Imágenes de páginas
PDF
EPUB
[blocks in formation]

the sloping sidewalk, quite free from
snow, over this they poured a dipper of
water, then waited. In a few minutes it
had frozen; then another dipper of water,
and another wait, until the path was
glass-like in its icy smoothness. A whisk
of the broom sent a light covering of snow
over it; the work was done, and the god-
less laborers, gathering up their tools,
scrouged themselves down on the door-
step and conversed pleasantly. Presently
the doors of the meeting-house opened,
and two lines of Friends-one made up
of males, the other of females-came out.
These lines, coming down the steps sepa-
rately, met and mingled in a crowd on
the pavement for a few moments, then
broke into twos and threes, and came
gravely down the sidewalk. Suddenly
the stillness of the night was broken by a
whack! whack! and two snorts that were
as one. A female Friend flew to the
rescue-whack! The whole congrega-
tion, filled with wonder, come ambling
down to the scene of disaster-whack!
whack! whack! groans and snorts,
'thees' and 'thous filled the air, and
with cheeks stained with tears of laugh-
ter, they sat on the step and 'took it in,'
those sons of Belial, since so well known
to the world as Joseph Jefferson and
John Ellsler."

A BREVET HORSE.

TOWARDS the close of our civil war, the government became somewhat lavish in the bestowment of brevet-titles upon officers of the army. As these titles advanced the rank without increasing the pay of the recipients, this sort of promotion had the two-fold advantage (from the governmental point of view) of gratifying the ambition of the officers thereby distinguished without making any extra drafts on the exchequer. Now as soldiers,

A COUPLE OF BAD BOYS. MISS Clara Morris gives this lively reminiscence of two well-known actors: "They were boys then; one tall, blonde, and lazy, the other short, dark, and active. It was Sunday night; every one had gone to the Quaker meeting-house a-especially the rank and file,-lead a few doors above. They were alone, without cards or checkers or books, but Satan came to the rescue. A certain proposal was drawled by the long chap, and eagerly accepted by the short one. They then put on their hats and coats, armed themselves with a broom, a pail of water and a dipper, and went forth into the still bitter cold of the night, and worked diligently. They swept a broad path over

somewhat monotonous life, the men eagerly seize on every fresh theme of conversation; and if a subject is capable of being presented in a ludicrous light, some of the men are sure to make it serve for their amusement. A matter of such purely military interest as official promotions, could not, of course, fail of comment around the mess-board and the camp fire,—particularly the very numer

ous promotions by brevet, which, in the estimation of some of the " boys" were rather empty honors. While the subject was still fresh, a brevet lieutenantcolonel of recent manufacture, observing a teamster severely beating a mule, rode up and demanded the cause of his rough treatment of the animal. The teamster, with a roguish twinkle of the eye, and a side-glance at the "boys" standing near, replied that "this plaguey brevet-horse wouldn't pull worth a cent, and he was just bound to make him." As the brevet lieutenant-colonel rode away reflectively he fancied he heard something very like the sound of suppressed laughter.

THE TROVERS.

SALMON of forty pounds' weight are sometimes caught in Loch Eck, a fact that renders the little inn at Whistlefield a favorite resort of solitary anglers. In reference to the quondam hostess of this inn, a celebrated living artist and enthusiastic fisherman tells the following story: "I was once fishing in Loch Eck," said the artist, "but had caught nothing, and on my arrival at Whistlefield, very hungry and thirsty, I inquired of the honest Highland woman who keeps the place if I could have any thing for dinner.

"Oo, ay!' she replied, 'ony thing you like to order, sir.'

"Well, then, can you let me have a little bit of salmon or a trout?'

"'A'm vara sorra, but there's no saamont and no troot. There were some trovers (drovers) here yesterday, and they just ate up a' the saamont and a' the troot. But you can have ony thing else you like.' "Can you let me have a beefsteak?' "It is beef ye ar' askin' for? Beef? There's na beef; do you think we can kill a coo?'

"Well, mutton-chops will do just as

well.'

[merged small][ocr errors][merged small]
[ocr errors]

"Ham-and-eggs! Lord save us! There's no a bit ham left in the hoose. The trovers, ye see-'

"Oh, confound the trovers! Can you give me some eggs without the ham?'`

666

''Deed, sir, that's just what I canna dae; the trovers! hech! they're hungry callants, and can eat mair eggs than a' the hens in the country-side can lay. They didna leave me a single egg for my ain supper yesternight; but ye can hae ony thing else ye like to ca' for.'

'Suppose, then, as you have no eggs, that you thraw (twist) the neck of the hen that laid them.'

""Deed, sir, I would dae that right willingly, but the trovers,-the trovers! They not only ate up a' the eggs, but the hen and the cock as weel!'

"Then I suppose I can have nothing, and must walk on to Kilmun?'

"Na, na! Wat for should ye do that? There's plenty in the hoose, if ye wad but just say what ye want.'

"Plenty of what?'

"Plenty of cake' (oat-cake), 'and butter, an' a bit o' ewe-milk cheese, and wuskey (whisky) enough to soom (swim) in.'

"So I took the oat-cake, and the fresh butter, and the whisky; and I advise nobody to expect any thing else at a Highland village."

A SUCCESSFUL TRICK.

A DUBLIN merchant named Johnson was very hard on his clerks, and when a visitor left the store without a purchase he would discharge the clerk. He took up a position near the door, and as customers passed out would inquire if they had been properly served. On one occasion a lady was negotiating with a clerk for a shawl, but the sale was not made. The clerk called the lady's attention to the old gentleman, who was, as usual, standing near the door, waiting to waylay the old lady with the customary question. "That old man," said the clerk, "is crazy. He may attempt to stop you as you go out, and you had best avoid him as he is sometimes dangerous." The lady started for the door, and as the old gentleman approached her, gave a shriek and darted out. Johnson was greatly astonished, and walking back to the clerk asked: "Do

you know that lady?" "No, sir," replied the clerk, "but I think she is crazy." You are right," returned the old gentleman, "she must be crazy."

"DON'T TALK TILL YE SEE FLYNN."

The penny fell down with a clatter and ring!

And back in his seat leaned the stingy

man,

"The world is so full of the poor," he thought:

"I can't help them all-I give what I can."

Ha, ha! how the sexton smiled, to be sure

To see the gold guinea fall into his plate! Ha, ha! how the stingy man's heart was

wrung,

Perceiving his blunder, but just too late!

"No matter," he said: "in the Lord's account

That guinea of gold is set down to me. They lend to him who give to the poor:

It will not so bad an investment be."

MR. PETERS has a tailor, named Timothy Flynn, in his employ. The domestic affairs of Timothy and his wife are not conducted with harmony. Broken heads and dismembered articles of furniture frequently attest this fact. Mrs. Flynn usually accompanies Timothy when he goes to the office on Saturday evenings to draw his wages, and as there is a difference of opinion between Mr. and Mrs. Flynn as to which of them has the right to assume the responsibilities of the position of financial agent of the family, the proceed- "Na, na, mon," the chuckling sexton cried ings are often of a tumultuous nature. Last Monday, Timothy did not come to work. On Tuesday, Mr. Peters went to his house to see him. He met Mrs. Flynn at the door. A black eye, a bruised nose and a triumphant smile were her most prominent features. "You seem to have been having a devil of a time, Mrs. Flynn," said Mr. Peters; "you are all broken up. Has- "Don't talk, Mr. Pethors. Lord love ye, don't talk till yo see Flynn."

[ocr errors]

"THE PENNY YE MEANT TO GI'E." THERE'S a funny tale of a stingy man,

Who was none too good, but might have

been worse,

Who went to his church, on a Sunday night,
And carried along his well-filled purse.

When the sexton came with his begging-
plate,

The church was but dim with the candle's light;

The stingy man fumbled all through his purse,

And chose a coin by touch, and not sight.

It's an odd thing, now, that guineas should be

So like unto pennies in shape and size. "I'll give a penny," the stingy man said: "The poor must not gifts of pennies despise."

out:

"The Lord is na cheated-He kens thee well;

He knew it was only by accident

That out o' thy fingers the guinea fell!

"He keeps an account, na doubt, for the puir:

But in that account He'll set down to thee

Na mair o' that golden guinea, my mon,
Than the one bare penny ye meant to
gi'e."

There's a comfort, too, in the little tale-
A serious side as well as a joke;
A comfort for all the generous poor,

In the comical words the sexton spoke;

A comfort to think that the good Lord knows

How generous we really desire to be, And will give us credit in His account For all the pennies we long "to gi'e."

In a parliamentary canvass for Westminster, Charles James Fox being a candidate, asked a blunt citizen for his vote. He received the following answer:-" Mr. Fox, I admire your head, but damn your heart." To which Fox immediately retorted "Sir, I admire your candor, but damn your manners."

HOW HE STOPPED CHEWING.

SMIKES made up his mind to stop chewing. He never was much of a chewer, anyhow, he said. He had n't used tobacco but for a few years, and rarely consumed more than an ounce paper in a day. But he feared the habit might get hold of him and become fixed, and if there was anything he abhorred it was to see a man become a slave to a bad habit. He had used the weed some, to be sure, but there had never been a time during the last ten years when he could not stop at any moment. But so long as he did not become habituated to its use, he did not care to stop. He could break it off at any minute, and it was a great satisfaction to feel so.

felt impelled to remark to himself that it was the easiest thing in the world to stop chewing.

He congratulated himself again and again that day that he did not become entangled in the meshes of the filthy vice, and he alluded to the matter three or four times that evening at the tea-table, till Samantha marvelled greatly at the firmness of Smikes. She had always heard, she said, that it was a hard thing to leave off. But Smikes had told her and kept telling her that it was "just as easy," and her reverence for the virile strength and independence of character of Smikes grew like a gourd. That night Smikes had the night-mare. He thought that a legion of foul fiends had got him up in a corner of the back yard, and had rolled upon his belly a monstrous quid of "fine cut," as large around as a cart-wheel, and that they were trying to force it into his mouth.

Thompson, he thought, was an abject slave to his pipe. He pitied Thompson, for he had seen Thompson try to stop Smikes struggled vigorously, and when smoking several times, and fail ignomin- Samantha shook him and asked him what iously every time he undertook it. But was the matter, his only reply was that Smikes wanted to show his wife how easy "anybody could stop chewing if they only he could quit. So Monday morning he made up their mind to it." The next day remarked carelessly to Samantha that he Smikes was a little nervous. He told guessed he would stop using tobacco. Sa- everybody who came in what a simple mantha said she was glad of it, and added thing it was to stop chewing. The third impetuously, what she had never said be- day he harped about it all day long. He fore-that it was a vile habit. Smikes told one man about it three different appeared a little nervous and confused times, and when that much-informed inwhen Samantha said this, and mumbled dividual ventured the opinion that he out something about being glad that he would be chewing again in less than a had never got into it himself. In his week, Smikes indignantly ejaculated: agitation he pulled out his tobacco box" Mr. Jenkins, when I make and was about to take a chew, when he to a thing that is the last of it.' recollected himself and plunged out of the door, forgetting his umbrella.

About half way to the office he met Jones, with whom he was having some business transactions. While they were talking the thing over, Smikes got a little enthusiastic, and he had almost reached the office before he noticed that he was rolling an uncommonly plump quid around his mouth like a sweet morsel. How it got there Smikes did not know. He puzzled over that little thing all the rest of the forenoon, and at last he took it out of his mouth and threw it away, satisfied that he must have taken it while talking with Jones. Twice that afternoon Smikes took out his tobacco-box and looked at it. Once he took off the cover, and smelled of the tobacco. It smelt so good that Smikes

up, my

mind

The fourth day Smikes heard that chamomile blossoms were sometimes used as a substitute for tobacco, and just out of curiosity he devoured a couple of ounces of them. He said to the druggist when he bought them, that it was easy enough to stop the use of tobacco. On the fifth day Smikes got sick. His nerves gave out. He snapped something at Samantha at the breakfast table, upset his inkstand, burnt his fingers poking some cinders out of the grate, and had no appetite for dinner. That day the devil whispered to Smikes that tobacco was really beneficial to some temperaments. Smikes had a temperament of that kind.

The sixth day Smikes felt like a murderer. He seemed to himself to have become transformed into a Modoc. His

mouth was dry and parched. A stout, healthy-looking old gentleman came into Smikes's office that day. He was a great friend of Smikes, and he drew forth his silver tobacco-box and daintily shook out a small portion of the pungent_weed. Smikes felt his mouth water. He remarked to Mr. Johnson that he had not chewed any for six days, and that he had refrained so long just to satisfy himself that anybody could chew or leave it alone. He was fully satisfied that it could be done, but he rather thought that his was one of those temperaments that are really acted upon in a beneficial way by the temperate use of tobacco.

Mr. Johnson said he thought so too, and as he handed Smikes his box, remarked that he had chewed regularly for thirty years, and didn't know as it had ever damaged him any. As Smikes rolled a large quid back into his left cheek, he said he thought there was a great difference in men. He was satisfied that he could stop chewing at any moment, but there were some temperaments to which a gentle narcotic or opiate was really a blessing.-Saratogian.

THE VICAR OF BRAY.1

IN good King Charles's golden days,
When loyalty no harm meant,
A zealous high churchman was I,
And so I got preferment.
To teach my flock I never miss'd

Kings were by God appointed,
And lost are those that dare resist

Or touch the Lord's anointed.

And this is law that I'll maintain
Until my dying day, sir,

That whatsoever King shall reign,

Still I'll be the vicar of Bray, sir.

When royal James possessed the crown,
And popery grew in fashion,
The penal laws I hooted down,

And read the Declaration:
The Church of Rome I found would fit
Full well my constitution;

1 In Berkshire. Nichols says, in his Select Poems, that the song of the Vicar of Bray "was written by a Boldier in Colonel Fuller's troop of Dragoons, in the reign of George L."

And I had been a Jesuit,
But for the Revolution.

And this is law that I'll maintain
Until my dying day, sir,
That whatsoever King shall reign,
Still I'll be the vicar of Bray, sir.

When William was our king declar'd,
To ease the nation's grievance,
With this new wind about I steer'd,
And swore to him allegiance.
Old principles I did revoke,

Set conscience at a distance;
Passive obedience was a joke,
A jest was non-resistance.

And this is law that I'll maintain
Until my dying day, sir,
That whatsoever King shall reign,

Still I'll be the vicar of Bray, sir.

When royal Anne became our queen,
The Church of England's glory,
Another face of things was seen,
And I became a Tory:
Occasional conformists base,

I blam'd their moderation,
And thought the church in danger was,
By such prevarication.

And this is law that I'll maintain
Until my dying day, sir,
That whatsoever King shall reign,
Still I'll be the vicar of Bray, sir.

When George in pudding-time came o'er
And moderate men look'd big, sir,
My principles I chang'd once more,
And so became a Whig, sir;
And thus preferment I procur'd
From our new faith's defender:
And almost every day abjured
The Pope and the Pretender.
And this is law that I'll maintain
Until my dying day, sir,
That whatsoever King shall reign,
Still I'll be the vicar of Bray, sir.

The illustrious house of Hanover,
And Protestant succession,
To these I do allegiance swear-
While they can keep possession:
For in my faith and loyalty,

I never more will falter,
And George my lawful king shall be-
Until the times do alter.

And this is law that I'll maintain
Until my dying day, sir,
That whatsoever King shall reign,

Still I'll be the vicar of Bray, sir.

« AnteriorContinuar »