Chapter 2

If you see ma leetle boy Dominique Hangin' on to poor ole "Billy" by de tail, W'en dat horse is feelin' gay, lak I see heem yesterday, I suppose you t'ink he's safer on de jail? W'en I'm lightin' up de pipe on de evenin' affer work, An' de powder dat young rascal's puttin' in, It was makin' such a pouf, nearly blow me t'roo de roof-- W'at's de way you got of showin' 'twas a sin?

"Wall! I put heem on de jail right away, You may bet de wan is got de beeges' wall! A honder foot or so, w'ere dey never let heem go, Non! I wouldn't kip a boy lak dat at all."

Dat's good advice for sure, very good, On de cellar, bread an' water--it'll do, De nice sweet castor ile geev heem ev'ry leetle w'ile, An' de jail to finish up wit' w'en he's t'roo! Ah! ma frien', you never see Dominique W'en he's lyin' dere asleep upon de bed; If you do, you say to me, "W'at an angel he mus' be, An' dere can't be not'ing bad upon hees head."

Many t'ank for your advice, an' it may be good for some, But de reason you was geev it isn't very hard to seek-- Yass! it's easy seein' now, w'en de talk is over, how You dunno ma leetle boy Dominique.

HOW BATEESE CAME HOME

W'en I was young boy on de farm--dat's twenty year ago-- I have wan frien', he's leev near me, call Jean Bateese Trudeau, An offen, w'en we are alone, we lak for spik about De tam w'en we was come beeg man, wit' moustache on our mout'.

Bateese is get it on hees head he's too moche educate For mak' de habitant farmerre--he better go on State-- An' so wan summer evening we're driving home de cow He's tole me all de whole beez-nesse--jus' lak you hear me now.

"Wat's use mak foolish on de farm? dere's no good chances lef', An' all de tam you be poor man--you know dat's true you'se'f; We never get no fun at all--don't never go on spree Onless we pass on 'noder place, an' mak it some monee.

"I go on Les Etats-Unis, I go dere right away, An' den, mebbe, on ten-twelve year, I be rich man some day, An' w'en I mak' de large fortune I come back, I s'pose, Wit' Yankee famme from off de State, an' monee on my clothes.

"I tole you somet'ing else also--mon cher Napoléon-- I get de grande majorité, for go on parliament, Den buil' fine house on borde l'eau--near w'ere de church is stand-- More finer dan de Presbytère, w'en I am come riche man!"

I say, "For w'at you spik lak dat? you must be gone crazee. Dere's plaintee feller on de State, more smarter dan you be; Besides, she's not so healtee place, an' if you mak l'argent, You spen' it jus' lak Yankee man, an' not lak habitant.

"For me, Bateese, I tole you dis: I'm very satisfy-- De bes' man don't leev too long tam; some day, ba gosh! he die-- An' s'pose you got good trotter horse, an' nice famme Canadienne Wit' plaintee on de house for eat--W'at more you want, ma frien'?"

But Bateese have it all mak' up, I can't stop him at all. He's buy, etc., seconde classe tiquette, for go on Central Fall, An' wit' two-t'ree some more de boy--w'at t'ink de sam' he do-- Pass on de train de very nex' wick, was lef' Rivière du Loup.

Wall! mebbe fifteen year or more since Bateese go away I fin' meself Rivière du Loup, wan cole, cole winter day. De quick express she come, horraw! but stop de soon she can, An' beeg swell feller jomp off car, dat's boss by nigger man.

He's dressim on de première classe, an' got new suit of clothes Wit' long moustache dat's stickin' out, de 'noder side hees nose, Fine gol' watch chain--nice portmanteau--an' long, long overcoat Wit beaver hat--dat's Yankee style--an' red tie on hees t'roat--

I say, "Hello, Bateese! Hello! Comment ça va, mon vieux?" He say, "Excuse to me, ma frien', I t'ink I don't know you." I say, "She's very curis t'ing, you are Bateese Trudeau, Was raise on just sam' place wit' me, dat's fifteen year ago?"

He say, "Oh yass, dat's sure enough--I know you now firs'-rate; But I forget mos' all ma French since I go on de State. Dere's 'noder t'ing kip on your head, ma frien', dey mus' be tole Ma name's Bateese Trudeau no more, but John B. Waterhole!"

"Hole on de water's" fonny name for man wat's call Trudeau; Ma frien's dey all was spik lak dat, an' I am tole heem so. He say, "Trudeau an' Waterhole, she's jus' about de sam, An' if you for leev on State, you must have Yankee nam'."

Den we invite heem come wit' us, "Hôtel du Canadaw," W'ere he was treat mos' ev'ry tam, but can't tak' w'iskey blanc. He say sat's leetle strong for man jus' come off Central Fall, An "tabac Canayen" bedamme! he won't smoke dat at all!

But fancy drink lak "Collings John" de way he put it down! Was long tam since I don't see dat--I t'ink he's goin' drown!-- An' fine cigar cos' five cent each, an' mak' on Trois-Rivières! L'enfant! he smoke beeg pile of dem--for monee he don't care!

I s'pose, meseff, it's t'ree o'clock w'en we are t'roo dat night. Bateese, hees fader come for heem, an' tak' heem home all right; De ole man say Bateese spik French, w'en he is place on bed-- An' say bad word--but w'en he wake--forget it on hees head.

Wall! all de winter, w'en we have soirée dat's grande affaire Bateese Trudeau, dit Waterhole, de be de boss man dere-- You bet he have beeg tam!--but w'en de spring is come encore He's buy première classe tiquette for go on State some more.

You 'member w'en de hard tam come on Les Etats-Unis, An' plaintee Canayens go back for stay deir own contree? Wall! jus' about dat' tam again I go Rivière du Loup For sole me two-t'ree load of hay--mak' leetle visit too.

De freight train she is jus' arrive--only ten hour delay; She's never carry passengaire--dat's w'at dey always say. I see poor man on char caboose--he's got heem small valise. Begosh! I nearly tak' de fit.--It is--it is Bateese!

He know me very well dis tam, an' say, "Bon jour, mon vieux. I hope you know Bateese Trudeau was educate wit' you. I'm jus' come off de State to see ma familee encore; I bus' mesef on Central Fall--I don't go dere no more.

"I got no monee--not at all! I'm broke it up for sure. Dat's locky t'ing, Napoleon, de brakeman, Joe Latour, He's cousin of wan frien' of me call Camille Valiquette, Conductor too's good Canayen--don't ax me no tiquette."

I tak' Bateese wit' me once more "Hôtel du Canadaw." An' he was glad for get de chance drink some good w'iskey blanc! Dat's warm heem up, and den he eat mos' ev'ryt'ing he see; I watch de w'ole beez-nesse mese'f--Monjee! he was hongree!

Madame Charette, w'at's kip de place, get very much excite For see de many pork an' bean Bateese put out of sight-- Du pain doré--potato pie--an' 'noder t'ing be dere, But w'en Bateese is get heem t'roo--dey go I don't know w'ere.

It don't tak' long for tole de news "Bateese come off de State." An' purty soon we have beeg crowd, lak village she's en fête. Bonhomme Maxime Trudeau hese'f he's comin' wit' de pries' An' pass heem on de "Room for eat" w'ere he is see Bateese.

Den ev'rybody feel it glad, for watch de embrasser, An' bimeby de old man spik. "Bateese, you here for stay?" Bateese, he's cry lak beeg bebé, "Bâ, j'eux rester ici. An' if I never see de State, I'm sure I don't care--me."

"Correc'," Maxime is say right off. "I place you on de farm For help your poor ole fader; won't do you too moche harm. Please come wit' me on Magasin, I feex you up--bâ oui, An' den you're ready for go home an' see de familee."

Wall! w'en de old man an' Bateese come off de Magasin Bateese is los' hees Yankee clothes--he's dress lak Canayen Wit' bottes sauvages--ceinture fléchée--an' coat wit' capuchon An' spik Français au naturel, de sam' as habitant.

I see Bateese de oder day, he's work hees fader's place. I t'ink mese'f he's satisfy--I see dat on hees face. He say, "I got no use for State, mon cher Napoléon. Kebeck, she's good enough for me--Hooraw! pour Canadaw."

THE JAPANESE REPORTER

We do not know to this day to what circumstance we owed the honour of appearing in print in Japan--whether we were mistaken for individuals of distinction, or whether we were considered remarkable on our own merits on account of being by ourselves; but we went downstairs fully believing it to be a custom of the country, a rather flattering custom, to which we were much pleased to conform; and this is a true chronicle of what happened.

It was a slender, round-faced youth who made his deprecating bow to us in the drawing-room. His shoulders sloped, his gray-blue kimono lay in narrow folds across his chest like what the old-fashioned people at home used to call a sontag. American boots were visible under the skirt of the garment, and an American stiff felt hat reposed on the sofa beside him. His thick, short black hair stood crisply on end, and out of his dark eyes slanted a look of modest inquiry. He was the most unaggressive reporter I have ever seen. His boots and his hat were the only things about him that I could connect with journalism, as I had previously been acquainted with it.

"How do you do?" I said, seeing that the silence must be broken and the preliminaries gone through with by somebody.

"Yes!" he responded, with an amiability that induced Orthodocia to get up hurriedly and look out of the window. "Did the radies arrive to the _Duke of Westminster_?" looking from one to the other of us.

"We believe they did!" gasped Orthodocia, and immediately looked out of the window again. I edged my chair toward the other window. Then the cloven foot appeared in the shape of a note-book. He produced it with gentle ostentation, as one would a trump card. The simile is complete when I add that he took it from his sleeve.

"How old is rady?" calmly, deliberately.

"I--I forget," falsified this historian; "forty-five, I believe."

The reporter put it down.

"Other rady, your friend,--not so old? Older? More old?"

"I am twenty-two years of age," said Orthodocia gravely, with a reproachful glance at me, "and I weigh ten stone. Height, five feet eight inches. In shoes, I am in the habit of wearing fives; in gloves, six and a half."

The reporter scribbled convulsively.

"Radies will study Japanese porryticks--please say."

"I beg pardon?"

"Yes." Fills another page.

Orthodocia, suavely, "Are they produced here to any extent?"

"We have here many porryticks--ribarer, conservative, monarchist."

"Oh!" more recourse to the window.

"Orthodocia," I said severely, "you may not be aware of it, but your conduct is throwing discredit upon a person hitherto fairly entitled to the world's good opinion--which is me. Continue to be absorbingly interested in that brick wall, and allow me to talk to the gentleman."

"We have come," I said distinctly--Orthodocia bears testimony to the fact that I said it distinctly--"to see Japan as far as Japan will permit. Her politics, system of education, customs, and arts will be of--ahem!--interest to us. We cannot truthfully say that we expect to penetrate more deeply into the national life than other travellers have done. In repressing this expectation we claim to be original. We confess that our impressions will naturally be superficial, but we hope to represent the crust so charmingly that nobody will ask for any of the--interior--of the--well, of the pie."

"That's equivocal," said Orthodocia, "and ridiculous."

"Notwithstanding the well-known reticence of the Japanese," I continued, "we hope to meet some of them who will show us something more of their domesticity than we can see through the windows."

"You will acquire ranguage of Japan?"

"Not all of it, I think. It seems a little difficult, but musical--much more musical than our ugly English," interposed Orthodocia.

"Yes. Will you the story of your journey please say?"

"Certainly. We came from Montreal to Vancouver by the C.P.R.--that is the best Western railroad on the continent, because it is built with English capital," bombastically. "Some people say that you never would have heard of Canada in Japan but for the C.P.R., but I am told that they are mostly jealous Republican Americans."

The reporter bowed.

"We travelled three thousand nine hundred miles by this route across the North-West and through the Rocky Mountains." Here Orthodocia dwelt upon the remarkable snow-sheds for protection against avalanches. She went on with vague confidence to speak of the opening up of trade between Canada and Japan by the new railway and steamship line, and I added a few remarks about the interest in Japanese art that existed in Montreal, and the advisability of the Japanese establishing firms of their own there; while the reporter flattered our eloquence by taking down notes enough to fill a quarto volume. We had never been interviewed before--we might never be again--and we were determined to make the occasion an illustrious one. We were quite pleased with ourselves as the nice little creature bowed himself out, promising to send us the fortunate _shimbun_ which would publish the interview, with a translation of the same, a day or two later.

I suppose it was Orthodocia's effect upon him--the effect I had begun to find usual--but he didn't send the _shimbun_; he brought it next morning with much apology and many bows. I have before me a pencilled document in the handwriting of three persons. The document contains the interview as it was set down in the language of the translator, who sat with an expression of unruffled repose, and spake aloud from the _shimbun_ which he held in his hand. Sometimes Orthodocia took it down, sometimes he took it down himself, sometimes I took it down while Orthodocia left the room. The reason for this will perhaps be self-evident. Orthodocia and I possess the document in turns, to ward off low spirits. We have only to look at it to bring on an attack of the wildest hilarity.

The reporter came entirely in Japanese costume the second time, and left his wooden sandals outside on the stairs. He left most of his English there, too, apparently, but he bowed all the way from the door to the middle of the apartment in a manner that stood for a great deal of polite conversation. Then he sat down and we sat down, and Orthodocia prepared to transcribe the interview which had introduced us to the Japanese nation from his lips. It was a proud, happy moment.

The reporter took the journal with which he was connected out of one of the long, graceful, flowing sleeves which make life worth living for masculine Japan. He told us that it was the _Hochi-Hochi-Shimbun_, and he carefully pointed out the title, date beginning and end of the article, which we marked, intending to buy several copies of the paper and send them home. We were anxious that the people there should be kept fully enlightened as to our movements, and there seemed to be a great deal of detail in the article. Its appearance was a little sensational, Orthodocia thought, but she silently concluded, with her usual charity, not to blame the reporter for that, since he couldn't possibly be considered responsible for the exaggerations of the Chinese alphabet.

"Yesterday," translated the reporter solemnly--I must copy the document, which does not give his indescribable pronunciation--"by Canada steamer radies arrived. The correspondent, who is me, went to Grand Hotel, which the radies is. Radies is of Canada, and in-the-time-before of Engrand. They have a beautiful countenance."

Here the reporter bowed, and Orthodocia left the room for the first time. I think she said she must go and get her pencil sharpened. She left it with me, however, and I took up the thread of the interview.

"Object of radies' rocomotion, to make beautiful their minds. Miss Elder-Rady answered, 'Our object is to observe habits, makings, and beings of the Japanese nation, and to examine how civirisation of Engrand and America prevails among the nation. And other objects is to examine the art and drawing and education from the exterior of the confectionery. In order to observe customs of Japan we intend to rearn a private house.'"

We were getting on swimmingly when Orthodocia reappeared, having recovered in the interval, and told the reporter that he must think foreigners very abrupt and rude, and that he really spoke English extremely well. To both of which remarks he responded, with a polite suavity that induced me to turn my back upon her in an agony of suppressed feeling, "Yes."

"Miss Younger-Rady-measuring-ten-stone-and-wearing-six-shoes-and-a-half, continue, 'The rai-road between the Montreal and Canada is passing----'"

"I beg pardon," said the unhappy Orthodocia, with an awful galvanism about the corners of her mouth, "I didn't quite catch what you said--I mean what I said."

The reporter translated it over again.

"Perhaps," said I nervously, "it's a misprint."

"No," the reporter replied gravely, "Miss Younger-Rady."

"Gracious!" said Orthodocia.

"And if by the rai-road we emproy the steamer, the commerce of Montreal and Japan will prevail. Correspondent asked to Miss Younger-Rady may I heard the story of your caravansery?"

Orthodocia again retired. It was a little trying for me, but when he continued, "She answered, 'From Montreal to Canada the distance is three thousand mires,'" I was glad she had gone. I am afraid I choked a little at this point, for just here he decided to wrestle with the pencil himself. When he handed the paper back again I read: "While we are passing the distance between Mount Rocky I had a great danger, for the snow over the mountain is falling down, and the railroad shall be cut off. Therefore, by the snowshade, which is made by the tree, its falling was defend. Speaking finish. The ladies is to took their caravansery attending among a few days. Ladies has the liability of many news."

"That last item," said Orthodocia, who had come in with the excuse of some tea, "is frightfully correct."

Having despatched the business of the hour and a half, the reporter began to enjoy himself, while Orthodocia and I tried to seat ourselves where we couldn't see each other's faces in the mirror over the mantelpiece. He drank his tea with his head on a level with the table, and if suction can express approval it was expressed. He said that there were fourteen editorial writers on his _shimbun_, and that its circulation was one million. Which shows that for the soul of a newspaper man Shintoism has no obvious advantages. He dwelt upon the weather for quarters of an hour at a time. The Japanese are such a leisurely people. He took more tea, by this time stone cold. He said he would bring a Japanese "gentleman and rady" to see us, and in response to our inquiry as to whether the lady was the wife or the sister of the gentleman, he said, with gravity, "I do not know the rady's wife." He asked us for our photographs, and when Orthodocia retired at this for the fifth time he thought she had gone to get them, and stayed until I was compelled to go and pray her to return. It was the ringing of the two o'clock lunch bell that suggested to him that the day was waning, and that perhaps he had better wane too.

THE GRAY LINNET

There's a little gray friar in yonder green bush, Clothed in sackcloth--a little gray friar, Like the druid of old in his temple--but hush! He's at vespers; you must not go nigher.

Yet, the rogue! can those strains be addressed to the skies, And around us so wantonly float, Till the glowing refrain like a shining thread flies From the silvery reel of his throat?

When he roams, though he stains not his path through the air With the splendour of tropical wings, All the lustre denied to his russet plumes there Flashes forth through his lay when he sings;

For the little gray friar is so wondrous wise, Though in such a plain garb he appears, That on finding he can't reach your soul through your eyes, He steals in through the gates of your ears.

But the cheat!--'tis not heaven he's warbling about-- Other passions, less holy, betide-- For behold, there's a little gray nun peeping out From a bunch of green leaves at his side.

THE AHKOOND OF SWAT

What, what, what, What's the news from Swat? Sad news, Bad news, Comes by the cable led Through the Indian Ocean's bed, Through the Persian Gulf, the Red Sea and the Med- Iterranean--he's dead; The Ahkoond is dead!

For the Akhoond I mourn, Who wouldn't? He strove to disregard the message stern, But he Ahkoodn't.

Dead, dead, dead; Sorrow Swats! Swats wha hae wi' Ahkoond bled, Swats whom he had often led Onward to a gory bed, Or to victory, As the case might be. Sorrow Swats! Tears shed, Shed tears like water, Your great Ahkoond is dead! That Swats the matter!

Mourn, city of Swat! Your great Ahkoond is not, But lain 'mid worms to rot: His mortal part alone, his soul was caught (Because he was a good Ahkoond) Up to the bosom of Mahound. Though earthly walls his frame surround (For ever hallowed be the ground!) And sceptics mock the lowly mound And say, "He's now of no Ahkoond!" (His soul is in the skies!) The azure skies that bend above his loved Metropolis of Swat He sees with larger, other eyes, Athwart all earthly mysteries-- He knows what's Swat.

Let Swat bury the great Ahkoond With a noise of mourning and of lamentation! Let Swat bury the great Ahkoond With the noise of the mourning of the Swattish nation!

Fallen is at length Its tower of strength, Its sun had dimmed ere it had nooned; Dead lies the great Ahkoond, The great Ahkoond of Swat Is not.

THE AMATEUR ORLANDO

It was an Amateur Dram. Ass. (Kind reader, although your Knowledge of French is not first-class Don't call that Amature.) It was an Amateur Dram. Ass., The which did warfare wage On the dramatic works of this And every other age.

It had a walking gentleman, A leading juvenile, First lady in book-muslin dressed, With a galvanic smile; Thereto a singing chambermaid, Benignant heavy pa, And oh, heavier still was the heavy vill- Ain, with his fierce "Ha! ha!"

There wasn't an author from Shakespeare down-- Or up--to Boucicault These amateurs weren't competent (S. Wegg) to collar and throw. And when the winter time came round-- "Season" 's a stagier phrase-- The Am. Dram. Ass. assaulted one Of the Bard of Avon's plays.

'Twas _As you Like It_ that they chose; For the leading lady's heart Was set on playing Rosalind, Or some other page's part. And the President of the Am. Dram. Ass., A stalwart, dry-goods clerk, Was cast for Orlando, in which rôle He felt he'd make his mark.

"I mind me," said the President (All thoughtful was his face), "When Orlando was taken by Thingummy That Charles was played by Mace. Charles hath not many lines to speak, Nay, not a single length-- Oh, if find we can a Mussulman (That is, a man of strength), And bring him on the stage as Charles-- But, alas! it can't be did!" "It can," replied the Treasurer; "Let's get The Hunky Kid."

This Hunky Kid of whom they spoke Belonged to the P. R.; He always had his hair cut short, And always had catarrh. His voice was gruff, his language rough, His forehead villainous low, And 'neath his broken nose a vast Expanse of jaw did show. He was forty-eight about the chest, And his fore-arm at the mid Did measure twenty-one and a half-- Such was The Hunky Kid!