nHis ribs stuck out so, that he looked as if he had gorged \nhimself with a spiral spring \n\n" You advertise for a dog, I believe. Well, I caught him \naround here in the alley, after a desperate struggle. Fine dog, \nsir." \n\n" Well, I don\'t think he is. He looks to me as if he was n\'t \nwell. He is too ethereal for this world, young man, depend \nupon it." \n\n" Not at all, sir. Only shedding his coat, sir ; all good dogs \ndo at this time of the year. See that, sir," said this seedy \nCaucasian, holding the dog by the cuff of the neck. " See how \nhe yelps ; that \'s a sign of pluck ; that dog would fight a \nmillion wild-cats, he would, and lick \'em too, sir." \n\n" Get out ! " I exclaimed ; and the dog put his tail between \nhis legs and ran for the gate. \n\n"See that, sir? see that?" said the man, as he seized \nhim, " that \'s a sign he \'s well trained ; no raw dog behaves \nlike that, I want you to know. Now s\'pose you fork over \nthat five." \n\n" Not much ! I don\'t want him, my friend." \n\n" You won\'t do it ? Well, then take him for seventy-five \ncents, and say no more about it. He \'s a valuable animal. \nYou \'11 never get another such a chance." \n\n" I tell you I won\'t have him." \n\n" Well, don\'t then," said the man, as he kicked the animal \nover on my flower-pots and broke three of them, while the \nbrute dashed madly down the middle of the street. \n\nJust then a big ruffian in a slouched hat came up with a \nbull-dog, sprung in the knees, and lamenting the entire loss \nof his tail. When the ruffian spoke to him he wagged the \nwhole of the last half of him. \n\n\n\n116 PUBLIC AND PARLOR READINGS. \n\n"I \'ve brought that there dog," was the observation made \nby the ruffian, "and I \'11 finger them there stamps, I \nreckon." \n\n" My friend," said I, " that is not my dog." \n\n" Yes, it is, though." \n\n" But it is not." \n\n" Don\'t I tell you it is ? Did n\'t you say the tip of his tail \nwas gone ! Well, just look at him, will you 1 " \n\n" Well, I won\'t have him, anyhow." \n\n" You want to cheat me, do you 1 I \'11 fix you. S-sick \nhim, Bull ! " said this outrageous ruffian, as the dog flew at \nme, giving me barely time to get inside and shut the door \non his frontispiece. I guess I squeezed the nose off of that \ndog. But the man cursed me about five minutes, and then \nflung a brick at the door and went away. \n\nIn less than twenty minutes another ring. Small pock- \nmarked man in a red shirt this time. And a speckled dog \nthat looked as if he had been out without an umbrella when \nit was raining ink. Says this victim of the small-pox : \xe2\x80\x94 \n\n" You know that dog you advertised for. Well, here \nhe is." \n\n" 0, pshaw ! " said I, " you know that is n\'t my dog." \n\n" Your name \'s Quill, ain\'t it 1 " \n\n" It is," said I. \n\n"Well, then, this here is the dog. He \'s the best ratter you \never seen. Sling them around like he was amusin\' hisself, he \ndoes, and \xe2\x80\x94 " \n\n" But he is not my dog." \n\n" And he \'s a bully watch-dog. Look at him ! Look at \nhim now, \xe2\x80\x94 he \'s watching now ! Why, he \'11 sit there and \nwatch and watch, until he goes stone blind, he will. He \'11 \nwatch all night if you only let him. You never see a watcher \nlike him. I\'ll jest chain him up while you go in and get \nthe V." \n\n" No, you need n\'t," said I. "I \'11 blow his brains out if \nyou don\'t take him away." \n\n" Well, say, stranger, I \'m a little strapped to-day ; jest \n\n\n\nTHE DIFFICULTY ABOUT THAT DOG. 117 \n\nlend me five on him till morning, will you 1 I \'11 pay yon \nto-morrow." \n\n" See here, now, you just get out of here, or I \'11 take \nthe hide off of you," I said, for I began to get excited, you \nknow. \n\n" Aw I you ain\'t worth a cent, you actually ain\'t," said the \npock-marked man, as he walked off, after clipping the dog \nover the head with one of my fence-palings, and then putting \nhis fingers up to his nose. \n\nNot a minute after up comes a man with a mastiff as big \nas a small horse. \n\n" Say, boss, I want that five," was all he remarked by way \nof introducing the subject. \n\n" Well, you can\'t get it ; and if you don\'t leave I \'11 call \nthe police," I exclaimed in despair. \n\n" Watch him, Zip ! " said the man, instantly ; and the dog \nflew at me, threw me down, and bit a slice of muscle out of \nmy leg and disfigured my nose for life. Then the assassin \nwho owned him called him off and went away laughing. \n\nI did n\'t answer any more rings that day, but about four \no\'clock in the afternoon I looked out of the second-story \nwindow, and the yard was full of men with all kinds of dogs, \xe2\x80\x94 \nblack dogs, white dogs, yellow dogs, variegated dogs, flea-bitten \ndogs, dogs with tails, dogs without tails, rat-terriers, bull- \npups, poodles, fox-hounds, spaniels, Newfoundlands, mixed \nbreeds, pointers, setters, and a multitude of other varieties, all \ngrowling, yelping, barking, snapping, and jumping about until \nthere was n\'t a flower-pot left in the place, and the noise was \nworse than a menagerie at meal-time. \n\nI have n\'t got my dog yet. I don\'t want him either. I \ndon\'t care if I never see another dog between this and the \nsilent grave. I only wish that all the dogs from here to \nAlaska were collected into a convention, and had hold of that \nman with the mastiff, that they might gnaw on him until he \nhad n\'t a morsel of meat left on his skeleton. That is all I \nwant in the dog line in this world. \n\n\n\n\n\n\n118 PUBLIC AND PARLOR READINGS. \n\n\n\nHIGHER. \n\nTHE shadows of night were a coram\' down swift, \nAnd the dazzlin\' snow lay drift on dritt, \nAs through a village a youth did go, \nA carryin\' a flag with this motto, \xe2\x80\x94 \n\n" Higher I" \n\nO\'er a forehead high curled copious hair, \nHis nose a Roman, complexion fair, \nO\'er an eagle eye an auburn lash ; \nAnd he never stopped shoutin\' through his ruustacne, \xe2\x80\x94 \n\n" HigW ! " \n\nHe saw through the windows, as he kept gettin\' upper, \nA number of families sittin\' at supper ; \nBut he eyed the slippery rocks very keen, \nAnd fled as he cried, and cried while a fleehV, \xe2\x80\x94 \n\n" HigUr ! " \n\n" Take care, you there ! " said an old woman ; " stop ! \n\nIt \'s blowin\' gales up there on top, \n\nYou \'11 tumble off on t\' other side." \n\nBut the hurryin\' stranger loud replied, \xe2\x80\x94 \n\n"HigLer!" \n\n" 0, don\'t you go up such a shocking night ! \nCome, sleep on my lap," said a maiden bright. \nOn his Roman nose a tear-drop come ; \nBut still he remarked, as he upward clomb, \xe2\x80\x94 \n\n" Higher 1 " \n\n" Look out for the branch of that sycamore-tree, \nDodge rollin\' stones, if any you see." \nSayin\' which, the farmer went home to bed, \nAnd the singular voice replied overhead, \xe2\x80\x94 \n\n"Higher!" \n\n\n\nA FKENCHMAN ON MACBETH. 119 \n\nAbout a quarter past six the next afternoon, \nA man accidentally goin\' up soon \nHeard spoken above him, as often as twice, \nThe very same word in a very weak voice, \xe2\x80\x94 \n\n" Higher ! " \n\nAnd not far, I believe, from a quarter of seven \n(He was slow gettin\' up, the road bein\' uneven), \nFound the stranger dead in the drifted snow, \nStill clutchin\' the flag with this motto, \xe2\x80\x94 \n\n"Higher!" \n\nYes ! lifeless, defunct, without any doubt, \nThe lamp of his bein\' decidedly out, \nOn the dreary hillside the youth was a layin\', \nAnd there was no more use for him to be sayin\', . \xe2\x80\x94 \n\n" Higher ! " \n\n\n\nA FRENCHMAN ON MACBETH. \n\nAN enthusiastic French student of Shakespeare thus com- \nments on the tragedy of Macbeth : \xe2\x80\x94 \n\n"Ah! your Mossieu\' Shak-es-pier ! He is gr-r-aa-nd \xe2\x80\x94 \nmysterieuse \xe2\x80\x94 soo-blime ! You \'ave reads ze Macabess 1 \xe2\x80\x94 ze \nscene of ze Mossieu\' Macabess vis ze Yitch \xe2\x80\x94 eh] Superb \nsooblimit^e ! Wen he say to ze Vitch, \' Ar-r-r-oynt ze, Yitch ! \' \nshe go away : but what she say when she go away 1 She say \nshe will do s\'omesing dat aves got no na\'ame ! \' Ah, ha ! \' she \nsay, \' I go, like ze r-r-aa-t vizout ze tail \xe2\x80\x94 but, I\'ll do! I\'ll \ndo I I \'11 do ! \' Wat she do % Ah, ha ! \xe2\x80\x94 voila le graand myste- \nrieuse Mossieu\' Shak-es-pier ! She not say what she do ! " \n\nThis ivas " grand," to be sure ; but the prowess of Macbeth, \nin his " bout " with Macduff, awakens all the mercurial French- \nman\'s martial ardor : \xe2\x80\x94 \n\n" Mossieu\' Macabess, he see him come, clos\' by : he say \n(proud empressement), \'Come o-o-n, Mossieu\' Macduffs, and \nd \xe2\x80\x94 d be he who first say Enoffs 1 \' Zen zey fi-i-ght \xe2\x80\x94 moche. \n\n\n\n120 PUBLIC AND PARLOR READINGS. \n\nAh, ha ! \xe2\x80\x94 voila ! Mossieu\' Maeabess, vis his br-r-right r-r-ap- \npier \'pink \' him, vat you call, in his body. He \'ave gots mal \nd\'estomac : he say, vis grand simplicity, \' Enoffs /\' "What for \nhe say \' Enoffs V \'Cause he got enoffs \xe2\x80\x94 plaanty ; and he em- \npire, r-r-ight away, \'mediately, pretty quick ! Ah, mes amis, \nMossieu\' Shak-es-pier is rising man in La Belle France ! " \n\n\n\nTHE LOST HEIR. \xe2\x80\x94 Thomas Hood. \n\n\n\no \n\n\n\n11 Oh where, and oh where, \nIs my bonny laddie gone? "\xe2\x80\x94Old \n\n( NE day, as I was going by \nThat part of Holborn christened High, \nI heard a loud and sudden cry \nThat chilled my very blood ; \nAnd, lo ! from out a dirty alley, \nWhere pigs and Irish wont to rally, \nI saw a crazy woman sally, \nBedaubed with grease and mud. \nShe turned her East, she turned her West, \nStaring like Pythoness possessed, \nWith streaming hair and heaving breast, \nAs one stark mad with grief. \nThis way and that she wildly ran, \nJostling with woman and with man, \xe2\x80\x94 \xe2\x96\xa0 \nHer right hand held a frying-pan ; \nThe left, a lump of beef. \nAt last her frenzy seemed to reach \nA point just capable of speech ; \nAnd with a tone, almost a screech, \nAs wild as ocean birds, \nOr female Ranter moved to preach, \nShe gave her " sorrow words." \n" Lord ! dear ! my heart will break, I shall go stick stark \nstaring wild I \n\n\n\n\nTHE LOST HEIR. 121 \n\nHas ever a one seen anything about the streets like a crying \n\nlost-looking child 1 \nLawk help me ! I don\'t know where to look or to run, if I only \n\nknew which way \xe2\x80\x94 \nA child as is lost about London streets, and especially Seven \n\nDials, is a needle in a bottle of hay. \nI am all in a quiver, \xe2\x80\x94 get out of my sight, do, you wretch, \n\nyou little Kitty M\'Nab ! \nYou promised to have half an eye to him, you know you did, \n\nyou dirty deceitful young drab. \nThe last time as ever I see him, poor thing, was with my own \n\nblessed Motherly eyes, \nSitting, as good as gold in the gutter, a playing at makiug \n\nlittle dirt pies. \nI wonder he left the court where he was better off chan all the \n\nother young boys ; \nWith two bricks, an old shoe, nine oyster shells, urid /l dead \n\nkitten by way of toys. \nWhen his Father comes homes, and he always ca*2i0s. ; dome as \n\nsure as ever the clock strikes one, \nHe \'11 be rampant, he will, at his child being \'trA ; and the \n\nbeef and the inguns not done ! \nLb, bless you, good folks, mind your own cossarns, and don\'t \n\nbe making a mob in the street ; \nSergeant M\'Farlane ! you have not come across my poor \n\nlittle boy, have you, in your beat 1 \nDo, good people, move on ! don\'t stand staring at me like a \n\nparcel of stupid stuck pigs ; \nSaints forbid ! but he \'s p\'r\'aps been inviggled away up a court \n\nfor the sake- of his clothes, by the prigs ; \nHe \'d a very good jacket, for certain, for I bought it myself for \n\na shilling one day in Rag Fair; \nA.nd his trousers, considering, not very much patched, and red \n\nplush, they was once his Father\'s best pair. \nHis shirt, it \'s very lucky, I \'d got washing in the tub, or that \n\nmight have gone with the rest ; \n^ut he \'d got on a very good pinafore, with only two slits ancj \n\na burn on the breast. \n\n\n\n122 PUBLIC AND PARLOR READINGS. \n\nHe \'d a goodish sort of hat, if the crown was sewed in, and not \n\nquite so much jagged at the brim ; \nWith one shoe on, and the other shoe is a boot, and not a fit, \n\nand you \'11 know by that if it \'s him. \nExcept being so well dressed, my mind would misgive, some \n\nold beggarwoman, in want of an orphan, \nHad borrowed the child to go a begging with, but I \'d rather \n\nsee him laid out in his coffin ! \nDo, good people, move on, such a rabble of boys ! I \'11 break \n\nevery bone of \'em I come near. \nGo home, \xe2\x80\x94 you \'re spilling the porter, \xe2\x80\x94 go home, \xe2\x80\x94 Tommy \n\nJones, go along home with your beer. \nThis day is the sorrowfullest day of my life, ever since my \n\nname was Betty Morgan, \nThem vile Savoyards ! they lost him once before all along of \n\nfollowing a Monkey and an Organ. \nmy Billy \xe2\x80\x94 my head will turn right round \xe2\x80\x94 if he \'s got \n\nkiddynapped with them Italians, \nThey \'11 make him a plaster parish image boy, they will, the \n\noutlandish tatterdemalions. \nBilly \xe2\x80\x94 where are you, Billy 1 \xe2\x80\x94 I \'m as hoarse as a crow, \n\nwith screaming for ye, you young sorrow ! \nAnd sha\' n\'t have half a voice, no more I sha\' n\'t, for crying \n\nfresh herrings to-morrow. \n\nBilly, you \'re bursting my heart in two, and my life won\'t \n\nbe of no more vally, \nIf I \'m to see other folk\'s darlins, and none of mine, playing \n\nlike angels in our alley, \nAnd what shall I do but cry out my eyes, when I looks at the \n\nold three-legged chair \nAs Billy used to make coach and horses of, and there a\'n\'t no \n\nBilly there ! \n\n1 would run all the wide world over to find him, if I only \n\nknowed where to run ; \nLittlg Murphy, now I remember, was once lost for a month \n\nthrough stealing a penny bun, \xe2\x80\x94 \nThe Lord forbid of any child of mine ! I think it would kill me \n\nraily. \n\n\n\nTHE LOST HEIR. 123 \n\nTo find my Bill holdin\' up his little innocent hand at the Old \n\nBailey. \nFor though I say it as oughtn\'t, yet I will say, you may \n\nsearch for miles and mileses \nAnd not find one better brought up, and more pretty behaved \n\nfrom one end to t\' other of St. Giles\'s. \nAnd if I called him a beauty, it \'s no lie, but only as a Mother \n\nought to speak ; \nYou never set eyes on a more handsomer face, only it has n\'t \n\nbeen washed for a week ; \nAs for hair, though it \'s red, it \'s the most nicest hair when \n\nI \'ve time to just show it the comb ; \nI \'11 owe \'em five pounds, and a blessing besides, as will only \n\nbring him safe and sound home. \nHe \'s blue eyes, and not to be called a squint, though a little \n\ncast he \'s certainly got ; \nAnd his nose is still a good un, though the bridge is broke, by \n\nhis falling on a pewter pint pot : \nHe \'s got the most elegant wide mouth in the world, and veiy \n\nlarge teeth for his age ; \nAnd quite as fit as Mrs. Murdockson\'s child to play Cupid on \n\nthe Drury Lane Stage. \nAnd then he has got such dear winning ways \xe2\x80\x94 But 0, I \n\nnever, never shall see him no more ! \ndear ! to think of losing him just after nussing him back \n\nfrom death\'s door ! \nOnly the very last month when the windfalls, hang \'em, was \n\nat twenty a penny ! \nAnd the threepence he \'d got by grottoing was spent in plums, \n\nand sixty for a child is too many. \nAnd the Cholera man came and whitewashed us all md, drat \n\nhim, made a seize of our hog. \xe2\x80\x94 \nIt \'s no use to send the Crier to cry him about, he \'s such \n\na blunderin\' drunken old dog ; \nThe last time he was fetched to find a lost child, he was guz- \nzling with his bell at the Crown, \nAnd went and cried a boy instead of a girl, for a distracted \n\nMother and Father about Town. \n\n\n\n124 PUBLIC AND PARLOR READINGS. \n\nBilly \xe2\x80\x94 where are you, Billy, I say 1 come, Billy, come homej \n\nto your best of Mothers ! \nI \'m scared when I think of them Cabroleys, they drive so, \n\nthey \'d run over their own Sisters and Brothers. \nOr maybe he \'s stole by some chimbly sweeping wretch, \n\nto stick fast in narrow flues and what not, \nAnd be poked up behind with a picked pointed pole, when \n\nthe soot has ketched, and the chimbly \'s red hot. \n0, I \'d give the whole wide world, if the world was mine, \n\nto clap my two longin\' eyes on his face, \nFor he \'s my darlin of darlins, and if he don\'t soon come back, \n\nyou \'11 see me drop stone dead on the place. \nI only wish I \'d got him safe in these two Motherly arms, and \n\nwould n\'t I hug him and kiss him ! \nLawk ! I never knew what a precious he was \xe2\x80\x94 but a child \n\ndon\'t not feel like a child till you miss him. \nWhy, there he is ! Punch and Judy hunting, the young wretch, \n\nit \'s that Billy as sartin as sin ! \nBut let me get him home, with a good grip of his hair, and \n\nI \'m blest if he shall have a whole bone in his skin ! \n\n\n\nTHE QUIET MR. SMITH. \xe2\x80\x94 Fanny Fern. \n\n" "TTTHAT a quiet man your husband is, Mrs. Smith ! " \n\nV V Quiet ! a snail is an " express train " to him ! If \nthe top of this house should blow off, he \'d just sit still and \nspread his umbrella ! He \'s a regular pussy-cat. Comes \ninto the front door as though the entry was paved with eggs, \nand sits down in his chair as if there was a nest of kittens \nunder the cushion. He \'11 be the death of me yet. I read \nhim all the horrid accidents, dreadful collisions, murders, and \nexplosions, and he takes it just as easy as if I was saying the \nten commandments. \n\nHe is never astonished, or startled, or delighted. If a \ncannon-ball should come through that window, he would n\'t \nmove an eyelash. If I should make the voyage of the world, \n\n\n\nTHE MAIDEN\'S REQUEST. 125 \n\nand return some fine day, he \'d take off his spectacles, put \nthem in the case, fold up the newspaper, and settle his \ndickey, before he\'d be ready to say, "Good morning, Mrs. \nSmith." If he \'d been bom of a poppy, he could n\'t be more \nsoporific. \n\nI wonder if all the Smiths are like him. When Adam got \ntired of naming his numerous descendants, he said, " Let all \nthe rest be called Smith ! " Well, I don\'t care for that, but he \nought to have known better than to call my husband Abel \nSmith. \n\nDo you suppose, if I were a man, I would let a wo- \nman support me? Where do you think Abel\'s coats and \ncravats and canes and cigars come from 1 Out of my brain ! \n" Quiet ! " \xe2\x80\x94 it \'s perfectly refreshing to me to hear of a comet, \nor see a locomotive, or look at a streak, of chain-lightning 1 \nI tell you he is the expressed essence of chloroform. \n\n\n\nTHE MAIDEN\'S REQUEST. \xe2\x80\x94 Lover. \n\nI\'LL tell you a story that \'s not in Tom Moore : \nYoung Love likes to knock at a pretty girl\'s door ; \nSo he called upon Lucy, \xe2\x80\x94 \'t was past ten o\'clock, \xe2\x80\x94 \nLike a spruce single man, with a smart double knock. \n\nNow a handmaid, whatever her fingers be at, \nWill run like a puss when she hears a rat-tat ; \nSo Lucy ran up, and in two seconds more \nHad questioned the stranger and answered the door. \n\nThe meeting was bliss, but the parting was woe, \xe2\x80\x94 \nFor the moment will come when such comers must go ; \nSo she sighed, and she whispered, \xe2\x80\x94 poor innocent thing, \xe2\x80\xa2 \n" The next time you come, love, pray come with a ring? \n\n\n\n126 PUBLIC AND PARLOR READINGS. \n\n\n\nMY FIRST INTERVIEW WITH ARTEMUS WARD.\xe2\x80\x94 \n\nS. J. Clemens (Mark Twain). \n\nI HAD never seen him before. He brought letters of intro- \nduction from mutual friends in San Francisco, and by \ninvitation I breakfasted with him. It was almost religion, \nthere in the silver-mines, to precede such a meal with whiskey- \ncocktails. Artemus, with the true cosmopolitan instinct, \nalways deferred to the customs of the country he was in, and \nso he ordered three of those abominations. Hingston was \npresent. I am a match for nearly any beverage you can men- \ntion except a whiskey cocktail, and therefore I said I would \nrather not drink one. I said it would go right to my head and \nconfuse me so that I would be in a helpless tangle in ten \nminutes. I did not want to act like a lunatic before strangers. \nBut Artemus gently insisted, and I drank the treasonable mix- \nture under protest, and felt all the time that I was doing a \nthing I might be sorry for. In a minute or two I began to \nimagine that my ideas were clouded. I waited in great anxi- \nety for the conversation to open, with a sort of vague hope \nthat my understanding would prove clear, after all, and my \nmisgivings groundless. \n\nArtemus dropped an unimportant remark or two, and then \nassumed a look of superhuman earnestness, and made the \nfollowing astounding speech. He said : \xe2\x80\x94 \n\n" Now, there is one thing I ought to ask you about before I \nforget it. You have been here in Silverland \xe2\x80\x94 here in Ne- \nvada \xe2\x80\x94 two or three years, and, of course, your position on the \ndaily press has made it necessary for you to go down in the \nmines and examine them carefully in detail, and therefore you \nknow all about the silver-mining business. Now, what I want \nto get at is \xe2\x80\x94 is, well, the way the deposits of ore are made, \nyou know. For instance. Now, as I understand it, the vein \nwhich contains the silver is sandwiched in between castings of \ngranite, and runs along the ground, and sticks up like a curb- \nstone \n\n\n\nMY FIRST INTERVIEW WITH ARTEMUS WARD. 127 \n\n" Well, take a vein forty feet thick, for example, or eighty, \nfor that matter, or even a hundred, \xe2\x80\x94 say you go down on \nit with a shaft, straight down, you know, or with what you \ncall the \'inclines,\' maybe you go down five hundred feet, \nor maybe you don\'t go down but two hundred, any way \nyou go down, and all the time this vein grows narrower, \nwhen the castings come nearer or approach each other, you \nmay say, that is when they do approach, which of course they \ndo not always do, particularly in cases where the nature of \nthe formation is such that they stand apart wider than they \notherwise would, and which geology has failed to account \nfor, although everything in that science goes to prove that, all \nthings being equal, it would if it did not, or would not cer- \ntainly if it did, and then of course they are. Do not you \nthink it is 1 " \n\nI said to myself : " Now I just knew how it would be, \xe2\x80\x94 that \ncussed whiskey cocktail has done the business for me ; I don\'t \nunderstand any more than a clam." And then I said aloud, \n"I \xe2\x80\x94 I \xe2\x80\x94 that is \xe2\x80\x94 if you don\'t mind, would you \xe2\x80\x94 would \nyou say that over again 1 I ought \xe2\x80\x94 " \n\n" 0, certainly, certainly ! You see I am very unfamiliar \nwith the subject, and perhaps I don\'t present my case clearly, \nbut I \xe2\x80\x94 " \n\n" No, no \xe2\x80\x94 no, no \xe2\x80\x94 you state it plain enough, but that \nvile cocktail has muddled me a little. But I will, \xe2\x80\x94 no, I do \nunderstand, for that matter ; but I would get the hang of it all \nthe better if you went over it again, \xe2\x80\x94 and I \'11 pay better \nattention this time." \n\nHe said, " Why, what I was after, was this." [Here he be- \ncame even more fearfully impressive than ever, and empha- \nsized each particular point by checking it off on his finger ends. ] \n" This vein, or lode, or ledge, or whatever you call it, runs \nalong between two layers of granite, just the same as if it were \na sandwich. Very well. Now, suppose you go down on that, \nsay a thousand feet, or maybe twelve hundred (it don\'t really \nmatter), before you drift ; and then you start your drifts, som\xc2\xab \nof them across the ledge, and others along the length of it, \n\n\n\n128 PUBLIC AND PARLOR READINGS. \n\nwhere the sulphurets \xe2\x80\x94 I believe they call them sulphurets, \nthough why they should, considering that, so far as I can see, \nthe main dependence of a miner does not so lie, as some sup- \npose, but in which it cannot be successfully maintained, \nwherein the same should not continue, while part and parcel \nof the same ore not committed to either in the sense referred \nto, whereas, under different circumstances, the most inexperi- \nenced among us could not detect it if it were, or might overlook \nit if it did, or scorn the very idea of such a thing, even though \nit were palpably demonstrated as such. Am I not right 1 " \n\nI said, sorrowfully : " I feel ashamed of myself, Mr. Ward. I \nknow I ought to understand you perfectly well, but you see \nthat infernal whiskey cocktail has got into my head, and now \n{ cannot understand even the simplest proposition. I told \ntrou how it would be." \n\n" 0, don\'t mind it, don\'t mind it ; the fault was my own, \nMiO doubt, \xe2\x80\x94 though I did think it clear enough for \xe2\x80\x94 " \n\n" Don\'t say a word. Clear ! Why, you stated it as clear as \nthe sun to anybody but an abject idiot, but it \'s that con- \nfounded cocktail that has played the mischief." \n\n\'-No, now don\'t say that. I \'11 begin it all over again, and- \xe2\x80\x94 " \n\n" Don\'t now, \xe2\x80\x94 for goodness\' sake, don\'t do anything of the \nkind, because I tell you my head is in such a condition that I \ndon\'t believe I could understand the most trifling question a \nman could ask me." \n\n" Now, don\'t you be afraid. I \'11 put it so plain this time \nthat you can\'t help but get the hang of it. We will begin at \nthe very beginning." [Leaning far across the table, with de- \ntermined impressiveness wrought upon his every feature, and \nfingers prepared to keep tally of each point as enumerated ; \nand I, leaning forward with painful interest, resolved to com- \nprehend or perish.] " You know the vein, the ledge, the thing \nthat contains the metal, whereby it constitutes the medium \nbetween all other forces, whether of present or remote agen- \ncies, so brought to bear in favor of the former against the \nlatter, or the latter against the former, or all, or both, or com- \npromising as possible the relative differences existing within \n\n\n\nWAX WOKK. 129 \n\nthe radius whence culminate the several degrees of similarity \nto which \xe2\x80\x94 " \n\nI said : " 0, blame my wooden head, it ain\'t any use ! \xe2\x80\x94 it \nain\'t any use to try, \xe2\x80\x94 I can\'t understand anything. The \nplainer you get it the more I can\'t get the hang of it." \n\nI heard a suspicious noise behind me, and turned in time to \nsee Hingston dodging behind a newspaper, and quaking with a \ngentle ecstasy of laughter. I looked at Ward again, and he \nhad thrown off his dread solemnity and was laughing also. \nThen I saw that I had been sold, \xe2\x80\x94 that I had been made the \nvictim of a swindle in the way of a string of plausibly worded \nsentences that did n\'t mean anything under the sun. \n\nArtemus Ward was one of the best fellows in the world, and \none of the most companionable. It has been said that he was \nnot fluent in conversation, but, with the above experience in \nmy mind, I differ. \n\n\n\nWAX WORK. \n\nONCE on a time, some years ago, \nTwo Yankees, from Connecticut, \nWere travelling, \xe2\x80\x94 on foot of course, \n\nA style now out of date ; \nAnd, being far away down South, \n\nIt was n\'t strange or funny, \nThat they, like other folks, sometimes \nShould be out of money. \n\nSo, coming to a thriving place, \n\nThey hired a lofty hall, \nAnd on the corners of the streets \n\nPut handbills, great and small, \nTelling the people, far and near, \n\nIn printed black and white, \nThey \'d give a show of wax work \n\nIn the great town-hall that night. \n\n6* \n\n\n\n130 PUBLIC AND PARLOR READINGS. \n\nOf course the people thought to see \n\nA mighty show of figures, \nOf Napoleon, Byron, George the Third, \n\nAnd lots of foreign gentlemen, \nOf Mary, Queen of Scots, you know, \n\nAnd monks in black and white, \nHeroes, peasants, potentates, \n\nIn wax work brought to light. \n\n\n\nOne of the Yankees had, they say, \n\nNo palate to his mouth, \nAnd this, perhaps, the reason was \n\nWhy he was going South ; \nBe that as it may, \xe2\x80\x94 you see \n\nHe could n\'t speak quite plain, \nBut talked with much obscurity, \n\nAnd sometimes talked in vain. \n\n\n\nThe other was a handsome man, \n\nQuite pleasant, and quite fine ; \nHe had a form of finest mould, \n\nAnd straight as any pine. \nIndeed, he was a handsome man \n\nAs you will often see, \nMuch more so than you, \xe2\x80\x94 or you, \xe2\x80\x94 or you, \n\nBut like Franklin Pierce, \xe2\x80\x94 or me. \n\n\n\nThis handsome man stood at the door \n\nTo let the people in, \nAnd the way he took the quarters \n\nAnd the shillings was a sin ; \nAnd when the time of show had come, \n\nHe a curtain pulled aside, \nAnd our friend, without a palate, \n\nStood in all his pomp and pride. \n\n\n\nWAX WOKK. 131 \n\nAnd in his brawny hand he held \n\nA pound or two, or more, \nOf shoemaker\'s wax, which he \n\nHad some time made before. \nHe began to work it, \n\nAnd his audience thus addressed, \nAnd the people looked and listened ; \n\nLet their great surprise be guessed. \n\nSaid he, " My friends, how some folks cheat \n\nI never could conceive ; \nBut this is the real wax work, \n\nFor I stoop not to deceive : \nThis is your real wax work, \n\nFor your quarters and your twelves. \nLadies and gentlemen, just walk up \n\nAnd examine for yourselves. " \n\nBut when the people saw the joke, \n\nWith anger they turned pale, \nHammer and tongs they came at him, \n\nTo ride him on a rail ; \nBut he had an open window, \n\nAnd a ladder to the ground, \nAnd just as he went out of sight, \n\nHe turned himself around, \n\nAnd, holding up the wax to view, \n\nSaid, with a saucy grin, \n" My friends, here \'s no deception, \n\nFor I scorn to take you in ; \nThis is real wax work, \n\nFor your quarters and your twelves. \nLadies and gentlemen, please walk up \n\nAnd examine for yourselves. ,, \n\n\n\n132 PUBLIC AND PARLOR READINGS. \n\n\n\nORATION ON THE CRISIS. \n\nAHUM-M-M ! Feller-citizens, \xe2\x80\x94 I have been called upon, \nthis evenin\', to appear before you ; that is, I have been \nrequested to appear on the scaffold, this evenin\', for the pur- \npose of elucidatin\' to you the all-absorbin\' subjic which am \nnow agitatin\' the \xe2\x80\x94 the \xe2\x80\x94 certainly I have. Ahum-m-m ! \nBut to return to our subjic. \n\nAs I was about to remark previously, beforehand, what \'s \nour country comin\' to 1 That \'s what / \'d like to know myself. \nLook at the great congregated circumflex of this glorious \nUnion ; just look at it ! Does anybody see it 1 Certainly, \nthat \'s what \'s the matter. Ahum-m-m ! But to return to our \nsubjic. \n\nLook at our great American eagle, the glorious emblem of \nour liberty ! Just look at me ! What are you going to do with \nthat ere bird 1 Look at \'im as he flies from the cloud-capped \nsummick of the Licherdee mountains to the terrific abyss of \nthe Goshwallican avenue, an\' flutters his tail-feathers, and \nsays, in the sweet language of Pharaoh, in his epistle to the \nEgyptians, "Root, hog, or die." That\'s what\'s the matter. \nAhum-m-m ! But to return to our subjic. \n\nLook at our \xe2\x80\x94 look at our \xe2\x80\x94 look at our \xe2\x80\x94 that \'s what 1 \'d \nlike to know. Look at our newspapers; just look at \'em! \nCan\'t pick up one without reading something in it, \xe2\x80\x94 that \'s \nwhat \'s the matter. What did I see in a paper this morning ] \nWhat did I see there 1 Provisions has riz. What \'s the con- \nsequences 1 Coffee and molasses had a fight. And what \'s the \nconsequences agin ? Molasses got licked, and coffee had to \nsettle down on its own grounds. That \'s what \'s the matter, \n\xe2\x80\x94 or any other man. Ahum-m-m ! But to return to our \nsubjic. \n\nLook at our soldiers ; just look at \'em ! Does anybody see \n\'em ] Do they not march forth to battle, and \xe2\x80\x94 and get shot \nin the neck 1 Certainly they do ; that \'s just what \'s the \nmatter. Ahum-m-m ! But to return to our subjic. \n\n\n\n\n\n\nI \n\n\n\nTHE THREE SAILORS. 133 \n\nLook at our sailors ; look at \'em. Do they not \xe2\x80\x94 do they \nnot ? Certainly they do. Do they not sail out into the briny \nocean, where the devourin\' elephants open their jaws for \'em, \nand \xe2\x80\x94 and lay down in their warm hammocks and sleep] \nCertainly they do, \xe2\x80\x94 or any other man. Ahum-m-m I \n\nLook at our firemen ; ah ! those boys, just look at \'em ! \nDo they not, at the dead hour of the night, when the clock \nproclaims the hour of midnight, and when the barometer is \nforty-seven degrees below Cicero, \xe2\x80\x94 do they not rush forth to \nthe scene of conflagration, and \xe2\x80\x94 and get into a row 1 Cer- \ntainly they do ; and that \'s just what \'s the matter with me, \n\xe2\x80\x94 or any other man. But to return to our subjic. \n\nNow, what does this great and glorious Constitooshun of \nthis United Confederation of Pennsyltucky say 1 What does \nit say 1 Does not our Constitooshun say ? Certainly it does. \nThat \'s just what it says. What did Patrick Henry Jackson \nsay ? Did he not say that each and every one should stand \nupon his own ground 1 and did he not lay his hand upon his \nheart, and say with a clear conscience that he was a paper \ndoll, with a glass eye 1 Certainly he did, \xe2\x80\x94 or any other man. \n\n\n\nTHE THREE SAILORS. \xe2\x80\x94 Thackeray. \n\nTHERE were three sailors in Bristol City \nWho took a boat and went to sea. \n\nBut first with beef and captain\'s biscuit, \nAnd pickled pork they loaded she. \n\nThere was guzzling Jack and gorging Jimmy, \nAnd the youngest he was little Billee. \n\nNow very soon they were so greedy, \nThey did n\'t leave not one split pea. \n\n\n\n134 PUBLIC AND PARLOR READINGS. \n\nSays guzzling Jack to gorging Jimmy, \n" I am extremely hungaree." \n\nSays gorging Jim to guzzling Jacky, \n\n" We have no provisions, so we must eat we." \n\nSays guzzling Jack to gorging Jimmy, \n" gorging Jim, what a fool you be ! \n\n" There \'s little Bill is young and tender, \nWe \'re old and tough, so let \'s eat he." \n\n" Bill, we \'re going to eat you, \nSo undo the collar of your chemie." \n\nWhen Bill received this information, \nHe used his pocket-handkerchee. \n\n" 0, let me say my catechism, \n\nAs my poor mammy taught to me.* \n\n" Make haste, make haste," says guzzling Jack) \nWhile Jim pulled out his snickersnee. \n\nSo Bill went up to the main-top-gallant mast, \nWTiere down he fell on his bended knee. \n\nHe scarce had come to the Twelfth Commandmviit \nWhen up he jumps \xe2\x80\x94 " There \'s land I see. \n\nSi There \'s Jerusalem and Madagascar, \nAnd North and South Amerikee. \n\n" There \'s the British fleet a riding at anchor^ \nWith Admiral Nelson, K. C. B." \n\nSo when they came to the Admiral\'s vessel, \nHe hanged fat Jack and flogged Jimmee. \n\nBut as for little Bill, he made him, \nThe captain of a seventy-three. \n\n\n\nMR. PICKWICK\'S ROMANTIC ADVENTURE. 135 \n\nMR. PICKWICK\'S ROMANTIC ADVENTURE \nWITH A MIDDLE-AGED LADY IN YELLOW CURL-PAPERS. \n\nMR. PICKWICK, in company with a japanned candle- \nstick, was conducted through a multitude of tortuous \nwindings to his bedroom in the hotel. \n\n" This is your room, sir," said the chambermaid. \n\n"Very well," replied Mr. Pickwick, looking round him. \nIt was a tolerably large double-bedded room, with a fire ; \nupon the whole, a more comfortable-looking apartment than \nMr. Pickwick\'s short experience of the accommodations of \nthe Great White Horse had led him to expect. \n\n" Nobody sleeps in the other bed, of course," said Mr. \nPickwick. \n\n" no, sir." \n\n" Very good. Tell my servant to bring me up some hot \nwater at half past eight in the morning, and that I shall not \nwant him any more to-night." \n\n"Yes, sir." And, bidding Mr. Pickwick good night, the \nchambermaid retired, and left him alone. \n\nMr. Pickwick sat himself down in a chair before the fire, \nand fell into a train of rambling meditations. First he \nthought of his friends, and wondered when they would join \nhim ; then his mind reverted to Mrs. Martha Bardell ; and \nfrom that lady it wandered, by a natural process, to the dingy \ncounting-house of Dodson and Fogg. From Dodson and \nFogg\'s it flew off at a tangent, to the very centre of the his- \ntory of the queer client : and then it came back to the Great \nWhite Horse at Ipswich, with sufficient clearness to convince \nMr. Pickwick that he was falling asleep ; so he roused him- \nself, and began to undress, when he recollected he had left his \nwatch on the table down stairs. \n\nNow this watch was a special favorite with Mr. Pickwick, \nhaving been carried about, beneath the shadow of his waist- \ncoat, for a greater number of years than we feel called upon \nto state, at present. The possibility of going to sleep, unless \n\n\n\n136 PUBLIC AND PARLOR READINGS. \n\nit were ticking gently beneath his pillow, or in his watch- \npocket over his head, had never entered Mr. Pickwick\'s brain. \nSo, as it was pretty late now, and he was unwilling to ring his \nbell at that hour of the night, he slipped on his coat, of which \nhe had just divested himself, and, taking the japanned candle- \nstick in his hand, walked quietly down stairs. \n\nThe more stairs Mr. Pickwick went down, the more stairs \nthere seemed to be to descend, and again and again, when Mr. \nPickwick, got into some narrow passage, and began to congrat- \nulate himself on having gained the ground-floor, did another \nflight of stairs appear before his astonished eyes. At last he \nreached a stone hall, which he remembered to have seen when \nhe entered the house. Passage after passage did he explore ; \nroom after room did he peep into ; at length, just as he was \non the point of giving up the search in despair, he opened the \ndoor of the identical room in which he had spent the evening, \nand beheld his missing property on the table. \n\nMr. Pickwick seized the watch in triumph, and proceeded \nto retrace his steps to his bedchamber. If his progress \ndownwards had been attended with difficulties and uncertain- \nty, his journey back was infinitely more perplexing. Rows \nof doors garnished with boots of every shape, make, and size \nbranched off in every possible direction. A dozen times did \nhe softly turn the handle of some bedroom door which re- \nsembled his own, when a gruff cry from within of " Who the \ndevil \'s that ] " or " What do you want here 1 " caused him to \nsteal away, on tiptoe, with a marvellous celerity. He was re- \nduced to the verge of despair, when an open door attracted \nhis attention. He peeped in, \xe2\x80\x94 right at last. There were the \ntwo beds, whose situation he perfectly remembered, and the \nfire still burning. His candle, not a long one when he first \nreceived it, had flickered away in the draughts of air through \nwhich he had passed, and sunk into the socket, just as he \nclosed the door after him. " No matter," said Mr. Pickwick, \n" I can undress myself just as well by the light of the fire." \n\nThe bedsteads stood, one on each side of the door : and on \nthe inner side of each was a little path, terminating in a rush- \n\n\n\nMR. PICKWICK\'S ROMANTIC ADVENTURE. 137 \n\nbottomed chair, just wide enough to admit of a person\'s get- \nting into or out of bed, on that side, if he or she thought \nproper. Having carefully drawn the curtains of his bed on \nthe outside, Mr. Pickwick sat down on the rush-bottomed \nchair, and leisurely divested himself of his shoes and gaiters. \nHe then took off and folded up his coat, waistcoat, and neck- \ncloth, and slowly drawing on his tasselled nightcap, secured it \nfirmly on his head by tying beneath his chin the strings \nwhich he had always attached to that article of dress. It \nwas at this moment that the absurdity of his recent bewilder- \nment struck upon his mind ; and, throwing himself back in \nthe rush-bottomed chair, Mr. Pickwick laughed to himself so \nheartily that it would have been quite delightful to any man \nof well-constituted mind to have watched the smiles which \nexpanded his amiable features as they shone forth from be- \nneath the nightcap. \n\n"It is the best idea," said Mr. Pickwick to himself, smiling \ntill he almost cracked the nightcap strings, \xe2\x80\x94 "it is the best \nidea, my losing myself in this place, and wandering about \nthose staircases, that I ever heard of. Droll, droll, very \ndroll." Here Mr. Pickwick smiled again, a broader smile \nthan before, and was about to continue the process of undress- \ning, in the best possible humor, when he was suddenly \nstopped by a most unexpected interruption ; to wit, the en- \ntrance into the room of some person with a candle, who, after \nlocking the door, advanced to the dressing-table, and set down \nthe light upon it. \n\nThe smile that played on Mr. Pickwick\'s features was in- \nstantaneously lost in a look of the most unbounded and won- \nder-stricken surprise. . The person, whoever it was, had come \nin so suddenly and with so little noise, that Mr. Pickwick \nhad no time to call out, or oppose their entrance. Who \ncould it be 1 A robber ! Some evil-minded person who had \nseen him come up stairs with a handsome watch in his hand, \nperhaps. What was he to do 1 \n\nThe only way in which Mr. Pickwick could catch a glimpse \nof his mysterious visitor with the least danger of being seen \n\n\n\n138 PUBLIC AND PARLOR READINGS. \n\nhimself was by creeping on to the bed, and peeping out from \nbetween the curtains on the opposite side. To this manoeu- \nvre he accordingly resorted. Keeping the curtains carefully \nclosed with his hand, so that nothing more of him could be \nseen than his face and nightcap, and putting on his specta- \ncles, he mustered up courage, and looked out. \n\nMr. Pickwick almost fainted with horror and dismay. \nStanding before the dressing-glass was a middle-aged lady in \nyellow curl-papers, busily engaged in brushing what ladies \ncall their " back-hair." However the unconscious middle- \naged lady came into that room, it was quite clear that she \ncontemplated remaining there for the night; for she had \nbrought a rushlight and shade with her, which, with praise- \nworthy precaution against fire, she had stationed in a basin \non the floor, where it was glimmering away like a gigantic \nlighthouse, in a particularly small piece of water. \n\n" Bless my soul ! " thought Mr. Pickwick, " what a dreadful \nthing ! " \n\n" Hem ! " said the lady ; and in went Mr. Pickwick\'s head \nwith automaton-like rapidity. \n\n" I never met with anything so awful as this," thought \npoor Mr. Pickwick, the cold perspiration starting in drops \nupon his nightcap, \xe2\x80\x94 " never. This is fearful." \n\nIt was quite impossible to resist the urgent desire to see \nwhat was going forward. So out went Mr. Pickwick\'s head \nagain. The prospect was worse than before. The middle- \naged lady had finished arranging her hair, and carefully en- \nveloped it in a muslin nightcap with a small plaited border, \nand was gazing pensively on the fire. \n\n"This matter is growing alarming," reasoned Mr. Pick- \nwick with himself. "I can\'t allow things to go on in this \nway. By the self-possession of that lady, it \'s clear to me \nthat I must have come into the wrong room. If I call out, \nshe \'11 alarm the house ; but if I remain here, the consequence \nwill be still more frightful ! " \n\nMr. Pickwick, it is quite unnecessary to say, was one of the \nmost modest and delicate-minded of mortals. The very idea \n\n\n\nMB. PICKWICK\'S ROMANTIC ADVENTURE. 139 \n\nof exhibiting his nightcap to a lady overpowered him, but \nhe had tied these confounded strings in a knot, and do what \nhe would, he could n\'t get it off. The disclosure must be \nmade. There was only one other way of doing it. He \nshrunk behind the curtains, and called out very loudly, -^ \n\n"Ha \xe2\x80\x94 hum." \n\nThat the lady started at this unexpected sound was evi- \ndent, by her falling up against the rushlight shade ; that she \npersuaded herself it must have been the effect of imagination \nwas equally clear, for when Mr. Pickwick, under the impres- \nsion that she had fainted away, stone-dead from fright, ven- \ntured to peep out again, she was gazing pensively on the fire \nas before. \n\n" Most extraordinary female this," thought Mr. Pickwick, \npopping in again. " Ha - \xe2\x80\x94 hum." \n\nThese last sounds, so like those in which, as legends inform \nus, the ferocious giant Blunderbore was in the habit of ex- \npressing his opinion that it was time to lay the cloth, were \ntoo distinctly audible to be again mistaken for the workings \nof fancy. \n\n"Gracious Heaven!" said the middle-aged lady, "what\'s \nthat 1 " \n\n" It \'s \xe2\x80\x94 it \'s \xe2\x80\x94 only a gentleman, ma\'am," said Mr. Pick- \nwick from behind the curtains. \n\n" A gentleman ! " said the lady, with a terrific scream. \n\n" It \'s all over," thought Mr. Pickwick. \n\n" A strange man," shrieked the lady. Another instant and \nthe house would be alarmed. Her garments rustled as she \nrushed towards the door. \n\n"Ma\'am," said Mr. Pickwick, thrusting out his head, in \nthe extremity of his desperation, \xe2\x80\x94 " ma\'am." \n\nNow although Mr. Pickwick was not actuated by any \ndefinite object in putting out his head, it was instantaneously \nproductive of a good effect. The lady, as we have already \nstated, was near the door. She must pass it to reach the \nstaircase, and she would most undoubtedly have done so by \nthis time, had not the sudden apparition of Mr. Pickwick\'s \n\n\n\n140 PUBLIC AND PARLOR READINGS. \n\nnightcap driven her back into the remotest corner of the \napartment, where she stood staring wildly at Mr. Pickwick, \nwhile Mr. Pickwick in his turn stared wildly at her. \n\n" Wretch," said the lady, covering her eyes with her hands, \n"what do you want here 1 " \n\n"Nothing, ma\'am, \xe2\x80\x94 nothing whatever, ma\'am," said Mr. \nPickwick, earnestly. \n\n" Nothing ! " said the lady, looking up. \n\n" Nothing, ma\'am, upon my honor," said Mr. Pickwick, nod- \nding his head so energetically that the tassel of his nightcap \ndanced again. " I am almost ready to sink, ma\'am, beneath \nthe confusion of addressing a lady in my nightcap" [here \nthe lady hastily snatched off hers], "but I can\'t get it off, \nma\'am " [here Mr. Pickwick gave it a tremendous tug in \nproof of the statement]. "It is evident to me, ma\'am, now, \nthat I have mistaken this bedroom for my own. I had not \nbeen here five minutes, ma\'am, when you suddenly entered it." \n\n" If this improbable story be really true, sir," said the \nlady, sobbing violently, " you will leave it instantly." \n\n" I will, ma\'am, with the greatest pleasure," replied Mr. \nPickwick. \n\n" Instantly, sir," said the lady. \n\n" Certainly, ma\'am," interposed Mr. Pickwick, very quick* \nly, \xe2\x80\x94 "certainly, ma\'am. I \xe2\x80\x94 I \xe2\x80\x94 am very sorry, ma\'am," \nsaid Mr. Pickwick, making his appearance at the bottom of \nthe bed, " to have been the innocent occasion of this alarm \nand emotion, \xe2\x80\x94 deeply sorry, ma\'am." \n\nThe lady pointed to the door. One excellent quality of \nMr. Pickwick\'s character was beautifully displayed at this \nmoment under the most trying circumstances. Although he \nhad hastily put on his hat over his nightcap, after the man- \nner of the old patrol ; although he carried his shoes and gai- \nters in his hand, and his coat and waistcoat over his arm, \nnothing could subdue his native politeness. \n\n" I am exceedingly sorry, ma\'am," said Mr. Pickwick, bow- \ning very low. \n\n" If you are, sir, you will at once leave the room," said the \nlady. \n\n\n\nMR. PICKWICK\'S ROMANTIC ADVENTURE. 141 \n\n" Immediately, ma\'am ; this instant, ma\'am," said Mr. \nPickwick, opening the door, and dropping both his shoes with \na loud crash in so doing. \n\n" I trust, ma\'am," resumed Mr. Pickwick, gathering up his \nshoes, and turning round to bow again, \xe2\x80\x94 "I trust, ma\'am, that \nmy unblemished character, and the devoted respect I enter- \ntain for your sex, will plead as some slight excuse for this " \xe2\x80\x94 \nBut before Mr. Pickwick could conclude the sentence the lady \nhad thrust him into the passage, and locked and bolted the \ndoor behind him. \n\nWhatever grounds for self-congratulation Mr. Pickwick \nmight have for having escaped so quietly from his late awk- \nward situation, his present position was by no means envi- \nable. He was alone, in an open passage, in a strange house, \nin the middle of the night, half dressed ; it was not to be \nsupposed that he could find his way in perfect darkness to \na room which he had been wholly unable to discover with a \nlight, and if he made the slightest noise in his fruitless at- \ntempts to do so, he stood every chance of being shot at, and \nperhaps killed, by some wakeful traveller. \n\nHe had no resource but to remain where he was until day- \nlight appeared. So after groping his way a few paces down \nthe passage, and to his infinite alarm, stumbling over several \npairs of boots in so doing, Mr. Pickwick crouched into a lit- \ntle recess in the wall, to wait for morning as philosophically \nas he might. \n\nHe was not destined, however, to undergo this additional \ntrial of his patience ; for he had not been long ensconced in \nhis present concealment when, to his unspeakable horror, a \nman, bearing a light, appeared at the end of th\xc2\xbb passage. \nHis horror was suddenly converted into joy, however, when \nhe recognized the form of his faithful attendant. It was, \nindeed, Mr. Samuel Weller, who after sitting up thus late, in \nconversation with the Boots, who was sitting up for the mail, \nwas now about to retire to rest. \n\n" Sam," said Mr. Pickwick, suddenly appearing before him, \n" where \'s my bedroom 1 " \n\n\n\n142 PUBLIC AND PARLOE READINGS. \n\nMr. Weller stared at his master with the most emphatic \nsurprise; and it was not until the question had been repeated \nthree several times, that he turned round, and led the way to \nthe long-sought apartment. \n\n" Sam," said Mr. Pickwick, as he got into bed, " I have \nmade one of the most extraordinary mistakes to-night that \never were heard of." \n\n" Wery likely, sir," replied Mr. Weller, dryly. \n\n"But of this I am determined, Sam," said Mr. Pickwick; \n" that if I were to stop in this house for six months, I would \nnever trust myself about it, alone, again." \n\n" That \'s the very prudentest resolution as you could com\xc2\xa9 \nto, sir," replied Mr. Weller. " You rather want somebody to \nlook arter you, sir, wen your judgment goes out a wisitin\' ! " \n\n" What do you mean by that, Sam 1 " said Mr. Pickwick. \nHe raised himself in bed, and extended his hand, as if he \nwere about to say something more ; but, suddenly checking \nhimself, turned round, and bade his valet " Good night." \n\n\' \'Good night, sir," replied Mr. Weller. He paused when \nhe got outside the door, \xe2\x80\x94 shook his head, \xe2\x80\x94 walked on, \xe2\x80\x94 . \nstopped, \xe2\x80\x94 snuffed the candle, \xe2\x80\x94 shook his head again, \xe2\x80\x94 and \nfinally proceeded slowly to his chamber, apparently buried in \nthe profoundest meditation. \n\n\n\nTHE ALARMED SKIPPER. \xe2\x80\x94 J. T. Fields. \n\nMANY a long, long year ago, \nNantucket skippers had a plan \nOf finding out, though "lying low," \n\nHow near New York their schooners ran. \n\nThey greased the lead before it fell, \n\nAnd then, by sounding through the night, \n\nKnowing the soil that stuck, so well, \n\nThey always guessed their reckoning right. \n\n\n\n\n\n\n/ \n\n\n\nTHE ALARMED SKIPPER. 143 \n\nA skipper gray, whose eyes were dim, \n\nCould tell by tasting, just the spot, \nAnd so below, he \'d " dowse the glim," \xe2\x80\x94 \n\nAfter, of course, his " something hot." \n\nSnug in his berth, at eight o\'clock, \n\nThis ancient skipper might be found; \nNo matter how his craft would rock, \n\nHe slept, \xe2\x80\x94 for skippers\' naps are sound ! \n\nThe watch on deck would now and then \nRun down and wake him, with the lead ; \n\nHe \'d up and taste, and tell the men \nHow many miles they went ahead. \n\nOne night, \'t was Jotham Marden\'s watch, \n\nA curious wag, \xe2\x80\x94 the pedler\'s son ; \nAnd so he mused (the wanton wretch), \n\n" To-night I \'11 have a grain of fun. \n\n" We \'re all a set of stupid fools, \n\nTo think the skipper knows by tasting \n\nWhat ground he \'s on ; Nantucket schools \n\nDon\'t teach such stuff, with all their basting ! n \n\nAnd so he took the well-greased lead, \n\nAnd rubbed it o\'er a box of earth \nThat stood on deck (a parsnip-bed), \n\nAnd then he sought the skipper\'s berth. \n\n" Where are we now, sir 1 Please to taste." \nThe skipper yawned, put out his tongue, \n\nThen oped his eyes in wondrous haste, \nAnd then upon the floor he sprung ! \n\nThe skipper stormed, and tore his hair, \n\nThrust on his boots, and roared to Marden, \xe2\x80\x94 \n\n" Nantucket \'s sunk, and here we are \n\nRight over old Marm Hackett\'s garden ! " \n\n\n\n144 PUBLIC AND PARLOR READINGS. \n\nTHE GRIDIRON. \nThe Captain, Patrick, and the Frenchman. \n\nPATRICK. Well, Captain, whereabouts in the wide \nworld are we % Is it Roosia, Proosia, or the Jarmant \noceant % \n\nCaptain. Tut, you fool ; it \'s\'France. \n\nPatrick. Tare an ouns ! do you tell me so? and how do \nyou know it \'s France, Captain dear % \n\nCaptain. Because we were on the coast of the Bay of Bis- \ncay when the vessel was wrecked. \n\nPatrick. Throth, I was thinkin\' so myself. And now, \nCaptain jewel, it is I that wishes we had a gridiron. \n\nCaptain. Why, Patrick, what puts the notion of a gridiron \ninto your head 1 \n\nPatrick. Because I \'m starving with hunger, captain dear. \n\nCaptain. Surely you do not intend to eat a gridiron, do \nyou? \n\nPatrick. Ate a gridiron ! bad luck to it ! no. But if we \nhad a gridiron, we could dress a beefsteak. \n\nCaptain. Yes ; but where \'s the beefsteak, Patrick % \n\nPatrick. Sure, could n\'t we cut it off the pork % \n\nCaptain. I never thought of that. You are a clever fel- \nlow, Patrick. (Laughing.) \n\nPatrick. There \'s many a thrue word said in joke, Captain. \nAnd now, if you will go and get the bit of pork that we saved \nfrom the rack, I \'11 go to the house there beyant, and ax some \nof them to lind me the loan of a gridiron. \n\nCaptain. But, Patrick, this is France, and they are all \nforeigners here. \n\nPatrick. Well, and how do you know but I am as good a \nfurriner myself as any o\' them. \n\nCaptain. What do you mean, Patrick 1 \n\nPatrick. Parley voo frongsay 1 \n\nCaptain. 0, you understand French, then, is it ? \n\nPatrick. Throth, you may say that, Captain dear. \n\n\n\nTHE GRIDIRON. 145 \n\nCaptain. Well, Patrick, success to you. Be civil to the \nforeigners, and I \'11 be back with the pork in a minute. \n\n[He goes out. \n\nPatrick. Ay, sure enough, I \'11 be civil to them; for the \nFrinch are always mighty p\'lite intirely, and I \'11 show them \nI know what good manners is. Indade, and here comes mun- \nseer himself, quite convaynient. (As the Frenchman enters, \nPatrick takes off his hat, and, making a low bozo, says : ) God \nsave you, sir, and all your children. I beg your pardon for \nthe liberty I take, but it \'s only being in disthress in regard \nof ateing, that I make bowld to trouble ye ; and if you \ncould lind me the loan of a gridiron, I \'d be intirely obleeged \nto ye. \n\nFrenchman (staring at him). Comment ! \n\nPatrick. Indade it \'s thrue for you. I \'m tathered to \npaces, and God knows I look quare enough ; but it \'s by \nrason of the storm that dhruv us ashore jist here, and we \'re \nall starvin\'. \n\nFrenchman. Je m\'y t \xe2\x80\x94 (pronounced zhe meet). \n\nPatrick. Oh ! not at all ! by no manes ! we have plenty \nof mate ourselves, and we \'11 dhress it, if you \'d\xc2\xbb be plased \njist to lind us the loan of a gridiron, sir. (Making a low \nbow.) \n\nFrenchman (staring at him, but not understanding a word). \n\nPatrick. I beg pardon, sir ; but maybe I \'m undher a \nmistake, but I thought I was in France, sir. Ant you all \nfurriners here % Parley voo frongsay % \n\nFrenchman. Oui, monsieur. \n\nPatrick. Then, would you lind me the loan of a gridiron, \nif you plase % (The Frenchman stares more than ever, as if \nanxious to understand. ) I know it \'s a liberty I take, sir ; \nbut it \'s only in the regard of bein\' cast away ; and if you \nplase, sir, parley voo frongsay % \n\nFrenchman. Oui, monsieur, oui. \n\nPatrick. Then would you lind me the loan of a gridiron, \nsir, and you \'11 obleege me 1 \n\nFrenchman. Monsieur, pardon, monsieur \xe2\x80\x94 \n\n7 j \n\n\n\n146 PUBLIC AND PARLOR READINGS. \n\nPatrick {angrily). By my sowl, if it was you was in dis- \nthress, and if it was to owld Ireland you came, it \'s not only \nthe gridiron they \'d give you, if you axed it, but something to \nput on it too, and a dhrop of dhrink into the bargain. Can\'t \nyou understand your own language 3 (Very slowly.) Parley \n\xe2\x80\x94 voo \xe2\x80\x94 frongsay \xe2\x80\x94 munseer 1 \n\nFrenchman. Oui, monsieur ; oui, monsieur, mais \xe2\x80\x94 \n\nPatrick. Then lind me the loan of a gridiron, I say, and \nbad scram to you. \n\nFrenchman (bowing and scraping). Monsieur, je ne l\'en- \ntend \xe2\x80\x94 \n\nPatrick. Phoo ! the divil sweep yourself and your long \ntongs ! I don\'t want a tongs at all, at all. Can\'t you listen \nto rason 1 \n\nFrenchman. Oui, oui, monsieur : certainement, mais \xe2\x80\x94 \n\nPatrick. Then lind me the loan of a gridiron, and howld \nyour prate. (The Frenchman shakes his head, as if to say \nhe did not understand ; but Patrick, thinking he meant it as \na refusal, says, in a passion : ) Bad cess to the likes o\' you ! \nThroth, if you were in my counthry, it \'s not that-a-way \nthey \'d use you. The curse o\' the crows on you, you owld \nsinner! The divil another word I \'11 say to you. (The \nFrenchman puts his hand on his heart, and tries to express com- \npassion in his countenance.) Well, I \'11 give you one chance \nmore, you owld thafe ! Are you a Christhian, at all, at all 1 \nAre you a furriner that all the world calls so p\'lite 1 Bad \nluck to you ! do you understand your mother tongue? \nParley voo frongsay 1 (Very loud.) Parley voo frongsay 1 ? \n\nFrenchman. Oui, monsieur, oui, oui. \n\nPatrick. Then, thunder and turf ! will you lind me the \nloan of a gridiron? (The Frenchman shakes his head, as if he \ndid not understand ; and Pat says, vehemently :) The curse of \nthe hungry be on you, you owld negarly villain ! the back of \nmy hand and the sowl of my fut to you ! May you want a \ngridiron yourself yet ! and wherever I go, it \'s high and low, \nrich and poor, shall hear of it, and be hanged to you ! \n\n\n\nSONG OF SARATOGA. 147 \n\n\n\nSONG OF SARATOGA. \xe2\x80\x94 John G. Saxe. \n\n" *pRAY what do they do at the Springs 1 " \n\nJL The question is easy to ask j \nBut to answer it fully, my dear, \n\nWere rather a serious task. \nAnd yet, in a bantering way, \n\nAs the magpie or mocking-bird sings, \nI \'11 venture a bit of a song, \n\nTo tell what they do at the Springs ! \n\nImprimis, my darling, they drink \n\nThe waters so sparkling and clear ; \nThough the flavor is none of the best, \n\nAnd the odor exceedingly queer ; \nBut the fluid is mingled, you know, \n\nWith wholesome, medicinal things ; \nSo they drink, and they drink, and they drink, \n\nAnd that \'s what they do at the Springs ! \n\nThen with appetites keen as a knife, \n\nThey hasten to breakfast or dine ; \n(The latter precisely at three, \n\nThe former from seven till nine.) \nYe gods ! what a rustle and rush, \n\nWhen the eloquent dinner-bell rings ! \nThen they eat, and they eat, and they eat, \xe2\x80\x94 \n\nAnd that \'s what they do at the Springs ! \n\nNow they stroll in the beautiful walks, \n\nOr loll in the shade of the trees ; \nWhere many a whisper is heard \n\nThat never is heard by the breeze ; \nAnd hands are commingled with hands, \n\nRegardless of conjugal rings ; \nAnd they flirt, and they flirt, and they flirt, \xe2\x80\x94 \n\nAnd that \'s what they do at the Springs 2 \n\n\n\n148 PUBLIC AND PAELOR READINGS. \n\nThe drawing-rooms now are ablaze, \n\nAnd music is shrieking away ; \nTerpsichore governs the hour, \n\nAnd fashion was never so gay ! \nAn arm round a tapering waist, \xe2\x80\x94 \n\nHow closely and fondly it clings ! \nSo they waltz, and they waltz, and they waltz, \n\nAnd that \'s what they do at the Springs ! \n\nIn short, \xe2\x80\x94 as it goes in the world, \xe2\x80\x94 \n\nThey eat, and they drink, and they sleep ; \nThey talk, and they walk, and they woo ; \n\nThey sigh, and they laugh, and they weep ; \nThey read, and they ride, and they dance ; \n\n(With other remarkable things:) \nThey pray, and they play, and they pay, \xe2\x80\x94 \n\nAnd that \'s what they do at the Springs ! \n\n\n\nTHE BEWITCHED CLOCK. \n\nABOUT half past eleven o\'clock on Sunday night a human \nleg, enveloped in blue broadcloth, might have been \nseen entering Cephas Barberry\'s kitchen window. The leg \nwas followed finally by the entire person of a lively Yankee, \nattired in his Sunday go-to-meetin\' clothes. It was, in short, \nJoe Mayweed, who thus burglariously, in the dead of night, \nwon his way into the deacon\'s kitchen. \n\n" Wonder how much the old deacon made by orderin\' me \nnot to darken his door again 1 " soliloquized the young man. \n"Promised him I would n\'t, but did n\'t say nothin\' about \nwinders. Winders is just as good as doors, if there ain\'t no \nnails to tear your trousers onto. Wonder if Sal \'11 come \ndown 1 The critter promised me. I \'m afraid to move here, \n\'cause I might break my shins over sumthin\' or \'nother, and \nwake the old folks. Cold enough to freeze a polar-bear here. \n0, here comes Sally ! " \n\n\n\nTHE BEWITCHED CLOCK. 149 \n\nThe beautiful maiden descended with a pleasant smile, a \ntallow candle, and a box of matches. \n\nAfter receiving a rapturous greeting, she made up a roaring \nfire in the cooking-stove, and the happy couple sat down to \nenjoy the sweet interchange of views and hopes. But the \ncourse of true love ran no smoother in old Barberry\'s kitchen \nthan it did elsewhere, and Joe, who was making up his mind \nto treat himself to a kiss, was startled by the voice of the \ndeacon, her father, shouting from her chamber door : \xe2\x80\x94 \n\n" Sally, what are you getting up in the middle of the night \nfor?" \n\n" Tell him it \'s most morning," whispered Joe. \n\n"? can\'t tell a fib," said Sally. \n\n" I \'11 make it a truth, then," said Joe, and running to the \nhuge old-fashioned clock that stood in the corner, he set it at \nfive. \n\n" Look at the clock and tell me what time it is," cried the \nold gentleman up stairs. \n\n" It \'s five by the clock," answered Sally, and, corroborating \nthe words, the clock struck five. \n\nThe lovers sat down again, and resumed the conversation. \nSuddenly the staircase began to creak. \n\n" Good gracious ! it \'s father." \n\n" The deacon, by thunder ! " cried Joe ; " hide me, Sal ! " \n\n" Where can I hide you 1 " cried the distracted girl. \n\n" 0, I know," said he ; " 1 11 squeeze into the clock-case." \n\nAnd without another word he concealed himself in the \ncase, and drew to the door behind him. \n\nThe deacon was dressed, and, sitting himself down by the \ncooking-stove, pulled out his pipe, lighted it, and commenced \nsmoking very deliberately and calmly. \n\n" Five o\'clock, eh 1 " said he. " Well, I shall have time to \nsmoke three or four pipes ; then I \'11 go and feed the critters." \n\n" Had n\'t you better go and feed the critters first, sir, and \nsmoke afterward ? " suggested the dutiful Sally. \n\n" No ; smokin\' clears my head and wakes me up," answered \nthe deacon, who seemed not a whit disposed to hurry his en- \njoyment. \n\n\n\n150 PUBLIC AND PAKLOR READINGS. \n\nBur-r-r-r - \xe2\x80\x94 whiz \xe2\x80\x94 z \xe2\x80\x94 ding \xe2\x80\x94 ding 1 went the clock. \n\n" Tormented lightning ! " cried the deacon, starting up, ana \ndropping his pipe on the stove. " What in creation is that 1 " \n\nWhiz ! ding ! ding ! ding ! went the old clock, furiously. \n\n" It \'s only the clock striking five," said Sally, tremulously. \n\n" Powers of mercy ! " cried the deacon, " striking five ! " \nIt \'s struck a hundred already." \n\n" Deacon Barberry ! " cried the deacon\'s better half, who \nhad hastily robed herself, and now came plunging down the \nstaircase in the wildest state of alarm, " what is the matter \nof the clock 1 " \n\n" Goodness only knows," replied the old man. \n\n" It \'s been in the family these hundred years, and never \ndid I know it to carry on so before." \n\nWhiz ! bang ! bang ! bang ! went the clock. \n\n" It \'11 burst itself ! " cried the old lady, shedding a flood of \ntears, " and there won\'t be nothing left of it." \n\n" It \'s bewitched," said the deacon, who retained a leaven \nof New England superstition in his nature. "Anyhow," he \nsaid, after a pause, advancing resolutely toward the clock, \n" I \'11 see what \'s got into it." \n\n" 0, don\'t ! " cried the daughter, affectionately seizing one of \nhis coat-tails, while his faithful wife hung to the other. \n\n" Don\'t," chorused both the women together. \n\n" Let go my raiment ! " shouted the deacon ; " I ain\'t \nafraid of the powers of darkness." \n\nBut the women would not let go ; so the deacon slipped off \nhis coat, and while, from the sudden cessation of resistance, \nthey fell heavily on the floor, he darted forward and laid his \nhand on the door of the clock-case. But no human power \ncould open it. Joe was holding it inside with a death-grasp. \nThe deacon began to be dreadfully frightened. He gave one \nmore tug. An unearthly yell, as of a fiend in distress, came \nfrom the inside, and then the clock-case pitched headforemost \non the floor, smashed its face, and wrecked its proportions. \n\nThe current of air extinguished the light ; the deacon, the \nold lady, and Sally fled up stairs, and Joe Mayweed, extri- \n\n\n\nTHE WIDOW. 151 \n\neating himself from the clock, effected his retreat in the same \nway that he had entered. The next day all Appleton was \nalive with the story of how Deacon Barberry\'s clock had been \nbewitched ; and though many believed its version, some, and \nespecially Joe Mayweed, affected to discredit the whole af- \nfair, hinting that the deacon had been trying the experiment \nof tasting frozen cider, and that the vagaries of the clock-case \nexisted only in a distempered imagination. \n\n\n\nTHE WIDOW. \xe2\x80\x94 C. F. Gellert. \nTranslated by Rev. C. T. Brooks. \n\nDORINDA\'S youthful spouse, \nWhom as herself she loved, and better too \xe2\x80\x94 \n" Better 1 " \xe2\x80\x94 methinks I hear some caviller say, \nWith scornful smile ; but let him smile away ! \n\nA true thing is not therefore the less true, \nLet laughing cavillers do what they may. \nSuffice it, death snatched from Dorinda\'s arms \xe2\x80\x94 \nToo early snatched, in all his glowing charms \xe2\x80\x94 \nThe best of husbands and the best of men ; \nAnd I can find no words, \xe2\x80\x94 in vain my pen, \nThough dipped in briny tears, would fain portray, \n\nIn lively colors, all the young wife felt, \n\nAs o\'er his couch in agony she knelt, \nAnd clasped the hand, and kissed the cheek, of clay. \n\nThe priest, whose business \'t was to soothe her, came ; \n\nAll friendship came, in vain ; \n\nThe more they soothed, the more Dorinda cried. \n\nThey had to drag her from the dead one\'s side. \n\nA ceaseless wringing of the hands \n\nWas all she did ; one piteous " Alas ! " \n\nThe only sound that from her lips did pass : \n\nFull four-and-twenty hours thus she lay. \n\n\n\n152 PUBLIC AND PARLOR READINGS. \n\nMeanwhile a neighbor o\'er the way \n\nHad happened in, well skilled in carving wood. \n\nHe saw Dorinda\'s melancholy mood, \n\nAnd, partly at her own request, \n\nPartly to show his reverence for the blest, \n\nAnd save his memory from untimely end, \n\nResolved to carve in wood an image of his friend. \n\nSuccess the artist\'s cunning hand attended ; \nWith most amazing speed the work was ended; \n\nAnd there stood Stephen, large as life. \nA masterpiece soon makes its way to light. \nThe folk ran up and screamed, so soon as Stephen met their \n\nsight : \n" Ah, Heavens ! Ah, there he is ! Yes, yes, \'t is he ! \n\nhappy artist ! happy wife ! \n\nLook at the laughing features ! Only see \n\nThe open mouth, that seems as if \'t would speak ! \n\n1 never saw before in all my life \n\nSuch nature, \xe2\x80\x94 no, I vow, there could not be \nA truer likeness ; so he looked to me, \nWhen he stood godfather last week. \n\nThey brought the wooden spouse, \nThat now alone the widow\'s heart could cheer, \n\nUp to the second story of the house \nWhere he and she had dwelt one blessed year. \nThere in her chamber, having turned the key, \n\nShe shut herself with him, and sought relief \n\nAnd comfort in the midst of bitter grief, \nAnd held herself as bound, if she would be \nForever worthy of his memory, \nTo weep away the remnant of her life. \nWhat more could one desire of a wife 1 \n\nSo sat Dorinda many weeks, heart-broken, \nAnd had not, my informant said, \n\n\n\nTHE WIDOW. 153 \n\nIn all that time to living creature spoken, \nExcept her house-dog and her serving-maid. \n\nAnd this, after so many weeks of woe, \nWas the first day that she had dared to glance \nOut of her window ; and to-day, by chance, \n\nJust as she looked, a stranger stood below. \nUp in a twinkling came the house-maid running, \nAnd said, with look of sweetest, half-hid cunning, \n" Madam, a gentleman would speak with you, \nA lovely gentleman as one would wish to view, \nAlmost as lovely as your blessed one ; \nHe has some business with you must be done, \xe2\x80\x94 \nBusiness, he said, he could not trust with me." \n\n"Must just make up some story then," said she, \n\n" I cannot leave, one moment, my dear man ; \n\nIn short, go down and do the best you can ; \nTell him I \'m sick with sorrow ; for, me ! \nIt were no wonder \xe2\x80\x94 " \n\n" Madam, \'t will not do ; \nHe has already had a glimpse of you, \nUp at your window as you stood below ! \n\nYou must come down ; now do, I pray. \n\nThe stranger will not thus be sent away. \nHe \'s something weighty to impart I know. \nI should think, madam, you might go." \n\nA moment the young widow stands perplexed, \nFluttering \'twixt memory and hope ; the next \nEmbracing, with a sudden glow, \nThe image that so long had soothed her woe, \nShe lets the stranger in. Who can it be 1 \nA suitor ? Ask the maid : already she \nIs listening at the key-hole ; but her ear \nOnly Dorinda\'s plaintive tone can hear. \nThe afternoon slips by. What can it mean 1 \n\nThe stranger goes not yet, has not been seen \n\n7* \n\n\n\n154 PUBLIC AND PAELOK EEADINGS. \n\nTo leave the house. Perhaps he makes request \xe2\x80\x94 \nUnheard-of boldness ! \xe2\x80\x94 to remain, a guest 1 \nDorinda comes at length, and, sooth to say, alone. \xe2\x80\x94 \n\nWhere is the image, her dear, sad delight 1 \xe2\x80\x94 \n" Maid," she begins, " say, what shall now be done % \n\nThe gentleman will be my guest to-night. \nGo instantly, and boil the pot of fish." \n" Yes, madam, yes, with pleasure, as you wish." \n\nDorinda goes back to her room again. \n\nThe maid ransacks the house to find a stick \nOf wood to make a fire beneath the pot, \xe2\x80\x94 in vain. \n\nShe cannot find a single one ; then quick \nShe calls Dorinda out, in agony. \n" Ah, madam, hear the solemn truth," says she ; \nThere \'s not a stick of fish- wood in the house. \n\nSuppose I take that image down and split it 1 That \n\nIs good, hard wood, and to our purpose pat." \n" The image 1 No, indeed ! \xe2\x80\x94 But \xe2\x80\x94 well \xe2\x80\x94 yes, do ! \nWhat need you have been making all this touse 1 " \n" But, ma\'am, the image is too much for me ; \nI cannot lift it all alone, you see ; \xe2\x80\x94 \n\'T would go out of the window easily." \n" A lucky thought ! and that will split it for you, too. \n\nThe gentleman in future lives with me; \n\nI may no longer nurse this misery." \nUp went the sash, and out the blessed Stephen flew. \n\n\n\nA DRY EXPERIMENT. \xe2\x80\x94John Neal. \n\nI WAS a member of the Delphian Club, at Baltimore, when \nI had reached the age of twenty-three or thereabouts. \nTwo or three of us Delphians were one day dining at the \nhouse of a friend. On the table was a plate of hard crack- \ners, or biscuit. Some talk was had about the difficulty of \n\n\n\nA DEY EXPERIMENT. 155 \n\nswallowing them without the help of water. Somebody de- \nclared that it would be impossible for any human being to \neat five of these little crackers without drinking. \n\n" But in how long a time 1 " said our President, Pertinax \nParticular. \n\n" In five minutes," was the answer. \n\n" I \'11 bet you half a dozen of wine," said the President, \nfiring up, as only Dr. Tobias Watkins could fire up on \nsuch an occasion, he being a capital surgeon, and valuing \nhimself especially on all that concerned deglutition, physi- \nology, anatomy, and all the rest of the sciences, \xe2\x80\x94 " I \'11 \nbet you half a dozen that I can eat five of those biscuit, \xe2\x80\x94 \nnot crackers, if you please, biscuit, sir, biscuit, \xe2\x80\x94 within five \nminutes, and without drinking a drop." \n\n" Done ! and who shall time you % " \n\n" The Vice-President." \n\n"Agreed." \n\nAnd so Mr. Pierpont, our Vice-President, lugged out his \nwatch, and sat, with one elbow on the table, and with eyes \nfixed upon its face, while Watkins went to work. \n\nThe first two or three were soon disposed of, but the fourth \nbegan to be troublesome ; and long before he had got through \nwith the fifth he began to breathe short, to grow very red \nin the face, and to shift about in his chair, as if undergoing \nstrangulation. After two or three convulsive gasps, with his \neyes fixed upon Mr. Pierpont, he succeeded in swallowing the \nlast mouthful ; and, springing from his chair, he asked, in a \nvoice so husky as to be almost inaudible, how long he had \nbeen at work. \n\n" Just six minutes and a half," said Mr. Pierpont, without \na change of countenance. \n\nAnd then was n\'t there a shout ! I never heard men laugh \nmore heartily, nor, if I must own up, more unfeelingly. The \npoor doctor was almost besicle himself with suppressed rage ; \nhe could n\'t see the joke, \xe2\x80\x94 not he ; and while he sat puffing \nand blowing, seemed to believe, almost, that he had been cru- \nelly betrayed and perhaps cheated. Nor do I believe that he \n\n\n\n156 PUBLIC AND PAELOE READINGS. \n\never forgot or forgave the trick to his dying day, though \nhe was one of the most amiable men I ever knew, and emi- \nnently good-natured, but a man who could not bear to be \nlaughed at. \n\n\n\nORATOR PUFF. \xe2\x80\x94Thomas Moore. \n\nMR. ORATOR PUFF had two tones in his voice, \nThe one squeaking thus, and the other down so ; \nIn each sentence he uttered he gave you your choice, \nFor one half was B alt, and the rest G below. \nOh ! oh ! Orator Puff, \nOne voice for an orator \'s surely enough. \n\nBut he still talked away, spite of coughs and of frowns, \n\nSo distracting all ears with his ups and his downs, \nThat a wag once, on hearing the orator say, \n\n" My voice is for war," asked him, " Which of them, pray 1 " \nOh ! oh ! Orator Puff, \nOne voice for an orator \'s surely enough. \n\nReeling homewards one evening, top-heavy with gin, \n\nAnd rehearsing his speech on the weight of the crown, \nHe tripped near a saw-pit, and tumbled right in, \n\n" Sinking fund," the last words as his noddle came down. \nOh ! oh ! Orator Puff, \nOne voice for an orator \'s surely enough. \n\n" Good Lord ! " he exclaimed, in his he-and-she tones, \n\n" Help me out ! help me out ! \xe2\x80\x94 I have broken my bones ! " \n" Help you out ! " said a Paddy who passed, " what a bother ! \nWhy, there \'s two of you there; can\'t you help one another ? " \nOh ! oh ! Orator Puff, \nOne voice for an orator \'s surely enough. \n\n\n\nA NIGHT WITH A VENTKILOQUIST. 157 \n\n\n\nA NIGHT WITH A VENTRILOQUIST.\xe2\x80\x94 Henry Cockton. \n\nTHERE happened to be only four bedrooms in the house : \nthe best, of course, was occupied by Miss Madonna, \nthe second by Mr. Plumplee, the third by Mr. Beagle, and the \nfourth by the servant ; but that in which Mr. Beagle slept \nwas a double-bedded room, and Valentine had, therefore, to \nmake his election between the spare bed and the sofa. Of \ncourse the former was preferred, and as the preference seemed \nhighly satisfactory to Mr. Beagle himself, they passed the even- \ning very pleasantly together, and in due time retired. \n\nValentine, on having his bed pointed out to him, darted \nbetween the sheets in the space of a minute, for, as Mr. \nJonas Beagle facetiously observed, he had but to shake him- \nself and everything came off; when, as he did not by any \nmeans feel drowsy at the time, he fancied that he might as \nwell amuse his companion for an hour or so as not. He \ntherefore turned the thing seriously over in his mind while \nMr. Beagle was quietly undressing, being anxious for that gen- \ntleman to extinguish the light before he commenced operations. \n\n" Now for a beautiful night\'s rest," observed Mr. Jonas \nBeagle to himself, as he put out the light with a tranquil \nmind, and turned in with a great degree of comfort. \n\n" Mew ! mew ! " cried Valentine, softly, throwing his voice \nunder the bed of Mr. Beagle. \n\n" Hish ! \xe2\x80\x94 curse that cat ! " cried Mr. Beagle. " We must \nhave you out at all events, my lady." And Mr. Beagle at \nonce slipped out of bed, and having opened the door, cried \n" hish ! " again, emphatically, and threw his smalls towards \nthe spot, as an additional inducement for the cat to " stand \nnot on the order of her going," when, as Valentine repeated \nthe cry, and made it appear to proceed from the stairs, Mr. \nBeagle thanked Heaven that she was gone, closed the door, \nand very carefully groped his way again into bed. \n\n" Mew ! mew ! mew ! " cried Valentine, just as Mr. Beagle \nhad again comfortably composed himself. \n\n\n\n158 PUBLIC AND PARLOR READINGS. \n\n" What ! are you there still, madam 1 " inquired that gen- \ntleman, in a highly sarcastic tone ; " I thought you had been \nturned out, madam ! Do you hear this witch of a cat % " he \ncontinued, addressing Valentine, with the view of conferring \nupon him the honorable office of Tyler for the time being ; \nbut Valentine replied with a deep, heavy snore, and began to \nmew again with additional emphasis. \n\n" Well, I don\'t have a treat every day, it is true ; but if \nthis is n\'t one, why I \'m out in my reckoning, that \'s all ! " \nobserved Mr. Jonas Beagle, slipping again out of bed. " I \ndon\'t much like to handle you, my lady, but if I did, I \'d of \ncourse give you physic " ; and he " hished ! " again with \nconsummate violence, and continued to "hish!" until Val- \nentine scratched the bed-post sharply, \xe2\x80\x94 a feat which in- \nspired Mr. Beagle with the conviction of its being the dis- \nturber of his peace in the act of decamping, \xe2\x80\x94 when he \nthrew his pillow very energetically towards the door, which he \nclosed, and then returned to his bed in triumph. The mo- \nment, however, he had comfortably tucked himself up again, \nhe missed the pillow, which he had converted into an instru- \nment of vengeance, and as that was an article without which \nhe could n\'t even hope to go to sleep, he had of course to turn \nout again to fetch it. \n\n" How many more times, I wonder," he observed, " shall I \nhave to get out of this blessed bed to-night 1 Exercise cer- \ntainly is a comfort, and very conducive to health ; but such \nexercise as this \xe2\x80\x94 Why, where have you got tol " he added, \naddressing the pillow, which, with all the sweeping action of \nhis feet, he was for some time unable to find. " 0, here you are, \nsir, are you 1 " and he picked up the object of his search, and \ngave it several severe blows, when, having reinstated himself \nbetween the sheets, he exclaimed, in a subdued tone, " Well, \nlet \'s try again ! " \n\nNow Mr. Jonas Beagle was a man who prided himself espe- \ncially upon the evenness of his temper. His boast was, that \nnothing could put him in a passion ; and as he had had less than \nmost of his contemporaries to vex him, he had certainly been \n\n\n\nA NIGHT WITH A VENTRILOQUIST. 159 \n\nable, in the absence of all cause for irritation, to preserve his \nequanimity. As a perfectly natural matter of course, he in- \nvariably attributed the absence of such cause to the innate \namiability of his disposition, and marvelled that men \xe2\x80\x94 men \nof sense and discernment \xe2\x80\x94 should so far forget what was \njustly expected of them as reasonable beings, as to suffer \nthemselves to be tortured by excitement, seeing that, albeit \nhuman nature and difficulties are inseparable, human nature \nis sufficiently potent, not only to battle with those difficulties, \nbut eventually to overcome them. If Mr. Jonas Beagle had \nhad to contend against many of the " ills that flesh is heir \nto," he in all probability would have acted like the majority \nof his fellow-men ; but as he had met with very few, and \nthose few had not been of a very serious complexion, he could \nafford to be deeply philosophical on the subject, and felt him- \nself competent, of course, to frame laws by which the tempers \nof men in the aggregate should be governed. He did, how- \never, feel, when he violently smote the pillow, that that little \nebullition partook somewhat of the nature of passion, and \nhad just commenced reproaching himself for having indulged \nin that little ebullition, when Valentine cried, " Meyow ! \xe2\x80\x94 \npit ! \xe2\x80\x94 meyow ! " \n\n" Hallo ! " exclaimed Mr. Jonas Beagle, "here again ! " \n\n" Mew ! " cried Valentine, in a somewhat higher key. \n\n" What ! another come to contribute to the harmony of \nthe evening ! " \n\n" Meyow ! \xe2\x80\x94 meyow ! " cried Valentine, in a key still \nhigher. \n\n" Well, how many more of you % " inquired Mr. Beagle ; \n" you \'11 be able to get up a concert by and by " ; and Valentine \nbegan to spit and swear with great felicity. \n\n" Swear away, you beauties ! " cried Mr. Jonas Beagle, as \nhe listened to this volley of feline oaths ; " I only wish that I \nwas not so much afraid of you, for your sakes ! At it again 1 \nWell, this is a blessing. Don\'t you hear these devils of cats\'?" \nhe cried, anxious not to have all the fun to himself ; but Val- \nentine recommenced snoring very loudly. " Well, this is \n\n\n\n160 PUBLIC AND PARLOR READINGS. \n\nparticularly pleasant," he continued, as he sat up in bed. \n" Don\'t you hear 1 What a comfort it is to be able to sleep \nsoundly ! " which remarkable observation was doubtless pro- \nvoked by the no less remarkable fact, that at that particular \nmoment the spitting and swearing became more and more \ndesperate. " What \'s to be done 1 " he inquired very pointedly, \n\xe2\x80\x94 " what \'s to be done 1 My smalls are right in the midst of \nthem. I can\'t get out, now ; they \'d tear the very flesh off my \nlegs ; and that fellow there sleeps like a top. Hallo ! Do you \nmean to say you don\'t hear these cats, how they \'re going it ? " \nValentine certainly meant to say no such thing, for the whole \nof the time that he was not engaged in meyowing and spit- \nting, he was diligently occupied in snoring, which had a very \ngood effect, and served to fill up the intervals excellently well. \n\nAt length the patience of Mr. Jooas Beagle began to evap- \norate, for the hostile animals continued to battle apparently \nwith great desperation. He, therefore, threw a pillow with \ngreat violence at his companion, and shouted so loudly that \nValentine, feeling that it would be deemed perfect nonsense \nTor him to pretend to be asleep any longer, began to yawn \nrery naturally, and then to cry out, " Who \'s there 1 " \n\n" \'T is I," shouted Mr. Jonas Beagle. " Don\'t you hear \nthese witches of cats 1 " \n\n" Hish ! " cried Valentine ; " why, there are two of them ! " \n\n" Two ! " said Mr. Beagle, " more likely two and twenty ! \nI \'ve turned out a dozen myself. There \'s a swarm, a whole \ncolony of them here, and I know no more how to strike a \nlight than a fool." \n\n" 0, never mind ! " said Valentine ; "let \'s go to sleep ; \nthey \'11 be quiet by and by." \n\n" It \'s all very fine to say \' Let \'s go to sleep,\' but who \'s \nto do it ? " cried Beagle, emphatically. " Curse the cats ! I \nwish there was n\'t a cat under heaven, \xe2\x80\x94 I do, with all my \nsoul ! They \'re such spiteful vermin, too, when they happen \nto be put out ; and there \'s one of them in a passion, I know \nby her spitting ; confound her ! I wish from the bottom of \nmy heart it was the very last spit she had in her." \n\n\n\nA NIGHT WITH A VENTRILOQUIST. 161 \n\nWhile Mr. Jonas Beagle was indulging in these highly \nappropriate observations, Valentine was laboring with great \nenergy in the production of the various bitter cries which \nare peculiarly characteristic of the feline race ; and for a man \nwho possessed but a very slight knowledge of the grammatical \nconstruction of the language of that race, it must, injustice, \nbe said that he developed a degree of fluency which did him \ngreat credit. He purred and mewed, and cried and spit, un- \ntil the perspiration oozed from every pore, and made the \nsheets as wet as if they had been " damped for the mangle." \n\n" Well, this is a remarkably nice position for a man to be \nplaced in, certainly," observed Mr. Beagle. " Did you ever \nhear such wailing and gnashing of teeth % Are you never \ngoing to leave off, you devils ? " he added, throwing the bol- \nster with great violence under the bed, and therefore, as he \nfondly conceived, right amongst them. Instead, however, of \nstriking the cats therewith, he unhappily upset something, \nwhich rolled with great velocity from one end of the room to \nthe other, and made during its progress so singular a clatter \nthat he began to " tut ! tut ! " and to scratch his head \naudibly. \n\n" Who \'s there 1 " demanded Plumplee in the passage be- \nlow, for he slept in the room beneath, and the rolling of the \narticles in question had alarmed him ! " Who \'s there 1 d\' ye \nhear 1 Speak, or I \'11 shoot you like a dog ! " and on the in- \nstant the report of a pistol was heard, which in all probabil- \nity had been fired with the view of convincing all whom it \nmight concern that he had such a thing as a pistol in the \nhouse. " Who \'s there 1 " he again demanded ; " you vaga- \nbonds, I \'11 be at you ! " \xe2\x80\x94 an intimation that may be held to \nhave been extremely natural under the circumstances, not \nonly because he had not even the slightest intention of carry- \ning so desperate a design into execution, but because he \xe2\x80\x94 in \nconsequence of having supped off cucumbers and crabs, of \nwhich he happened to be particularly fond, seeing that as \nthey did n\'t agree with him, and invariably made him suffer, \nthey partook of the nature of forbidden fruit \xe2\x80\x94 he had sin- \n\n\n\n162 PUBLIC AND PARLOR READINGS. \n\ngularly enough been dreaming of being attacked by a party \nof burglars, and of having succeeded in frightening them \naway by holding out a precisely similar threat. \n\n" Beagle ! " he shouted, after waiting in vain for the street \ndoor to bang. \n\n" Here ! " cried Beagle, " come up here ! It \'s nothing ! I \'11 \nexplain ! For Heaven\'s sake," he added, addressing Valen- \ntine, " open the door" ; but Valentine was too much engaged \nto pay attention to any such request. \n\nAt this moment the footsteps of Plumplee were heard upon \nthe stairs, and Mr. Beagle, who then began to feel somewhat \nbetter, cried, "Come in ! my good friend, come in ! " \n\n" What on earth is the matter 1 " inquired Mr. Plumplee, \nas he entered the room pale as a ghost, in his night shirt, with \na pistol in one hand and a lamp in the other. \n\n"It\'s all right," said Beagle; "\'twas I that made the \nnoise. I\'ve been besieged by a cohort of cats. They have \nbeen at it here making most healthful music under my bed \nfor the last two hours, and in trying to make them hold their \npeace with the bolster, I upset that noisy affair, that \'s all." \n\n" Cats ! " cried Mr. Plumplee, " cats ! you ate a little too \nmuch cucumber, my friend ! that and the crabs were too \nheavy for your stomach ! you have been dreaming ! you \'ve \nhad the nightmare ! We have n\'t a cat in the house ; I can\'t \nbear them." \n\n" You are mistaken," rejoined Beagle, " they \'re about here \nin swarms. If I \'ve turned one cat out this night, I \'m sure \nthat I \'ve turned out twenty ! I \'ve in fact done nothing else \nsince I came up ! In and out, in and out ! Upon my life, I \nthink I can\'t have opened that blessed door less than a hun- \ndred and fifty times ; and that young fellow there has been \nall the while fast as a church! " \n\n" I tell you, my friend, you \'ve been dreaming ! We have \nnever had a cat about the premises." \n\n" Meyow, \xe2\x80\x94 meyow ! " cried Valentine, quietly. \n\n" Now have I been dreaming 1 " triumphantly exclaimed \nMr. Beagle ; " now have I had the nightmare 1 " \n\n\n\nA NIGHT WITH A VENTRILOQUIST. 163 \n\n" Bless my life ! " cried Mr. Plumplee, jumping upon Mr. \nBeagle\'s bed, " they don\'t belong to me." \n\n" I don\'t know whom they belong to," returned Mr. Beagle, \n" nor do I much care ; I only know that there they are ! \nIf you \'11 just hook those breeches up here, I \'11 get out and \nhalf murder them ! only hook \'em this way ! \xe2\x80\x94 I \'11 wring \ntheir precious necks off ! " \n\n" They \'re out of my reach," cried Plumplee. " Hish ! \nhish ! " Finding, however, that harsh terms had no effect, \nhe had recourse to the milder and more persuasive cry of \n" Pussy, pussy, pussy, pussy ! kit, kit, kit ! " \n\n" Hish ! you devils ! " cried Mr. Jonas Beagle, who began \nto be really enraged ! \n\n" Kitty, kitty, kitty, kitty ! \xe2\x80\x94 puss, puss, puss ! " repeated \nMr. Plumplee, in the blandest and most seductive tones, as he \nheld the pistol by the muzzle to break the back or to knock \nout the brains of the first unfortunate cat that made her ap- \npearance ; but all this persuasion to come forth had no effect ; \nthey continued to be invisible, while the mewing proceeded in \nthe most melancholy strain. \n\n" What on earth are we to do 1 " inquired Plumplee ; " I \nmyself have a horror of cats." \n\n" The same to me, and many of \'em ! " observed Mr. Beagle. \n" Let \'s wake that young fellow, perhaps he don\'t mind them." \n\n" Hollo ! " cried Plumplee. \n\nu Hullo ! " shouted Beagle ; but as neither could make any \nimpression upon Yalentine, and as both were afraid to get off \nthe bed to shake him, they proceeded to roll up the blankets \nand sheets into balls, and to pelt him with infinite zeal. \n\n" Who \'s there 1 What \'s the matter 1 " cried Valentine at \nlength, in the coolest tone imaginable, although his exertions \nhad made him sweat like a tinker. \n\n" For Heaven\'s sake, my dear young friend," said Plump- \nlee, " do assist us in turning these cats out." \n\n"Cats! Where are they % Hish ! " cried Valentine. \n\n" 0, that \'s of no use. I Ve tried the hishing business my- \nself. All the hishing in the world won\'t do. They must be \nbeaten out ; you \'re not afraid of them, are you 1 " \n\n\n\n164 PUBLIC AND PAELOE READINGS. \n\n" Afraid of them ! afraid of a few cats ! " exclaimed Valen- \ntine, with the assumption of some considerable magnanimity. \n" Where are they 1 " \n\n" Under my bed," replied Beagle. " There \'s a brave fellow ! \nBreak their blessed necks ! " and Valentine leaped out of bed, \nand, after striking at the imaginary animals very furiously \nwith the bolster, he hissed with great violence, and scratched \nacross the grain of the boards in humble imitation of those \ndomestic creatures scampering out of a room, when he rushed \nto the door, and proceeded to make a very forlorn meyowing \ndie gradually away at the bottom of the stairs. \n\n" Thank Heaven ! they are all gone at last ! " cried Mr. \nBeagle ; " we shall be able to get a little rest, now, I sup- \npose ; " and after very minutely surveying every corner of the \nroom in which it was possible for one of them to have lin- \ngered, he lighted his candle, bade Plumplee good night, and \nbegged him to go immediately to Miss Madonna, who had \nbeen calling for an explanation very anxiously below. \n\nAs soon as Plumplee had departed, Valentine assisted \nBeagle to remake his bed ; and when they had accomplished \nthis highly important business with the skill and dexterity \nof a couple of thoroughbred chambermaids, the light was \nagain extinguished, and Mr. Beagle very naturally made up \nhis mind to have a six hours\' sound and uninterrupted sleep. \nHe had, however, scarcely closed his eyes, when the mewing \nWas renewed, and as he had not even the smallest disposition \nto " listen to the sounds so familiar to his ear," he started up \nat once, and exclaimed, " I wish I may die if they \'re all out \nnow ! Here \'s one of them left ! " added he, addressing Val- \nentine ; but Valentine, having taken a deep inspiration, an- \nswered only with a prolonged gurgling sound. "He \'s off \nagain, by the living Jove ! " continued Beagle ; " I never heard \nof any one sleeping so soundly. Hollo ! my good fellow ! ho ! \nFast as a four-year-old ! Won\'t you be quiet, you witch ? Are \nyou determined not to let me have a wink of sleep to-night 1 \nShe must be in the cupboard. I must have overlooked her ; \nand yet I don\'t see how I could. 0, keep the thing up, \n\n\n\nA NIGHT WITH A VENTRILOQUIST. 165 \n\ndear ! Don\'t let me rest ! " and he fumbled about for his \nbox, and, having taken a hearty pinch of snuff, began to turn \nthe thing seriously over in his mind, and to make a second \nperson of himself, by way of having, under the circumstances, \na companion with whom he could advise, and if necessary re- \nmonstrate. \n\n" Well, what \'s to be done, now 1 " inquired he of the second \nperson thus established. " What \'s to be the next step, Jonas 1 \nIt \'s of no use at all, you know ! we can\'t go to sleep ; we may \njust as well try to get a kick at the moon ! nor must we \nagain disturb \xe2\x80\x94 Huh ! you \xe2\x80\x94 Jonas ! Jonas ! keep your \ntemper, my boy ! keep your temper ! Don\'t let a contempti- \nble cat put you out ! " and Mr. Beagle took another pinch of \nsnuff, from which he apparently derived a great degree of \nconsolation. " What, at it again 1 " he continued. " I wish \nI had the wringing of your neck off, madam ! You want to \nput me in a passion ; but you won\'t ! you can\'t do it ! there- \nfore, don\'t lay that nattering unction to your soul ! Well, \nJonas ! how are we to act 1 Shall we sit here all night, or take \nup our bed and walk, Jonas ; eh 1 " \n\nJonas was so struck with the expediency of the latter \ncourse, that he apparently urged its immediate adoption ; for \nMr. Beagle, in the first place, half dressed himself in bed, and \nin the next, threw the counterpane, a blanket, and a sheet \nover his shoulder, when, tucking a pillow and a bolster under \nhis arm, said, " We \'11 leave you to your own conscience, \nmadam ? Good night ! " and left the room with the view of \nseeking repose upon the sofa. \n\nValentine was astonished at the coolness displayed by Mr. \nBeagle throughout the entire transaction ; and after reproach- \ning the spirit of mischief that was within him, and striving, \nby way of a punishment, to disturb his own repose, and suc- \nceeding, too, as well as the monks of old did, when they in- \nflicted the scourge upon themselves, he proceeded to justify \nhimself upon the ground that his object was to learn the true \ncharacters of men, and being j)erfectly satisfied with that jus- \ntification, went soundly and solemnly to sleep. \n\n\n\n166 PUBLIC AND PARLOR READINGS. \n\n\n\nTHE CHARCOAL-MAN.\xe2\x80\x94 J. T. Tkowbridge. \n\nTHOUGH rudely blows the wintry blast, \nAnd sifting snows fall white and fast, \nMark Haley drives along the street, \nPerched high upon his wagon seat ; \nHis sombre face the storm defies, \nAnd thus from morn till eve he cries, \xe2\x80\x94 \n\n" Charco\' ! charco\' ! " \nWhile echo faint and far replies, \xe2\x80\x94 \n\n" Hark, ! hark, ! " \n\xc2\xab Charco\' ! " \xe2\x80\x94 " Hark, ! " \xe2\x80\x94 Such cheery sounds \nAttend him on his daily rounds. \n\nThe dust begrimes his ancient hat ; \n\nHis coat is darker far than that ; \n\n\'T is odd to see his sooty form \n\nAll speckled with the feathery storm \n\nYet in his honest bosom lies \n\nNor spot nor speck, \xe2\x80\x94 though still he cries, \xe2\x80\x94 \n\n" Charco\' ! charco\' ! " \n\nAnd many a roguish lad replies, \xe2\x80\x94 \n\n" Ark, ho ! ark, ho ! " \n" Charco\' ! " \xe2\x80\x94 " Ark, ho ! " \xe2\x80\x94 Such various sounds \nAnnounce Mark Haley\'s morning rounds. \n\nThus all the cold and wintry day \nHe labors much for little pay ; \nYet feels no less of happiness \nThan many a richer man, I guess, \nWhen through the shades of eve he spies \nThe light of his own home, and cries, \xe2\x80\x94 \n\n" Charco\' ! charco\' ! \nAnd Martha from the door replies, \xe2\x80\x94 \n\n" Mark, ho ! Mark, ho ! " \n" Charco\' ! " \xe2\x80\x94 " Mark, ho ! " \xe2\x80\x94 Such joy abounds \nWhen he has closed his daily rounds. \n\n\n\nA LESSON IN READING. 167 \n\nThe hearth is warm, the fire is bright ; \n\nAnd while his hand, washed clean and white, \n\nHolds Martha\'s tender hand once more, \n\nHis glowing face bends fondly o\'er \n\nThe crib wherein his darling lies, \n\nAnd in a coaxing tone he cries, \xe2\x80\x94 \n\n" Charco\' ! charco\' ! " \nAnd baby with a laugh replies, \xe2\x80\x94 \n\n"Ah, go! ah, go!" \n" Charco\' ! " \xe2\x80\x94 " Ah, go ! " \xe2\x80\x94 While at the sounds \nThe mother\'s heart with gladness bounds. \n\nThen honored be the charcoal-man ! \n\nThough dusky as an African. \n\n\'T is not for you, that chance to be \n\nA little better clad than he, \n\nHis honest manhood to despise, \n\nAlthough from morn till eve he cries, \xe2\x80\x94 \n\n" Charco\' ! charco\' ! " \nWhile mocking echo still replies, \xe2\x80\x94 \n\n" Hark, ! hark, ! " \n" Charco\' ! " \xe2\x80\x94 Hark, ! " \xe2\x80\x94 Long may the sounds \nProclaim Mark Haley\'s daily rounds. \n\n\n\nA LESSON IN READING.\xe2\x80\x94 Leigh Hunt. \n\nI HAD a schoolmate who had come into school at an age \nlater than usual, and could hardly read. There was a \nbook used by the learners in reading called " Dialogues be- \ntween a Missionary and an Indian." It was a poor perform- \nance, full of inconclusive arguments and other commonplaces. \nThe boy in question used to appear with this book in his \nhand in the middle of the school, the master standing behind \nhim. \n\nThe lesson was to begin. The poor fellow, whose great \nfault lay in a deep-toned drawl of his syllable and the omis- \n\n\n\n168 PUBLIC AND PARLOR HEADINGS. \n\nsion of his stops, stood half looking at the book, and half \ncasting his eye towards the right of him, whence the blows \nwere to proceed. The master looked over him, and his hand \nwas ready. I am not exact in my quotation at this distance \nof time ; but the spirit of one of the passages that I recollect \nwas to the following purport, and thus did the teacher and \nhis pupil proceed : \xe2\x80\x94 \n\nMaster. " Now, young man, have a care ; or I \'11 set you a \nswingeing task." (A common phrase of his.) \n\nPupil (making a sort of heavy bolt at his calamity, and \nnever remembering his stop at the word "Missionary"). \nMissionary Can you see the wind % " \n\n(Master gives him a slap on the cheek.) \n\nPupil (raising his voice to a cry, and still forgetting his \nstop). " Indian No ! " \n\nMaster. " Zounds, young man ! have a care how you pro- \nvoke me ! " \n\nPupil (always forgetting the stop). Missionary How then \ndo you know that there is such a thing 1 " \n\n(Here a terrible thump.) \n\nPupil (with a shout of agony). Indian Because I feel it." \n\n\n\nSCOTCH WORDS. \xe2\x80\x94 Robert Leighton. \n\nTHEY speak in riddles north beyond the Tweed. \nThe plain pure English they can deftly read ; \nYet when without the book they come to speak, \nTheir lingo seems half English and half Greek. \n\nTheir jaws are chafts ; their hands, when closed, are nieves ; \n\nWhen lost, folk never ask the way they want, \xe2\x80\x94 \n\nThey spier the gait ; and when they yawn they gaunt. \n\nBeetle with them is clock ; a flame \'s a lowe ; \n\nTheir straw is strae, \xe2\x80\x94 chaff cauff, and hollow howe. \n\nA pickle means a few ; muckle is big ; \n\nAnd a piece of crockeryware is called a pig. \n\n\n\nSCOTCH WOEDS. 169 \n\nSpeaking of pigs \xe2\x80\x94 when Lady Delacour \n\nWas on her celebrated Scottish tour, \n\nOne night she made her quarters at the " Crown," \n\nThe head inn of a well-known country town. \n\nThe chambermaid, in lighting her to bed, \n\nBefore withdrawing, courtesied low, and said, \xe2\x80\x94 \n\n" This nicht is cauld, my lady, wad ye please \nTo hae a pig i\' the bed to warm yer taes 1 " \n\n"A pig in the bed to tease ! What \'s that you say 1 \nYou are impertinent, \xe2\x80\x94 away, \xe2\x80\x94 away ! " \n\n" Me impident ! no, mem, \xe2\x80\x94 I meant nae harm, \nBut just the greybeard pig to keep ye warm." \n\n" Insolent hussy, to confront me so ! \n\nThis very instant shall your mistress know. \n\nThe bell, \xe2\x80\x94 there \'s none, of course, \xe2\x80\x94 go, send her here." \n\n" My mistress, mem, I dinna need to fear ; \nIn sooth, it was hersel\' that made me spier. \nNae insult, mem ; we thocht ye wad be gled, \nOn this cauld nicht, to hae a pig i\' the bed." \n\n" Stay, girl ; your words are strangely out of place, \nAnd yet I see no insult in your face. \nIs it a custom in your country, then, \nFor ladies to have pigs in bed wi\' them 1 " \n\n" 0, quite a custom wi\' the gentles, mem, \xe2\x80\x94 \nWi\' gentle ladies, ay, and gentle men, \nAnd troth, if single, they wad sairly miss \nTheir het pig on a cauldrif nicht like this." \n\n" I \'ve seen strange countries, \xe2\x80\x94 but this surely beats \nTheir rudest makeshifts for a warming-pan. \n\n\n\n170 PUBLIC AND PAELOE READINGS. \n\nSuppose, my girl, I should adopt your plan, \nYou would not put the pig between the sheets 1 " \n\n" Surely, my lady, and nae itherwhere. \n\nPlease, mem, you\'ll find it do the maist guid there." \n\n" Fie, fie ! \'t would dirty them, and if I keep \nIn fear of that, you know, I could not sleep." \n\n" You \'11 sleep far better, mem. Tak\' my advice ; \n\nThe nicht blaws snell, \xe2\x80\x94 the sheets are cauld as ice \\ \n\nI \'11 fetch ye up a fine, warm, cosey pig ; \n\nI \'11 mak\' ye a\' sae comfortable and trig, \n\nWi\' coortains, blankets, every kind o\' hap, \n\nAnd warrant ye to sleep as soond \'s a tap, , \n\nAs for the fyling\' o\' the sheets, \xe2\x80\x94 dear me, \n\nThe pig \'s as clean outside as pigs can be. \n\nA weel-closed mooth\'s eneuch for ither folk, \n\nBut if ye like, I \'11 put it in a poke." \n\n" But, Effie, \xe2\x80\x94 that \'s your name, I think you said, \nDo you yourself now take a pig to bed % " \n\n" Eh ! nae, mem, pigs are only for the great, \nWha lie on feather-beds and sit up late ; \nFeathers and pigs are no for puir riff-raff, \xe2\x80\x94 \nMe and my neiber lassie lie on cauff." \n\n" What \'s that, \xe2\x80\x94 a calf? If I your sense can gather, \n\nYou and the other lassie sleep together." \n\n" Such are your customs " \xe2\x80\x94 Effie, you may go ; \xe2\x80\x94 \n\nAs for the pig I thank you, but \xe2\x80\x94 no, no \xe2\x80\x94 \n\nHa, ha ! good night, \xe2\x80\x94 excuse me if I laugh, \xe2\x80\x94 \n\nI \'d rather be without .both pig and calf." \n\nOn the return of Lady Delacour \n\nShe wrote a book about her Northern tour \n\n\n\nHEZEKIAH BEDOTT. 171 \n\nWherein the facts are graphically told. \n\nThat Scottish gentle folks, when nights are cold, \n\nTake into bed fat pigs to keep them warm ; \n\nWhile common folk, who share their beds in halves, \xe2\x80\x94 \n\nDenied the richer comforts of the farm, \xe2\x80\x94 \n\nCan only warm their sheets with lean, cheap calves. \n\n\n\nHEZEKIAH BEDOTT. \xe2\x80\x94 F. M. Whitcher. \n\nHE was a wonderful hand to moralize, husband was, \'spe- \ncially after he begun to enjoy poor health. He made \nan observation once, when he was in one of his poor turns, \nthat I shall never forget the longest day I live. He says to \nme, one winter evenin\', as we was a settin\' by the fire ; I was \na knittin\' (I was always a wonderful great knitter), and he \nwas a smokin\' (he was a master hand to smoke, though the \ndoctor used to tell him he \'d be better off to let tobacker \nalone ; when he was well, used to take his pipe and smoke a \nspell after he \'d got the chores done up, and when he wan\'t \nwell, used to smoke the biggest part o\' the time). Well, he \ntook his pipe out o\' his mouth, and turned toward me, and I \nknowed something was comin\', for he had a pertikkeler way of \nlookin\' round when he was gwine to say anything oncommon, \nWell, he says to me, says he : " Silly " (my name was Pris- \nsilly naturally, but he most ginerally always called me " Sil- \nly," cause \'t was handier, you know). Well, he says to me, \nsays he, "Silly," and he looked pretty sollem, I tell you. He \nhad a sollem countenance naterally, \xe2\x80\x94 and afore he got to be \ndeacon \'t was more so, but since he lost his health he looked \nsolemer than ever, and certingly you wouldent wonder at it \nif you knowed how much he underwent. He was troubled \nwith a wonderful pain in his chest, and amazin\' weakness in the \nspine of his back, besides the pleurissy in the side, and having \nthe ager a considerable part of the time, and bein\' broke of \nhis rest o\' nights, \'cause he was so put to \'t for breath when \nhe laid down. \n\n\n\n172 PUBLIC AND PARLOR READINGS. \n\nWhy, it \'s an onaccountable fact that when that man died \nhe hadent seen a well day in fifteen year, though when he \nwas married, and for five or six year after, I shouldent desire \nto see a ruggeder man than what he was. But the time I \'m \nspeakin\' of he \'d been out o\' health nigh upon ten year, and \ndear sakes ! how he had altered since the first time I ever \nsee him ! That was to a quiltin\' to Squire Smith\'s, a spell \nafore Sally was married. \n\nI \'d no idee then that Sal Smith was a-gwine to be mar- \nried to Sam Pendergrass. She \'d ben keepin\' company with \nMose Hewlitt for better \'n a year, and everybody said that \nwas a settled thing, and lo and behold ! all of a sudding \nshe up and took Sam Pendergrass. Well, that was the first \ntime I ever see my husband, and if anybody \'d a-told me \nthen that I should ever marry him, I should a-said \xe2\x80\x94 But \nlawful sakes ! I most forgot. I was gwine to tell you what \nhe said to me that evenin\', and when a body begins to tell \na thing, I believe in finishin\' on \'t some time or other. \nSome folks have a way of talkin\' round and round and \nround forevermore, and never coming to the pint. Now \nthere \'s Miss Jenkins, she that was Poll Bingham afore she \nwas married, she is the tejusest indiwidooal to tell a story \nthat ever I see in all my born days. But I was gwine to tell \nyou what husband said. He says to me, says he, " Silly." \nSays I, " What % " I dident say " What, Hezekier," for I \ndident like his name. The first time I ever heard it I near \nkilled myself a laughing. " Hezekier Bedott," says I. \n" Well, I would give up if I had such a name," but then \nyou know I had no more idee o\' marryin\' the feller than you \nhave this minit o\' marryin\' the governor. I s\'pose you think \nit \'s curus we should a-named our oldest son Hezekier. Well, \nwe done it to please father and mother Bedott ; it \'s father \nBedott\' s name, and he and mother Bedott both used to think \nthat names had ought to go down from gineration to ginera- \ntion. But we always called him Kier, you know. Speaking o\' \nKier, he is a blessin\', ain\'t he 1 and I ain\'t the only one that \nthinks so, I guess. Now, don\'t you never tell nobody that I \n\n\n\nHEZEKIAH BEDOTT. 173 \n\nsaid so, but between you and me, I rather guess that if \nKezier Winkle thinks she \'s a-gwine to ketch Kier Bedott, \nshe \'s a leettle out o\' her reckoning. But I was gwine to tell \nwhat husband said. He says to me, says he, " Silly." I says, \nsays I, " What ?" If I dident say " What," when he said \n" Silly," he \'d a-kept on saying " Silly," from time to eternity. \nHe always did, because, you know, he wanted me to pay per- \ntikkeler attention, and I ginerally did ; no woman was ever \nmore attentive to her husband than what I was. \n\nWell, he says to me, says he, " Silly." Says I, " What?\'\' \nthough I \'d no idee what he was gwine to say ; dident know \nbut what \'t was something about his sufferings, though he \nwan\'t \xe2\x80\xa2 apt to complain, but he frequently used to remark \nthat he wouldent wish his worst enemy to suffer one minnit \nas he did all the time, but that can\'t be called grumblin\', \xe2\x80\x94 \nthink it can 1 Why, I \'ve seen him in sitivatious when you \'d \na-thought no mortal could a-helped grumblin\', but he dideut. \nHe and me went once in the dead o\' winter in a one-hoss shay \nout to Boonville to see a sister o\' hizen. You know the snow \nis amazin\' deep in that section o\' the kentry. Well, the hoss \ngot stuck in one o\' them are flambergasted snow-banks, and \nthere we sot, onable to stir, and to cap all, while we was a-sit- \ntin\' there, husband was took with a dretful crick in his back. \nNow that- was what I call a perdickerment, don\'t you 1 Most \nmen would a-swore, but husband dident. He only said, says \nhe, " Consarn it ! " How did we get out, did you ask % Why, \nwe might a-been sittin\' there to this day, fur as I know, if \nthere hadent a-happened to come along a mess o\' men in a \ndouble team, and they hysted us out. \n\nBut I was gwine to tell you that observation o\' hisen. Says \nhe to me, says he, " Silly." I could see by the light of the \nfire (there dident happen to be no candle burnin\', if I don\'t \ndisremember, though my memory is sometimes ruther forget- \nful, but I know we wan\'t apt to burn candles \'ceptin\' when \nwe had company), \xe2\x80\x94 I could see by the light of the fire that \nhis mind was oncommonly solemnized. Says he to me, says \nhe, "Silly." I says to him, says I, "What?" He says to \nme, says he, " We Ve all poor critters ! " \n\n\n\n174 PUBLIC AND PARLOR READINGS. \n\nTO THE TERRESTRIAL GLOBE. \n\nBY A MISERABLE WRETCH. \n\nROLL on, thou ball, roll on ! \nThrough pathless realms of space \nRoll on ! \nWhat though I \'m in a sorry case 1 \nWhat though I cannot meet my bills % \nWhat though I suffer toothache\'s ills ? \nWhat though I swallow countless pills 1 \nNever you mind ! \nRoll on ! \n\nRoll on, thou ball, roll on ! \nThrough seas of inky air \n\nRoll on ! \nIt \'s true I \'ve got no shirts to wear ; \nIt \'s true my butcher\'s bill is due ; \nIt \'s true my prospects all look blue, \xe2\x80\x94 \nBut don\'t let that unsettle you ! \nNever you mind ! \nRoll on ! \n\n[It rolls on. \n\xe2\x99\xa6 \n\nLORD DUNDREARY AT BRIGHTON, \n\nAND THE RIDDLE HE MADE THERE. \n\nONE of the many popular delusions wespecting the Bwit- \nish swell is the supposition that he leads an inde- \npendent life, \xe2\x80\x94 goes to bed when he likes, gets up when he \nlikes, d-dwesses how he likes, and dines when he pleases. \n\nThe public are gwossly deceived on this point. A weal \nswell is as m-much under authowity as a p-poor devil of a \npwivate in the marines, a clerk in a government office, or a \nf-fourth-form boy at Eton. Now I come under the demon \xe2\x80\x94 \n\n\n\nLOED DUNDREARY AT BRIGHTON. 175 \n\ndemonima \xe2\x80\x94 (no, \xe2\x80\x94 thop, \xe2\x80\x94 what is the word 1 ) \xe2\x80\x94 dom \xe2\x80\x94 \ndenom \xe2\x80\x94 d-denomination, \xe2\x80\x94 that \'th it \xe2\x80\x94 I come under the \nd-denomination of a swell \xe2\x80\x94 (in \xe2\x80\x94 in fact \xe2\x80\x94 a howwid swell \xe2\x80\x94 \nsome of my friends call me, but that Hh only their nattewy), \nand I assure you a f-fellah in that capacity is so much we- \nstained by rules of f-fashion, that he can scarcely call his eye- \nglath his own. A swell, I take it, is a fellah who t-takes care \nthat he swells as well as swells who swell as well as he, \n(there \'s thuch lot of thwelling in that thentence, \xe2\x80\x94 ha, ha ! \n\n\xe2\x80\x94 it \'s what you might c-call a busting definition). What I \nmean is, that a f-fellah is obliged to do certain things at cer- \ntain times of the year, whether he likes \'em or no. For in- \nstance, in the season I \'ve got to go to a lot of balls and \ndwums and tea-fights in town, that I don\'t care a bit about, \nand to show myself in the Park wegularly evewy afternoon ; \nand latht month I had to victimize mythelf down in the coun- \ntwy, \xe2\x80\x94 shooting (a bwutal sort of amusement, by the way). \nWell, about the end of October evewy one goes to Bwighton, \nn-no one knowth why, \xe2\x80\x94 that \'th the betht of it, \xe2\x80\x94 and so I \nhad to go too, \xe2\x80\x94 that \'s the wortht of it, \xe2\x80\x94 ha, ha ! \n\nNot that it \'s such a b-bad place after all, \xe2\x80\x94 I d-dare say if \nI had n\'t had to go I should have gone all the same, for what \nis a f-fellah to do who ith n\'t much of a sportsman just about \nthis time 1 There \'th n-nothing particular going on in Lon- \ndon. Evewything is b-beathly dull ; so I thought I would \njust run down on the Southeastern Wailway to be \xe2\x80\x94 ha, ha ! \n\n\xe2\x80\x94 Bwightoned up a bit. (Come, th-that \'s not bad for an im- \npromptu !) \n\nB-Bwighton was invented in the year 1784, by his Woyal \nHighness George P-Pwince of Wales, \xe2\x80\x94 the author of the shoe- \nbuckle, the stand-up collar (a b-beathly inconvenient and cut- \nthroat thort of a machine), and a lot of other exthploded \nthings. He built the Pavilion down there, which looks like a \nlot of petrified onions from Bwobdinag clapped down upon \na guard-house. There \'th a jolly sort of garden attached to \nthe building, in which the b-band plays twice a week, and \nevewy one turns in there about four o\'clock, so I went too \n\n\n\n176 PUBLIC AND PARLOR HEADINGS. \n\n(n-not two o\'clock, you know, but f-four o\'clock). I \xe2\x80\x94 I \'m vewy \nfond of m-martial music, mythelf. I like the dwums and the \nt-twombones, and the ophicleides, and all those sort of in- \nthtwuments, \xe2\x80\x94 yeth, ethpethelly the bwass ones, \xe2\x80\x94 they \'re \nso vewy exthpiring, they are. Thtop though, ith it expiring \nor jt?-j9erthpiring 1 \xe2\x80\x94 n-neither of \'em sound quite right. Oh ! \nI have it now, it \xe2\x80\x94 it \'s mthpiring, \xe2\x80\x94 that \'th what it is, be- \ncause the f-fellahs bweathe into them ! \n\nThat weminds me of a widdle I made down there (I \xe2\x80\x94 I \'ve \ntaken to widdles lately, and weally it \'th a vewy harmleth \nthort of a way of getting thwough the morning, and it amu- \nthes two f-fellahs at onth, because if \xe2\x80\x94 if you athk a fellah a \nwiddle, and he can\'t guess it, you can have a jolly good laugh \nat him, and \xe2\x80\x94 if he \xe2\x80\x94 if he doth guess it, he \xe2\x80\x94 I mean you \xe2\x80\x94 u \nno \xe2\x80\x94 that is the widdle \xe2\x80\x94 stop, I \xe2\x80\x94 I \'m getting confuthed, \xe2\x80\x94 . \nwhere wath 1 1 Oh ! I know. If \xe2\x80\x94 if he doth guess it ... . \nhowever, it ith n\'t vewy likely he would \xe2\x80\x94 so what \'s the good \nof thupposing impwobabilities 1) Well, thith was the widdle \nI made, \xe2\x80\x94 I thed to Sloper (Sloper \'s a fwiend of mine, \xe2\x80\x94 a vewy \ngood thort of fellah Sloper is, \xe2\x80\x94 I d-don\'t know exactly what his \npwofession would be called, but hith uncle got him into a b- \nberth where he gets f-five hundred a year, \xe2\x80\x94 f-for doing nothing \n\n\xe2\x80\x94 s-somewhere \xe2\x80\x94 I forget where \xe2\x80\x94 but I \xe2\x80\x94 I know he does it), \n\n\xe2\x80\x94 I said to Sloper, " Why is that f-fellah with the b-bassoon \nl-like his own instrument\'? " and Sloper said, " How \xe2\x80\x94 how the \ndooth should I know 1 " (Ha, ha ! \xe2\x80\x94 I thought he \'d give it \nup !) So I said to Sloper, "Why, b-because they both get blown \n\n\xe2\x80\x94 in time I " You thee the joke, of course, but I don\'t think \nSloper did, thomehow ; all he thed was, "V-vewy mild, Dun- \ndreary," \xe2\x80\x94 and t-tho \xe2\x80\x94 it was mild \xe2\x80\x94 thertainly,//or October, \nbut I d-don\'t thee why a f-fellah should go making wemarks \nabout the weather instead of laughing at m-my widdle. \n\nIn this pwomenade that I was speaking of, you see such a \nlot of thtunning girls evewy afternoon, \xe2\x80\x94 dwessed twemen- \ndous swells, and looking like \xe2\x80\x94 yes, by Jove ! l-like angels \nin cwinoline, \xe2\x80\x94 there \'th no other word for it. There are \ntwo or thwee always will 1-laugh, somehow, when I meet \n\n\n\nLOED DUNDEE ARY AT BRIGHTON. 177 \n\nthem, \xe2\x80\x94 they do now weally. I \xe2\x80\x94 I almost fancy they we- \ngard me with intewest. I mutht athk Sloper if he can get \nme an introduction. Who knowth % pwaps I might make an \nimpwession, \xe2\x80\x94 I \'11 twy, \xe2\x80\x94 I \xe2\x80\x94 I \'ve got a little convertha- \nthional power, \xe2\x80\x94 and tkeveral new wethcoats. \n\nBwighton is filling fast now. You see dwoves of ladies \nevewy day on horseback, widing about in all diwections. By \nthe way, I \xe2\x80\x94 I muth n\'t forget to mention that I met those \ntwo girls that always laugh when they thee me, at a tea-fight. \nOne of \'em \xe2\x80\x94 the young one \xe2\x80\x94 told me, when I was intwo- \nduced to her, \xe2\x80\x94 in \xe2\x80\x94 in confidence, mind, \xe2\x80\x94 that she had often \nheard of me and of my widdles. Tho you thee I \'m getting \nquite a weputathun that way. The other morning, at Mut- \nton\'s, she wath ch-chaffing me again, and begging me to tell \nher the latetht thing in widdles. Now, I had n\'t beard any \nmythelf for thome time, tho I could n\'t give her any vewy \ngreat novelty, but a fwiend of mine made one latht theason \nwhich I thought wather neat, tho I athked her, When ith a \njar not a jar? Thingularly enough, the moment she heard \nthith widdle she burtht out laughing behind her pocket-hand- \nkerchief ! \n\n"Good gwacious! what\'th the matter?" said I. "Have \nyou ever heard it before % " \n\n" Never," she said emphatically, " in that form ; do, please \ntell me the answer." \n\nSo I told her, \xe2\x80\x94 When it ith a door ! Upon which she \xe2\x80\x94 \nshe went off again in hystewics. I \xe2\x80\x94 I \xe2\x80\x94 I never did see such \na girl for laughing. I know it \'s a good widdle, but I did n\'t \nthink it would have such an effect as that. \n\nBy the way, Sloper told me afterwards that he thought he \nhad heard the widdle before, somewhere, but it was put in a \ndifferent way. He said it was : When ith a door not a door ] \n\xe2\x80\x94 and the answer, When it ith ajar ! \n\nI \xe2\x80\x94 I \'ve been thinking over the matter lately, and though I \ndare thay it \xe2\x80\x94 d-don\'t much matter which way the question \nis put, still \xe2\x80\x94 pwaps the last f-form is the betht. It \xe2\x80\x94 it \nseems to me to wead better. What do you think 1 \n\n8* L \n\n\n\n178 PUBLIC AND PARLOR READINGS. \n\nNow I weckomember, I made thuch a jolly widdle the\' \nother day on the Ethplanade. I thaw a fellah with a big New \xe2\x80\x94 \nNewfoundland dog, and he inthpired me \xe2\x80\x94 the dog, yon \nknow, not the fellah, \xe2\x80\x94 he wath a lunatic. I \'m keeping the \nwiddle, but I don\'t mind telling you. \n\nWhy does a dog waggle hith tail ? Give it up ] I think \nmotht fellahs will give that up ! \n\nYou thee, the dog waggles hith tail becauth the dog\'s \nstwonger than the tail. If he wath n\'t, the tail would waggle \nthe dog ! \n\nYe-eth, \xe2\x80\x94 that \'th what I call a widdle. If I can only \nwecollect him, I thall athtonish those two girls thome of these \ndays. \n\n\n\nTHE STUTTERING LASS. \xe2\x80\x94 J. G. Saxb. \n\nWHEN deeply in love with Miss Emily Pryne, \nI vowed, if the maiden would only be mine, \nI would always endeavor to please her. \nShe blushed her consent, though the stuttering lass \nSaid never a word, except " You \'re an ass \xe2\x80\x94 \nAn ass \xe2\x80\x94 an ass-iduous teaser ! " \n\nBut when we were married, I found to my ruth, \nThe stammering lady had spoken the truth. \n\nFor often, in obvious dudgeon, \nShe \'d say, \xe2\x80\x94 if I ventured to give her a jog \nIn the way of reproof, \xe2\x80\x94 " You \'re a dog \xe2\x80\x94 you \'re a dog \n\nA dog \xe2\x80\x94 a dog-matic curmudgeon ! " \n\nAnd once when I said, " We can hardly afford \nThis extravagant style, with our moderate hoard, \n\nAnd hinted we ought to be wiser, \nShe looked, I assure you, exceedingly blue, \nAnd fretfully cried, " You \'re a Jew \xe2\x80\x94 you \'re a Jew \xe2\x80\x94 \n\nA very ju-dicious adviser ! " \n\n\n\nSIGNS AND OMENS. 179 \n\nAgain, when it happened that, wishing to shirk \nSome rather unpleasant and arduous work, \n\nI begged her to go to a neighbor, \nShe wanted to know why I made such a fuss, \nAnd saucily said, " You \'re a cus \xe2\x80\x94 cus \xe2\x80\x94 cus \xe2\x80\x94 \n\nYou were always ac-cus-tomed to labor ! " \n\nOut of temper at last with the insolent dame, \nAnd feeling that Madame was greatly to blame \n\nTo scold me instead of caressing, \nI mimicked her speech, \xe2\x80\x94 like a churl as I am, \xe2\x80\x94 \nAnd angrily said, " You \'re a dam \xe2\x80\x94 dam \xe2\x80\x94 dam \xe2\x80\x94 \n\nA dam-age instead of a blessing ! " \n\n\n\nSIGNS AND OMENS. \n\nAN old gentleman, whose style was Germanized, was asked \nwhat he thought of signs and omens. \n\n" Veil, I don\'t dinks mooch of dem dings, und I don\'t pe- \nlieve averydings ; but I dells you somedimes dere is somedings \nash dose dings. Now de oder night I sits and reads mine \nnewspaper, und my frau she speak und say, \xe2\x80\x94 \n\n" \' Fritz, de dog ish howling ! \' \n\n" Yell, I don\' dinks mooch of dem dings, und I goes on \nund reads mine paper, und mine frau she say, \xe2\x80\x94 \n\n" \' Fritz, dere is somedings pad is happen, \xe2\x80\x94 der dog ish \nhowling ! \' \n\n" Und den I gets hop mit mineself und look out troo de \nwines on de porch, und de moon was shinin, und mine leetle \ndog he shoomp right up and down like averydings, und he park \nat de moon, dat was shine so bright as never vas. Und ash \nI hauled mine het in de winder, de old voman she say, \xe2\x80\x94 \n\n" \' Mind, Fritz, I dells you dere ish some pad ish happen. \nDe dog ish howling ! \' \n\n" Yell, I goes to pet, und I shleeps, und all night long ven \nI vakes up dere vas dat dog howling outside, und ven I \n\n\n\n180 PUBLIC AND PARLOR READINGS. \n\ndream I hear dat howling vorsher ash never. Und in de \nmorning I kits up und kits mine breakfast, und mine frau \nshe looks at me und say, werry solemn, \xe2\x80\x94 \n\n" \' Fritz, dere ish somedings pad ish happen. De dog vas \nhowl all night.\' \n\n" Und shoost den de newspaper came in, und I opens him \nund by shings, vot you dinks ! dere vas a man died in Phila- \ndelphia ! " \n\n\n\nTHE KISS IN SCHOOL.\xe2\x80\x94 J. W. Palmer. \n\nA DISTRICT SCHOOL not far away, \nMid Berkshire hills, one winter\'s day, \nWas humming with its wonted noise \nOf threescore mingled girls and boys, \xe2\x80\x94 \nSome few upon their tasks intent, \nBut more on future mischief bent. \nThe while the master\'s downward look \nWas fastened on a copy-book, \nWhen suddenly, behind his back, \nRose sharp and clear a rousing smack ! \nAs \'t were a battery of bliss \nLet off in one tremendous kiss. \n" What \'s that % " the startled master cries. \n"That, thir," a little imp replies, \n" Wath William Willith, if you pleathe, \xe2\x80\x94 \nI saw him kith Thuthannah Peathe ! " \nWith frown to make a statue thrill, \nThe master thundered, " Hither, Will ! " \nLike wretch o\'ertaken in his track, \nWith stolen chattels on his back, \nWill hung his head in fear and shame, \nAnd to that awful presence came, \xe2\x80\x94 \nA great, green, bashful simpleton, \nThe butt of all good-natured fun. \nWith smile suppressed, and birch upraised, \nThe threatener faltered : " I \'m amazed \n\n\n\n\n\n\nTHE GEE AT BEEF-CONTRACT. 181 \n\nThat you, my biggest pupil, should \n\nBe guilty of an act so rude ! \n\nBefore the whole set school to boot, \xe2\x80\x94 \n\nWhat evil genius put you to \'t % " \n\n" \'T was she herself, sir," sobbed the lad, \n\n" I did n\'t mean to be so bad, \xe2\x80\x94 \n\nBut when Susannah shook her curls, \n\nAnd whispered I was \'fraid of girls, \n\nAnd darsn\'t kiss a baby\'s doll, \n\nI could n\'t stand it, sir, at all ! \n\nBut up and kissed her on the spot. \n\nI know \xe2\x80\x94 boo-hoo \xe2\x80\x94 I ought to not, \n\nBut somehow, from her looks, \xe2\x80\x94 boo-hoo, \xe2\x80\x94 \n\nI thought she kind o\' wished me to ! " \n\n\n\nTHE GREAT BEEF-CONTRACT. \xe2\x80\x94 Mark Twain. \n\nIN as few words as possible I wish to lay before the nation \nwhat share, howsoever small, I have had in this matter, \n\xe2\x80\x94 this matter which has so exercised the public mind, engen- \ndered so much ill-feeling, and so filled the newspapers of both \ncontinents with distorted statements and extravagant com- \nments. \n\nThe origin of this distressful thing was this, \xe2\x80\x94 and I assert \nhere that every fact in the following resume can be amply \nproved by the official records of the General Government. \n\nJohn Wilson Mackenzie, of Rotterdam, Chemung County, \nNew Jersey, deceased, contracted with the General Govern- \nment, on or about the 10th day of October, 1861, to furnish \nto General Sherman the sum total of thirty barrels of beef. \nVery well. He started after Sherman with the beef, but \nwhen he got to Washington, Sherman had gone to Manassas ; \nso he took the beef and followed him there, but arrived too \nlate; he followed him to Nashville, and from Nashville to \nChattanooga, and from Chattanooga to Atlanta, \xe2\x80\x94 but he \n\n\n\n182 PUBLIC AND PARLOR READINGS. \n\nnever could overtake him. At Atlanta he took a fresh start \nand followed him clear through his march to the sea. He \narrived too late again by a few days, but, hearing that Sher- \nman was going out in the Quaker City excursion to the Holy \nLand, he took shipping for Beirut, calculating to head off the \nother vessel. When he arrived in Jerusalem with his beef, \nhe learned that Sherman had not sailed in the Quaker City, \nbut had gone to the Plains to fight the Indians. He returned \nto America and started for the Rocky Mountains. After \neighteen days of arduous travel on the Plains, and when he \nhad got within four miles of Sherman\'s headquarters, he was \ntomahawked and scalped, and the Indians got the beef. They \ngot all of it but one barrel. Sherman\'s army captured that, \nand so, even in death, the bold navigator partly fulfilled his \ncontract. In his will, which he had kept like a journal, he \nbequeathed the contract to his son Bartholomew W. Bar- \ntholomew W. made out the following bill and then died : \xe2\x80\x94 \n\nThe United States \n\nIn acct. with John Wilson Mackenzie, of New Jersey, \n\ndeceased, Dr. \n\nTo thirty barrels of beef for General Sherman, @ $ 100, . $ 3,000 \nTo travelling expenses and transportation, 14,000 \n\nTotal, $17,000 \n\nRec\'d Pay\'t. \nHe died then ; but he left the contract to Wm. J. Martin, \nwho tried to collect it, but died before he got through. He \nleft it to Barker J. Allen, and he tried to collect it also. He \ndid not survive. Barker J. Allen left it to Anson G. Rogers, \nwho attempted to collect it, and got along as far as the \nNinth Auditor\'s office, when Death, the great Leveller, came \nall unsummoned, and foreclosed on him also. He left the bill \nto a relative of his in Connecticut, Vengeance Hopkins by \nname, who lasted four weeks and two days, and made the \nbest time on record, coming within one of reaching the \nTwelfth Auditor. In his will he gave the contract bill to his \nuncle, by the name of O-be-joyful Johnson. It was too under- \nmining for Joyful. His last words were : " Weep not for me, \n\n\n\nTHE GREAT BEEF-CONTRACT. 183 \n\n\xe2\x80\x94 I am willing to go." And so he was, poor soul ! Seven \npeople inherited the contract after that. But they all died. \nSo it came into my hands at last. It fell to me through a \nrelative by the name of Hubbard, \xe2\x80\x94 Bethlehem Hubbard, of \nIndiana. He had had a grudge against me for a long time ; \nbut in his last moments he sent for me, and forgave me every- \nthing, and, weeping, gave me the beef-contract. \n\nThis ends the history of it up to the time that I succeeded \nto the property. I will now endeavor to set myself straight \nbefore the nation in everything that concerns my share in \nthe matter. I took this beef-contract, and the bill for mile- \nage and transportation, to the President of the United States. \nHe said, \xe2\x80\x94 \n\n" Well, sir, what can I do for you 1 " I said, \xe2\x80\x94 \n\n"Sire : On or about the 10th day of October, 1861, John \nWilson Mackenzie, of Kotterdam, Chemung County, New \nJersey, deceased, contracted with the General Government to \nfurnish to General Sherman the sum total of thirty barrels \nof beef\xe2\x80\x94 " \n\nHe stopped me there, and dismissed me from his presence, \nkindly, but firmly. The next day I called on the Secretary \nof State. He said, \xe2\x80\x94 \n\n"Well, sir?" \n\nI said, " Your Boyal Highness : On or about the 1 0th day \nof October, 1861, John Wilson Mackenzie, of Kotterdam, \nChemung County, New Jersey, deceased, contracted with the \nGeneral Government to furnish to General Sherman the sum \ntotal of thirty barrels of beef \xe2\x80\x94 " " \n\n" That will do, sir, \xe2\x80\x94 that will do ; this office has nothing \nto do with contracts for beef." \n\nI was bowed out. I thought the matter all over, and \nfinally, the following day, I visited the Secretary of the \nNavy, who said, "Speak quickly, sir; do not keep me wait- \ning." I said, \xe2\x80\x94 \n\n"Your Boyal Highness : On or about the 10th day of Oc- \ntober, 1861, John Wilson Mackenzie, of Botterdam, Chemung \nCounty, New Jersey, deceased, contracted with the General \n\n\n\n184 PUBLIC AND PAELOR READINGS. \n\nGovernment to furnish to General Sherman the sum total of \nthirty barrels of beef \xe2\x80\x94 " \n\nWell, it was as far as I could get. He had nothing to do \nwith beef-contracts for General Sherman either. I began to \nthink it was a curious kind of a government. It looked \nsomewhat as if they wanted to get out of paying for that \nbeef. The following day I went to the Secretary of the In- \nterior. I said, \xe2\x80\x94 \n\n"Your Imperial Highness : On or about the 10th day of \nOctober \xe2\x80\x94 " \n\n" That is sufficient, sir, \xe2\x80\x94 I have heard of you before. Go, \n\xe2\x80\x94 take your infamous beef-contract out of this establish- \nment. The Interior Department has nothing whatever to do \nwith subsistence for the army." \n\nI went away. But I was exasperated now. I said I would \nhaunt them ; I would infest every department of this iniqui- \ntous government till that contract business was settled; I \nwould collect that bill, or fall, as fell my predecessors, trying. \nI assailed the Postmaster-General; I besieged the Agricul- \ntural Department ; I waylaid the Speaker of the House of \nRepresentatives. They had nothing to do with army con- \ntracts for beef. I moved upon the Commissioner of the \nPatent-Office. I said, \xe2\x80\x94 \n\n"Your august Excellency : On or about \xe2\x80\x94 " \n\n" Perdition ! have you got here with your incendiary beef- \ncontract, at last % We have nothing to do with beef-contracts \nfor the army, my dear sir." \n\n"0, that is all very well, \xe2\x80\x94 but somebody has got to pay \nfor that beef ! It has got to be paid now, too, or I \'11 confis- \ncate this old Patent-Office and everything in it." \n\n" But, my dear sir \xe2\x80\x94 " \n\n" It don\'t make any difference, sir. The Patent-Office is \nliable for that beef, I reckon ; and, liable or not liable, the \nPatent-Office has got to pay for it." \n\nNever mind the details. It ended in a fight. The Patent- \nOffice won. But I found out something to my advantage. I \nwas told that the Treasury Department was the proper place \n\n\n\nTHE GREAT BEEF-CONTRACT. 185 \n\nfor me to go to. I went there. I waited two hours and a \nhalf, and then I was admitted to the First Lord of the Treas- \nury. I said, \xe2\x80\x94 \n\n" Most noble, grave, and reverend Signor : On or about the \n10th day of October, 1861, John Wilson Macken \xe2\x80\x94 " \n\n" That is sufficient, sir. I have heard of you. Go to the \nFirst Auditor of the Treasury." \n\nI did so. He sent me to the Second Auditor. The Second \nAuditor sent me to the Third, and the Third sent me to the \nFirst Comptroller of the Corn-Beef Division. This began to \nlook like business. He examined his books and all his loose \npapers, but found no minute of the beef contract. I went to \nthe Second Comptroller of the Corn-Beef Division. He ex- \namined his books and his loose papers, but with no success. \nI was encouraged. During that week I got as far as the \nSixth Comptroller in that division; the next week I got \nthrough the Claims Department ; the third week I began and \ncompleted the Mislaid Contracts Department, and got a foot- \nhold in the Dead Reckoning Department. I finished that in \nthree days. There was only one place left for it now. I laid \nsiege to the Commissioner of Odds and Ends ; to his clerk, \nrather, \xe2\x80\x94 he was not there himself. There were sixteen \nbeautiful young ladies in the room, writing in books, and \nthere were seven well-favored young clerks showing them \nhow. The young women smiled up over their shoulders, and \nthe clerks smiled back at them, and all went merry as a mar- \nriage bell. Two or three clerks that were reading the news- \npapers looked at me rather hard, but went on reading, and \nnobody said anything. However, I had been used to this \nkind of alacrity from Fourth-Assistant- Junior Clerks all \nthrough my eventful career, from the very day I entered the \nfirst office of the Corn-Beef Bureau clear till I passed out of \nthe last one in the Dead Reckoning Division. I had got so \naccomplished by this time that I could stand on one foot \nfrom the moment I entered an office till a clerk spoke to me \nwithout changing more than two, or maybe three times. \n\nSo I stood there till I had changed four different times. \nThen I said to one of the clerks who was reading, \xe2\x80\x94 \n\n\n\n186 PUBLIC AND PAELOE EEADINGS. \n\n" Illustrious Vagrant, where is the Grand Turk ? " \n\n" What do you mean, sir ? whom do you mean 1 If you \nmean the Chief of the Bureau, he is out." \n\n" Will he visit the harem to-day ? " \n\nThe young man glared upon me awhile, and then went on \nreading his paper. But I knew the ways of those clerks. I \nknew I was safe, if he got through before another New York \nmail arrived. He only had two more papers left. After a \nwhile he finished them, and then he yawned, and asked m\xc2\xa3 \nwhat I wanted. \n\n"Renowned and honored Imbecile : On or about \xe2\x80\x94 " \n\n"You are the beef-contract man. Give me your papers." \n\nHe took them, and for a long time he ransacked his odds \nand ends. Finally he found the Northwest Passage, as 1 \nregarded it, \xe2\x80\x94 he found the long-lost record of that beef-con- \ntract, \xe2\x80\x94 he found the rock upon which so many of my ances- \ntors had split before they ever got to it. I was deeply moved. \nAnd yet I rejoiced, \xe2\x80\x94 for I had survived. I said with emo- \ntion, "Give it me. The government will settle now." He \nwaved me back, and said there was something yet to be done \nfirst. \n\n" Where is this John Wilson Mackenzie ? " said he. \n\n"Dead." \n\n"When did he die?" \n\n" He did n\'t die at all, \xe2\x80\x94 he was killed." \n\n"How?" \n\n" Tomahawked." \n\n" Who tomahawked him ? " \n\n" Why, an Indian, of course. You did n\'t suppose it was \na superintendent of a Sunday school, did you ? n \n\n" No. An Indian, was it 1 " \n\n" The same." \n\n"Name of the Indian?" \n\n" His name ! / don\'t know his name." \n\n" Must have his name. Who saw the tomahawking done ? " \n\n" I don\'t know." \n\n"You were not present yourself then?" \n\n\n\nTHE GEE AT BEEF-CONTRACT. 187 \n\n" Which you can see by my hair. I was absent." \n\n" Then how do you know that Mackenzie is dead 1 " \n\n" Because he certainly died at that time, and I have every \nreason to believe that he has been dead ever since. I know \nhe has, in fact." \n\n" We must have proofs. Have you got the Indian % " \n\n" Of course not." \n\n" Well, you must get him. Have you got the tomahawk 1 " \n\n" I never thought of such a thing." \n\n"You must get the tomahawk. You must produce the \nIndian and the tomahawk. If Mackenzie\'s death can be \nproven by these, you can then go before the commission ap- \npointed to audit claims, with some show of getting your bill \nunder such headway that your children may possibly live to \nreceive the money and enjoy it. But that man\'s death must \nbe proven. However, I may as well tell you that the gov- \nernment will never pay that transportation and those travel- \nling expenses of the lamented Mackenzie. It may possibly pay \nfor the barrel of beef that Sherman\'s soldiers captured, if you \ncan get a relief bill through Congress making an appropria- \ntion for that purpose ; but it will not pay for the twenty-nine \nbarrels the Indians ate." \n\n" Then there is only a hundred dollars due me, and that \nis n\'t certain ! After all Mackenzie\'s travels in Europe, Asia, \nand America with that beef ; after all his trials and tribula- \ntions and transportation ; after the slaughter of all those in- \nnocents that tried to collect that bill ! Young man, why \ndid n\'t the First Comptroller of the Corn-Beef Division tell \nme this 1 " \n\n" He did n\'t know anything about the genuineness of your \nclaim." \n\n"Why didn\'t the Second tell me? why didn\'t the Third] \nwhy did n\'t all those divisions and departments tell me 1 " \n\n" None of them knew. We do things by routine here. \nYou have followed the routine and found out what you \nwanted to know. It is the best way. It is the only way. \nIt is very regular, and very slow, but it is very certain.\' 1 \n\n\n\n188 PUBLIC AND PARLOR READINGS. \n\n"Yes, certain death. It has been, to the most of our \ntribe. I begin to feel that I, too, am called. Young man, \nyon love the bright creature yonder with the gentle blue \neyes and the steel pens behind her ears, \xe2\x80\x94 I see it in your \nsoft glances ; you wish to marry her, \xe2\x80\x94 but you are poor. \nHere, hold out your hand, \xe2\x80\x94 here is the beef-contract ; go, \ntake her and be happy ! Heaven bless you, my children ! " \n\nThis is all that I know about the great beef-contract, that \nhas created so much talk in the community. The clerk to \nwhom I bequeathed it died. I know nothing further about \nthe contract or any one connected with it. I only know that \nif a man lives long enough, he can trace a thing through \nthe Circumlocution Office of Washington, and find out, after \nmuch labor and trouble and delay, that which he could have \nfound out on the first day if the business of the Circumlo- \ncution Office were as ingeniously systematized as it would ba \nif it were a great private mercantile institution. \n\nThe Galaxy. \n\n\n\nTHE RETORT. \n\nOLD BIRCH, who taught the village school, \nWedded a maid of homespun habit ; \nHe was stubborn as a mule, \n\nAnd she was playful as a rabbit. \nPoor Kate had scarce become a wife \n\nBefore her husband sought to make her \nThe pink of country polished life, \nAnd prim and formal as a Quaker. \n\nOne day the tutor went abroad, \n\nAnd simple Katie sadly missed him ; \nWhen he returned, behind her lord \n\nShe slyly stole, and fondly kissed him. \nThe husband\'s anger rose, and red \n\nAnd white his face alternate grew : \n" Less freedom, ma\'am ! " Kate sighed and said, \n\n" 0, dear ! I did n\'t know \'t was you." \n\n\n\nA RUEAL LESSON IN EHETOEIC. 189 \n\n\n\nA RURAL LESSON IN RHETORIC. \n\nDON\'T fire too high. Speak to men in language they un- \nderstand. Ministers should remember not to fire over \npeople\'s heads. Truth must be put in simple language, and \nillustrated by metaphors familiar to all. Call the sun a \nsun, \xe2\x80\x94 not a luminary. Don\'t call the sky " an azure vault " ; \ncall it the sky. Don\'t talk of the " economy of grace," for \nyour plainer hearers will at once revert to the kitchen. \nHere is " A Rural Lesson in Rhetoric," which shows the im- \nportance of not firing too high : \xe2\x80\x94 \n\nBrown was invited to visit a town in the extreme rural \ndistricts, for the purpose of lecturing the people on temper- \nance. He arrived at his destination late in the evening, and \nwas invited to the cottage of a farmer to partake of supper, \nprevious to the display of his eloquence. \n\nThe farmer had two sons, twenty to twenty-five years of \nage, and to them a temperance lecturer appeared something \nmore than an ordinary man. Brown had great difficulty m \ndrawing them into conversation, but at length the ice was \nbroken, and the following colloquy was the result : \xe2\x80\x94 \n\n" I suppose you \'ve both affixed your names to the pledge \nlong ago ? " \n\n"Which?" \n\n" I presume you are both temperance men, and have \npledged yourselves to abstain from the use of everything that \nintoxicates 1 " \n\n"The which, stranger?" \n\n" You do not get the idea clearly. I was expressing the \nhope that you do not indulge in intoxicating beverages." \n\n"Eh<&" \n\n" That you do not indulge in the inebriating cup." \n\n" Sir ? " \n\n" Do either of you drink liquor ? That \'s what I \'m trying \nto get at." \n\n" Waal, stranger ! I did n\'t know but ye was a-talkin \n\n\n\n190 PUBLIC AND PAKLOK KEADINGS. \n\nFrench jabber. Why did n\'t ye ax the thing right ec-ut 1 ? \nSam and me don\'t drink no liquor to speak on, \'cept hayin\' \nand harvist, and then we drink right smart. So does fayther \nand everybody \'round here. Ef ye talk French stuff in yer \nlecture, stranger, \'t won\'t du much good, I tell ye, for nobody \nwon\'t know a word what yer means in this yer neck o\' tim- \nber, sartin and sure." -. \nBrown declares this to be the best lesson in rhetoric he \never received, and he made an unusual effort to adapt his \nword, to the comprehension of his hearers in that " neck o\' \ntimber." Other speakers may profit by the hint. \n\n\n\nTHE BIG OYSTER. \xe2\x80\x94 George Arnold. \n\nA LEGEND OF RARITAN BAT. \n\nTp WAS a hazy, mazy, lazy day, \n\n_L- And the good smack Emily idly lay \nOff Staten Island, in Raritan Bay, \n\nWith her canvas loosely flapping. \nThe sunshine slept on the briny deep, \nNor wave nor zephyr could vigils keep, \nThe oysterman lay on the deck asleep, \n\nAnd even the cap\'n was napping. \n\nThe smack went drifting down the tide, \xe2\x80\x94 \nThe waters gurgling along her side, \xe2\x80\x94 \nDown where the bay grows vast and wide, \xe2\x80\xa2 \n\nA beautiful sheet of water ; \nWith scarce a ripple about her prow, \nThe oyster-smack floated, silent and slow, \nWith Keyport far on her starboard bow, \n\nAnd South Amboy on her quarter. \n\nBut, all at once, a grating sound \n\nMade the cap\'n awake and glance around ; \n\n\n\n\n\n\nTHE BIG OYSTER. 191 \n\n" Hold hard ! " cried he, " we \'ve run aground, \n\nAs sure as all tarnation ! " \nThe men jumped up, and grumbled and swore ; \nThey also looked, and plainly saw \nThat the Emily lay two miles from shore, \n\nAt the smallest calculation. \n\nThen, gazing over the side, to see \n\nWhat kind of a bottom this shoal might be, \n\nThey saw, in the shadow that lay to the lee, \n\nA sight that filled them with horror ! \nThe water was clear, and beneath it, there, \nAn oyster lay in its slimy lair, \nSo big, that to tell its dimensions fair \n\nWould take from now till to-morrow. \n\nAnd this it was made the grating sound ; \n\nOn this the Emily ran aground ; \n\nAnd this was the shoal the cap\'n found, \xe2\x80\x94 \n\nAlack ! the more is the pity. \nFor straight an idea entered his head : \nHe \'d drag it out of its watery bed, \nAnd give it a resting-place, instead, \n\nIn some saloon in the city. \n\nSo, with crow, and lever, and gaff, and sling, \nAnd tongs, and tackle, and roller, and ring, \nThey made a mighty effort to bring \n\nThis hermit out of his cloister. \nThey labored earnestly, day and night, \nWorking by torch and lantern light, \nTill they had to acknowledge that, do what they migh^ \n\nThey never could budge the oyster ! \n\nThe cap\'n fretted, and fumed, and fussed, \xe2\x80\x94 \nHe swore he \'d " have that \'yster, or bust ! \nBut, for all his oaths, he was quite nonplussed ; \nSo, by way of variation, \n\n\n\n192 PUBLIC AND PARLOR READINGS. \n\nHe sat him quietly down, for a while, \nTo cool his anger and settle his bile, \nAnd to give himself up, in his usual style, \nTo a season of meditation. \n\nNow, the cap\'n was quite a wonderful man ; \nHe could do almost anything any man can, \nAnd a good deal more, when he once began \n\nTo act from a clear deduction. \nBut his wonderful power, \xe2\x80\x94 his greatest pride, \xe2\x80\x94 \nThe feat that shadowed all else beside, \xe2\x80\x94 \nThe talent on which he most relied, \xe2\x80\x94 , \n\nWas his awful power of suction ! \n\nAt suction he never had known defeat ! \nThe stoutest suckers had given in, beat, \nWhen he sucked up a quart of apple-jack, neat, \n\nBy touching his lips to the measure ! \nHe \'d suck an oyster out of its shell, \nSuck shrimps or lobsters equally well ; \nSuck cider till inward the barrel-heads fell, \xe2\x80\x94 \n\nAnd seemed to find it a pleasure. \n\nWell, after thinking a day or two, \nThis doughty sucker imagined he knew \nAbout the best thing he could possibly do, \n\nTo secure the bivalvular hermit. \n" I \'11 bore through his shell, as they bore for coal, \nWith an auger fixed on the end of a pole, \nAnd then, through a tube, I \'11 suck him out whole, \xe2\x80\x94 \n\nA neat little swallow, I term it ! " \n\nThe very next day, he returned to the place . \nWhere his failure had thrown him into disgrace ; \nAnd there, with a ghastly grin on his face, \n\nBegan his submarine boring. \nHe worked for a week, for the shell was tough, \nBut reached the interior soon enough \n\n\n\nCHICKEN ON THE BRAIN. 193 \n\nFor the oyster, who found such surgery roagh, \xe2\x80\x94 \nSuch grating, and scraping, and scoring ! \n\nThe shell-fish started, the water flew, \n\nThe cap\'n turned decidedly blue, \n\nBut thrust his auger still further through. \n\nTo quiet the wounded creature. \nAlas ! I fear that my tale grows sad, \nThe oyster naturally felt quite bad, \nAnd ended by getting excessively mad, \n\nIn spite of its peaceful nature. \n\nIt arose, and, turning itself on edge, \n\nExposed a ponderous shelly wedge, \n\nAll covered with slime, and sea-weed, and sedge, \xe2\x80\x94 \n\nA conchological wonder ! \nThis wedge flew open, as quick as a flash, \nInto two great jaws, with a mighty splash ; \nOne scraunching, crunching, crackling crash, \xe2\x80\x94 \n\nAnd the smack was gone to thunder ! \n\n\n\nCHICKEN ON THE BRAIN. \n\n""VTEAR Erie there lives a colored person by the name of \n-LN James Stewart, whom the community by common con- \nsent have dubbed Commodore Stewart. He is a talented but \neccentric individual, and has a weakness for chickens. On \none occasion, being found near a poultry-yard under suspi- \ncious circumstances, he was interrogated rather sharply by \nthe owner of the premises as follows : \xe2\x80\x94 \n\n" Well, Jim, what are you doing here 1 " \n\n" 0, nuffin, nuffin ! jess walkin\' roun\'." \n\n" What do you want with my chickens 1 " \n\n"Nuffin at all. I was only lookin\' at \'em, day looks so \n\n\n\n194 PUBLIC AND PARLOR READINGS. \n\nThis answer was both conciliatory and conclusive, and \nwould have been satisfactory had it not been for Jim\'s hat. \nThis was a rather worn soft felt, a good deal too large for its \nwearer\'s head ; and it seemed to have a motion entirely un- \nusual in hats, and manifestly due to some remarkable cause. \nIt seemed to contract and expand and move of itself, and \nclearly without Jim\'s volition. So the next inquiry was, \xe2\x80\x94 \n\n" What is the matter with your hat 1 " \n\n" My hat % Dat \'s an ole hat. I \'se fond of dat hat" \n\n"Well, take it off and let \'s look at it." \n\n" Take off dis hat % No, sah. I \'d ketch cold in my head, \nsartan. Always keep my hat on when I \'m out o\' doors." \n\nAnd with that Jim was about beating a hasty retreat, when, \nat his first step, a low "kluk, kluk, kluk," was heard coming \nonly too clearly from the region of his head-gear. This was \nfatal; and Jim was stopped and forced to remove his hat, \nwhen a plump, half-grown chicken jumped out and ran hastily \naway. The air with which the culprit gazed after it was a \nstudy for a painter ; it expressed to a perfection wonder and \nperplexity blended, but not a trace of guilt. Slowly he spoke, \nas though explaining the matter to himself, and accounting \nfor so remarkable an incident. \n\n" Well, if dat ain\'t de funniest ting I ebber did see. Why, \ndat dar chicken must have clum up de leg of my pantaloons." \n\n\n\nTHE UNIVERSITY OF GOTTINGEN. \xe2\x80\x94George Canning. \n\nWHENE\'ER with haggard eyes I view \nThis dungeon that I \'m rotting in, \nI think of those companions true \nWho studied with me at the U \xe2\x80\x94 \n\n\xe2\x80\x94 niversity of Gottingen \xe2\x80\x94 \n\n\xe2\x80\x94 niversity of Gottingen. \n\n[Weeps, and pulls out a blue kerchief, with, which, he wipes his eyes ; \ngazing tenderly at it, he proceeds.] \n\n\n\nTHE UNIVERSITY OF GOTTINGEN. 195 \n\nSweet kerchief, checked with heavenly blue, \nWhich once my love sat knotting in ! \xe2\x80\x94 \n\nAlas ! Matilda then was true ! \n\nAt least, I thought so at the U \xe2\x80\x94 \n\n\xe2\x80\x94 niversity of Gottiugen \xe2\x80\x94 \n\n\xe2\x80\x94 niversity of Gottingen. \n\nBarbs ! Barbs ! alas ! how swift you flew, \n\nHer neat post-wagon trotting in ! \nYe bore Matilda from my view; \n\nForlorn I languished at the U \xe2\x80\x94 \n\n\xe2\x80\x94 niversity of Gottingen \xe2\x80\x94 \n\n\xe2\x80\x94 niversity of Gottingen. \n\n[At the repetition of this line Eogero clanks his chains in cadence.] \n\nThis faded form ! this pallid hue ! \n\nThis blood my veins is clotting in, \nMy years are many, \xe2\x80\x94 they were few \n\nWhen first I entered at the U \xe2\x80\x94 \n\n\xe2\x80\x94 niversity of Gottingen \xe2\x80\x94 \n\n\xe2\x80\x94 niversity of Gottingen. \n\nThere first for thee my passion grew, \n\nSweet ! sweet Matilda Pottingen ! \nThou wast the daughter of my tu \xe2\x80\x94 \n\n\xe2\x80\x94 tor, law professor, at the U \xe2\x80\x94 \n\n\xe2\x80\x94 niversity of Gottingen \xe2\x80\x94 \n\n\xe2\x80\x94 niversity of Gottingen. \n\n\n\nSun, moon, and thou, vain world, adieu, \nThat kings and priests are plotting in ! \n\nHere doomed to starve on water gru \xe2\x80\x94 \n\xe2\x80\x94 el, never shall I see the U \xe2\x80\x94 \n\n\xe2\x80\x94 niversity of Gottingen \xe2\x80\x94 \n\n\xe2\x80\x94 niversity of Gottingen. \n\n\n\nJ* \n\n\n\n196 PUBLIC AND PAKLOK HEADINGS. \n\nAPPEAL TO THE KIND SYMMETRIE OF OUR \nNATURE. \n\n&ENTLEMEN of the Jury, \xe2\x80\x94 It is with feelings of no \nordinary communion that I rise to defend my injured \nclient from the attacks that have been made on his hith- \nertofore unapproachable character. I feel, gentlemen, that \nthough a good deal smarter than any of you, even the judge \nhimself, yet I am utterly incompetent to present this case in \nthe magnanimous and heart-rending light which its impor- \ntance demands ; and I trust, gentlemen, that whatever I may \nlack in presenting the subject will be immediately made up \nby your own natural good-sense and discernment, if you have \ngot any. \n\nThe counsel for the prosecution, gentlemen, will undoubt- \nedly attempt to heave dust in your eyes. He will tell you \nthat his client is pre-eminently a man of function, \xe2\x80\x94 that he \nis a man of undoubted and implicable veracity, \xe2\x80\x94 that he \nis a man who would scorn to fotch an action against another \nmerely to gratify his own personal corporosity ; but, gentle- \nmen, let me cautionate you how to rely upon such specious \nreasoning like this. I myself apprehend that this suit has \nbeen wilfully and maliciously focht, gentlemen, for the sole \nand only purpose of brow-beating my client here, and in an \neminent manner grinding the face of the poor ; and I appre- \nhend, also, that if you could but look into that man\'s heart, \nand read there the motives that have impelled him to fotch \nthis suit, such a picture of moral turpentine and heart-felt \ningratitude would be brought to light as has never before \nbeen exhibited since the falls of Niagara. \n\nNow, gentlemen, I want to make a brilliant appeal to the \nkind symmetries of your nature, and see if I can\'t warp your \njudgments a little in favor of my unfortunate client here, \nand then I shall fotch my argument to a close. Here is a \npoor man, with a numerous wife and child, depending upon \nhim for their daily bread and butter, wantonly fotcht up here, \nand arranged before an intellectual jury on the charge of ig- \n\n\n\nTHE FRENCHMAN AND THE RATS. 197 \n\nnominiously hooking \xe2\x80\x94 yes, hooking \xe2\x80\x94 six quarts of new cider. \nYou, gentlemen, have all been placed\' in the same situation, \nand you know how to feel for the misfortunes of my client ; \nand I humbly calculate that you will not permit the gushing \nof your symperthizing hearts to be squenched in the bud by \nthe surruptions and superogating arguments of my ignorant \nopponent on the other side. \n\nThe law expressly declares, gentlemen, in the beautiful lan- \nguage of Shakespeare, that where no doubt exists of the guilt \nof the prisoner, it is your duty to lean upon the side of jus- \ntice and fotch him in innocence. If you keep this fact in \nview in the case of my client, gentlemen, you will have the \nhonor of making a friend of him and all his relations, and \nyou can allers look upon this occasion, and reflect with pleas- \nure that you did as you would be done by ; but if, on the \nother hand, you disregard this great principle of law, and set \nat naught my eloquent remarks, and fotch him in guilty, the \nsilent twitches of conscience will follow you over every fair \ncorn-field, I reckon, and my injured and down-trodden client \nwill be pretty apt to light on you some of these nights, as my \ncat lights on a sassar of new milk. \n\n\n\nTHE FRENCHMAN AND THE RATS. \n\nA FRENCHMAN once, who was a merry wight, \nPassing to town from Dover in the night, \nNear the roadside an alehouse chanced to spy ; \nAnd, being rather tired, as well as dry, \nResolved to enter. But first he took a peep \nIn hopes a supper he might get, and cheap. \nHe enters ; " Hallo ! garcon, if you please, \nBring me a little bit of bread and cheese. \nAnd hallo ! garcon, a pot of portare too," he said, \n" Vich I shall take, and den meself to bed." \n\n^[ ; s supper done, some scraps of cheese were left, \ntyhich our poor Frenchman, thinking it no theft, \n\n\n\n198 PUBLIC AND PARLOR READINGS. \n\nInto his pocket put ; then slowly crept \nTo wished-for bed. But not a wink he slept ; \nFor on the floor some sacks of flour were laid \nTo which the rats a nightly visit paid. \n\nOur hero now undressed, popped out the light, \nPulled on his cap and bid the world good night ; \nBut first his breeches which contained the fare \nUnder his pillow he had placed with care. \n\nSans ceremonie soon the rats all ran, \n\nAnd on the flour-sacks greedily began, \n\nAt which they gorged themselves ; then, smelling round, \n\nUnder the pillow soon the cheese they found. \n\nAnd while at this feast they regaling sat, \n\nTheir happy jaws disturbed the Frenchman\'s nap, \n\nWho, half awake, cries out, " Hallo ! Hallo ! \n\nVat is dat nibbel at my pillow so 1 \n\nAh ! \'t is von big huge rat ! \n\nVat de diable is he nibbel nibbel at 2 " \n\nIn vain our little hero sought repose ; \n\nSometimes the vermin galloped o\'er his nose. \n\nAnd such the pranks they kept up all the night, \n\nThat he, on end antipodes upright \n\nBawling aloud, called stoutly for a light. \n\n" Hallo ! Maison ! Gargon ! I say ! \n\nBring me ze bill for vot I have to pay ! " \n\nThe bill was brought, and to his great surprise \n\nTen shillings was the charge. He scarce believes his eyes. \n\nWith eager haste he cons it o\'er and o\'er, \n\nAnd every time he viewed it thought it more. \n\n" Vy, zounds and zounds ! " he cries, " I sail no pay ! \nVot charge ten shelangs for vot I have mange, \nA leetel cup of porter, dis vile bed, \nVare all ze rats do run about my head ! " \n\n\n\nEPISODE IN THE LIFE OF TABITHA TKENOODLE. 199 \n\n" Plague on those rats ! " the landlord muttered out, \n\n" I wish upon my word that I could make \'em scout ; \n\nI \'11 pay him well that can." " Vot \'s dat you say 1 " \n\n" 1 11 pay him well that can." "Attend to me, I pray ! \n\nVill you dis charge forego, vot I am at \n\nIf from your house I drive away ze rat 3 " \n\n"With all my heart," the jolly host replies. \n\n" Ecoutez done, ami / " the Frenchman cries. \n\n" First, den, regardez if you please, \n\n" Bring to dis spot a leetel bread and cheese. \n\n" Eh bien ! a pot of porter too, \n\nAnd den invite ze rats to sup vid you. \n\nAnd after, no matter dey be villing, \n\nFor vot dey eat you sharge dem just ten shelang ! \n\nAnd I am sure ven dey behold ze score, \n\nDey \'11 quit your house, and never come no more." \n\n\n\nEPISODE IN THE LIFE OF MISS TABITHA \nTEENOODLE. \xe2\x80\x94 Belgravia. \n\nDID you ever drive a cow to pound 1 \nNo, of course not. \n\nDid your mother ever drive a cow to pound 1 ? or your wife? \n\nOf course not, again. \n\nWell, I have. I, Tabitha Trenoodle, of Tregawk, spinster, \ndrove a large brindled knot cow to pound. And since I am \nneither first cousin to Mrs. Squeamish nor first toady to Mrs. \nGrundy, I see no reason whatever why I should deny the \nfact. \n\nPerhaps up in England folks may n\'t know what a knot cow \nis. I have heard there \'s a good deal of ignorance in London. \nWell, a knot cow is a cow without horns, having a little knot \nor knob on the head instead of those appendages. If that \nbrindle had had horns, I don\'t think \xe2\x80\x94 well, yes, I \'11 confess \nit \xe2\x80\x94 I don\'t think I should have driven her to pound. \n\n\n\n200 PUBLIC AND PARLOK EEADINGS. \n\nI object to horns. They have an ugly look ; and they give \nme a sort of a ripping feeling, highly unpleasant, in my back- \nbone. Moreover, they make me say over to myself all the \n" ifs " and " ands " in the alphabet. \n\n"If that beast knew his strength, and just took it into his \nhead " \xe2\x80\x94 then a cold shiver, and I feel very glad I \'m walking \na long way behind the creature. \n\nI \'ve got a little meadow at Tregawk. I \'m rather proud of \nit, because it \'s the best land and grows the best grass for \nmiles around. The granite does n\'t show up through the soil \nin ever so many places at once, as it does elsewhere in the \nparish. \n\nNow when a person has got a meadow with good grass in \nit, that person doesn\'t like the grass to be eaten up night \nafter night, nobody knows how. At least, I don\'t. My maid \nsuggested : \n\n" Evul sperruts." \n\nI said, "Stuff! Evil spirits don\'t eat grass : they devour \nmen." \n\nThen she said : " Veers." \n\nNow I believe Veer is a grand name in England ; and I have \nheard of a Lady Clara Veer de Veer who cut somebody\'s \nthroat in a grand way, and was n\'t found out. But with us \nveers are little pigs ; and in some parishes heifers are called \nveers too. So you see it is not such a noble name with us \nthat I was going to be startled at the idea of a veer eating up \nmy grass. \n\n"No signs of \'em," I answered. "Nothing nuzzled up." \n\n" Nebuchadnezzar," said my maid. \n\n" Nonsense ! He \'s dead and gone these hundred years." \n\n" Not him. Her, \xe2\x80\x94 the passon\'s wife." \n\nThis seems ridiculous. But it was not, because that poor \nhowling maniac fancied herself Nebuchadnezzar ; and she was \nalways trying to get out and eat grass. She took to call- \ning herself the King of Babylon, at first through fun, because \nof the herb-pies she ate down in Cornwall, and because her \nhusband\'s name was Daniel. Then, getting a little wild, \xe2\x80\x94 \xc2\xab \n\n\n\nEPISODE IN THE LIFE OF TABITHA TEENOODLE. 201 \n\nthrough loneliness, as she chose to say, \xe2\x80\x94 she stuck to her \nfancy. In fact, it got to be what the doctors call a fixed idea, \n\xe2\x80\x94 though where fixed, or how, I can\'t say. \n\nOf course, after this explanation you\'ll understand I was \nnot surprised when my maid Temper \xe2\x80\x94 Temperance is her \nright name \xe2\x80\x94 suggested that the parson\'s wife ate my grass. \n\n"She is capable," I said ; "so I \'11 watch." \n\nAccordingly that night I make Temper bring down into \nthe fields the small kitchen table and a big stool, and by aid \nof these I clamber up pretty high into a tree, where I sit \nperched like Charles the Second in a crinoline. Temper \nstayed with me till nearly dark, and brought me my tea out \nthere, as I had got into the tree quite early, thinking it wise \nto be in time. She had to climb to the top of the table to \nhand up the cups, and I found it rather novel, though a sofa- \ncushion on the branch might have improved the situation. \n\nWhen it grew dusk I made Temper leave, lugging the table \nwith her of course, lest it should attract Mrs. Nebuchadnez- \nzar\'s attention. I screamed after her for a cushion, but she \ndid not hear me. \n\nAfter nightfall, I thought of Charles the Second, and Rob- \ninson Crusoe, and Prince Absalom, till I didn\'t know which \nwas which, or whether I was one or the other of them. Then \ncramp came on for want of that cushion, after that the shivers, \nthen the cramp again. And my limbs took a kind of spontanea \nous locomotion, and would n\'t stay in any place where I put \'em. \nI was just thinking that African travellers told awful stories \nabout sleeping up trees with snakes and things, when sud^ \ndenly I heard steps. \n\n" No ! it can\'t be ! " I said, bumping myself frightfully, \nforgetting my sofa-cushion was at home. " Surely she won\'t \ncarry out her ideas of Nebuchadnezzar as far as this, in my \nmeadow too, to eat grass ! Poor thing ! Herb-pies indeed ! \nHerb-pies are not grass ; it \'s a judgment on her for despising \ngood victuals." \n\nHarder steps, thick bootish steps, lumpy, then the gate \nswings, and I see coming into my field a big cow with a man \n9* \n\n\n\n202 PUBLIC AND PARLOE READINGS. \n\nbehind her ! As the gate swings to and fro, and at last shuts, \nthe man stays outside it, and, leaning on the top rail, he grins. \nI saw his grin in the moonlight quite plainly, \xe2\x80\x94 a very plain \ngrin it was, \xe2\x80\x94 and if the skirt of my dress had not been" caught \nin a great hooked branch I believe I should have sprung \ndown on him and astonished him. But I had got up into the \ntree with the help of a stool and a table, and these being \ngone, I saw my coming down again was an impossible thing. \nIn fact, it was a point Temper and I had n\'t considered. \n\nThis was nice, certainly. A woman perched up a tree with \nthe cramp in every part of her body except her head, and he* \ngown hooked up somehow, but how and where she can\'t screw \nher eyes round to see and remedy ! \n\nNice, certainly! Worse, it was aggravating and awful, \nbecause here \'s a man grinning on a gate, who may look up \nat any minute and see her. However, the situation has to \nbe borne, so I watch grimly, and wonder what \'s coming next. \n\nThis is what came next. The cow ate my grass. Chop, \nchop, munch, munch, chow, chow, as plain as a pikestaff; \nwhile the man, grinning like a Cheshire cat, called out in a \nclear voice : \xe2\x80\x94 \n\n" Go it, Brindle ! Make a good meal, old girl ! Miss Tab \nis greener than her own grass; she won\'t find us out yet \nawhile." \n\nUpon that, and whistling to himself the old Fade tune, which \nthey play at Helston on the 8th May, when the mayor dances \nthrough the streets, he walked off, while the cow positively \nmade herself at home, and lay down on my grass as comfort- \nable as you please. \n\nI was speechless. I was frantic. I propped myself against \na branch and tore at my gown till it was all out of the gath- \ners, and hung in rags. Still that horrid hook would n\'t give \nway. Then I tried to be patient. I shut my eyes, and told \nmyself I had not got the cramp, and a branch was not grazing \nmy back, and a knob was not boring a hole in my shoulder, \nand I was very comfortable, and better off than Robinson Cru- \nsoe, or a Casual. \n\n\n\n\n\n\nBut it would n\'tdo. My limbs got dead, and did n\'t belong \nto me. They might have been the cow\'s legs, or the legs of \nthe kitchen-table, for anything / knew about them. \n\n" Good gracious ! " I said. " Where \'s that girl Temper 1 \nWhy does n\'t she come and get me down 1 Why did n\'t I \nthink about the getting down before I got up 1 No, Temper \nwon\'t come. I remember now I ordered her not to show her \nnose here for the world. I was to run in and tell her when \nNebuchadnezzar came. Run and tell her ! I wish I could. \nI shall never run again ; my legs are gone. Where were my \nwits when I got up this tree 1 Tabitha ! Tabitha ! I never \nknew you were such a fool ! " \n\nA cold perspiration broke over me when I thought of Tem- \nper dozing by the kitchen fire, in tranquil unsolicitude, await- \ning my return. No uneasy thoughts about me would rouse \nher. no ! nothing would but a red-hot cinder thrown at \nher nose, and that cinder I had n\'t got to throw. \n\n" Mercy alive ! " I groaned ; " I shall be here all night. I \nshall be here till next week. I shall be here forever. I shall \nbe a few bleached bones up a tree when the end of the world \ncomes. What o\'clock is it ? It \'s midnight. It \'s three o\'clock \nto-morrow morning. It will be daylight soon, and that horrid \nman will be here for his cow. What shall I do 1 I shall have \nto forgive him. I shall have to scream out to him to take \npity on me, and get me down. He \'11 stare. He \'11 grin. \nHe \'11 triumph. I shall go out of my mind. No ; 1 11 never \nbear it. I won\'t. I \'11 do something desperate. I \'11 get all \nmy things off, and come down from this tree like Eve went up. \nNo, I can\'t. My hands are too cramped with holding on to \nthis branch, this evil branch. This is a bad tree ; this is the \nworst of trees ; this is the very tree that Satan put his forked \ntail around. 0, how did I get hooked in this forked branch % \nThis is the hook that could not take Leviathan, but it has \ntaken me, \xe2\x80\x94 me, an innocent spinster, who never did any harm. \nI am going mad. I am certain of it. I shall howl soon. I \'m \na worse maniac than the parson\'s wife. Look at that diaboli- \ncal cow, how she eats to aggravate me ! I \'11 be revenged on \n\n\n\n204 PUBLIC AND PAELOE EEADINGS. \n\nher. I \'11 be revenged on her master. I won\'t stay here like \na scarecrow, pinned up in a tree by the wings. I \'11 come down. \nI \'11 smash all my bones but what I \'11 come down." \n\nTrue to my word, I tore, I pulled, I gasped, I made a des- \nperate spring. I got my head and the tips of my fingers to \nthe ground ; but my wretched feet were lodged among the \nbirds\'-nests. In this dreadful position I hung so long that I \nthought my head was bursting, and balls of fire ran along the \nground out of my eyes. \n\n" Jerusalem ! " I cried, " here \'s that emperor come to life, \nwho turned heathen, and took to building. He \'s me. No, he \nis n\'t. I \'m Absalom, only my cap ought to be where my shoes \nare. I\'m turned upside down, and my ideas are confused. \nThere \'s a lucifer-match manufactory in my head. That \'s it. \nThat \'s the fire. I shall be in flames soon. There are a hun- \ndred thousand pins and needles in me, and I \'m sprouting all \nover with acorns. My nose is taking root. I feel it." \n\nAt last the cow, like the animal that swallowed Tom Thumb, \nbegan to think there was something uncomfortable going on \nsomewhere. And she positively came up and sniffed all round \nthe tree. What I felt when that cow put her nose against my \nfoot I can never express. If she had had horns, I should have \ndied. As it was, her sniffing at me was so horridly unpleas- \nant, that I made a frantic effort, and down I came sprawling \non the grass, while the cow ran off with her tail in the air bel- \nlowing like a scared demon. I rushed home in such horrible \nindignation, that the ground flew and fired as I went. I seized \nTemper by the arm, and woke her up boiling. She screamed, \nand stood amazed, like an owl with his eyes out. \n\n" What have you done to your nose, ma\'am 1 " she cried. \n\n" My nose 1 Nothing. It \'s only a sting-nettle." \n\nThen I sat down and told Temper all that had happened. \n\n"And now," I concluded, " I mean to have revenge on that \nman and on that cow. Who is he 1 " \n\n" Have he goet a noase like a kittle-spout, and eyes looking \ntwo ways for Sunday 1 " asked Temper. \n\n" Yes, he has, \xe2\x80\x94 the beast ! " \n\n\n\nEPISODE IN THE LIFE OF TABITHA TKENOODLE. 205 \n\n" Then it \'s Uncle Nat Treloob, as sure as I am a sinner. \nYou bet ! And narra spell of work do he ever lay his ten \ntalons to from waun year\'s end to t\' other, the lazy lutter- \npouch ! " \n\n" I \'11 give him something to do to-morrow. He shall go \ncow-hunting. I hope he \'11 tear up and down the country from \nSaltash to Breage. Temper, we must get a boy to drive that \ncow to pound, and hold his tongue." \n\n"There \'s narra boy to do et. It \'s three miles to the pound. \nAnd a graet bucha, like a black dog, seed on the moor aunly \nleast week." \n\n" Uncle Dick, the Gunner, my grandfather\'s boy, will go." \n\nHe was called the Gunner because he was blind of one eye, \nwhich he kept shut. \n\n" Thic clopping toad ! " said Temper. " Uncle Dick can no \nmore stompey through Clidgy-lane, and over Gallish-moor, than \nhe can fly in his gashly auld green breeches to heaven." \n\n" Then I \'11 go myself," I said very composedly. And I did go. \n\nI went down to my meadow, and drove out that burglarious \ncow, leaving the gate open, that her thieving owner might be \nunsettled in his mind, and fly hither and thither after his \nstrayed property. Then through Clidgy-lane, \xe2\x80\x94 so called be- \ncause the mud in it is sticky as treacle, \xe2\x80\x94 and all along the \ndismal moor, Temper and I followed that fiendish brindle with \nall the spirit we could muster. Once we nearly drove her \ndown a shaft. If Temper had n\'t pulled her back by the tail, \nshe would have gone in stam bang, and have disappeared for \never. I turned cold. I felt like a murderer. I began to re- \npent. The beast was not to blame, and the driving of the \ninnocent creature into that snare called a pound troubled my \nconscience. Especially as the rain came down upon us, as if \nthe cow was going straight into the ark, and there was n\'t \nmuch time to get there. \n\nNot that the cow cared. dear, no ! She grazed, and \nstood still when she liked, which was mighty often. I pushed, \nand poked, and slapped her on the back with my handker- \nchief, \xe2\x80\x94 with a knot in it, \xe2\x80\x94 but that did n\'t improve the pace \na bit. \n\n\n\n206 PUBLIC AND PARLOR. READINGS. \n\n" I know how it is," said Temper ; " this cow has been used \nto swearing. Uncle Nat cusses awful." \n\n"Hi! Hip, hip! Gee up! Hi!" \n\nThe only reply to this was a sudden whop from the cow\'s \ntail, and the sound of munching. \n\n" Go it, Brindle," I cried, remembering I had heard these \nwords from her master. \n\nShe did go it ; but then it was only into the grass by the \nwayside. \n\n" Have you got a knife, ma\'am 1 If we cut down a stick, I \nreckon we shall get along better." \n\nNo, I had n\'t a knife. I had a thimble, a bodkin, and a \nsmall pair of scissors, in a morocco case. They would n\'t cut \nsticks. \n\n"Hi! Gee! G\'long ! Yi ! " \n\nNo movement except of the tail and jaws. \n\n" Would you mind swearing a bit, Temper 1 " I asked plead- \ningly. \n\n" No, missus, really I can\'t. I was converted only three \nweeks agone at the Revival, and I could n\'t swear so soon. I \ndurst n\'t, ma\'am, indeed ! " \n\n" Then confound the cow, and you too ! " I cried. " I \'11 do \nit myself ! " \n\nAnd I did. Such awful stuff I never spoke before nor since. \nMrs. Squeamish would have dropped. And I must say, the \nnext Sunday, in church, when Mr. Daniel read in the Epistle, \n" Swear not at all," I thought it very rude on his part to look \nat me as he did. " Ah ! " I said to myself, " I should like to \nsee you drive a cow to pound, I should." \n\nShe went now, like the wind. If she stopped a bit, I tried \nUncle Nat Treloob\'s receipt again, \xe2\x80\x94 reluctantly, and to \nTemper\'s horror, \xe2\x80\x94 but there was no help for it. \n\nOne o\'clock in the morning ; and here \'s the farm and the \npound, \n\n" Now, Temper," I said, " I \'ve done all the swearing, and \nthe hardest part of the work ; it is time I retired into the \nbackground, and pushed you forward. Go and wake up the \n\n\n\nEPISODE IN THE LIFE OF TABITHA TKENOODLE. 207 \n\nfarmer\'s man, \xe2\x80\x94 you understand these folks better than I, \xe2\x80\x94 \nand hand over the cow into his charge. Take care you don\'t \nwake the bull-dog instead " (there was a terrible wild beast at \nthis farm of that species) ; "he might break his chain and kill us." \n\nDelivering the cow\'s tail into Temper\'s hand, I retired to \nthe shelter of a moor stone, put over the mouth of an old shaft \nnear ; and there I waited the result calmly. \n\nApparently the farmer\'s man was hard to rouse, for I heard \nscreams and bellows and shouts enough to waken all the bulls \nof Bashan. However, I remained tranquil and serene, feeling \nI had done my duty. At last, through the glimmering moon- \nlight Temper came running breathless. \n\n" It \'s all right, m\'m ! The man was sleepy as a owl. He \ncame to me with his eyes as fast as a biled pig\'s ; but he \'11 see \nto it, he says. He \'s a imperent gaukum ! He axed where \nthe young man wus who drove the cow, \xe2\x80\x94 in coorse, I could \nn\'t say you was the young man, \xe2\x80\x94 and he grinned like a dog \nin a hoss collar. Lor-a-mussy me ! here \'s lashings and pour- \nings of rain ! We shall be in a fitty shaape by the time we \'ve \nfetched hoam. Don\'t-ee quat there, m\'m, no longer, plase ; \nI \'m feared of my life as it is, and I \'m as soaking wet as Noah\'s \nauld shoe ! " \n\nEvidently Temper was equal to her name to-night; so I \nrefrained from reply. \n\nWet ! It rained drowned cats and dogs, and spouting \nwhales, and watering-pots and fire-engines, all the way, as we \nwalked home. It was very lonesome ; and, though I would n\'t \nown it, I felt horribly afraid. However, we met neither ghost, \nnor goblin, nor living man, either in going or returning ; and \nwas n\'t revenge worth the trouble and the wetting 1 \n\nWhen we reached the kitchen we looked like two shags who \nhad n\'t dried themselves for a year. I went to bed, and dreamt \nI was a cow floating about in Noah\'s ark, with my horns cut \noff and hanging over the kitchen chimney-piece, and a sting- \nnettle tied on to my nose for my dinner. When I saw my \nnose in the morning I did n\'t wonder at my dream, for it was \nas big as a rutabagur. \n\n\n\n208 PUBLIC AND PARLOR READINGS. \n\nIt went on raining cats and dogs all that day, together with \nwatering-carts and hydraulic machines ; and not being able to \nsee the light-house through the mist, and the cheerful boy who \ntook sights on the Island being invisible through the rain, I \ncertainly felt a little lonely. However, about three o\'clock \nsatisfaction and good spirits arrived in the shape of Uncle \nNat Treloob, in a sack, with a hole cut for the eyes that \nlooked two ways for Sunday and all ways for his cow. \n\nHe came up to my window, dripping, drenched, dismal. \nThe sack came a little below his waist, \xe2\x80\x94 it was a short wide \none, \xe2\x80\x94 haybands came up to his knees ; his boots went squash \non the gravel. He took off the sack and bowed. Then he \nclasped his hands and sighed. \n\n" Well," I said, " who are you ) " \n\n" I \'m Nat Treloob, ma\'am ; fust cousin to Uncle Dick the \ngunner, who was his Honor your gran\'fer\'s stable-boy wellnigh \n\'pon fifty years." \n\n" And what do you want, Uncle Nat Treloob 1 " \n\n" Jist to ax how you are, Miss Tabitha. You are the pictur \nof his Honor your graudfeyther, and there wad n\'t a better fa- \nvored man betwixt this and the king, \xe2\x80\x94 no, not in no county." \n\n" What do you want, Uncle Nat 1 " \n\n" And you are the nat\'ral-born image of your mauther. too, \nmiss. And I mind she well, the day your feyther brought \nher hoam, \xe2\x80\x94 prinkt and pridy she was, the raal lady, and \nprettier \xe2\x80\x94 " \n\nI took up my work again, and went on stitching. \n\n" Miss Tabitha, I \'m sure you won\'t be wishing nobody ill, \nleastways a poor man. You are the best of friends to the \npoor, and the kindest lady that ever rode in her aun coach, or \nauft to, if you had your rights. And you Ve the best meadow \nin the parish, Miss Tabitha, \xe2\x80\x94 sure you have." \n\n" Nobody knows that better than you, Uncle Nat Treloob." \n\n" It \'s boostering work making good coose sich a day as this, \nMiss Tabitha. I\'m in a cruel shaape weth tha wind and tha \nrain, and my heart \'most bruk about thic cow. And plase \nsure, Miss Tabitha, I tied her oop laest night \'pon tha com- \n\n\n\nEPISODE IN THE LIFE OF TABITHA TEENOODLE. 209 \n\nmon with a big rope ; and I dunno how she bruk loose. I \'m \nafeard some simpleton left your gaate open, and she smelled \nthe good grass. It \'s the fust time, Miss Tabitha, the very \nfust\' tha imperent ould thing ever thoft of getting into your \ncroft. And ef you \'11 look over et this waunce, I \'11 wax tha \ntail of her on to the pump. I will, plase sure, afore she shall \ndo it again." \n\n" Uncle Nat Treloob, I wonder at you ! It \'s awful to hear \nan old man telling falsehoods." \n\n" Miss Tabitha, I abbn\'t tould a stram never since I went \nto mitin-house twenty-nine year agone. Don\'tee go now to \ntaake away my good character, there \'s a dear lady. I \'ve \nbeen tarving and teering round arter thic polrumptuous beast \never since five this blessed morning, and narra sup, nor por- \nridge, nor crouse has gone enside my craw. And I abbn\'t \ntitch pipe waunce by the way. You won\'t be hard, Miss \nTabitha, on a ould man 1 \xe2\x80\x94 an ould man who seed you christ- \nened, and the pootiest babby you was as ere I looked upon in \naal my born days ; you won\'t be hard, Miss Tabitha 1 " \n\n" Uncle Nat, you are a bad old rascal. I saw you put your \ncow in my field with my own eyes." \n\n" Me ! plase, father, it wad n\'t me. \xe2\x80\x94 Miss Tabitha, I would \nn\'t be so unmannerly. Your eyes ded n\'t see right, miss." \n\n" It was not you 1 " \n\n" Narra bit of me, miss. Or, ef \'t was me, I was mazed, or \nthe devil had hould of me. Plase sure, it wad n\'t me en my \nright mind, Miss Tabitha. I \'d liefer the ould brindle went \nempty for a month than I \'d help her steal a blade of your \ngrass." \n\nHe was very wet ; he looked very dismal. I gave way be- \nfore his eloquence. \n\n"Ah, well, Uncle Nat, your cow is in the pound ; go and \nfetch her." But Uncle Nat gave no signs of stirring. \n\n" There \'s a hunder weight of water atop of me, and my \nlembs is wore out, miss ; and I \'ve been oop to tha pound \na\'ready, and Farmer Kunckey waient give oop tha cow with- \nout a guinea, and a line from you to say she may go." \n\n\n\n210 PUBLIC AND PARLOR READINGS. \n\n" A guinea ! " I screamed through the wet window ; " that \'s \ntoo much. I don\'t want you to pay for the grass. I \'11 write \na line to the pound-keeper, and tell him to give you the cow." \n\nUncle Nat shook his head. " \'T is no good to carr\' oop tha \nletter without the guinea, miss. I \'m bedoled and bruk down \nwith grief to think of axing you fur a guinea. The piskies \nwas in the cow, I bla\', to taake her into your croft ; but aal \nmy savings es aunly haafe a crown. Miss Tabitha, if you \'11 \naunly forgive the auld cow, and let me have the guinea, I \'11 \npay \'ee back every farden \xe2\x80\x94 fath and sure I will \xe2\x80\x94 honest as \nJob, I will. And ef you waient, Miss Tabitha, then me and \nmy auld woman, who is totleish and bedoled with rheumatism, \nmust staarve outright. We shaan\'t have a croon or mossel to \nswallow ef the cow goes. My old missus lives on the seal\' \nmilk." \n\nWhat could I do 1 I knew the old rascal was as poor as a \ncoot. I knew his wife was childish and had the rheumatism. \n\nI gave the guinea. Need I observe that it never came back \nto my pocket ? \n\nTemper and I always felt very doubtful about that guinea. \nWe thought it extraordinary the farmer should make so high \na charge for keeping that pickpocket of a cow a few hours in \nthe pound. However, we dared make no inquiries about it, \nas that might have let out the fact that I had driven the beast \nthere. And you see I did n\'t want to get laughed at in my own \nparish. \n\nIn about a year after this I met Uncle Nat Treloob and his \ncow with a young calf. \n\n"Well, Uncle Nat," I observed, "your cow has got a fine \ncalf. What have you called her 1 " \n\n" Dorcas, which, being interpreted, meaneth Tabitha," said \nthe old sinner, taking off his hat, and passing on, with a droll \nexpression in his pivot eye. And Dorcas that calf remains to \nthis day. She is an old calf now ; in fact, she is n\'t a calf at \nall, she is an elderly cow ; and I always feel, when I see people \ngrin over her name, that somehow I only came off second-best \nin the revenge I took on Uncle Nat Treloob. \n\n\n\nTHE FACETIOUS STORY OF JOHN GILPIN. 211 \n\n\n\nTHE FACETIOUS STORY OF JOHN GILPIN.\xe2\x80\x94 Cowper. \n\nJOHN GILPIN was a citizen of credit and renown ; \nA train-band captain, eke, was he, of famous London town. \nJohn Gilpin\'s spouse said to her dear, " Though wedded we \n\nhave been \nThese twice ten tedious years, yet we no holiday have seen. \n\n" To-morrow is our wedding-day, and we shall then repair \nUnto the Bell at Edmonton, all in a chaise and pair. \nMy sister and my sister\'s child, myself and children three, \nWill fill the chaise ; so you must ride on horseback after we." \n\nJohn Gilpin said, " I do admire, of woman-kind, but one, \nAnd you are she, my dearest dear ; therefore it shall be done. \nI am a linen-draper bold, as all the world doth know ; \nAnd my good friend, Tom Callender, will lend his horse to go." \n\nQuoth Mrs. Gilpin, " That \'s well said ; and, for that wine is \n\ndear, \nWe will be furnished with our own, which is both bright and \n\nclear." \nJohn Gilpin kissed his loving wife ; o\'erjoyed was he to find, \nThat, though on pleasure she was bent, she had a frugal mind. \n\nThe morning came, the chaise was brought, but yet was not \n\nallowed \nTo drive up to the door, lest all should say that she was proud. \nSo three doors off the chaise was stayed, where they did all \n\nget in, \xe2\x80\x94 \nSix precious souls, \xe2\x80\x94 and all agog to dash through thick and \n\nthin ! \n\nSmack went the whip, round went the wheels ; were never \n\nfolks so glad ; \nThe stones did rattle underneath, as if Cheapside were mad. \nJohn Gilpin, at his horse\'s side, seized fast the flowing mane, \nAnd up he got, in haste to ride, but soon came down again : \n\n\n\n212 PUBLIC AND PAELOE READINGS. \n\nFor saddle-tree scarce reached had he, his journey to begin, \nWhen, turning round his head, he saw three customers come in. \nSo down he got; for loss of time, although it grieved him \n\nsore, \nYet loss of pence, full well he knew, would trouble him much \n\n\n\n\'T was long before the customers were suited to their mind, \n\nWhen Betty screamed into his ears, " The wine is left be- \nhind ! " \n\n" Good lack ! " quoth he ; " yet bring it me, my leathern belt \nlikewise, \n\nIn which I wear my trusty sword, when I do exercise." \n\nNow Mrs. Gilpin, careful soul, had two stone bottles found, \nTo hold the liquor that she loved, and keep it safe and sound. \nEach bottle had a curling ear, through which the belt he \n\ndrew ; \nHe hung a bottle on each side, to make his balance true. \n\nThen over all, that he might be equipped from top to toe, \nHis long red cloak, well brushed and neat, he manfully did \n\nthrow. \nNow see him mounted once again upon his nimble steed, \nFull slowly pacing o\'er the stones with caution and good \n\nheed : \n\nBut, finding soon a smoother road beneath his well-shod feet, \nThe snorting beast began to trot, which galled him in his seat. \n" So ! fair and softly ! " John he cried ; but John he cried in \n\nvain ; \nThe trot became a gallop soon, in spite of curb and rein. \n\nSo, stooping down, as needs he must, who cannot sit upright, \nHe grasped the mane with both his hands, aud, eke, with all \n\nhis might. \nAway went Gilpin, neck or naught ; away went hat and wig ; \nHe little dreamed, when he set out, of running such a rig. \n\n\n\nTHE FACETIOUS STOEY OF JOHN GILPIN. 213 \n\nHis horse, who never in that sort had handled been before. \nWhat thing upon his back had got, did wonder more and more. \nThe^wind did blow, the cloak did fly, like streamer long and gay, \nTill, loop and button failing both, at last it flew away. \n\nThen might all people well discern the bottles he had slung ; \nA bottle swinging at each side, as hath been said or sung. \nThe dogs did bark, the children screamed, up flew the windows \n\nall, \nAnd every soul cried out " Well done ! " as loud as he could \n\nbawl. \n\nAway went Gilpin, who but he ! his fame soon spread around, \n" He carries weight ! He rides a race ! \'T is for a thousand \n\npound ! " \nAnd still, as fast as he drew near, \'t was wonderful to view \nHow in a trice the turnpike men their gates wide open threw. \n\nAnd now, as he went bowing down his reeking head full low, \nThe bottles twain, behind his back, were shattered at a blow. \nDown ran the wine into the road, most piteous to be seen, \nWhich made his horse\'s flanks to smoke, as they had basted been. \n\nBut still he seemed to carry weight, with leather girdle braced ; \nFor all might see the bottle necks still dangling at his waist. \nThus all through merry Islington these gambols he did play, \nAnd till he came unto the Wash of Edmonton so gay. \n\nAnd there he threw the Wash about on both sides of the way, \nJust like unto a trundling-mop, or a wild goose at play. \nAt Edmonton his loving wife, from the balcony, spied \nHer tender husband, wondering much to see how he did ride. \n\n" Stop, stop, John Gilpin ! here \'s the house ! " they all at once \n\ndid cry ; \n" The dinner waits, and we are tired ! " Said Gilpin, " So \n\nami!" \nBut yet his horse was not a whit inclined to tarry there ; \nFor why 1 his owner had a house, full ten miles off, at Ware. \n\n\n\n214 PUBLIC AND PARLOR READINGS. \n\nSo, like an arrow, swift he flew, shot by an archer strong ; \nSo did he fly \xe2\x80\x94 which brings me to the middle of my song. \nAway went Gilpin, out of breath, and sore against his will, \nTill at his friend Tom Callender\'s his horse at last stood \nstill. \n\nTom Callender, amazed to see his friend in such a trim, \nLaid down his pipe, flew to the gate, and thus accosted him : \n" What news\'? What news 1 Your tidings tell ! Make haste, \n\nand tell me all ! \nSay, why bare-headed are you come 1 or why you come at \n\nall r \n\nNow Gilpin had a pleasant wit, and loved a timely joke ; \nAnd thus unto Tom Callender, in merry strains, he spoke : \n" I came because your horse would come ; and, if I well \n\nforebode, \nMy hat and wig will soon be here ; they are upon the road ! " \n\nTom Callender, right glad to find his friend in merry pin, \nReturned him not a single word, but to the house went in ; \nWhence straight he came with hat and wig, \xe2\x80\x94 a wig that \n\nflowed behind, \nA hat not much the worse for wear, \xe2\x80\x94 each comely in its \n\nkind. \n\nHe held them up, and in his turn thus showed his ready wit, \xe2\x80\x94 \n" My head is twice as big as yours ; they, therefore, needs \n\nmust fit. \nBut let me scrape the dirt away that hangs upon your face ; \nAnd stop and eat, for well you may be in a hungry case." \n\nSaid John, " It is my wedding-day, and all the world would stare \nIf wife should dine at Edmonton and I should dine at Ware." \nThen, turning to his horse, John said, " I am in haste to \n\ndine : \n\'T was for your pleasure you came here ; you shall go back for \n\nmine." \n\n\n\n\n\n\nTHE FACETIOUS STORY OF JOHN GILPIN. 215 \n\nA luckless speech and bootless boast, for which he paid full \n\ndear ; \nFor while he spake a braying ass did sing most loud and clear ; \nWhereat his horse did snort as he had heard a lion roar, \n\nAnd galloped off with all his might, as he had done before. \nAway went Gilpin, and away went Gilpin\'s hat and wig : \nHe lost them sooner than at first ; \xe2\x80\x94 for why ] \xe2\x80\x94 they were \ntoo big. \n\nNow Mistress Gilpin, when she saw her husband posting down \nInto the country far away, she pulled out half a crown ; \nAnd thus unto the youth she said, that drove them to the Bell, \n" This shall be yours when you bring back my husband safe \nand well." \n\nThe youth did ride, and soon did meet John coming back again, \nWhom in a trice he tried to stop, by catching at his rein ; \nBut not performing what he meant, and gladly would have done, \nThe frighted steed he frighted more, and made him faster run. \n\nAway went Gilpin, and away went postboy at his heels ; \nThe postboy\'s horse right glad to miss the lumbering of the \n\nwheels. \nSix gentlemen upon the road, thus seeing Gilpin fly, \nWith postboy scampering in the rear, they raised the hue and \n\ncry: \n\n" Stop thief ! stop thief ! \xe2\x80\x94 a highwayman ! " \xe2\x80\x94 not one of \n\nthem was mute, \nAnd all and each that passed that way did join in the pursuit \nAnd now the turnpike gates again flew open in short space, \nThe tollman thinking, as before, that Gilpin rode a race. \n\nAnd so he did, and won it too ; for he got first to town, \nNor stopped till where he had got up he did again get down. \nNow let us sing " long live the king," and Gilpin long live he, \nAnd when he next doth ride abroad may I be there to see. \n\n\n\n216 PUBLIC AND PAELOR READINGS. \n\n\n\nTHE HYPOCHONDRIAC. \xe2\x80\x94 Dr. Valentine. \n\nDR. WILLARD was a man about six feet four inches high, \nextremely thin, and hatchet-faced ; his body was so \nsmall and short that he appeared all arms and legs, and looked \nlike a little pestle on two bean-poles ; and had you met him \non the beach, you would think he had just waded in from the \nWest Indies. He was, moreover, troubled with all the ills that \nflesh is heir to ; and it was his greatest pleasure to communi- \ncate them to every one who had the courage to ask him how \nhe did. \n\n" How do you do, Dr. Willard 1 " " Wal, I ain\'t a good deal \nwell ; but I \'m a little better to-day than I was yesterday, but \nnot quite so well as I was the day afore. I \'ve got a desput \nheadache, and then I \'ve got shockin\' sore eyes, and t\' other \nnight I had an awful ear-ache, but my wife put some walnut \nsap into it, and it \'s a leetle better now ; and then I \'ve got a \ndreadful cough that I \'ve had these forty years, which is very \ntroublesome. (Coughs.) Last night I had the colic in a most \nshockin\' way, that my wife thought come from eatin\' cow- \ncumbers that wan\'t ripe. (Coughs.) But she gin me some \nburnt brandy and a little hoarhound tea, and it seemed to \nhelp me a good deal ; but I ain\'t well. (Coughs.) Then I\'ve \ngot a crick in the back of my neck, so that I hain\'t been able \nto turn my head without turnin\' my body these two days. \n(Coughs.) Then I \'ve got a pain in my left shoulder, and \nanother across the small of my back, that seems sometimes as \nthough it would tear my kidneys right out. (Coughs.) Then \nI \'ve had the sciatica in my hip ever since Deacon Lobdil\'s \nraisin\'. Then I \'ve got a pain in my knee that sometimes \na\'most onmans me. (Coughs.) Then my thigh that I broke \nat the raisin\' of Cousin Doolittle\'s saw-mill is dreadful trouble- \nsome jist afore a storm. (Coughs.) And then I was ploughin\' \nin the garden t\' other day, and what do you think the old mare \ndid ? Why, the tarnal critter run back and knocked my shin \nagin the coulter, and I \'ve hardly been able to walk since. But, \n\n\n\nTO THE "SEXTANT." 217 \n\nto crown all, my wife sent me after some oven-wood the other \nday ; and as I was comin\' up the steps with it, my foot slipped, \nand I fell back on my crooper-bone. The wood fell on my face \nand knocked out the only tooth I had, squashed the bridge \nof my nose, and e\'n a\'most killed me. {Coughs.) Then I \'ve \nfifteen corns on my feet, and the yellow jaundice besides. \nHow do you due ? " \n\n\n\nTO THE "SEXTANT." \n\nO SEXTANT of the meetin house, wich sweeps \nAnd dusts, or is supposed to ! and makes fires, \nAnd lites the gass, and sumtimes leaves a screw loose, \nin wich case it smells orful, worse than lamp ile ; \nAnd wrings the Bel and toles it when men dyes, \nto the grief of survivin pardners, and sweeps paths \nAnd for the servusses gets $ 100 per annum, \nWich them that thinks deer, let \'em try it ; \nGettin up before starlite in all wethers and \nKindlin fires when the wether is as cold \nAs zero, and like as not green wood for kindlin \ni wouldn\'t be hired to do it for no sum, \nBut Sextant ! there are 1 kermoddity \nWich\'s more than gold, wich doant cost nothin, \nWorth more than anything except the sole of man ! \ni mean pewer Are, Sextant, i mean pewer are ! \nit is plenty out of doors, so plenty it doant no \nWhat on airth to dew with itself, but flys about \nScattenn leaves and bloin off men\'s hatts ! \nin short, its jest\'s as " fre as are " out dores, \nBut Sextant, in our church, its scarce as buty, \nScarce as bank bills, when agints begs for mischuns, \nWich some say is purty offten (taint nothin to me, wat I give \n\naint nothin to nobody) but Sextant \nU shet 500 men, wimmin and children, \nSpeshally the latter, up in a tite place, \n\n10 \n\n\n\n218 PUBLIC AND PARLOR READINGS. \n\nSome has bad breths, none aint 2 sweet, \n\nSome is fevery, some is scrofilous, some has bad teeth \n\nAnd some haint none, and some aint over cleen ; \n\nBut every 1 on \'em brethes in and out, and out and in, \n\nSay 50 times a minnit, or 1 million and a half breths an our. \n\nNow how long will a church ful of are last at that rate, \n\nI ask you \xe2\x80\x94 say 15 minits \xe2\x80\x94 and then wats to be did \'] \n\nWhy then they must brethe it all over agin, \n\nAnd then agin, and so on till each has took it down \n\nAt least 10 times, and let it up agin, and wats more \n\nThe same individoal don\'t have the priviledge \n\nof brethin his own are, and no ones else, \n\nEach one must take what ever comes to him. \n\nSextant, doant you no our lungs is bellusses, \n\nTo bio the fier of life, and keep it from goin out ; \n\nand how can bellusses bio without wind \n\nAnd aint wind are ? i put it to your conschens. \n\nAre is the same to us as milk to babies, \n\nOr water is to fish, or pendlums to clox \n\nOr roots and airbs unto an injun doctor, \n\nOr little pills unto an omepath, \n\nOr boys to gurls. Are is for us to brethe, \n\nWhat signifies who preaches if i cant brethe ? \n\nWats Pol 1 Wats Pollus to sinners who are ded 1 \n\nDed for want of breth, why Sextant, when we dy, \n\nIts only coz we cant brethe no more, thats all. \n\nAnd now Sextant, let me beg of you \n\nTo let a little are into our church. \n\n(Pewer are is sertain proper for the pews) \n\nAnd do it weak days, and Sundays tew, \n\nIt aint much trouble, only make a hole \n\nAnd the are will come of itself \xe2\x80\xa2 \n\n(It luvs to come in where it can git warm) \n\nAnd how it will rouze the people up, \n\nAnd sperrit up the preacher, and stop garps, \n\nAnd yawns and figgits, as effectooal \n\nAs wind on the dry boans the Profit tels of. \n\n\n\nARTEMUS WAED\'S FOURTH OF JULY ORATION. 219 \n\n\n\nARTEMUS WARD\'S FOURTH OF JULY ORATION.\xe2\x80\x94 \nC. F. Browne. \n\nFELLER-CITIZENS, \xe2\x80\x94 I \'ve bin honored with a invite \nto norate before you to-day ; and when I say that I \nscurcely feel ekal to the task, I \'m sure you will believe me. \nI \'m a plane man. I don\'t know nothing about no ded lan- \ngwidges, and am a little shaky on livin\' ones. There 4, expect \nno flow\'ry talk from me. What I shall say will be to the pint, \nright strate out. I am not a politician, and my other habits \nair good. I \'ve no enemys to reward, nor friends to spooge. \nBut I \'m a Union man. I luv the Union \xe2\x80\x94 it is a Big Thing \n\xe2\x80\x94 and it makes my hart bleed to see a lot of ornery people a- \nmovin heaven \xe2\x80\x94 no, not heaven, but the other place \xe2\x80\x94 and \nearth, to bust it up. \n\nFeller-Citizens, \xe2\x80\x94 I haint got time to notis the growth of \nAmeriky frum the time when the May flowers cum over in the \nPilgrim and brawt Plymouth Rock with them ; but every skool \nboy nose our career has been tremenjis. You will excuse me \nif I don\'t prase the early settlers of the Kolonies. I spose they \nment well, and so, in the novel and tech in langwidge of the \nnusepapers, " peas to their ashis." There was no diskount, \nhowever, on them brave men who fit, bled and died in the \nAmerican Revolution. We need n\'t be afraid of setting \'em \nup two steep. Like my show, they will stand any amount of \nprase. \n\nG. Washington was abowt the best man this world ever \nsot eyes on. He was a clear-heded, warm-harted, and stiddy \ngoin man. He never slopt over ! The prevailin weakness of \nmost public men is to slop over ! They git filled up and slop. \nThey Rush Things. They travel too much on the high presher \nprinciple. They git onto the fust poplar hobby-hoss which \ntrots along, not carmg a cent whether the beast is even goin, \nclear-sited and sound, or spavined, blind and bawky. Of \ncourse they git throwed eventooally, if not sooner. When they \nsee the multitood goin it blind they go pel mel with it, mstid \n\n\n\n220 \n\n\n\nPUBLIC AND PARLOR READINGS. \n\n\n\nof exertin theirselves to set it right. They can\'t see that the \ncrowd which is now bearin them triumfuntly on its shoulders \nwill soon di skiver its error and cast them into the hoss pond \nof oblivyun, without the slitest hesitashun. \n\nWashington never slopt over. That was n\'t George\'s stile. \nHe 1 uved his country dearly. He was n\'t after the spiles. He \nwas a human angil in a 3 kornered hat and knee britches, and \nwe shant see his like right away. \n\nMy frends, we cant all be Washingtons, but we kin all be \npatrits, and behave ourselves in a human and a christian man- \nner. When we see a brother goin down hill to Ruin, let us not \ngive him a push, but let us seeze rite hold of his coat-tails and \ndraw him back to morality. \n\nImagine G. Washington and P. Henry in the characters \nof seseshers ! As well fancy John Bunyan and Dr. Watts in \nspangled tites, doin the trapeze in a one-horse circus. I tell \nyou, feller-citizens, it would have bin ten dollars in Jeff Davis\'s \npocket if he \'d never been born. \n\n\n\nTHE GREEN MOUNTAIN JUSTICE. \n\n\n\n" rTlHE snow is deep," the Justice said ; \n\nJL " There \'s mighty mischief overhead." \n" High talk, indeed ! " his wife exclaimed ; \n"What, sir! shall Providence be blamed?" \nThe Justice, laughing, said, "0 no ! \nI only meant the loads of snow \nUpon the roofs. The barn is weak ; \nI greatly fear the roof will break. \nSo hand me up the spade, my dear, \nI \'11 mount the barn, the roof to clear." \n" No ! " said the wife ; " the barn is high, \nAnd if you slip, and fall, and die, \nHow will my living be secured 1 \nStephen, your life is not insured. \n\n\n\nTHE GREEN MOUNTAIN JUSTICE. 221 \n\nBut tie a rope your waist around, \n\nAnd it will hold you safe and sound." \n\n" I will," said he. " Now for the roof, \n\nAll snugly tied, and danger-proof] \n\nExcelsior ! Excel \xe2\x80\x94 : But no ! \n\nThe rope is not secured below ! " \n\nSaid Rachel, " Climb, the end to throw \n\nAcross the top, and I will go \n\nAnd tie that end around my waist." \n\n" Well, every woman to her taste ; \n\nYou always would be tightly laced. \n\nRachel, when you became my bride, \n\nI thought the knot securely tied ; \n\nBut lest the bond should break in twain, \n\n1 11 have it fastened once again." \n\nBelow the arm-pits tied around, \nShe takes her station on the ground. \nWhile on the roof, beyond the ridge, \nHe shovels clear the lower edge, \nBut, sad mischance ! the loosened snow \nComes sliding down, to plunge below. \nAnd as he tumbles with the slide, \nUp Rachel goes on t\' other side. \nJust-half way down the Justice hung ; \nJust-half way up the woman swung. \n" Good land o\' Goshen ! " shouted she ; \n" Why, do you see it % " answered he. \n\nThe couple, dangling in the breeze, \nLike turkeys hnng outside to freeze, \nAt their rope\'s end and wit\'s end, too, \nShout back and forth what best to do. \nCried Stephen, " Take it coolly, wife ; \nAll have their ups and downs in life." \nQuoth Rachel, " What a pity \'t is \nTo joke at such a time as this ! \n\n\n\n222 \n\n\n\nPUBLIC AND PAKLOR READINGS. \n\n\n\nA man whose wife is being hung \n\nShould know enough to hold his tongue.* \n\n" Now, Rachel, as I look below, \n\nI see a tempting heap of snow. \n\nSuppose, my dear, I take my knife, \n\nAnd cut the rope to save my life." \n\nShe shouted, " Don\'t ! \'t would be my deat\xc2\xa3 \n\nI see some pointed stones beneath. \n\nA better way would be to call, \n\nWith all our might, for Phebe Hall." \n\n" Agreed ! " he roared. First he, then she \n\nGave tongue : " Phebe ! Phebe ! Phe-e- \n\nbe Hall ! " in tones both fine and coarse, \n\nEnough to make a drover hoarse. \n\n\n\nNow Phebe, over at the farm, \n\nWas sitting sewing snug and warm ; \n\nBut hearing, as she thought, her name, \n\nSprang up, and to the rescue came, \n\nBeheld the scene, and thus she thought : \n\n" If now a kitchen chair were brought, \n\nAnd I could reach the lady\'s foot, \n\nI \'d draw her downward by the boot, \n\nThen cut the rope, and let him go ; \n\nHe cannot miss the pile of snow." \n\nHe sees her moving towards his wife, \n\nArmed with a chair and carving-knife, \n\nAnd, ere he is aware, perceives \n\nHis head ascending to the eaves ; \n\nAnd, guessing what the two are at, \n\nScreams from beneath the roof, " Stop that ! \n\nYou make me fall too far, by half ! " \n\nBut Phebe answers, with a laugh, \n\n" Please tell a body by what right \n\nYou \'ve brought your wife to such a plight ! " \n\nAnd then, with well-directed blows, \n\nShe cuts the rope and down he goes. \n\n\n\nA CALAMITY THAT BEFELL ME. WINKLE. 223 \n\nThe wife untied, they walk around, \nWhen lo ! no Stephen can be found. \nThey call in vain, run to and fro ; \nThey look around, above, below ; \nNo trace or token can they see, \nAnd deeper grows the mystery. \nThen Eachel\'s heart within her sank ; \nBut, glancing at the snowy bank, \nShe caught a little gleam of hope, \xe2\x80\x94 \nA gentle movement of the rope. \nThey scrape away a little snow ; \nWhat \'s this 1 A hat ! Ah ! he \xc2\xbbs below. \nThen upward heaves the snowy pile, \nAnd forth he stalks in tragic style, \nUnhurt, and with a roguish smile ; \nAnd Rachel sees, with glad surprise, \nThe missing found, the fallen rise. \n\n\n\nA MOST EXTRAORDINARY CALAMITY THAT BEFELL \nMR. WINKLE. \xe2\x80\x94 Dickens. \n\nAS Mr. Pickwick contemplated a stay of at least two \nmonths in Bath, he deemed it advisable to take private \nlodgings for himself and friends for that period ; and as a \nfavorable opportunity offered for their securing, on moderate \nterms, the upper portion of a house in the Royal Crescent, \nwhich was larger than they required, Mr. and Mrs. Dowler \noffered to relieve them of a bedroom and sitting-room. This \nproposition was at once accepted, and in three days\' time they \nwere all located in their new abode, when Mr. Pickwick be- \ngan to drink the waters with the utmost assiduity. \n\nMr. Pickwick was sitting up by himself, after a day spent \nin the accustomed routine of the watering-place, making entries \nin his journal, \xe2\x80\x94 his friends having retired to bed,, \xe2\x80\x94 when he \nwas aroused by a gentle tap at the room door. \n\n\n\n224 PUBLIC AND PARLOE READINGS. \n\n" Beg your pardon," said Mrs. Craddock, the landlady, peep- \ning in ; " but did you want anything more, sir 1 " \n\n" Nothing more, ma\'am," replied Mr. Pickwick. \n\n" My young girl is gone to bed, sir," said Mrs. Craddock, \n" and Mr. Dowler is good enough to say that he \'11 sit up for \nMrs. Dowler, as the party is n\'t expected to be over till late ; \nso I was thinking that if you wanted nothing more, Mr. Pick- \nwick, I would go to bed." \n\n" By all means, ma\'am," replied Mr. Pickwick. \n\n" Wish you good night, sir," said Mrs. Craddock. \n\n" Good night, ma\'am," rejoined Mr. Pickwick. \n\nMrs. Craddock closed the door, and Mr. Pickwick resumed \nhis writing. \n\nIn half an hour\'s time the entries were concluded. Mr. \nPickwick carefully rubbed the last page on the blotting paper, \nshut the book, wiped his pen on the bottom of the inside of \nhis coat tail, and put it carefully away in the drawer. \n\nMr. Pickwick yawned several times, and then, with a counte- \nnance expressive of the utmost weariness, lighted his chamber \ncandle, and went up stairs to bed. \n\nHe stopped at Mr. Dowler\' s door, according to custom, and \nknocked to say good night. \n\n" Ah ! " said Dowler, " going to bed 1 I wish I was. Dis- \nmal night. Windy ; isn\'t it 1 ?" \n\n"Very," said Mr. Pickwick. " Good night." \n\n" Good night." \n\nMr. Pickwick went to his bedchamber, and Mr. Dowler \nresumed his seat before the fire, in fulfilment of his rash \npromise to sit up till his wife came home. \n\nThere are few things more worrying than sitting up for \nsomebody, especially if that somebody be at a party. You \ncannot help thinking how quickly the time passes with them, \nwhich drags so heavily with you ; and the more you think of \nthis, the more your hopes of their speedy arrival decline. \nClocks tick so loud, too, when you are sitting up alone, and \nyou seem as if you had an under garment of cobwebs on. \nFirst something tickles your right knee, and then the same \n\n\n\n\n\n\nA CALAMITY THAT BEFELL MR. WINKLE. 22o \n\nsensation irritates your left. You have no sooner changed \nyour position than it comes again in the arms ; and when you \nhave fidgeted your limbs into all sorts of odd shapes, you have \na sudden relapse in the nose, which you rub as if you would \nrub it off, \xe2\x80\x94 as there is no doubt you would if you could. \nEyes, too, are mere personal inconveniences ; and the wick of \none candle gets an inch and a half long while you are snuff- \ning the other. These and various other little nervous annoy- \nances render sitting up for a length of time after everybody \nelse has gone to bed anything but a cheerful amusement. \n\nThis was just Mr. Dowler\'s opinion, as he sat before the fire, \nand felt honestly indignant with all the inhuman people at the \nparty who were keeping him up. He was not put in better \nhumor either by the reflection that he had taken it into his \nhead, early in the evening, to think he had got an ache there, \nand so stopped at home. At length, after several droppings \nasleep, and fallings forward towards the bars, and catchings \nbackward soon enough to prevent being branded in the face, \nMr. Dowler made up his mind that he would throw himself on \nthe bed in the back room and think \xe2\x80\x94 not sleep, of course. \n\n" I \'m a heavy sleeper," said Mr. Dowler, as he flung him- \nself on the bed. " I must keep awake ; I suppose I shall hear \na knock here. Yes. I thought so. I can hear the watchman. \nThere he goes. Fainter now though. A little fainter. He \'s \nturning the corner. Ah ! " When Mr. Dowler arrived at this \npoint, he turned the corner at which he -had been long hesi- \ntating, and fell fast asleep. \n\nJust as the clock struck three, there was blown into the \nCrescent a sedan-chair with Mrs. Dowler inside ; borne by one \nshort fat chairman, and one long thin one, who had had much \nado, all the way, to keep their bodies perpendicular, to say \nnothing of the chair ; but on that high ground, and in the \nCrescent, which the wind swept round and round as if it were \ngoing to tear the paving-stones up, its fury was tremendous. \nThey were very glad to set the chair down, and give a good \nround loud double-knock at the street door. \n\nThey waited some time, but nobody came. \n\n10* o \n\n\n\n226 PUBLIC AND PARLOR READINGS. \n\n" Servants is in the arms of Porpus, I think," said the short \nchairman, warming his hands at the attendant linkboy\'s torch. \n\n" I wish he \'d give \'em a squeeze and wake \'em," observed \nthe long one. \n\n" Knock again, will you, if you please," cried Mrs. Dowler \nfrom the chair. " Knock two or three times, if you please." \n\nThe short man was quite willing to get the job over as soon \nas possible ; so he stood on the step and gave four or five most \nstartling double-knocks, of eight or ten knocks apiece ; while \nthe long man went into the road and looked up at the windows \nfor a light. \n\nNobody came. It was all as silent and as dark as ever. \n\n" Dear me ! " said Mrs. Dowler. " You must knock again, \nif you please." \n\n" Their ain\'t a bell, is there, ma\'am 1 " said the short chair- \nman. \n\n" Yes, there is," interposed the linkboy, " I \'ve been a ring- \ning at it ever so long." * \n\n" It \'s only a handle," said Mrs. Dowler, "the wire \'s broken." \n\n" I wish the servants\' heads wos," growled the long man. \n\n" I must trouble you to knock again, if you please," said \nMrs. Dowler, with the utmost politeness. \n\nThe short man did knock again several times, without pro- \nducing the smallest effect. The tall man, growing very im- \npatient, then relieved him, and kept on perpetually knocking \ndouble knocks of two loud knocks each, like an insane post- \nman. \n\nAt length Mr. Winkle began to dream that he was at a \nclub, and that, the members being refractory, the chairman \nwas obliged to hammer the table a good deal to preserve \norder; then he had a confused notion of an auction-room \nwhere there were no bidders, and the auctioneer was buying \neverything in ; and ultimately he began to think it just within \nthe bounds of possibility that somebody might be knocking \nat the street door. To make quite certain, however, he \nremained quiet in bed for ten minutes or so, and listened; \nand when he had counted two or three and thirty knocks, \n\n\n\n\n\n\nA CALAMITY THAT BEFELL MR. WINKLE. 227 \n\nhe felt quite satisfied, and gave himself a great deal of credit \nfor being so wakeful. \n\n" Rap rap \xe2\x80\x94 rap rap \xe2\x80\x94 rap rap \xe2\x80\x94 ra, ra, ra, ra, ra, rap ! " \nwent the knocker. \n\nMr. Winkle jumped out of bed, wondering very much what \ncould possibly be the matter, and, hastily putting on his stock- \nings and slippers, folded his dressing-gown round him, lighted \na flat candle from the rushlight that was burning in the fire- \nplace, and hurried down stairs. \n\n" Here \'s somebody comin\' at last, ma\'am," said the short \nchairman. \n\n" I wish I wos behind him vith a bradawl," muttered the \nlong one. \n\n" Who \'s there 1 " cried Mr. Winkle, undoing the chain. \n\n" Don\'t stop to ask questions, cast-iron head," replied the \nlong man, with great disgust, \xe2\x80\x94 taking it for granted that the \ninquirer was a footman, " but open the door." \n\n" Come, look sharp, timber eyelids," added the other, en- \ncouragingly. \n\nMr. Winkle, being half asleep, obeyed the command me- \nchanically, opened the door a little, and peeped out. The first \nthing he saw was the red glare of the linkboy\'s torch. Startled \nby the sudden fear that the house might be on fire, he hastily \nthrew the door wide open, and, holding the candle above his \nhead, stared eagerly before him, not quite certain whether what \nhe saw was a sedan-chair or a fire-engine. At this instant there \ncame a violent gust of wind ; the light was blown out ; Mr. \nWinkle felt himself irresistibly impelled on to the steps ; and \nthe door blew to with a loud crash. \n\n" Well, young man, now you have done it ! " said the short \nchairman. \n\nMr. Winkle, catching sight of a lady\'s face at the window of \nthe sedan, turned hastily round, plied the knocker with all his \nmight and main, and called frantically upon the chairman to \ntake the chair away again. \n\n" Take it away, take it away," cried Mr. Winkle. " Here \'s \nsomebody coming out of another house ; put me into the chair. \nHide me, \xe2\x80\x94 do something with me ! " \n\n\n\n228 PUBLIC AND PARLOR READINGS. \n\nAll this time he was shivering with cold ; and every time he \nraised his hand to the knocker, the wind took the dressing- \ngown in a most unpleasant manner. \n\n" The people are coming down the Crescent now. There are \nladies with \'em \xe2\x80\xa2 cover me up with something. Stand before \nme ! " roared Mr. Winkle. But the chairmen were too much \nexhausted with laughing to afford him the slightest assistance, \nand the ladies were every moment approaching nearer and \nnearer. \n\nMr. Winkle gave a last hopeless knock ; the ladies were only \na few doors off. He threw away the extinguished candle, \nwhich all this time he had held above his head, and fairly \nbolted into the sedan-chair where Mrs. Dowler was. \n\nNow Mrs. Craddock had heard the knocking and the voices \nat last ; and, only waiting to put something smarter on her \nhead than her nightcap, ran down into the front drawing-room \nto make sure it was the right party. Throwing up the window- \nsash as Mr. Winkle was rushing into the chair, she no sooner \ncaught sight of what was going forward below than she raised \na vehement and dismal shriek, and implored Mr. Dowler to get \nup directly, for his wife was running away with another gentle- \nman. \n\nUpon this, Mr. Dowler bounced off the bed as abruptly as \nan India-rubber ball, and, rushing into the front room, arrived \nat one window just as Mr. Pickwick threw up the other; when \nthe first object that met the gaze of both was Mr. Winkle \nbolting into the sedan-chair. \n\n" Watchman," shouted Dowler, furiously ; " stop him \xe2\x80\x94 hold \nhim \xe2\x80\x94 keep him tight \xe2\x80\x94 shut him in till I come down. I \'11 \ncut his throat \xe2\x80\x94 give me a knife \xe2\x80\x94 from ear to ear, Mrs. \nCraddock. I will ! " And, breaking from the shrieking land- \nlady and from Mr. Pickwick, the indignant husband seized a \nsmall supper-knife and tore into the street. \n\nBut Mr. Winkle did n\'t wait for him. He no sooner heard \nthe horrible threat of the valorous Dowler than he bounced out \nof the sedan quite as quickly as he had bounced in, and throw- \ning off his slippers into the road, took to his heels and tore \n\n\n\nTHE PIED PIPER OF HAMELIN. 229 \n\nround the Crescent, hotly pursued by Dowler ana the watch- \nman. He kept ahead ; the door was open as he came round \nthe second time : he rushed in, slammed it in Dowler\'s face, \nmounted to his bedroom, locked the door, piled a wash-hand- \nstand, chest of drawers, and table against it, and packed up a \nfew necessaries ready for flight with the first ray of morning. \n\nDowler came up to the outside of the door ; avowed through \nthe key-hole his steadfast determination of cutting Mr. Winkle\'s \nthroat next day ; and after a great confusion of voices in the \ndrawing-room, amidst which Mr. Pickwick was distinctly \nheard endeavoring to make peace, the inmates dispersed to \ntheir several bedchambers, and all was quiet once more. \n\n\n\nTHE PIED PIPER OF HAMELIN. \n\nHAMELIN Town \'s in Brunswick, \nBy famous Hanover City ; \nThe river Weser, deep and wide, \nWashes its wall on the southern side ; \nA pleasanter spot you never spied ; \nBut, when begins my ditty, \n\nAlmost five hundred years ago, \nTo see the townsfolk suffer so \nFrom vermin was a pity. \n\nRats! \nThey fought the dogs, and killed the cats, \n\nAnd bit the babies in the cradles, \nAnd ate the cheeses out of the vats, \n\nAnd licked the soup from the cook\'s own ladles, \nSplit open the kegs of salted sprats, \nMade nests inside men\'s Sunday hats, \nAnd even spoiled the women\'s chats, \n\nBy drowning their speaking \n\nWith shrieking and squeaking \nIn fifty different sharps and flats. \n\n\n\n230 PUBLIC AND PAKLOK READINGS. \n\nAt last the people in a body \n\nTo the Town Hall came nocking : \n"\'T is clear," cried they, " onr Mayor\'s a noddy; \n\nAnd as for our Corporation, \xe2\x80\x94 shocking \nTo think we buy gowns lined with ermine \nFor dolts that can\'t or won\'t determine \nWhat \'s best to rid us of our vermin ! \nYou hope, because you \'re old and obese, \nTo find in the furry civic robe ease 1 \nRouse up, Sirs ! Give your brains a racking \nTo find the remedy we \'re lacking, \nOr, sure as fate, we \'11 send you packing ! " \nAt this the Mayor and Corporation \nQuaked with a mighty consternation. \n\nAn hour they sat in counsel, \n\nAt length the Mayor broke silence : \n" For a guilder I \'d my ermine gown sell ; \n\nI wish I were a mile hence ! \nIt \'s easy to bid one rack one\'s brain, \xe2\x80\x94 \nI \'m sure my poor head aches again \nI \'ve scratched it so, and all in vain. \nfor a trap, a trap, a trap ! " \nJust as he said this, what should hsSp \nAt the chamber door but a gentle tap 1 \n" Bless us," cried the Mayor, " what \'s that ? " \n" Only a scraping of shoes on the mat? \nAnything like the sound of a rat \nMakes my heart go pit-a-pat ! " \n\n" Come in ! " the Mayor cried, looking bigger : \n\nAnd in did come the strangest figure ! \n\nHis queer long coat from heel to head \n\nWas half of yellow and half of red ; \n\nAnd he himself was tall and thin, \n\nWith sharp blue eyes, each like a pin, \n\nAnd light loose hair, yet swarthy skin, \n\n\n\nTHE PIED PIPEB OF HAMELIN. 231 \n\nNo tuft on cheek nor beard on chin, \n\nBut lips where smiles went out and in, \xe2\x80\x94 \xe2\x96\xa0 \n\nThere was no guessing his kith and kin ! \n\nAnd nobody could enough admire \n\nThe tall man and his quaint attire : \n\nQuoth one : " It \'s as my great-grandsire, \n\nStarting up at the Trump of Doom\'s tone, \n\nHad walked this way from his painted tombstone ! " \n\nHe advanced to the council-table : \n\nAnd, " Please your honors," said he, " I \'m able, \n\nBy means of a secret charm, to draw \n\nAll creatures living beneath the sun, \n\nThat creep, or swim, or fly, or run, \n\nAfter me so as you never saw ! \n\nAnd I chiefly use my charm \n\nOn creatures that do people harm, \n\nThe mole, and toad, and newt, and viper ; \n\nAnd people call me the Pied Piper." \n\n(And here they noticed round his neck \n\nA scarf of red and yellow stripe, \n\nTo match with his coat of the selfsame check ; \n\nAnd at the scarf\'s end hung a pipe ; \n\nAnd his fingers, they noticed, were ever straying \n\nAs if impatient to be playing \n\nUpon this pipe, as low it dangled \n\nOver his vesture so old-fangled.) \n\n" Yet," said he, " poor piper as I am, \n\nIn Tartary I freed the Cham \n\nLast June from his huge swarms of gnats ; \n\nI eased in Asia the Nizam \n\nOf a monstrous brood of vampyre-bats : \n\nAnd, as for what your brain bewilders, \n\nIf I can rid your town of rats \n\nWill you give me a thousand guilders 1 " \n\n"One] fifty thousand ! " was the exclamation \n\nOf the astonished Mayor and Corporation. \n\n\n\n232 PUBLIC AND PARLOR READINGS. \n\nInto the street the Piper stept, \n\nSmiling first a little smile, \nAs if he new what magic slept \n\nIn his quiet pipe the while ; \nThen, like a musical adept, \nTo blow the pipe his lips he wrinkled, \nAnd green and blue his sharp eyes twinkled \nLike a candle flame where salt is sprinkled ; \nAnd ere three shrill notes the pipe uttered, \nYou heard as if an army muttered ; \nAnd the muttering grew to a grumbling ; \nAnd the grumbling grew to a mighty rumbling; \nAnd out of the houses the rats came tumbling. \nGreat rats, small rats, lean rats, brawny rats, \nBrown rats, black rats, gray rats, tawny rats, \nGrave old plodders, gay young friskers, \n\nFathers, mothers, uncles, cousins, \nCocking tails and pricking whiskers, \n\nFamilies by tens and dozens, \nBrothers, sisters, husbands, wives, \xe2\x96\xa0 \xe2\x80\x94 \nFollowed the Piper for their lives. \nFrom street to street he piped advancing, \nAnd step for step they followed dancing, \nUntil they came to the river Weser \nWherein all plunged and perished, \n\xe2\x80\xa2 \xe2\x80\x94 Save one who, stout as Julius Csesar, \nSwam across and lived to carry \n(As he the manuscript he cherished) \nTo Rat-land home his commentary, \nWhich was : "At the first shrill notes of the pipe, \nI heard a sound as of scraping tripe, \nAnd putting apples, wondrous ripe, \nInto a cider-press\'s gripe ; \nAnd a moving away of pickle-tub-boards, \nAnd a leaving ajar of conserve-cupboards, \nAnd a drawing the corks of train-oil-flasks, \nAnd a breaking the hoops of butter-casks ; \n\n\n\nTHE PIED PIPER OF HAMELIN. 233 \n\nAnd it seemed as if a voice \n\n(Sweeter far than by harp or by psaltery \n\nIs breathed) called out, rats, rejoice ! \n\nThe world is grown to one vast drysaltery ! \n\nSo munch on, crunch on, take your nuncheon, \n\nBreakfast, supper, dinner, luncheon ! \n\nAnd just as a bulky sugar-puncheon, \n\nAll ready staved, like a great sun shone \n\nGlorious scarce an inch before me, \n\nJust as methought it said, Come, bore me ! \n\n\xe2\x80\x94 I found the Weser rolling o\'er me." \n\nYou should have heard the Hamelin people \n\nRinging the bells till they rocked the steeple ; \n\n" Go," cried the Mayor, " and get long poles ! \n\nPoke out the nests and block up the holes ! \n\nConsult with carpenters and builders, \n\nAnd leave in our town not even a trace \n\nOf the rats ! " \xe2\x80\x94 when suddenly up the face \n\nOf the Piper perked in the market-place, \n\nWith a " First, if you please, my thousand guilders ! " \n\nA thousand guilders ! The Mayor looked blue ; \n\nSo did the Corporation too. \n\nTo pay this sum to a wandering fellow \n\nWith a gypsy coat of red and yellow ! \n\n" Beside," quoth the Mayor with a knowing wink, \n\n" Our business was done at the river\'s brink ; \n\nWe saw with our eyes the vermin sink, \n\nAnd what \'s dead can\'t come to life I think. \n\nSo, friend, we \'re not the folks to shrink \n\nFrom the duty of giving you something for drink, \n\nAnd a matter of money to put in your poke ; \n\nBut, as for the guilders, what we spoke \n\nOf them, as you very well know, was in joke. \n\nBeside, our losses have made us thrifty ; \n\n\n\n234 PUBLIC AND PARLOR READINGS. \n\nA thousand guilders ! Come, take fifty ! " \nThe Piper\'s face fell, and he cried, \n" No trifling ! I can\'t wait, beside ! \nI Ve promised to visit by dinner time \nBagdat, and accept the prime \nOf the Head Cook\'s pottage, all he \'s rich in, \nFor having left, in the Caliph\'s kitchen, \nOf a nest of scorpions no survivor, \xe2\x80\x94 \nWith him I proved no bargain-driver, \nWith you, don\'t think I \'11 bate a stiver ! \nAnd folks who put me in a passion \nMay find me pipe to another fashion." \n\n" How ? " cried the Mayor, " d\' ye think I \'11 brook \n\nBeing worse treated than a Cook % \n\nInsulted by a lazy ribald \n\nWith idle pipe and vesture piebald ? \n\nYou threaten us, fellow 1 Do your worst, \n\nBlow your pipe there till you burst ! " \n\nOnce more he stept into the street ; \n\nAnd to his lips again \nLaid his long pipe of smooth straight cane ; \n\nAnd ere he blew three notes (such sweet \nSoft notes as yet musician\'s cunning \n\nNever gave the enraptured air) \nThere was a rustling, that seemed like a bustling \nOf merry crowds justling at pitching and hustling, \nSmall feet were pattering, wooden shoes clattering, \nLittle hands clapping, and little tongues chattering, \nAnd, like fowls in a farm-yard when barley is scattering, \nOut came the children running. \nAll the little boys and girls, \nWith rosy cheeks and flaxen curls, \nAnd sparkling eyes and teeth like pearls, \nTripping and skipping, ran merrily after \nThe wonderful music with shouting and laughter. \n\n\n\nTHE PIED PIPER OF HAMELIN. 235 \n\nThe Mayor was dumb, and the Council stoo \n\nAs if they were changed into blocks of wood, \n\nUnable to move a step, or cry \n\nTo the children merrily skipping by, \xe2\x80\x94 \n\nAnd could only follow with the eye \n\nThat joyous crowd at the Piper\'s back. \n\nBut how the Mayor was on the rack, \n\nAnd the wretched Council\'s bosoms beat, \n\nAs the Piper turned from the High Street \n\nTo where the Weser rolled its waters \n\nRight in the way of their sons and daughters 1 \n\nHowever, he turned from south to west, \n\nAnd to Koppelberg Hill his steps addressed, \n\nAnd after him the children pressed ; \n\nGreat was the joy in every breast. \n\n" He never can cross that mighty top ! \n\nHe \'s forced to let the piping drop, \n\nAnd we shall see our children stop ! " \n\nWhen, lo ! as they reached the mountain\'s side,, \n\nA wondrous portal opened wide, \n\nAs if a cavern was suddenly hollowed ; \n\nAnd the Piper advanced and the children followed, \n\nAnd when all were in to the very last, \n\nThe door in the mountain side shut fast. \n\nDid I say ah"? No. One was lame, \n\nAnd could not dance the whole of the way \n\nAnd in after years, if you would blame \n\nHis sadness, he was used to say, \xe2\x80\x94 \n\n" It \'s dull in our town since my playmates left ! \n\nI can\'t forget that I \'m bereft \n\nOf all the pleasant sights they see, \n\nWhich the Piper also promised me ; \n\nFor he led us, he said, to a joyous land, \n\nJoining the town and just at hand, \n\nWhere waters gushed and fruit-trees grew, \n\nAnd flowers put forth a fairer hue, \n\nAnd everything was strange and new ; \n\n\n\n236 PUBLIC AND PARLOR READINGS \n\nThe sparrows were brighter than peacocks here, \n\nAnd their dogs outran our fallow deer, \n\nAnd honey-bees had lost their stings, \n\nAnd horses were born with eagles\' wings ; \n\nAnd just as I became assured \n\nMy lame foot would be speedily cured, \n\nThe music stopped and I stood still, \n\nAnd found myself outside the Hill, \n\nLeft alone against my will, \n\nTo go now limping as before, \n\nAnd never hear of that country more ! " \n\nAlas ! alas for Hamelin ! \n\nThere came into many a burgher\'s pate \n\nA text which says, that Heaven\'s Gate \n\nOpes to the Rich at as easy rate \nAs the needle\'s eye takes a camel in ! \nThe Mayor sent east, west, north, and south \nTo offer the Piper by word of mouth, \n\nWherever it was men\'s lot to find him, \nSilver and gold to his heart\'s content, \nIf he \'d only return the way he went, \n\nAnd bring the children behind him. \nBut soon they saw \'t was a lost endeavor, \nAnd Piper and dancers were gone forever. \nAnd the better in memory to fix \nThe place of the Children\'s last retreat, \nThey called it the Pied Piper\'s Street, \xe2\x80\x94 \nWhere any one playing on pipe or tabor \nWas sure for the future to lose his labor. \nNor suffered they Hostelry or Tavern \n\nTo shock with mirth a street so solemn ; \nBut opposite the place of the cavern \n\nThey wrote the story on a column, \nAnd on the Great Church Window painted \nThe same, to make the world acquainted \nHow their children were stolen away ; \n\n\n\nTHE WIDOW BEDOTT\'S POETRY. 237 \n\nAnd there it stands to this very day. \n\nAnd I must not omit to say \n\nThat in Transylvania there \'s a tribe \n\nOf alien people that ascribe \n\nThe outlandish ways and dress \n\nOn which their neighbors lay such stress, \n\nTo their fathers and mothers having risen \n\nOut of some subterraneous prison \n\nInto which they were trepanned \n\nLong time ago in a mighty band \n\nOut of Hamelin town in Brunswick land, \n\nBut how or why, they don\'t understand. \n\n\n\nTHE WIDOW BEDOTT\'S POETRY. \xe2\x80\x94 Frances M. \n\nWhitcher. \n\nYES, \xe2\x80\x94 he was one o\' the best men that ever trod shoe- \nleather, husband was, though Miss Jinkins says (she \n\'t was Poll Bingham), she says, I never found it out till after \nlie died, but that \'s the consarndest lie that ever was told, \nthough it \'s jest a piece with everything else she says about \nme. I guess if everybody could see the poitry I writ to his \nmemory, nobody wouldn\'t think I dident set store by him. \nWant to hear it 1 Well, I \'11 see if I can say it : it ginerally \naffects me wonderfully, seems to harrer up my feelin\'s ; but \nI \'11 try. Dident know I ever writ poitry *? How you talk ! \nused to make lots on \'t ; hain\'t so much late years. I remem- \nber once when Parson Potter had a bee, I sent him an amaz- \nin\' great cheese, and writ a piece o\' poitry, and pasted on top \non \'t. It says : \xe2\x80\x94 \n\nTeach him for to proclaim \n\nSalvation to the folks ; \nNo occasion give for any blame, \nNor wicked people\'s jokes. \n\nAnd so it goes on, but I guess I won\'t stop to say the rest on \nnow, seein\' there \'s seven and forty verses. \n\n\n\n238 PUBLIC AND PARLOR READINGS. \n\nParson Potter and his wife was wonderfully pleased with it; \nused to sing it to the tune o\' Haddem. But I was gwine to \ntell the one I made in relation to husband ; it begins as \n\nfollers : \xe2\x80\x94 \n\nHe never jawed in all his life, \n\nHe never was unkind, \xe2\x80\x94 \nAnd (tho\' I say it that was his wife) \nSuch men you seldom find. \n\n(That \'s as true as the Scripturs ; I never knowed him to say \na harsh word.) \n\nI never changed my single lot, \xe2\x80\x94 \nI thought \'t would be a sin \xe2\x80\x94 \n\n(though widder Jinkins says it \'s because I never had a chance.) \nNow \'t ain\'t for me to say whether I ever had a numerous num- \nber o\' chances or not, but there \'s them livin\' that might tell \nif they wos a mind to ; why, this poitry was writ on account \nof being joked about Major Coon, three year after husband \ndied. I guess the ginerality o\' folks knows what was the \nnature o\' Major Coon\'s feelin\'s towards me, tho\' his wife and \nMiss Jinkins does say I tried to ketch him. The fact is, Miss \nCoon feels wonderfully cut up \'cause she knows the Major took \nher " Jack at a pinch," \xe2\x80\x94 seein\' he couldent get such as he \nwanted, he took such as he could get, \xe2\x80\x94 but I goes on to \nsay \xe2\x80\x94 \n\nI never changed my single lot, \nI thought \'t would be a sin, \xe2\x80\x94 \n\nFor I thought so much o\' Deacon Bedott, \nI never got married agin. \n\nIf ever a hasty word he spoke, \n\nHis anger dident last, \nBut vanished like tobacker smoke \n\nAfore the wintry blast. \n\nAnd since it was my lot to be \n\nThe wife of such a man, \nTell the men that \'s after me \n\nTo ketch me if they can. \n\nIf I was sick a single jot, \nHe called the doctor in \xe2\x80\x94 \n\n\n\nTHE WIDOW BEDOTT\'S POETRY. 239 \n\nThat \'s a fact, \xe2\x80\x94 he used to be scairt to death if anything \nailed me. Now only jest think, \xe2\x80\x94 widder Jinkins told Sam \nPendergrasses wife (she \'t was Sally Smith) that she guessed \nthe deacon dident set no great store by me, or he wouldent a \nwent off to confrence meetin\' when I was down with the fever. \nThe truth is, they couldent git along without him no way. \nParson Potter seldom went to confrence meetin\', and when he \nwa\' n\'t there, who was ther, pray tell, that knowed enough to \ntake the lead if husband dident do it 1 Deacon Kenipe hadent \nno gift, and Deacon Crosby hadent no inclination, and so it \nall come on Deacon Bedott, \xe2\x80\x94 and he was always ready and \nwillin\' to do his duty, you know ; as long as he was able to \nstand on his legs he continued to go to confrence meetin\' ; \nwhy, I Ve knowed that man to go when he couldent scarcely \ncrawl on account o\' the pain in the spine of his back. He had \na wonderful gift, and he wa\' n\'t a man to keep his talents hid \nup in a napkin, \xe2\x80\x94 so you see \'t was from a sense o\' duty he \nwent when I was sick, whatever Miss Jinkins may say to the \ncontrary. But where was 1 1 Oh ! \xe2\x80\x94 \n\nIf I was sick a single jot, \n\nHe called the doctor in \xe2\x80\x94 \nI sot so much by Deacon Bedott v \n\nI never got married agin. \n\nA wonderful tender heart he had, \n\nThat felt for all mankind, \xe2\x80\x94 \nIt made him feel amazin\' bad \n\nTo see the world so blind. \n\nWhiskey and rum he tasted not \xe2\x80\x94 \n\nThat \'s as true as the Scripturs, \xe2\x80\x94 but if you \'11 believe it, \nBetsy Ann Kenipe told my Melissy that Miss Jinkins said one \nday to their house, how \'t she \'d seen Deacon Bedott high, \ntime and agin ! did you ever ! Well, I \'m glad nobody don\'t \npretend to mind anything she says. I \'ve knowed Poll Bing- \nham from a gal, and she never knowed how to speak the truth \n\xe2\x96\xa0 \xe2\x80\x94 besides she always had a pertikkeler spite against husband \nand me, and between us tew I \'11 tell you why if you won\'t men- \ntion it, for T make it a pint never to say nothin\' to inj ure nobody. \n\n\n\n240 PUBLIC AND PAKLOR READINGS. \n\nWell, she was a ravin\'-distracted after my husband herself, \n\nbut it \'s a long story. I \'11 tell you about it some other time, \n\nand then you \'11 know why widder Jinkins is etarnally runnin\' \n\nme down. See, \xe2\x80\x94 where had I got to 1 0, I remember \n\nnow, \xe2\x80\x94 \n\nWhiskey and rum he tasted not, \xe2\x80\x94 \n\nHe thought it was a sin, \xe2\x80\x94 \nI thought so much o\' Deacon Bedott \n\nI never got married agin. \n\nBut now he \'s dead ! the thought is killin\', \n\nMy grief I can\'t control \xe2\x80\x94 \nHe never left a single shillin\' \n\nHis widder to console. \n\nBut that wa\' n\'t his fault \xe2\x80\x94 he was so out o\' health for a \nnumber o\' year afore he died, it ain\'t to be wondered at he \ndident lay up nothin\' \xe2\x80\x94 however, it dident give him no great \noneasiness, \xe2\x80\x94 he never cared much for airthly riches, though \nMiss Pendergrass says she heard Miss Jinkins say Deacon \nBedott was as tight as the skin on his back, \xe2\x80\x94 begrudged \nfolks their vittals when they came to his house ! did you ever ! \nwhy, he was the hull-souldest man I ever see in all my born \ndays. If I \'d such a husband as Bill Jinkins was, I \'d hold my \ntongue about my neighbors\' husbands. He was a dretful mean \nman, used to git drunk every day of his life, and he had an \nawful high temper, \xe2\x80\x94 used to swear like all possest when he \ngot mad, \xe2\x80\x94 and I \'ve heard my husband say, (and he wa\' n\'t \na man that ever said anything that wa\' n\'t true), \xe2\x80\x94 I \'ve heard \nhim say Bill Jinkins would cheat his own father out of his eye \nteeth if he had a chance. Where was 1 1 Oh ! " His widder \nto console," \xe2\x80\x94 ther ain\'t but one more verse, \'t ain\'t a very \nlengthy poim. When Parson Potter read it, he says to me, \nsays he, \xe2\x80\x94 "What did you stop so soon for?" \xe2\x80\x94 but Miss \nJinkins told the Crosbys she thought I \'d better a\' stopt afore \nI \'d begun, \xe2\x80\x94 she \'s a purty critter to talk so, I must say. I \'d \nlike to see some poitry o\' hern, \xe2\x80\x94 I guess it would be astonish- \nin\' stuff ; and mor\'n all that, she said there wa\' n\'t a word o\' \ntruth in the hull on \'t, \xe2\x80\x94 said I never cared two cents for the \n\n\n\nTHE DOMICILE EEECTED BY JOHN. 241 \n\ndeacon. What an everlastin\' lie ! ! Why, when he died, I \ntook it so hard I went deranged, and took on so for a spell, \nthey was afraid they should have to send me to a Lunattic \nArsenal. But that \'s a painful subject, I won\'t dwell on \'t. I \nconclude as follers : \xe2\x80\x94 \n\nI \'11 never change my single lot, \xe2\x80\x94 \n\nI think \'t would be a sin, \xe2\x80\x94 \nThe inconsolable widder o\' Deacon Bedott \n\nDon\'t intend to get married agin. \n\nExcuse my cryin\' \xe2\x80\x94 my feelin\'s always overcomes me so when \n[ say that poitry \xe2\x80\x94 O-o-o-o-o-o ! \n\n\n\nTHE DOMICILE ERECTED BY JOHN. \n\nTRANSLATED FROM THE VULGATE OP M. GOOSE, BY A. POPE. \n\nI^EHOLD the mansion reared by daedal Jack. \n\nSee the malt stored in many a plethoric sack, \n*.n the proud cirque of Ivan\'s bivouac. \n\nMark how the rat\'s felonious fangs invade \nThe golden stores in John\'s pavilion laid. \n\nAnon, with velvet foot and Tarquin strides, \nSubtle Grimalkin to his quarry glides, \xe2\x80\x94 \nGrimalkin grim, that slew the fierce rodent \nWhose tooth insidious Johann\'s sackcloth rent ! \n\nLo ! now the deep-mouthed canine foe\'s assault, \nThat vexed the avenger of the stolen malt, \nStored in the hallowed precincts of that hall \nThat rose complete at Jack\'s creative call. \n\nHere stalks the impetuous cow with crumpled horn, \nWhereon the exacerbating hound was torn v \n\n\n\n242 PUBLIC AND PARLOR READINGS. \n\nWho bayed the feline slaughter-beast that slew \nThe rat predaceous, whose keen fangs ran through \nThe textile fibres that involved the grain, \nWhich lay in Hans\' inviolate domain. \n\nHere walks forlorn the Damsel crowned with rue, \nLactiferous spoil from vaccine dugs who drew \nOf that corniciilate beast whose tortuous horn \nTossed to the clouds, in fierce, vindictive scorn, \nThe harrying hound, whose braggart bark and stir \nArched the lithe spine and reared the indignant fur \nOf Puss, that with verminicidal claw \nStruck the weird rat in whose insatiate maw \nLay reeking malt that erst in Juan\'s courts we saw \n\nRobed in senescent garb that seems in sooth \nToo long a prey to Chronos\' iron tooth, \nBehold the man whose amorous lips incline \nFull with young Eros\' osculative sign, \nTo the lorn maiden whose lact-albic hands \nDrew albu-lactic wealth from lacteal glands \nOf that immortal bovine, by whose horn \nDistort, to realms ethereal, was borne \nThe beast catulean, vexer of that sly \nUlysses quadrupedal, who made die \nThe old mordaceous rat that dared devour \nAntecedaneous ale in John\'s domestic bower. \n\nLo here, with hirsute honors doffed, succinct \n\nOf saponaceous locks, the priest who links \n\nIn hymen\'s golden bands the torn unthrift, \n\nWhose means exiguous stared from many a riffc ? \n\nEven as he kissed the virgin all forlorn, \n\nWho milked the cow with implicated horn, \n\nWho in fine wrath the canine torturer skied, \n\nThat dared to vex the insidious muricide, \n\nWho let auroral effluence through the pelt \n\nOf the sly rat that robbed the palace Jack had built. \n\n\n\nMELTING MOMENTS. 243 \n\nThe loud cantankerous Shanghae comes at last, \n\nWhose shouts arouse the shorn ecclesiast, \n\nWho sealed the vows of hymen\'s sacrament, \n\nTo him who, robed in garments indigent, \n\nExosculates the damsel lachrymose, \n\nThe emulgator of that horned brute morose, \n\nThat tossed the dog that worried the cat that kilt \n\nThe rat that ate the malt that lay in the house that Jack built. \n\n\n\nMELTING MOMENTS. \n\nONE winter evening, a country storekeeper in the Moun- \ntain State was about closing his doors for the night, \nwhen, while standing in the snow outside, putting up his win- \ndow-shutters, he saw through the glass a lounging, worthless \nfellow within take half a pound of fresh butter from the shelf, \nand hastily conceal it in his hat. \n\nThe act w T as no sooner detected than the revenge was hit \nupon, and a very few moments found the Green Mountain \nstorekeeper at once indulging his appetite for fun to the \nfullest extent, and paying off the thief with a facetious sort of \ntorture for which he might have gained a premium from the \nold Inquisition. \n\n" Stay, Seth ! " said the storekeeper, coming in, and closing \nthe door after him, slapping his hands over his shoulders, and \nstamping the snow off his shoes. \n\nSeth had his hand on the door, and his hat upon his head, \nand the roll of butter in his hat, anxious to make his exit as \nsoon as possible. \n\n" Seth, we \'11 have a little warm Santa Cruz," said the Green \nMountain grocer, as he opened the stove door, and stuffed in \nas many sticks as the space would admit. "Without it, \nyou \'d freeze going home such a night as this." \n\nSeth felt very uncertain \\ he had the butter, and was exceed- \ningly anxious to be off, but the temptation of " something \n\n\n\n244 PUBLIC AND PAELOR READINGS. \n\nwarm " sadly interfered with his resolution to go. This hesi- \ntation, however, was soon settled by the right owner of the \nbutter taking Seth by the shoulders and planting him in a seat \nclose to the stove, where he was in such a manner cornered in \nby barrels and boxes that, while the country grocer sat before \nhim, there was no possibility of his getting out ; and right in \nthis very place, sure enough the storekeeper sat down. \n\nSeth already felt the butter settling down closer to his hair, \nand he declared he must go. \n\n" Not till you have something warm, Seth. Come, I \'ve got \na story to tell you, Seth ; sit down now." And Seth was again \npushed into his seat by his cunning tormentor. \n\n" 0, it \'s too hot here ! " said the petty thief, again attempt- \ning to rise. \n\n" I say, Seth, sit down ; I reckon now, on such a night as \nthis, a little something warm would n\'t hurt a fellow ; come, \nsit down." \n\n" Sit down, \xe2\x80\x94 don\'t be in such a plaguy hurry," repeated \n-the grocer, pushing him back in his chair. \n\n"But I \'ve got the cows to fodder, and some wood to split, \nand I must be a goin\'," continued the persecuted chap. \n\n" But you must n\'t tear yourself away, Seth, in this manner. \nSit down ; let the cows take care of themselves, and keep \nyourself cool ; you appear to be fidgety," said the grocer, with \na wicked leer. \n\nThe next thing was the production of two smoking glasses \nof hot rum toddy, the very sight of which in Seth\'s present \nsituation would have made the hair stand erect upon his head, \nhad it not been oiled and kept down by the butter. \n\n" Seth, I \'11 give you a toast now, and you can butter it your- \nself," said the grocer, yet with an air of such consummate \nsimplicity, that poor Seth still believed himself unsuspected. \n" Seth, here \'s \xe2\x80\x94 here \'s a Christmas goose, well roasted and \nbasted, eh 1 I tell you Seth, it \'s the greatest eating in crea- \ntion. And, Seth, don\'t you use hog\'s fat or common cooking \nbutter to baste a goose with. Come, take your butter \xe2\x80\x94 I \nmean, Seth, take your toddy." \n\n\n\n: \n\n\n\nI RUTH IN PARENTHESIS. 245 \n\nPoor Seth now began to smoke as well as to melt, and his \nmouth was as hermetically sealed up as though he had been \nborn dumb. Streak after streak of the butter came pouring \nfrom under his hat, and his handkerchief was already soaked \nwith the greasy overflow. Talking away as if nothing was the \nmatter, the grocer kept stuffing the wood in the stove, while \npoor Seth sat bolt upright with his back against the counter, \nand his knees almost touching the red-hot furnace before him. \n\n" Very cold night this," said the grocer. " Why, Seth, you \nseem to perspire as if you were warm ! Why don\'t you take \nyour hat off] Here, let me put your hat away." \n\n" No ! " exclaimed poor Seth at last, with a spasmodic effort \nto get his tongue loose, and clapping both hands upon his hat, \xe2\x80\x94 \n" no ! \xe2\x80\x94 I must go \xe2\x80\x94 let me out \xe2\x80\x94 I ain\'t well \xe2\x80\x94 let me go ! " \nA greasy cataract was now pouring down the poor fellow\'s face \nand neck, and soaking into his clothes, and trickling down his \nbody into his very boots, so that he was literally in a perfect \nbath of oil. \n\n" Well, good night, Seth," said the humorous Vermonter, " if \nyou will go " ; adding, as Seth got out into the road, " Neigh- \nbor, I reckon the fun I \'ve had out of you is worth sixpence ; \nso I sha\' n\'t charge you for that half-pound of butter." \n\n\n\nTRUTH IN PARENTHESIS. \xe2\x80\x94 T. Hood. \n\nI REALLY take it very kind, \nThis visit, Mrs. Skinner ; \nI have not seen you such an age, \n\n(The wretch has come to dinner !) \nYour daughters, too, what loves of girls ! \n\nWhat heads for painters\' easels ! \nCome here, and kiss the infant, dears ! \n(And give it, p\'rhaps, the measles !) \n\nYour charming boys, I see, are home, \nFrom Reverend Mr. Russell\'s ; \n\n\n\n246 PUBLIC AND PARLOR READINGS. \n\n\'T was very kind to bring them both, \n(What boots for my new Brussels !) \n\nWhat ! little Clara left at home % \nWell now, I call that shabby ! \n\nI should have loved to kiss her so, \n(A flabby, dabby babby !) \n\nAnd Mr. S., I hope he \'s well ; \n\nBut, though he lives so handy, \nHe never once drops in to sup, \n\n(The better for our brandy !) \nCome, take a seat ; I long to hear \n\nAbout Matilda\'s marriage ; \nYou \'ve come, of course, to spend the day, \n\n(Thank Heaven ! I hear the carriage !) \n\nWhat ! must you go 1 Next time, I hope, \n\nYou 11 give me longer measure. \nNay, I shall see you down the stairs, \n\n(With most uncommon pleasure !) \nGood by ! good by ! Remember, all, \n\nNext time you \'11 take your dinners ; \n(Now, David, mind, I \'m not at home, \n\nIn future, to the Skinners.) \n\n\n\nA TOUGH SNUFF STORY. \xe2\x80\x94 Howard Paul. \n\nJOHN PEABODY, a Connecticut grocer, came on to New \n. York to purchase stock. Completing his purchases, \nwhich were in due time deposited on the docks to be shipped \nper steamer, Mr. Peabody thought proper to keep his eye \nupon his goods until they could be taken on board. Among \nthem was a magnificent Goshen cheese, weighing about sixty- \nfive pounds, upon which, for the want of better accommoda- \ntion, the weary grocer seated himself as he watched the \nremainder of the property upon the wharf. \n\nWhile thus seated, ruminating over current events, calcu- \n\n\n\nA TOUGH SNUFF STORY. 247 \n\nlating profits that he would realize upon his purchases, and \nevery now and then solacing his nasal organ from a " yaller " \nsnuff-box, two well-dressed young men approached and en- \ntered into conversation. \n\n" You take snuff, sir % " said nice young man number one. \n\n" Yes ; could n\'t do without it. Took it over eight years." \n\n" You use the maccaboy, I perceive." \n\n"Yes. That mild sort suits me best for a steady-going \nsnuff." \n\n" Let me recommend you to try mine," said the sharper, \nproducing a silver-plated box engraved with an American \neagle and two shields. " I imported it from France. It is \nthe identical snuff used by the Emperor and the officers of \nthe French army." \n\nMr. Peabody said " Certainly," and inserted his thumb and \nfinger into the stranger\'s box. The moment he placed it to \nhis nose he was seized with violent sneezing. At every sneeze \nhe lifted himself about a foot from the cheese upon which he \nwas sitting. While he was doing this, sharper number two \nwas carrying out his share of the programme. As Mr. Pea- \nbody gave the third sneeze he pushed the cheese from under \nhim, and in its stead dexterously placed a peck measure. As \nhe was sneezing for the eighth and last time the sharpers and \nthe cheese had disappeared. \n\nMr. P. rubbed his nose for about five minutes, and spent \nabout five minutes more in wondering as to the style of noses \npossessed by the Emperor and the officers of the French army, \nwho took such powerful snuff. By this time the deck hands \nof the boat commenced to load up Mr. Peabody\'s goods. \n\nHe rose from his seat and said, " Take this cheese, too." \nDeck hand said, \'\xe2\x80\xa2 What cheese?" Mr. Peabody looked \nround and found that instead of the cheese he had been sit- \nting upon a peck measure. When he understood the manner \nin which the exchange had been effected, he was about the \nworst-excited man of the season. He offered fifty dollars to \nany one who would give him an opportunity to fight the \nthieves with one hand tied behind his back. \n\n\n\n248 PUBLIC AND PAELOE EEADINGS. \n\n\n\nTHE LITTLE VULGAR BOY. \xe2\x80\x94 Rev. R. H. Barham. \n\nI WAS in Margate last July, I walked upon the pier, \nI saw a little vulgar Boy, \xe2\x80\x94 I said " What make you \nhere] \nThe gloom upon your youthful cheek speaks anything but \n\njoy"; \n\nAgain I said, " What make you here, you little vulgar Boy % " \n\nHe frowned, that little vulgar Boy, \xe2\x80\x94 he deemed I meant to \n\nscoff, \xe2\x80\x94 \nAnd when the little heart is big, a little " sets it off" ; \nHe put his finger to his mouth, his little bosom rose, \xe2\x80\x94 \nHe had no little handkerchief to wipe his little nose ! \n\n" Hark ! don\'t you hear, my little man] \xe2\x80\x94 it \'s striking nine," \n\nI said, \n" An hour when all good little boys and girls should be in bed. \nRun home and get your supper, else your Ma will scold \xe2\x80\x94 \n\n0, fie! \nIt \'s very wrong indeed for little boys to stand and cry ! " \n\nThe tear-drop in his little eye again began to spring, \nHis bosom throbbed with agony, \xe2\x80\x94 he cried like anything ! \nI stooped, and thus amid his sobs I heard him murmur, " Ah ! \nI have n\'t got no supper ! and I have n\'t got no Ma ! ! \n\n" My father he is on the seas, my mother\'s dead and gone ! \nAnd I am here on this here pier, to roam the world alone ; \nI have not had, this live-long day, one drop to cheer my \n\nheart, \nNor \' brown \' to buy a bit of bread with, \xe2\x80\x94 let alone a tart. \n\n" If there \'s a soul will give me food, or find me in employ, \nBy day or night, then blow me tight ! " (he was a vulgar boy ; ) \nAnd now I \'m here, from this here pier it is my fixed intent \nTo jump, as Mister Levi did from off the Monu-ment ! " \n\n\n\nTHE LITTLE VULGAR BOY. 249 \n\n" Cheer up ! cheer up ! my little man, \xe2\x80\x94 cheer up ! " I kindly \n\nsaid, \n" You are a naughty boy to take such things into your head ; \nIf you should jump from off the pier, you \'d surely break your \n\nlegs, \nPerhaps your neck, \xe2\x80\x94 then Bogey \'d have you, sure as eggs ! \n\n"Come home with me, my little man, come home with me \n\nand sup ; \nMy landlady is Mrs. Jones, \xe2\x80\x94 we must not keep her up, \xe2\x80\x94 \nThere \'s roast potatoes at the fire, \xe2\x80\x94 enough for me and you, \xe2\x80\x94 \xe2\x80\xa2 \nCome home, you little vulgar Boy, \xe2\x80\x94 I lodge at Number 2." \n\nI took him home to Number 2, the house beside the Foy," \nI bade him wipe his dirty shoes, \xe2\x80\x94 that little vulgar Boy, \xe2\x80\x94 \nAnd then I said to Mrs. Jones, the kindest of her sex, \n" Pray be so good as go and fetch a pint of double X ! " \n\nBut Mrs. Jones was rather cross, she made a little noise, \nShe said she " did not like to wait on little vulgar Boys." \nShe with her apron wiped the plates, and, as she rubbed the \n\ndelf, \nSaid I might " go to Jericho, and fetch the beer myself ! " \n\nI did not go to Jericho, \xe2\x80\x94 I went to Mr. Cobb, \xe2\x80\x94 \n\nI changed a shilling (which in town the people call a \n\n"Bob"),\xe2\x80\x94 \nIt was not so much for myself as for the vulgar child, \xe2\x80\x94 \nAnd I said, " A pint of double X, and please to draw it mild ! " \n\nWhen I came back I gazed about, \xe2\x80\x94 I gazed on stool and \n\nchair, \xe2\x80\x94 \nI could not see my little friend, \xe2\x80\x94 because he was not there ! \nI peeped beneath the table-cloth, \xe2\x80\x94 beneath the sofa too, \xe2\x80\x94 \nI said, " You little vulgar Boy ! why, what \'s become of you 1 " \n\nI could not see my table-spoons, \xe2\x80\x94 I looked, but could not see \nThe little fiddle-patterned ones I use when I \'m at tea ; \n11* \n\n\n\n250 PUBLIC AND PARLOU READINGS. \n\nI could not see my sugar-tongs, \xe2\x80\x94 my silver watch \xe2\x80\x94 dear ! \nI know \'t was on the mantel-piece when I went out for beer. \n\nI could not see my Mackintosh, \xe2\x80\x94 it was not to be seen ! \nNor yet my best white beaver hat, broad-brimmed and lined \n\nwith green ; \nMy carpet-bag, \xe2\x80\x94 my cruet-stand, that holds my sauce and \n\nsoy,\xe2\x80\x94 \nMy roast potatoes ! \xe2\x80\x94 all are gone ! \xe2\x80\x94 and so \'s that vulgar \n\nBoy ! \n\nI rang the bell for Mrs. Jones, for she was down below, \xe2\x80\x94 \n" Mrs. Jones ! what do you think 1 ain\'t this a pretty go ? \nThat horrid little vulgar Boy whom I brought here to-night, \nHe \'s stolen my things and run away ! " Says she, " And sarve \nyou right ! ! " \n\n\n\nNext morning I was up betimes, \xe2\x80\x94 I sent the Crier round, \nAll with his bell and gold-laced hat, to say I \'d give a pound \nTo find that little vulgar Boy, who \'d gone and used me so ; \nBut when the Crier said " yes ! " the people cried "0 no ! " \n\nI went and told the constable my property to track ; \nHe asked me if " I did n\'t wish that I might get it back I " \nI answered "To be sure I do ! it \'s what I \'m come about." \nHe smiled and said, " Sir, does your mother know that you are \nout 1 " \n\nNot knowing what to do, I thought I \'d hasten back to town, \nAnd beg our own Lord Mayor to catch the boy who \'d " done \n\nme brown." \nHis Lordship very kindly said he \'d try and find him out, \nBut he " rather thought that there were several vulgar boys \n\nabout." \n\nHe sent for Mr. Whithair then, and I described " the swag," \nMy Mackintosh, my sugar-tongs, my spoons, and carpet-bag ; \n\n\n\nA LITEKAKY QUESTION DISCUSSED. 251 \n\nHe promised that the new police should all their powers \n\nemploy ; \nBut never to this hour have I seen that vulgar boy. \n\nMORAL. \n\nRemember, then, what when a boy I \'ve heard my Grandma \n\ntell, \n" Be warned in time by others \' harm, and you shall do full \n\nwell ! " \nDon\'t link yourself with vulgar folks, who \'ve got no fixed \n\nabode, \nTell lies, use naughty words, and say they " wish they may \n\nbe blowed ! " \n\nDon\'t take too much of double X ! \xe2\x80\x94 and don\'t at night go \n\nout \nTo fetch your beer yourself, but make the pot-boy bring your \n\nstout ! \nAnd when you go to Margate next, just stop and ring the bell, \nGive my respects to Mrs. Jones, and say I \'m pretty well. \n\n\n\n\n\n\nA LITERARY QUESTION DISCUSSED. \n\nTHE late Charles F. Browne was a great quiz. He was \nalways puzzling people, and could not help it. He \n.talked nonsense with such seriousness, and such entire absence \nof anything theatrical in his manner, that very often he par- \ntially imposed upon those who knew him best. In E. P. \nHingston\'s " Reminiscences of Artemus Ward " we find this \naccount of his discussion of literary subjects with a lady \nwhom he met on an Ohio River steamboat. \n\nAmong the fairer portion of the passengers was a very \nretiring, quiet young lady, who wore spectacles, and who \nappeared to have the manners, air, and bearing of one whose \noccupation in life was to impart her knowledge to others \nin some college or seminary ; that, at least, was the guess \n\n\n\n252 PUBLIC AND PARLOR READINGS. \n\nwhich Artemns and I had made about her. We had noticed \nher during the afternoon busily engaged in reading About\'s \nstory of "Le Roi des Montagues." As soon as supper was \nover she resumed her reading, cutting the leaves of the book \nwith a pocket paper-knife as she read on. By what means my \nfriend contrived an introduction I am not aware ; but I found \nhim in conversation with her when I went to request his \ncompany to smoke a cigar with me and the two military \ndoctors. \n\n" Excuse me," said Artemus. " This lady was asking me \nif I read French. It is a serious question, and I was reflect- \ning whether I do." \n\nThe lady seemed to be a little surprised, and explai^od to \nme that she had simply asked if my friend knew the French \nlanguage, as she wished to recommend to him the story she \nherself had been reading during the afternoon. \n\n"It is a story about brigands in Greece," said she; "and \nit is so charmingly picturesque that I can almost fancy my- \nself to be in that classic land. As I read, the blue skies \nof Greece seem to be over my head, and the JEgean Sea to be \nsparkling in the glorious sunlight ! " \n\nThen followed a question from Artemus, which I quote as \nliterally as I can remember it : \xe2\x80\x94 \n\n" Pardon me, madame, but do you think that glorious sun- \nlight in Greece is constitutional \xe2\x80\x94 that is to say, if early \nbe the dream of youth \xe2\x80\x94 whenever they are so \xe2\x80\x94 and you \nknow, I presume, that George Washington, when young, \nnever told a lie \xe2\x80\x94 that is, Greece \xe2\x80\x94 in the blue skies, I mean. \nYou understand me, of course 1 " \n\nInstead of understanding, the lady appeared to be utterly \nbewildered. At first she seemed to doubt whether she had \nheard distinctly. Then the expression of her face indicated \nthat she had a suspicion of her not having paid sufficient \nattention, so as to enable her to comprehend the interrogatory. \n\n"Do I understand you to say that George Washington \nwent to Greece in his youth % " she asked. " I scarcely think \nthat I perfectly understood you." \n\n\n\nEXCLAMATOEY. 253 \n\nArtemus Ward maintained his gravity, and proceeded to \nexplain. \n\n"I was about to remark," said he, "that, so far as Greece \nis concerned, he was more so." \n\n" More so of what 1 " asked the lady, still more perplexed. \n\n" More so with regard to it viewed morally. Because the \nJEgean is a sea \xe2\x80\x94 a blue sea, which might, if not under \nthose circumstances \xe2\x80\x94 in parallel instances \xe2\x80\x94 very truthfully \nthough ; but before breakfast \xe2\x80\x94 always before the morning \nmeal. You agree with me, I hopel" And Artemus smiled \nand bowed politely. \n\nThe lady closed her book, laid it on the table, and, raising \nher spectacles, so as to enable her to see better, regarded \nArtemus with amazement. The ladies and gentlemen around \nwho had overheard the conversation looked at the speaker \nwith equal astonishment. Artemus shook his head mourn- \nfully, and in a deploring tone of voice observed : \xe2\x80\x94 \n\n"Blue Greeks, \xe2\x80\x94 blue iEgean brigands, dead before their \nbreakfast I " \n\n\n\nEXCLAMATORY. \n\nAT church I sat within her peW, \xe2\x80\x94 \xc2\xbb \nPew! \nBut there I heard \nNo pious word, \xe2\x80\x94 \nI saw alone her eyes of blue ! \n\nI saw her bow her head so gracious, \xe2\x80\x94 \nGracious ! \nThe choir sang, \nThe organ rang, \xe2\x80\x94 \n. And seemed to fill the building spacious. \n\ni could not hear the gospel law, \xe2\x80\x94 \nLaw ! \n\n\n\n254 PUBLIC AND PARLOR READINGS. \n\nMy future bride \nWas by my side, \xe2\x80\x94 \nI found all else a mighty bore ! \n\nAnd so when pealed the organ\'s thundfer, \xe2\x80\x94 \nThunder ! \n\nI fixed my eyes, \n\nIn mute surprise, \nOn her whose beauty was a wonder. \n\nTo me that maiden was most dear, \xe2\x80\x94 \nDear ! \n\nAnd she was mine, \xe2\x80\x94 \n\nJoy too divine \nFor human words to picture here. \n\nHer love seemed like a prayer to bless me, \xe2\x80\x94 \nBless me ! \n\nBefore she came \n\nMy life was tame, \xe2\x80\x94 \nMy rarest joys could but oppress me. \n\nThe service done, we sought the shore,-\xe2\x80\x94 \nShore ! \n\nAnd there we walked, \n\nAnd sadly talked, \xe2\x80\x94 \nMore sadly talked than e\'er before. \n\nI thought she was the type of goodness, \xe2\x80\x94 - \nGoodness ! \n\nBut on that day \n\nI heard her say \nPlain words whose very tone was rudeness. \n\nWe strolled beyond the tide-mill\'s dam, \xe2\x80\x94 \nDam ! \n\nShe jilted me, \n\nAnd now I see \nThat woman\'s love is all a sham ! \n\n\n\n"HOW MOTHER DID IT." 255 \n\n\n\n"HOW MOTHEK DID IT." \n\nIF we were to suggest one thing which, above all other \nthings combined, would most contribute to the happiness \nof the young housekeeper, it would be to learn how to cook \nas a husband\'s mother cooked. Mother used to make coffee \nso and so ! Mother used to have such waffles ! and mother \nknew just how thick or how thin to make a squash-pie ! And, \n0, if I could only taste of mother\'s biscuit ! Such are the \ncomments of the husband, and of too many meal-tables. It \nwould be only a little more cruel for the husband to throw his \nfork across the table, or to dash the contents of his teacup in \nhis wife\'s face. The experience of a contrite husband is good \nreading for those men whose daily sauce is " How mother did \nit." He says : \xe2\x80\x94 \n\n" I found fault, some time ago, with Maria Ann\'s custard- \npie, and tried to tell her how my mother made custard-pie. \nMaria made the pie after my recipe. It lasted longer than \nany other pie we ever had. Maria set it on the table every \nday for dinner \xe2\x80\xa2 and you see I could not eat it, because I forgot \nto tell her to put in any eggs or shortening. It was econom- \nical ; but in a fit of generosity I stole it from the pantry and \ngave it to a poor little boy in the neighborhood. The boy\'s \nfuneral was largely attended by his former playmates. I did \nnot go myself. \xe2\x80\xa2 \n\nThen there were the buckwheat cakes. I told Maria Ann \nany fool could beat her making those cakes; and she said \nI had better try it. So I did. I emptied the batter all out \nof the pitcher one evening and set the cakes myself. I got \nthe flour and the salt and water ; and, warned by the past, \nput in a liberal quantity of eggs and shortening. I shortened \nwith tallow from roast-beef, because I could not find any lard. \nThe batter did not look right, and I lit my pipe and pondered. \nYeast, yeast, to be sure. I had forgotten the yeast. I went \nand woke up the baker, and got six cents\' worth of yeast. I \nset the pitcher behind the sitting-room stove and went to bed. \n\n\n\n256 \n\n\n\nPUBLIC AND PARLOK READINGS. \n\n\n\n" In the morning I got up early and prepared to enjoy my \ntriumph ; but I did n\'t. That yeast was strong enough to \nraise the dead, and the batter was running all over the carpet. \nI scraped it up and put it into another dish. Then I got a fire \nin the kitchen and put on the griddle. The first lot of cakes \nstuck to the griddle. The second dittoed, only more. Maria \ncame down and asked me what was burning. She advised \nme to grease the griddle. I did it. One end of the griddle \ngot too hot, and I dropped the thing on my tenderest corn \nwhile trying to turn it around. \n\n" Finally the cakes were ready for breakfast, and Maria got \nthe other things ready. We sat down. My cakes did not \nhave exactly the right flavor. I took one mouthful, and it \nsatisfied me. I lost my appetite at once. Maria would not \nlet me put one on her plate. I think those cakes may be \nreckoned a dead loss. The cat would not eat them. The dog \nran off and stayed away three days after one was offered \nto him. The hens would n\'t go within ten feet of them. I \nthrew them into the back yard, and there has not been a pig \non the premises since. I eat what is put before me now, and \ndo not allude to my mother\'s system of cooking." \n\n\n\nTHE WHISTLE.\xe2\x80\x94 Robert Story. \n\n" "X^OU have heard," said a youth to his sweetheart, who \n\nJL stood, \n\nWhile he sat on a corn-sheaf, at daylight\'s r decline, \xe2\x80\x94 \n" You have heard of the Danish boy\'s whistle of wood 1 \n\nI wish that that Danish boy\'s whistle were mine." \n\n\n\n" And what would you do with it 1 \xe2\x80\x94 tell me," she said, \nWhile an arch smile played over her beautiful face. \n\n" I would blow it," he answered ; " and then my fair maid \nWould fly to my side, and would here take her place." \n\n\n\nPRINCE HENRY AND FALSTAFF. 257 \n\n" Is that all you wish for ? That may be yours \n\nWithout any magic," the fair maiden cried \xe2\x80\xa2 \n" A favor so slight one\'s good nature secures." \n\nAnd she playfully seated herself by his side. \n\n" I would blow it again," said the youth, "and the charm \nWould work so that not even modesty\'s check \n\nWould be able to keep from my neck your fine arm." \nShe smiled, \xe2\x80\x94 and she laid her fine arm round his neck. \n\n" Yet once more I would blow, and the music divine \nWould bring me the third time an exquisite bliss : \n\nYou would lay your fair cheek to this brown one of mine, \nAnd your lips, stealing past it, would give me a kiss." \n\nThe maiden laughed out in her innocent glee, \xe2\x80\x94 \n\n" What a fool of yourself with your whistle you \'d make ! \n\nFor only consider, how silly \'t would be \n\nTo sit there and whistle for \xe2\x80\x94 what you might take." \n\n\n\nPRINCE HENRY AND FALSTAFF. \xe2\x80\x94 Shakespeare. \n\nPRINCE HENRY. Welcome, Jack. Where hast thou \nbeen? \nFalstaff. A plague on all cowards, I say, and a vengeance \ntoo ! marry, and amen ! {To an attendant. ) Give me a cup \nof sack, boy. Ere I lead this life long, I \'11 sew nethersocks, \nand mend them, and foot them too. A plague on all cowards ! \n\xe2\x80\x94 Give me a cup of sack, rogue. \xe2\x80\x94 Is there no virtue extant 1 \n{Drains the cup.) \' You rogue, here \'s lime in this sack, too. \nThere is nothing but roguery to be found in villanous man ! \nYet a coward is worse than a cup of sack with lime in it, \xe2\x80\x94 a \nvillanous coward. Go thy ways, old Jack ; die when thou \nwilt, if manhood, good manhood, be not forgot upon the face \nof the earth, then am I a shotten herring. There live not \nthree good men unhanged in England ; and one of them is \n\nQ \n\n\n\n258 PUBLIC AND PARLOR READINGS. \n\nfat, and grown old, \xe2\x80\x94 a bad world, I say ! A plague on all \ncowards, I say still -! \n\nP. Henry. How now, wool-sack 1 what mutter you ? \n\nFal. A king\'s son ! If I do not beat thee out of thy \nkingdom with a dagger of lath, and drive all thy subjects \nafore thee like a flock of wild-geese, I \'11 never wear hair on \nmy face more. You \xe2\x80\x94 Prince of Wales ! \n\nP. Henry. Why, what \'s the matter 1 \n\nFal. Are you not a coward 1 answer me that. \n\nP. Henry. Ye fat paunch, an ye call me coward, I \'11 stab thee. \n\nFal. I call thee coward 1 I \'11 see thee hanged ere I call \nthee coward : but I would give a thousand pound I could \nrun as fast as thou canst. You are straight enough in the \nshoulders, you care not who sees your back. Call you that \nbacking of your friends 1 A plague upon such backing ! give \nme them that will face me. \xe2\x80\x94 Give me a cup of sack : \xe2\x80\x94 I am \na rogue, if I have drunk to-day. \n\nP. Henry. villain ! thy lips are scarce wiped since thou \ndrank\' st last. \n\nFal. All \'s one for that. {He drinks.) A plague on all \ncowards, still say I ! \n\nP. Henry. What \'s the matter 1 \n\nFal. What \'s the matter 1 here be four of us have taken \na thousand pound this morning. \n\nP. Henry. Where is it, Jack 1 Where is it 1 \n\nFal. Where is it 1 taken from us, it is : a hundred upon \npoor four of us. \n\nP. Henry. What, a hundred, man 1 ? \n\nFal. I am a rogue, if I were not at half-sword with a \ndozen of them two hours together. I have escaped by miracle. \nI am eight times thrust through the doublet ; four through \nthe hose ; my buckler cut through and through ; my sword \nhacked like a handsaw, ecce signum. (Shows his sword.) I \nnever dealt better since I was a man : all would not do. A \nplague on all cowards ! \xe2\x80\x94 \n\nP. Henry. What, fought you with them all 1 \n\nFal. All? I know not what ye call all; but, if I fought \n\n\n\nPRINCE HENRY AND FALSTAFF. 259 \n\nnot with fifty of them, I am a bunch of radish : if there were \nnot two or three and fifty upon poor old Jack, then am I no \ntwo-legged creature. \n\nP. Henry. Pray Heaven, you have not murdered some of \nthem. \n\nFal. Nay, that \'s past praying for. I have peppered two \nof them : two I am sure I have paid, \xe2\x80\x94 two rogues in buckram \nsuits. I tell thee what, Hal ; if I tell thee a lie, spit in my \nface, call me horse. Thou knowest my old ward. {Taking a \nposition for fighting.) Here I lay, and thus I bore my point. \nFour rogues in buckram let drive at me \xe2\x80\x94 \n\nP. Henry. What, four 1 thou saidst but two, even now. \n\nFat. Four, Hal ! I told thee four. These four came all \na-front, and mainly thrust at me. I made no more ado, but \ntook all their seven points in my target, thus. \n\nP. Henry. Seven ! why, there were but four, even now. \n\nFat. In buckram. \n\nP. Henry. Ay, four in buckram suits. \n\nFal. Seven, by these hilts, or I am a villain else. Dost \nthou hear me, Hal 1 \n\nP. Henry. Ay, and mark thee too, Jack. \n\nFal. Do so, for it is worth listening to. These nine in \nbuckram that I told thee of \xe2\x80\x94 \n\nP. Henry. So, two more already. \n\nFal. Their points being broken, \xe2\x80\x94 began to give me \nground ; but I followed me close, came in foot and hand, and \nwith a thought, seven of the eleven I paid. \n\nP. Henry. monstrous ! eleven buckram men grown out \nof two ! \n\nFal. But, as ill luck would have it, three misbegotten \nknaves, in Kendal green, came at my back, and let drive at \nme ; \xe2\x80\x94 for it was so dark, Hal, that thou couldst not see thy \nhand. \n\nP. Henry. These lies are like the father that begets them; \ngross as a mountain, open, palpable. Why, thou knotty-pated \nfool ; thou greasy tallow-tub. \n\nFal. What, art thou mad ? art thou mad % is not the truth \nthe truth 1 \n\n\n\n260 PUBLIC AND PARLOR READINGS. \n\nP. Henry. Why, how couldst thou know these men in \nKendal green, when it was so dark thou couldst not see thy \nhand 1 Come, tell us your reason ; what sayest thou to this 1 \nCome, your reason, Jack, your reason. \n\nFal. What, upon compulsion\'? No. Were I at the strap- \npado, or all the racks in the world, I would not tell you on \ncompulsion. Give you a reason upon compulsion ! If reasons \nwere as plenty as blackberries, I would give no man a reason \nupon compulsion. \n\nP. Henry. I \'11 be no longer guilty of this sin. This san- \nguine coward, this bed-presser, this horse-back breaker, this \nhuge hill of flesh \xe2\x80\x94 \n\nFal. Away, you starveling, you eel-skin, you dried neat\'s- \ntongue, you stock-fish ! for breath to utter what is like \nthee ! you tailor\'s yard, you sheath, you bow-case, you vile \nstanding tuck \xe2\x80\x94 \n\nP. Henry. Well, breathe awhile, and then to it again ; and \nwhen thou hast tired thyself in base comparisons, hear me \nspeak but this. Poins and I saw you four set on four ; you \nbound them and were masters of their wealth : mark now, \nhow a plain tale shall put you down. Then did we two set \non you four, and with a word, outfaced you from your prize, \nand have it, yea, can show it you here in the house. And, \nFalstaff, you carried your paunch away as nimbly, with as \nquick dexterity, and roared for mercy, and still ran and \nroared, as ever I heard a bull-calf. What a slave art thou, \nto hack thy sword as thou hast done, and then say it was in \nfight 1 What trick, what device, what starting hole canst thou \nnow find out, to hide thee from this open and apparent \nshame 1 \n\nFal. Ha ! ha ! ha ! D\' ye think I did n\'t know you, Hal ] \nWhy, hear me, my master, was it for me to kill the heir \napparent? should I turn upon the true prince 1 ? why, thou \nknowest I am as valiant as Hercules. But beware instinct; \nthe lion will not touch the true prince ; instinct is a great \nmatter. I was a coward on instinct, I grant you ; and I shall \nthink the better of myself and thee during my life, \xe2\x80\x94 I for a \n\n\n\nOPEEA MUSIC FOR THE PIANO. 261 \n\nvaliant lion, and thou for a true prince. But I am glad you \nhave the money. Let us clap to the doors ; watch to-night, \npray to-morrow. What ! shall we be merry 1 shall we have a \nplay extempore 1 \n\nP. Henry. Content ! \xe2\x80\x94 and the argument shall be, thy \nrunning away. \n\nFal. Ah ! \xe2\x80\x94 no more of that, Hal, if thou lovest me. \n\n\n\nOPERA MUSIC FOR THE PIANO. \n\nLIST ! the piece is about to begin. \nNow observe Miss Introduction come in, \xe2\x80\x94 \nA goddess in flounces and pinched at the waist, \nAnd a look like a statue embellished with paste. \nAll the keys that can be got at ; \nThen a soft and gentle tinkle, \nGentle as the raindrop\'s sprinkle. \n\nOne, two, three, four, \n\nFive, six, \xe2\x80\x94 run ashore ; \n\nThen a stop \xe2\x80\x94 \n\nFingers drop : \nNow-a rush from top to bottom ; \nCatch the notes now, while we dot \'em \\ \nHere \'s the music, for we \'ve got \'em. \nBackward, forward, up and down, \nLike a monkey or a clown. \nNow the close ; a gentle strike, \xe2\x80\x94 \nWho did ever hear the like 1 \n\n(Piece commences.) \nNow begins a merry trill, \nLike a cricket in a mill ; \nNow a short, uneasy motion, \nLike a house-cat at devotion, \nOr a ripple on the ocean. \nSee the fingers skip about : \n\n\n\n262 PUBLIC AND PAELOR READINGS. \n\nHear the notes as they come out, \xe2\x80\x94 - \nHow they mingle in the tingle \nOf the everlasting jingle, \nLike the hailstones on a shingle, \nOr the ding-dong, dangie-dingle, \nOf a sheep-bell, \xe2\x80\x94 double, single, \nNow they come in wilder gushes ; \nUp and down the player rashes, \nQuick as squirrels or the thrushes \nDarting round among the bushes, \xe2\x80\x94 - \nMaking rattle, like the tushes \nOf the swine a-drinking slushes. \nNow the keys begin to clatter \nLike a chorus on a platter, \nOr a housemaid stirring batter. \nHear the music that they scatter, \nThough \'t is flat and growing flatter ! \n\nAll is clatter, \xe2\x80\x94 naught \'s the matter. \nHark, the strains ! for now we \'re at her : \nO\'er the music comes a change ; \nNow we take another range ; \nEvery tone is wild and strange. \nNow there comes the lofty tumbling, \xe2\x80\x94 \nComes the mumbling, fumbling, jumbling. \nAnd the rumbling, and the grumbling \nOf the thunder, from its slumbering \nJust awaking. Now it \'s taking \nTo the quaking, like a fever-and-ague shaking. \nNow it \'s making such a raking, \nHeads are aching, \xe2\x80\x94 something \'s breaking. \nGoodness gracious ! ain\'t it wondrous, \nRolling round, above and under us, \nLike old Vulcan\'s stroke so thunderous \nNow the rattle of the battle \nDeepens deeper, and the cattle \nBellow louder, and the powder \nWill be all exploded soon. \n\n\n\nTHE OEIGIN OF EOAST PIG. 263 \n\nSuch a clanging, whanging, banging ; \nSlam ! \xe2\x80\x94 bang ! \xe2\x80\x94 whang ! \nHeavens ! how the music rang ! \nAh ! the harmony so splendid \nIs expended, \xe2\x80\x94 all is ended. \nThough I \'m slighted, I \'m delighted \nWith this finery and this foppeiy \nOf this modern music opera. \n\n\n\n\n\n\n^THE ORIGIN OF ROAST PIG.\xe2\x80\x94 Charles Lamb. \n\nMANKIND, says a Chinese manuscript, which my friend \nM. was obliging enough to read and explain to me, for \nthe first seventy thousand ages ate their meat raw, clawing it \nor biting it from the living animal, just as they do in Abys- \nsinia to this day. \n\nThis period is not obscurely hinted at by their great Confu- \ncius, in the second chapter of his Mundane Mutations, where \nhe designates a kind of golden age by the term Cho-fang, \nliterally the Cook\'s Holiday. The manuscript goes on to say \nthat the art of roasting, or rather broiling (which I take to be \nthe elder brother), was accidentally discovered in the manner \nfollowing : \xe2\x80\x94 \n\nThe swine-herd, Ho-ti, having gone out into the wood one \nmorning, as his manner was, to collect food for his hogs, left \nhis cottage in the care of his eldest son, Bo-bo, a great lub- \nberly boy, who, being fond of playing with fire, as younkers \nof his age commonly are, let some sparks escape into a bundle \nof straw, which, kindling quickly, spread the conflagration \nover every part of their poor mansion, till it was reduced to \nashes. Together with the cottage (a sorry antediluvian make- \nshift of a building, you may think it), what was of much \nmore importance, a fine litter of new-farrowed pigs, no less \nthan nine in number, perished. China pigs have been es- \nteemed a luxury all over the East, from the remotest periods \n\n\n\n264 PUBLIC AND PAELOR READINGS. \n\nthat we read of. Bo-bo was in the utmost consternation, as \nyou may think, not so much for the sake of the tenement, \nwhich his father and he could easily build up again with \na few dry branches and the labor of an hour or two at any \ntime, as for the loss of the pigs. \n\nWhile he was thinking what he should say to his father, \nand wringing his hands over the smoking remnants of one of \nthose untimely sufferers, an odor assailed his nostrils unlike \nany scent which he had before experienced. What could \nit proceed from 1 Not from the burnt cottage, \xe2\x80\x94 he had \nsmelt that smell before ; indeed, this was by no means the \nfirst accident of the kind which had occurred through the \nnegligence of this unlucky young firebrand, \xe2\x80\x94 much less did \nit resemble that of any known herb, weed, or flower. A pre- \nmonitory moistening at the same time overflowed his nether \nlip. He knew not what to think. He next stooped down to \nfeel the pig, if there were any signs of life in it. He burnt his \nfingers, and to cool them he applied them, in his booby fashion \nto his mouth. Some of the crumbs of the scorched skin had \ncome away with his fingers, and for the first time in his life \n(in the world\'s life, indeed, for before him no man had known \nit) he tasted \xe2\x80\x94 crackling ! \n\nAgain he felt and fumbled the pig. It did not burn him \nso much now, still he licked his fingers from a sort of habit. \nThe truth at length broke into his slow understanding that it \nwas the pig that smelt so, and the pig that tasted so delicious ; \nand, surrendering himself up to the new-born pleasure, he fell \nto tearing up whole handfals of the scorched skin with the \nflesh next it, and was cramming it down his throat in his \nbeastly fashion, when his sire entered amid the smoking \nrafters, armed with retributory cudgel ; and, finding how mat- \nters stood, began to rain blows upon the young rogue\'s \nshoulders as thick as hail-stones, which Bo-bo heeded not any \nmore than if they had been flies. The tickling pleasure \nwhich he experienced in his lower regions had rendered him \nquite callous to any inconveniences he might feel in those \nremote quarters. His father might lay on, but he could not \n\n\n\nTHE OKIGIN OF ROAST PIG. 265 \n\nbeat him from his pig till he had fairly made an end of it ; \nwhen, becoming a little more sensible of his situation, some- \nthing like the following dialogue ensued : \xe2\x80\x94 \n\n" You graceless whelp ! what have you got there devouring 1 \nIs it not enough that you have burnt me down three houses \nwith your dog\'s tricks, and be hanged to you, but you must \nbe eating fire, and I know not what 1 What have you got \nthere, I say] \n\n" father, the pig \xe2\x80\x94 the pig ! Do come and taste how \nnice the burnt pig eats ! " \n\nThe ears of Ho-ti tingled with horror. He cursed his \neon, and he cursed himself that he t ver should beget a son \nthat should eat burnt pig. \n\nBo-bo, whose scent was wonderfully sharpened since morn- \ning, soon raked out another pig, and, fairly rending it asunder, \nthrust the lesser half by main force into the fists of Ho-ti, \nstill shouting out, " Eat, eat, eat the burnt pig, father ; only \ntaste ! Lord ! " with such-like barbarous ejaculations, cram- \nming all the while as if he would choke. \n\nHo-ti trembled in every joint while he grasped the abomi- \nnable thing, wavering whether he should not put his son to \ndeath for an unnatural monster, when the crackling scorch- \ning his fingers as it had done his son\'s, and applying the same \nremedy to them, he in his turn tasted some of its flavor, which, \nmake what sour mouths he would for pretence, proved not \naltogether displeasing to him. In conclusion (for the man- \nuscript here is a little tedious), both father and son fairly sat \ndown to the mess, and never left otf till they had despatched \nall that remained of the litter. \n\nBo-bo was strictly enjoined not to let the secret escape, \nfor the neighbors would certainly have stoned them for a \ncouple of abominable wretches, who could think of improving \nupon the meat which God had sent them. Nevertheless, \nstrange, stories got about. It was observed that Ho-ti\'s cot- \ntage was burnt down now more frequently than ever. Noth- \ning but fires from this time forward. Some would break \nout in broad day, others in the night-time. As often as the \n\n12 \n\n\n\n266 PUBLIC AND PAELOE EEADINGS. \n\nsow farrowed, so sure was the house of Ho-ti to be in a blaze, \nand Ho-ti himself, which was the more remarkable, instead \nof chastising his son, seemed to grow more indulgent to him \nthan ever. \n\nAt length they were watched, the terrible mystery discov- \nered, and father and son summoned to take their trial at \nPekin, then an inconsiderable assize-town. Evidence was \ngiven, the obnoxious food itself produced in court, and ver- \ndict about to be pronounced, when the foreman of the jury \nbegged that some of the burnt pig, of which the culprits stood \naccused, might be handed into the box. He handled it, and \nthey all handled it, and, burning their fingers as Bo-bo and \nhis father had done before them, and nature prompting to \neach of them the same remedy against the face of all the facts \nand the clearest charge which judge had ever given, \xe2\x80\x94 to \nthe surprise of the whole court, townsfolk, strangers, reporters, \nand all present, \xe2\x80\x94 without leaving the box, or any manner of \nconsultation whatever, they brought in a simultaneous ver- \ndict of Not Guilty. \n\nThe judge, who was a shrewd fellow, winked at the mani- \nfest iniquity of the decision; and when the court was dis- \nmissed, went privily and bought up all the pigs that could be \nhad for love or money. In a few days his lordship\'s town- \nhouse was observed to be on fire. The thing took wing, and \nnow there was nothing to be seen but fires in every direction. \nFuel and pigs grew enormously dear all over the district. \nThe insurance offices one and all shut up shop. People built \nslighter and slighter every day, until it was feared that the \nvery science of architecture would in no long time be lost to \nthe world. Thus this custom of firing houses continued, till \nin process of time, says the manuscript, a sage arose, like our \nLocke, who made the discovery that the flesh of swine, or \nindeed of any other animal, might be cooked (burnt, as they \ncalled it) without the necessity of consuming a whole house \nto dress it. Then first began the rude form of a gridiron. \nRoasting by the string, or spit, came in a century or two \nlater, \xe2\x80\x94 I forget in whose dynasty. By such slow degrees, \n\n\n\nHEEE SHE GOES, AND THEEE SHE GOES 267 \n\nconcludes the manuscript, do the most useful and seemingly \nthe most obvious arts make their way among mankind. \n\nWithout placing too implicit faith on the account thus \ngiven, it must be agreed, that if a worthy pretext for so dan- \ngerous an experiment as setting a house on fire (especially in \nthese days) could be assigned in favor of any culinary object, \nthat pretext and excuse might be found in Roast Pig. \n\n\n\nHERE SHE GOES, AND THERE SHE GOES. \n\nJames Nack. \n\nTWO Yankee wags, one summer day, \nStopped at a tavern on their way, \nSupped, frolicked, late retired to rest, \nAnd woke, to breakfast on the best. \nThe breakfast over, Tom and Will \nSent for the landlord and the bill ; \nWill looked it over : \xe2\x80\x94 " Very right \xe2\x80\x94 \nBut hold ! what wonder meets my sight 1 \nTom ! the surprise is quite a shock ! " \n" What wonder % where % " " The clock, the clock ! " \n\nTom and the landlord in amaze \nStared at the clock with stupid gaze, \nAnd for a moment neither spoke ; \nAt last the landlord silence broke, \xe2\x80\x94 \n\n" You mean the clock that \'s ticking there % \n\nI see no wonder, I declare ! \n\nThough maybe, if the truth were told, \n\n\'T is rather ugly, somewhat old ; \n\nYet time it keeps to half a minute ; \n\nBut, if you please, what wonder in it 1 " \n\n" Tom, don\'t you recollect," said Will, \n" The clock at Jersey, near the mill, \n\n\n\n268 PUBLIC AND PARLOR. READINGS. \n\nThe very image of this present, \nWith which I won the wager pleasant 1 " \nWill ended with a knowing wink ; \n\xe2\x80\xa2 Tom scratched his head and tried to think. \n" Sir, begging pardon for inquiring," \nThe landlord said, with grin admiring, \n" What wager was it 1 " \n\n" You remember \nIt happened, Tom, in last December : \nIn sport I bet a Jersey Blue \nThat it was more than he could do \nTo make his finger go and come \nIn keeping with the pendulum, \nEepeating, till the hour should close, \nStill \xe2\x80\x94 \' Here she goes, and there she goes. 7 \nHe lost the bet in half a minute." \n\n" Well, if I would, the deuce is in it ! " \nExclaimed the landlord ; " try me yet, \nAnd fifty dollars be the bet." \n\n" Agreed, but we will play some trick, \nTo make you of the bargain sick ! " \n\n" I \'m up to that ! " \n\n" Don\'t make us wait, \xe2\x80\x94 \nBegin, \xe2\x80\x94 the clock is striking eight." \nHe seats himself, and left and right \nHis finger wags with all its might, \nAnd hoarse his voice and hoarser grows, \nWith \xe2\x80\x94 " Here she goes, and there she goes ! " \n\n" Hold ! " said the Yankee, " plank the ready \\ " \n\nThe landlord wagged his finger steady, \n\nWhile his left hand, as well as able, \n\nConveyed a purse upon the table. \n\n" Tom ! with the money let \'s be off ! " \n\nThis made the landlord only scoff. \n\nHe heard them running down the stair, \n\n\n\nHEEE SHE GOES, AND THERE SHE GOES. 269 \n\nBut was not tempted from his chair ; \n\nThought he, " The fools ! I \'11 bite them yet ! \n\nSo poor a trick sha\' n\'t win the bet." \n\nAnd loud and long the chorus rose \n\nOf \xe2\x80\x94 " Here she goes, and there she goes ! " \n\nWhile right and left his finger swung, \n\nIn keeping to his clock and tongue. \n\nHis mother happened in to see \n\nHer daughter : " Where is Mrs. B 1 " \n\n" When will she come, do you suppose 1 \nSon! \xe2\x80\x94 " \n\n" Here she goes, and there she goes ! " \n" Here ! \xe2\x80\x94 where 1" \xe2\x80\x94 the lady in surprise \nHis finger followed with her eyes ; \n" Son ! why that steady gaze and sad 1 ? \nThose words, \xe2\x80\x94 that motion, \xe2\x80\x94 are you mad ] \nBut here \'s your wife, perhaps she knows, \nAnd\xe2\x80\x94" \n\n" Here she goes, and there she goes ! " \n\nHis wife surveyed him with alarm, \n\nAnd rushed to him and seized his arm ; \n\nHe shook her off, and to and fro \n\nHis finger persevered to go, \n\nWhile curled his very nose with ire \n\nThat she against him should conspire ; \n\nAnd with more furious tone arose \n\nThe \xe2\x80\x94 " Here she goes, and there she goes ! " \n\n" Lawks ! " screamed the wife, " I\'m in a whirl ! \nRun down and bring the little girl ; \nShe is his darling, and who knows \nBut \xe2\x80\x94 " \n\n" Here she goes, and there she goes ! " \n" Lawks ! he is mad ! What made him thus ] \nGood Lord ! what will become of us 1 \nRun for a doctor, \xe2\x80\x94 run, run, run, \xe2\x80\x94 \n\n\n\n270 PUBLIC AND PARLOR READINGS. \n\nFor Doctor Brown and Doctor Dun, \nAnd Doctor Black and Doctor White, \nAnd Doctor Gray, with all your might ! " \n\nThe doctors came, and looked, and wondered, \n\xe2\x80\xa2 And shook their heads, and paused and pondered. \n\nThen one proposed he should be bled, \xe2\x80\x94 \n" No, leeched you mean," the other said, \xe2\x80\x94 \n" Clap on a blister ! " roared another, \xe2\x80\x94 \n"No ! cup him," \xe2\x80\x94 " No ! trepan him, brother." \n\nA sixth would recommend a purge, \n\nThe next would an emetic urge; \n\nThe eighth, just come from a dissection, \n\nHis verdict gave for an injection. \n\nThe last produced a box of pills, \n\nA certain cure for earthly ills : \n\n" I had a patient yesternight," \n\nQuoth he, " and wretched was her plight, \n\nAnd as the only means to save her, \n\nThree dozen patent pills I gave her ; \n\nAnd by to-morrow I suppose \n\nThat \xe2\x80\x94 " \n\n" Here she goes, and there she goes ! " \n\n" You are all fools ! " the lady said, \xe2\x80\x94 \n\n" The way is, just to shave his head. \n\nRun ! bid the barber come anon." \n\n" Thanks, mother ! " thought her clever son ; \n\n"You help the knaves that would have bit me, \n\nBut all creation sha\' n\'t outwit me ! " \n\nThus to himself, while to and fro \n\nHis finger perseveres to go, \n\nAnd from his lips no accent flows \n\nBut \xe2\x80\x94 " Here she goes, and there she goes ! " \n\nThe barber came \xe2\x80\x94 " Lord help him ! what \n\nA queerish customer I \'ve got ; \n\nBut we must do our best to save him, \xe2\x80\x94 \n\nSo hold him, gemmen, while I shave him ! " \n\n\n\nHEKE SHE GOES, AND THERE SHE GOES. 271 \n\nBut here the doctors interpose, \xe2\x80\x94 \n" A woman never \xe2\x80\x94 " \n\n" There she goes ! " \n\n" A woman is no judge of physic, \n\nNot even when her baby is sick. \n\nHe must be bled," \xe2\x80\x94 " No, no, a blister," \xe2\x80\x94 \n"A purge, you mean," \xe2\x80\x94 "I say a clyster," \xe2\x80\x94 \n" No, cup him," \xe2\x80\x94 " Leech him,"\xe2\x80\x94 "Pills ! pills ! pills! " \n\nAnd all the house the uproar fills. \n\nWhat means that smile 1 what means that shiver ? \n\nThe landlord\'s limbs with rapture quiver, \n\nAnd triumph brightens up his face, \n\nHis finger yet shall win the race ; \n\nThe clock is on the stroke of nine, \n\nAnd up he starts, \xe2\x80\x94 " \'T is mine ! \'t is mine ! " \n\n" What do you mean 1 " \n\n" I mean the fifty ; \nI never spent an hour so thrifty. \nBut you who tried to make me lose, \nGo, burst with envy, if you choose ! \nBut how is this 1 where are they 1 " \n\n"Who?" \n\n" The gentlemen, \xe2\x80\x94 I mean the two \n\nCame yesterday, \xe2\x80\x94 are they below ? " \n" They galloped off an hour ago." \n" 0, purge me ! blister ! shave and bleed 1 \n\nFor, hang the knaves, I \'m mad indeed ! " \n\n\n\n\n\n\n272 PUBLIC AND PARLOR HEADINGS. \n\nHUMPTY DUMPTY. \xe2\x80\x94 Mother Goose for Old Folks. \n\n\n\nH \n\n\n\nHumpty Dumpty had a great fall; \nNot all the king\'s horses nor all the king\'s men \nCould set Humpty Dumpty up again." \n\nFull many a project that never was hatched \n\nFalls down, and gets shattered beyond being patched; \n\nAnd luckily, too ! for if all came to chickens, \n\nThen things without feathers might go to the dickens. \n\nIf each restless unit that moves among men \nMight climb to a place with the privileged "ten," \nPray tell us where all the commotion would stop ! \nMust the whole pan of milk, forsooth, rise to the top 1 \n\nIf always the statesman attained to his hopes, \n\nAnd grasped the great helm, who would stand by the ropes] \n\nOr if all dainty fingers their duties might choose, \n\nWho would wash up the dishes, and polish the shoes 1 \n\nSuppose every aspirant writing a book \n\nContrived to get published, by hook or by crook; \n\nGeologists then of a later creation \n\nWould be startled, I fancy, to find a formation \n\nProving how the poor world did most wonderfully sink \n\nBeneath mountains of paper and oceans of ink ! \n\nOr even suppose all the women were married ; \n\nBy whom would superfluous babies be carried 1 \n\nWhere would be the good aunts that should knit all the \n\nstockings 1 \nOr nurses to do up the singings and rockings ? \nWise spinsters, to lay down their wonderful rules, \nAnd with theories rare to enlighten the fools, \xe2\x80\x94 \nOr to look after orphans, and primary schools 1 \n\n\n\nA VENTRILOQUIST ON A STAGE-COACH. 273 \n\nNo ! Failure \'s a part of the infinite plan ; \n"Who finds that he can\'t, must give way to who can ; \nAnd as one and another drops out of the race, \nEach stumbles at last to his suitable place. \n\nSo the great scheme works on ; though, like eggs from the wall, \nLittle single designs to such ruin may fall, \nThat not all the world\'s might, of its horses or men, \nCould set their crushed hopes at the summit again. \n\n\n\nA VENTKILOQUIST ON A STAGE-COACH. \nHenry Cockton. \n\n\n\n-L i fr< \n\n\n\n*om the booking-office door, as Valentine and his \nUncle John approached. "Have yow got that are mare\'s shoe \nmade comfor\'ble, Simon?" \n\n"All right, sir," said Simon, and he went round to see if it \nwere so, while the luggage was being secured. \n\n" Jimp up, genelmen ! " cried the coachman, as he wad- \ndled from the office with his whip in one hand and his huge \nway-bill in the other; and the passengers accordingly pro- \nceeded to arrange themselves on the various parts of the \ncoach, \xe2\x80\x94 Valentine, by the particular desire of Uncle John, \nhaving deposited himself immediately behind the seat of the \ncoachman. \n\n" If yoi* please," said an old lady, who had been standing \nin the gateway upwards of an hour, " will you be good enow, \nplease, to take care of my darter 1 " \n\n"All safe," said the coachman, untwisting the reins. "She \nshaunt take no harm. Is she going all the way 1 " \n\n"Yes, sir," replied the old lady; "God bless her! She\'s \ngot a place in Lunnun, an\' I \'m told \xe2\x80\x94 " \n\n" Hook on them ere two sacks o\' whoats there behind," \ncried the coachman ; "I marn\'t go without \'em this time. \xe2\x80\x94 \nNow, all right there 1 " \n\n12* R \n\n\n\n274 PUBLIC AND PARLOR READINGS. \n\n" Good by, my dear," sobbed the old lady, " do write to me \nsoon, be sure you do, \xe2\x80\x94 I only want to hear from you often. \nTake care of yourself." \n\n" Hold hard ! " cried the coachman, as the horses were \ndancing, on the cloths being drawn from their loins. " Whit, \nwhit ! " and away they pranced, as merrily as if they had \nknown that their load was nothing when compared with the \nload they left behind them. Even old Uncle John, as he cried \n" Good by, my dear boy," and waved his hand for the last \ntime, felt the tears trickling down his cheeks. \n\nThe salute was returned, and the coach passed on. \n\nThe fulness of Valentine\'s heart caused him for the first \nhour to be silent ; but after that, the constant change of scene \nand the pure bracing air had the effect of restoring his spirits, \nand he felt a powerful inclination to sing. Just, however, \nas he~ was about to commence for his own amusement, the \ncoach stopped to change horses. In less than two minutes \nthey started again, and Valentine, who then felt ready for \nanything, began to think seriously of the exercise of his power \nas a ventriloquist. \n\n" Whit, whit ! " said Tooler, the coachman, between a whis- \nper and a whistle, as the fresh horses galloped up the hill. \n\n" Stop ! hoa ! " cried Valentine, assuming a voice, the sound \nof which appeared to have travelled some distance. \n\n"You have left some one behind," observed a gentleman \nin black, who had secured the box seat. \n\n" 0, let un run a bit ! " said Tooler. "Whit ! 1 11 give un \na winder up this little hill, and teach un to be up in time in \nfuture. If we was to wait for every passenger as chooses to \nlag behind, we should n\'t git over the ground in a fortnit." \n\n" Hoa ! stop ! stop ! stop ! " reiterated Valentine, in the voice \nof a man pretty well out of breath. \n\nTooler, without deigning to look behind, retickled the \nhaunches of his leaders, and gleefully chuckled at the idea of \nhow he was making a passenger sweat. \n\nThe voice was heard no more, and Tooler, on reaching the \ntop of the hill, pulled up and looked round., but could see no \nman running. \n\n\n\nA VENTRILOQUIST ON A STAGE-COACH. 275 \n\n" Where is he 1 " inquired Tooler. \n\n" In the ditch ! " replied Valentine, throwing his voice \nbehind. \n\n" In the ditch ! " exclaimed Tooler. " Blarm me, where- \nabouts ?" \n\n" There," said Valentine. \n\n" Bless my soul ! " cried the gentleman in black, who was \nan exceedingly nervous village clergyman. "The poor person \nno doubt is fallen down in an absolute state of exhaustion. \nHow very, very wrong of you, coachman, not to stop ! " \n\nTooler, apprehensive of some serious occurrence, got down \nwith the view of dragging the exhausted passenger out of the \nditch ; but although he ran several hundred yards down the \nhill, no such person of course could be found. \n\n"Who saw unf" shouted Tooler, as he panted up the hill \nagain. \n\n" I saw nothing," said a passenger behind, "but a boy jump- \ning over the hedge." \n\nTooler looked at his way-bill, counted the passengers, found \nthem all right, and, remounting the box, got the horses again \ninto a gallop, in the perfect conviction that some villanous \nyoung scarecrow had raised the false alarm. \n\n"Whit! blarm them \'ere boys!" said Tooler, "\'stead o\' \nmindin\' their crows, they are alius up to suffen. I only wish \nI had un here, I \'d pay on to their blarmed bodies ; if I \nwould n\'t \xe2\x80\x94 " At this interesting moment, and as if to \ngive a practical illustration of what he would have done in the \ncase, he gave the off-wheeler so telling a cut round the loins \nthat the animal without any ceremony kicked over the trace. \nOf course Tooler was compelled to pull up again immediately ; \nand after having adjusted the trace, and asking the animal \nseriously what he meant, at the same time enforcing the ques- \ntion by giving him a blow on the bony part of the nose, he \nprepared to remount ; but just as he had got his left foot \nupon the nave of the wheel, Valentine so admirably imitated \nthe sharp snapping growl of a dog in the front boot, that \nTooler started back as quickly as if he had been shot, while \n\n\n\n276 PUBLIC AND PARLOR READINGS. \n\nthe gentleman in black dropped the reins and almost jumped \ninto the road. \n\n" Good gracious ! " exclaimed the gentleman in black, trem- \nbling with great energy \xe2\x96\xa0 " how wrong, how very horribly \nwrong, of you, coachman, not to tell me that a dog had been \nplaced beneath my feet ! " \n\n" Blarm their carcases ! " cried Tooler, "they never told me \na dog was shoved there. Lay down ! We \'11 soon have yow \nout there together ! " \n\n" Not for the world ! " cried the gentleman in black, as \nTooler approached the foot-board in order to open it. " Not \nfor the world ! un-un-un-less you le-le-let me get down first. \nI have no desire to pe-pe-perish of hydropho-phobia." \n\n"Kip yar fat on the board then, sir, please," said Tooler, \n" we \'11 soon have the varmint out o\' that." So saying, he \ngathered up the reins, remounted the box, and started off the \nhorses again at full gallop. \n\nThe gentleman in black then began to explain to Tooler \nhow utterly inconceivable was the number of persons who had \ndied of hydrophobia within an almost unspeakably short space \nof time, in the immediate vicinity of the residence of a friend \nof his in London ; and just as he had got into the marrow of \na most excruciating description of the intense mental and \nphysical agony of which the disease in its worst stage was \nproductive, both he and Tooler suddenly sprang back, with \ntheir feet in the air, and their heads between the knees \nof the passengers behind them, on Valentine giving a loud \ngrowling snap, more bitingly indicative of anger than be- \nfore. \n\nAs Tooler had tightly hold of the reins when he made this \ninvoluntary spring, the horses stopped on the instant, and \nallowed him time to scramble up again without rendering the \nslow process dangerous. \n\n" I cannot, III positively cannot," said the gentleman in \nblack, who had been thrown again into a dreadful state of ex- \ncitement, " I cannot sit here, \xe2\x80\x94 my nerves cannot endure it ; \nit \'s perfectly shocking." \n\n\n\nA VENTKILOQUIST ON A STAGE-COACH. 277 \n\n" Blister their bowls ! " exclaimed Tooler, whose first im- \npulse was to drag the dog out of the boot at all hazards, but \nwho, on seeing the horses waiting in the road a short distance \nahead for the next stage, thought it better to wait till he had \nreached them. " I \'11 make un remember this the longest \nday o\' thar blessed lives, \xe2\x80\x94 blarm un ! Phih ! I \'11 let un \nknow when I get back, I warrant. I \'11 larn un to \xe2\x80\x94 " \n\n" Hoa, coachman ! hoa ! my hat \'s off ! " cried Valentine, \nthrowing his voice to the back of the coach. \n\n" Well, may I be \xe2\x80\xa2 \xe2\x80\x94 phit ! " said Tooler. " I \'11 mak< yow \nrun for \'t anyhow \xe2\x80\x94 phit ! " \n\nIn less than a minute the coach drew up opposite the stable, \nwhen the gentleman in black at once proceeded to alight. \nJust, however, as his foot reached the plate of the roller-bolt, \nanother growl from Valentine frightened him backwards, when, \nfalling upon one of the old horse-keepers, he knocked him \nfairly down, and rolled over him heavily. \n\n" Darng your cloomsy carkus," cried the horse-keeper, \ngathering himself up, "carn\'t you git oof ar cooarch aroat \nknocking o\' pipple darn 1 ?" \n\n" I-I-I beg pardon," tremblingly observed the gentleman in \nblack; " I hope I-I \xe2\x80\x94 " \n\n"Whoap! pardon!" contemptuously echoed the horse- \nkeeper as he limped towards the bars to unhook the leaders\' \ntraces. \n\n" Now then, yow warmint, let \'s see who yow belong to," \nsaid Tooler, approaching the mouth of the boot; but just \nas he was in the act of raising the foot-board, another angry \nsnap made him close it again with the utmost rapidity. \n\n" Lay down ! blarm your body ! " cried Tooler, shrinking \nback. " Here, yow Jim, kim here, bor, and take this \'ere \ndevil of a dog out o\' that.\' 1 \n\nJim approached, and the growling was louder than before, \nwhile the gentleman in black implored Jim to take care that \nthe animal did n\'t get hold of his hand. \n\n"Here, yow Harry!" shouted Jim, "yare noot afeared o\' \ndoogs together, \xe2\x80\x94 darng un, / doont like un." \n\n\n\n278 PUBLIC AND PAELOE READINGS. \n\nAccordingly Harry came, and then Sam, and then Bob, and \nthen Bill ; but as the dog could not be seen, and as the snarling \ncontinued, neither of them dared to put his hand in to drag \nthe monster forth. Bob therefore ran off for Tom Titus the \nblacksmith, who was supposed to care for nothing, and in less \nthan two minutes Tom Titus arrived with about three feet of \nrod-iron red hot. \n\n"Darng un!" cried Tom, "this \'ere \'11 maake un quit \ntogether ! " \n\n" Dear me ! mygood man," said the gentleman in black, \n" don\'t use that unchristian implement ! don\'t put the dumb \nthing to such horrible torture ! " \n\n" It don\'t siggerfy a button," cried Tooler, " I marn\'t go to \nstop here all day. Out he must come." \n\nUpon this Tom Titus introduced his professional weapon, \nand commenced poking about with considerable energy, while \nthe snapping and growling increased with each poke. \n\n" I \'11 tell you what it is," said Tom Titus, turning round and \nwiping the sweat off his brow with his naked arm, " this here \ncretur here \'s stark raavin\' mad." \n\n\'\xe2\x80\xa2\' I knew that he was," cried the gentleman in black, getting \ninto an empty wagon which stood without horses just out of \nthe road ; "I felt perfectly sure that he was rabid." \n\n" He \'s a bull-terrier too," said Tom Titus, " I knows it by \'s \ngrowl. It \'s the worsest and dargdest to go maad as is." \n\n"Well, what shall us do wi\' th\' warment?" said Tooler. \n\n" Shoot him ! shoot him ! " cried the gentleman in black. \n\n" 0, I \'ve goot a blunderbus, Bob ! " said Tom Titus, "yow \nrun for \'t together, it \'s top o\' the forge." \n\nBob started at once, and Tom kept on the bar, while Tooler, \nSam, and Harry, and Bob held the heads of the horses. \n\n" He \'s got un ; all right ! " cried Tom Titus, as Bob neared \nthe coach with the weapon on his shoulder. " Yow \'11 be doon \nin noo time," he added, as he felt with his rod to ascertain in \nwhich corner of the boot the bull-terrier lay. \n\n" Is she loarded 1 " asked Bob, as he handed Tom Titus the \ninstrument of death. \n\n\n\n\n\n\nA VENTKILOQUIST ON A STAGE-COACH 279 \n\n" Mind you make the shot come out at bottom," shouted \nTooler. \n\n"I hool," said Tom Titus, putting the weapon to his shoulder. \n" Noo the Loord ha\' marcy on yar, as joodge says sizes," and \ninstantly let fly. \n\nThe horses of course plunged considerably, but still did no \nmischief; and before the smoke had evaporated, Valentine \nintroduced into the boot a low melancholy howl, which con- \nvinced Tom Titus that the shot had taken effect. \n\n" He \'s giv oop the ghost ; darng his carkus ! " cried Tom, \nas he poked the dead body in the corner. \n\n"Well, let\'s have a look at un," said Tooler, "let\'s see \nwhat the warment is like." \n\nThe gentleman in black at once leaped out of the wagon, \nand every one present drew near, when Tom, guided by the \nrod which he had kept upon the body, put his hand into the \nboot, and drew forth a fine hare that had been shattered by \nthe shot all to pieces. \n\n"He arn\'t a bull-terrier," cried Bob. \n\n" But that arn\'t he," said Tom Titus. " He \'s some\'er \naboot here as dead as a darng\'d nail. I know he \'s a corpse." \n\n" Are you sure on \'t ! " asked Tooler. \n\n" There arn\'t any barn dooor deader," cried Tom. " Here, \nI \'11 lug um out an\' show yar." \n\n" No, no ! " shouted Tooler, as Tom proceeded to pull out \nthe luggage. " I marn\'t stay for that. I \'m an hour behind \nnow, blarm un ! jimp up, genelmen ! " \n\nTom Titus and his companions, who wanted the bull-terrier \nas a trophy, entreated Tooler to allow them to have it, and, \nhaving at length gained his consent, Tom proceeded to \nempty the boot. Every eye was, of course, directed to every- \nthing drawn out, and when Tom made a solemn declaration \nthat the boot was empty, they were all, at once, struck with \namazement. Each looked at the other with astounding incre- \ndulity, and overhauled the luggage again and again. \n\n" Do you mean to say," said Tooler, " that there arn\'t nuffin \nelse in the boot 1 " \n\n\n\n280 PUBLIC AND PAELOE EEADINGS.. \n\n" Darnged a thing ! " cried Tom Titus, " coom and look." \nAnd Tooler did look, and the gentleman in black looked, and \nBob looked, and Harry looked, and Bill looked, and Sam \nlooked, and all looked, but found the boot empty. \n\n" Well, blarm me ! " cried Tooler. " But darng it all, he \nmust be somewhere ! " \n\n" I \'11 taake my solum davy," said Bill, " that he was \nthere." \n\n" I seed um myself," exclaimed Bob, "wi\' my oarn eyes, an\' \ndid n\'t loike the looks on um a bit." \n\n" There cannot," said the gentleman in black, " be the \nsmallest possible doubt about his having been there ; but \nthe question for our mature consideration is, where is he \nnow 1 " \n\n" I \'11 bet a pint," said Harry, "you blowed um away." \n\n" Blowed um away, you fool I \xe2\x80\x94 how could I ha\' blowed \num away 1 " \n\n" Why, he was there," said Bob, " and he baint there noo, \nand he baint here nayther, so you must ha\' blowed um out \no\' th\' boot ; \'sides, look at the muzzle o\' this ere blunder- \nbust ! " \n\n" Well, of all the rummest goes as ever happened," said \nTooler, thrusting his hands to the very bottom of his pockets, \n" this ere flogs \'em all into nuffin ! " \n\n" It is perfectly astounding ! " exclaimed the gentleman in \nblack, looking again into the boot, while the men stood and \nstared at each other with their mouths as wide open as hu- \nman mouths could be. \n\n" Well, in wi\' \'em agin," cried Tooler, " in wi\' \'em ! \xe2\x80\x94 Blarm \nme if this here arn\'t a queer un to get over." \n\nThe luggage was accordingly replaced, and Tooler, on \nmounting the box, told the men to get a gallon of beer, when \nthe gentleman in black generously gave them half a crown, \nand the horses started off, leaving Tom with his blunderbuss, \nHarry, Bill, Sam, and their companions, bewildered with the \nmystery which the whole day spent in the alehouse by no \nmeans enabled them to solve. \n\n\n\nA HELPMATE. 281 \n\n\n\nA HELPMATE. \xe2\x80\x94 A. Melville Bell. \n\nWHEN bashful single men are " well to do " \nThe ladies try their best to make them woo; \nAnd, surely, if the man is worth the plot, \nAnd to one\'s mind, &c, wherefore not? \nAll wives are " helpmates " ; and each would-be wife \nHelping to mate proves fit for married life. \nThe truth of this may not at first appear, \nBut by a case in point 1 11 make it clear. \n\nNo mortal ever had a better heart, \n\nOr needed more this matrimonial art, \n\nThan Mr. Slow ; and many damsels vied \n\nIn showing him he would not be denied \n\nIf he would only lay aside his fear \n\nAnd tell \xe2\x80\x94 or whisper \xe2\x80\x94 what they longed to hear. \n\nSome sent him slippers to advance their suit, \n\nHoping to catch the lover by the foot ; \n\nSome, with a higher aim, his throat would deck \n\nWith warm cravat, \xe2\x80\x94 to take him by the neck ; \n\nOthers gave flowers, their passion to disclose, \n\nAnd even handkerchiefs, \xe2\x80\x94 to have him by the nose , \n\nGloves, cuffs, and mittens were by many planned \n\nWith wiles directly levelled at his hand ! \n\nBut none had found out the successful art \n\nTo make this " eligible man " take heart. \n\nHe looked the lover, gave expressive sighs, \nBut only spoke the language of " sheep\'s eyes." \nAt last, one maid, who wisely judged the case \nAnd really loved him, met him face to face. \n\nShe bantered Mr. Slow upon his ways : \n" You need some one, I \'m sure, to cheer your days \xe2\x80\x94 \nEh 1 did you speak ?-" \xe2\x80\x94 He could not for his life. \n" I often wonder you don\'t get a wife ! \n\n\n\n282 PUBLIC AND PARLOR READINGS. \n\nI know some one, I think, who would n\'t frown \nIf you should ask her ! " \xe2\x80\x94 the senseless clown ! \nHe wriggles nervously, plays with his hat, \nLooks down and blushes, fumbles his cravat, \xe2\x80\x94 \nThen seems about to speak \xe2\x80\x94 "Go on ! " \xe2\x80\x94 but no ; \nHe only sighs, and draws a face of woe. \n\n* Are you not well 1 I fear you don\'t take care \nTo wrap yourself from this damp evening air. \nPut in this button : there ! that draws your coat \nClose as a comforter about your throat. \xe2\x80\x94 \nBut I \'m afraid you \'11 think me very bold." \n"Ono; go on ! \xe2\x80\x94 I \'m not afraid of cold " \xe2\x80\x94 \n" Why then go on 1 \xe2\x80\x94 I think you hardly know ; \nBut I \'11 unbutton it if you say so." \n\n" Dear me ! I \'ve pulled the button off, I vow ; \n\nIf you \'d a wife, she \'d sew it for you now ! " \n\n" I wish that you would " \xe2\x80\x94 " Eh ] " \xe2\x80\x94 " would sew it o& \n\nAnd something else ! " \xe2\x80\x94 His modest features shone, \n\nBut not a word his palsied tongue could frame. \n\n" Well, \' something else \' has surely got a name % " \n\nHe covered up his face and whispered this, \xe2\x80\x94 \n\n" I wish you \'d give me something ! " " What % " "A kiss ! * \n\n" Why, Mr. Slow, you are a curious elf; \n\nA man in such a case should help himself ! \n\nFor if a lady gave one, that would be \n\nLike sealing an engagement, \xe2\x80\x94 don\'t you see 1 " \n\n" That \'s what I want ! " " Now really ! Is it so 1 \nWell, just suppose that I have not said no ! " \nA maiden\'s coyness overwhelmed him : " Ah ! " \nHe whispered, blushing, " Thank you : ask papa ! " \n\nShe laughed outright ; though \'t was indeed no joke ! \nHe thought this was the proper form ; but spoke \nQuite freely now, and had so much to say, \nThat, ere she left, he made her fix the day ! \nA little help quite cured his single trouble ; \nAnd very soon they loved each other douhJe ! " \n\n\n\nHENRY V.\'S WOOING. 283 \n\n\n\nHENRY Y.\'S WOOING.\xe2\x80\x94 Shakespeare. \n\nScene. \xe2\x80\x94 An Apartment in the French King\'s Palace. \xe2\x80\x94 King \nHenry, Katherine, and Alice her Gentlewoman. \n\nKING HENRY. Fair Katherine, and most fair ! \nWill you vouchsafe to teach a soldier terms, \nSuch as will enter at a lady\'s ear, \nAnd plead his love-suit to her gentle heart ? \n\nKath. Your majesty shall mock at me; I cannot speak \nyour England. \n\nK. Hen. fair Katherine, if you will love me soundly with \nyour French heart, I will be glad to hear you confess it \nbrokenly with your English tongue. Do you like me, Kate? \n\nKath. Pardonnez moy, I cannot tell vat is \xe2\x80\x94 like me. \n\nK. Hen. An angel is like you, Kate ; and you are like aif \nangel. \n\nKath. Que dit-il? que je suis semblable ct les anges? \n\nAlice. Ouy, vrayment, sauf vostre Grace, ainsi dit-il. \n\nK. Hen, I said so, dear Katherine, and I must not blush io> \naffirm it. \n\nKath. bon Dieu I les langues des hommes sont pleines d* \ntromperies. \n\nK. Hen. AVhat says she, fair one ? that the tongues of mer \nare full of deceits % \n\nAlice. Ouy ; dat de tongues of de mans is be full of deceits \' \ndat is de Princess. \n\nK. Hen. The Princess is the better Englishwoman. I\' faith : \nKate, my wooing is fit for thy understanding : I am glad \nthou canst speak no better English ; for, if thou couldst. \nthou wouldst find me such a plain king that thou wouldst \nthink I had sold my farm to bay my crown. I know no ways \nto mince it in love, but directly to say \xe2\x80\x94 I love you : then, if \nyou urge me further than to say \xe2\x80\x94 Do you in faith % I wear \nout my suit. Give me your answer ; I\' faith, do, and so clap \nhands and a bargain. How say you, lady 1 \n\nKath. Sauf vostre honneur, me understand well. \n\n\n\n284 PUBLIC AND PARLOR READINGS. \n\nK. Hen. Marry, if you would put me to verses, or to dance \nfor your sake, Kate, why you undid me : for the one, I have \nneither words nor measure ; and for the other, I have no \nstrength in measure, yet a reasonable measure in strength. \nIf I could win a lady at leap-frog, or by vaulting into my \nsaddle with my armor on my back, under the correction of \nbragging be it spoken, I should quickly leap into a wife ; but, \nbefore God, Kate, I cannot look greenly, nor gasp out my elo- \nquence, nor I have no cunning in protestation ; only down- \nright oaths, which I never use till urged, nor never break for \nurging. If thou canst love a fellow of this temper, Kate, \nwhose face is not worth sun-burning, that never looks in his \nglass for love of anything he sees there, let thine eye be thy \ncook. I speak to thee plain soldier : if thou canst love me \nfor this, take me ; if not, to say to thee that I shall die, is true ; \nbut for thy love, by the Lord, no ; yet I love thee too. And \nwhile thou liv\'st, dear Kate, take a fellow of plain and un- \ncoined constancy, for he perforce must do thee right, because \nhe hath not the gift to woo in other places ; for these fellows \nof infinite tongue, that can rhyme themselves into ladies\' \nfavors, they do always reason themselves out again. What ! \na speaker is but a prater ; a rhyme is but a ballad. A good \nleg will fall, a straight back will stoop, a black beard will turn \nwhite, a curled pate will grow bald, a fair face will wither, \na full eye will wax hollow ; but a good heart, Kate, is the sun \nand the moon ; or, rather, the sun, and not the moon, for it \nshines bright, and never changes, but keeps his course truly. \nIf thou would have such a one, take me : and take me, take a \nsoldier ; take a soldier, take a king ; and what say\'st thou \nthen to my love 1 speak, my fair, and fairly, I pray thee. \nKath. Is it possible dat I should love de enemy of France 1 \nK. Hen. No ; it is not possible you should love the enemy \nof France, Kate ; but in loving me, you should love the friend \nof France, for I love France so well that I will not part with \na village of it ; I will have it all mine : and, Kate, when \nFrance is mine and I am yours, then yours is France and you \nare mine. \n\n\n\nHENRY V.\'S WOOING. 285 \n\nKaih. I cannot tell vat is dat. \n\nK. Hen. No, Kate 1 I will tell thee in French, which I am \nsure will hang upon my tongue like a new-married wife about \nher husband\'s neck, hardly to be shook off. Quand fay la \npossession de France, et quand vous avez le possession de moy, \n(let me see, what then 1 Saint Denis be my speed !) \xe2\x80\x94 done \nvostre est France, et vous estes mienne. It is as easy for me, \nKate, to conquer the Kingdom, as to speak so much more \nFrench. I shall never move thee in French, unless it be to \nlaugh at me. \n\nKeith. Sauf vostre honneur, le Francois que vous parlez est \nmeilleur que V Anglois lequel je parle. \n\nK. Hen. No, faith, is \'t not, Kate ; but thy speaking of my \ntongue, and I thine, most truly falsely, must needs be granted \nto be much at one. But, Kate, dost thou understand thus \nmuch English 1 Canst thou love me % \n\nKaih. I cannot tell. \n\nK. Hen. Can any of your neighbors tell, Kate 1 I \'11 ask \nthem. Come, I know thou lovest me, and at night, when you \ncome into your closet, you \'11 question this gentlewoman about \nme ; and I know, Kate, you will, to her, dispraise those parts \nin me that you love with your heart ; but, good Kate, mock \nme mercifully, the rather, gentle Princess, because I love thee \ncruelly. If ever thou be\'st mine, Kate, (as I have a saving \nfaith within me tells thou shalt,) I get thee with scambling. \nBut what say\'st thou, my fair flower-de-luce\'? \n\nKaih. I do not know dat. \n\nK. Hen. No ; \'t is hereafter to know, but now to promise. \nHow answer you, la plus belle Katherine du monde, mon tres \nchere et divin deese ? \n\nKaih. Your Majeste have fausse French enough to deceive \nde most sage damoiselle dat is en France. \n\nK. Hen. Now, fie upon my false French ! By mine honor, \nin true English, I love thee, Kate : by which honor I dare not \nswear thou lovest me ; yet my blood begins to flatter me thou \ndost, notwithstanding the poor and untempering effect of my \nvisage. I was created with a stubborn outside, with an aspect \n\n\n\n286 PUBLIC AND PAKLOE HEADINGS. \n\nof iron, that, when I come to woo ladies, I fright them. \nBut, in faith, Kate, the elder I wax, the better I shall appear : \nmy comfort is, that old age, that ill layer-up of beauty, can do \nno more spoil upon my face : thou hast me, if thou hast me, \nat the worst ; and thou shalt wear me, if thou wear me, better \nand better. And therefore tell me, most fair Katherine, will \nyou have me 1 Put off your maiden blushes ; avouch the \nthoughts of your heart with the looks of an empress ; take \nme by the hand and say \xe2\x80\x94 Harry of England, I am thine : \nwhich word thou shalt no sooner bless my ear withal, but I \nwill tell thee aloud \xe2\x80\x94 England is thine, Ireland is thine, \nFrance is thine, and Henry Plantagenet is thine. Come, \nyour answer is broken music, for thy voice is music, and thy \nEnglish broken; therefore, Queen of all, Katherine, break \nthy mind to me in broken English : wilt thou have me 1 \n\nKath. Dat is as it shall please de Roy mon pere. \n\nK. Hen. Nay, it will please him well, Kate : it shall please \nhim, Kate. \n\nKath. Den it shall also content me. \n\nK. Hen. Upon that I kiss your hand, and I call you my \nqueen. \n\nKath. Laissez, mon seigneur, laissez, laissez ! Ma foy, je ne \nveux point que vous abbaissez vostre grandeur, en baisant la main \noVune vostre indigne serviteure : excusez moy, je vous supplie, mon \ntres puissant seigneur. \n\nK. Hen. Then I will kiss your lips, Kate. \n\nKath. Les dames, et damoiselles, pour estre baisees devant leur \nnopces, il n\'est pas la coustume de France. \n\nK. Hen. Madam, my interpreter, what says she 1 \n\nAlice. Dat it is not de fashion pour les ladies of France, \xe2\x80\x94 \nI cannot tell what is baiser en Angiish. \n\nK. Hen. To kiss. \n\nAlice. Your Majesty entend bettre que moy. \n\nK. Hen. It is not the fashion for the maids in France \nto kiss before they are married, would she say 1 \n\nAlice. Ouy, vrayment. \n\nK. Hen. Kate, nice customs curt\'sy to great kings. \n\n\n\nTHE ONE-HOSS SHAY. 287 \n\nDear Kate, you and I cannot be confined within the weak list \nof a country\'s fashion : we are the makers of manners, Kate ; \nand the liberty that follows our places stops the mouths of all \nfind-faults, as I will do yours, for upholding the nice fashion \nof your country in denying me a kiss : therefore patiently and \nyielding. [Kissing her.\'] You have witchcraft in your lips, \nKate : there is more eloquence in a sugar-touch of them than \nin the tongues of the French Council ; and they should sooner \npersuade Harry of England than a general petition of mon- \narchs. Here comes your father. [Enter French King and \nattendants.] God save your Majesty ! ShaU Kate be my \nwife 1 ? \n\nFr. King. So please you. \n\nK. Hen. I am content. \n\n\n\nTHE ONE-HOSS SHAY; OR, THE DEACON\'S \nMASTERPIECE. \xe2\x80\x94 0. W. Holmes. \n\nA LOGICAL STORY. \n\nHAVE you heard of the wonderful one-hoss shay, \nThat was built in such a logical way \nIt ran a hundred years to a day, \nAnd then of a sudden, it \xe2\x80\x94 ah, but stay, \nI \'11 tell you what happened without delay, - \nScaring the parson into fits, \nFrightening people out of their wits, \xe2\x80\x94 \nHave you ever heard of that, I say % \n\nSeventeen hundred and fifty-five. \nGeorgius Secundus was then alive, \xe2\x80\x94 \nSnuffy old drone from the German hive. \nThat was the year when Lisbon town \nSaw the earth open and gulp her down, \nAnd Braddock\'s army was done so brown, \nLeft without a scalp to its crown. \n\n\n\n288 PUBLIC AND PAELOE EEADINGS. \n\nIt was on the terrible Earthquake-day \nThat the Deacon finished the one-hoss shay. \n\nNow in building* of chaises, I tell you what, \nThere is always somewhere a weakest spot, \xe2\x80\x94 \nIn hub, tire, felloe, in spring or thill, \nIn panel, or crossbar, or floor, or sill, \nIn screw, bolt, thoroughbrace, \xe2\x80\x94 lurking still, \nFind it somewhere you must and will, \xe2\x80\x94 \nAbove or below, or within or without, \xe2\x80\x94 \nAnd that \'s the reason, beyond a doubt, \nA chaise breaks down, but does n\'t wear out. \n\nBut the Deacon swore, (as Deacons do, \nWith an " I dew vum," or an " I tell yeou? ) \nHe would build one shay to beat the taown \n\'n\' the keounty \'n\' all the kentry raoun\' ; \n\xe2\x80\x94 " Fur," said the Deacon, " \'t \'s mighty plain \nThut the weakes\' place mus\' stan\' the strain ; \n\'n\' the way t\' fix it, uz I maintain, \n\nIs only jest \nF make that place uz strong uz the rest." \n\nSo the Deacon inquired of the village folk \n\nWhere he could find the strongest oak, \n\nThat couldn\'t be split nor bent nor broke, \xe2\x80\x94 \n\nThat was for spokes and floor and sills ; \n\nHe sent for lancewood to make the thills ; \n\nThe crossbars were ash, from the straightest trees ; \n\nThe panels of whitewood, that cuts like cheese, \n\nBut lasts like iron for things like these ; \n\nThe hubs of logs from the " Settler\'s ellum," \xe2\x80\x94 \n\nLast of its timber, \xe2\x80\x94 they could n\'t sell \'em, \n\nNever an axe had seen their chips, \n\nAnd the wedges flew from between their lips, \n\nTheir blunt ends frizzled like celery-tips \xe2\x80\xa2 \n\nStep and prop-iron, bolt and screw, \n\n\n\nTHE ONE-HOSS SHAY. 289 \n\nSpring, tire, axle and linchpin too, \n\nSteel of the finest, bright and blue ; \n\nThoroughbrace bison-skin, thick and wide ; \n\nBoot, top, dasher, from tough old hide \n\nFound in the pit when the tanner died. \n\nThat was the way he " put her through." \xe2\x80\x94 \n\n" There ! " said the Deacon, " naow she \'11 dew ! " \n\n"Do ! I tell you, I rather guess \n\nShe was a wonder, and nothing less ! \n\nColts grew horses, beards turned gray, \n\nDeacon and deaconess dropped away, \n\nChildren and grandchildren, \xe2\x80\x94 where were they 1 \n\nBut there stood the stout old one-hoss shay \n\nAs fresh as on Lisbon-earthquake day ! \n\nEighteen hundred ; \xe2\x80\x94 it came and found \nThe Deacon\'s masterpiece strong and sound. \nEighteen hundred increased by ten ; \xe2\x80\x94 \n" Hahnsum kerridge " they called it then. \nEighteen hundred and twenty came ; \xe2\x80\x94 \nRunning as usual ; much the same. \nThirty and forty at last arrive, \nAnd then come fifty, and fifty-five. \n\nLittle of all we value here \n\nWakes on the morn of its hundredth year \n\nWithout both feeling and looking queer. \n\nIn fact, there \'s nothing that keeps its youth, \n\nSo far as I know, but a tree and truth. \n\n(This is a moral that runs at large ; \n\nTake it. \xe2\x80\x94 You \'re welcome. \xe2\x80\x94 No extra charge.) \n\nFirst of November, \xe2\x80\x94 the Earthquake -day, \xe2\x80\x94 \n\nThere are traces of age in the one-hoss shay, \n\nA general flavor of mild decay, \n\nBut nothing local as one may say. \n\nThere could n\'t be, \xe2\x80\x94 for the Deacon\'s art \n\n13 S \n\n\n\n290 PUBLIC AND PAELOE READINGS. \n\nHad made it so like in every part \nThat there was n\'t a chance for one to start. \nFor the wheels were just as strong as the thills, \nAnd the floor was just as strong as the sills, \nAnd the panels just as strong as the floor, \nAnd the whippletree neither less nor more, \nAnd the back crossbar as strong as the fore, \nAnd spring and axle and hub encore. \nAnd yet, as a whole, it is past a doubt \nIn another hour it will be worn out ! \n\nFirst of November, \'Fifty-five ! \n\nThis morning the parson takes a drive. \n\nNow, small boys, get out of the way ! \n\nHere comes the wonderful one-hoss shay, \n\nDrawn by a rat-tailed, ewe-necked bay. \n\n" Huddup ! " said the parson. \xe2\x80\x94 Off went they. \n\nThe parson was working his Sunday\'s text, \xe2\x80\x94 \n\nHad got to fifthly, and stopped perplexed \n\nAt what the \xe2\x96\xa0 \xe2\x80\x94 Moses \xe2\x80\x94 was coming next. \n\nAll at once the horse stood still, \n\nClose by the meet\'n\'-house on the hill. \n\n\xe2\x80\x94 First a shiver, and then a thrill, \nThen something decidedly like a spill, \xe2\x80\x94 \nAnd the parson was sitting upon a rock, \n\nAt half past nine by the meet\'n\'-house clock, \xe2\x80\x94 \nJust the hour of the Earthquake shock ! \n\n\xe2\x80\x94 What do you think the parson found, \nWhen he got up and stared around 1 \nThe poor old chaise in a heap or mound, \nAs if it had been to the mill and ground ! \nYou see, of course, if you \'re not a dunce, \nHow it went to pieces all at once, \xe2\x80\x94 \n\nAll at once, and nothing first, \xe2\x80\x94 \nJust as bubbles do when they burst. \n\nEnd of the wonderful one-hoss shay. \nLogic is logic. That \'s all I say. \n\n\n\nMRS. CAUDLE URGING THE NEED OF SPRING CLOTHING. 291 \n\n\n\nMRS. CAUDLE URGING THE NEED OF SPRING \nCLOTHING. \xe2\x80\x94 Jerrold. \n\nIF there \'s anything in the world I hate, \xe2\x80\x94 and you know \nit, \xe2\x80\x94 it is, asking you for money. I am sure, for myself, \nI \'d rather go without a thing a thousand times, and I do, the \nmore shame for you to let me. \n\nWhat do I want now ? As if you did n\'t know ! I \'m sure, \nif I \'d any money of my own, I \'d never ask you for a farthing, \n\xe2\x80\x94 never ! It \'s painful to me, gracious knows ! \n\nWhat do you say 1 If it \'s painful, why so often do it ? \nI suppose you call that a joke, \xe2\x80\x94 one of your club-jokes ! As \nI say, I only wish I \'d any money of my own. If there is \nanything that humbles a poor woman, it is coming to a man\'s \npocket for every farthing. It \'s dreadful ! \n\nNow, Caudle, you shall hear me, for it is n\'t often I speak. \nPray, do you know what month it is 1 And did you see how \nthe children looked at church to-day \xe2\x80\x94 like nobody else\'s \nchildren 1 \n\nWhat was the matter with them ? Caudle, how can you \nask 1 Were n\'t they all in their thick merinoes and beaver \nbonnets 1 \n\nWhat do you say 1 What of it 2 What ! You \'11 tell me \nthat you did n\'t see how the Briggs girls, in their new chips, \nturned their noses up at \'em ] And you did n\'t see how the \nBrowns looked at the Smiths, and then at our poor girls, \nas much as to say, " Poor creatures ! what figures for the first \nof May ! " \n\nYou did n\'t see it ? The more shame for you ! I \'m sure, \nthose Briggs girls \xe2\x80\x94 the little minxes ! \xe2\x80\x94 put me into such a \npucker, I could have pulled their ears for \'em over the pew. \n\nWhat do you say 1 I ought to be ashamed to own it ? Now, \nCaudle, it \'s no use talking ; those children shall not cross \nover the threshold next Sunday, if they have n\'t things for the \nsummer. Now mind, \xe2\x80\x94 they sha\' n\'t ; and there \'s an end \nof it! \n\n\n\n292 PUBLIC AND PAELOK READINGS. \n\nI \'m always wanting money for clothes ? How can you say \nthat 1 I \'m sure there are no children in the world that cost \ntheir father so little ; but that \'s it, \xe2\x80\x94 the less a poor woman \ndoes upon, the less she may. \n\nNow, Caudle, dear ! What a man you are ! I know you \'11 \ngive me the money, because, after all, I think you love your \nchildren, and like to see \'em well dressed. It \'s only natural \nthat a father should. \n\nHow muck money do I want ? Let me see, love. There \'s \nCaroline, and Jane, and Susan, and Mary Anne, and \xe2\x80\x94 \n\nWhat do you say 1 I need rUt count \'em ! You know how \nmany there are I That \'s just the way you take me up ! \n\nWell, how much money will it take 1 Let me see, \xe2\x80\x94 I \'11 \ntell you in a minute. You always love to see the dear things \nlike new pins. I know that, Caudle ; and though I say it, \nbless their little hearts ! they do credit to you, Caudle. \n\nRow much ? Now, don\'t be in a hurry ! Well, I think, \nwith good pinching, \xe2\x80\x94 and you know, Caudle, there \'s never \na wife who can pinch closer than I can, \xe2\x80\x94 I think, with pinch- \ning, I can do with twenty pounds. \n\nWhat did you say 1 Twenty fiddlesticks ? \n\nWhat ! You won\'t give half the money ! Very well, Mr. \nCaudle ; I don\'t care ; let the children go in rags ; let them \nstop from church, and grow up like heathens and cannibals ; \nand then you \'11 save your money, and, I suppose, be satisfied. \n\nWhat do you say 1 Ten pounds enough ? Yes, just like \nyou men ; you think things cost nothing for women ; but you \ndon\'t care how much you lay out upon yourselves. \n\nThey only ivant frocks and bonnets ? How do you know \nwhat they want 1 How should a man know anything at all \nabout it 1 And you won\'t give more than ten pounds 1 Very \nwell. Then you may go shopping with it yourself, and see \nwhat you \'11 make of it ! I \'11 have none of your ten pounds, \nI can tell you, \xe2\x80\x94 no, sir ! \n\nNo ; you \'ve no cause to say that. I don\'t want to dress \nthe children up like countesses ! You often throw that in my \nteeth, you do ; but you know it \'s false, Caudle, \xe2\x80\x94 you know it ! \n\n\n\nHANS IN A FIX. 293 \n\nI only wish to give \'em proper notions of themselves ; and \nwhat, indeed, can the poor things think, when they see the \nBriggses, the Browns, and the Smiths, \xe2\x80\x94 and their fathers \ndon\'t make the money you do, Caudle, \xe2\x80\x94 when they see them \nas fine as tulips 1 Why, they must think themselves nobody. \nHowever, the twenty pounds I will have, if I \'ve any ; or not \na farthing ! \n\nNo, sir ; no, \xe2\x80\x94 I don\'t want to dress up the children like \npeacocks and parrots ! I only want to make \'em respectable. \n\nWhat do you say 1 You HI give me fifteen pounds ? No, \nCaudle, no ; not a penny will I take under twenty. If I did, \nit would seem as if I wanted to waste your money ; and I \'m \nsure, when I come to think of it, twenty pounds will hardly do ! \n\n\n\nHANS IN A FIX. \n\nYEN I lays myself down in my lonely pedroom, \nUnt dries vor to sleep werry soundt, \nDe treams, \xe2\x80\x94 0, how into my het tey vill gome, \nTill I vish I was unter der groundt ! \n\nSometimes, ven I eats von pig supper, I treams \nDat my shtomack is nit full of shtones, \n\nUnt out in mine shleep, like ter tuyfel, I shcreems, \nUnt kick off ter ped-glose, unt groans ! \n\nDen dere, ash I lay mit ter ped-glose all off, \n\nI kits myself all over vroze ; \nIn te morning I vakes mit te headaches unt cough, \n\nUnt I \'m zick vrom mine het to mine dose. \n\n0, vat shall be dun ver a poor man like me 1 \n\nVat for do I lif such a life ] \nSome say dere \'s a cure vor drouples of me : \n\nDinks I \'11 dry it, unt kit me von vife ! \n\n\n\n294 PUBLIC AND PAELOE EEADINGS. \n\n\n\nVICTUALS AND DRINK. \xe2\x80\x94 Mother Goose for Old Folks. \n\n" nnHERE once was a woman, and what do you think 1 \nJL She lived upon nothing but victuals and drink. \nVictuals and drink were the chief of her diet, \nAnd yet this poor woman scarce ever was quiet." \n\nAnd were you so foolish as really to think \nThat all she could want was her victuals and drink 1 \nAnd that while she was furnished with that sort of diet, \nHer feeling and fancy would starve, and be quiet 1 \n\nMother Goose knew far better, but thought it sufficient \nTo give a mere hint that the fare was deficient ; \nFor I do not believe she could ever have meant \nTo imply there was reason for being content. \n\nYet the mass of mankind is uncommonly slow \nTo acknowledge the fact it behooves them to know ; \nOr to learn that a woman is not like a mouse, \nNeeding nothing but cheese, and the walls of a house. \n\nBut just take a man, \xe2\x80\x94 shut him up for a day ; \n\nGet his hat and his cane, \xe2\x80\x94 put them snugly away ; \n\nGive him stockings to mend, and three sumptuous meals ; \xe2\x80\x94 \n\nAnd then ask him at night, if you dare, how he feels ! \n\nDo you think he will quietly stick to the stocking, \n\nWhile you read the news, and " don\'t care about talking " ] \n\n0, many a woman goes starving, I ween, \nWho lives in a palace, and fares like a queen ; \nTill the famishing heart and the feverish brain \nHave spelled out to life\'s end the long lesson of pain. \n\nYet stay ! To my mind an uneasy suggestion \nComes up, that there may be two sides to the question ; \nThat, while here and there proving inflicted privation, \nThe verdict must often be " wilful starvation," \n\n\n\nTHE COUNTKY SQUIKE. 295 \n\nSince there are men and women would force one to think \nThey choose to live only on victuals and drink. \n\nrestless, and craving, unsatisfied hearts, \nWhence never the vulture of hunger departs ! \nHow long on the husks of your life will ye feed, \nIgnoring the soul and her famishing need % \n\nBethink you, when lulled in your shallow content, \n\'T was to Lazarus only the angels were sent ; \nAnd \'t is he to whose lips but earth\'s ashes are given, \nFor whom the full banquet is gathered in heaven ! \n\n\n\nTHE COUNTRY SQUIRE. \xe2\x80\x94 Bentley Ballads. \n\nIN a small pretty village in Nottinghamshire there former- \nly lived a respectable Squire, who excelled all his friends \nin amusements athletic, and whose manner of living was far \nfrom ascetic. A wife he had taken for better or worse, whose \ntemper had proved an intolerant curse ; but at length, to his \ngreat and unspeakable joy, she died when presenting a fine \nlittle boy. Strange fancies men have ; \xe2\x80\x94 the father designed \nto watch o\'er the dawn of his son\'s youthful mind, \xe2\x80\x94 that, \nonly approached by the masculine gender, no room should be \nleft him for feelings more tender. " Had I ne\'er seen a wo- \nman," he often would sigh, " what Squire in the country so \nhappy as I ! " The boy was intelligent, active, and bright, \nand took in his studies uncommon delight ; no juvenile follies \ndistracted his mind ; no visions of bright eyes, or damsels \nunkind, and those fair demi-sisterly beings so gay, yclept \n" pretty cousins," ne\'er popped in his way ; till at length this \nremarkably singular son could number of years that had \npassed twenty-one." \n\nNow the father had settled, his promising son should his \nstudies conclude when he reached twenty-one ; and he went, \nwith a heart beating high with emotion, to launch the young \n\n\n\n29 G PUBLIC AND PARLOR READINGS. \n\nman on life\'s turbulent ocean. As they entered the town, a \nyoung maiden tripped by, with a cheek like a rose, and a \nlight laughing eye. " father, what \'s that ] " cried the \nyouth with delight, as this vision of loveliness burst on his \nsight. " 0, that," cried the cautious and politic Squire, who \ndid not the youth\'s ardent glances admire, " is only a thing \ncalled a Goose, my dear son ; we shall see many more ere \nour visit is done." \n\nBlooming damsels now passed with their butter and cheese, \nwhose beauty might even an anchorite please : " Merely \ngeese ! " said the Squire, " don\'t mind them, my dear ; there \nare many things better worth looking at here." As onwards \nthey passed, every step brought to view some spectacle \nequally curious and new ; and the joy of the youth hardly \nknew any bounds, at the rope-dancers, tumblers, and merry- \ngo-rounds. \n\nAs soon as the tour of the town was completed, the father \nresolved that the boy should be treated ; so, pausing an in- \nstant, he said, " My dear son, a new era to-day in your life \nhas begun ; now of all this bright scene and the gayeties in \nit, choose whatever you like, it is yours from this minute." \n" Choose whatever I like 1 " cried the youthful recluse. " 0, \nthank you, dear father, then give me \xe2\x80\x94 a goose ! " \n\n\n\nTHE PERPLEXED HOUSEKEEPER. \n\nI WISH I had % dozen pairs \nOf hands this very minute ; \nI \'d soon put all these things to rights ; \nThe very deuce is in it. \n\nHere \'s a big washing to be done, \n\nOne pair of hands to do it, \nSheets, shirts, and stockings, coats and pants, \n\nHow will I e\'er get through it 1 \n\n\n\nTHE PERPLEXED HOUSEKEEPER. 297 \n\nDinner to get for six or more, \n\nNo loaf left o\'er from Sunday ; \nAnd baby cross as he can live, \xe2\x80\x94 \n\nHe \'s always so on Monday. \n\nAnd there \'s the cream, \'t is getting sour, \n\nAnd must forthwith be churning ; \nAnd here \'s Bob wants a button on, \xe2\x80\x94 \n\nWhich way shall I be turning 1 \n\n\'T is time the meat was in the pot, \n\nThe bread was worked for baking, \nThe clothes were taken from the boil, \xe2\x80\x94 \n\ndear ! the baby \'s waking. \n\nHush, baby dear, there hush, sh-sh ! \n\n1 wish he \'d sleep a little, \n\nTill I could run and get some wood \nTo hurry up that kettle. \n\ndear ! if Pa comes home \n\nAnd finds things in this pother, \nHe \'11 just begin to tell me all \n\nAbout his tidy mother ! \n\nHow nice her kitchen used to be, \n\nHer dinner always ready \nExactly when the noon-bell rung, \xe2\x80\x94 \xe2\x96\xa0 \n\nHush, hush, dear little Freddy. \n\nAnd then will come some hasty word \n\nRight out before I \'m thinking, \xe2\x80\x94 \nThey say that hasty words from wives \n\nSet sober men to drinking. \n\nNow is n\'t that a great idea, \n\nThat men should take to sinning \nBecause a weary, half-sick wife \n\nCan\'t always smile so winning ? \n13* \n\n\n\n298 PUBLIC AND PARLOR READINGS. \n\nWhen I was young I used to earn \n\nMy living without trouble, \nHad clothes and pocket-money, too, \nAnd hours of leisure double. \n\nI never dreamed of such a fate \nWhen I, a-lass ! was courted \xe2\x80\x94 \nWife, mother, nurse, seamstress, cook, housekeeper, chamber- \nmaid, laundress, dairy-woman, and scrub generally, doing \nthe work of six, \n\nFor the sake of being supported ! \n\n\n\nI \n\n\n\nTHE BLIND MEN AND THE ELEPHANT. \xe2\x80\x94J. G. Saxe. \n\nA HINDOO FABLE. \n\n\'T was six men of Indostan \nTo learning much x inclined, \nWho went to see the Elephant \n\n(Though all of them were blind), \nThat each by observation . \n\nMight satisfy his mind. \n\nThe First approached the Elephant, \n\nAnd, happening to fall \nAgainst his broad and sturdy side, \n\nAt once began to bawl : \n" God bless me ! but the Elephant \n\nIs very like a wall ! " \n\nThe Second, feeling of the tusk, \nCried : " Ho ! what have we here \n\nSo very round and smooth and sharp 1 \nTo me \'t is mighty clear \n\nThis wonder of an Elephant \nIs very like a spear !" \n\nThe Third approached the animal, \nAnd, happening to take \n\n\n\nTHE BLIND MEN AND THE ELEPHANT. 299 \n\nThe squirming trunk within his hands, \n\nThus boldly up and spake : \n" I see," quoth he, " the Elephant \n\nIs very like a snake ! " \n\nThe Fourth reached out his eager hand, \n\nAnd felt about the knee. \n" What most this wondrous beast is like \n\nIs mighty plain," quoth he ; \n\'T is clear enough the Elephant \n\nIs very like a tree ! " \n\nThe Fifth, who chanced to touch the ear, \n\nSaid : " E\'en the blindest man \nCan tell what this resembles most ; \n\nDeny the fact who can, \nThis marvel of an Elephant \n\nIs very like a fan ! " \n\nThe Sixth no sooner had begun \n\nAbout the beast to grope, \nThan, seizing on the swinging tail \n\nThat fell within his scope, \n" I see," quoth he, " the Elephant \n\nIs very like a rope ! " \n\nAnd so these men of Indostan \n\nDisputed loud and long, \nEach in his own opinion \n\nExceeding stiff and strong, \nThough each was partly in the right, \n\nAnd all were in the wrong ! \n\nMORAL. \n\nSo, oft in theologic wars \n\nThe disputants, I ween, \nKail on in utter ignorance \n\nOf what each other mean, \nAnd prate about an Elephant \n\nNot one of them has seen ! \n\n\n\n300 PUBLIC AND PARLOR HEADINGS. \n\n\n\nGAPE-SEED. \n\nA YANKEE, walking the streets of London, looked through \na window upon a group of men writing very rapidly ; and \none of them said to him in an insulting manner, "Do you wish \nto buy some gape-seed 1 " Passing on a short distance the Yan- \nkee met a man, and asked him what the business of those \nmen was in the office he had just passed. He was told that \nthey wrote letters dictated by others, and transcribed all \nkinds of documents ; in short, they were writers. The Yan- \nkee returned to the office, and inquired if one of the men \nwould write a letter for him, and was answered in the affirm- \native. He asked the price, and was told one dollar. After \nconsiderable talk, the bargain was made ; one of the condi- \ntions of which was that the scribe should write just what the \nYankee told him to, or he should receive no pay. The scribe \ntold the Yankee he was ready to begin; and the latter \nsaid, \xe2\x80\x94 \xe2\x96\xa0 \n\n"Dear marm," and then asked, "Have you got that deown 1 ?" \n\n"Yes," was the reply; " go on." \n\n\'\' I went to ride t\' other day : have you got that deown 1" \n\n" Yes ; go on, go on" \n\n" And I harnessed the old mare into the wagon : have you \ngot that deown 1 " \n\n"Yes, yes, long ago; go on." \n\n" Why, how fast you write ! And I got into the wagon, \nand sat deown, and drew up the reins, and took the whip in \nmy right hand : have you got that deown 1 " \n\n"Yes, long ago; go on." \n\n" Dear me, how fast you write ! I never saw your equal. \nAnd I said to the old mare, \' Go \'long,\' and yerked the reins \npretty hard. Have you got that deown 1 " \n\n" Yes ; and I am impatiently waiting for more. I wish you \nWould n\'t bother me so with your foolish questions. Go on \nwith your letter." \n\n" Well, the old mare would n\'t stir out of her tracks, and \n\n\n\nTHE GOOD WIFE. 301 \n\nI hollered, \' Go Hong, you old jade J go \'long. } Have you got \nthat deown 1 " \n\n"Yes, indeed, you pestersome felloiv ; go on" \n\n" And I licked her, and licked her, and licked her [continu- \ning to repeat these words as rapidly as possible]. \n\n" Hold on there ! I have written two pages of \' licked her,\' \nand I want the rest of the letter." \n\n" Well, and she kicked, and she kicked, and she kicked \xe2\x80\x94 \n[continuing to repeat these words with great rapidity]. \n\n" Do go on with your letter; I have several pages of \'she \n-kicked?" \n\n[The Yankee chicks as in urging horses to move, and continues \nthe clucking noise with rapid repetition for some time.] \n\nThe scribe throws down his pen. . \n\n" Write it deown ! Write it deown ! " \n\n" I can\'t ! " \n\n" Well, then, I won\'t pay you." \n\n[The scribe gathering up the papers] " What shall I do with \nall these sheets upon which I have written your nonsense 1 " \n\n" You may use them in doing up your gape-seed I Good \nby!" \n\n\n\nTHE GOOD WIFE. \n\nIT is just as you say, Neighbor Green, \nA treasure indeed is my wife ; \nSuch another for bustle and work \n\nI have never found in my life. \nBut then she keeps every one else \n\nAs busy as birds on the wing, \nThere is never a moment for rest, \nShe is such a fidgety thing. \n\nShe makes the best bread in the town, \nHer pies are a perfect delight, \n\nHer coffee a rich golden brown, \n\nHer crullers and puddings just right ; \n\n\n\n302 PUBLIC AND PARLOR READINGS. \n\n\\ But then while I eat them she tells \nOf the care and worry they bring, \nOf the martyr-like toil she endures ; \n0, she \'s such a fidgety thing ! \n\nMy house is as neat as a pin ; \n\nYou should see how the door-handles shine; \nAnd all of the soft-cushioned chairs, \n\nAnd nicely swept carpets are mine. \nBut then she so frets at the dust, \n\nAt a fly, at a straw, or a string, \nThat I stay out of doors all I can, \n\nShe is such a fidgety thing ! \n\nShe doctors the neighbors 1 0, yes ; \n\nIf a child has the measles or croup, \nShe is there with her saffrons and squills, \n\nHer dainty-made gruels and soup. \nBut then she insists on her right \n\nTo physic my blood in the spring, \nAnd she takes the whole charge of my bile, \n\n0, she \'s such a fidgety thing ! \n\nShe knits all my stockings herself; \n\nMy shirts are bleached white as the snow; \nMy old clothes look better than new, \n\nYet daily more threadbare they grow. \nBut then if a morsel of lint \n\nOr dust to my trousers should cling, \nI \'m sure of one sermon at least, \n\nShe is such a fidgety thing. \n\nYou have heard of a spirit so meek, \nSo meek that it never opposes, \n\nIts own it dares never to speak \xe2\x80\x94 \nAlas ! I am meeker than Moses. \n\nBut then I am not reconciled \nThe subordinate music to sing ; \n\n\n\nA LEAP-YEAR WOOING. 303 \n\nI submit to get rid of a row, \nShe is such a fidgety thing. \n\nIt \'s just as you say, Neighbor Green, \n\nA treasure to me has been given ; \nBut sometimes I fain would be glad \n\nTo lay up my treasure in heaven ! \nBut then every life has its cross, \n\nMost pleasures on earth have their sting, \nShe \'s a treasure, I know, Neighbor Green, \n\nBut she \'s such a fidgety thing. \n\n\n\nA LEAP-YEAE WOOING. \xe2\x80\x94 David Macrae. \n\n1. Tom Pidger and I. \n\nTHIS time, four years ago, I lodged in Bath Street, with \nmy old friend Tom Pidger. We lodged with a Mrs. \nPritchard. There was a Mr. Pritchard, but Mr. Pritchard \nwas nobody to speak of. As Tom used to say, " It \'s Mrs. \n\nPritchard that wears the bre , that is, in fact, the nether \n\ninteguments." \n\nIt was an objection to the place, that Mrs. Pritchard had a \nwhole family of small children, endowed with powerful lungs, \nand a constant disposition to use them. This was disagree- \nable. Nor did it add decidedly to our comfort in the morning \nto be awakened two hours before the time for getting up by a \nshrill Babel of voices from the nursery, pitched on two keys, \nfrom Master Billy\'s, which sounded like the roar of a young \ncalf, up to baby\'s penny whistle. \n\nThis feature of the domestic life was undoubtedly a disad- \nvantage. But then the rooms w T ere neat, comfortable, and \npleasantly situated, and Mrs. Pritchard was a tidy, honest, \nobliging woman, while Mr. Pritchard was a meek man in \nslippers, who dwelt in some unseen part of the house, and \nwent messages, I believe, when wanted. \n\n\n\n304 PUBLIC AND PARLOR READINGS. \n\nTom Pidger, at the time I have named, was taking his last \nsession at college ; and I regret to say that one of the effects \nof his college training had been to make Tom one of the most \nslovenly of fellows. I don\'t mind saying so plainly, \xe2\x80\x94 first, \nbecause Tom is a very different fellow now j and, secondly, \nbecause at that time he would have considered the imputa- \ntion rather a compliment than otherwise. Tom\'s great prin- \nciple, which he had picked up at college, I suppose, and had \ninscribed in several of his books, was this : "On earth there \nis nothing great but man ; in man there is nothing great but \nmind." \n\nIt was not surprising that a fellow, acting on a transcen- \ndental principle like this, should have thought it beneath him \nto pay much attention to his habiliments. The consequence \nwas, that Tom wore his boots until they began to gape at the \nsides. He went about the streets in an old black top-coat, \xe2\x80\x94 \xe2\x80\xa2 \nI mean, a top-coat that looked as if it had once been black, \xe2\x80\x94 \nbut so rusty and threadbare now that I should have blushed \nto offer it even to an old-clothes man. As for his linen, I \ndoubt if he would ever have changed it, had our landlady, \nMrs. Pritchard, not made a point of taking his clean shirt \ninto his bedroom every Sunday morning before Tom was up, \nand carrying the dirty one off. Then you should have seen \nTom Pidger\'s hat ! I have seen old hats in. my time, \xe2\x80\x94 very \nold and shabby hats, \xe2\x80\x94 but I have never seen a hat like \nTom\'s. I told him, if he persisted in going out with it, he \nwould be taken for an Irishman ! Tom woidd n\'t have cared \nthough he had been taken for a gorilla. \n\nIf Tom ever looked worse than with his hat on, it was with \nhis hat off. I never saw hair like Tom\'s ; not that it had a \nbad color, but nothing would induce him ever to get it cut or \nbrushed. One day it looked so very dry and frowzy that I \ncould not forbear remonstrating. \n\n" Positively, Tom," I said, " you must pay some attention \nto your personal appearance. Why, your head is like a mop ! " \nTom did n\'t seem to see the harm of that. And, really, to a \nfellow who thinks there is nothing great in man but mind, \nwhat \'does it matter though his head be like a mop 1 \n\n\n\nA LEAP-YEAE WOOING. \n\n\n\n305 \n\n\n\nI would have urged that the ladies would not tolerate his \ncompany if he kept himself so shockingly untidy ; but as I \nknew Tom to be a woman-hater, \xe2\x80\x94 or, rather, a woman- \nscorner, for he did not think them worth hating, \xe2\x80\x94 I waived \nthat point. So things went on as before. \n\nI was not a woman-hater, for I had become enamored of \nFanny Everdale, \xe2\x80\x94 such a noble little girl ! \xe2\x80\x94 had wooed her, \nand last December proposed, and was accepted. \n\n" Tom," said I, one night, when we were having our usual \npipe by the fireside before going to bed, \xe2\x80\x94 " Tom, you know \nFanny Everdale % " \n\n"If I don\'t, it isn\'t for want of hearing about her," replied \nTom, satirically. \n\n" Well, she and I are to be married next month." \n\nTom laughed. He thought I meant to be funny. \n\n"On my honor, Tom, we are." \n\nThe tone struck him. His face became grave on the in- \nstant ; and after looking steadily at me for a few moments, \nto assure himself that I was serious, he slowly took his pipe \nfrom his mouth and laid it on the mantel-piece. " Well, \nDick," said he, in a tone of great solemnity, " I could n\'t \nhave thought this of you." He looked mournfully into the \nfire, for a while, and then resumed: "Have you considered \nthis subjects Don\'t you know as well as I do, that, once \nmarried, you are done for 1 ? There is no backing out from \nthat again. At your time of life, too, with the world all \nbefore you ! Why, it \'s suicide, \xe2\x80\x94 moral and intellectual \nsuicide ! 0, it cannot be ! you \'re joking." \n\n" I assure you I am perfectly serious." \n\n"But look here, Dick. Look at the philosophy of the \nthing. A wife ! Cui bono ? What have you to complain of \nhere 1 Mrs. Pritchard is punctual with your meals. Mrs. \nPritchard darns your socks. Mrs. Pritchard looks after your \nwashing. Mrs. Pritchard stitches on your buttons. W^hat \nmore do you want 1 " \n\n"Why, Tom, you seem to know nothing of the poetry of \nlove and marriage." \n\n\n\n306 PUBLIC AND PARLOR READINGS. \n\n" Poetry ! don\'t mention poetry in that connection. "Wait \nuntil you are awhile married. Wait until the curtain-lec- \ntures commence. You won\'t find much poetry in them. And \nchildren, too ! Ah, my dear fellow, you \'11 have your house \nswarming with them before you know what you are about." \n\n" There is my cousin at Bradford," said Tom, with increas- \ning fervor, " married right off, and had six children in three \nyears ! " \n\n"Oh! Oh! Pooh! nonsense!" \n\n" It is a fact ! " said Tom. \n\n" Six children in three years ! Impossible ! You mean \nthree children in six years, I suppose 1 ?" \n\nTom reflected, doubted, would n\'t be positive ; but rather \nthought it was six, not three. \n\n"You have no idea," he said, "how rapidly children multi- \nply. Have you read Mr. Malthus\'s book, \xe2\x80\x94 his \' Essay on the \nIncrease of Population \' 1 Read that book. It will appall \nyou. \n\n" I have read it." \n\n"Read it again, and apply it to your own case. Poetry! \nYou will find precious little poetry about children ! Hush ! \nhear that," cried Tom, throwing up his finger suddenly, as the \nnursery door on the other side of the passage-way opened for \na moment, and a gust from half a dozen squalling voices \nreached our ears. " That \'s bad enough, but wait until you \nare in the midst of the Babel, and can\'t escape. Wait until \nyou have to wipe the children\'s noses, like that poor wretch \nPritchard, and be badgered out of bed on the frosty nights, \nwhenever a child so much as squawks ! You \'11 know what \nthe poetry of love is then, my Trojan ! " \n\nTom concluded with a prophetic jerk of his head, and re- \nlighted his pipe. He smoked sullenly for a moment or two, \nand then proceeded to give me a brief abstract of Mr. Mal- \nthus\'s book, in the middle of which I fell asleep, and nearly \ntumbled forward into the fire. So I got up and told him it \nwas no use talking, as the thing was all settled. Tom got up, \nbade me good night with an air of profound compassion, and \nevidently gave me up for a lost sheep. \n\n\n\nA LEAP-YEAR WOOING. 307 \n\n2. A Problem which is satisfactorily solved. \n\nIt might be about a fortnight after, that Tom had occasion \nto be in Edinburgh for a day or two. On the evening of \nhis return I observed that he looked very abstracted. He \nsmoked by the fireside for an hour, I am sure, before retiring ; \nyet all my efforts to get him to talk were fruitless. When I \nturned, after telling him anything, and said, " Don\'t you \nthink so?" or " Strange that, was n\'t it V Tom would start, \nand ejaculate, " Eh 1 " as if he had not the remotest idea of \nwhat I had been speaking about, as I really believe he had \nnot. \n\nWhen Tom came home to dinner next day, fancy my \namazement on seeing that he had got his hair cut ! \n\n" Hallo, Tom ! " I exclaimed, in irrepressible astonishment ; \n" got your hair cut 1 " \n\n"Yes," replied Tom, with something of irritation in his \ntone, I thought; "did you never see a fellow with his hair \ncut before 1 ?" \n\n" I have n\'t seen you very often, Tom." \n\nHe made no reply, and as it seemed to annoy him, I said \nnothing more about it. But really it did astonish me ;. and \nmy astonishment was by no means diminished when I found, \nthe next morning, that he had brushed it carefully ; oiled it \ntoo, I was convinced, it looked so smooth and shiny. What \nshould I find him doing next but appearing in a clean shirt \nevery second day or so, and actually quarrelling with Mrs. \nPritchard herself for not starching the wristbands. Then \ncame a fashionable hat ; then a pair of new boots, so very \nsmall that I could have sworn Tom\'s feet would never get \ninto them. My amazement was unbounded. I could not for \nthe life of me account for it ; but, as the change was a good \none, and as I remembered the rebuff I got when I spoke \nabout his hair, I considered it best to keep quiet. \n\nAnd now Tom, who formerly could not be coaxed out of the \nhouse except at college hours, evinced a sudden propensity \nfor afternoon walks, a positive passion for them. "Dick," he \n\n\n\n308 PUBLIC AND PARLOR READINGS. \n\nwould say, at the very time when I used to enjoy a read by \nthe fire, \xe2\x80\x94 " Dick, put on your hat, and let us have a stroll." \n\nIt was vain expostulating. \n\n" Confound it ! " I used to say at last, tossing aside my book, \n" I wish you had thought of strolling in summer. This is \nmost unseasonable weather for it." \n\n" That \'s the greatest mistake, my dear fellow," Tom would \nsay. " You should read Strawl on that point. Why, this is \nthe most bracing season in the year. Come, let \'s have a \nstroll." \n\nI went, but it was not a stroll. It was a regular, unvaried \nwalk to Queen\'s Crescent, twice round the Crescent, and back \nagain. It was the coldest, bleakest, and most dismal round \nwhich could possibly have been selected. Yet this walk Tom \nwould take, and no other. Soon, however, he gave over \nasking me to go, \xe2\x80\x94 seemed anxious, in fact, that I should n\'t \ngo. One day, in particular, he suddenly appeared fully \nequipped, and said, " Well, I am off for a stroll." \n\n"Wait one minute," I said, "and I shall be with you." \n\n" Don\'t mind," cried Tom, glancing out of the window for \na moment ; "I sha\' n\'t be long. It looks as if it were going \nto rain," \xe2\x80\x94 and hurried out. The afternoon wore away ; tea- \ntime came ; yet Tom had not returned. He did not return \nuntil half past ten. \n\n" Hallo, Tom," I said ; " you have taken a tolerably long \nstroll to-night." \n\nTom did not look straight at me, but seemed a little put \nabout for an answer. \n\n" I looked up to see my aunt," he said at last. " She \'y \nnot very well just now." \n\n"Your aunt?" \n\n" Aunt Patterson, \xe2\x80\x94 mother\'s sister," added Tom, nervously. \n" By the way, I don\'t think you know her." \n\nI certainly did not, \xe2\x80\x94 had never heard of her, to my knowl - \nedge. \n\nNext day, when we had finished dinner, we drew our chaiis \nto the fireside, and I proceeded to make some observations on \nthe condition of Italy. \n\n\n\nA LEAP-YEAR WOOING. \n\n\n\n309 \n\n\n\n"0, hang it!" cried Tom, suddenly, clapping his hand \nupon his coat pocket, " I have forgotten to post that letter ! " \nHe threw on his hat and cloak, and was off. Half past ten \nagain before he returned ! \n\n"Hallo, Tom," I said; "you have taken considerable time \nto post that letter 1 " \n\n" Letter 1 0, I was up seeing my aunt ! " \n\n" Ah ! I had forgotten. Is she better to-night 1 " \n\n" Well, no," replied Tom, dubiously ; "I am afraid she is \nrather in a bad way." \n\n"lam sorry for that. Well, come and let us have a quiet \npipe." \n\n" Not to-night, thank you." \n\n" What ! " I exclaimed, with the utmost astonishment, for \nTom smoked every night with the regularity of clock-work, \n" not a smoke before going to bed 1 " \n\n" No, I find it is n\'t agreeing with me. It is said to be bad \nfor the system. Dr. Prout says it is very bad. At any rate, \nit \'s worth experimenting without." \n\nSo Tom retired, and I sat and smoked alone, wondering \nwhether Tom could be considered insane, and where this very \nextraordinary change might be expected to end. \n\nNext night I was up making some arrangements with \nFanny for our approaching marriage. " Dick," she said, \n" what a merry fellow Tom Pidger is ! " \n\n" Tom Pidger ! where did you see him 1 " \n\n" He took tea with us at Mrs. Purdy\'s last night." \n\n" Mrs. Patterson\'s, you mean 1 " \n. " No, Mrs. Purdy\'s, Queen\'s Crescent. Julia Purdy, you \nknow, was a school companion of mine. We had such fun \ngetting a pipe out of Tom\'s pocket, and at last Julia made \nhim go down on his knees and promise that he would give up \nsmoking that very night, and never put a pipe or cigar in his \nmouth again." \n\nHere was a revelation ! Now I began to discern the secret \nof Tom\'s reformation ; his walks to Queen\'s Crescent ; the \ntime it took him to post his letter ; and, finally, the illness of \nhis aunt ! \n\n\n\n310 PUBLIC AND PARLOR READINGS. \n\nI asked Fanny how Tom had become acquainted with Miss \nPurdy. \n\n" He met her in the train, coming from Edinburgh, some \nweeks ago," : Fanny replied, "and fell in love with her, I \nsuppose; and she (but you mustn\'t tell him, remember) \xe2\x80\x94 \nshe fell in love with Tom. 0, Tom is there almost every \nafternoon ! " \n\nThis was precious news. Keeping it to myself, however, \nI went home and found Tom sitting ruminating over the fire. \n" Ah, Tom ! " said I, " I thought I should have caught you \nsmoking." \n\n" No, Dick, you won\'t do that again. Do you know," he \nsaid, gravely tapping himself all over the waistcoat, " I find \nmyself better without it already." \n\n" Dear me, already ! Then Dr. Prout must be quite correct. \nOh ! by the way," \xe2\x80\x94 changing my tone, \xe2\x80\x94 "I have sad news \nfor you to-night." \n\n" What 1 " inquired Tom, with a very long face. \n\n" Compose yourself, my dear Tom ; I have just heard that \nyour aunt is dead ! " \n\n" Eh ! " cried Tom, wheeling round his chair, and fixing \nupon me a look of curious surprise which is quite indescribable, \nwhile his face reddened. \n\n" Dead and gone, Tom, is your poor aunt, \xe2\x80\x94 your mother\'s \nsister, you know." A long pause, \xe2\x80\x94 " Mrs. Patterson." An- \nother long pause, \xe2\x80\x94 Tom\'s face scarlet now. " Not Miss \nPurdy," I said at last, "Ono! " \n\nYou should have seen Tom\'s face all this time. Shame and \nmerriment, curiosity and chagrin, chased each other off and \non so rapidly that they sometimes appeared to be all mixed \nup in the same expression. At last the ludicrous prevailed, \nand Tom broke into shouts of laughter, which it would have \ndone your heart good to hear. He looked very red in the face \nthough, being clearly a good deal ashamed of himself. He \nmade me tell him how the secret had come out, and, find- \ning that it really was out, he became quite gushing. He \nmade me sit by him at the fireside, and gave me a minute \n\n\n\nA LEAR-YEAR WOOING. 311 \n\nand circumstantial account of the whole transaction. How, in \nreturning by express from Edinburgh, he found himself in the \nsame carriage with a fine old gentleman and his daughter, \xe2\x80\x94 \n" such a beautiful girl, Dick ! " \xe2\x80\x94 and how he and the old \ngentleman conversed, and she listened, \xe2\x80\x94 listened with such \ninterest that he thought within himself, " Well, here is a sen- \nsible girl for once." Then how the old gentleman ensconced \nhimself in the corner and fell asleep, and Tom found that he \ncould not keep his eyes off the young lady, \xe2\x80\x94 "a most beauti- \nful girl, Dick ! " \xe2\x80\x94 and, more than that, he caught her every \nnow and then peeping at him, and when he caught her, " how \nshe blushed ! " " I do believe," said Tom, " that / blushed \ntoo ; I felt such a \xe2\x80\x94 a sort of \xe2\x80\x94 funny all over, you know," \ncried Tom, with an explanatory wave of his hands. \n\nThen how the old gentleman woke up when the tickets \nwere called for, and chatted again, and presently discovered, \nto the surprise and delight of all parties, that he and Tom\'s \nuncle \xe2\x80\x94 not Mr. Patterson, but a real uncle this time \xe2\x80\x94 had \nserved together in India. So he made Tom shake hands with \nhis daughter, and gave Tom his card, and told him he would \nbe delighted to see him at Queen\'s Crescent whenever he \ncould find it convenient to call. \n\n" Now, to-morrow," said Tom, when he had finished his \nstory, and we were parting for the night, " we might call to- \ngether, and see Julia. You will be sure to like her, she is \nsuch a beautiful girl, Dick." \n\nNext morning we did call, and Julia turned out to be \nreally a beautiful girl. I don\'t think I have ever seen a \nsweeter little girl, \xe2\x80\x94 Fanny, of course, excepted. A week \nafter, Fanny and I were married, and left town on our \nmarriage-jaunt. \n\n3. A difficulty which is satisfactorily overcome. \n\nThe week following our return I had a note from Tom, \nstating that he would call that afternoon on very particular \nbusiness, as he understood that I was to be alone. I men- \n\n\n\n312 PUBLIC AND PARLOR READINGS. \n\ntioned it to Fanny, who laughed, and appeared to have some \nsuspicion of what this very "particular business" would turn \nout to be. Tom came in time for tea; but took next to \nnothing, and seemed uncommonly nervous. "This \'very \nparticular business \' of yours, Tom," I said, broaching the \nsubject at last, "what is if?" \n\n"Well," said Tom, fingering his cup nervously, "I shall \ntell you what it is. You know \xe2\x80\x94 Julia ] " \n\n" Of course I do." \n\nTom gulped down a quantity of tea, and resumed, \xe2\x80\x94 " Well, \nI have been thinking \xe2\x80\x94 am thinking, in fact \xe2\x80\x94 that is \xe2\x80\x94 I \nwant to marry Julia \xe2\x80\x94 if she \'11 have me " ; and Tom, who \nhad blushed the deepest crimson to the very roots of his hair, \nmade another gulp at his hot tea, and nearly choked himself. \nIt was with great difficulty that I could keep from laughing \nat his embarrassment, but I did. \n\n" Tom," I said, with great solemnity, " I did n\'t expect this \nof you. At your time of life, too, with the world all before \nyou ! Why, it is suicide, \xe2\x80\x94 moral and intellectual suicide ! \nYou think it is all poetry. Ah, my boy ! wait till the cur- \ntain lectures commence \xe2\x80\x94 " \n\n" 0, come, come, Dick; this is too bad!" said Tom, stirring \nhis tea violently. \n\n" But tell me this, Tom ; have you read Mr. Malthus\'s book \n\' On the Increase of Population \' 1 Have you forgotten your \ncousin at Bradford 1 Tom, Tom ! " I could refrain no \nlonger, and laughed right out, to the infinite relief of Tom, \nwho laughed too, and got excessively jolly at his own expense. \n\n"Now, then," said he at length, "you know what I want. \nTell me how to go about it." \n\n" Go about it ! Why, propose." \n\n"Propose ! Of course ; but how to propose. There \'s the rub. \nI attempted it on four different occasions, and always stuck \njust at the ticklish point. Then I thought of proposing by \nletter, and began half a dozen different sheets, but could n\'t \nwrite one to please me. I even tried poetry, but failed there \ntoo. Now, Dick, what I want is this. I want you to tell me \n\n\n\nA LEAP-YEAR WOOING. 313 \n\nexactly how you managed it, and perhaps I could do it so, \ntoo." \n\n" Well," I said, laughing, " I popped the question in a very \nsimple way, \xe2\x80\x94 quite unpremeditated, too. I had been spend- \ning an evening with Fanny, and at last got up and said (pull- \ning out my watch, \xe2\x80\x94 this one), \' It \'s late, I must be off.\' \' \nno,\' she said, \' it can\'t be ten yet.\' \' Look for yourself,\' I \nsaid, turning the watch towards her. She looked and ob- \nserved this landscape on the face here. \'0, what a sweet \nlittle cottage!\' she said, pointing to it. \'Dear me,\' I said, \n\'so it is ; I never looked at it particularly before. What \nwould you say, Fanny, to our taking a nice little cottage like \nthat for ourselves, eh 1 and settling down there 1 \' Well, she \nblushed, and I kissed her. \' Shall we, love 1 \' And she squeezed \nmy hand, as much as to say, \' 0, do let us ! \' And so the \nthing was settled." \n\n" By Jove ! " cried Tom, jumping up excitedly, and striking \nthe table with his hand, " that \'s admirable ! I could manage \nthat, I think. Dick, give me your watch for the night, \xe2\x80\x94 \nthere \'s nothing on the face of mine." The watches were ex- \nchanged at once, and Tom, who could n\'t wait a minute longer, \nput on his hat and started for Queen\'s Crescent in a state of \nintense excitement. \n\nHe reached Colonel Purdy\'s about six o\'clock, and in the \ncourse of half an hour or so found himself alone with Julia. \nApprehensive that, if he lost this opportunity, he might get no \nother that night, he pulled out the watch and said, " Getting \nlate, Julia ; I must be off." \n\n" Late ! why, it is n\'t seven yet." \n\n"Isn\'t it? Look for yourself," said Tom, turning the \nwatch towards her. " Ah ! your watch is not right ; look here." \n\nJulia looked. " Why, it is n\'t seven on yours, either." \n\n" Dear me ! " said Tom, with an assumption of great aston- \nishment, "neither it is ! Pretty landscape that ? \xe2\x80\x94 this here," \nand he put his finger tremblingly on the watch-glass. \n\n"So it is," Julia said with a smile, as she bent her face \ntowards it, \xe2\x80\x94 "a very sweet cottage." \n\n14 \n\n\n\n314 PUBLIC AND PAELOK READINGS. \n\n"Very sweet cottage!" repeated Tom, with startling en- \nergy, " Remarkably sweet cottage ! Julia ! " he continued, in \nsoft and persuasive tones, \xe2\x80\x94 "I say, Julia, what would you \n\xe2\x80\x94 what would you say \xe2\x80\x94 it \xe2\x80\x94 it would cost to engrave \nthat?" \n\nAlas for Tom, he had failed once more. \n\nOf this, however, I was ignorant, and called the next morn- \ning to ascertain how he had succeeded. Tom was out, and as \nI could not wait, I sat down to scribble a note, inviting him \nup that evening to tell me the result. I took his desk, and \nwas rummaging for a scrap of paper, when my eye fell on a \nsheet scribbled and blotted all over with what I at once per- \nceived to be Tom\'s matrimonial proposals in verse. On the \nfirst page he had collected a host of rhyming words, to be \nintroduced as they might happen to suit his turn. There \nwere "bliss" and "kiss," "sing" and "ring," "life" and \n"wife," and many other sentimental monosyllables. Then \nthere were "Julia" and "peculiar," with a query after the \nlatter; also, "Purdy," with "sturdy" and "hurdy-gurdy," \nbut Tom had drawn his pen through these. He had even \nattempted " Pidger," but apparently without success. On the \nnext page were his numerous efforts to put these together, \nafter various models. \n\n" To be or not to be, that \'s the question." \n\nThen a blank line under, with the word "digestion" \xe2\x80\x94 scored \nout. \n\nThen came an adaptation of part of a popular song : \xe2\x80\x94 \n\n" Beautiful star ! for star thou art, \nTwinkling o\'er my smitten heart; \nthat I could call thee mine ! \nStar of my bosom ! star divine ! " \n\nAfter this were some curious hexameters about \xe2\x80\x94 \n\n"His hearth being cold and black, and his home full of sadness and \nsorrow" ; \n\nand, at last, half a dozen copies with varieties of his greatest \n\n\n\nA LEAP-YEAR WOOING. 315 \n\nand final effort, which was fairly copied out by itself in the \ncentre of the last page : \xe2\x80\x94 \n\n" I am thine ; \n\nWilt thou be mine ? \nTell me, tell me, sweetest Julia. \n\nSay the wordie, \n\nDarling Purdy ! \nNone can love you more or trulier. \n\nMy heart is fond, \n\nAll parallel beyond, \nAlthough my poetry \'s peculiar," \xe2\x80\x94 \n\nwhich it certainly was. \n\nI had scarcely finished my note when Tom came in. His \nabject look told his story at once. " Come, come, Tom," I \nsaid ; " you must n\'t get down-hearted. \' \' Never say die,\' you \nknow, \'while there \'s a shot in the locker ! \' " Tom shook his \nhead despairingly, as if conscious that the locker had been \ncompletely emptied on the night before. I cheered him up \nas best I could and left him. \n\n" Fanny," I said, when I got home, " we must manage this \nbusiness for Tom ourselves. The poor fellow is getting worse \nand worse. An idea struck me on the way home. This is \nLeap-Year, you know. Now, don\'t you think you could per- \nsuade Julia to pop the question 1 " \n\nFanny was exceedingly shocked at the idea at first, but I \nbrought her round to my way of thinking, and we set our- \nselves to arrange how it could best be carried out. It was \nfinally arranged that Fanny should go and tell Julia all about \nit, show her Tom\'s letters on the subject, and tell about his \nconsultation with me ; that, as Tom was to be there that \nnight, Julia should watch her opportunity, and in an off-hand \nmanner ask him to let her see that cottage on the watch-face \nagain ; that, when Tom could n\'t, not having the watch, Julia \nshould say, " Never mind, Tom, we can get one like it for \nourselves, can\'t we 1 This is Leap-Year, you know ; so I pro- \npose we should " \xe2\x80\x94 or something to that effect. And I felt \nsure, from the mischievous expression of Julia\'s eyes, that she \n\n\n\n316 PUBLIC AND PARLOR READINGS. \n\nwas just the one to do it, though it were for nothing hut the \nfun of the thing. - \n\nAccordingly Fanny set out for Queen\'s Crescent, and I ex> \npected to hear nothing more of it until her return ; but just \nas I was sitting down to tea a cab pulled up at the door, the \nbell rang furiously, and in the twinkling of an eye Tom burst \ninto the room, in a perfect transport of delight, with his head \nmore like a mop than the day I told him it was, and a hat far \ntoo small for him (Colonel Purdy\'s, it must have been) stuck \non the very back of his head. \n\n" Shake my hand, old fellow," cried Tom, stumbling over \nthe cat, and nearly overturning the tea-things ; " shake away, \nit \'s all right, it \'s all settled." \n\n"What\'s, right]" \n\n"Julia, of course. What year is this? \xe2\x80\x94 The year \xe2\x80\x94 be \nquick, man ! Confound it ! Don\'t you know what year it \nis ? " And Tom in his impatience accompanied each word \nwith a fresh poke of his knuckles. \n\n" Why, eighteen hundred and \xe2\x80\x94 " \n\n"Leap-Year /" cried Tom, giving me a frightful dig in the \nribs that sent me staggering against the wall, \xe2\x80\x94 " Leap- Year, \nyou old fellow, and Julia has popped the question. Ha, \nha!" \n\n" You don\'t mean it ? " \n\n" It \'s a fact, I assure you. She asked for a look of the cot- \ntage, \xe2\x80\x94 on your watch, you know, \xe2\x80\x94 and I thought, \nwhat a splendid chance, if I had it ! But of course I had n\'t. \n\'Never mind,\' said Julia, getting very red in the face, and \nbending down to pick something off the carpet, \'this is Leap- \nYear, you know ; so I propose that we get a cottage just like \nit for ourselves.\' She did, Dick, upon my word. Did you \never hear of anything so extraordinary? The very thing, \nyou know, that I was to have said ! Well, I felt something \njump right up into my throat, and not a word could I utter ; \nbut I ran over and \xe2\x80\x94 and \xe2\x80\x94 " \n\nTom could say no more for chuckling, but he made a \nviolent demonstration of clasping some one in his arms, which \n\n\n\nTHE MENAGERIE. 317 \n\nwas sufficiently expressive ; and then, in the exuberance of his \njoy, began to beat. the devil\'s tattoo on Colonel Purdy\'s hat, \nand to execute a dance a shade or too wilder than the High- \nland Fling round and round the table. \n\nTo which exhilarating exercise I shall leave him, to advise \nall young ladies who have beaux like Tom Pidger to glean the \nmoral from my story, and not forget that Leap- Year has \ncome round once more. \n\n\n\nTHE MENAGERIE. \xe2\x80\x94 J. Honeywell. \n\nDID you ever ! No, I never ! \nMercy on us, what a smell ! \nDon\'t be frightened, Johnny, dear ! \nGracious ! how the jackals yell ! \nMother, tell me, what \'s the man \n\nDoing with that pole of his 1 \nBless your little precious heart, \nHe \'s stirring up the beastesses ! \n\nChildren ! don\'t you go so near ! \n\nHevings ! there \'s the Afric cowses ! \nWhat \'s the matter with the child 1 \n\nWhy, the monkey \'s tore his trowses ! \nHere \'s the monstrous elephant, \xe2\x80\x94 \n\nI \'m all a tremble at the sight ; \nSee his monstrous tooth-pick, boys ! \n\nWonder if he \'s fastened tight ? \n\nThere \'s \'the lion ! \xe2\x80\x94 see Ms tail ! \n\nHow he drags it oh the floor ! \n\'Sakes alive ! I\'m awful scared \n\nTo hear the horrid creatures" roar ! \nHere \'s the mOnkeys in their cage, \n\nWide awake you are to see \'em ; \nFunny, ain\'t it 1 How would you \n\nLike to have a tail and be \'em % \n\n\n\n318 PUBLIC AND PARLOR READINGS. \n\nJohnny, darling, that \'s the bear \n\nThat tore the naughty boys to pieces ; \nHorned cattle ! \xe2\x80\x94 only hear \n\nHow the dreadful camel wheezes ! \nThat \'s the tall giraffe, my boy, \n\nWho stoops to hear the morning lark ; \n\'T was him who waded Noah\'s flood, \n\nAnd scorned the refuge of the ark. \n\nHere \'s the crane, \xe2\x80\x94 the awkward bird ! \n\nStrong his neck is as a whaler\'s, \nAnd his bill is full as long \n\nAs ever met one from the tailor\'s. \nLook ! \xe2\x80\x94 just see the zebra there, \n\nStanding safe behind the bars ; \nGoodness me ! how like a flag, \n\nAll except the corner stars ! \n\nThere \'s the bell ! the birds and beasts \n\nNow are going to be fed ; \nSo, my little darlings, come, \n\nIt \'s time for you to be abed. \n" Mother, \'t is n\'t nine o\'clock ! \n\nYou said we need n\'t go before ; \nLet us stay a little while, \xe2\x80\x94 \n\nWant to see the monkeys more ! " \n\nCries the showman, " Turn \'em out ! \n\nDim the lights ! \xe2\x80\x94 there, that will do ; \nCome again to-morrow, boys ; \n\nBring your little sisters, too." \nExit mother, half distraught, \n\nExit father, muttering " bore ! " \nExit children, blubbering still, \n\n" Want to see the monkeys more ! " \n\n\n\nBASE BALL. 319 \n\n\n\nBASE BALL. \n\nTHE doctor said we needed exercise. Doctor knows. He \ntold us to join a base ball club ; we joined. Bought a \nbook of instructions, and studied it wisely, if not too well. \nThen we bought a sugar-scoop cap, a red belt, a green shirt, \nyellow trousers, pumpkin-colored shoes, a paper collar and \npurple necktie, and with a lot of other delegates moved gently \nto the ground. \n\nThere were two nines. These nines were antagonists. The \nball is a pretty little drop of softness, size of a goose-egg, and \nfive degrees harder than a rock. The two nines play against \neach other. It is a quiet game, much like chess, only a little \nmore chase than chess. \n\nThere was an umpire. His position is a hard one. He sits \non a box and yells " Foul ! " His duty is severe. \n\nI took the bat. It is a murderous plaything, descended \nfrom Pocahontas to the head of John Smith. The man in \nfront of me was a pitcher. He was a nice pitcher, but he \nsent the balls hot. The man behind me was a catcher. He \ncaught it, too. \n\nUmpire said " Play." It is the most radical play I know \nof, this base ball. Sawing cord wood is moonlight rambles \nbeside base ball. So the pitcher sent a ball toward me. It \nlooked pretty coming, so I let it come. Then he sent another. \nI hit it with the club and hove it gently upward. Then I \nstarted to walk to the first base. The ball hit in the pitcher\'s \nhands, and somebody said he had caught a fly. Alas, poor \nfly ! I walked leisurely toward the base. Another man took \nthe bat. I turned to see how he was making it, when a mule \nkicked me on the cheek. The man said it was the ball. It \nfelt like a mule, and I reposed on the grass. The ball went \non ! \n\nPretty soon there were two more flies, and three of us flew \nout. Then the other nine came in and we nine went out. \n\n\n\n320 PUBLIC AND PAELOE EEADINGS. \n\nThis was better. Just as I was standing on my dignity in the \nleft field, a hot ball, as they call it, came skyrootching toward \nme. My captain yelled " Take it ! " \n\nI hastened gently forward to where the ball was aiming to \ndescend. I have a good eye to measure distances, and I saw \nat a glance w T here the little aerolite was to light. I put up my \nhands. How sweetly the ball descended ! Everybody looked ; \nI felt something warm in my eye. " Muffin ! " yelled ninety \nfellows. " Muffin be blowed ! It \'s a cannon ball ! " For three \ndays I \'ve had two pounds of raw beef on that eye, and yet \nit paineth ! \n\nThen I wanted to go home, but my gentle captain said \n" Nay." So I nayed and stayed. Pretty soon it was my \nstrike. " To bat ! " yelled the umpire. I went, but not all se- \nrene as was my wont. The pitcher sent in one hip high. It \nstruck me in the gullet. " Foul ! " yelled the umpire. He \nsent in the ball again. This time I took it square, and sent \nit down the right field, through a parlor window, a kerosene \nlamp, and rip up against the head of an infant, who was quietly \ntaking its nap in his mother\'s arms. Then I slung the bat, \nand meandered forth to the first base. I heard high w r ords, \nand looked. When I slung the bat, I had with it broken the \njaw of the umpire, and was fined ten cents. \n\nThe game went on. I liked it. It is so much fun to run \nfrom base to base just in time to be put out, or to chase a \nball three quarters of a mile down hill, while all the specta- \ntors yell " Muffin ! " " Go it ! " " Home run ! " " Go round \na dozen times ! " Base ball is a sweet little game. When it \ncame my turn to bat again I noticed everybody moved back \nabout ten rods. He was timid. The pitcher sent \'em in hot. \nHot balls in time of war are good. But I don\'t like \'em too \nhot for fun. After a while I got a fair clip at it, and you bet \nit went cutting the daisies in the right field. A fat man and \ndog sat in the shade of an oak, enjoying the game. The ball \nbroke one leg of the dog, and landed like a runaway engine \nin the corporosity of the fat man. He was taken home to \ndie. \n\n\n\nBASE BALL. 321 \n\nThen I went on a double-quick to the field, and tried to \nstop a hot ball It came toward me from the bat at the rate \nof nine miles a minute. I put up my hands ; the ball went \nsinging on its way, with all the skin from my palms with it. \n\nMore raw beef. \n\nThat was an eventful chap who first invented base ball. \nIt \'s such fun. I \'ve played five games, and this is the re- \nsult : \xe2\x80\x94 \n\nTwenty-seven dollars paid out for things. \n\nOne bunged eye, \xe2\x80\x94 badly bunged. \n\nOne broken little finger. \n\nOne bump on the head. \n\nNineteen lame backs. \n\nA sore jaw. \n\nOne thumb dislocated. \n\nThree sprained ankles. \n\nFive swelled legs. \n\nOne dislocated shouldet from trying to throw the ball a \nthousand yards. \n\nTwo hands raw from trying to stop hot balls. \n\nA lump the size of a hornet\'s nest on left hip, well back. \n\nA nose sweetly jammed, and five uniforms spoiled from \nrolling in the dirt at the bases. \n\nI have played two weeks and don\'t think I like the game. \nI \'ve looked over the scorer\'s book, and find that I have \nbroken several bats, made one tally, broken one umpire\'s jaw, \nbroken ten windows in adjoining houses, killed a baby, smashed \na kerosene lamp, broken the leg of a dog, mortally injured the \nbread-basket of a spectator, knocked five other players out \nof time by slinging my bat, and knocked the waterfall off \na schoolma\'am who was standing twenty rods from the field, a \nquiet looker-on. \n\nI have used up fifteen bottles of arnica ointment, five bot- \ntles of lotion, and half a raw beef, and am so full of pain \nthat it seems as if my limbs were broken bats, and my legs \nthe limbs of a dead horse-chestnut. \n\n14* v \n\n\n\n322 PUBLIC AND PAKLOK READINGS. \n\n\n\nKITTY. \n\nAS beautiful Kitty one morning was tripping \nWith a pitcher of milk from the fair of Coleraine, \nWhen she saw me she stumbled, the pitcher it tumbled, \nAnd all the sweet buttermilk watered the plain. \n\n" 0, what shall I do now 1 \'t was looking at you now ! \n\nSure, sure such a pitcher I \'11 ne\'er meet again ; \nT was the pride of my dairy ! Barney McCleary, \n\nYou \'re sent as a plague to the girls of Coleraine ! " \n\nI sat down beside her, and gently did chide her, \nThat such a misfortune should give her such pain ; \n\nA kiss then I gave her, and, ere I did lave her, \nShe vowed for such pleasure she \'d break it again. \n\n\'T was hay-making season, \xe2\x80\x94 I can\'t tell the reason, \xe2\x80\x94 \nMisfortunes will never come single, \'t is plain ; \n\nFor very soon after poor Kitty\'s disaster \nThe divil a pitcher was whole in Coleraine. \n\n\n\nGETTING UNDER WAY. \xe2\x80\x94 Mark Twain. \n\nAll day Sunday at anchor. The storm had gone down a \ngreat deal, but the sea had not. It was still piling its frothy \nhills in air outside, as we could plainly see with the glass. \nWe must lie still until Monday, and we did. The next \nmorning we weighed anchor and went to sea. It was a \ngreat happiness to get away after the dragging, dispiriting \ndelay. I thought there never was such gladness in the air \nbefore, such brightness in the sun, such beauty in the sea. \nAll my malicious instincts were dead within me; and as \nAmerica faded out of sight, I think a spirit of charity rose \nup in their place, that was boundless, for the time, as the \nbroad ocean that was heaving its billows about us. I wished \nto express my feelings, I wished to lift up my voice and sing; \n\n\n\nGETTING UNDER WAY. 323 \n\nbut I did not know anything to sing, and so I was obliged to \ngive up the idea. It was no loss to the ship, though, perhaps. \n\nIt was breezy and pleasant, but the sea was still very rough. \nOne could not promenade without risking his neck ; at one \nmoment the bowsprit was taking a deadly aim at the sun in \nmid-heaven, at the next it was trying to harpoon a shark in \nthe bottom of the ocean. What a weird sensation it is to feel \nthe stern of the ship sinking swiftly from under you, and see \nthe bow climbing high away among the clouds ! One\'s safest \ncourse, that day, was to clasp a railing and hang on ; walking \nwas too precarious a pastime. \n\nSoon a remarkable fossil, shawled to the chin and bandaged \nlike a mummy, appeared at the door of the after deck-house, \nand the next lurch of the ship shot him into my arms. I \nsaid : \xe2\x80\x94 \n\n" Good morning, sir. It is a fine day." \n\nHe put his hand on his stomach and said, " my ! " and \nthen staggered away and fell over the coop of a skylight. \n\nPresently another old gentleman was projected from the \nsame door with great violence. I said : \xe2\x80\x94 \n\n" Calm yourself, sir. There is no hurry. It is a fine day, \nsir." \n\n\' He, also, put his hand on his stomach, and said, " my ! " \nand reeled away. \n\nIn a little while another veteran was discharged abruptly \nfrom the same door, clawing at the air for a saving support. \nI said : \xe2\x80\x94 \n\n" Good morning, sir. It is a fine day for pleasuring. You \nwere about to say \xe2\x80\x94 " \n\n"Omy!" \n\nI thought so. I anticipated him anyhow. I stayed there \nand was bombarded with old gentlemen for an hour, per- \nhaps ; and all I got out of any of them was "Omy!" \n\nI went away, then, in a thoughtful mood. I said, This is a \ngrand pleasure excursion. I like it. The passengers are not \ngarrulous, but still they are sociable. I like these old people, \nbut somehow they all seem to have the " my ! " rather \nbad. \n\n\n\n324 PUBLIC AND PARLOR READINGS. \n\n\n\nMISS MALONEY ON THE CHINESE QUESTION. \xe2\x80\x94 \nMart Mapes Dodge. \n\nOCH ! don\'t be talkin\'. Is it howld on, ye say % An\' \ndidn\'t I howld on till the heart o\' me was clane broke \nentirely, and me wastin\' that thin you could clutch me wid yer \ntwo hands 1 To think o\' me toilin\' like a nager for the six year \nI \'ve been in Ameriky, \xe2\x80\x94 bad luck to the day I iver left the \nowld counthry ! to be bate by the likes o\' them (faix an\' I \'11 \nsit down when I \'m ready, so I will, Ann Ryan, an\' yed better \nbe listnin\' than drawin\' yer remarks) ! an\' is it mysel, with five \ngood characters from respectable places, would be herdin\' wid \nthe haythens % The saints forgive me, but I \'d be buried \nalive sooner \'n put up wid it a day longer. Sure an\' I was \nthe granehorD not to be lavin\' at onct when the missus kim into \nme kitchen wid her perlaver about the new waiter man which \nwas brought out from Californy. \n\n" He \'11 be here the night," says she, " and, Kitty, it \'s me- \nself looks to you to be kind and patient wid him, for he \'s a \nfurriner," says she, a kind o\' lookin\' off. \n\n" Sure an it \'s little 1 11 hinder nor interfare wid him nor \nany other, mum," says I, a kind o\' stiff, for I minded me how \nthese French waiters, wid their paper collars and brass rings on \ntheir fingers, is n\'t company for no gurril brought up dacint \nand honest. \n\nOch ! sorra a bit I knew what was comin\' till the missus \nwalked into me kitchen smilin\', and says kind o\' sheared : \n" Here \'s Fing Wing, Kitty, an\' you \'11 have too much sinse \nto mind his bein\' a little strange." \n\nWid that she shoots the door, and I, misthrusting if I was \ntidied up sufficient for me fine buy wid his paper collar, looks \nup, and \xe2\x80\x94 Howly fathers ! may I Diver brathe another breath, \nbut there stud a rale hay then Chineser a grinnin\' like he \'d \njust come off a tay-box. If you\'ll belave me, the crayture \nwas that yeller it ud sicken you to see him ; and sorra stitch \n\n\n\nMISS MALONEY ON THE CHINESE QUESTION. 325 \n\nwas on him but a black nightgown over his trousers, and the \nfront of his head shaved clarier nor a copper biler, and a black \ntail a-hangin\' down from behind, wid his two feet stook into \nthe heathenestest shoes you ever set eyes on. \n\nOch ! but I was up stairs afore you could turn about, a \ngivin\' the missus warnin\', an\' only stopt wid her by her raisin\' \nme wages two dollars, and playdin\' wid me how it was a \nChristian\'s duty to bear wid haythins and taitch \'em all in \nour power, \xe2\x80\x94 the saints have us ! \n\nWell, the ways and trials I had wid that Chineser, Ann \nRyan, I could n\'t be tellin\'. Not a blissed thing cud I do but \nhe \'d be lookin\' on wid his eyes cocked up\'ard like two poomp- \nhandles, an\' he widdout a speck or smitch o\' whiskers on him, \nan\' his finger-nails full a yard long. But it \'s dyin\' you \'d be \nto see the missus a\' larnin\' him, and he grinnin\' an\' waggin\' \nhis pig-tail (which was pieced out long wid some black stoof, \nthe hay then chate), and gettin\' into her ways wonderful \nquick, I don\'t deny, imitatin\' that sharp you \'d be shurprised, \nand ketchin\' an\' copyin\' things the best of us will do a-hur- \nried wid work, yet don\'t want comin\' to the knowledge of the \nfamily, \xe2\x80\x94 bad luck to him ! \n\nIs it ate wid him 1 Arrah, an\' would I be sittin\' wid a hay- \nthen an\' he a-atin\' wid drum-sticks, \xe2\x80\x94 yes, an\' atin\' dogs an\' \ncats unknownst to me, I warrant you, which it is the custom \nof them Chinesers, till the thought made me that sick I \ncould die. An\' did n\'t the crayture proffer to help me a wake \nago come Toosday, an\' me a foldin\' down me clane clothes for \nthe ironin\', an\' fill his haythin mouth wid water, an\' afore I \ncould hinder squirrit it through his teeth stret over the best \nlinen table-cloth, and fold it up tight, as innercent now as a \nbaby, the dirrity baste ! But the worrest of all was the copy- \nin\' he \'d be doin\' till ye \'d be dishtracted. It \'s yersel\' knows \nthe tinder feet that \'s on me since ever I \'ve bin in this coun- \nthry. Well, owin\' to that, I fell into a way o\' slippin\' me \nshoes off when I \'d be settin\' down to pale the praities or the \nlikes o\' that, and, do ye mind ! that haythin would do the \nsame thing after me whiniver the missus set him to parin\' \n\n\n\n20087 163 \n\n\n\n326 PUBLIC AND PARLOR READINGS. \n\napples or tomaterses. The saints in heaven could n\'t have \nmade him belave he cud kape the shoes on him when he \'d be \npalin\' anything. \n\nDid I lave for that 1 Faix an\' I did n\'t. Did n\'t he get \nme into throuble wid my missus, the hay thin 1 You \'re aware \nyersel\' how the boon dies comin\' in from the grocery often \ncontains more \'n \'11 go into anything dacently. So, for that \nmatter, I \'d now and then take out a sup o\' sugar, or flour, or \ntay, an\' wrap it in paper and put it in me bit of a box tucked \nunder the ironin\' blankit the how it cuddent be bodderin\' any \none. Well, what shud it be, but this blessed Sathurday \nmorn the missus was a spakin\' pleasant and respec\'ful wid me \nin me kitchen when the grocer boy comes in an\' stands for- \nnenst her wid his boondles, an\' she motions like to Fing Wing \n(which I never would call him by that name ner any other \nbut just hay thin), she motions to him, she does, for to take \nthe boondles an\' empty out the sugar an\' what not, where \nthey belongs. If you \'11 belave me, Ann Ryan, what did that \nblatherin\' Chineser do but take out a sup o\' sugar, an\' a hand- \nful o\' tay, an\' a bit o\' chaze right afore the missus, wrap them \ninto bits o\' paper, an\' I spacheless wid shurprize, an\' he the \nnext minute up wid the ironin\' blankit and pullin\' out me \nbox wid a show o\' bein\' sly to put them in. \n\nOch, the Lord forgive me, but I clutched it, and the missus \nsayin\', " O Kitty ! " in a way that \'ud cruddle your blood. \n\n"He \'s a haythin nager," says I. \n\n" I \'ve found you out," says she. \n\n" I \'11 arrist him," says I. \n\n" It \'s you ought to be arristed," says she. \n\n"You won\'t," says I. \n\n" I will," says she ; and so it went till she give me such \nsass as I cuddent take from no lady, \xe2\x80\x94 an\' I give her warnin\' \nan\' left that instant, an\' she a-pointin\' to the doore. \n\n\n\nLEAp\'09 \n\n\n\n^ v \n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nDeacidified using the Bookkeeper process. \nNeutralizing agent: Magnesium Oxide \nTreatment Date: Nov. 2007 \n\n\n\n}?k> ^ ^0^ \xc2\xbb * \xe2\x80\xa2 o, ^> \\* PreservationTechnoiogies \n\nM^ft^o <6 \xc2\xab5l \'\'rv^^A* <Ck V **i A WORLD LEADER IN COLLECTIONS PRESERVATION \n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n111 Thomson Park Drive \nCranberry Township, PA 16066 \n(724)779-2111 \n\n\n\n.0* V-^.V .** . &0NC \n\n\n\n\n^ **r~>* ** \n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nV \n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n^ A \n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n*^ \n\n\n\n\n*" ~^ .... \n\n\n\n\n\n\nVV \n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n^ *?.*\xe2\x80\xa2 A <> *^?v^* ^ ^V \'\xc2\xb0- v a\\" \n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n'