SHOWING HOW A PASSION FOR PUNCH AND JUDY MAY LEAD TO DISASTROUS
CONSEQUENCES.
There are few boys in the world who are without their boy-friends whom
they worship, or by whom they are worshipped, with a love far
surpassing in its unselfishness the love of maturer years. The memory
of times that are gone is too often blurred by waves of sorrowful
circumstance. Our lives are like old pictures; the canvas grows
wrinkled, and the accumulated dust of years lies heavy upon figures
that once were bright and fair. But neither dust nor wrinkles can
obliterate the memory of the love we bore to the boy-friend with whom
we used to wander in fields that were greener, beneath skies that were
bluer, than fields and skies are now.
Cannot you and I remember the time when we used to stroll into the
country with our boy-friend, and, with arms thrown lovingly around
each other's neck, indulge in day-dreams not the less sweet because
they were never to be realized? And how, when we had built our
castles, and were looking at them in the clouds, with our hearts
filled with joyful fancies, we wandered in silence down the shady
lane, sweet with the scent of the flowering May that shut us out from
view on either side; and across the field with its luxuriant grass up
to our ankles with everywhere the daisy peeping out to watch us as we
passed; and over the heath where the golden gorse was blushing with
joy; and down the narrow path to the well which shrunk from public
observation at the bottom of a flight of cool stone steps, hewn out by
the monks of a cloister which should have been hard by, but wasn't,
having been destroyed in a bloody battle which took place once upon a
time?
Not many such experiences as these did Joshua and his boy-friend
enjoy; for our Damon's Pythias, whose proper name was Daniel Taylor,
was lame, with both his legs so badly broken that, had he lived unto
the age of Methuselah and been fed upon the fat of the land, those
props of his body would have been as useless to him all through his
long life as if they had been blades of the tenderest grass.
The Taylors had three children: Susan, Ellen, and Daniel Ellen and
Daniel were twins, and when they were born Susan was ten years old.
The worldly circumstances of the Taylors were no better than those of
their neighbors; indeed, if any thing, they were a little worse than
those of many around them. The parents, therefore, could not afford to
keep a nurse-girl, and it was fortunate for them that they had
provided one in the person of their elder daughter, and had allowed
her to grow to a suitable age before they ventured to bring other
children into the world. Fortunate as it was for the parents, it was
most unfortunate for Daniel; for before he and his other half were
born, Susan Taylor had contracted a passion almost insane in its
intensity, to which her only brother was doomed to be a victim. That
passion was a love for the British drama, as represented in Punch and
Judy. All Susan's ambitions and yearnings were centred in the show;
and it was not to be supposed that she would allow so small a matter
as twins to interfere with her absorbing passion. How the liking for
Punch and Judy had grown with her years and strengthened with her
strength, it is not necessary here to trace. The fact remains, and is
sufficient for the tragedy of poor Daniel's life. Squeezed to their
sister's breast, Daniel and Ellen were condemned to take long journeys
after Punch and Judy, and to be nursed at street-corners by a girl who
had eyes and mind for nothing but the _dramatis personæ_ of that
time-honored play. In her scrambles after the show she often wandered
a long way from home, and tore her dress, and jammed her bonnet, and
mudded her stockings, and knocked her boots out at the toes, and got
herself generally into a disreputable condition. But in presence of
the glories of Punch and Judy, which were to her ever fresh and ever
bright, such discomforts sank into absolute insignificance. All paltry
considerations were forgotten in the absorbing interest with which she
watched the extraordinary career of the hero of the drama. She was
insensible to the cuffs and remarks of the acting-manager who went
round for contributions, which the on-lookers were solicited to drop
into a tin plate or a greasy cap. He naturally resented Susan's
presence at the exhibition, for she had never been known to contribute
the smallest piece of copper towards the expenses. But neither his
cuffs nor his resentful language had any effect upon Susan, who, in
her utter disregard of all adverse circumstances, proved herself to be
an ardent and conscientious admirer of the British drama. As a
consequence of her peregrinations, she often found herself in strange
neighborhoods, and did not know her way home. The anxiety she caused
her mother, who was naturally proud of her twins, almost maddened that
poor woman. She used to run about the neighborhood of Stepney,
wringing her hands and declaring that her twins were kidnapped. At
first the neighbors were in the habit of sympathizing with her, and of
making anxious inquiries of one another concerning the children; but
when, after some months of such uneventful excitement, they found that
Susan and her twins were always brought home in good condition as
regarded their limbs--although in a very disgraceful condition as
regarded their personal appearance: but dirt counted for nothing in
such a case of excited expectation--their ardor cooled, and they
withheld their sympathy from the distressed mother. Indeed, they
looked upon themselves in the light of injured individuals, because
something really calamitous had not happened to the children. At
length Susan became such a nuisance--not only at home, but at
many police-stations, where she was popularly known as "that dirty
girl again, with the twins"--that the mother was recommended to
lock her up. Despairing of being able to cure her daughter of her
Punch-and-Judy mania by any other means, the mother locked her up with
her infant charges in a room on the first floor.
That was a sad thing for poor Daniel. Susan very naturally sulked at
being locked up, and at being deprived of her favorite amusement. Life
had no joy for her without Punch and Judy. With Punch and Judy,
existence was blissful; without Punch and Judy, existence was a blank.
Regarding the twins as the cause of her imprisonment, she vented her
spleen upon the unfortunate couple, and was spiteful enough to leave
traces of yellow soap in their eyes when she washed them; and when
they cried because of the smart, and rubbed their eyelids with their
little fists to get rid of the unwelcome particles, she smacked them
on the tenderest parts of their persons, and made them cry the more.
But they were not destined to endure this kind of torture for more
than a couple of days.
On the third day of their imprisonment, Susan was sitting moodily on
the floor, sulking as usual, and biting her lips and fretting, when
suddenly the well-beloved "too-to-too-a-too" of the Punch-and-Judy
showman came floating through the window. Wild with delight, she
snatched up the twins, and, rushing to the window, bent her body
forward, and looked out. Yes; there it was--there was the show
Preparations were being made for the drama; the green curtain was
down, the crowd was collecting, and the acting manager was already
taking a critical survey of the persons who loitered, and was mentally
marking down those who would not be allowed to stroll or slink away
without being solicited for a fee. The front of the stage was not
turned towards the window out of which Susan was looking; and she
could only see part of the show. That was a terrible disappointment to
her; and her suffering was really very great when she found that the
gallows upon which Punch was to be hanged was erected just in that
corner of the stage of which she could not obtain a glimpse. She
stamped her foot upon the floor excitedly; and, bending her body still
more forward in her eagerness, poor Daniel slipped out of her arms on
to the pavement. For a moment Susan was so bewildered that she could
not realize what had occurred: but, when she heard the sharp cry of
agony to which Daniel gave utterance, and when she saw the crowd of
people rushing with frightened faces towards the spot where the little
fellow was lying, she ran into a corner of the room with the other
child in her arms, and throwing her frock over her head, cowered down
with her face to the wall, and began to cry. But little notice was
taken of her. Daniel was picked up and carried into the house. He was
not killed; but his two legs were badly broken, and were destined
never to be of any use to him. So, as he had to depend upon artificial
legs for support, Daniel began to learn the use of crutches almost
before he had begun to learn to toddle.
The love that existed between Joshua and Daniel sprang out of an
innocent flirtation which was indulged in by Joshua Marvel and Ellen
Taylor. The amatory youngsters exchanged vows when they were quite
little things, and pledged themselves not to marry any one else: "no,
not for the wide, wide world!" Innocent kisses, broken pieces of
crockery with which they played at dinners and shops on back-window
sills, and the building of grottoes when the oyster-season came round,
were the material bonds which united the youthful loves of Joshua and
Ellen.
In due time Joshua was introduced to the family; not exactly as the
accepted suitor of the little damsel, but in a surreptitious sneaking
manner, which older suitors would have considered undignified. Such a
mean position did he for sometime occupy in the house of his
affianced, that on several occasions when Mr. Taylor came home drunk,
Joshua was locked up in the coal-cellar, lest he should meet the eye
of the tipsy parent, who, when he was in his cups, did not possess the
most amiable disposition in the world. From that coal-cellar Joshua
would emerge low-spirited and grimy, and in a despondent mood; but
sundry marks of affection from Ellen, the effects of which were
afterwards visible in black patches on her nose and cheeks and cherry
lips, invariably restored him to cheerfulness. Such a courtship was
not dignified; but Joshua and Ellen were perfectly satisfied; and so
was Dan, who thoroughly approved of his twin-sister's choice of a
sweetheart.
As the children grew in years, the ties that united Ellen and Joshua
were weakened; while those that united the boys were strengthened,
until a very perfect and unselfish love was established between them.
Both the lads were in the same condition as regarded their time.
Joshua had his on his hands because he had not made up his mind what
he was going to be; and Daniel had his on his hands because he had
broken his legs. Each had his particular fancy. Joshua's was music;
Dan's was birds.
Condemned to a sedentary life from the nature of his affliction, and
not able to run about as other boys did--for when his sister had let
him fall from her arms out of the window the breaking of his legs was
not the only injury he had received--Dan turned his attention to a
couple of canaries which were part of his parents' household gods. In
course of time the birds grew to be very fond of him; and he trained
them to do such pretty tricks, and was himself of so gentle and
amiable a disposition, that good-natured neighbors made him occasional
presents of birds--such as a linnet, or a lark, or a pair of
bullfinches--until he had gathered around him a small collection of
feathered younglings. With these companions his life was as happy as
life could be. He did not mope or fret because his legs were useless,
and because he was compelled to use crutches; on the contrary, he
absolutely loved his wooden props, as if they were bone of his bone
and flesh of his flesh.
"You are right not to be a wood-turner Jo," said Dan, when his friend
related to him the substance of the family discussions. "If my legs
were like yours, I wouldn't be."
Dan called his friend "Jo." It was not quite right for Joshua, he
said, but it sounded pretty. And so it did, especially from his lips.
"I wish your legs _were_ like mine, Dan," said Joshua.
"It's of no use wishing," replied Dan. "You know what mother says; it
takes all sorts to make a world."
"Sound legs and broken legs--eh, Dan?"
"Yes," answered Dan merrily; "and long ones and short ones, and thick
ones and thin ones. Besides, if I had the strongest and biggest legs
in the world, I don't think I should be happier than I am."
"But wouldn't you like to be a hero--the same as I am going to be?"
asked Joshua.
"We can't all be heroes. You go and fight with lions; I will stop and
play with birds. I couldn't tame lions; but I _can_ tame birds." Which
he could, and did.
Dan was fond of speaking about lions because his name was Daniel; and
many and many a time had he and Joshua read the wonderful story of
Daniel in the lions' den. Joshua did not know much of the Bible until
Dan introduced it to him, and read to him in his thin sweet voice the
marvellous romances in that Book of books.
"There was a hero for you!" exclaimed Joshua admiringly, referring to
the biblical "I wonder what made him so brave."
"Because he was doing what he knew to be right," replied Dan.
"I dare say," was the acquiescent rejoinder.
"And because he was not afraid to speak the truth even to Belshazzar;
and because, above all, he believed in God. So God delivered him."
"All because he was doing right," said Joshua.
"All because he was doing right," repeated Dan. "I'm not a bit brave;
that is because I am lame, perhaps. If I was thrown into a lions' den
I should die of fear--I am sure I should; but if I was thrown into a
birds' cage, full of strange birds, I would soon make friends with
them; they would come and eat out of my hand in no time."
Dan, indeed, was wonderfully learned about birds and their habits, and
possessed a singular power over them. He could train them to any thing
almost. And bear this in mind; he used no cruel means in his training
of them. What he taught them he taught them by kindness; and they were
subservient to him from love and not from fear. The nature of the
affliction which condemned him to a sedentary life, sharpened and
concentrated his mental faculties, and endued him with a surprising
patience. If it had been otherwise, he could never have trained the
birds so thoroughly. Never mind what they were--blackbirds, linnets,
larks, bullfinches, canaries--they were one and all his willing
slaves, and, in the course of time, performed the tasks he set them
with their best ability. Give Dan any one of these birds' and in a few
weeks it would hop upon his finger, dance at his whistle, come at his
call, fall dead upon the table, and jump up again at a given signal as
lively as a cricket. He made little carts for them to draw, little
swords for them to carry, little ladders for them to climb up, little
guns for them to fire off, little houses for them to go in at the
doors of and come out of the chimneys of. It was a sight worth seeing
to watch them go through their performances; to see the dead bird lie
on its back on the table, and watch cunningly out of a corner of its
left eye for the signal which allowed it to come to life again; to see
the family birds, after indulging in a little sensible conversation on
the doorstep, go into the house, the door of which closed with a
spring directly they got on the inside of it, and then presently to
see their heads pop out of the chimneys, as if their owners were
wondering what sort of weather it was; to see the first villain of the
company hop upon the cart in which the pop-gun was fixed, and hop upon
a slip of wood which in some mysterious manner acted upon the gun, and
caused it to go off--and then to see the desperado watch for dreadful
consequences which never followed; to see that cold-blooded and
desperate bird jump briskly down, as if it were not disappointed, and
place its neck in a ring in the shafts, and hop away to another
battle-field; to see the two military birds march up and down in front
of the house, holding little wooden swords in their beaks, as who
should say to an advancing foe, "Approach if you dare, and meet your
doom!" to see the climbing-bird hop up the steps of the ladder, and
then hop down again triumphantly, as if it had performed a feat of
which bird-kind might be proud; and to know that the birds enjoyed the
fun and delighted in it; were pleasant things to see and know, and
could do no one any harm. Of course there were hitches in the
performances; occasionally the birds were dull or obstinate; but, as a
rule, they were tractable and obedient; and if they did sometimes
bungle their tricks they might very well be excused, for they were but
feeble creatures after all.
So Dan passed his time innocently, and loved his pets, and his pets
loved him. Joshua grew to love them too. He learned all their pretty
little vocal tricks, and could imitate the different languages of the
birds in such a wonderful manner that they would stop and listen
to his warbling, and would answer it with similar joyful notes of
their own. And when Dan and he were in a merry mood--which was not
seldom--they and the birds would join in a concert which was almost as
good, and quite as enjoyable, as the scraping of fiddles and the
playing of flutes. Sometimes, in the evening, Joshua would play soft
music upon his second-hand accordion; and directly he sounded the
first note the birds would hop upon the table and stand in a line,
with their heads inclined on one side, listening to Joshua's simple
melodies with the gravity of connoisseurs, and would not flutter a
feather of their little wings for fear they should disturb the harmony
of sound.