Shillaber, B. P. (Benjamin Penhallow), 1814-1890 [1859], Knitting-work: a web of many textures. (Brown, Taggard & Chase, Boston) [word count] [eaf676T].
To look up a word in a dictionary, select the word with your mouse and press 'd' on your keyboard.
Main text
-- -- p676-018
THE GUARDIAN FOR IKE.
[figure description] Page 009.[end figure description]
When Mrs. Partington first moved from Beanville,
and the young scion of the Partington stock was
exposed to the temptations of city life and city associations,
it was thought advisable to appoint a “guardeen”
over him. Ike was not a bad boy, in the wicked
sense of the word bad; but he had a constant proclivity
for tormenting every one that he came in contact with;
a resistless tendency for having a hand in everything
that was going on; a mischievous bent, that led him into
continual trouble, that brought on him reproaches from
all sides, and secured for him a reputation that made
him answerable for everything of a wrong character
that was done in the neighborhood. A barber's pole
could not be removed from the barber's door and placed
beside the broker's, but it must be imputed to “that
plaguy Ike;” all clandestine pulls at door-bells in the
evenings were done by “that plaguy Ike;” if a ball or
an arrow made a mistake and dashed through a window,
the ball or the arrow belonged to “that plaguy Ike;” if
on April Fool's day a piece of paper were found pasted
on a door-step, putting grave housekeepers to the trouble
and mortification of trying to pick up an imagined
letter, the blame was laid to “that plaguy Ike;” and if a
voice was heard from round the corner crying “April
Fool!” or “sold,” those who heard it said, at once, it
was “that plaguy Ike's.” Many a thing he had thus to
-- 010 --
[figure description] Page 010.[end figure description]
answer for that he did n't do, as well as many that he
did, until Mrs. Partington became convinced of the
necessity of securing some one to look after him besides
herself.
In her exigency she bethought her of an old friend
named Roger, who, because he was a single man, and
had got along beyond the meridian of life, was called
“Old Roger” by every one. He had lived in the city
for many years and knew all its ways, and was just the
one for the proposed station. He was “well off,” as
the world understands it, and was a very genial man,
though rather hasty in temper, at times. She sent for
him as she had proposed, and appointed a day for his
calling upon her. On the afternoon that she had named
for the visit, she and Ike were together in the little sitting-room,
with the antique buffet in one corner, and
the old chairs and tables arranged around, the walls
hung with pictures of Joseph and his Brethren, and the
Prodigal Son, and David and Goliath, — which last Ike
admired the most, because he always fancied himself to
be David, and Goliath a big butcher down street who
had once set a dog at him, on whom he wished to
avenge himself, and thought he could if there was n't a
a law against “slinging stones.” The profile of Paul
Partington, Corporal of the Bloody 'Leventh, was conspicuous
over the mantelpiece, while above it, supported
by two nails, rested and rusted the Corporal's
artillery sword, that had flashed so oft, in the olden time,
over the ensanguined muster-field. She was engaged
with her knitting, while the object of her solicitude was
busy in a corner engaged in painting a sky-blue horse
on the bottom of the old lady's best japanned waiter.
As she mused, in harmony with her clicking needles,
her thoughts took form in words.
-- 011 --
[figure description] Page 011.[end figure description]
“How the world has turned about, to be sure!” said
she; “'t is nothing but change, change. Only yesterday,
as it were, I was in the country, smelling the
odious flowers; — to-day I am in Boston, my oil-factories
breathing the impure execrations of coal-smoke,
that are so dilatory to health. Instead of the singing
of birds, the blunderbusses almost deprive me of conscientiousness.
Dear me! Well, I hope I shall be restrained
through it all. They say that the moral turpentine of
this place is frightful, but it is n't any use to anticipate
trouble beforehand; he may escape all harmonious influences
that would have a tenderness to hurt him, and,
as the minister of our parish said, with judicial training
he may become a useful membrane of society;
though training is bad generally, and is apt to make the
young run to feathers, like cropple-crowned hens. But
he has genius,” — looking at him; — “it comes natural
to him, like the measles, and every day it is enveloping
itself more and more. What are you doing, dear?” she
said, rising and going towards him.
“I 'm drawing a horse,” replied he, turning it round
so that she could see it.
“Why, so it is! and what caricature and spirit there
is in it, to be sure! I should have known it was a horse,
if you had n't said a word about it. But have n't you
given him too thick a head of hair on his tail, and a leg
too many?”
“That 's his mane that you call his tail,” said Ike, with
some show of being offended; “and, suppose he has
got five legs! — anybody can paint one with four; five
shows what Miss Brush, my teacher, calls the creative
power of genius.”
“Well I must digest my spectacles,” replied she, smiling
upon him, “before I speak another time. But now
-- 012 --
[figure description] Page 012.[end figure description]
I want you to go down to the door and watch for a
gentleman that I suspect, who may ask you to tell him
where we live. He is to be your guardeen, that I told
you about.”
“Yes 'm,” said Ike, dutifully, and passed out, whistling
Villikins and his Dinah.
Mrs. Partington being a stranger in the neighborhood,
it was not wonderful that the neighbors, of which there
are many in almost every place, should call upon her;
and among them Professor Wideswarth, who had long
been familiar with her name, presented his card at an
early period, as did Mr. Blifkins, and Mr. Slow, and
many others, who, by a strange coïncidence, lived in the
immediate vicinity. Mrs. Partington had deemed that
the visit of Old Roger to her domicile would be an excellent
occasion on which to invite her new acquaintances,
and had accordingly asked their presence at that
time. Among others with whom she had got acquainted
was Miss Dorothea Chatterton, a good-looking spinster
of some thirty summers, who had written for the
papers, and was accounted a prodigy of refinement by
the editors. As the dame sat at her work, after despatching
Ike upon his mission, her door-bell rang, and,
hastening to open it, Miss Chatterton burst upon her in
the full flower of fashion and smiles.
“Good-afternoon, Mrs. P.,” said she, shaking the dame
enthusiastically by the hand. “I feared you might be
lonesome, and so I have come to keep you company, if
you will let me.”
“Certainly,” was the pleasant response, “I will, with
the greatest reluctance.”
“For my part,” continued Miss Chatterton, “I love
to be sociable. I can't bear those people who stand so
much upon ceremony, and never get acquainted. I
-- --
[figure description] Blank Page.[end figure description]
-- --
[figure description] Illustration page.[end figure description]
-- --
[figure description] Blank Page.[end figure description]
-- --
[figure description] Blank Page.[end figure description]
-- 013 --
[figure description] Page 013.[end figure description]
don't know what I should do, if I could n't talk. If an
injunction was put upon my tongue, and my head depended
upon keeping that member still, I believe I
should forfeit it, and talk on to the last gasp. Some say
I have remained a spinster because I would n't stop
talking long enough to allow any one to pop the question.
A mistake, I assure you.”
“So you are a spinster, then?” said Mrs. Partington,
as her visitor paused for breath. “Do you use a large
or a small wheel?”
“I mean by spinster,” replied she, blushing, “that I
am a single woman, and, like many other young women,
am acquainted only with spinning street-yarn, the only
wheel used being that where I wheel round the
corners.”
“I 'm rejoiced that you have come,” said Mrs. Partington,
“for, my dear Miss Chatterbox, I am going to have
a fine old unmarried bachelor here to tea, that I want
you to get acquainted with. You will be perfectly vaccinated
by him.”
“Indeed! but is he a very old bachelor?”
“O, dear, no; he is n't more than sixty — just in the
priming of life, so to speak. I never call a man old till
he gets to be an octagon or a centurion, and can't lift a
peck of wheat-bran.”
The ladies sat down to their talk, while Ike upon the
curbstone sat looking for his future adviser up and
down the street, amusing himself by occasionally throwing
pebbles at a passing dog, kicking his heels into the
gravel, or throwing his cap in the air that it might drop
upon his head.
“I wonder,” said he, “what sort of an old chap this
Roger is, that is going to look after me! I s'pose
folks 'll tell him what a bad fellow I am. He 'll find that
-- 014 --
[figure description] Page 014.[end figure description]
out soon enough, for I guess they don't like me pretty
well round here. They don't want a fellow to have
any fun at all, and I should like to know what fun was
made for, anyhow. I don't believe I am half as bad as
they make it out. Hello! here he comes, I guess. Big
man — broad hat — red face — cane; — yes, this must
be him.”
“Can you tell me, my lad,” said Old Roger, — for it
was he, — “where a Mrs. Partington lives, somewhere
about here?”
“I know where Mrs. Partington lives,” replied Ike.
“I don't know of any other Mrs. Partington in the
world.”
“Right, my lad, and that is she; there is, indeed, but
one Mrs. Partington in the world. And her nephew Ike—
do you know him? I hear strange tales about him,
and little that 's good. What sort of a boy is he?”
“He 's a prime, tip-top fellow, sir; one of the tip-topest
fellows you ever see.”
“What sort of a looking boy is he?”
“O, he 's about my size, with blue hair and red eyes,—
I mean he has red eyes and blue hair, — no, red hair
and blue eyes. He is dark-complected, and has got a
pugnacious nose. He is n't a very good-looking boy;
but a boy should n't be despised because he is n't
handsome, should he? You 're not remarkably handsome
yourself, sir.”
“Be civil, my young friend. Is this Ike an intelligent
lad?”
“He is n't anything else. He came pretty nigh getting
the medal once, for the master said he was the most
medalsome boy in school.”
“He must be a rare sprig of humanity, according to all
accounts, and might be benefited by a little trimming.”
-- 015 --
[figure description] Page 015.[end figure description]
“Sho!”
“What did you say?”
“I 'll show you the way, sir, to Mrs. Partington's.
You must go as far as you can see, yonder, then turn
round the corner to the right, then take the first righthand
corner, then, after you turn the next corner to the
right, two doors further along is Mrs. Partington's.”
“Thank ye, my lad, and here 's a dime for you.”
The intended guardian hobbled on his course, while
Ike, with a mischievous twinkle in his eye and the dime
in his hand, stood looking after him until he turned the
first corner, when he darted into the house, telling Mrs.
Partington that the expected guest was on his way,
and would arrive in about a quarter of an hour, and
then dashed out again and down the street.
After making the circuit of an entire square, “Old
Roger” found himself on the precise spot from whence
he had started, and looked around for the young scamp
who had directed him. He recognized the trick at a
glance, and, with a half chagrin, said to himself,
“I 'll wager that Ike was the little villain that sent
me on this circuit. The young jackanapes! if he were
here, I 'd put more cane on him than would make a
fashionable lady's dress. Yet there 's method in him,
and it is far more satisfactory to manage a rogue than a
fool.”
He stepped to the door, which he had come such a
roundabout way to reach, and rung the bell. In a moment
more he stood in the presence of the relict of
Paul Partington. Her face was radiant as the sun,
while her cap-border encircled it like a ray, presenting
no mean picture of that august luminary.
“I 'm sure I 'm glad to see you, sir,” said she, shaking
-- 016 --
[figure description] Page 016.[end figure description]
him warmly by the hand. “Did you find any deficiency
in finding the place?”
“Deficiency!” replied he, “not a bit of it; there
was rather too much of it, if anything. I should
have been here half an hour ago, if a young villain —
whom I strongly suspect to have been Ike himself —
had not sent me a mile out of my way to find you. He
told me to turn this way and that way, and by stupidly
following my nose I found myself just where I started
from. I could have thrashed him for sending me round
on so warm a day as this; but, madam, he is, after all,
merely a boy, true to the boyish instinct of fun. The
boy is not true to his nature who is not mischievous.
Why, I was a boy once, myself, incredible as that may
seem, and a wilder dog never wore satinet and a felt
hat, or got flogged for misdemeanors that he did n't do,
than myself; but here I am, — no matter how old,
though confessing to thirty-seven years, — and, as people
say, not one of the worst men in town, either.”
She had conducted her guest into the little sitting-room,
where the spinster was waiting very anxiously
for the promised presentation, Mrs. Partington having
previously begged her not to be “decomposed” at meeting
him, for he was very “congealing” in his manner,
and a “perfect Apollyon for politeness.”
“Allow me to present you with Miss Chatterbody,”
said she, as they gained the centre of the room.
“Chatterton, sir, at your service,” said that lady, coloring
slightly, as if it were a coloring matter.
“I assure you, Mrs. Partington,” said he, politely
bowing, “you could n't present me with anything more
agreeable.”
The dame begged him to be seated, and he attempted
to do so, but the chair unfortunately possessed but
-- 017 --
[figure description] Page 017.[end figure description]
three legs, and the honored guest rolled ingloriously
upon the floor. He rose to his feet, in great indignation.
“What does this mean?” said he. “It seems to me
that everything is conspiring to try my temper — naturally
very sweet. Here I am directed a mile out of my
way to find you, and then find myself sprawling upon
your floor, — which, though it is remarkably clean, is
not a very desirable place for one to sit, in a land
where recumbency is not the fashion, — through the
medium of an infernal three-legged stool. — Excuse me
for using so strong an adjective, but I never was so
completely floored in my life.”
“A thousand pardons, sir,” said Mrs. Partington,
“but Isaac must have taken that leg to make a bat of.”
“And were he here,” replied he, “I should be
tempted to give him a bat that would make him
bawl.”
“We should all be willing to be forgiven, sir,” expostulated
the dame.
“True, true,” replied he, recovering his good humor,
“and to forgive, likewise. What a world this would be
if we found nothing to do in it but to resent fancied
wrongs; and more than half that we call wrongs are
but fancies, and a large portion of the other half but
the mere effect of wounded self-esteem, that brooks
nothing which conflicts with it.”
Mrs. Partington gazed upon him admiringly; and, as
he sought another chair, she turned to Miss Chatterton,
and said,
“If he was the pasture for a parish, he could n't be
more fluid.”
To this remark the young lady nodded and smiled
assent; and the object of the encomium, with the
-- 018 --
[figure description] Page 018.[end figure description]
wrinkles all ironed from his temper, sat in the best of
humor, imparting such a glow to the surroundings that
even the rigid profile upon the wall seemed to bend
from its rigidity, and become imbued with the infection
of the scene. The jar of a step upon the floor caused
a slight tintinnabulation of the old china in the buffet,
which appeared like a response to the flow of good
humor that pervaded the apartment. The circle was
soon increased by the addition of the expected guests.
There was an ominous manuscript protruding from
Wideswarth's pocket, while his eye denoted an abstractedness,
as though all the intelligence it ever wore
had been abstracted from it. Philanthropos was calm
and exalted, having on his way interrupted a street
fight, and suffered the martyrdom of profane abuse
from many juvenile tongues. The Brahmin Poo-Poo,
with his meerschaum colored to a delightful complexion,
and his red cap and black tassel, and satin petticoat
trousers, was an object of respectful curiosity. Mr.
Blifkins, having attended without the permission of his
wife, seemed uneasy and fidgety, as a man must who
gets goods under false pretences. The venerable Dr.
Spooner was conspicuous among the number, his bald
head rising like some tall cliff on which the eagles of
thought might well delight to rest. They were all
there, and the spinster was introduced to them by every
variety of name to which “Chatter” would hitch; and
all was moving very happily, when the door-bell rang
violently, and Mr. Increase Slow came in, with his face
very red and angry. He was the last of those who
had been invited. After greeting the company, he
said,
“I am sorry to complain at such a time, mem, but I
should have been here a full hour ago, but for your Ike.
-- 019 --
[figure description] Page 019.[end figure description]
He is a great trouble to me. He goes on my grass
with entire impurity; and, just now when I attempted to
rush out and drive him off, — gently like, you know, —
I found he had put a chip in the latch of my door, and
I was kept shut up there till a policeman let me out.
If you are to be his guardian, sir, as I understand, he
will require all your care.”
“Are you sure it was he, sir?” asked old Roger.
“Certainly, I am. There 's nothing done round here
that he is n't at the bottom of it.”
Mr. Slow dropped into a seat like a kedge-anchor,
and the party grew suddenly grave, as a meadow full
of strawberries and birds may, when a cloud comes
betwixt it and the sun.
“Mr. Roger,” said Prof. Wideswarth, nervously fingering
the manuscript in his pocket, “a kindred quality of
mirth appears to enter into the whole plan of the universe,
and this boy, though roguish, is a human exponent
of the quality; and, apropos of mirth, I have
here a short poem, that it would delight me to read
to you.”
“I should be equally delighted to hear it,” Roger
replied, winking to Mr. Slow, who settled back in his
chair, as though fixing himself in a position to sleep, in
case the circumstances might warrant.
Wideswarth cleared his throat, twitched out his manuscript,
and thus proceeded:
“I sing of mirth! — that boon of bounteous heaven,
Which stirs our bosoms with its generous leaven —
Given mankind to cheer their lot below,
To countervail the smart of pressing woe;
Given the heart the worth of life to prize,
Given to bless all objects to our eyes.
Without its aid the heavens were dark and drear,
The winds were full of naught but boding fear;
-- 020 --
[figure description] Page 020.[end figure description]
The Bob-o'-Lincoln on the bending hay
Would tune his note to dirges all the day;
The grass and flowers, that glow in such sweet guise,
Would be but Quaker drab beneath our eyes;
And melody of bird, and bee, and brook,
Would be expunged from Nature's singing-book!
All Nature laughs through the repeating years —
Laughs when the first young flower of Spring appears,
Laughs in the Summer prime of beauteous bloom,
And sends to heaven its echoes of perfume;
Laughs when the Autumn binds its yellow sheaves,
And reddens in the face as Autumn leaves;
Laughs sturdily along November's sky,
And roars in boisterous mirth when storms are high,
Rattles our windows with a jubilant din,
Or, laughing with the sunshine, enters in.
What notes of mirth rise from the shady nooks,
From birds and insects, foliage and brooks!
What peals of laughter shake the concave high,
When thunder rattles through the summer sky!
The lambs run laughing o'er the vernal plain,
And glad sounds tinkle in the summer rain!
Mirth gives a charm to girlhood's fairest grace,
And limns the generous soul on boyhood's face.
Sweet girlhood! changing like the varying wind, —
Now wild for this, and now for that inclined, —
Teasing papa with never-ending needs,
That he 's “dead broke” if half the list he heeds;
Now a piano, now a fan, a ring,
Now a new dress from such a “charming thing!”
He frets — good man — his cash is not a pile,
Refuses — yields — he 's conquered by a smile.
And boyhood, rampant with its fun and noise,
Oft mingles bitter in our cup of joys,
And many an anxious sigh is made to start,
And many a throb to heave the parent's heart,
While watching 'mid the wilfulness of youth
To see the germs of honesty and truth!
O, Ike! thou elf, who dost with pranks abound,
In every home thy counterpart is found;
Thy mischief may at times becloud the soul,
But smile, and half the doubt away shall roll —
-- 021 --
[figure description] Page 021.[end figure description]
But give the music of an honest laugh,
And then will vanish all the other half.
But levity should ne'er its guile obtrude
To mar the cheerful heart's beatitude;
It has no place where genial humor dwells —
Its home is where the voice of passion swells;
Where the red wine glows in the ruddy light,
And turns to day the watches of the night;
Where the hoarse voice, in Bachanalian strain,
Echoes in chorus with some coarse refrain!
Let us be gay, and let our mirth arise
Before the great All-Good as sacrifice.
The source of joy no sombre tribute claims,
Nor priestly rite, nor sacrificial flames;
The heart's outpouring in its happiness
The smile of kindly heaven will ever bless;
So may our purest strains of joy ascend,
And with unwritten harmonies of heaven blend.”
The reading was followed by many remarks approbatory.
Mr. Slow ventured the observation that, though
it was tip-top, it seemed to him strange that so much
should have been said about fun with so little fun in it;
but Dr. Spooner came to the rescue of the poet, by
saying that in this respect, if it were so, it was like
many sermons that we hear, all about religion, but
which did not contain one spark of it! Philanthropos
agreed with the sentiment of the poem, and said he had
thought of recommending to the Provident Association
the application of laughing gas in neighborhoods where
poverty prevailed, in order that privation might be
lessened by the infusion of jocularity.
At this point there was a loud ringing at the bell,
and presently a tall, spare, seedy-looking individual
was introduced, whom Miss Chatterton recognized as
Signor Lignumvitæ, who taught music in the neighborhood.
Turning to Mrs. Partington, he said, in English
a trifle muddy,
-- 022 --
[figure description] Page 022.[end figure description]
“Madam, zat vat you sall call him, ze plaggy Hike,
be one ver bad garçon. He no ear for ze music, but
ven I blow ze horn, and play ze grand opera, he toot
he's hands, so,” — making a trumpet of his hands and
tooting, — “and mak all ze music no worth nossing. I
can no stand it. Eferybody laugh at me. Zey touch
zar nose, so,” — putting his thumb to his nose, — “so
mosh as to say, `Ah, ha! you be von humboog!' You
sall leek zat plaggy Hike!”
“This is a fine opening for a guardian,” thought
Roger, as Mrs. Partington turned her eyes towards
him. She went out with the Signor, and Roger remarked
to Miss Chatterton that there were times when
he did not regret that he had never been a parent.
She replied that she deemed none could properly
direct children, as teachers or guardians, who had not
children of their own. He thought a moment seriously,
and then admitted the general correctness of the
remark.
“I don't know what I should have been,” said he,
“surrounded by a family, — perhaps a pater-familias of
rare virtues, — but my heart is whole. I never saw
occasion to leave the charmed circle of single blessedness.”
“Were you never in love?” she questioned.
“Once,” said he, affecting to sigh; “everybody, they
say, is in love once. When I boarded at 101, a young
and gallant fellow, there was one fair creature to whom
I paid many attentions, and some money for certain
buttons that she attached at sundry times to needy
garments; and she gave me, as I thought, indications of
regard beyond that of a mere landlady's daughter, as
she was, — a regard usually included in the weekly
board-bill. I determined not to be cruel, and leave her
-- 023 --
[figure description] Page 023.[end figure description]
to suffer on account of my indifference. Fortune fixed
the flint of my affection. 'T was on a night in summer,
and the gentle air swept across the back-sheds, and
through the parlor windows of 101, over three consumptive
geraniums that attempted to bloom there. As I
entered, I saw a female figure, clothed in white, by the
open window, that my heart told me was Seraphima's!
I stepped noiselessly towards her, over the tufted
second-hand carpet, that Seraphima's mamma had bought
at auction. A moment, and my arm encircled her neck,
and — I kissed her! In another moment I was rolling
on the floor, with one of Seraphima's flower-pots broken
upon my head. My heart had deceived me, and I had
unfortunately kissed another man's wife, which, in those
days of innocence, was deemed a sacrilege! An impression
was made by that blow which will never be
effaced. It is here to this day,” — pointing to his
head. “From that moment Seraphima became obnoxious
to me, — all my love for her was knocked out of
me, — and she died, some fifteen years afterwards, of a
broken heart and tight lacing.”
“It is a wonder,” said Mrs. Partington, who had
returned in time to hear the close of the story; “it is a
wonder that it did not give you a suggestion of the
brain.”
“It did, ma'am,” replied he; “and that suggestion
was, to leave the women alone.”
The door-bell here rang again, and Mrs. Partington
came in with a queer little, bald-headed man, whose appearance
denoted an acquaintance with fluids of an
inflammatory character. He was somewhat confused on
finding himself in so large a company, and turned to go
out, when the motion revealed a human face drawn
roughly in black on the bald scalp behind, like that
-- 024 --
[figure description] Page 024.[end figure description]
funny picture of Johnston's. He turned again, with his
nose blushing very red, and addressed Mrs. Partington:
“Madam,” said he, “I 've brought myself here to complain
of your Ike. I looked bad enough before, but he
has made me look a great deal worse, behind. I am a
double-header, — a man beside myself. A pretty object,
are n't I? I 'm only fit now for a politician who wishes
to be on both sides of the fence at the same time. You
see, I was a little overcome by the heat of the day, and,
sitting down a moment in the shade, fell asleep, when
along comes Ike, and, as you see, he made a marked
man of me. Everybody says it must be he who did it.
Could I see with the eyes he has given me behind, I
might, like some other people, laugh at my own fun,
which privilege is now denied me.”
Mrs. Partington cast a look full of despair upon
Roger, as she escorted the man to the door.
“This is certainly a very pleasant young man,” said
he, “with an excellent chance for improvement, and
considerable of it. I am delighted with my prospect.”
“Should you have to resort to corporal punishment,”
said Philanthropos, “I should suggest the brierrose
twig, as it will bring the rebel sooner to penitence,
as Colt's pistols and steam guns tend sooner to bring
about peace.”
“I hope you will administer chloroform before you
apply it,” suggested Dr. Spooner; “and, as in the
new materia medica the efficacy of medicine is tested
by the doctor's taking it himself, allow me to recommend,
Mr. Philanthropos, that you have it tried upon
yourself. I would be delighted to do it gratuitously.”
“A capital idea!” said Wideswarth; “it is worthy
of a sonnet.”
“Perhaps he could bear the flogging better than he
-- 025 --
[figure description] Page 025.[end figure description]
could the sonnet,” said Roger, in an under tone, punching
the Brahmin in the ribs, who sat smoking his meerschaum.
The Brahmin responded by a grave bow.
Mrs. Partington returned, holding in her hand an open
note, which she handed to Roger, in much confusion.
He read:
“Miss Parkinson: Your boy has been and tied a culinary utensile to
the caudle appendidge of a canine favorite of ourn, an indignity that wee
shall never submit to. He is a reproach to the neighborhood, and you
must punish him severally.
The Miss Timminses.”
He crushed the paper in his hand, and said, “This is
a precious little rascal, to be sure; and, according to
present appearances, the chances of finding any good
in him are about as limited as would be those of finding
strawberries growing on the top of Mount Washington.”
At this moment the door opened, and the subject of
their animadversion entered, throwing his hat into a
corner, and tumbling down along side of it.
“Isaac,” said the dame, tenderly, “you are causing
me a great deal of unhappiness. Do you do all the
mischief there is done in the neighborhood?”
“No, I don't, neither,” replied Ike; “I don't do half
so bad as they make out.”
“Did n't you fasten me in?” said Mr. Slow, coming
forward.
“Yes, sir; but I should n't have done it, if you
had n't been so ugly. No boy would ever trouble you,
if you 'd be kind to him.”
“True,” said Dr. Spooner, “there 's a good deal of
human nature in a boy.”
“Kindness is better than spring guns as a defence,”
said old Roger, “but the lad seems incorrigible. Here
comes another complaint, I dare say,” as the door-bell
rang again.
-- 026 --
[figure description] Page 026.[end figure description]
Mrs. Partington held up her hands, as she went to
see who was at the door, and returned with a poor-looking
woman, who wore a widow's dress.
“I 've dropped in, ma'am, though I 'm a stranger,”
said she, “to thank your manly little boy for taking
the part of my lame son, when he was imposed upon by
the bad boys in the street, just now. He drove them
away like a hero, and punished them for their cowardly
conduct. And he was not content with this, but he
gave him a bright silver dime to buy some oranges
with. A boy with such a heart as his must be a
treasure to you, and he will prove a comfort to you in
your old age.”
“There,” said Roger, gleefully, rubbing his hands,
“that one act compensates for all the rest. Had I a
son like that, I should prize him more than mines of
gold. Such a boy would make ten years of hard matrimony
endurable. Madam, here is a ten-dollar gold
piece for your information.”
She received it very thankfully, and passed out,
invoking on him and the house the widow's blessing.
“And do you forgive him?” said Mrs. Partington,
smiling with gratification.
“Yes, madam,” he replied; “and boys should be forgiven
far more than they are. A boy that does n't love
fun is n't always to be trusted; and the one who has his
wits about him, and does not take to fun, will, depend
upon it, take to something worse. Parents mistake
when they put an unyielding check upon a boy's conduct;
when he gets his way, he will, nine times in ten, go
differently from his direction, and covert sin will work
insidiously, maugre all interdiction. I can't bear to see
a parchment-faced boy, with a ledger in his glance at
ten. Give me the lad with his soul speaking in his
-- 027 --
[figure description] Page 027.[end figure description]
laughing eye, and thrilling in every nerve of his animated
body. That is your true boyhood. Where
there is no malice, mischief is not sin. The boys
commit it as the kids eat fruit-buds, or the birds pick
Mr. Hovey's strawberries, — it is their nature.”
The speech was received with applause by Ike, who
had donned his guardian's hat and gloves, and was
standing leaning on his gold-headed cane. Mrs. Partington
was astonished; Roger was disposed to be
indignant, but he fortunately remembered what he had
just said, and contented himself with seeing Ike take
them off.
Mrs. Partington bustled about, and in a short time
announced that tea was awaiting the company in the
room “contagious” to the sitting-room, where the
company sat down to the table. Roger was seated directly
opposite Miss Chatterton, at Mrs. Partington's
right hand, while by her side Ike had taken his accustomed
position. The rest of the company took their
places agreeably to their hostess' invitation to “derange”
themselves as they could make it convenient.
There was pleasant music around the board, and
happy faces beaming amid the steam of the fragrant
souchong. There was much agreeable conversation
among all the parties. It was general and discursive
for the most part, though one particular incident
gave it, to some parties, a tender interest. Ike had
observed a disposition on the part of his guardian to
speak low and confidential things to his opposite
neighbor, Miss Chatterton, and his foot, as he sat by
her side, just reached that of the old gentleman. He
thought to himself what a prime thing it would be if he
could touch his toe and make him believe that Miss
Chatterton did it, and resolved to try it. When the
-- 028 --
[figure description] Page 028.[end figure description]
doughnuts were handed round, Roger selected one that
was heart-shaped and handed it over to his vis-a-vis, with
the remark,
“This, my dear Miss Chatterton, is the `heart that
never loved.'”
The lady received it with the reply, “Indeed! and
yet, you see, it is broken;” breaking a piece of it off as
she spoke.
“A melancholy fate,” said he, “for that which was
wholly yours.”
He was surprised, as he uttered this, to feel a gentle
pressure upon his foot beneath the table. It was a
light and careful touch, and bore no semblance to
accident.
“As much so as it was the young lady's at 101,”
said she, archly.
He felt another touch as she spoke, which assured
him of its origin, and gave him a thrill of pleasure. He
beamed upon her like the sun upon a planet.
“And how would you have acted,” said he, “had you
been in her place? Would you have died in fifteen
years of a broken heart?”
“Can't say that I might not have died before that, of
some other disease,” she replied.
He felt the touch under the table again, which operated
upon him like a jar full of electric eels.
“Were you ever in love, Miss Chatterton?” said he,
in a tremendously deep whisper, as low as G.
“Never with any one but myself,” replied she, smilingly.
The touch followed the remark, as the sound follows
the flash.
“How would you like to be?”
“I can't say.”
-- 029 --
[figure description] Page 029.[end figure description]
The touch succeeded, to his infinite delight.
“Miss Chatterton,” said he, reaching over, so that his
remark might not be heard by any one else but her,
“you have made a deep impression upon me. Indeed,
I may say that your foot has touched my heart, — given
it, so to speak, a finishing touch.”
“My foot touched your heart, sir! I don't understand
you.”
“Not perhaps literally,” he continued; “but the little
touches of your foot beneath the table have touched me
very sensibly.”
“I have not touched you,” replied she, very much
surprised.
“I see how it is,” said he, in some confusion; “it is
another instance of the trickery of that plaguy Ike.
But, be that as it may, you have much interested me,
and I shall place this evening among the happiest of
my life.”
Ike, as he saw the dénouement of his plot approaching,
had made his escape just in time. During this
scene the other members of the party had been busily
talking.
“Yes,” Wideswarth at this point was heard to say,
“in petty trials are summed up most of the sorrows
that beset us here. We brace up against large trials,
and support ourselves by props of resolution; but the
little worriments, like the dropping that wears the stone,
undermine our temper, and down it comes with a
crash, and a confusion of oaths and tears. Please listen
to a sonnet I have to-day written regarding minor
trials:
Bigger vexations, like a `fresh' in spring,
Assail the soul in their impetuous wrath;
The fierce tornado on its course doth wing,
Dashing obstructions from its chosen path!
-- 030 --
[figure description] Page 030.[end figure description]
But little troubles, like a nibbling mouse,
Gnaw slowly from our comfort, as 't were cheese; —
Take you a smoky chimney to a house,
Or scolding wife, perpetual bane to ease,
Or grain within the eye, or gouty feet,
Or debts unpaid, — exchequer running low, —
Or hurdy-gurdy grinding in the street,
Or six-cent Cubas that you can't make go.”
“Allow me,” said Roger, “to propose, as the two concluding
lines, the following:
Or one sweet foot of an illusive joy,
Made less than nothing by a roguish boy.”
“I have no objection to the lines,” replied Wideswarth,
“excepting that of irrelevancy. I cannot exactly
understand —”
“My dear sir,” said Roger, “that should be no objection;
for who ever thinks of asking what a sonnet
means? I appeal to yourself. We take it for granted
that a poet sees his own meaning, and out of compliment
ask no questions.”
“I could have suggested a minor difficulty to have
added to the number,” said Philanthropos; “the ingratitude
one is liable to meet with who tries to do a good
act. A few days since I saw a dog going along with a
heavy basket in his mouth, and, thinking of relieving
him, I attempted to take it from him, meaning to carry
it myself, when the canineite snapped at me as though
he suspected my motives.”
“I was much annoyed, a few days since,” said Dr.
Spooner, “by a trifle which very much disturbed my
equanimity. I was passing a lady whose dress spread
over an area about equal to that of a load of hay, when
I accidentally stepped upon her flounce. An unmistakable
tear followed, at which I looked round to
-- 031 --
[figure description] Page 031.[end figure description]
apologize. But my contrition and shame all vanished before
the look she gave me. It was the concentration of
spitefulness, and, instead of apologizing, I asked myself
the question if she were not the aggressor in protruding
herself upon my path, and so I passed on; but it disturbed
me.”
“A nervous wife,” said Blifkins, “is a consideration
in this direction.” He said it timidly.
“All fade away before rheumatism in the ankle,” said
old Roger.
“Are you subject to romantic affections?” inquired
Mrs. Partington, with anxiety in her tone and a spoon
in her hand. “My poor Paul was terribly infected by
them one winter, when we lived contagious to the
marshes.”
The door-bell rang violently, and the old lady went
out to see who caused the alarm. She came back
immediately.
“There was nobody there,” said she. “Well, as I
was saying, he had an affectation in his back, and an
embargo in his head, and a vertebra all over him. He
could n't move without resistance.”
The door-bell rang again, which she attended to with
the same result.
“I 'm shore,” said she, “I don't see who it can be.
Well, as I was pretending to say, our minister sent for
him, right in the midst of his trouble, to come and cut
up a pig for him. Nothing would do but he must go.
So he crawled out, and just as he was going up over a
little hill, holding on to the fence —”
The door-bell rang the third time.
“Well,” said Mrs. Partington, as she rose to go,
`bells can't ring without hands, unless they 're rung by
the spirits. Perhaps it 's them.”
-- 032 --
[figure description] Page 032.[end figure description]
“Well, by all means ask them in,” responded Roger;
“it will give new spirits to our party.”
“I can't see, for the life of me, what it means,” said
she, coming back from the door; “but, as I was telling
you, as he was going over the hill his feet slipped, and
he was prostituted from the top to the bottom. He got
up, strange to say, as well as he ever was in his life.
The remedy is very simple.”
“So it is,” said he, “and I think I 'll try it, some
time.”
The fact that Ike came in just then, coupled with the
recent ringing, gave evidence of the cause of the latter,
and Roger looked at him with an expression denoting
a guardian's feelings.
“Ike,” said he, “come here; I am to have a hand in
your bringing up. Now, I have to tell you that you
must toe the mark; be obedient, dutiful, and respectful,
or — you villain! that is my toe you are kicking.”
“Is the touch as tender as the one you just now
received?” said Miss Chatterton, with a sly manner.
“No more of that,” said he, smiling amid his pain,
“if thou lovest me. That illusion was a pleasant one,
which may yet, I hope, through propitious fates, become
a reality.”
The party had by this time arisen, and, as he uttered
the significant expression, he took her hand, which she
did not withdraw, and whispered in her ear,
“It is a strange thing, — but there are many strange
things happening all the time, — that an obdurate old
bachelor should have been thus subjugated, and by such
means; but I am confident that it is a good fate which
has brought us together, for which I must thank that
plaguy Ike.”
-- 033 -- p676-046
[figure description] Page 033.[end figure description]
She touched his foot, — not the gouty one, — and
smiled, and the conquest was complete.
The party now rose to depart, but before they went
expressed their undivided delight, Dr. Spooner averring
that he had, for a long time, been seeking for the delectable,
but had never come so near its attainment before;
proposing Mrs. Partington's health, which was drunk,
“paregorically,” as she afterwards expressed it.
She returned thanks, stating that she was very fulsome
with her emotions, and ready to make any sacrament
for their happiness. And this was the way the
guardianship for Ike began.
AUTUMN.
Hail! beauteous queen — (not literally, please!
Thy reign I 'd rather signalize in verse;) —
My full heart drops in homage on its knees,
The while thy glories it would fain rehearse.
Blest of Pomona, thy redundant horn
Is full of fruitage, and around thy brow
Bright vines are twined, with berries that adorn
Thy golden ringlets with a ripened glow!
Ceres her trophies brings, and at thy feet
Pours out the bounteous harvest's golden rain,
And gushing wine, in pipes, makes music sweet,
While sturdy Plenty dances in thy train.
O, Autumn! I could sing a song sublime
In praise of thee, from now till Christmas time.
-- 034 -- p676-047
[figure description] Page 034.[end figure description]
TWENTY YEARS MARRIED.
Yes, twenty years have winged their flight,
Since that mysterious word I spoke,
When, on a beauteous summer night,
I first assumed the flowery yoke.
I long had craved the blissful chain,
And cheerfully subscribed the vow;
Perhaps I 'd do the same again —
Perhaps — though I am older now.
Ah! well do I recall the time
When she, now pensive by my side,
Stood, in her blushing morning prime,
A tender, sweet, and bashful bride;
And I, so proud of that dear hand,
Could scarce contain myself for bliss; —
I 'd bought a tract of fairy land,
And sealed my purchase with a kiss.
For happiness we trimmed our sail,
My darling little bride and I;
Hope's breezes blew a pleasant gale,
And gently smiled the summer sky.
The world seemed made, for her and me,
All bright wherever we might turn,
Our life to be a tranquil sea —
Sweet innocents! we 'd much to learn.
For soon did Care's disturbing breath
Its baleful influence impart,
And bitter sorrow, born of death,
O'ercast the sunshine of our heart;
But still, as trouble round us rose,
Each closer, fonder, clung to each,
Blessed with the strength of love's repose,
Enduring all that grief could teach.
We 'd much of joy, though small our sphere,
And craved no more extended fame,
For children made our dwelling dear, —
'T was wonderful how fast they came! —
“The more the merrier,” we said,
And in them every wish was blest;
-- 035 --
[figure description] Page 035.[end figure description]
A part in our embrace have staid,
A mound at Woodlawn tells the rest.
Those twenty years have left their trace
Upon her brow, then smooth and fair,
And stolen, some say, the witching grace
That once her features used to wear;
But still I see the same kind eyes
Beam on me with a light as true
As when, in love's young paradise,
I first their inspiration knew.
And I — well, well — we 'll let that pass; —
None more than I time's changes see,
Each day I shave myself, — alas!
My mirror does not flatter me;
But if I 'm changed for worst or best
I cannot answer, on my life,
And leave the solving of this test
To such as choose to ask my wife.
This lesson we have fully learned:
Pure happiness that men have deemed
Is but a hope soon overturned,
A vision but in fancy dreamed;
That all of happiness below,
Pursuing which the life is spent
In mingled scenes of bliss and woe,
Is measured by the word CONTENT.
Though fortune may withhold its smile,
As it has done in time before,
Content shall still our way beguile,
And rest the future landscape o'er.
The future! — who its tale may tell? —
But for it we 've nor doubts nor fears,
And like our life that 's past so well,
We 'll try another twenty years.
Aug. 15th. 1858.
-- 036 -- p676-049
WHOLE-SOULED FELLOWS.
[figure description] Page 036.[end figure description]
“Speaking of this class,” said Dr. Spooner, “I am
delighted to acknowledge their excellence, and would
go far to shake such by the hand; but perhaps my estimate
of the whole-souledness of the individual might be
different from yours, for my comprehension demands
quality, as an essential element of the whole. A whole-souled
man, as some of you seem to regard it, is one of
warm, impulsive nature, open-handed and lavish; qualities,
I grant ye, that are essential,—for soul is feeling, and
not a merely cold mechanism; but generosity must be
a thing of principle as well as natural impulse — the
spiritual man in harmony with the natural man. This
leads to acts that insure the title of whole-souled fellow.
In one case, a fellow may be whole-souled in companionship,
and spend money as freely as water with you,
but his soul is vitiated; another may be generous to a
fault, and an admiring world approve him and say he is
a whole-souled fellow, but look through him a little, and
you will find a great under-current of selfishness, that,
were it known, would detract from the general admiration.
I know one who bears the reputation, who is really
a very good fellow, socially, that employs hundreds of
girls at starvation rates in the manufacture of garments,
and makes a princely salary at the expense of their life
and comfort. Though nominally a whole-souled fellow,
any man who thus for his own gain will sacrifice
others is egregiously flattered by the imputation. So
of those who give largely of money that they cannot
spend. There is no soul in it. There is craft in it,
that assumes the form of soul, which men materially
cased regard as soul, through their dim spiritual spectacles.
The widow's mite that was cast into the treasury
swells to a mountain, in comparison with such an act.
-- 037 -- p676-050
[figure description] Page 037.[end figure description]
The whole-souled fellow that I believe in is he who,
warmed by natural kindness, blossoms out and fructifies
in justice and right, ignoring self, and struggling continually
for human betterment, from the betterment law
existing in himself — whose life is a continued example
of persistent generosity.” Well, what 's the use of
talking about what everybody knows? And yet there
may be some whole-souled fellows who are not entitled
to so generous or good an appellation.
BEHIND THE SCENES.
Could we get behind the scenes of life, and observe
the workings of the machinery, and the various traps
and shiftings and changes that are taking place all the
time, we should be half inclined to distrust the absolute
virtue of much that passes for such, and see, faintly at
least, through a great deal of villany, some good, that
the removal of the whiskers and washing off of the
paint might reveal. Behind the scenes and before them
is exhibited pretty much the same thing; the counterfeit
seeming the real, and much of the real being nothing
but counterfeit. And, speaking of going behind
the scenes, to one unacquainted with such locality as
the stage of a theatre the first permission to enter that
mysterious province is the open sesame to many wonders;
revealing to him how it is all done: — how the
roses of health and happiness may glow on cheeks pallid
and hollow with care; and how the lines of sorrow may
appear, from the adroit touches of paint, upon brows
not yet marked by a wrinkle; how fierceness and malignity
may flourish on faces where the kindest spirit rests,
through the magic of burnt cork and false mustachios;
and how injured innocence and rank villany are allied,
-- 038 -- p676-051
[figure description] Page 038.[end figure description]
when a little soap and water bring them together at the
close of the drama! He sees men at the wings, like
special providences, controlling the different moods of
scenic life; here shifting a house of comfort and affluence
to a beggar's hut, and there producing upon what
was a “blasted heath” a bower of roses. He sees the
elegance that from the front gleamed in the beauty of
scenic art transformed to a mere daub, the paint apparently
thrown on by the handful; and architectural magnificence
but a mere frame-work of rough pine, held up
by props from behind. It is a new emotion to him, such
a queer admixture does it present of all sorts of life in
one little world — the grave and the gay, the good and
the bad, mingling together with a freedom of manner
very different from the marked antagonism of the outward
presentment. He wanders through the ins and outs
and labyrinthine turnings of the strange place, puzzled
at a thousand new things, and half regretting that the
illusion should have been dispelled in whose deception
he has so long happily lived.
WOMAN'S SOVEREIGNTY.
We 're swayed a thousand ways by woman's wiles,
And every day admit her sovereign power:
We bend, delighted, to her potent smiles,
We bend when tears outpour in plenteous shower;
Her witchery of grace bows low our hearts,
Her winning voice has conquest in its tone,
We yield us captive to the myriad arts
That round our pathway hem us like a zone.
By her sweet lips we swear our lives away,
We vow eternal homage to her eyes,
The raven curl round her white neck astray
The magic of her power intensifies!
But most we bow beneath sweet woman's sway,
When walking 'neath a clothes-line on a washing day.
-- 039 -- p676-052
PETS.
[figure description] Page 039.[end figure description]
It is an amiable human weakness, is the love of pets;
and the one who “crunches” them in his heart, as Gruff
and Tackleton did the crickets on his hearth, has little
affection for anything else. The love that one expends
on pets is auxiliary to a higher and holier affection, and
does not take from it; as it may be classed with loves of
kindred and friends, that may be infinite in their scope,
and yet be consistent with the one grand central affection,
and strengthen and sanctify it. Pets come in many
forms. The heart loves dogs, and birds, and flowers,
and at times queer objects become invested with an interest
which almost takes the phase of disease. A
sweet little human pet of our own, that now rests in a
land where love is the life it lives, unalloyed with the
pains that marred it here, had a strange proclivity for
toads. The little creature loved everything that lived,
but in the summer-time it was her delight to visit the
garden and find her uncouth favorites, and watch their
ungainly movements with a pleasure that one might expend
on a rose or a canary. A little book was published,
a few years since, by Grace Greenwood, called “History
of my Pets.” We have a thumbed and soiled copy
of that book, which money could not buy. It was
owned by another pet of ours, who, years ago, went
down the dark valley and left us. It was a solace to
him in all his hours of trouble and pain. The sight of
that book mollified his grief, and his sobs would subside
to smiles as his eyes rested on the pictures. The fancy
has been cherished that the loving spirit still rests
about the book, and hence it becomes a pet in itself,
sacred from the contamination of use. From its pages
the beautiful brown eyes seem to look up, and the cheerful
laugh sounds again in the glee of delighted
-- 040 -- p676-053
[figure description] Page 040.[end figure description]
childhood, and we renew again, for a moment, the old-time
presence, until the dream dies in the light of material
care, and the book is laid sacredly in its niche again.
Those pets that come in the human form, how we cling
to them and idolize them, to have them, alas! fade from
our arms in exhalation, as the dew fades from the flowers,
seemingly crushed by the intensity of the affection
with which we enfold them. But the heart follows
them, and we hear a voice that speaks comfort to our
soul, saying, “These pets ye shall behold again!” and
we still look in the way they have gone.
BY CHANCE.
The venerable Mrs. Partington asked us the question,
once, if we believed that everything was foreördained
beforehand in advance, and we were compelled to answer
that sometimes we did, and then again we did n't.
Some time after, we were sitting looking over the papers,
when the door opened and Mrs. P. stepped in. There
was a smile on her face, and the old green umbrella in
her hand. After welcoming her and requesting her to
be seated, she said, “Well it 's all lubricated now; just
as clear to me as crystial.” — “What is?” we queried, a
little puzzled to know what she meant. — “That about
foreördination, you know, and chance, and all that,
which we were talking about.” — “Ah, yes; well, how
was it?” — “Why, I 'tended the lectur' last night — one
of the eternity course.” — “Fraternity,” we suggested;
“who spoke?” — “O, Mr. what 's his name — he that
made the refrigerator, you know, for warming houses
in summer and cooling 'em in winter — Emerson — T.
P. Emerson.” — “You mean R. W. Emerson,” we hinted;
“did he lecture on refrigerators?” — “O, dear, no!
-- 041 -- p676-054
[figure description] Page 041.[end figure description]
't was on chance; and sich a lectur'! I thought I 'd
heerd lecturs before, but that succeeded 'em all.”—“Indeed!”
we said, somewhat interested, though there were
eleven letters unopened on the table, “tell us about it.”—
“Well,” she continued, “it was about chance, and he is
sich a queer man that you have to watch every word or
you can't understand him. If you lose one word, it 's
jest like a stitch broke in a seam made by some of the
sowing-machines — the work is good for nothing. Well,
he said there was no sich thing as chance, and that every
thing was planned out beforehand. And, to prove it, he
spoke of a ship on the sea, knocked about by the winds
and waves, and showed, just as loosed as anything I
ever saw, that she was not there by chance, or that she
was, and I declare I don't know which.” The old lady
reached down into her spacious pocket, and, taking out
the old Constitution and Guerriere handkerchief, wiped
her specs, as though she wished still for more light,
while Ike amused himself by trundling Lion round the
room, by his two hind legs, like a wheelbarrow.
MRS. PARTINGTON AND THE RUSSIAN HELMET.
“Is that a tropic of the Chimera?” said Mrs. Partington,
pointing to a Russian helmet that a friend had
brought from the Crimea. — “That, Madam,” said we,
“is a trophy of the Crimea, that fearful battle-ground,
and it seems to bear about it the odor of strife in the
perilous deadly breaches, and the crash of contending
forces.” She looked at it attentively. “Yes,” responded
she, “and not only the breeches, but the rest of the
uniform besides.” It was evident that she had made a
slight mistake.
-- 042 -- p676-055
WHO IS VILE?
[figure description] Page 042.[end figure description]
“She 's a vile creature,” said the severe woman, looking
very red in the face. The conversation had been
upon the propriety of recognizing one who had fallen
from virtue, if fame were to be believed, and the severe
woman, whose purity could not be questioned, closed
her side of the argument with the remark commencing
this paragraph. Dr. Spooner arose from the table and
stepped behind his chair, as children do in schools when
called upon to recite. “The term vile, madam,” said
he, looking at the severe woman, “is a very strong one
coming from human lips, and those who utter it should
be very sure that they stand on sure ground themselves.
Because great imperfection may be imputed to any one,
it does not follow that the whole body is corrupt.
There may be beneath all this corruption a stratum of
pure soil, in which good seeds may grow, — in which,
indeed, they may be now germinating, — that may not
shoot their leaf up through the crust of sin and degradation
that keeps them down, but may throw out
the tendrils of an undying principle, that, deeper than
the flesh, will one day find an outgrowth in other airs,
and shame those who, wrapt in their own sensuous
perfectibility, have not allowed a spiritual seed to
grow. Vile, indeed! The expression comes with a
poor grace from any unless they have the scale and
balance by a special patent from heaven with which
to weigh human wrong, and it should be carefully
used. I once knew a case where a good woman and a
bad woman made custards for a sick person, and both
met in the sick room — the one with a proud spirit that
she was not like the wicked one, the other humble and
retiring, as if ashamed of herself. But the good woman's
custards were made of skimmed milk and
-- 043 -- p676-056
[figure description] Page 043.[end figure description]
sweetened with brown sugar, and the bad woman's were
made very deliciously; and the sick one fancied that the
souls of both those persons were seen in the custardcups;
and in the comparative estimate he found more
intrinsic excellence in the bad woman than in the good
woman, and believed, as he still believes, that many
transgressions, that spring from human weakness,
will be forgiven, for the sparks of love that may be
still smouldering deeply within. I see you laugh at my
homely illustration; but it is a life-picture, treat it as
you may. Let us call them unfortunate, rather than
vile, and humble ourselves to regard them with charity.”
The severe woman looked very red, but said nothing
further till the doctor was gone.
THE HOUSEHOLD GHOST.
BEING AN ACCOUNT OF A VERY SINGULAR VISION SEEN FROM BENEATH THE
BLANKETS ON A COLD NIGHT.
With a silent foot, unshod,
In the mystery of the night,
Light the flitting phantom trod,
Glimmering in ghostly white.
Cold the north wind blew without,
Scattering terror as it sped,
Rattling at the crazy spout
And the clattering tiles o 'erhead.
On the window-pane at hand
Grew the web the frost-sprites spin,
But 't was very summer-land
Where the ghost kept ward within.
Here and there amid the night
Eye the mystic form could trace,
Floating in its garments white,
With its anxious-looking face;
-- 044 -- p676-057
[figure description] Page 044.[end figure description]
Bending o'er the nestlings' couch
With a kiss so sweetly given,
That the sleepers felt the touch
As a token dreamed of heaven.
Such a mighty power was there! —
Waking, by a single breath,
Smiles of happiness most rare
On the lips of sembled death!
Far amid life's later night,
Sad and dark with sin and pain,
In its drapery of white
Will the phantom walk again.
With its calm eyes true and clear,
And its finger raised above,
Breathing in the troubled ear
Accents of a Mother's love.
MRS. PARTINGTON PATRIOTIC.
“Hurra!” said Ike, as he read the fact in the papers,
“here 's O'Regan admitted to the Union.” “A furriner,
I should jedge,” remarked Mrs. Partington, looking very
wisely at the steam that rose from the tea-cups and
formed in one cloud near the ceiling; “but I 'm glad
they 've let him come in to enjoy our political rights
and lefts, and other perogatives. There 's room enough,
and the rear of our institutions should be distended. I
don't believe a man should be cut off because he was n't
born in this country for twenty-one years, which of
course was n't any fault of his, for everybody would be
born here if they could have their own auction consulted.” —
“It means,” said Ike, “a new State.” — “Well,
child,” replied she, “the odds is only the difference —
States or men, 't is all the same. Let 'em come into our
grand consternation, where the eagle shall spread its
-- 045 -- p676-058
[figure description] Page 045.[end figure description]
broad opinions over 'em, and make 'em happy in an unlimited
bondage of brotherhood, like the Siamese twins.”
She had not taken her eyes from the steam that rose
from the cups, and joined in one cloud, that seemed to
represent the Union she was depicting. Ike had a
better illustration, for he took the five preserved peaches
on the plate, and put them all into one.
WEANING THE BABY.
There 's trouble in the house, and Bub in arms
Protests, with stentor lungs and brimming eyes,
Against this greatest of his earthly harms,
The order cutting off his small supplies.
With stormy brow — a tempest in a bowl —
He bellows with a most determined might,
Disclosing fierceness in his infant soul,
That in the Infantry may some day fight.
We speak of sorrows — what are they to Bub's,
And the maternal's, half disposed to yield?
'T is hard to find, amidst earth's minor rubs,
A trouble near so sad as is revealed
Where the accustomed lacteal rations stop,
And infant lungs, like Divés, bellow for a drop.
HOME MUSIC.
An old square piano — “Chickering, Boston” — has
occupied a corner in a moderate home for a number of
years, and been regarded as a necessity. It has been a
true friend, for its influence has ever tended towards
harmonization. However discordant other elements
may have been, — and there may have been times when
some of the dust and pins of life got in among the human
organism to produce temporary jarring and inharmony, —
the old piano has rung ever truly and cheerfully,
responsive to the touch. It has been a household
-- 046 --
[figure description] Page 046.[end figure description]
pet. Practised fingers have picked sweet melodies
from it; but all, the unskilled as well, have tried their
hand at it. Even the youngest is great at fingering.
It has been a pleasant thing with him who is the ostensible
head of the household to sit, in the repose of the
evening, the care of the world shut out with the closed
curtains, and hear some one, in the unstudied grace
and glow of home inspiration, unlock the gates of melody
with the piano-keys, and trip away over melodious
meadow fields and gather the humble flowers of song to
wreathe in a garland about the hearth-stone — none of the
lofty and high-studied themes, that arouse mighty plaudits
where Thalberg or Lang is their exponent, but just a
simple melody or two, awakening fond memories of old
times, or thrilling with the consciousness of a new pleasure.
Ah! this is the acme of musical delight, though
there be those who revel in high-seasoned opera, and turn
up their august noses at the humble home-strains alluded
to. There is a pleasure, besides, when one is in his
remote corner, busied with book or pen, to have a
strain come to him of some remembered song, fraught
with gentleness and happiness. His task is forgotten,
as he listens, and he beats time on his palm, gazing
abstractedly at nothing, and yet how much he sees! No
wonder that his thought should run to rhyme; and of
late, when thus held by a spell, and diviner melodies
entered his soul through the opened doors of fancy,
the following rhapsody came to “the writer,” and
wrought itself in form upon paper; and this is the
guise in which it revealed itself:
Essence of love divine!
O'er my soul like the spirit of wine
Thou stealest, and in rapt dream
Sense merges in that stream
-- 047 --
[figure description] Page 047.[end figure description]
Of resonant delight we deem to flow
From God's own presence, where we know
The Harmonies abide, and music fills
The broad heavens, as the blood thrills
Through these terrestrial veins;
And where celestial strains
Are thought and language that impart,
In quick accord from heart to heart,
The golden sympathy which there obtains
Music! — O, subtle mastery
That sets my spirit free
From the tired body and its care,
Which, light as bird in air,
Rises upon the joyous wings
That buoyant melody brings —
Finding sweet sympathy with flowers
In the everlasting bowers,
And with fair earthly blooms
That fling their rich perfumes
Over the summer days,
And with the genial rays
The sun in his loving temper sheds
Upon the spring-time flower-beds,
And with bees and running brooks,
And quiet, pleasant nooks,
Where the birds sing, and the breeze
Is busy with the gossipy trees,
And with all that 's beautiful and bright
And loving, given for man's delight!
I yield me to thy power,
Great spirit of the hour!
Bound by thy magic spell,
My heart, responsive to the swell
Of thy wild measure, swings
In its turret, and my whole being sings
In unison with that which wings
Its way o'er vibratory strings
Of subtle air, whose pulsings greet
My ear in this remote retreat,
As I list to mark the fading feet
Die out in distance of the last cadence sweet.
-- 048 -- p676-061
MRS. PARTINGTON AT THE BALLET.
[figure description] Page 048.[end figure description]
“When is the bally troop coming on?” said Mrs. Partington,
after watching the dancers at the Boston Theatre
about half an hour. — “That is the ballet troupe,” said
Augustus, with a smile, pointing at the beautiful sylphs
that were fluttering like butterflies about the stage. She
looked at him incredulously for a little while, and said:
“Well, I believe in calling things by their true names;
and what they call them a troop for, I don't see. I
thought it was a troop of horse, such as they had in the
Contract of the Ganges.” She levelled her new operaglass
at the stage, and looked long and earnestly.
“Well,” said she, “if there ever was anybody that
needed sympathy, it 's them! Worn their dresses way up
to their knees by dancing, poor creaturs! and by and
by, at this rate, they won't have nothing to wear.” She
stood beating time as the waves of gauze moved hither
and thither in illustration of the poetry of motion,
while Ike amused himself by tearing up his theatre-bill,
and putting it into a lady's silk hood, which hung over
the back of the front seat.
FLOWERS.
Didst ever think how simple flowers bloom,
And shed their beauties on the summer air,
Each giving forth its measure of perfume,
Or gladdening earth by its effulgence rare —
Unheeding aught that flattering lips may speak,
Nor taking airs upon themselves at praise,
Doing their duty with a carriage meek,
And cheering all their little life of days?
No jealous rivalry contention brings,
As in more beauteous circles far than these;
No pride impels the blossom as it swings
To make some humbler sister ill at ease;
But each one blooms with its own charms content,
Nor, if excelled, cares it a single scent.
-- 049 -- p676-062
INVOLUNTARY.
[figure description] Page 049.[end figure description]
An amusing instance of an involuntary performance
happened, some years ago, in a church not far from
Boston. The organist was a splendid musician, but had
an infirmity with which, we are glad to believe, very
few of his brethren are now troubled, — he would crook
his elbow after dinner, and was too ready to “look upon
the wine when it is red.” It made very little difference,
however, in his playing, even though he had
dipped in “potations pottle deep.” One Sunday, he came
to church remarkably hilarious. There was an unusually
bright sparkle in his eye, and his white fingers ran
over the keys in most profuse liquidity, producing
sounds that, while they were very beautiful, were so
undisguised that even the dullest could not but understand
that there was something queer about the organist,
and that their own solemnly-dedicated organ was
playing anything but the legitimate airs of their Zion.
People nudged one another, the more rigid with frowning
looks, some with surprise, and others, of the undevout,
with an appreciating grin. The pastor hesitated
when giving out the first hymn; but the organ never
did so well, and redeemed itself from the obloquy of its
recent suspicious conduct. The congregation rose for the
prayer, — the people did so in those days, — when, just
at the hush of the performance, while all were intently
listening to catch the voice of the pastor, as it emerged
from the hoarse whisper of the opening, the organ gave
a frightful scream, that smote the ear like the laughter
of fiends, echoing from every nook and corner of the
old church. The pastor stopped in his prayer, and
opened his eyes; the audience turned round, and every
eye was bent on the organ-loft. The organist had risen
-- 050 -- p676-063
[figure description] Page 050.[end figure description]
with the rest, but his efforts to preserve his equilibrium
had proved unavailing, and he had tumbled over upon
the key-board, producing the fearful “involuntary,” as
he reached his hands out to save himself. Conscious
of the disorder, and confused by the looks turned upon
him, he recovered himself, and, holding out his hand
towards the minister, said in an unsteady but patronizing
voice, “Or ri, sir; drive on!” This broke the
back of all propriety, and it was thought that the prayer
which followed did the audience but little good.
Another organist was engaged before the next Sunday.
SIGNS OF FALL.
The curious wind comes searching through the street,
With bodings bitter,
Whirling around the quick pedestrian's feet
Whole heaps of litter.
The traders all withdraw their fragile stock
Of lace and muslins,
Unable to withstand the testy shock
Of Autumn's tusslings.
Delaines and thibets float upon the air
In tempting manner,
And Balmorals are dancing everywhere,
Like many a banner.
And winter furs come on us unperceived,
Of fitch or sable,
And madam and the girls, their cloaks achieved,
Are comfortable.
And little Tommy takes his winter boots
From where he 's thrown them;
Alas! he tries, and finds that neither suits,
For he 's outgrown them.
-- 051 -- p676-064
[figure description] Page 051.[end figure description]
The vine looks sickly on the trellis high, —
The leaves all curling,
And every breeze that hastens rudely by
Sets them to whirling.
The old spout, hanging by a single nail,
Laments and mutters,
As if in meek remonstrance with the gale
That threatening utters.
The summer birds have left their breezy haunt
Among our branches,
And moved upon their regular annual jaunt
To warmer ranches.
Huge heaps of coal defile the sidewalk way,
And we — confound 'em! —
Must o'er their yielding heights a path essay,
Or travel round 'em.
And many bills thrust in their leech-like length,
With items fearful,
Testing the purse whose corresponding strength
Is never near full.
The biting airs the shrinking flesh appall
By sharp incisions,
And everything proclaims the approach of Fall,
Except provisions.
IKE'S SPRING MEDICINE.
“Isaac, what is the matter?” said Mrs. Partington,
in the morning, as Ike bounded into the room, jumped
over a table, kicked down a chair, and concluded with
turning a somerset, by which operation he succeeded
in knocking two plates from the dresser. “What ails
you? Are you possessed, or what? Such abolitions
of feelings are not pretty.” There was a severity
in her tone, and she stood looking at the boy through
her spectacles, as a pair of Lutheran windows might
-- 052 -- p676-065
[figure description] Page 052.[end figure description]
look down on a Bantam chicken. Ike stopped as
she spoke, but looked up roguishly in her face, while
he replied, “Did n't you tell me to take my brimstone
and molasses three mornings, and then skip
three? This is the first morning to skip, and I 'm a
doing of it.” The dame smiled slightly, as she replied,
“You must be more apprehensive in going through the
world, or you may get apprehended, my dear. It would
make you too sulfurious to take your spring medicine
every morning, so I thought you might pass over three
mornings.” — “Should n't I be a Jew,” said Ike, feeling
the shape of his nose, “to passover three mornings?”
Mrs. Partington, whether she was aware of the atrocity
or not, said nothing further, and Ike and Lion went out
for a roll on the grass.
PARTING.
We speak of parting o'er the opening grave
Where weary nature finds a fitting rest,
The while, to anxious doubts and fears a slave,
Dire anguish clouds the sunshine of the breast;
We speak of parting when we bid farewell
To some tried spirit kindred with our own,
And 'gainst the fortune doth the heart rebel
Through whose obtrusion those we prize have flown;
But, O! how feebly does the word convey
The thought of that black severance of fate,
When those we 've loved have torn themselves away,
And merged their friendship 'neath the clouds of hate! —
That living death, from dull indifference born,
That knows, to follow it, no resurrection morn.
-- 053 -- p676-066
ASSIMILATION.
[figure description] Page 053.[end figure description]
A word about diet — the matters that we eat, and
their effects upon us. We are made from the dust of
the earth, not by being shaped in the human mould and
pushed upon the stage to enact our part, but by eating
dirt-pies, made up in the several forms of beef and
mutton and vegetables, and grow to our limit of physical
life by the accretions of dust, in some form or
another, that we pick up as we go along. This is all
that it amounts to, and, however we may disguise it
with nice condiments, and lay claim to a higher origin
than dust, the fact is, nevertheless. Whether in form
of choice wines or rich preserves, or dishes whose delicacy
is the acme of desire, it resolves itself to this.
The question, then, comes up, like Sam Weller's of the
red-nosed man, with regard to the particular kind of
vanities that he preferred, which sort of dust is best?
Here is a chance for division, where individual tastes
will take issue. The lovers of beef and the lovers of
macaroni will contend for the mastery, — the animal
and the vegetable. It is, we think, an established fact
that a man partakes of the nature of what he eats. The
man who eats beef, for instance, becomes of most oxlike
and sinewy ponderosity, according to this rule, while
he who partakes of the delicate flesh of the marsh night
ingale must become indued with the flexibility of a
dancing-master. Feasters upon wild game and swift
fish are fast men, those who cotton to pop-corn are
remarkably snappy in conversation, while those who
indulge in apples or acid articles may be known by the
acerbity of their character. Narrowing the rule down
to sausages, those who fancy this sort of food are
remarkable for no particular trait, though their conduct
-- 054 -- p676-067
[figure description] Page 054.[end figure description]
is somewhat highly seasoned with a strong tendency to
the sage. It is not ascertained that eating tomatoes
will induce redness of the cheeks, or parsley any particular
facility for learning grammar, or walnuts any
higher aspirations; but this much we may be sure of,
that gross feed is inimical to clear thought, and moderation
in diet is a great helper to spiritual and intellectual
advancement.
COMPARISON.
I saw a Nun, upon a day, who moved,
In queer attire clad, and eyes cast down;
As though to breathe God's air were task unloved,
I gathered from the shadow of her frown.
Beside her walked a maiden bright and fair, —
A lovely one, with cheeks of ruddy hue;
Young loves lay nestling in the twining hair,
That round her head in sweet luxuriance grew.
A smile was on her lip, a contrast great
With the unbending parchment of the face
That by her gloomed, and on her seemed to wait
The blest attendants of a loving grace.
If which were holiest I were called to say,
The holiness of beauty would decide the day.
MALAPROPOS.
`I declare,” said Mrs. Partington, as Miss Waggles,
the daughter of the green grocer, looked in upon her
in the full feather of extreme fashion; “you look as if
you had just come out of the upper drawer, and smell
as sweet as the balm of Gilead.” Miss Waggles smiled,
smoothed down her stiff silk, — just bought, — and
tossed her head daintily, on the back of which hung the
new bonnet that she had come in on purpose to show.
-- --
[figure description] Blank Page.[end figure description]
-- --
[figure description] Illustration page.[end figure description]
-- --
[figure description] Blank Page.[end figure description]
-- --
[figure description] Blank Page.[end figure description]
-- 055 -- p676-072
[figure description] Page 055.[end figure description]
“Does that calico wash, dear?” asked the old lady,
without taking her spectacles from her forehead. She
did not see the blush that suffused the Waggles as the
green grocer's daughter informed her that it was silk.
“Dear me,” exclaimed she, taking hold of it; “so it is;
how well you have kept it! It looks as good as new.
If some girls had worn it, it would have all been in rags
before now. How long is it, dear, since it was dyed
and turned?” — “It is new,” said Miss Waggles, suppressing
a hoop and extending a spiteful feeling at the
same time. — “Is it, indeed?” responded the dame.
“Well, my visionary organs do deceive me so, that I
believe that I am growing near-sighted; but are you
going to have a new bonnet to match?” This was
putting the agony on too thick; it was the grain that
broke the back of the eamel. Miss Waggles remembered
that she had a sudden engagement and rose to
go, and a strange smile played around the mouth of
Mrs. Partington as her visitor sailed out of the door
like a line-of-battle ship. Ike watched her, and thought
what fun it would be to see her go up.
MRS. PARTINGTON ON SURPRISE PARTIES.
“They 're all very well, surprise parties are,” said
Mrs. Partington, laying her knitting-work in her lap,
and putting her specs up on the roof of her cap.
“They 're all very well where folks are prepared for
'em; where they have the sandwiches and cold ham all
cut and dried, with the lemonade in the goblins, and the
coffee in the tureen all ready to be turned out; but
where they come like an army, hungry as bears and
hypothenuses, and ready to eat one up, with no
-- 056 -- p676-073
[figure description] Page 056.[end figure description]
provisions made or cooked for 'em, — heaven help us! it is
trying. People may smile as much as they may, and
say they are dreadful glad to see 'em, and all that; but
my opinion is that they would be glad to see 'em a
good way off, all the time. But when they carry things
with 'em, as they do to ministers, and surprise 'em
with donations of doughnuts and silver plates, that is a
different matter. When our minister lost money in
railroad shares, that cut him off short, his perish gin him
a surprise party, and helped him along surprisingly.
They are good when they 're managed like that.” She
stopped as a beam of reflected sunshine came into her
eyes with blinding force, filling her with surprise, as the
sun lay by the west; but could she have seen the sly
look which Ike bore, on the opposite corner, as he
thrust a piece of looking-glass into his pocket, she would
have no longer wondered. That boy was evidently a
party to her surprise.
INDIVIDUALITY.
“I love to stand at the street corners,” said Dr.
Spooner, as he was standing, with his cane behind him,
on which he was leaning, looking up and down the
street. “Did the fact never occur to you,” continued he,
“that every one of those persons moving before you was
an individuality, an atomic component in the great aggregated
humanity, and yet an isolation, a microcosmatic
existence in a world of existences?” He looked at us a
moment, as if expecting an answer. Overwhelmed by
the profundity of the question, we remained silent.
“Yes,” continued he, lifting himself up by his cane,
“each individual is an individual world. All the love,
-- 057 -- p676-074
[figure description] Page 057.[end figure description]
hope, ambition, hatred, and devotion, revealed in the
grand macrocosm before us — the world — is enacted in
each little globe that moves by us, — forming the microcosm—
the individual. It is a grand study, sir. Man,
abstractly considered, is a broad sweep of the human
horizon with the glass of truth; individually considered,
the telescope is reversed, — revealing man infinitely
less, but still the same. I have stood here, by the hour,
reading the faces that have moved by me as the planets
move round the sun, presenting varied phases, — one little
world presenting the mirthful phase, another the sad,
another the anxious, another the fierce, — but how distinct
and beautiful the individuality! At such times I
think of the music of the lines describing the `solemn
silence' with which the planets revolve,
`Forever singing, as they shine,
The hand that made us is divine.'
These sing to me in their distinctness and silence, and”—
A boy passing at the time touched the Doctor's cane,
and, it being just when he was drawing himself up to
give emphasis to his sentence, he fell backward, with
considerable violence. He smiled as he gathered himself
up. “Human weakness,” said he, “may fall, but
eternal truth must stand.”
MISAPPREHENSION.
“Common taters!” said Mrs. Partington to herself, as
she waked out of a little nap in which she had been
thrown by a soporific preacher. “What has common
taters to do with the Gospel?” The preacher
had alluded to some commentators, the odd sound of
which tickled her ear and wakened her. “Common
-- 058 -- p676-075
[figure description] Page 058.[end figure description]
taters!” she continued; “well, all sorts of taters are bad
enough, and many of 'em are rotten clean through; and
if he is calling his hearers such names, heaven knows
where he 'll stop. Common taters, indeed! I 'll send
him a peck of uncommon ones to-morrow, and show him
that all of 'em an't alike.” She left the house with a
very indefinite idea of what he meant, but determined
to set him right on the potato question.
HOME MUSIC.
Music, in the concert-room, in the theatre, in the
church, is very excellent. In loving oneness with it,
the spirit is lifted up and made better through its influence.
But it is at home that the influence of music
exerts its greatest power, where from lips that we love
come the sounds of song in home strains, that fill the
house with celestial harmonies. When the day's endeavor
is over, and the mind, harassed with care, seeks
the relief of home; then, when, in slippers, we dissolve
connection with the world for a time, and shut it out
with the closing shutters, and we longing pray for the
nepenthe that shall lull us into forgetfulness, for a brief
season at least, of perplexing and vexatious business,
steals in upon us the voice of wife or child in some
sonnet of domestic tenderness, and we melt to tears, as
its mellifluous note trembles upon the sensitive ear like
the song the angels sing. Blessed exorcist of blue demons
is this domestic song. How they vanish in the
clouds that leave the brow and the heart! The room is
redolent with the frankincense of cheerfulness thrown
abroad from melodious censers by the invisible agencies,
who surround us with constant surprises of good,
-- 059 -- p676-076
[figure description] Page 059.[end figure description]
and love to abide with us when we open our hearts to
them.
“But when the heart is full of din,
And doubt beside the portal waits,
They can but listen at the gates,
And hear the household jar within.”
Enchanting power of domestic song! Greatest and
best of instrumentalities! The magnificence and stately
grandeur of genius may sound on loftier strings, but in
the littleness of song, the sweet wood-notes of home
delight, the heart finds its truest solace, and asks for
nothing more.
HARVEST HYMN.
God of the harvest! unto Thee
With grateful sense we bend the knee,
While to thy throne our thanks arise,
The full heart's earnest sacrifice.
God of the Seasons! God our trust!
Thy loving kindness from the dust
Has quickened with a living birth
The flower and fruitage of the earth.
Thy care has sent the sun and rain
To ope the bud and swell the grain;
Thy lavish hand has filled our store,
Till with thy gifts it runneth o'er.
O, may our hearts, dear Father, be
A field devoted more to thee,
Wherein may never dare intrude
That poisonous weed — ingratitude!
The seasons, as they come and go,
Thy constant love and goodness show!
O, may they, like the sun and showers,
Call forth our souls' divinest powers!
-- 060 -- p676-077
MRS. PARTINGTON ON HORTICULTURE.
[figure description] Page 060.[end figure description]
“So you take an interest in the science of the soil?”
said the neighbor, leaning over the gate, as he saw Mrs.
Partington with a bran-new garden-trowel, she had
bought of Curtis, hovering over some plants that she
was endeavoring to “set.” She arose from the dust of
the earth, as though so great a question should be
answered perpendicularly, and, wiping her hands on her
apron, said, smilingly as an open dandelion-blossom,
“Some.” — “You have many fine varieties, I see,” continued
the neighbor; “they display excellent taste.” —
“They smell better than they taste,” replied she.
“Some helly-o-tripes, over there, are very odious.” —
“Many fuchsias?” asked the neighbor. — “Some confusion,”
replied she; “but as soon as the borders are
deranged I think it will be very ambiguous. I do love
to see things growing! I think that is the beauty of a
garden, don't you?” The neighbor assured her that
he thought very much as she did, and deemed a garden
that had nothing growing in it must be a very dreary
place. “A perfect desert of Sarah,” said the dame,
breaking in like a sunbeam on a fog. — “Are your plants
not too near together?” the neighbor asked. — “O,
no,” she replied; “they are more sociable when they
are near together, and there 's no room wasted. It is
very pleasant to have grounds of one's own to cultivate;
and, if the cats don 't tear it up, my garden will
bloom by and by like a Paradox.” She struck the
trowel in an upright position, like a note of admiration,
as she concluded, and the neighbor went along. The
cats trouble the old lady's gardening operations, though
Ike has bought more than four quarts of torpedoes to
throw out at them.
-- 061 -- p676-078
A BIT OF NONSENSE.
[figure description] Page 061.[end figure description]
The sun was brightly shining down,
And there I saw him stand;
Upon his brow a darkling frown,
A lantern in his hand.
Anon he moved along the track,
And every face did scan;
I thought the cynic had come back
To find an honest man.
“Ha! old Diogenes,” cried I,
“This light your search bespeaks;
But is it here as vain to try
As 'mong the ancient Greeks?
Is honesty a thing as rare
As when in Athens' street
You first began your lamp to bear
The precious gem to meet?”
He turned about and grimly stood,
And held his lamp to me;
I marvelled at his surly mood,
Such impudence to see.
Said he, “Old chap, you 've quite mistook, —
I an 't the one you s'pose;
I 'm he who has to overlook
The gas-pipes when they 're froze.
“But this I 'll tell you while I can,
That you may heed as true:
Whene'er I want an honest man,
I shall not trouble you.”
I marvelled more such words to get
From that disgusting clown,
And took my tables in a pet,
And wrote the rascal down.
-- 062 -- p676-079
Shillaber, B. P. (Benjamin Penhallow), 1814-1890 [1859], Knitting-work: a web of many textures. (Brown, Taggard & Chase, Boston) [word count] [eaf676T].
|
