Chapter IV: Part 4

How huge his strength! and yet, with flowers
A child can lead this Ox of ours;
And yoke his ponderous neck, with cords
Made only of the gentlest words.

By fruitful Nile the Ox was Lord;
By Jordan's stream his blood was poured;
In every age--with every clan--
He loves, he serves, he dies for MAN!

And, through the long, long years of God,
Since labouring ADAM delved the sod,
I hear no human voice that mocks
The _hue_ which God hath given His Ox!

While burdening toils bow down his back,
Who asks if he be _white_ or _black?_
And when his generous blood is shed,
Who shall deny its common _red?_

"Ye shall not muzzle"--God hath sworn--
"The Ox, that treadeth out the corn!"
I think no Christian law ordains
That _Ox_ or _Man_ should toil in chains.

So, haply, for an Ox I pray.
That kneels and toils for us this day;
A huge, calm, patient, large-eyed Ox,
Black-skinned, among our herds and flocks.

So long, O righteous Lord! so long
Bowed down, and yet so brave and strong--
I think no Christian, just and true,
Can spurn this poor Ox for his _hue!_

I know not why he shall not toil,
Black-skinned, upon our broad, free soil;
And lift aloft his dusky frame,
Unbranded by a bondman's name!

And struggling still, for nobler goal,
With wakening will and soaring soul,
I know not why his great free strength
May not be our best wealth at length:

That strength which, in the limbs of _slaves_--
Like Egypt's--only piles up graves!
But in the hands of _freemen_ now
May build up states, by axe and plough!--

And rear up souls, as purely white
As angels, clothed with heavenly light;
And yield forth life-blood, richly red
As patriot hearts have ever shed.

God help us! we are veiled within--
Or white or black--with shrouds of skin;
And, at the last, we all shall crave
Small difference in the breadth of grave!

But--when the grass grows, green and calm,
And smells above our dust, like balm--
I think our rest will sweeter be,
If over us the Ox be--_free!_

HERE SHE GOES, AND THERE SHE GOES.

JAMES NACK.

Two Yankee wags, one summer day,
Stopped at a tavern on their way,
Supped, frolicked, late retired to rest,
And woke, to breakfast on the best.
The breakfast over, Tom and Will
Sent for the landlord and the bill;
Will looked it over:--"Very right--
But hold! what wonder meets my sight?
Tom! the surprise is quite a shock!"
"What wonder? where?" "The clock, the clock!"

Tom and the landlord in amaze
Stared at the clock with stupid gaze,
And for a moment neither spoke;
At last the landlord silence broke,--

"You mean the clock that's ticking there?
I see no wonder, I declare!
Though maybe, if the truth were told,
'Tis rather ugly, somewhat old;
Yet time it keeps to half a minute;
But, if you please, what wonder in it?"

"Tom, don't you recollect," said Will,
"The clock at Jersey, near the mill,
The very image of this present,
With which I won the wager pleasant?"
Will ended with a knowing wink;
Tom scratched his head and tried to think.
"Sir, begging your pardon for inquiring,"
The landlord said with grin admiring,
"What wager was it?"

"You remember
It happened, Tom, in last December:
In sport I bet a Jersey Blue
That it was more than he could do
To make his finger go and come
In keeping with the pendulum,
Repeating, till the hour should close,
Still--'_Here she goes, and there she goes._'
He lost the bet in half a minute."

"Well, if I would, the deuce is in it!"
Exclaimed the landlord; "try me yet,
And fifty dollars to be bet."
"Agreed, but we will play some trick,
To make you of the bargain sick!"
"I'm up to that!"

"Don't make us wait,--
Begin,--the clock is striking eight."
He seats himself, and left and right
His finger wags with all its might,
And hoarse his voice and hoarser grows,
With--"Here she goes, and there she goes!"

"Hold!" said the Yankee, "plank the ready!"
The landlord wagged his finger steady,
While his left hand, as well as able,
Conveyed a purse upon the table,
"Tom! with the money let's be off!"
This made the landlord only scoff.
He heard them running down the stair,
But was not tempted from his chair;
Thought he, "The fools! I'll bite them yet!
So poor a trick sha'n't win the bet."
And loud and long the chorus rose
Of--"Here she goes, and there she goes!"
While right and left his finger swung,
In keeping to his clock and tongue.

His mother happened in to see
Her daughter: "Where is Mrs. B----?"
"When will she come, do you suppose?"
Son!--"
"Here she goes, and there she goes!"
"Here!--where?"--the lady in surprise
His finger followed with her eyes;
"Son! why that steady gaze and sad?
Those words,--that motion,--are you mad?
But here's your wife, perhaps she knows,
And--"
"Here she goes, and there she goes!"

His wife surveyed him with alarm,
And rushed to him and seized his arm;
He shook her off, and to and fro
His finger persevered to go,
While curled his very nose with ire
That _she_ against him should conspire;
And with more furious tone arose
The--"Here she goes, and there she goes!"

"Lawks!" screamed the wife, "I'm in a whirl!
Run down and bring the little girl;
She is his darling, and who knows
But--"
"Here she goes, and there she goes!"
"Lawks! he is mad! What made him thus?
Good Lord! what will become of us?
Run for a doctor,--run, run, run,--
For Doctor Brown and Doctor Dun,
And Doctor Black and Doctor White,
And Doctor Grey with all your might!"

The doctors came, and looked, and wondered,
And shook their heads, and paused and pondered.
Then one proposed he should be bled,--
"No, leeched you mean," the other said,--
"Clap on a blister!" roared another,--
"No! cup him,"--"No! trepan him, brother."
A sixth would recommend a purge,
The next would an emetic urge;
The eighth, just come from a dissection,
His verdict gave for an injection.
The last produced a box of pills,
A certain cure for earthly ills:
"I had a patient yesternight,"
Quoth he, "and wretched was her plight,
And as the only means to save her,
Three dozen patent pills I gave her;
And by to-morrow I suppose
That--"
"Here she goes, and there she goes!"

"You are all fools!" the lady said,--
"The way is, just to shave his head.
Run! bid the barber come anon."
"Thanks, mother!" thought her clever son;
"You help the knaves that would have bit me,
But all creation sha'n't outwit me!"
Thus to himself, while to and fro
His fingers perseveres to go,
And from his lips no accent flows
But--"Here she goes, and there she goes!"
The barber came--"Lord help him! what
A queerish customer I've got;
But we must do our best to save him,--
So hold him, gemmen, while I shave him!"
But here the doctors interpose,--
"A woman never--"
"There she goes!"

"A woman is no judge of physic,
No even when her baby is sick.
He must be bled,"--"No, no, a blister,"--
"A purge, you mean,"--"I say a clyster,"--
"No, cup him,"--"Leech him,"--"Pills! pills! pills!"
And all the house the uproar fills.

What means that smile? what means that shiver?
The landlord's limbs with rapture quiver,
And triumph brightens up his face,
His finger yet shall win the race;
The clock is on the stroke of nine,
And up he starts,--"'Tis mine! 'tis mine!"
"What do you mean?"

"I mean the fifty;
I never spent an hour so thrifty.
But you who tried to make me lose,
Go, burst with envy, if you choose!
But how is this? where are they?"
"Who?"

"The gentlemen,--I mean the two
Came yesterday,--are they below?"
"They galloped off an hour ago."
"O, purge me! blister! shave and bleed!
For, hang the knaves, I'm mad indeed!"

DAVID AND GOLIATH.

Goliath gives vent to his arrogance in a bombastic style. This
should be borne in mind by the speaker. David, on the other
hand, expresses himself with modesty, but in a tone of
confident courage:

_Goliath._ Where is the mighty man of war, who dares
Accept the challenge of Philistia's chief?
What victor-king, what general drenched in blood,
Claims this high privilege? What are his rights?
What proud credentials does the boaster bring
To prove his claim? What cities laid in ashes,
What ruined provinces, what slaughtered realms,
What heads of heroes, or what hearts of kings,
In battle killed, or at his altars slain,
Has he to boast? Is his bright armory
Thick set with spears, and swords, and coats of mail,
Of vanquished nations, by his single arm
Subdued? Where is the mortal man so bold,
So much a wretch, so out of love with life,
To dare the weight of this uplifted spear?
Come, advance!
Philistia's gods to Israel's. Sound, my herald,
Sound for the battle straight!

_David._ Behold thy foe.

_Gol._ I see him not.

_Dav._ Behold him here.

_Gol._ Say, where?
Direct my sight. I do not war with boys.

_Dav._ I stand prepared; thy single arm to mine.

_Gol._ Why, this is mockery, minion; it may chance
To cost thee dear. Sport not with things above thee:
But tell me who, of all this numerous host,
Expects his death from me? Which is the man
Whom Israel sends to meet my bold defiance?

_Dav._ The election of my sovereign falls on me.

_Gol._ On thee! on thee! by Dagon, 'tis too much!
Thou curled minion! thou a nation's champion!
'Twould move my mirth at any other time;
But trifling's out of tune. Begone, light boy!
And tempt me not too far.

_Dav._ I do defy thee,
Thou foul idolator! Hast thou not scorned
The armies of the living God I serve!
By me he will avenge upon thy head
Thy nation's sins and thine. Armed with his name,
Unshrinking, I dare meet the stoutest foe
That ever bathed his hostile spear in blood.

_Gol._ Indeed! 'tis wondrous well! Now, by my gods!
The stripling plays the orator! Vain boy!
Keep close to that same bloodless war of words,
And thou shalt still be safe. Tongue-valiant warrior!
Where is thy sylvan crook, with garlands hung,
Of idle field-flowers? Where thy wanton harp,
Thou dainty-fingered hero?
Now will I meet thee,
Thou insect warrior; since thou dar'st me thus,
Already I behold thy mangled limbs,
Dissevered each from each, ere long to feed
The fierce, blood-snuffing vulture. Mark me well,
Around my spear I'll twist thy shining locks
And toss in air thy head all gashed with wounds.

_Dav._ Ha, say'st thou so? Come on, then; Mark us well.
Thou com'st to me with sword and spear, and shield;
In the dread name of Israel's God, I come;
The living Lord of Hosts, whom thou defi'st;
Yet though no shield I bring; no arms, except
These five smooth stones I gathered from the brook
With such a simple sling as shepherds use;
Yet all exposed, defenceless as I am,
The God I serve shall give thee up a prey
To my victorious arm. This day, I mean
To make the uncircumcised tribes confess
There is a God in Israel. I will give thee,
Spite of thy vaunted strength and giant bulk,
To glut the carrion-kites. Nor thee alone;
The mangled carcasses of your thick hosts
Shall spread the plains of Elah; till Philistia,
Through all her trembling tents and flying bands,
Shall own that Judah's God is God indeed!
I dare thee to the trial!

_Gol._ Follow me.
In this good spear I trust.

_Dav._ I trust in Heaven!
The God of battles stimulates my arm,
And fires my soul with ardor not its own.

In this dialogue, the first speech of Goliath is simple
vaunt. Confident in his huge bulk and strength, he strides
occasionally from side to side while speaking, elevating his
arms and throwing his limbs about as if anxious to display his
powerful sinews and muscular proportions. He speaks very loud,
as if willing to terrify all Israel with his voice.

In this second speech, Goliath partly stoops, half shuts his
eyes like a person endeavouring to discern some diminutive
object, and, after looking intently a short time, suddenly
straightens himself up to his full height, and says
arrogantly: "I see him not."

In his third speech, Goliath maintains the same ground, till,
in the conclusion, he seems, at last, to have perceived David,
and, turning away contemptuously, adds: "I do not war with
boys."

In the latter part of the dialogue, Goliath becomes really
furious, and is in haste to transfix David with his spear;
while David, on the other hand, becomes more calm, collected,
and observant as the critical moment approaches, thus denoting
his firm and unwavering trust in the God of Israel. David
makes but few gestures, but always assumes a reverential
attitude when he mentions the name of God--not puritanical
by any means, but expressive of humble hope and smiling
confidence.

THE WIDOW BEDOTT'S POETRY.

FRANCES M. WHITCHER.

Yes,--he was one o' the best men that ever trod shoe-leather, husband was, though Miss Jinkins says (she 't was Poll Bingham), _she_ says, I never found it out till after he died, but that 's the consarndest lie, that ever was told, though it 's jest a piece with everything else she says about me. I guess if everybody could see the poitry I writ to his memory, nobody wouldn 't think I dident set store by him. Want to hear it? Well, I 'll see if I can say it; it ginerally affects me wonderfully, seems to harrer up my feelin's; but I'll try. Dident know I ever writ poitry? How you talk! used to make lots on 't; hain't so much late years. I remember once when Parson Potter had a bee, I sent him an amazin' great cheese, and writ a piece o' poitry, and pasted on top on 't. It says:--

Teach him for to proclaim
Salvation to the folks;
No occasion give for any blame,
Nor wicked people's jokes.

And so it goes on, but I guess I won't stop to say the rest on now, seein' there's seven and forty verses.

Parson Potter and his wife was wonderfully pleased with it; used to sing it to the tune o' Haddem. But I was gwine to tell the one I made in relation to husband; it begins as follers:--

He never jawed in all his life,
He never was unkind,--
And (tho' I say it that was his wife)
Such men you seldom find.

(That's as true as the Scripturs; I never knowed him to say a harsh word.)

I never changed my single lot,--
I thought 't would be a sin--

(though widder Jinkins says it's because I never had a chance.) Now 't ain't for me to say whether I ever had a numerous number o' chances or not, but there 's them livin' that _might_ tell if they wos a mind to; why, this poitry was writ on account of being joked about Major Coon, three year after husband died. I guess the ginerality o' folks knows what was the nature o' Major Coon's feelin's towards me, tho' his wife and Miss Jinkins _does_ say I tried to ketch him. The fact is, Miss Coon feels wonderfully cut up 'cause she knows the Major took her "Jack at a pinch,"--seein' he couldent get such as he wanted, he took such as he could get,--but I goes on to say--

I never changed my single lot,
I thought 't would be a sin,--
For I thought so much o' Deacon Bedott,
I never got married agin.

If ever a hasty word he spoke,
His anger dident last,
But vanished like tobacker smoke
Afore the wintry blast.

And since it was my lot to be
The wife of such a man,
Tell the men that's after me
To ketch me if they can.

If I was sick a single jot,
He called the doctor in--

That's a fact,--he used to be scairt to death if anything ailed me. Now only jest think,--widder Jinkins told Sam Pendergrasses wife (she 'twas Sally Smith) that she guessed the deacon dident set no great store by me, or he wouldent a went off to confrence meetin' when I was down with the fever. The truth is, they couldent git along without him no way. Parson Potter seldom went to confrence meetin', and when he wa' n't there, who was ther, pray tell, that knowed enough to take the lead if husband dident do it? Deacon Kenipe hadent no gift, and Deacon Crosby hadent no inclination, and so it all come on Deacon Bedott,--and he was always ready and willin' to do his duty, you know; as long as he was able to stand on his legs he continued to go to confrence meetin'; why, I've knowed that man to go when he couldent scarcely crawl on account o' the pain in the spine of his back. He had a wonderful gift, and he wa' n't a man to keep his talents hid up in a napkin,--so you see 't was from a sense o' duty he went when I was sick, whatever Miss Jinkins may say to the contrary. But where was I? Oh!--

If I was sick a single jot,
He called the doctor in--
I sot so much by Deacon Bedott
I never got married agin.

A wonderful tender heart he had,
That felt for all mankind,--
It made him feel amazin bad
To see the world so blind.

Whiskey and rum he tasted not--

That's as true as the Scripturs,--but if you'll believe it, Betsy Ann Kenipe told my Melissy that Miss Jinkins said one day to their house, how 't she 'd seen Deacon Bedott high, time and agin! did you ever! Well, I'm glad nobody don't pretend to mind anything _she_ says. I've knowed Poll Bingham from a gall, and she never knowed how to speak the truth--besides she always had a pertikkler spite against husband and me, and between us tew I 'll tell you why if you won't mention it, for I make it a pint never to say nothin' to injure nobody. Well she was a ravin'-distracted after my husband herself, but it's a long story. I 'll tell you about it some other time, and then you'll know why widder Jinkins is etarnally runnin' me down. See,--where had I got to? Oh, I remember now,--

Whiskey and rum he tasted not,--
He thought it was a sin,--
I thought so much o' Deacon Bedott
I never got married agin.

But now he's dead! the thought is killin',
My grief I can't control--
He never left a single shillin'
His widder to console.

But that wa' n't his fault--he was so out o' health for a number o' year afore he died, it ain't to be wondered at he dident lay up nothin'--however, it dident give him no great oneasiness,--he never cared much for airthly riches, though Miss Pendergrass says she heard Miss Jinkins say Deacon Bedott was as tight as the skin on his back,--begrudged folks their vittals when they came to his house! did you ever! why, he was the hull-souldest man I ever see in all my born days. If I'd such a husband as Bill Jinkins was, I'd hold my tongue about my neighbors' husbands. He was a dretful mean man, used to git drunk every day of his life, and he had an awful high temper,--used to swear like all posset when he got mad,--and I've heard my husband say, (and he wa' n't a man that ever said anything that wa' n't true),--I've heard _him_ say Bill Jinkins would cheat his own father out of his eye teeth if he had a chance. Where was I? Oh! "His widder to console,"--ther ain't but one more verse, 't ain't a very lengthy poim. When Parson Potter read it, he says to me, says he,--What did you stop so soon for?"--but Miss Jinkins told the Crosbys _she_ thought I'd better a' stopt afore I 'd begun,--she 's a purty critter to talk so, I must say. I 'd like to see some poitry o' hern,--I guess it would be astonishin' stuff; and mor'n all that, she said there wa' n't a word o' truth in the hull on 't,--said I never cared two cents for the deacon. What an everlastin' lie!! Why, when he died, I took it so hard I went deranged, and took on so for a spell, they was afraid they should have to send me to a Lunattic Arsenal. But that's a painful subject, I won't dwell on 't. I conclude as follers:--

I'll never change my single lot,--
I think 't would be a sin,--
The inconsolable widder o' Deacon Bedott
Don't intend to get married agin.

Excuse me cryin'--my feelin's always overcomes me so when I say that poitry--O-o-o-o-o-o!

THE TWO WEAVERS.

HANNAH MORE.

This piece should be spoken in a simple, unaffected
conversational manner; still it admits of much quiet emphasis,
and subdued irony:

As at their work two weavers sat,
Beguiling time with friendly chat,
They touched upon the price of meat,
So high, a weaver scarce could eat.

"What with my brats and sickly wife,"
Quoth Dick, "I'm almost tired of life;
So hard my work, so poor my fare,
'Tis more than mortal man can bear.

"How glorious is the rich man's state
His house so fine, his wealth so great!
Heaven is unjust, you must agree;
Why all to him? Why none to me?

"In spite of what the Scripture teaches
In spite of all the parson preaches,
This world (indeed I've thought so long)
Is ruled methinks extremely wrong.

"Where'er I look, howe'er I range,
'Tis all confused and hard and strange;
The good are troubled and oppressed,
And all the wicked are the blest."

Quoth John, "Our ignorance is the cause
Why thus we blame our Maker's laws;
_Parts of his ways_ alone we know;
'Tis all that man can see below.

"See'st thou that carpet, not half done,
Which thou, dear Dick, hast well begun?
Behold the wild confusion there,
So rude the mass it makes one stare!

"A stranger, ignorant of the trade,
Would say, no meaning's there conveyed;
For where's the middle? where's the border?
Thy carpet now is all disorder."

Quoth Dick, "My work is yet in bits,
But still in every part it fits;
Besides, you reason like a lout--
Why, man, that _carpet's inside out_."

Says John, "Thou say'st the thing I mean,
And now I hope to cure thy spleen;
This world, which clouds thy soul with doubt
_Is but a carpet inside out_.

"As when we view these shreds and ends,
We know not what the whole intends;
So, when on earth things look but odd,
They're working still some scheme of God.

"No plan, no pattern, can we trace;
All wants proportion, truth, and grace
The motley mixture we deride,
Nor see the beauteous upper side.

"But when we reach that world of light,
And view those works of God aright,
Then shall we see the whole design,
And own the workman is divine.

"What now seem random strokes, will there
All order and design appear;
Then shall we praise what here we spurned,
For then the _carpet shall be turned_."

"Thou'rt right," quoth Dick; "no more I'll grumble
That this sad world's so strange a jumble;
My impious doubts are put to flight,
For my own carpet sets me right."

MISS MALONEY ON THE CHINESE QUESTION.

MARY MAPES DODGE.

Och! don't be talkin'. Is it howld on, ye say? An' did n't I howld on till the heart o' me was clane broke entirely, and me wastin' that thin you could clutch me wid yer two hands? To think o' me toilin' like a nager for the six year I 've been in Ameriky,--bad luck to the day I iver left the owld counthry! to be bate by the likes o' them (faix an' I'll sit down when I 'm ready, so I will, Aunt Ryan, an' yed better be listnin' than drawin' yer remarks)! an' is it mysel, with five good characters from respectable places, would be herdin' wid the haythens? The saints forgive me, but I 'd be buried alive sooner 'n put up wid it a day longer. Sure an' I was the granehorn not to be lavin' at onct when the missus kim into me kitchen wid her perlaver about the new waiter man which was brought out from Californy.

"He 'll be here the night," says she, "and, Kitty, it 's meself looks to you to be kind and patient wid him, for he 's a furriner," says she, a kind o' lookin' off.

"Sure an it 's little I 'll hinder nor interfare wid him nor any other, mum," says I, a kind o' stiff, for I minded me how these French waiters, wid their paper collars and brass rings on their fingers, isn 't company for no gurril brought up dacint and honest.

Och! sorra a bit I knew what was comin' till the missus walked into me kitchen smilin', and says kind o' shcared: "Here 's Fing Wing, Kitty, an' you 'll have too much sinse to mind his bein' a little strange."

Wid that she shoots the door, and I, misthrusting if I was tidied up sufficient for me fine buy wid his paper collar, looks up, and--Howly fathers! may I niver brathe another breath, but there stud a rale haythen Chineser a grinnin' like he'd just come off a tay-box. If you'll belave me, the crayture was that yeller it ud sicken you to see him; and sorra stitch was on him but a black nightgown over his trousers, and the front of his head shaved claner nor a copper biler, and a black tail a-hangin' down from behind, wid his two feet stook into the heathenestest shoes you ever set eyes on.

Och! but I was up stairs afore you could turn about, a givin' the missus warnin', an' only stopt wid her by her raisin' me wages two dollars, and playdin' wid me how it was a Christian's duty to bear wid haythins and taitch 'em all in our power,--the saints have us!

Well, the ways and trials I had wid that Chineser, Ann Ryan, I couldn't be tellin'. Not a blissed thing cud I do but he'd be lookin' on wid his eyes cocked up'ard like two poomp-handles, an' he widdout a speck or smitch o' whiskers on him, an' his finger-nails full a yard long. But it 's dyin' you'd be to see the missus a' larnin' him, and he grinnin' an' waggin' his pig-tail (which was pieced out long wid some black stoof, the haythen chate), and gettin' into her ways wonderful quick, I don't deny, imitatin' that sharp you'd be shurprised, and ketchin' an' copyin' things the best of us will do a-hurried wid work, yet don't want comin' to the knowledge of the family,--bad luck to him!

Is it ate wid him? Arrah, an' would I be sittin' wid a haythen an' he a-atin' wid drum-sticks,--yes, an' atin' dogs an' cats unknownst to me, I warrant you, which it is the custom of them Chinesers, till the thought made me that sick I could die. An' did n't the crayture proffer to help me a wake ago come Toosday, an' me a foldin' down me clane clothes for the ironin', an' fill his haythin mouth wid water, an' afore I could hinder squirrit it through his teeth stret over the best linen table-cloth, and fold it up tight, as innercent now as a baby, the dirrity baste! But the worrest of all was the copyin' he'd be doin' till ye'd be dishtracted. It's yersel' knows the tinder feet that's on me since ever I 've bin in this counthry. Well, owin' to that, I fell into a way o' slippin' me shoes off when I 'd be settin' down to pale the praities or the likes o' that, and, do ye mind! that haythin would do the same thing after me whiniver the missus set him to parin' apples or tomaterses. The saints in heaven could n't have made him belave he cud kape the shoes on him when he'd be palin' anything.

Did I lave for that? Faix an' I did n't. Did n't he get me into trouble wid my missus, the haythin? You're aware yersel' how the boondles comin' in from the grocery often contains more 'n 'll go into anything dacently. So, for that matter, I'd now and then take out a sup o' sugar, or flour, or tay, an' wrap it in paper and put it in me bit of a box tucked under the ironin' blankit the how it cuddent be bodderin' any one. Well, what shud it be, but this blessed Sathurday morn the missus wos a spakin' pleasant and respec'ful wid me in me kitchen when the grocer boy comes in an' stands fornenst her wid his boondles, an' she motions like to Fing Wing (which I never would call him by that name ner any other but just haythin), she motions to him, she does, for to take the boondles an' empty out the sugar an' what not, where they belongs. If you'll belave me, Ann Ryan, what did that blatherin' Chineser do but take out a sup o' sugar, an' a handful o' tay, an' a bit o' chaze right afore the missus, wrap them into bits o' paper, an' I spacheless wid shurprise, an' he the next minute up wid the ironin' blankit and pullin' out me box wid a show o' bein' sly to put them in.

Och, the Lord forgive me, but I clutched it, and missus sayin', "O Kitty!" in a way that 'ud cruddle your blood.

"He 's a haythin nager," says I.

"I 've found you out," says she.

"I 'll arrist him," says I.

"It 's you ought to be arristed," says she.

"You won't," says I.

"I will," says she; and so it went till she give me such sass as I cuddent take from no lady,--an' I give her warnin' an' left that instant, an' she a-pointin' to the doore.

THE BIG OYSTER.

A LEGEND OF RARITAN BAY.

GEORGE ARNOLD.

'Twas a hazy, mazy, lazy day,
And the good smack _Emily_ idly lay
Off Staten Island, in Raritan Bay,
With her canvas loosely flapping,
The sunshine slept on the briny deep,
Nor wave nor zephyr could vigils keep,
The oysterman lay on the deck asleep,
And even the cap'n was napping.

The smack went drifting down the tide,--
The waters gurgling along her side,--
Down where the bay glows vast and wide,--
A beautiful sheet of water;
With scarce a ripple about her prow,
The oyster-smack floated, silent and slow,
With Keyport far on her starboard bow,
And South Amboy on her quarter.

But, all at once, a grating sound
Made the cap'n awake and glance around;
"Hold hard!" cried he, "we've run aground,
As sure as all tarnation!"
The men jumped up, and grumbled and swore;
They also looked, and plainly saw
That the _Emily_ lay two miles from shore,
At the smallest calculation.

Then, gazing over the side, to see
What kind of a bottom this shoal might be,
They saw, in the shadow that lay to the lee,
A sight that filled them with horror!
The water was clear, and beneath it, there,
An oyster lay in its slimy lair,
So big, that to tell its dimensions fair
Would take from now till to-morrow.

And this it was made the grating sound;
On this the _Emily_ ran aground;
And this was the shoal the cap'n found,--
Alack! the more is the pity.
For straight an idea entered his head:
He'd drag it out of its watery bed,
And give it a resting-place, instead,
In some saloon in the city.

So, with crow, and lever, and gaff, and sling,
And tongs, and tackle, and roller, and ring,
They made a mighty effort to bring
This hermit out of his cloister.
They labored earnestly, day and night,
Working by torch and lantern light,
Till they had to acknowledge that, do what they might,
They never could budge the oyster!

The cap'n fretted, and fumed, and fussed,--
He swore he'd "have that 'yster, or bust!"
But, for all his oaths, he was quite nonplussed;
So by way of variation,
He sat him quietly down, for a while,
To cool his anger and settle his bile,
And to give himself up, in his usual style,
To a season of meditation.

Now, the cap'n was quite a wonderful man;
He could do almost anything any man can,
And a good deal more, when he once began
To act from a clear deduction.
But his wonderful power,--his greatest pride,--
The feat that shadowed all else beside,--
The talent on which he most relied,--
Was his awful power of suction!

At suction he never had known defeat!
The stoutest suckers had given in, beat,
When he sucked up a quart of apple-jack, neat,
By touching his lips to the measure!
He'd suck an oyster out of its shell,
Suck shrimps or lobsters equally well;
Suck cider till inward the barrel-heads fell,--
And seemed to find it a pleasure.

Well, after thinking a day or two,
This doughty sucker imagined he knew
About the best thing he could possibly do,
To secure the bivalvular hermit.
"I'll bore through his shell, as they bore for coal,
With an auger fixed on the end of a pole,
And then, through a tube, I'll suck him out whole,--
A neat little swallow, I term it!"

The very next day, he returned to the place
Where his failure had thrown him into disgrace;
And there, with a ghastly grin on his face,
Began his submarine boring.
He worked for a week, for the shell was tough,
But reached the interior soon enough
For the oyster, who found such surgery rough,--
Such grating, and scraping, and scoring!

The shell-fish started, the water flew,
The cap'n turned decidedly blue,
But thrust his auger still further through,
To quiet the wounded creature.
Alas! I fear my tale grows sad,
The oyster naturally felt quite bad
In spite of its peaceful nature.

It arose, and, turning itself on edge,
Exposed a ponderous shelly wedge,
All covered with slime, and sea-weed, and sedge,--
A conchological wonder!
This wedge flew open, as quick as a flash,
Into two great jaws, with a mighty splash
One scraunching, crunching, crackling crash,--
And the smack was gone to thunder.

A PRECIOUS PICKLE.

(FOR FEMALE CHARACTERS ONLY.)

CHARACTERS.

MISS REBECCA PEASE.
MRS. GABBLE.
JENNY FROST, } City girls on a vacation
BESSY SNOW, } in the country.
SADIE BEAN, }
SISSY GABBLE.
JUNO, Miss Pease's coloured help.

SCENE.--MISS PEASE'S _best room. Table_, C., _back. Chairs_, R. _and_ L. _Rocking-chair_, C. _Chair directly in front of the table._

_Enter_, L., JUNO; _costume, calico dress, handkerchief about her head in shape of a turban, broom in her hand._

_Juno._ Bress my soul! Nebber see, in de whole co'se ob my life, sich a galloping set as dem are city gals--nebber! For all de worl', jes like a flock ob sheep. Shoo! away dey go, from de cellar to de top ob de house--pell-mell inter de barn. Skipterty shoo, ober de fields; skersplash into de brook; don't keer for nuffin nor nobody. Can't keep de chairs straight, nor de flo' clean nor nuffin. (_Looks off_, R.) Now, now, now, jes look a dar! jes look a dar! See 'em scootin' round, chasin' dat are poor orphanless calf, what ain't got no mudder. Never did see nuffin like it, nebber. (_Sweeps violently._)

_Jenny._ (_Outside_, R.) Ha, ha, ha! If you don't stop, girls, I shall die.

_Bessie._ (_Outside_, R.) Ha, ha, ha! O, dear, there goes my hat!

_Sadie._ (_Outside_, R.) Ha, ha, ha! Do see him jump! [_All three enter_, R, _laughing._

_Jenny._ O, isn't this splendid! A country life for me.

_Bessie._ It's glorious! I could live here forever.

_Sadie._ So could I. No more city life for me.

_Juno._ Bress my soul! Goin' fur to stay here forebber! I'll jes' pack up my jewelry, and slope, for sartin'.

_Jenny._ Ah, there's Juno. O, Juno, isn't it most dinner-time? I'm so hungry!

_Bessie._ So am I--ravenous.

_Sadie._ I'm starving; slowly, but surely, starving.

_Juno._ Dinner! Why, bress my soul! yer hain't got yer breakfast digesticated yet. Well, I nebber, in de whole co'se ob my life, seed sich eaters--nebber. Six biscuit, four b'iled eggs apiece, and chicken; chicken by de dozen for dar breakfast; and now want dar dinner! Bress my soul! Doesn't yer git nuffin to eat in de city?

_Sadie._ O, yes, plenty; but not such biscuits as Juno makes.

_Jenny and Bessie._ Never, never!

_Jenny._ And eggs, girls! None cooked as Juno cooks them.

_Bessie and Sadie._ Never, never!

_Bessie._ And chickens! never so nice as those broiled by Juno.

_Jenny and Sadie._ Never, never!

_Juno._ Doesn't yers, honies? (_Grinning._) Dat's mean; dat's raal mean. Well, poor dears, I s'pose yers is hungry. Now you jes' wait and see what Juno can find for a lunch. [_Exit_, L.

_Jenny._ "A little _flattery_, now and then, is relished by the wisest men."

_Bessie._ And the darkest of our sex, Jenny.

_Sadie._ Yes; and "a _soft_ answer turneth away wrath." O, ain't we having a splendid time, girls?

_Jenny._ How kind of our parents, after eight months' hard study, to send us to this delightful place!

_Sadie._ O, it's splendid. We want nothing here.

_Bessie._ No, indeed. There's nothing left in that dry, hot city to be regretted.

_Jenny._ Stop. There is one thing I _should_ like.

_Sadie and Bessie._ What is that?

_Jenny._ One of mother's pickles.

_Sadie and Bessie._ What! a pickle?

_Jenny._ Yes. I'm dying for one of mother's sour, peppery pickles.

_Sadie._ O, don't, Jenny. Do you want to make me homesick?

_Bessie._ My mouth puckers at the thought. I want to go home.

_Enter_, R., SISSY GABBLE, _a very small girl, with a very large cape bonnet on her head, and a tin pail in her hand._

_Sissy._ If yer pleath, Mith Peath, if, if--Mith Peath, if you pleath--

_Jenny._ Why, who in the world is this?

_Sadie._ What do you want, little girl?

_Sissy._ Mith Peath, if you pleath, if, if--Mith Peath, to home, my mother thed--my mother thed. What did my mother thed? O, my mother thed, if Mith Peath is to home, to give Mith Peath her com--her com--to give Mith Peath her com--

_Jenny._ Her compliments?

_Sissy._ Yith ma'am, I geth tho; and tell Mith Peath, the thent her thome of her pickleth.

_Sadie and Bessie._ Pickles! O, you dear little thing!

_Jenny._ O, isn't she a darling! (_They all crowd round_ SISSY, _take off her bonnet, kiss and hug her._) Isn't she splendid?

_Bessie._ I'll take the pail, little girl.

_Sissy._ (_Putting pail behind her._) Yith marm; I geth not. My mother thed I muthn't give it to nobody but Mith Peath.

_Bessie._ Well, take off the cover, little girl. The pickles will spoil.

_Sissy._ I geth not. _My_ mother's pickleth _never_ thpoil.

_Jenny._ The little plague! Say, Sissy; do you like candy?

_Sissy._ Candy? Merlatheth candy?

_Jenny._ Yes.

_Sissy._ Ith it pulled?

_Jenny._ Yes, indeed; pulled white as snow. Give me the pail, and I'll find you a long stick of it.

_Sissy._ You ain't Mith Peath; and I don't like merlatheth candy white ath thnow. Where ith Mith Peath?

_Sadie._ Little girl, don't you want some red and white peppermints?

_Sissy._ No, I don't. I want Mith Peath.

_Bessie._ Or some splendid gum drops?

_Sissy._ No. I want Mith Peath.

_Enter_ MISS PEASE, L.

_Miss P._ And here she is, Sissy Gabble. What have you for me? (_The girls fall back in confusion, and whisper together._)

_Sissy._ Thome pickleth, Mith Peath, my mother thent you, with her com--her com--her com--

_Miss P._ Her compliments, Sissy. I understand. I'm very much obliged to her for sending them, and to you, Sissy, for bringing them so carefully. Here, Juno!

_Enter_, JUNO, L.

_Juno._ Yes, missis. Why, bress my soul! if dar ain't Sissy Gabble! Come right here, yer dear chile.

_Miss P._ Take her to the kitchen, Juno. Perhaps you can find a cake for her.

_Juno._ Guess I can, missis, sure for sartin. Come, Sissy Gabble, come right along wid Juno.

_Sissy._ Thay, Juno, who ith them? (_Pointing to girls._)

_Juno._ Why, bress yer soul, dem ar's de young ladies from de city, on dar vex--vex--on dar vexation. O, Sissy, dar drefful sweet.

_Sissy._ Thweet, Juno? I thpothe tho; they've got thuch loth of candy. But they didn't git my pail, tho!

_Juno._ Come along to de kitchen. Come.

[_Exeunt_ JUNO _and_ SISSY, L. _The girls gather about_ MISS PEASE.

_Jenny._ O, Miss Pease, I'm so glad Mrs. Gabble sent you those pickles, I'm so fond of them!

_Bessie._ Yes, Miss Pease; they're so nice!

_Sadie._ O, they're splendid! Do give us a taste.

_Miss P._ Stop, stop young ladies. While I cannot but be grateful to Mrs. Gabble for her kindness, I wish it had taken some other shape. I have long been of the opinion that pickles are unwholesome, and have never allowed them to be placed upon my table. And I am sure I should be disobeying the instructions I received from your parents--to provide you only wholesome food--did I permit you to taste them. For the present, I shall leave them here. (_Places pail on the table._) If you believe I have your interest at heart, you will not touch that which I have condemned. I know I can trust you. _Exit_, L.

_Bessie._ Well, I declare! The mean old thing!

_Jenny._ It's too bad! Nothing but blasted hopes in this world!

_Sadie._ Well, I don't care, I'm a going to have one of those pickles, if I die for it.

_Jenny._ Why, Sadie Bean, you don't mean it!

_Sadie._ Yes, I do. I know they _are_ wholesome, and my mother always allows me to eat them.

_Bessie._ I wouldn't touch one for the world. How impolite it would be, after Miss Pease has forbidden it!

_Sadie._ No; she didn't forbid it. She said, if we thought she had our interest at heart, we wouldn't touch the pail. Now I don't believe she has, when she wants to deprive us of such a luxury. I'm determined to have a pickle.

_Jenny._ You are wrong, Sadie, to think of such a thing. A Precious Pickle you'll make. (_Sits on sofa._)

_Bessie._ Nothing would tempt me. (_Sits on sofa._) How can you, Sadie?

_Sadie._ Pooh! Cowards! It's just as easy as croquet, when you make up your mind. (_Lifts cover, and takes out pickle._) A Precious Pickle. I'll taste, Jenny. Ain't they beauties?

_Jenny._ Quick, quick, Sadie; somebody's coming!

_Sadie._ Dear me! (_Claps on cover, runs and sits on sofa between_ JENNY _and_ BESSIE.)

_Enter_ JUNO, L.

_Juno._ Bress my soul! dars Missis Gabble a runnin up de walk like all possessed. Speck her house afire, sure for sartin. _Exit_, R.

_Sadie._ (_Tasting pickle._) O, ain't it nice! Bessie, run and get one.

_Bessie._ No, indeed; I shall do no such thing.

_Jenny._ O, Sadie, I wouldn't believe you could do such a thing.

_Sadie._ O, pshaw! It's all envy; you know it is.

_Enter_ R., JUNO, _followed by_ MRS. GABBLE, _who wears a calico dress, has her sleeves rolled up, her apron thrown over her head, and has altogether the appearance of having just left the wash-tub._

_Mrs. G._ Yes, Juno, poor Mr. Brown has shuffled off this mortal--what's it's name? (_Looks_ _at girls._) O, how do you do? I don't know how much he's worth, but they do say--Why, Juno, you've got a new calico--Fine day, young ladies.--They do say--Well, there, I oughtn't to speak of it. Got your washing out, Juno? I've been all day at that tub; and--Where's Miss Pease? I can't stop a minute; so don't ask me to sit down. (_Sits in rocking-chair and rocks violently._)

_Juno._ Yes, Missy Gabble, Missy Pease to home. Send her right up, sure for sartin. Bress my soul, how that woman do go on, for sartin. _Exit_, L.

_Mrs. G._ Ah, poor Mrs. Brown, with all them young ones. I wonder where my Sis is.

_Jenny._ I think she's in the kitchen, Mrs. Gabble.

_Mrs. G._ You don't say so? Stuffing herself, I'm sure. And poor Mr. Brown lying dead in the next house--and there's my washing waiting for soap--and there's Mrs. Jones hasn't sent my ironing-board home; and mercy knows how I'm to get along without it.

_Enter_ MISS PEASE, L. _During the dialogue between_ MISS PEASE _and_ MRS. G., SADIE _slyly eats her pickle, offering it to_ JENNY _and_ BESSIE, _who at first shake their heads, afterwards taste; the pickle is passed among them, and devoured before the conclusion of the conversation._

_Miss P._ Ah, Mrs. Gabble! I'm glad to see you. (_Takes chair and sits beside her._)

_Mrs. G._ And poor Brown is gone!

_Miss P._ Mr. Brown dead? This is sad news.

_Mrs. G._ I should think it was--and there's Skillet, the butcher, chopped off his thumb--and Miss Pearson fell down stairs and broke her china sugar-bowl--sp'ilt the whole set. As I told my husband, these expensive dishes never can be matched--and speaking of matches, Mrs. Thorpe is going to get a divorce. Jest think of it! I met her going into Carter's shop this morning. She had on that pink muslin he gave her for a birthday present--Jenkins has got a new lot of them, only a shilling a yard--speaking of yards, old Cooper tumbled into that miserable well in his back yard this morning. They pulled him out--speaking of pulling, Miss Tibbet was in to the dentist's this morning for a new set of teeth, and--Have you seen my Sis?

_Miss P._ O, yes. She's in the kitchen with Juno. And, speaking of Sissy, reminds me that I must thank you for sending me--

_Mrs. G._ My pickles? Yes. Well, I'm glad you got 'em. But I didn't have a bit of good luck with 'em. And, speaking of pickles, O, Miss Pease, that villain, Smith, the grocer, has been taken up. He's going to be hung. Nothing can save him.

_Miss P._ Mr. Smith arrested! For what pray?

_Mrs. G._ P'isoning! Jest think of it! And he a deacon in the church, and has such a splendid span of horses, and such an elegant beach wagon. I declare, the last time he took us to the beach I nearly died eating soft-shelled crabs; and my husband tumbled overboard, and Mr. Brown got sunstruck; and now he's gone! Dear me, dear me! And my washing ain't out yet.

_Miss P._ But tell me, Mrs. Gabble, what is it about the poisoning?

_Mrs. G._ Why, he or somebody else has been putting prussic acid in his vinegar, just at the time, too, when everybody's making pickles; and there's no end of the p'isoning he will have to answer for. Mrs. Jewel's just sent for the doctor, and Mrs. Poor's been dreadful all day, and Dr. Baldtop's flying round from house to house; and, O, dear--there's my washing! Who'll be the next victim nobody knows, I'm sure.

_Sadie._ (_Jumping up._) O, dear! O, dear! Send for the doctor, quick! I'm dying, I know I am. (_Runs across stage and sinks into chair_, R.)

_Miss P._ (_Running to her._) Bless me child, what ails you?

_Sadie._ I don't know; I can't tell. The doctor, quick!

_Mrs. G._ Deary me, she's took sudden, just for all the world like Susan Richie.

_Jenny._ (_Jumping up._) Water, water! Give me some water! I shall die if I don't have some water. (_Runs down and sinks into chair_, L.)

_Mrs. G._ (_Jumping up and running to her._) Gracious goodness! here's another! It's something dreadful, depend upon it. When folks is took sudden--

_Bessie._ (_Jumping up._) O, my throat! I'm burning up! Give me some ipecac. Quick, quick, quick! (_Runs round stage, then sinks into chair_, C.)

_Mrs. G._ There goes another! It's something dreadful, depend on it.

_Miss P._ What does this mean? Here, Juno, Juno! Quick!

_Enter_ JUNO, L.

_Juno._ Here I is, Missy Pease.

_Sadie._ Run for the doctor, quick, Juno!

_Juno._ (_Running_, R.) Bress my soul! I'll fetch him.

_Jenny._ No, no! Get me some water--quick!

_Juno._ (_Running_ L.) To be sure, honey; to be sure.

_Bessie._ No, no, Juno! some ipecac, or a stomach pump.

_Juno._ Pump, pump! Want de pump? I'll fetch it, I'll fetch it. Bress my soul, I'll fetch something. _Exit_, L.

_Mrs. G._ Well, if this ain't drefful!--washing-day, too--and the undertaker's jest as busy as he can be--there never was so much _immortality_ in this place, never. Poor critters! poor critters!

_Miss P._ Girls, what does this mean?

_Sadie._ O, Miss Pease, such agony!

_Bessie._ O, dear, what will become of me?

_Jenny._ O, this dreadful parching in the throat!

_Mrs. G._ O, I know it, I know it. I told my husband that something dreadful was a goin' to happen when he sold that colt yesterday.

_Miss P._ Sadie, what is the meaning of this. Your pulse is regular, your head cool, and your tongue clear.

_Sadie._ O, Miss Pease, it's those dreadful pickles.

_Mrs. G._ Yes, indeed, it is a drefful pickle--and so sudden, jest for all the world like poor Mr. Brown's sudden took, and these always seem to end fatally at some time or other--Dear me, dear me, and my wash--

_Miss P._ Pickles! Have you disobeyed me?

_Sadie._ I couldn't help it, Miss Pease; they looked so tempting. But I only took one.

_Bessie._ And I only tasted that.

_Jenny._ I only had one good bite.

_Sadie._ And we are poisoned!

_Bessie._ O, dear! poisoned!

_Jenny._ Yes, poisoned!

_Miss P._ How, poisoned?

_Sadie._ Mrs. Gabble says the vinegar was poisoned by Mr. Smith.

_Mrs. G._ Smith--vinegar--p'isoned! The land sakes! And I a good church member--and my washing--and poor Mr. Brown, tew. Well, I never! I'd have you to know that I bought no vinegar of Mr. Smith, I made my own.

_Sadie._ And your pickles were not poisoned?

_Mrs. G._ No, indeed. Never did such a thing in my life.

_Sadie._ O, dear! I'm so glad! (_Jumping up._)

_Bessie._ I won't have the ipecac. (_Rises._)

_Jenny._ My throat is decidedly better. (_Rises._)

_Enter_ JUNO _with a pail of water and a dipper._

_Juno._ Bress my soul, de pump was fastened down so tight couldn't git it up. Here's a pail of water; if dat won't do I'll git a tub.

_Miss P._ No matter, Juno. I think 'twill not be needed. Young ladies, I am very sorry--

_Sadie._ Please, Miss Pease, do not speak of it. I alone am to blame for transgressing your command, for such we should consider it, as you are for the present our guardian. Forgive me, and in future I will endeavour to control my appetite, and comply with your wishes.

_Mrs. G._ Well, I declare, I don't see the harm in eating pickles. My girls eat their weight in 'em, and they're just as sweet-tempered as--

_Miss P._ Their mother. Mrs. Gabble, it is not a question of harm, but of obedience, here. You see, the young ladies accept me as their guardian, and I only forbid that which I think their parents would not approve.

_Mrs. G._ And there's my washing in the suds! Where's my Sis.

_Enter_ SISSY GABBLE, L., _with a large slice of bread, covered with molasses._

_Sissy._ Here I ith, mother. Mith Peath thed I might have thumthin, and I like bread, and 'latheth.

_Juno._ Bress my soul! dat are chile jest runnin' over with sweetness, sure for sartin.

_Mrs. G._ Yes; and the 'lasses running all over the clothes! Come, Sissy, let's go home. I'm sorry, Miss Pease, you don't like pickles; and I'm sorry, young ladies, they disagree with you. And I'm sorry, Miss Pease, I left my washing.

_Miss P._ Now don't be sorry at all, Mrs. Gabble. I'm always glad to see you. Your gift was well-intended, and the young ladies have suffered no harm, perhaps received a wholesome lesson.

_Sadie._ I think we have. I shall be very careful what I touch.

_Jenny._ O, dear! such a fright! I shall never get over it.

_Bessie._ O, Sadie, you thought it was so nice!

_Jenny._ Yes, such a Precious Pickle!

_Mrs. G._ Of course it was. My pickles are the best made in town--precious nice, I tell you. Mrs. Doolittle always sends in for 'em when she has company; and the minister says they're awful soothing arter sermon.

_Sadie._ O, certainly; I've no doubt of it. But I've found that _stolen_ fruit is not the sweetest, and that mischievous fingers make trouble when they clutch what mine sought, and _made_ a Precious Pickle.

[_Curtain._]

MY MOTHER'S BIBLE.

MORRIS.

After once reading this sweet little poem, the student will
need no prompting to teach him that it is not possible for him
to deliver it with too much genuine emotion:

This book is all that's left me now!
Tears will unbidden start,--
With faltering lip and throbbing brow,
I press it to my heart.
For many generations past,
Here is our family tree;
My mother's hand this Bible clasped;
She, dying, gave it me.