not be called handsome, for his nose was flattened as though he were in
the habit of trying his iron against the end; his hair seemed composed
of long and short threads mingled together, and he had an abominable
squint, as though he were always endeavoring to see how a coat set at
the front and back, the collar and tail at the same time.
"Bartlemy," said the goblin again, "what's the matter with you?"
"Matter, your worship?" gasped Bartlemy.
"Come to the point," said the goblin, severely, accidentally swinging
his pincushion against Bartlemy's legs at the same time, and pricking
him most atrociously. "You are everlastingly growling and grumbling,
instead of working at your trade like an honest tailor, and richly
deserve to be thwacked with the yardstick every morning by way of
breakfast; but never mind, I choose to help you; so say what you want,
quick."
"A-and who might your worship be?" asked Bartlemy, with a cold shudder;
for he felt desperately afraid that he had got hold of Old Boguey or
Old Nick--it was not much matter which.
"That's none of your business," said the being; "but if you must know, I
am Snippinbitz, the patron of the tailors."
"O lord, your worship, you don't say so!" stammered Bartlemy.
"That's a fact!" returned the goblin. "Come, out with it; what can I do
for you?"
Bartlemy scratched his head and took off his cap, looked into it, found
no words there, and put it on again; and finally, with a bow that nearly
toppled him head over heels, and a kick up of his foot that sent his
remaining slipper flying into the nearest mud-puddle, he managed to
say:
"Please, your worship, I want to find the Gold Stone."
The goblin burst into a discordant laugh on hearing this; then, suddenly
becoming serious, he said:
"Well, that's a sensible request, Bartlemy, and a modest one,
considering the circumstances. Never mind, I have taken a fancy to you;
your wish shall be accomplished. See here."
With these words Snippinbitz put his hand in his pocket, and pulled out
a magnificent jewel, as it seemed to Bartlemy. It was of the most
resplendent purple color imaginable, and sparkled all over with flecks
of gold, which seemed to swim beneath the surface. Nothing could look
more gorgeously beautiful as the astonished tailor held it up in the
moonlight; yes, there could be no doubt of it; the mysterious, the
unattainable Gold Stone was really his!
"Now, Bartlemy, attend to me," continued the being. "The Gold Stone is
yours, but under certain conditions, which must be faithfully complied
with, or no gold! First, you must return to London to-morrow, seek out
your old master, and ask him to employ you as a regular workman. You
will find yourself able to sew as well as the best, through my
assistance, and you must employ this power diligently on the work he
gives you to do. I warn you, however, that you must keep the secret of
the Gold Stone from everybody; and, in order that you may do so, you
must never take it out of your pouch until you are safe in your own
chamber. Secondly, when you receive your wages, place the money directly
in the pouch containing the Gold Stone, and do not look at it until you
go to bed. Then you will find the copper turned into silver, and the
silver into gold. But if you count the money first, it will never be any
different. Thirdly, in a year's time from to-night, meet me at this
spot, and tell me how you have prospered. Will you keep these conditions
faithfully?"
"Ye-y-es! your worship!" stammered the 'prentice.
"Then, how are you, Mr. Gold Stone!" exclaimed the goblin, in advance
of the age; and, with an outrageous wink, he treated Bartlemy to another
whack with the yardstick, and vanished.
The blow struck our tailor insensible; and when his eyes again unclosed
it was broad daylight. For a moment he stared about him, wondering how
he came to be there; then, remembering the extraordinary events of the
previous night, he hastily felt in his pouch, and drew out the
miraculous jewel. It flamed in the sunlight like a bright diamond eye,
and Bartlemy almost fancied he caught it winking at him. This idea
lasted but a moment, and having taken a long and delighted stare at the
much-desired Gold Stone, he replaced it carefully in his pouch, and
started straight for London. As he passed the newly-opened bakers'
shops, he could not help wishing that he had a half-penny in the world,
so that he might change it into a crown on the spot, and buy a basketful
of hot rolls; but as the Gold Stone was not warranted to _make_ money,
he was forced to take it out in wishing. Fortunately one of the bakers,
seeing him gaze hungrily at the hot bread, had the kindness to toss him
a large roll; and, munching this, he arrived at his master's shop.
After the way in which he had been turned out, he hadn't much hope of
getting in again, but, afraid of disobeying the goblin's injunctions,
he entered with as much courage as he could muster, and found the other
tailors stitching away as usual, while his master cut out a coat.
Bartlemy took his cap humbly off, saying, "Please, master, if you will
employ me as a workman now, I think I can please you. Do try me; I will
be industrious; indeed, I will."
"Oh," grumbled the master tailor, "sleeping out in the fields and going
without supper and breakfast has done you good, has it? Well, take this
coat and sit you down; but I warn you, beforehand, that if you are not
more industrious than usual, I will lay my yardstick over your shoulder,
and clear you out again."
Bartlemy took the work, and having planted himself on the shop-board[A]
in his favorite place, near a window, he put on his thimble, threaded
his needle with a grand flourish, and began to stitch away for dear
life. He sewed faster and better than he had ever done before, and
found, to his joy, that the goblin's promises had begun to be fulfilled
in reality. But bad habits are not to be conquered as one would pull up
weeds: though both must be torn up by the roots, one might weed three
gardens in the time it takes to destroy one fault; and so, without
really meaning it, Bartlemy at last began to ply his needle less
briskly; his thoughts wandered; he took a stitch that was three times
too long, then another in a wrong place, a third and fourth all askew,
and finally the work came to a dead stand-still. But, thimbles and
thread! what happened? The instant his hand stopped, a long yellow
yardstick came flying through the window, with no one holding it, hit
him such a thwack on the shins that he roared again with the pain, and
instantly vanished.
"Why, what's the matter?" asked the other tailors, startled, as they
well might be.
"Matter!" cried Bartlemy. "Why, didn't you see that--that horrible
yardstick coming at me?"
At this they all laughed at him for a fool; for nobody but our tailor
could perceive this terrific weapon, which was doubtless invisible to
common eyes. His conscience whispered, however, that his punishment was
a reminder from the friendly goblin, and accordingly he set to work with
renewed diligence. After a while, lost in dreams of his approaching
wealth, he stopped stitching again, when, like a flash, in came the
yardstick, touched him up with a vengeance, and vanished as before; and
so it continued all the time he was sewing: the watchful yardstick would
only allow him to stop to thread his needle or turn the work.
When he had stitched all the seams, he laid the coat on the table and
heated his goose, that he might smooth them. He took care to post
himself a good way from the window, in order to get rid of the ferocious
yardstick; but the goblin was not to be baffled thus. The moment he
stopped ironing and began to count the flies on the ceiling, the goose
seemed to carry his hand up with it--irresistibly--to the end of his
nose, and gave it a good scorching! This was no joke, I can tell you,
and in a very short time Bartlemy began so to dread the visits of his
two enemies that he never left working a minute, and his needle dashed
along like magic. By sunset the coat was done, and sewed in a manner
vastly superior to the other tailors, who looked at him with envious
eyes. "What! finish a whole coat in one day?" they cried; "we never
could do so well! Goose and cabbage! friend Bartlemy! you must have the
assistance of some fairy!"
Bartlemy made no answer, but taking the coat in hand, carried it to his
master, who viewed it in the greatest astonishment. Never before had a
coat been made in a single day, and stitched, too, more finely than
anything he had ever seen; but, not wishing to raise his late
'prentice's ideas of himself, he merely grumbled out, "For a wonder you
have done your work this time; so now take your wages, and be sure to
come early Monday morn."
As he spoke, he slipped a couple of coins into Bartlemy's hand, who,
remembering the goblin's words, put them into his pouch without so much
as looking at them.
Now, no doubt my clever little readers have guessed quite readily the
true solution of this mighty mystery; but to the simple Bartlemy the
reality of the Gold Stone's magic power was placed beyond a doubt when,
on reaching his chamber and striking a light, he found, instead of the
farthing and penny which had always been his weekly payment, a crown and
sixpence.
"Huzzah! huzzah!" he cried, fairly jumping for joy; "my beautiful Gold
Stone is doing its work bravely." He kissed the stone in his delight,
and went to bed, to dream of becoming a master tailor, and making
clothes for the king.
The following Monday he repaired to his master's shop the first of any
one, and everything happened as on the former time; except that, being
more diligent at his work, the goose and the yardstick were less
frequent in their favors, and he now made a coat and a vest in the day.
His master really knew not what to think; but at least so good a workman
was not to be lost; so he kept his surprise and suspicions to himself,
and made up by heaping more and more sewing on the luckless Bartlemy.
It didn't make any difference, however; his needle almost seemed to work
by itself, and the sewing was finished by sunset; so that, really, the
good-natured goblin was the original sewing machine, and no thanks to
Messrs. Grover and Baker. At the end of the week his master paid him a
crown and a shilling; or, as Bartlemy believed, a farthing and a penny;
the next week a guinea, and the week after a guinea and a crown, which
was the highest wages ever paid.
So things went on, until Bartlemy had earned enough to make quite a
fortune in his eyes; ten whole guineas lay glittering in the old night
cap where he kept his savings, and the tailor thought he might now set
up for a gentleman. So he bought cloth, made himself, in secret, a fine
cloak, coat, and breeches, and in these jackdaw adornments paraded
about the streets a whole morning, trying to appear an idle fine
gentleman. At last he strutted into the best inn, ordered a grand dinner
and a bottle of wine, and feasted like a lord.
But his time was coming. The watchful goblin, though not at his side,
knew perfectly well what he was about, and soon led him to betray his
quality most fatally. When the bill was brought him, it was so long and
so tremendous that Bartlemy sprang up in a rage, crying out:
"_Thimbles and thread!_ Do you call this a decent charge for your paltry
dinner?"
The landlord stared at him in astonishment; then, suddenly bursting
into a loud laugh, he cried, "Why, gentles all, this fine nobleman is
nothing but a tailor! ha! ha!" and he put his hands to his fat sides and
shook with laughter.
"Be silent, sirrah!" thundered Bartlemy; "or _I'll break my yardstick
over your shoulders_!"
"Ha! ha! only hear what he says!" laughed the landlord. "A miserable
tailor."
"If you do not stop your impertinence, I will _shear off your ears like
cloth clippings_!" retorted the angry tailor. "Goose and cabbage! man;
you shall not trifle with me!"
On this the landlord and waiters turned him bodily out of the house,
after seizing upon all his remaining money; and the moment he was in
the street, the knowledge of how he had betrayed himself broke upon his
mind. Mortified and miserable, he hurried home, determined, after this,
to stick to his trade and play fine gentleman no more.
The year at last drew to a close, and Bartlemy had now earned enough to
set up for a master tailor; when, one bright moonlight night, he
suddenly remembered that it was the very anniversary of his meeting with
the goblin. Starting up, he ran to where his pouch was placed, took out
the Gold Stone and enjoyed a long look at it, and then, throwing his
cloak around him, he hastened forth. The moonlight beamed brightly on
the path he was taking, and seemed to throw all sorts of queer shadows
before him; now it was an immense yardstick, now a thimble supported on
two needles like a pair of spindle legs, then a goose with a pair of
shears astride on the handle.
At last, as he paused under the old tree, he heard a familiar croaking
laugh, and found himself unexpectedly in the presence of Snippinbitz,
the friendly goblin.
"Well, Bartlemy," croaked the being; "and how have you prospered with
the Gold Stone?"
"Marvellously well, your worship!" replied Bartlemy, in a joyous tone.
"And you found a crown and a shilling, and a guinea and a crown,
instead of your penny and farthing; did you, Bartlemy?"
"Why, yes, your worship, I did, certainly."
"And the Gold Stone changed them, did it, Bartlemy?"
"Why, yes, your worship; of course it did."
"Now, Bartlemy," said the goblin, in a confidential tone, laying his
hand on the other's shoulder, "I want to tell you something. It isn't
the Gold Stone!"
"It's--not--the--Gold--Stone!!" gasped Bartlemy.
"Why, no, you donkey! there's no such thing!"
Bartlemy turned fairly green and yellow with horror and disappointment.
"Listen to me, Bartlemy Bowbell," said the goblin; "nobody but a donkey
would suppose that a round bit of purple glass----"
"Of purple glass!" repeated Bartlemy, in a sort of dream.
"Don't interrupt, Bartlemy--that a bit of purple glass could change
copper into gold. Your master paid you the wages your work was worth,
that is all. There is no such preposterous jewel on the face of the
earth as you imagine; but there _is_ a true Gold Stone, and its name is
'FAITHFUL INDUSTRY!'"
As the goblin spoke these words, he suddenly began to change his form,
and grew taller and broader. His bell-button thimbles fell off, his flat
nose became long and sharp, his thread hair gave place to a bald pate,
and his whole appearance became wonderfully like Bartlemy's master. He
raised his yardstick, brought it down with a tremendous
crack--and--Bartlemy WOKE!
Yes! he was lying under the tree where he had thrown himself down the
night before. The whole of what had passed, Gold Stone, money, goblin,
and all, was but the fantastic tracery of a dream; and above him really
stood his master, who had repented of having turned away his luckless
'prentice, and had come to seek him.
The lesson was not lost, however, on our hero. He returned to his
master's shop, where he worked diligently, without any yardstick coming
after him; and in three years' time rose to be a master tailor, married
his old master's daughter, cut the coats of the king himself, and took
for his arms a Gold Stone, supported by two shears, and the motto:
FAITHFUL INDUSTRY.
FOOTNOTE:
[A] A shop-board is a kind of table on which tailors sit when
at work.
THE PHILOSOPHERS' TOUR.
THERE were once five learned men, who had been shut up all their lives
in their studies, poking their noses into saucepans full of cookeries,
which did not resemble savory soups or well-flavored ragouts, wearing
their eyes out with reading books printed in the crabbedest black letter
possible, and shrivelling up their brains with thinking, until they
quite rattled inside their skulls, all in pursuit of out-o'-the-way
knowledge.
There was really nothing scientific with which they were not
acquainted; while, in the mean time, one or two little things, perfectly
familiar to people who use their eyes for the purpose of noticing the
common occurrences and habits of every-day existence, and exercise their
understanding in everything that can make life comfortable and
agreeable, had entirely escaped the observation of our philosophers.
As the emperor allowed them each a handsome pension to advance the
interests of science, they went on with their discoveries rejoicing, and
for a long time had never stirred from their apartments in one of His
Majesty's country palaces. They scarcely left off thinking, when they
were asleep; never had the least idea what they were eating for dinner,
or even what the materials of that dinner looked like; and, in short,
were sublimely unconscious of any of the ordinary affairs or interests
of life; and thought only of sciences, and high-flown theories of
Health, of Natural Philosophy, Chemistry, Botany, and goodness knows
what beside. The fifth and last of the learned men was supposed to
consider silence as an art or science, since he hardly ever said
anything; and for that reason was thought to be wiser than the other
four put together.
At last, one fine morning, one of our learned men chanced to poke his
head out of the window, to see what on earth had become of one of his
glass retorts, which he had filled with gas until it went off like a
rocket; and could not help being struck with the blue sky, the fresh
green herbage, and the thousands of beautiful wild flowers that
sprinkled the grass. It was a charming summer day; the birds had not yet
left off singing, and the fresh breeze, fanning the bald forehead of the
philosopher, appeared wonderfully pleasant.
"Why, bless me!" cried the philosopher, whose name was Dr. Skihi; "while
I have been trying to reduce chemistry to the uses of a penny post, I
never thought of remarking whether it was a pleasant day or not. How
bright and beautiful everything looks! Out-of-doors is a very good sort
of thing, after all. I declare, I've a great mind--pooh! nonsense;
science--glorious science, is a great deal more to be regarded than a
fine day in the country."
[Illustration: DR. MUMBUDGET LOOKING OUT OF THE WINDOW.]
So saying, he drew his head in again, and turned to his books and
saucepans; for, you see, he was trying to condense gas, and make it dart
through the air like a skyrocket, carrying a letter, or a telegraphic
message, or even a traveller with it, if it was made strong enough; but,
so far, he had only succeeded in breaking his retorts, and blowing
himself up till his head came bump against the ceiling, and knocked off
little bits of plaster. Everything in the study looked remarkably dingy
after the freshness of the fields, and the doctor could not refrain
from taking another peep. This time, the contrast appeared even greater
than before, while directly underneath his window there now stood two
pretty little girls, one holding a great bunch of roses and other
blooming flowers, and both intent on a long leaf of manuscript, which
they were puzzling and laughing over, calling it "such a silly thing!"
Our doctor, to his great dudgeon, recognized it as part of a learned
treatise, his own production, which had accidentally blown out of the
window; but, as to be known as the writer of silly things is not
specially dignified, he preferred saying nothing about the matter.
"I have a great mind," he said again; "yes, I'll go and ask Dr.
Sheepshanks if he does not think it would be a good plan for us to take
a short trip into the country. No doubt we should make some very
important discoveries."
Excusing the idea to himself in this way, Dr. Skihi toddled up one pair
of stairs and down two pair of stairs, and straight along a crooked
corridor, and all round a square hall, until he arrived at the
apartments of Dr. Sheepshanks. He knocked at the door, and peeped
through the keyhole until he was told to come in, when he opened the
door softly, and shut it with an astonished bang, that made all the
spiders, who were dancing hornpipes in all the corners (for the learned
men would have died rather than have their sacred studies disturbed by
a house-cleaning) stand on one leg for several minutes with surprise, as
a noise in the philosophers' palace was a thing rather more seldom met
with than a crononhotonthologos.
The sight that caused Dr. Skihi to commit such a breach of good manners
was Dr. Sheepshanks in the very middle of a summersault! with his
flowered dressing gown about his ears and his spindle shanks and black
stockings in the air, looking not unlike a two-legged radish growing
upside down.
To him rushed Dr. Skihi, who, catching his friend by the tails of his
dressing gown, had him right side up in a hurry, exclaiming, "Crucibles
and gasbags! my good sir, have you gone crazy?"
"No, indeed," returned Dr. Sheepshanks, with a gleeful laugh. "I have
made a discovery, sir--a great discovery. I happened to look out of the
window, a moment ago, and I saw a couple of little chaps racing up and
down, and playing at that topsy-turvy game you saw me trying just now.
Their cheeks were so fat, and their frames so sturdy, that I feel
convinced such exercises are the best promoters of health in the world;
and as I am getting rather broken down myself, while I am finding out
what is the best way for other people to keep healthy, I thought I would
try the experiment. It does make the blood rush to the head somewhat, I
must confess; but it's a glorious thing, you may depend! I feel twenty
years younger and better already, I assure you!"
All this time Dr. Sheepshanks was puffing and panting, with a very red
face and astonished air; but the new theory had taken possession of him,
and he would have died at the stake rather than allow that turning
summersaults was not the exercise best adapted to old gentlemen of
sixty.
Finding his friend so prepossessed in favor of exercise, Dr. Skihi
proposed to him that they should go and take a walk, to which he readily
agreed. Then they went to Dr. Smelfungus, the great botanist, who was
at present trying to graft japonicas on bramble bushes: "It would
improve the appearance of the roadside so much!" and Dr. Van Noostile,
who was writing a splendid work, in twenty-five volumes, to prove that
people's feeling hot and cold was perfect fancy and nonsense; and also
giving a number of scientific ways of finding out whether it would rain
or be clear, and what time o' day it was, without looking to see if the
wind were east, or running to stare at a clock; which, no doubt, would
be of the greatest use to the world, and leave all the weathercocks and
watchmakers quite in the shade. Last of all, they came to Dr. Mumbudget,
who had on his study door the great doorplate you see in the picture,
with his name engraved on it in letters six inches long. As usual, he
said not a word in reply to the invitation of his friends, but nodded
his head at them instead, until he nearly nodded it off; and so, being
all of one mind, our philosophers locked up their studies, put on their
five-cornered caps, and taking their gold-headed canes and their note
books, to be ready to put down any new fact that might turn up, started
off for a country ramble.
At first they walked along quietly enough, admiring the prospect, and
enjoying the fresh air; but after a few moments, Dr. Sheepshanks could
no longer resist the desire to put his new theory of health into
practice.
"Really," he began, "it would be much better for us always to pursue our
studies in the open air. Science teaches us that the most healthy people
are the wild Indians--those children of nature, who live under the
trees, dine off fresh fruits, and take plenty of exercise. Let us be
children of nature, my friends, and improve our health by running to
that tree," pointing to one at some distance.
Accordingly, the philosopher started off at an amble, followed by his
companions, who, with dressing gowns flying in the wind, and books
flying, out of their pockets every minute, presented rather ridiculous
spectacles. They were so deeply engaged that they did not see Dr.
Mumbudget quietly walking along behind, picking up their scattered
property.