his knife. "S'pose I'm going to use brute force on a measly fish that
I could swallow alive if I could only get him out of his house? Open
your measly premises!" raved Mr. Spoopendyke, stabbing at the oyster
vindictively, and slicing his shirt-sleeve clear to the elbow. "Come
forth, and enjoy the society of Spoopendyke!" And the worthy gentleman
foamed at the mouth, and he sunk back in his chair, and contemplated
his stubborn foe with glaring eyes.
"I'll tell you what to do," exclaimed Mrs. Spoopendyke, radiant with a
profound idea. "Crack him in the door."
"That's the scheme," grinned Mr. Spoopendyke, with horrible contortions
of visage. "Fetch me the door. Set that door right before me on a
plate. This oyster is going to stay here. If you think this oyster is
going to enjoy any change of climate until he strikes the tropics of
Spoopendyke, you don't know the domestic habits of shell-fish. Loose
your hold!" squealed Mr. Spoopendyke, returning to the charge, and
fetching the bivalve a prodigious whack. "Come into the outer world,
where all is gay and beautiful. Come out, and let me introduce you to
my wife." And Mr. Spoopendyke laid the oyster on the arm of his chair,
and slugged him remorselessly.
"Wait," squealed Mrs. Spoopendyke: "here's one with his mouth open,"
and she pointed cautiously at a gaping oyster, who had evidently taken
down the shutters to see what the row was about.
"Don't care a measly nickel with a hole in it," protested Mr.
Spoopendyke, thoroughly impatient. "Here's one that's going to open
his mouth, or the resurrection will find him still wrestling with
the ostensible head of this family. Ow!" and Mr. Spoopendyke, having
rammed the knife into the palm of his hand, slammed the oyster against
the chimney-piece, where it was shattered, and danced around the room
wriggling with wrath and agony.
"Never mind the oysters, dear," cried Mrs. Spoopendyke, following him
around, and trying to disengage his wounded hand from his armpit.
"Who's minding 'em?" roared Mr. Spoopendyke, standing on one leg, and
bending up double. "I tell ye that when I start to inflict discipline
on a narrow-minded oyster that won't either accept an invitation or
send regrets, he's going to mind me! Where's the oyster? Show me the
oyster! Arraign the oyster!"
"Upon my word, you've opened him," giggled Mrs. Spoopendyke, picking up
the smashed bivalve between the tips of her thumb and forefinger.
"Won't have him," sniffed Mr. Spoopendyke, eying the broken shell,
and firing his defeated enemy into the grate. "If I can't go in the
front-door of an oyster, I'm not going down the scuttle. That all comes
of laying 'em on the flat shell," he continued, suddenly recollecting
that his wife was to blame for the whole business. "Now you take the
rest of 'em down, and lay 'em as I told you to."
"Yes, dear."
"And another time you want any oysters, you sit around in the cellar,
and when they open their mouths you put sticks in. You hear?"
"Yes, dear."
And Mrs. Spoopendyke took the bivalves back, resolving that the next
time they were in demand they would crawl out of their shells, and walk
up-stairs arm in arm, before she would have any hand in the mutilation
of her poor, dear, suffering husband by bringing them up herself.
STANLEY HUNTLEY.
TO A FRIEND STUDYING GERMAN.
Vill'st dou learn de deutsche Sprache?
Denn set it on your card,
Dat all de nouns have shenders,
Und de shenders all are hard;
Dere ish also dings called pronoms,
Vitch it's shoost ash vell to know;
Boot ach! de verbs, or timevords--
Dey'll vork you bitter voe.
Vill'st dou learn de deutsche Sprache?
Den you allatag moost go
To sinfonies, sonatas,
Or an oritorio.
Vhen you dinks you knows 'pout musik
More ash any oder man,
Be sure de soul of Deutschland
Into your soul ish ran.
Vill'st dou learn de deutsche Sprache?
Dou moost eat apout a peck
A veek of stinging sauerkraut,
Und sefen pounds of speck,
Mit Gott knows vot in vinegar,
Und deuce knows vot in rum;
Dish ish de only cerdain way
To make de accents coom.
Vill'st dou learn de deutsche Sprache?
Brepare dein soul to shtand
Soosh sendences ash ne'er vas heardt
In any oder land.
Till dou canst make parenteses
Intwisted--ohne zahl--
Dann wirst du erst Deutschfertig seyn;
For a languashe ideal.
Vill'st dou learn de deutsche Sprache?
Dou must mitout all fear
Trink efery tay an gallon dry
Of foamin' Sherman beer.
Und de more you trinks, pe certain
More Deutsche you'll surely pe;
For Gambrinus is de Emperor
Of de whole of Shermany.
Vill'st dou learn de Deutsche Sprache?
Be sholly, brav, an' treu,
For dat veller is kein Deutscher
Who ish not a sholly poy,
Find out vot means Gemuthlichkeit,
Und do it mitout fail,
In Sang und Klang dein Lebenlang,
A brick--gans Kreuzfidel.
Vill'st dou learn de deutsche Sprache?
If a shendleman dou art,
Denn shtrike right indo Deutschland
Und get a schveetes heart,
From Schwabenland or Sachsen,
Vhere now dis writer pees;
Und de bretty girls all wachsen
Shoost like apples on de drees.
Boot if dou bee'st a laty,
Denn, on de odder hand,
Take a blonde moustachiod lofer
In de vine green Sherman land,
Und if you shoost kit married
(Vood mit vood soon makes a vire),
You'll learn to sprechen Deutsch, mein Kind,
Ash fast as you tesire.
CHARLES GODFREY LELAND.
TAMMY'S PRIZE.
"Awa' wi' ye, Tammy man, awa' wi' ye to the schule, aye standin'
haverin'," and the old shoemaker looked up through his tear-dimmed
spectacles at his son, who was standing with his cap on and his book in
his hand.
Tammy made a move to the door. "An' is't the truth, Tammy? and does the
maister say't himsel'? Say't ower again."
The boy turned back, and stood looking on the ground.
"It wasna muckle he said, fayther. He just said, 'It'll be Tammy
Rutherford that'll get the prize i' the coontin.'"
"He said you, did he?" said the old man, as if he had heard it for the
first time, and not for the hundredth.
Again Tammy made a move for the door; and again the fond father would
have called him back, had not the schoolbell at that instant rung out
loud and clear.
"Ay, ay!" said he to himself, after his son had gone, "a right likely
lad, and a credit to his fayther;" and he bent again to the shoe he was
working at, though he could scarcely see it for the tears that started
in his eyes.
The satisfied smile had not worn off his face when the figure of
a stout woman appeared at the door. The shoemaker took off his
spectacles, and wiped them, and then turned to the new-comer.
"A bra' day till ye, Mistress Knicht. An' hoo'll ye be keepin'?"
"Oh! brawly, Maister Rutherford. It's the sheen I've come aboot for my
guidman; the auld anes are sare crackit."
"Aweel, mistress, the new anes'll be deen the morn. Set yersel' doon;"
and, complying with this invitation, she sat down. "An' hoo's yere
Sandie gettin' on at the schule, Mistress Knicht?"
"'Deed, noo ye speak on't, he's a sare loon; he'll niver look at's
lessons."
"He winna be ha'in' ony o' the prizes, I'm thinkin' at that gate."
"Na, na; he'll niver bother his heed aboot them. But he's sayin' yer
Tam'll ha'e the coontin' prize."
"Ye _dinna_ say sae! Weel, that is news." And he looked up with
ill-concealed pride. "The lad was talkin' o't himsel'; but 'deed I
niver thocht on't. But there's nae sayin'."
"Aweel, guid-day to ye; and I'll look in the morn for the sheen."
"An' are they sayin' Tam'll ha'e a prize?" continued the old man.
"Ay, ay; the laddie was sayin' sae." And she went away.
The shoemaker seemed to have fallen on a pleasant train of thought; for
he smiled away to himself, and occasionally picked up a boot, which
he as soon let drop. Visions of Tammy's future greatness rose before
his mind. Perhaps of too slight a fabric were they built; but he saw
Tammy a great and honored man, and Tammy's father leaning on his son's
greatness....
"Presairve us a'! it's mair nor half-six!" (half-past five.) And he
started up from his revery. "Schule'll hae been oot an 'oor, an' the
laddie's no hame." And he got up, and moved towards the door. The sun
was just sinking behind the horizon, and the light was dim in the
village street. He put up his hand to his eyes, and peered down in the
direction of the school.
"What in a' the world's airth's keepin' him?" he muttered; and then
turning round he stumbled through the darkness of his workshop to the
little room behind. He filled an antiquated kettle, and set it on the
fire. Then he went to the cupboard, and brought out half a loaf, some
cheese, a brown teapot, and a mysterious parcel. He placed these on the
table, and then gravely and carefully unrolled the little parcel, which
turned out to be tea.
"Presairve us, I can niver min' whaur ye put the tea, or hoo muckle.
It's an awfu' waicht on the min' to make tea."
His wife had died two years before; and his little son, with the
assistance of a kindly neighbor, had managed to cook their humble
meals. Porridge was their chief fare; but a cup of tea was taken as a
luxury every evening.
"I'm jist some fear't about it. I'll waicht till Tammas comes in;" and
he went out again to the door to see what news there was of his son.
The sun had completely disappeared now; and the village would have been
quite dark had it not been for the light in the grocer's window, a few
doors down.
The shoemaker leaned against his cottage, and tried to see if any one
were in sight; but not a soul seemed about, although now and then a
sound of laughter was borne up the street.
The door of his next neighbor's house was wide open. He looked in,
and saw a woman standing at the fire, superintending some cooking
operation, with her back to him.
"Is yer Jim in, mistress?"
"Na," she said, without turning her head. "He'll be doon at some o' his
plays. He's nae been in frae the schule yet."
"It's the same wi' Tam. Losh! I'm wunnerin, what's keepin' him."
"Keepin' him, say ye? What wad keep a laddie?"
Half satisfied, the shoemaker went back to his house, and found the
kettle singing merrily on the fire. He felt a little anxious. The boy
was always home in good time. He crept round again to his neighbor's.
"I'm gettin' fear't about him," he said: "he's niver been sae late's
this."
"Hoot, awa' wi' ye! he'll be doon, maybe, at the bathin' wi' the lave,
but I'll gang doon the village wi' ye, an' we'll soon fin' the laddie."
She hastily put her bonnet on her head, for the night air was cold, and
they both stood together outside the cottage.
He clutched her arm. What was that? Through the still night air, along
the dark street, came the sound of muffled feet and hushed voices, as
of those who bore a burden. With blanched face the old man tried to
speak, but he could not. A fearful thought came upon him....
They are coming nearer. They are stopping and crowding together, and
whispering low. The two listeners crept up to them; and there in the
middle of the group lay Tammy dead--drowned.
With a loud shriek, "Tammy, my Tammy!" the old man fell down beside the
body of his son.
They carried both in together into the little room behind the shop, and
went out quietly, leaving one of their number who volunteered to stay
all night.
The shoemaker soon revived. He sat down on one side of the fire, and
the man who watched with him sat on the other. The kettle was soon
on the fire, and he watched its steam rising with a half-interested
indifference. Then at times he would seem to remember that something
had happened; and he would creep to the side of the bed where the body
lay, and gaze on the straight, handsome features and the bloodless
cheeks, quiet and cold in death. "Tammy, my man; my ain Tammy, speak to
me ance--jist ance--I'm awfu' lonesome-like." Then the watcher would
lead him quietly to his seat by the fire; and there they sat the whole
night long, till the stir of the outer world aroused them....
The school is filled with happy, pleasant faces. The prize day has
come. There stands the minister, looking very important, and the
schoolmaster very excited. The prizes are all arranged on a table
before the minister, and the forms for the prize-winners are before the
table. And now every thing is ready. The minister begins by telling
the parents present how he has examined the school, and found the
children quite up to the mark; and then he addresses a few words to
the children, winding up his remarks by telling them how at school he
had thought that "multiplication is a vexation," &c., but that now he
found the use of it. And then the children laughed, for they heard the
same speech every year; but it made the excitement greater when they
had the prizes to look at, as they shone on the table in their gorgeous
gilding, during the speech. And now the schoolmaster is going to read
out the prize-winners, and the children are almost breathless with
excitement,--you might have heard a pin drop,--when from the end of the
room, a figure totters forward, the figure of an old man, white-headed,
and with a strange, glassy look in his eye. He advances to where the
children are sitting, and takes his place amongst them. Every one looks
compassionately towards him, and women are drying their eyes with their
aprons. The schoolmaster hesitates a moment, and looks at the minister.
The minister nods to him, and he begins the list. It is with almost a
saddened look that the children come to take their prizes, for they
think of the sharp, bright, active playmate who was so lately with
them; and they gaze timidly towards his father who sits in their midst.
"Thomas Rutherford," reads out the master, "gained the prize for
arithmetic."
"I'll tak' Tam's prize for him. The laddie's na weel. He's awa'. I'll
tak' it;" and the shoemaker moved hastily up to the table.
The minister handed him the book; and, silently taking it, he made his
way to the door....
A quiet old man moves listlessly about the village. He does nothing,
but every one has a kind word for him. He never walks towards the
river, but shudders when its name is mentioned. He sits in his workshop
often, and looks up expectantly when he hears the joyous shout of the
boys as they come out of school, and then a look of pain flits across
his face. He has one treasure,--a book, which he keeps along with his
family Bible, and he is never tired of reading through his blurred
spectacles the words on the first page:--
BARNES SCHOOL.
FIRST CLASS.
PRIZE FOR ARITHMETIC
AWARDED TO
THOMAS RUTHERFORD.
THE SCOTCHMAN AT THE PLAY.
After paying our money at the door, never while I live and breathe will
I forget what we saw and heard that night. It just looks to me, by
all the world, when I think on it, like a fairy dream. The place was
crowded to the full; Maister Glen and me having nearly got our ribs
dung in before we found a seat, the folks behind being obliged to mount
the back benches to get a sight. Right to the forehand of us was a
large green curtain, some five or six ells wide, a good deal the worse
of the wear, having seen service through two-three summers: and just
in the front of it were eight or ten penny candles stuck in a board
fastened to the ground, to let us see the players' feet like, when they
came on the stage; and even before they came on the stage; for, the
curtain being scrimpit in length, we saw legs and sandals moving behind
the scenes very neatly; while two blind fiddlers they had brought with
them played the bonniest ye ever heard. 'Od! the very music was worth a
sixpence of itself.
The place, as I said before, was choke-full, just to excess; so that
one could scarcely breathe. Indeed, I never saw any part so crowded,
not even at a tent-preaching when the Rev. Mr. Roarer was giving his
discourses on the building of Solomon's Temple. We were obligated to
have the windows opened for a mouthful of fresh air, the barn being
as close as a baker's oven, my neighbor and me fanning our red faces
with our hats to keep us cool; and, though all were half stewed, we
certainly had the worst of it, the toddy we had taken having fermented
the blood of our bodies into a perfect fever.
Just at the time that the two blind fiddlers were playing the "Downfall
of Paris" a hand-bell rang, and up goes the green curtain; being hauled
to the ceiling, as I observed with the tail of my eye, by a birkie
at the side, that had hold of a rope. So, on the music stopping, and
all becoming as still as that you might have heard a pin fall, in
comes a decent old gentleman at his leisure, well powdered, with an
old-fashioned coat on, waistcoat with flap-pockets, brown breeches
with buckles at the knees, and silk stockings with red gushats on a
blue ground. I never saw a man in such distress: he stamped about,
and better stamped about, dadding the end of his staff on the ground,
and imploring all the powers of heaven and earth to help him to find
out his runaway daughter, that had decamped with some ne'er-do-weel
loon of a half-pay captain, that keppit her in his arms from her
bedroom-window, up two pair of stairs.
Every father and head of a family must have felt for a man in his
situation, thus to be robbed of his dear bairn, and an only daughter
too, as he told us over and over again, as the salt, salt tears ran
gushing down his withered face, and he aye blew his nose on his clean
calendered pocket-napkin. But, ye know, the thing was absurd to suppose
that we should know any inkling about the matter, having never seen
him or his daughter between the een before, and not kenning them by
headmark: so, though we sympathized with him, as folks ought to do
with a fellow-creature in affliction, we thought it best to hold our
tongues, to see what might cast up better than he expected. So out he
went stumping at the other side, determined, he said, to find them out,
though he should follow them to the world's end, Johnny Groat's house,
or something to that effect.
Hardly was his back turned, and almost before ye could cry Jack
Robison, in comes the birkie and the very young lady the old gentleman
described, arm-and-arm together, smoodging and laughing like daft. Dog
on it! it was a shameless piece of business. As true as death, before
all the crowd of folk, he put his arm round her waist, and called her
his sweetheart, and love, and dearie, and darling, and every thing that
is fine. If they had been courting in a close together on a Friday
night, they could not have said more to one another, or gone greater
lengths. I thought such shame to be an eye-witness to sic on-goings,
that I was obliged at last to hold up my hat before my face, and look
down; though, for all that, the young lad, to be such a blackguard as
his conduct showed, was well enough faured, and had a good coat to his
back, with double gilt buttons and fashionable lapels, to say little of
a very well-made pair of buckskins, a thought the worse of the wear, to
be sure, but which, if they had been well cleaned, would have looked
almost as good as new. How they had come we never could learn, as we
neither saw chaise nor gig; but, from his having spurs on his boots,
it is more than likely that they had lighted at the back-door of the
barn from a horse, she riding on a pad behind him, maybe, with her hand
round his waist.
The father looked to be a rich old bool, both from his manner of
speaking, and the rewards he seemed to offer for the apprehension of
his daughter; but, to be sure, when so many of us were present that
had an equal right to the spullaie, it would not be a great deal, a
thousand pounds, when divided. Still it was worth the looking after: so
we just bidit a wee.
Things were brought to a bearing, howsoever, sooner than either
themselves, I dare say, or anybody else present, seemed to have the
least glimpse of: for, just in the middle of their fine goings-on, the
sound of a coming foot was heard; and the lassie, taking guilt to her,
cried out, "Hide me, hide me, for the sake of goodness! for yonder
comes my old father!"
No sooner said than done. In he stappit her into a closet; and, after
shutting the door on her, he sat down upon a chair, pretending to
be asleep, in the twinkling of a walking-stick. The old father came
bouncing in; and, seeing the fellow as sound as a top, he ran forward
and gave him such a shake as if he would have shooken him all sundry;
which soon made him open his eyes as fast as he had steeked them.
After blackguarding the chield at no allowance, cursing him up hill
and down dale, and calling him by every name but a gentleman, he held
his staff over his crown, and, gripping him by the cuff of the neck,
asked him, in a fierce tone, what he had made of his daughter. Never
since I was born did I ever see such brazen-faced impudence! The rascal
had the brass to say at once, that he had not seen word or wittens of
the lassie for a month, though more than a hundred folk sitting in
his company had beheld him dauting her with his arm round her jimpy
waist not five minutes before. As a man, as a father, as an elder of
our kirk, my corruption was raised; for I aye hated lying as a poor
cowardly sin, and an inbreak on the Ten Commandments; and I found my
neighbor, Mr. Glen, fidgeting on the seat as well as me. So I thought
that whoever spoke first would have the best right to be entitled to
the reward: whereupon, just as he was in the act of rising up, I took
the word out of his mouth, saying, "Dinna believe him, auld gentleman;
dinna believe him, friend: he's telling a parcel of lees. Never saw her
for a month! It's no worth arguing, or calling witnesses: just open
that press-door, and ye'll see whether I'm speaking truth or not!"
The old man stared, and looked dumfoundered; and the young one, instead
of running forward with his double nieves to strike me, the only thing
I was feared for, began a-laughing, as if I had done him a good turn.
But never since I had a being did I ever witness such an uproar and
noise as immediately took place. The whole house was so glad that the
scoundrel had been exposed, that they set up siccan a roar of laughter,
and thumped away at siccan a rate at the boards with their feet, that
at long and last, with pushing and fidgeting, clapping their hands,
and holding their sides, down fell the place they call the gallery,
all the folk in't being hurled topsy-turvy, headforemost, among the
sawdust on the floor below; their guffawing soon being turned to
howling, each one crying louder than another at the top note of their
voices, "Murder! murder! hold off me! murder! my ribs are in! murder!
I'm killed! I'm speechless!" and other lamentations to that effect:
so that a rush to the door took place, in the which every thing was
overturned; the door-keeper being wheeled away like wildfire; the furms
stramped to pieces; the lights knocked out; and the two blind fiddlers
dung headforemost over the stage, the bass-fiddle cracking like thunder
at every bruise. Such tearing and swearing, and tumbling and squealing,
was never witnessed in the memory of man since the building of Babel;
legs being likely to be broken, sides staved in, eyes knocked out,
and lives lost,--there being only one door, and that a small one: so
that, when we had been earned off our feet that length, my wind was
fairly gone; and a sick dwalm came over me, lights of all manner of
colors, red, blue, green, and orange, dancing before me, that entirely
deprived me of common sense; till, on opening my eyes in the dark, I
found myself leaning with my broadside against the wall on the opposite
side of the close. It was some time before I minded what had happened:
so, dreading skaith, I found first the one arm, and then the other, to
see if they were broken; syne my head; and finally both of my legs;
but all, as well as I could discover, was skin-whole and scart-free.
On perceiving this, my joy was without bounds, having a great notion
that I had been killed on the spot. So I reached round my hand very
thankfully to take out my pocket-napkin, to give my brow a wipe, when,
lo and behold! the tail of my Sunday's coat was fairly off and away,
docked by the hainch buttons.