"The clock at Jersey, near the mill,
The very image of this present,
With which I won the wager pleasant?"
Will ended with a knowing wink;
Tom scratched his head and tried to think.
"Sir, begging your pardon for inquiring,"
The landlord said with grin admiring,
"What wager was it?"
"You remember
It happened, Tom, in last December:
In sport I bet a Jersey Blue
That it was more than he could do
To make his finger go and come
In keeping with the pendulum,
Repeating, till the hour should close,
Still--'_Here she goes, and there she goes._'
He lost the bet in half a minute."
"Well, if I would, the deuce is in it!"
Exclaimed the landlord; "try me yet,
And fifty dollars to be bet."
"Agreed, but we will play some trick,
To make you of the bargain sick!"
"I'm up to that!"
"Don't make us wait,--
Begin,--the clock is striking eight."
He seats himself, and left and right
His finger wags with all its might,
And hoarse his voice and hoarser grows,
With--"Here she goes, and there she goes!"
"Hold!" said the Yankee, "plank the ready!"
The landlord wagged his finger steady,
While his left hand, as well as able,
Conveyed a purse upon the table,
"Tom! with the money let's be off!"
This made the landlord only scoff.
He heard them running down the stair,
But was not tempted from his chair;
Thought he, "The fools! I'll bite them yet!
So poor a trick sha'n't win the bet."
And loud and long the chorus rose
Of--"Here she goes, and there she goes!"
While right and left his finger swung,
In keeping to his clock and tongue.
His mother happened in to see
Her daughter: "Where is Mrs. B----?"
"When will she come, do you suppose?"
Son!--"
"Here she goes, and there she goes!"
"Here!--where?"--the lady in surprise
His finger followed with her eyes;
"Son! why that steady gaze and sad?
Those words,--that motion,--are you mad?
But here's your wife, perhaps she knows,
And--"
"Here she goes, and there she goes!"
His wife surveyed him with alarm,
And rushed to him and seized his arm;
He shook her off, and to and fro
His finger persevered to go,
While curled his very nose with ire
That _she_ against him should conspire;
And with more furious tone arose
The--"Here she goes, and there she goes!"
"Lawks!" screamed the wife, "I'm in a whirl!
Run down and bring the little girl;
She is his darling, and who knows
But--"
"Here she goes, and there she goes!"
"Lawks! he is mad! What made him thus?
Good Lord! what will become of us?
Run for a doctor,--run, run, run,--
For Doctor Brown and Doctor Dun,
And Doctor Black and Doctor White,
And Doctor Grey with all your might!"
The doctors came, and looked, and wondered,
And shook their heads, and paused and pondered.
Then one proposed he should be bled,--
"No, leeched you mean," the other said,--
"Clap on a blister!" roared another,--
"No! cup him,"--"No! trepan him, brother."
A sixth would recommend a purge,
The next would an emetic urge;
The eighth, just come from a dissection,
His verdict gave for an injection.
The last produced a box of pills,
A certain cure for earthly ills:
"I had a patient yesternight,"
Quoth he, "and wretched was her plight,
And as the only means to save her,
Three dozen patent pills I gave her;
And by to-morrow I suppose
That--"
"Here she goes, and there she goes!"
"You are all fools!" the lady said,--
"The way is, just to shave his head.
Run! bid the barber come anon."
"Thanks, mother!" thought her clever son;
"You help the knaves that would have bit me,
But all creation sha'n't outwit me!"
Thus to himself, while to and fro
His fingers perseveres to go,
And from his lips no accent flows
But--"Here she goes, and there she goes!"
The barber came--"Lord help him! what
A queerish customer I've got;
But we must do our best to save him,--
So hold him, gemmen, while I shave him!"
But here the doctors interpose,--
"A woman never--"
"There she goes!"
"A woman is no judge of physic,
No even when her baby is sick.
He must be bled,"--"No, no, a blister,"--
"A purge, you mean,"--"I say a clyster,"--
"No, cup him,"--"Leech him,"--"Pills! pills! pills!"
And all the house the uproar fills.
What means that smile? what means that shiver?
The landlord's limbs with rapture quiver,
And triumph brightens up his face,
His finger yet shall win the race;
The clock is on the stroke of nine,
And up he starts,--"'Tis mine! 'tis mine!"
"What do you mean?"
"I mean the fifty;
I never spent an hour so thrifty.
But you who tried to make me lose,
Go, burst with envy, if you choose!
But how is this? where are they?"
"Who?"
"The gentlemen,--I mean the two
Came yesterday,--are they below?"
"They galloped off an hour ago."
"O, purge me! blister! shave and bleed!
For, hang the knaves, I'm mad indeed!"
DAVID AND GOLIATH.
Goliath gives vent to his arrogance in a bombastic style. This
should be borne in mind by the speaker. David, on the other
hand, expresses himself with modesty, but in a tone of
confident courage:
_Goliath._ Where is the mighty man of war, who dares
Accept the challenge of Philistia's chief?
What victor-king, what general drenched in blood,
Claims this high privilege? What are his rights?
What proud credentials does the boaster bring
To prove his claim? What cities laid in ashes,
What ruined provinces, what slaughtered realms,
What heads of heroes, or what hearts of kings,
In battle killed, or at his altars slain,
Has he to boast? Is his bright armory
Thick set with spears, and swords, and coats of mail,
Of vanquished nations, by his single arm
Subdued? Where is the mortal man so bold,
So much a wretch, so out of love with life,
To dare the weight of this uplifted spear?
Come, advance!
Philistia's gods to Israel's. Sound, my herald,
Sound for the battle straight!
_David._ Behold thy foe.
_Gol._ I see him not.
_Dav._ Behold him here.
_Gol._ Say, where?
Direct my sight. I do not war with boys.
_Dav._ I stand prepared; thy single arm to mine.
_Gol._ Why, this is mockery, minion; it may chance
To cost thee dear. Sport not with things above thee:
But tell me who, of all this numerous host,
Expects his death from me? Which is the man
Whom Israel sends to meet my bold defiance?
_Dav._ The election of my sovereign falls on me.
_Gol._ On thee! on thee! by Dagon, 'tis too much!
Thou curled minion! thou a nation's champion!
'Twould move my mirth at any other time;
But trifling's out of tune. Begone, light boy!
And tempt me not too far.
_Dav._ I do defy thee,
Thou foul idolator! Hast thou not scorned
The armies of the living God I serve!
By me he will avenge upon thy head
Thy nation's sins and thine. Armed with his name,
Unshrinking, I dare meet the stoutest foe
That ever bathed his hostile spear in blood.
_Gol._ Indeed! 'tis wondrous well! Now, by my gods!
The stripling plays the orator! Vain boy!
Keep close to that same bloodless war of words,
And thou shalt still be safe. Tongue-valiant warrior!
Where is thy sylvan crook, with garlands hung,
Of idle field-flowers? Where thy wanton harp,
Thou dainty-fingered hero?
Now will I meet thee,
Thou insect warrior; since thou dar'st me thus,
Already I behold thy mangled limbs,
Dissevered each from each, ere long to feed
The fierce, blood-snuffing vulture. Mark me well,
Around my spear I'll twist thy shining locks
And toss in air thy head all gashed with wounds.
_Dav._ Ha, say'st thou so? Come on, then; Mark us well.
Thou com'st to me with sword and spear, and shield;
In the dread name of Israel's God, I come;
The living Lord of Hosts, whom thou defi'st;
Yet though no shield I bring; no arms, except
These five smooth stones I gathered from the brook
With such a simple sling as shepherds use;
Yet all exposed, defenceless as I am,
The God I serve shall give thee up a prey
To my victorious arm. This day, I mean
To make the uncircumcised tribes confess
There is a God in Israel. I will give thee,
Spite of thy vaunted strength and giant bulk,
To glut the carrion-kites. Nor thee alone;
The mangled carcasses of your thick hosts
Shall spread the plains of Elah; till Philistia,
Through all her trembling tents and flying bands,
Shall own that Judah's God is God indeed!
I dare thee to the trial!
_Gol._ Follow me.
In this good spear I trust.
_Dav._ I trust in Heaven!
The God of battles stimulates my arm,
And fires my soul with ardor not its own.
In this dialogue, the first speech of Goliath is simple
vaunt. Confident in his huge bulk and strength, he strides
occasionally from side to side while speaking, elevating his
arms and throwing his limbs about as if anxious to display his
powerful sinews and muscular proportions. He speaks very loud,
as if willing to terrify all Israel with his voice.
In this second speech, Goliath partly stoops, half shuts his
eyes like a person endeavouring to discern some diminutive
object, and, after looking intently a short time, suddenly
straightens himself up to his full height, and says
arrogantly: "I see him not."
In his third speech, Goliath maintains the same ground, till,
in the conclusion, he seems, at last, to have perceived David,
and, turning away contemptuously, adds: "I do not war with
boys."
In the latter part of the dialogue, Goliath becomes really
furious, and is in haste to transfix David with his spear;
while David, on the other hand, becomes more calm, collected,
and observant as the critical moment approaches, thus denoting
his firm and unwavering trust in the God of Israel. David
makes but few gestures, but always assumes a reverential
attitude when he mentions the name of God--not puritanical
by any means, but expressive of humble hope and smiling
confidence.
THE WIDOW BEDOTT'S POETRY.
FRANCES M. WHITCHER.
Yes,--he was one o' the best men that ever trod shoe-leather, husband
was, though Miss Jinkins says (she 't was Poll Bingham), _she_ says,
I never found it out till after he died, but that 's the consarndest
lie, that ever was told, though it 's jest a piece with everything
else she says about me. I guess if everybody could see the poitry I
writ to his memory, nobody wouldn 't think I dident set store by him.
Want to hear it? Well, I 'll see if I can say it; it ginerally affects
me wonderfully, seems to harrer up my feelin's; but I'll try. Dident
know I ever writ poitry? How you talk! used to make lots on 't; hain't
so much late years. I remember once when Parson Potter had a bee,
I sent him an amazin' great cheese, and writ a piece o' poitry, and
pasted on top on 't. It says:--
Teach him for to proclaim
Salvation to the folks;
No occasion give for any blame,
Nor wicked people's jokes.
And so it goes on, but I guess I won't stop to say the rest on now,
seein' there's seven and forty verses.
Parson Potter and his wife was wonderfully pleased with it; used to
sing it to the tune o' Haddem. But I was gwine to tell the one I made
in relation to husband; it begins as follers:--
He never jawed in all his life,
He never was unkind,--
And (tho' I say it that was his wife)
Such men you seldom find.
(That's as true as the Scripturs; I never knowed him to say a harsh
word.)
I never changed my single lot,--
I thought 't would be a sin--
(though widder Jinkins says it's because I never had a chance.) Now 't
ain't for me to say whether I ever had a numerous number o' chances or
not, but there 's them livin' that _might_ tell if they wos a mind to;
why, this poitry was writ on account of being joked about Major Coon,
three year after husband died. I guess the ginerality o' folks knows
what was the nature o' Major Coon's feelin's towards me, tho' his wife
and Miss Jinkins _does_ say I tried to ketch him. The fact is, Miss
Coon feels wonderfully cut up 'cause she knows the Major took her
"Jack at a pinch,"--seein' he couldent get such as he wanted, he took
such as he could get,--but I goes on to say--
I never changed my single lot,
I thought 't would be a sin,--
For I thought so much o' Deacon Bedott,
I never got married agin.
If ever a hasty word he spoke,
His anger dident last,
But vanished like tobacker smoke
Afore the wintry blast.
And since it was my lot to be
The wife of such a man,
Tell the men that's after me
To ketch me if they can.
If I was sick a single jot,
He called the doctor in--
That's a fact,--he used to be scairt to death if anything ailed me.
Now only jest think,--widder Jinkins told Sam Pendergrasses wife (she
'twas Sally Smith) that she guessed the deacon dident set no great
store by me, or he wouldent a went off to confrence meetin' when I was
down with the fever. The truth is, they couldent git along without him
no way. Parson Potter seldom went to confrence meetin', and when he
wa' n't there, who was ther, pray tell, that knowed enough to take the
lead if husband dident do it? Deacon Kenipe hadent no gift, and
Deacon Crosby hadent no inclination, and so it all come on Deacon
Bedott,--and he was always ready and willin' to do his duty, you know;
as long as he was able to stand on his legs he continued to go to
confrence meetin'; why, I've knowed that man to go when he couldent
scarcely crawl on account o' the pain in the spine of his back. He had
a wonderful gift, and he wa' n't a man to keep his talents hid up in
a napkin,--so you see 't was from a sense o' duty he went when I was
sick, whatever Miss Jinkins may say to the contrary. But where was I?
Oh!--
If I was sick a single jot,
He called the doctor in--
I sot so much by Deacon Bedott
I never got married agin.
A wonderful tender heart he had,
That felt for all mankind,--
It made him feel amazin bad
To see the world so blind.
Whiskey and rum he tasted not--
That's as true as the Scripturs,--but if you'll believe it, Betsy Ann
Kenipe told my Melissy that Miss Jinkins said one day to their house,
how 't she 'd seen Deacon Bedott high, time and agin! did you ever!
Well, I'm glad nobody don't pretend to mind anything _she_ says. I've
knowed Poll Bingham from a gall, and she never knowed how to speak the
truth--besides she always had a pertikkler spite against husband and
me, and between us tew I 'll tell you why if you won't mention it, for
I make it a pint never to say nothin' to injure nobody. Well she was
a ravin'-distracted after my husband herself, but it's a long story. I
'll tell you about it some other time, and then you'll know why widder
Jinkins is etarnally runnin' me down. See,--where had I got to? Oh, I
remember now,--
Whiskey and rum he tasted not,--
He thought it was a sin,--
I thought so much o' Deacon Bedott
I never got married agin.
But now he's dead! the thought is killin',
My grief I can't control--
He never left a single shillin'
His widder to console.
But that wa' n't his fault--he was so out o' health for a number
o' year afore he died, it ain't to be wondered at he dident lay up
nothin'--however, it dident give him no great oneasiness,--he never
cared much for airthly riches, though Miss Pendergrass says she
heard Miss Jinkins say Deacon Bedott was as tight as the skin on his
back,--begrudged folks their vittals when they came to his house! did
you ever! why, he was the hull-souldest man I ever see in all my born
days. If I'd such a husband as Bill Jinkins was, I'd hold my tongue
about my neighbors' husbands. He was a dretful mean man, used to git
drunk every day of his life, and he had an awful high temper,--used to
swear like all posset when he got mad,--and I've heard my husband
say, (and he wa' n't a man that ever said anything that wa' n't
true),--I've heard _him_ say Bill Jinkins would cheat his own father
out of his eye teeth if he had a chance. Where was I? Oh! "His widder
to console,"--ther ain't but one more verse, 't ain't a very lengthy
poim. When Parson Potter read it, he says to me, says he,--What
did you stop so soon for?"--but Miss Jinkins told the Crosbys _she_
thought I'd better a' stopt afore I 'd begun,--she 's a purty critter
to talk so, I must say. I 'd like to see some poitry o' hern,--I guess
it would be astonishin' stuff; and mor'n all that, she said there wa'
n't a word o' truth in the hull on 't,--said I never cared two cents
for the deacon. What an everlastin' lie!! Why, when he died, I took it
so hard I went deranged, and took on so for a spell, they was afraid
they should have to send me to a Lunattic Arsenal. But that's a
painful subject, I won't dwell on 't. I conclude as follers:--
I'll never change my single lot,--
I think 't would be a sin,--
The inconsolable widder o' Deacon Bedott
Don't intend to get married agin.
Excuse me cryin'--my feelin's always overcomes me so when I say that
poitry--O-o-o-o-o-o!
THE TWO WEAVERS.
HANNAH MORE.
This piece should be spoken in a simple, unaffected
conversational manner; still it admits of much quiet emphasis,
and subdued irony:
As at their work two weavers sat,
Beguiling time with friendly chat,
They touched upon the price of meat,
So high, a weaver scarce could eat.
"What with my brats and sickly wife,"
Quoth Dick, "I'm almost tired of life;
So hard my work, so poor my fare,
'Tis more than mortal man can bear.
"How glorious is the rich man's state
His house so fine, his wealth so great!
Heaven is unjust, you must agree;
Why all to him? Why none to me?
"In spite of what the Scripture teaches
In spite of all the parson preaches,
This world (indeed I've thought so long)
Is ruled methinks extremely wrong.
"Where'er I look, howe'er I range,
'Tis all confused and hard and strange;
The good are troubled and oppressed,
And all the wicked are the blest."
Quoth John, "Our ignorance is the cause
Why thus we blame our Maker's laws;
_Parts of his ways_ alone we know;
'Tis all that man can see below.
"See'st thou that carpet, not half done,
Which thou, dear Dick, hast well begun?
Behold the wild confusion there,
So rude the mass it makes one stare!
"A stranger, ignorant of the trade,
Would say, no meaning's there conveyed;
For where's the middle? where's the border?
Thy carpet now is all disorder."
Quoth Dick, "My work is yet in bits,
But still in every part it fits;
Besides, you reason like a lout--
Why, man, that _carpet's inside out_."
Says John, "Thou say'st the thing I mean,
And now I hope to cure thy spleen;
This world, which clouds thy soul with doubt
_Is but a carpet inside out_.
"As when we view these shreds and ends,
We know not what the whole intends;
So, when on earth things look but odd,
They're working still some scheme of God.
"No plan, no pattern, can we trace;
All wants proportion, truth, and grace
The motley mixture we deride,
Nor see the beauteous upper side.
"But when we reach that world of light,
And view those works of God aright,
Then shall we see the whole design,
And own the workman is divine.
"What now seem random strokes, will there
All order and design appear;
Then shall we praise what here we spurned,
For then the _carpet shall be turned_."
"Thou'rt right," quoth Dick; "no more I'll grumble
That this sad world's so strange a jumble;
My impious doubts are put to flight,
For my own carpet sets me right."
MISS MALONEY ON THE CHINESE QUESTION.
MARY MAPES DODGE.
Och! don't be talkin'. Is it howld on, ye say? An' did n't I howld
on till the heart o' me was clane broke entirely, and me wastin' that
thin you could clutch me wid yer two hands? To think o' me toilin'
like a nager for the six year I 've been in Ameriky,--bad luck to the
day I iver left the owld counthry! to be bate by the likes o' them
(faix an' I'll sit down when I 'm ready, so I will, Aunt Ryan, an' yed
better be listnin' than drawin' yer remarks)! an' is it mysel, with
five good characters from respectable places, would be herdin' wid the
haythens? The saints forgive me, but I 'd be buried alive sooner 'n
put up wid it a day longer. Sure an' I was the granehorn not to be
lavin' at onct when the missus kim into me kitchen wid her perlaver
about the new waiter man which was brought out from Californy.
"He 'll be here the night," says she, "and, Kitty, it 's meself looks
to you to be kind and patient wid him, for he 's a furriner," says
she, a kind o' lookin' off.
"Sure an it 's little I 'll hinder nor interfare wid him nor any
other, mum," says I, a kind o' stiff, for I minded me how these French
waiters, wid their paper collars and brass rings on their fingers,
isn 't company for no gurril brought up dacint and honest.
Och! sorra a bit I knew what was comin' till the missus walked into me
kitchen smilin', and says kind o' shcared: "Here 's Fing Wing, Kitty,
an' you 'll have too much sinse to mind his bein' a little strange."
Wid that she shoots the door, and I, misthrusting if I was tidied up
sufficient for me fine buy wid his paper collar, looks up, and--Howly
fathers! may I niver brathe another breath, but there stud a rale
haythen Chineser a grinnin' like he'd just come off a tay-box. If
you'll belave me, the crayture was that yeller it ud sicken you to
see him; and sorra stitch was on him but a black nightgown over his
trousers, and the front of his head shaved claner nor a copper biler,
and a black tail a-hangin' down from behind, wid his two feet stook
into the heathenestest shoes you ever set eyes on.
Och! but I was up stairs afore you could turn about, a givin' the
missus warnin', an' only stopt wid her by her raisin' me wages two
dollars, and playdin' wid me how it was a Christian's duty to bear wid
haythins and taitch 'em all in our power,--the saints have us!
Well, the ways and trials I had wid that Chineser, Ann Ryan, I
couldn't be tellin'. Not a blissed thing cud I do but he'd be lookin'
on wid his eyes cocked up'ard like two poomp-handles, an' he widdout
a speck or smitch o' whiskers on him, an' his finger-nails full a yard
long. But it 's dyin' you'd be to see the missus a' larnin' him, and
he grinnin' an' waggin' his pig-tail (which was pieced out long
wid some black stoof, the haythen chate), and gettin' into her
ways wonderful quick, I don't deny, imitatin' that sharp you'd be
shurprised, and ketchin' an' copyin' things the best of us will do
a-hurried wid work, yet don't want comin' to the knowledge of the
family,--bad luck to him!
Is it ate wid him? Arrah, an' would I be sittin' wid a haythen an' he
a-atin' wid drum-sticks,--yes, an' atin' dogs an' cats unknownst to
me, I warrant you, which it is the custom of them Chinesers, till
the thought made me that sick I could die. An' did n't the crayture
proffer to help me a wake ago come Toosday, an' me a foldin' down me
clane clothes for the ironin', an' fill his haythin mouth wid water,
an' afore I could hinder squirrit it through his teeth stret over the
best linen table-cloth, and fold it up tight, as innercent now as a
baby, the dirrity baste! But the worrest of all was the copyin' he'd
be doin' till ye'd be dishtracted. It's yersel' knows the tinder feet
that's on me since ever I 've bin in this counthry. Well, owin' to
that, I fell into a way o' slippin' me shoes off when I 'd be settin'
down to pale the praities or the likes o' that, and, do ye mind! that
haythin would do the same thing after me whiniver the missus set him
to parin' apples or tomaterses. The saints in heaven could n't have
made him belave he cud kape the shoes on him when he'd be palin'
anything.
Did I lave for that? Faix an' I did n't. Did n't he get me into
trouble wid my missus, the haythin? You're aware yersel' how the
boondles comin' in from the grocery often contains more 'n 'll go into
anything dacently. So, for that matter, I'd now and then take out a
sup o' sugar, or flour, or tay, an' wrap it in paper and put it in me
bit of a box tucked under the ironin' blankit the how it cuddent be
bodderin' any one. Well, what shud it be, but this blessed Sathurday
morn the missus wos a spakin' pleasant and respec'ful wid me in me
kitchen when the grocer boy comes in an' stands fornenst her wid his
boondles, an' she motions like to Fing Wing (which I never would call
him by that name ner any other but just haythin), she motions to him,
she does, for to take the boondles an' empty out the sugar an' what
not, where they belongs. If you'll belave me, Ann Ryan, what did that
blatherin' Chineser do but take out a sup o' sugar, an' a handful o'
tay, an' a bit o' chaze right afore the missus, wrap them into bits o'
paper, an' I spacheless wid shurprise, an' he the next minute up wid
the ironin' blankit and pullin' out me box wid a show o' bein' sly to
put them in.
Och, the Lord forgive me, but I clutched it, and missus sayin', "O
Kitty!" in a way that 'ud cruddle your blood.
"He 's a haythin nager," says I.
"I 've found you out," says she.
"I 'll arrist him," says I.
"It 's you ought to be arristed," says she.
"You won't," says I.
"I will," says she; and so it went till she give me such sass as
I cuddent take from no lady,--an' I give her warnin' an' left that
instant, an' she a-pointin' to the doore.
THE BIG OYSTER.
A LEGEND OF RARITAN BAY.
GEORGE ARNOLD.