took me so completely by surprise as Mr. Jaffrey’s radiant countenance
the next morning. The morning itself was not fresher or sunnier. His
round face literally shone with geniality and happiness. His eyes
twinkled like diamonds, and the magnetic light of his hair was turned on
full. He came into my room while I was packing my valise. He chirped and
prattled and carolled, and was sorry I was going away,—but never a word
about Andy. However, the boy had probably been dead several years then!
The open waggon that was to carry me to the station stood at the door;
Mr. Sewell was placing my case of instruments under the seat, and Mr.
Jaffrey had gone up to his room to get me a certain newspaper containing
an account of a remarkable shipwreck on the Auckland Islands. I took the
opportunity to thank Mr. Sewell for his courtesies to me, and to express
my regret at leaving him and Mr. Jaffrey.
“I have become very much attached to Mr. Jaffrey,” I said; “he is a most
interesting person; but that hypothetical boy of his, that son of Miss
Mehetabel’s——”
“Yes, I know!” interrupted Mr. Sewell, testily, “fell off a step-ladder
and broke his dratted neck. Eleven year old, wasn’t he? Always does,
jest at that point. Next week Silas will begin the whole thing over
again if he can get anybody to listen to him.”
“I see; our amiable friend is a little queer on that subject.”
Mr. Sewell glanced cautiously over his shoulder, and, tapping himself
significantly on the forehead, said in a low voice—
“Room to let. Unfurnished!”
_Thomas Bailey Aldrich._
------------------------------------------------------------------------
PECK’S BAD BOY.
[Illustration: “PA TAKING HIS DEGREE.”]
“SAY, are you a Mason, or a Nodfellow, or anything?” asked the bad boy
of the grocery man, as he went to the cinnamon bag on the shelf and took
out a long stick of cinnamon bark to chew.
“Why, yes, of course I am; but what set you to thinking of that?” asked
the grocery man, as he went to the desk and charged the boy’s father
with a half-pound of cinnamon.
“Well, do the goats bunt when you nishiate a fresh candidate?”
“No, of course not. The goats are cheap ones, that have no life, and we
muzzle them, and put pillows over their heads, so they can’t hurt
anybody,” says the grocery man, as he winked at a brother Oddfellow who
was seated on a sugar barrel, looking mysterious. “But why do you ask?”
“Oh, nothin’, only I wish me and my chum had muzzled our goat with a
pillow. Pa would have enjoyed his becoming a member of our lodge better.
You see, Pa had been telling us how much good the Masons and Oddfellers
did, and said we ought to try and grow up good so we could jine the
lodges when we got big; and I asked Pa if it would do any hurt for us to
have a play lodge in my room, and purtend to nishiate, and Pa said it
wouldn’t do any hurt. He said it would improve our minds and learn us to
be men. So my chum and me borried a goat that lives in a livery stable.
Say, did you know they keep a goat in a livery stable so the horses
won’t get sick? They get used to the smell of the goat, and after that
nothing can make them sick but a glue factory. You see my chum and me
had to carry the goat up to my room when Ma and Pa was out riding, and
he blatted so we had to tie a handkerchief around his nose, and his feet
made such a noise on the floor that we put some baby’s socks on his
hoofs.
“Well, my chum and me practised with that goat until he could bunt the
picture of a goat every time. We borried a bock beer sign from a saloon
man and hung it on the back of a chair, and the goat would hit it every
time. That night Pa wanted to know what we were doing up in my room, and
I told him we were playing lodge, and improving our minds; and Pa said
that was right, there was nothing that did boys of our age half so much
good as to imitate men, and store by useful nollidge. Then my chum asked
Pa if he didn’t want to come up and take the grand bumper degree, and Pa
laffed and said he didn’t care if he did, just to encourage us boys in
innocent pastime that was so improving to our intellex. We had shut the
goat up in a closet in my room, and he had got over blatting; so we took
off the handkerchief, and he was eating some of my paper collars and
skate straps. We went upstairs, and told Pa to come up pretty soon and
give three distinct raps, and when we asked him who comes there he must
say, ‘A pilgrim, who wants to join your ancient order and ride the
goat.’ Ma wanted to come up, too, but we told her if she come in it
would break up the lodge, cause a woman couldn’t keep a secret, and we
didn’t have any side-saddle for the goat. Say, if you never tried it,
the next time you nishiate a man in your Mason’s lodge you sprinkle a
little kyan pepper on the goat’s beard just afore you turn him loose.
You can get three times as much fun to the square inch of goat. You
wouldn’t think it was the same goat. Well, we got all fixed and Pa
rapped, and we let him in and told him he must be blindfolded, and he
got on his knees a laffing, and I tied a towel around his eyes, and then
I turned him around and made him get down on his hands also, and then
his back was right towards the closet sign, and I put the bock beer sign
right against Pa’s clothes. He was a laffing all the time, and said we
boys were as full of fun as they made ’em, and we told him it was a
solemn occasion, and we wouldn’t permit no levity, and if he didn’t stop
laffing we couldn’t give him the grand bumper degree. Then everything
was ready, and my chum had his hand on the closet door, and some kyan
pepper in his other hand, and I asked Pa in low bass tones if he felt as
though he wanted to turn back, or if he had nerve enough to go ahead and
take the degree. I warned him that it was full of dangers, as the goat
was loaded for bear, and told him he yet had time to retrace his steps
if he wanted to. He said he wanted the whole bizness, and we could go
ahead with the menagerie. Then I said to Pa that if he had decided to go
ahead, and not blame us for the consequences, to repeat after me the
following: ‘Bring forth the Royal Bumper and let him Bump.’
“Pa repeated the words, and my chum sprinkled the kyan pepper on the
goat’s moustache, and he sneezed once and looked sassy, and then he see
the lager beer goat rearing up, and he started for it just like a
crow-catcher, and blatted. Pa is real fat, but he knew he got hit, and
he grunted and said, ‘What you boys doin’?’ and then the goat gave him
another degree, and Pa pulled off the towel and got up and started for
the stairs, and so did the goat; and Ma was at the bottom of the stairs
listening, and when I looked over the banisters Pa and Ma and the goat
were all in a heap, and Pa was yelling murder, and Ma was screaming
fire, and the goat was blatting, and sneezing, and bunting, and the
hired girl came into the hall and the goat took after her, and she
crossed herself just as the goat struck her and said, ‘Howly mother,
protect me!’ and went down stairs the way we boys slide down hill, with
both hands on herself, and the goat reared up and blatted, and Pa and Ma
went into their room and shut the door, and then my chum and me opened
the front door and drove the goat out. The minister, who comes to see Ma
every three times a week, was just ringing the bell, and the goat
thought he wanted to be nishiated too, and gave him one for luck, and
then went down the side walk, blatting, and sneezing, and the minister
came in the parlour and said he was stabbed, and then Pa came out of his
room with his suspenders hanging down, and he didn’t know the minister
was there, and he said cuss words, and Ma cried and told Pa he would go
to the bad place sure, and Pa said he didn’t care, he would kill that
kussid goat afore he went, and I told Pa the minister was in the
parlour, and he and Ma went down and said the weather was propitious for
a revival, and it seemed as though an outpouring of the spirit was about
to be vouchsafed, and none of them sot down but Ma, cause the goat
didn’t hit her, and while they were talking relidgin with their mouths,
and kussin’ the goat inwardly, my chum and me adjourned the lodge, and I
went and stayed with him all night, and I haven’t been home since. But I
don’t believe Pa will lick me, ’cause he said he would not hold us
responsible for the consequences. He ordered the goat hisself, and we
filled the order, don’t you see? Well, I guess I will go and sneak in
the back way, and find out from the hired girl how the land lays. She
won’t go back on me, ’cause the goat was not loaded for hired girls. She
just happened to get in at the wrong time. Good-bye, sir. Remember and
give your goat kyan pepper in your lodge.”
_George W. Peck._
------------------------------------------------------------------------
[Illustration: THE BRITISH KNOCK]
LONDON, _October 30, 1802_.
I HAVE lately made a most important discovery which has disclosed one of
the great secrets of English rank. You, in the United States, knowing
nothing of this, will consider the following authentic history of rank a
singular curiosity.
They have confined the several species of man within such definite
limits, in this country, that the moment they hear a knocking at the
doors, they can tell you whether it be a servant, a postman, a milkman,
a half or whole gentleman, a very great gentleman, a knight, or a
nobleman.
A servant is bound to lift the knocker once; should he usurp a
nobleman’s knock he would hazard his situation. A postman knocks twice,
very loudly. A milkman knocks once, at the same time sending forth an
artificial noise, not unlike the yell of an American Indian. A mere
gentleman usually knocks three times, moderately; a terrible fellow
feels authorised to knock thrice, very loudly, generally adding to these
two or three faint knocks, which seem to run into each other; but there
is considerable art in doing this elegantly, therefore it is not always
attempted; but it is a valuable accomplishment. A stranger who should
venture at an imitation would undoubtedly be taken for an upstart. A
knight presumes to give a _double knock_, that is six raps, with a few
faint ones at the end. I have not yet ascertained the various
peculiarities which distinguish the degrees between the baronet and the
nobleman; but this I know too well, that a nobleman, at any time of
night, is allowed to knock so long and loud, that the whole
neighbourhood is frequently disturbed; and although fifty people may be
deprived of their night’s rest, there is no redress at law or at equity.
Nor have I learned how long and loud a prince of the blood presumes to
knock, though doubtless he might knock an hour or two by way of
distinction.
You may hold your sides if you please, but I assure you I am perfectly
serious. These people are so tenacious of their prerogative, that a
true-blooded Englishman goes near to think it a part of British liberty.
Indeed, I am convinced I could place certain Englishmen in a situation,
in which, rather than knock at a door but once, they would fight a duel
every day in the week. Good heavens, how would a fine gentleman appear
if obliged to knock but once at the door of a fashionable lady to whose
party he had been invited, while at the same moment a number of his
everyday friends, passing by, might observe the circumstance! I cannot
conceive of a more distressing occurrence. The moment he entered the
room the eyes of the whole company would be turned on him; he would
believe himself disgraced for ever, he would feel himself annihilated,
for all his imaginary consequence, without which an Englishman feels
himself to be nothing, would have forsaken him.
You may imagine it a very easy matter to pass from the simple _rap_ of
the servant to that of the nobleman; but let me inform you these little
monosyllables stand in the place of Alpine mountains, which neither
vinegar nor valour can pass. Hercules and Theseus, those vagabond but
respectable bullies, who govern by personal strength instead of a
standing army, would have hesitated an enterprise against these raps.
They have, by prescription, risen nearly to the dignity of Common Law,
of which strangers as well as natives are bound to take notice. I was
lately placed in a pleasant position through ignorance of this. Soon
after my arrival I received an invitation to dine with a gentleman, and
in my economical way, with the greatest simplicity, I gave one
reasonable rap; after a considerable time a servant opened the door and
asked me _what I wanted_! I told him Mr. ——. He replied “His _master_
has company, but will see if he can be spoken with.” In the meantime I
was left in the entry. Presently Mr. —— came, who, a little mortified,
began to reprove the servant; but it appeared in the sequel he was
perfectly right, for on telling Mr. —— “_I knocked but once_,” he burst
into a laugh, and said he would explain that at dinner.
Should an honest fellow, ignorant of the consequences of these raps,
come to London in search of a place, and unfortunately knock at a
gentleman’s door, after the manner of noblemen, it might prejudice him
as much as a prayer-book once prejudiced a certain person in
Connecticut. The anecdote is this:—
A young adventurer, educated Church-of-England-wise, on going forth to
seek his fortune, very naturally put his prayer-book in his pocket.
Wandering within the precincts of Connecticut, he offered his service to
a farmer, who, after asking him a thousand questions (a New England
custom), gave him employment; but in the evening, the unlucky
prayer-book being discovered, he fairly turned the poor wight out of
doors to get a lodging where he could.
You know the Connecticut _Blue Laws_ made it death for a priest, meaning
a clergyman of the Church of England, to be found within that State.
Thank heaven, those days are past. “God, liberty, and toleration,”
whether a man prefers a prayer-book to the missal, or the Koran to a
prayer-book, or a single rap at a door to the noise of a dozen.
Adieu.
N.B.—You must keep this letter a profound secret, as we have certain
gentlemen on our side of the Atlantic who would, in imitation of the
noblemen here, disturb their neighbours.
_William Austin._
------------------------------------------------------------------------
_A CAPTIVE MAIDEN._
[Illustration: “WHILE PITMAN SEIZED THE SUFFERER BY ONE ARM, I GRASPED
THE OTHER.”]
IT is extremely probable that we shall lose our servant-girl. She was
the victim of a very singular catastrophe a night or two since, in
consequence of which she has acquired a prejudice against the house of
Adeler. We were troubled with dampness in our cellar, and in order to
remove the difficulty we got a couple of men to come and dig the earth
out to the depth of twelve or fifteen inches, and fill it in with a
cement and mortar floor. The material was, of course, very soft, and the
workmen laid boards upon the surface, so that access to the furnace and
the coal-bin was possible. That night, just after retiring, we heard a
woman screaming for help; but after listening at the open window, we
concluded that Cooley and his wife were engaged in an altercation, and
so we paid no more attention to the noise. Half-an-hour afterwards there
was a violent ring at the front door bell, and upon going to the window
again I found Pitman standing upon the door-step below. When I spoke to
him he said—
“Max,”—the judge is inclined sometimes, especially during periods of
excitement, to be unnecessarily familiar,—“there’s somethin’ wrong in
your cellar. There’s a woman down there screechin’ and carryin’ on like
mad. Sounds ’s if somebody’s a-murderin’ her.”
I dressed and descended; and securing the assistance of Pitman, so that
I would be better prepared in the event of burglars being discovered, I
lighted a lamp and we went into the cellar.
There we found the maid-servant standing by the refrigerator, knee-deep
in the cement, and supporting herself with the handle of a broom, which
was also half-submerged. In several places about her were air-holes
marking the spot where the milk-jug, the cold veal, the Lima beans, and
the silver-plated butter-dish had gone down. We procured some additional
boards, and while Pitman seized the sufferer by one arm I grasped the
other. It was for some time doubtful if she would come to the surface
without the use of more violent means, and I confess that I was half
inclined to regard with satisfaction the prospect that we would have to
blast her loose with gunpowder. After a desperate struggle, during which
the girl declared that she would be torn in pieces, Pitman and I
succeeded in getting her safely out, and she went upstairs with half a
barrel of cement on each leg, declaring that she would leave the house
in the morning.
The cold veal is in there yet. Centuries hence some antiquarian will
perhaps grub about the spot whereon my cottage once stood, and will blow
that cold veal out in a petrified condition, and then present it to a
museum as the fossil remains of some unknown animal. Perhaps, too, he
will excavate the milk-jug and the butter-dish, and go about lecturing
upon them as utensils employed in bygone ages by a race of savages
called “The Adelers.” I should like to be alive at the time to hear that
lecture. And I cannot avoid the thought that if our servant had been
completely buried in the cement, and thus carefully preserved until the
coming of that antiquarian, the lecture would be more interesting, and
the girl more useful than she is now. A fossilised domestic servant of
the present era would probably astonish the people of the twenty-eighth
century.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
_MRS. PARTINGTON IN COURT._
“I TOOK my knitting-work and went up into the gallery,” said Mrs.
Partington, the day after visiting one of the city courts; “I went up
into the gallery, and, after I had adjusted my specs, I looked down into
the room, but I couldn’t see any courting going on. An old gentleman
seemed to be asking a good many impertinent questions,—just like some
old folks,—and people were sitting around making minuets of the
conversation. I don’t see how they made out what was said, for they all
told different stories. How much easier it would be to get along if they
were all made to tell the same story! What a sight of trouble it would
save the lawyers! The case, as they call it, was given to the jury, but
I couldn’t see it, and a gentleman with a long pole was made to swear
that he’d keep an eye on ’em, and see that they didn’t run away with it.
Bimeby in they came agin, and then they said somebody was guilty of
something, who had just said he was innocent, and didn’t know nothing
about it no more than the little baby that had never subsistence. I come
away soon afterwards; but I couldn’t help thinking how trying it must be
to sit there all day, shut out from the blessed air!”
_Benjamin Penhallon Shillaber_
_(“Mrs. Partington”)._
------------------------------------------------------------------------
_THE MUSIC-GRINDERS._
[Illustration: “IT’S HARD TO MEET SUCH PRESSING FRIENDS, IN SUCH A
LONELY SPOT.”]
THERE are three ways in which men take
One’s money from his purse,
And very hard it is to tell
Which of the three is worse;
But all of them are bad enough
To make a body curse.
You’re riding out some pleasant day,
And counting up your gains;
A fellow jumps from out a bush,
And takes your horse’s reins,
Another hints some words about
A bullet in your brains.
It’s hard to meet such pressing friends,
In such a lonely spot;
It’s very hard to lose your cash,
But harder to be shot;
And so you take your wallet out,
Though you would rather not.
Perhaps you’re going out to dine,—
Some odious creature begs
You’ll hear about the cannon-ball
That carried off his pegs,
And says it is a dreadful thing
For men to lose their legs.
He tells you of his starving wife,
His children to be fed,
Poor little lovely innocents,
All clamorous for bread,—
And so you kindly help to put
A bachelor to bed.
You’re sitting on your window-seat,
Beneath a cloudless moon;
Your hear a sound that seems to wear
The semblance of a tune,
As if a broken fife should strive
To drown a cracked bassoon.
And nearer, nearer still, the tide
Of music seems to come;
There’s something like a human voice,
And something like a drum;
You sit in speechless agony,
Until your ear is numb.
Poor “Home, sweet home” should seem to be
A very dismal place;
Your “Auld Acquaintance” all at once
Is altered in the face;
Their discords sting through Burns and Moore,
Like hedgehogs dressed in lace.
You think they are crusaders, sent
From some infernal clime,
To pluck the eyes of Sentiment,
And dock the tail of Rhyme,
To crack the voice of Melody,
And break the legs of Time.
But hark! the air again is still,
The music all is ground,
And silence, like a poultice, comes
To heal the blows of sound;
It cannot be,—it is,—it is,—
A hat is going round!
No! pay the dentist when he leaves
A fracture in your jaw,
And pay the owner of the bear
That stunned you with his paw,
And buy the lobster that has had
Your knuckles in his claw;
But, if you are a portly man,
Put on your fiercest frown,
And talk about a constable
To turn them out of town;
Then close your sentence with an oath,
And shut the window down!
And, if you are a slender man,
Not big enough for that,
Or if you cannot make a speech
Because you are a flat,
Go very quietly and drop
A button in the hat!
_Oliver Wendell Holmes._
------------------------------------------------------------------------
_MISS CRUMP’S SONG._
MISS CRUMP was inexorable. She declared that she was entirely out of
practice. “She scarcely ever touched the piano;” “Mamma was always
scolding her for giving so much of her time to French and Italian, and
neglecting her music and painting; but she told mamma the other day that
it really was so irksome to her to quit Racine and Dante, and go to
thrumming upon the piano, that, but for the obligations of filial
obedience, she did not think she should ever touch it again.”
Here Mrs. Crump was kind enough, by the merest accident in the world, to
interpose, and to relieve the company from farther anxiety.
“Augusta, my dear,” said she, “go and play a tune or two; the company
will excuse your hoarseness.”
Miss Crump rose immediately at her mother’s bidding, and moved to the
piano, accompanied by a large group of smiling faces.
“Poor child,” said Mrs. Crump, as she went forward, “she is frightened
to death. I wish Augusta could overcome her diffidence.”
Miss Crump was educated in Philadelphia; she had been taught to sing by
Madame Piggisqueaki, who was a pupil of Ma’m’selle Crokifroggietta, who
had sung with Madame Catalani; and she had taken lessons on the piano
from Seignor Buzzifussi, who had played with Paganini.
She seated herself at the piano, rocked to the right, then to the left,
leaned forward, then backward, and began. She placed her right hand
about midway the keys, and her left about two octaves below it. She now
put off to the right in a brisk canter up the treble notes, and the left
after it. The left then led the way back, and the right pursued it in
like manner. The right turned, and repeated its first movement; but the
left outran it this time, hopped over it, and flung it entirely off the
track. It came in again, however, behind the left on its return, and
passed it in the same style. They now became highly incensed at each
other, and met furiously on the middle ground. Here a most awful
conflict ensued for about the space of ten seconds, when the right
whipped off all of a sudden, as I thought, fairly vanquished. But I was
in the error against which Jack Randolph cautions us; “it had only
fallen back to a stronger position.” It mounted upon two black keys, and
commenced the note of a rattlesnake. This had a wonderful effect upon
the left, and placed the doctrine of “snake charming” beyond dispute.
The left rushed furiously towards it repeatedly, but seemed invariably
panic-struck when it came within six keys of it, and as invariably
retired with a tremendous roaring down the bass keys.
It continued its assaults, sometimes by the way of the naturals,
sometimes by the way of the sharps, and sometimes by a zigzag through
both; but all its attempts to dislodge the right from its stronghold
proving ineffectual, it came close up to its adversary, and expired.