Part 9

"And is it you, Paddy?" Tim asked; "or is it your ghost? For if it's your ghost I beg your honor ten thousand pardons for all the trouble I've given you, in making your honor run after me so far. And I beg your honor to forgive my auld father and mother, and my dear sister, and to forgive me too. And I humbly beg your honor will not haunt us, for it will be the bodily death of us all; but if we can do anything to give your blessid soul rest, tell me what it is and it shall be done. Where shall we bury your blessid feet? It was not our fault that this blood-thirsty baste, bad luck to it, ate you up last night, all but your honor's feet, bless them. Directly we found out the misfortune that had happened to your honor, for I went early to fetch you to the most iligant breakfast my mother could get ready, we all settled that the cannibal brute should no longer be one of our family, and I brought her to the market to sell. This is every word the blessid truth. So I beg your honor to forgive us, and may your soul rest in peace!"

"Stop," Paddy cried, "or yer'll be the rale death o' me." It was now Paddy's turn to fall, and he rolled about on the ground convulsed with laughter, for he now saw what a mistake Murphy's boots had led to. When he had recovered himself enough to be able to speak, he told Tim how all had happened, and advised him to take Katty home again directly, which he did, and Katty became even a greater favourite with the whole family than ever she had been.

XXXIV.

_The Three Men of Gotham on Nottingham Bridge._

You, of course, know that the good people of Gotham have been particularly noted for their wisdom; but if, by chance, this should not form one of the items of your varied knowledge, the stories I am about to relate will leave no doubt on your minds as to the justice of the report.

Whether it may be something in the air that has made these people so peculiarly gifted I cannot tell, for I must confess that I have never been at Gotham, and know absolutely nothing of the geological properties of the soil, or indeed of the neighbourhood in any way, excepting that Nottingham is the principal city of that part of the country.

You probably know, as well as I can tell you, what Nottingham is noted for, so I will say nothing about it, particularly as what I might and could say would in no way help us in clearing up the mystery, namely, why the inhabitants of one particular place should be mentally gifted beyond others. If, indeed, we were considering Nottingham itself I might attempt some sort of an explanation, by telling you that a great part of the business of the town being shoemaking would perhaps account for a contemplative turn of its citizens, for shoemakers are supposed to be men of deep thought. Why this should be so is another mystery requiring to be cleared up, which I will leave to others to do, and only just remark, that there can be no doubt several cases of men of thought and talent among that class might be cited. I will only mention the German shoemaker, of whom perhaps you have heard, who wrote up over his shop,--

"Hans Saxs shoe Maker and poet too."

That's not bad, particularly for a German.

But to return to Gotham, with which a consideration of Nottingham has nothing to do. We all know particular individuals who are shining stars, and even families of stars we know, but still that does not tell us how and why there should be a whole community of such extraordinary lights. We have confessed our inability to explain this in the case of Gotham, and therefore let us take a liberal view of the matter, and suppose that from generation to generation the children inherited from their parents such a happy development of brain, that it was utterly impossible they could be anything but wise. It might be worth a phrenologist's while to go down there. But mind, I am only speaking of what the people of Gotham were, for, as I said, I know, personally, nothing of the place, and at the present day all may be materially altered.

I cannot tell you exactly when it happened, but on a certain day, in a certain year, two men of Gotham met on Nottingham bridge. "Well met, Neighbour," said the one man, "whither are you going?" "I have just come from the market at Nottingham, and am going home to fetch my wife and child, whom I forgot," was the answer; "and pray where are you going, Neighbour?"

"I'm going to the market at Nottingham to buy sheep," said the first man.

"And which way do you intend to bring the sheep home?" asked the man who had come from Nottingham.

"Over this bridge," answered he who was going thither.

"But you cannot," said the one.

"But I must," said the other.

"But you shall not, Neighbour," said the man who was on his way home to fetch his wife and child.

"And why shall I not, Neighbour?" asked he who was going to Nottingham to buy sheep.

"You see," said the one, "that there is not room for my wife and child to pass, so keep them back, Man."

"I care not," said the other, "my sheep shall pass, so let your wife and child stand back."

"They shall not pass."

"But they shall pass."

"Woo! Woo! back there," shouted the one man, spreading out his arms and legs, as is done to keep sheep back.

"Woo! Woo! get on there," shouted the other, flourishing his stick, and striking the ground first on one side and then on the other.

"Take care, or you will drive them over my wife. But if she is hurt you shall pay the doctor's bill."

"I will not pay the doctor's bill. But you take care, for if you make my sheep jump over the side of the bridge and they are drowned you shall pay for them."

"I will not pay for them."

"But you must pay for them."

Whilst this dispute was going on another man of Gotham had ridden up, with a sack of meal behind him on his donkey, and hearing the quarrel between his neighbours about the one's wife, whom he had just seen safe at home, and about the other's sheep, when there were no sheep there, he got off his donkey and called to the two disputants to lift the sack of meal upon his shoulders. When they had done so, first untying the mouth of the sack, he emptied the meal over the side of the bridge into the river. Then, holding up the sack with the mouth down, before his astonished neighbours, he said,--

"Will you tell me how much meal there is in this sack?"

"Why, none," both said, "since you have just emptied it out."

"Well," he answered, "just so much wit is in your two heads when you dispute about wife and sheep, and neither wife nor sheep are here."

Now which was the wisest of the three?

[Decoration]

XXXV.

_The Man of Gotham and his Cheeses._

One hot summer's day a man of Gotham was on his way to Nottingham market to sell his cheeses, which he carried in a bag slung across his shoulder. He found the heat oppressive, and his load so troublesome, that he could not help bewailing his lot in the following words--"Unfortunate man that I am, why have I not a cart like neighbour Dobbins, or even a barrow like old Mathews? My good woman will make so many cheeses that I have no rest any market day. But now I have it; she is a shrewd woman, and I will propose to her to make the cheeses so that they can walk to market, and then I need only walk by the side of them, to see that they do not loiter or play by the way. I wonder she never thought of that."

This bright idea consoled him and made him forget even his load for a time, but it weighed so heavily upon him that he was soon recalled to his misfortunes, and as he trudged along he constantly changed the bag from one shoulder to the other. Now with these frequent changes the mouth of the bag had got loose, and just as he reached the top of the hill, looking down upon the bridge and Nottingham in the distance, one of the cheeses fell out and rolled down the hill.

He watched it for a time, and as it kept so well to the road, neither turning to one side nor the other, but jumping over the stones that lay in its way, he exclaimed in delight, "Well done, well done, keep on like that, my good friend, and you'll soon be at your journey's end! It was foolish of my old woman not to tell me that they could run by themselves, but now that I have found it out, I'm not going to carry the lazy things a step farther."

Having come to this wise resolution he bundled the cheeses out of the bag, and, as they rolled down the hill, cried after them, "There, follow your companion; but you need not run so fast, for I shall rest myself a bit and then walk leisurely after you. Now, mind you all meet me in the market-place." He watched them with the greatest satisfaction as they ran down the hill and over the bridge, when, the road turning suddenly, they were lost to his sight; and then, too, they all left the road, some running into one bush and some into another, whilst the rest got no further than the ditch by the roadside.

After a short rest the worthy man went on his way to Nottingham, without troubling his mind about the cheeses, as he fully expected to find them waiting for him in the market-place; but when he got there he was somewhat astonished to find that they had not yet arrived. "No doubt," he said to himself, "as soon as they were out of my sight they got to some of their games in some field or another. That is always the way, but they'll be here soon." When, however, the market time was nearly over, and the cheeses had not appeared, he inquired of the market people whether they had seen them. No one had seen his cheeses, and when he was asked who brought them he said,--

"No one brought them. Sure they were quite able to come by themselves, as you would say if you had seen them running along the road; but now I think of it, they were going at such a rate that they are no doubt half way on their road to York by now." So he hired a horse and rode off towards York to try and overtake them, but strange to say he did not overtake them, nor indeed did he ever see them again, nor hear any tidings of them.

[Decoration]

XXXVI.

_Twelve Men of Gotham go out Fishing together._

Twelve men of Gotham settled to go out fishing together; and, as the anticipation of pleasure is nearly worth the pleasure itself, they fixed the time a fortnight off, and each day during the interval made some preparation for the great day. The appointed day came in due time, and it was cold and drizzling; but the twelve met, for what true sportsman would allow weather to stop him? They were all in the highest spirits, and their conversation was of the wittiest and most brilliant description, as you will judge it must have been when you know more of the men. I do not attempt to give it you here, being well aware that I could not possibly do it justice.

When they got to the river-side, after a lengthy consultation, they settled that the fish would feel shy of coming to them, seeing so many together; and it was therefore agreed they should separate, all to meet again at the same place in five hours' time. After they had fairly divided their provisions into twelve parts, each took his share, and went whither his fancy guided him.

Exact to the time, the twelve again assembled together, and adjourned to a tavern, where it had been arranged the day should be finished in conviviality. They were cold and wet to the skin, but all declared they had had a delightful day, each reserving his adventures till they were comfortably seated together.

Most extraordinary adventures they had all had; for one related how, immediately that he had thrown his line, well baited with a worm, he hooked the most wonderful fish he had ever seen; for though it only appeared on the top of the water for a moment at a time, he could plainly discover that it was hairy, and had a long tail. He had given the creature line enough to play, but, when he had followed it more than a mile, the line unfortunately broke--for the beast was strong, being quite as large as a cat.

"That is extraordinary," another then cried, "for I, too, followed a hairy fish, such as I never saw before. You must know, as I went along looking for a likely spot, I frightened the creature from the bank, and it swam across the river. As quick as possible, I threw my worm just before its nose, but it would not bite, so, like a shot, I was in the water, and waded across after it. It took refuge in a hole, and when I put in my hand to catch it, it bit me so that I have not been able to use that hand all day, and no doubt that is the reason I have not hooked a single fish. The beast appeared, for all the world, like a rat."

A third then told his companions how he had wandered along the side of a river till he came to a mill, where, by the bubbles under the wheel, he could see that the water was swarming with fish. He threw in his bait, and almost immediately had a bite. He felt convinced that he must have hooked several large fish at the same time, for no single one could have pulled the line with such force. The line was strong, so that it did not break, and at length the rod itself was fairly dragged out of his hands, and for a moment disappeared under the water. The fish, however, must have broken away, for the rod appeared again entangled in the wheel, and was whirled round till it was dashed to pieces. Finishing the account of his startling adventure, he said, "I am sure, my Friends, that at that spot there will be plenty of sport for the whole twelve of us together; and had it not been for that unlucky accident of losing my rod, I should have brought fish enough for all our suppers."

Various were the adventures narrated, several of them having narrowly escaped drowning, as they said--only that the water was not deep enough. Amongst the whole twelve only one fish was produced--a small one, which its fortunate captor had found floating, dead, upon the water.

When the last of the twelve had finished his account, he said, "I am sure, my good Friends and Neighbours, that no twelve men ever had such an extraordinary day's fishing as we have had; and, had we not met with these unfortunate accidents, we should have brought home such strange fish, and in such quantities, that the account of our day's sport would have been inserted in all the newspapers. But, my dear Brethren, we have been in many great dangers, and I shudder when I think of it, that perhaps one of us has been drowned. Let us count, and see whether the whole twelve of us are safely here."

"Yes, let us count!" all exclaimed; "for perhaps one of our dear brothers is drowned, and what will his unfortunate widow do?"

Each of the twelve counted in turn, and each only counted eleven, omitting himself; and then all cried out, "It is but too true that one of our dear brothers is lost! Who shall carry the sad news to his widow? But first let us go back to the river, and look for the body."

These twelve wise men went down to the river, and searched every place where, during the day, either of them had been, but no body was found, which they bitterly bewailed, as it was deprived of Christian burial. They then drew lots which of them should inform the unfortunate widow of her dreadful loss; and when he on whom the lot fell inquired of the others to whose widow he should go, and no one could tell him, they bewailed still more bitterly that they could not discover which of their dear brothers was lost.

It happened that at this time a gentleman from the Court was passing, and seeing them in such distress, asked the cause.

They said, "This morning twelve of us came down to the river to fish, and one is missing, whom we cannot find."

Then the Gentleman said, "What will you give me if I find your missing companion?" To which they answered, that they would gladly give all the money they had if he could restore their lost brother to them.

He then made them stand in a row, and riding along the back of them gave each such a smart cut with his whip that they cried aloud with pain, and as they did so he numbered them; but when he came to the twelfth he thrashed him till he and all his companions cried out for mercy for him; and the Gentleman said, "This is the twelfth of you!" whereupon they thanked him for restoring their lost brother to them.

XXXVII.

_The Cobbler's Wager._

One fine summer's day a strong, active young man was sauntering along the Exeter road, with apparently no immediate object in view but to pass away the time, for he certainly seemed in no hurry to reach the place of his destination--if, indeed, such a thing was in his thoughts, as it undoubtedly should have been, for he was carrying home a pair of shoes he had taken the greater part of the week to mend.

You will guess by this that he was a cobbler by trade, and from the way he was going on we may, perhaps, form an idea how it is that cobblers are proverbially so little to be depended upon in the performance of a promise--at least, when that promise refers to their work.

The young man we are talking of was not fond of work, but, being a merry, jovial fellow, was much liked in the neighbourhood where he lived, more particularly as he was always ready to give a helping hand to any one who required the assistance of a strong arm, and never hesitated to neglect his own business to help others.

Perhaps, too, that sort of occupation was more profitable than mending boots and shoes, for he always seemed to have money to spare when he met any companions of his own stamp at the different road-side inns. He was now coming near to such a house, and was trying to find a good excuse to turn in--for the landlord, according to his words, was a man of the right sort--when a butcher, in his cart, carrying a calf he had just bought, whom he knew well, overtook him.

No excuse was, of course, required now to drop in at Tom Turner's, the landlord just mentioned, if even he had not been standing at his door, where, however, he was, ready to welcome them.

The three were soon merry enough over a jug of foaming ale; and the butcher, in particular, was in high spirits, for he had not only made a good bargain, but one he prided himself upon. The Landlord said to him, "I'm sure you've been playing your pranks off on some one, or that you've overreached some poor wretch in a bargain, makes you in such high glee this morning."

"Well, I've not done so badly, I think," the Butcher answered, rubbing his hands. "A little mother's wit in one's head is worth having, and where's the good if one doesn't use it? You must know I particularly wanted a calf this morning--indeed, I couldn't do without it, whatever price I had to give; and as I happened to hear yesterday that old farmer Hagan had some very fine ones, I went to him. Now I didn't tell him that I wanted a calf--leave me alone for that--but I said I wanted some sheep, which I knew he just happened not to have. He told me that he hadn't any, and, as I expected, then said he had some first-rate calves which he wished me to see.

"'I am very sorry to hear it, Neighbour,' I said; 'for calves are falling down to nothing in value since the celebrated Doctor Tweedle came into these parts. You know that he has declared veal to be the most unwholesome meat there is, and that eating it is little short of eating poison; so that no one will touch it. I have two of the most beautiful calves you ever saw, which I am but too happy to be able to get rid of at thirty shillings each--just half what I gave for them. A friend of mine has occasion for three, which he is going to send off to a distance; so I am glad to be able to do you a good turn, if you are willing to part with one of yours on the same terms; but it must be a good 'un.'

"Old Hagan was loath to part with one of his calves at such a price, but was so frightened by what I had told him, that he let me have the one that is outside in my cart, saying, 'I know, Neighbour, that you are not a man likely to be over-reached, and that you would not sell at such a price if you saw a chance of getting a better one.'

"Now," the Butcher continued, "does either of you think he could make as good a bargain as that?" And he chuckled, again rubbing his hands, as they both confessed that they gave in to him.

Shortly after, the cobbler rose to go, saying, as the butcher offered to give him a lift in his cart, that he was going another way; and as he went out, he made a sign to the landlord to follow him. When they were outside together he whispered, "I should like to play our boasting friend a good trick." "I wish, with all my heart, you could," the Landlord answered; "but he is a cunning fellow." "Cunning as he is, I've a great mind to steal the calf he's so proud of having cheated old Hagan out of, and then sell it him again, but at double the price," the Cobbler said. "He's too deep for you," said the Landlord; "you can't do it." "What will you bet?" the Cobbler asked. "Anything you like!" was the answer. "Well, then," the Cobbler again said, "let it be a gallon of your very best ale. Now you go back, and manage--as if without any particular motive--to tell our friend that you have a calf (that can be easily done as he is getting into his cart), when you may as well say that it is just like the one he has. You do this, and leave the rest to me."

"I hope, with all my heart, that you'll succeed," the Landlord said, as he went back into the house; and the cobbler hastened along the road which he knew was the butcher's way. When he had got some distance from the house, he dropped one of the shoes he was carrying home by the side of the road, where it would be sure to be seen, and then ran on some distance further, where he dropped the other shoe, choosing the spot close by an opening in the hedge by the road-side.

Shortly after, the butcher came the same way, still chuckling over his morning's bargain, and when he saw the shoe, drew in his horse. He was about to get out, when he thought better of it, saying, "There's some of that careless cobbler's work. He evidently has come this way, and dropped one of the shoes I saw him carrying--but I'm not going to take the trouble to carry it after him. Let him come back, and that will teach him not to refuse a civil offer again. If he had but dropped the pair, I should not mind getting out to pick them up--though certainly it would not be to give them to him, but to keep them myself."

With these friendly thoughts he drove on, and, before long, saw the other shoe. "Hallo!" he said; "why, that lazy rascal of a cobbler, rather than go back when he discovered the loss of the one shoe, has thrown the other away as useless; but I'll not be such a fool, and won't begrudge a little trouble for the sake of a good pair of shoes." So saying, he jumped out of his cart and picked up the shoe, and, finding it was a good one, ran back for the other, leaving his cart standing in the road.

No sooner had he turned a corner in the road, than the cobbler jumped out from behind the hedge where he had hidden himself, and having lifted the calf out of the cart, took it on his shoulders, and hurried back with his load, as fast as possible, a short cut to Tom Turner's house.