Chapter 30

_Smitherton_ (_after a pause_). "By the bye, Pratt, Kate has us completely. What fools we two are! Mr. Rumgudgeon, the matter stands thus: the earth, you know, is twenty-four thousand miles in circumference. Now this globe turns upon its own axis--revolves--spins around--these twenty-four thousand miles of extent, going from west to east, in precisely twenty-four hours. Do you understand, Mr. Rumgudgeon?"

_Uncle._ "To be sure--to be sure. Doctor Dub--"

_Smitherton_ (_drowning his voice_). "Well sir, that is at the rate of one thousand miles per hour. Now, suppose that I sail from this position a thousand miles east. Of course I anticipate the rising of the sun here at London by just one hour. I see the sun rise one hour before you do. Proceeding, in the same direction, yet another thousand miles, I anticipate the rising by two hours--another thousand, and I anticipate it by three hours, and so on, until I go entirely round the globe, and back to this spot, when having gone twenty-four thousand miles east, I anticipate the rising of the London sun by no less than twenty-four hours; that is to say, I am a day _in advance_ of your time. Understand, eh?"

_Uncle._ "But Dubble L. Dee--"

_Smitherton_ (_speaking very loud_). "Captain Pratt, on the contrary, when he had sailed a thousand miles west of this position, was an hour, and when he had sailed twenty-four thousand miles west was twenty-four hours, or one day, _behind_ the time at London. Thus, with me, yesterday was Sunday--thus with you, to-day is Sunday--and thus with Pratt, to-morrow will be Sunday. And what is more, Mr. Rumgudgeon, it is positively clear that that we are _all right_; for there can be no philosophical reason assigned why the idea of one of us should have preference over that of the other."

_Uncle._ "My eyes!--well, Kate--well Bobby!--this _is_ a judgment upon me as you say. But I am a man of my word--_mark that_! You shall have her, my boy (plum and all), when you please. Done up, by Jove! Three Sundays in a row! I'll go and take Dubble L. Dee's opinion upon _that_."

FOOTNOTES:

[456-1] A poet is born, not made.

THE MODERN BELLE

_By_ STARK

She sits in a fashionable parlor, And rocks in her easy chair; She is clad in silks and satins, And jewels are in her hair; She winks and giggles and simpers, And simpers and giggles and winks; And though she talks but little, 'Tis a good deal more than she thinks.

She lies abed in the morning Till nearly the hour of noon, Then comes down snapping and snarling Because she was called so soon; Her hair is still in papers, Her cheeks still fresh with paint,-- Remains of her last night's blushes, Before she intended to faint.

She dotes upon men unshaven, And men with "flowing hair;" She's eloquent over mustaches, They give such a foreign air. She talks of Italian music, And falls in love with the moon; And, if a mouse were to meet her, She would sink away in a swoon.

Her feet are so very little, Her hands are so very white, Her jewels so very heavy, And her head so very light; Her color is made of cosmetics (Though this she will never own), Her body is made mostly of cotton, Her heart is made wholly of stone.

She falls in love with a fellow Who swells with a foreign air; He marries her for her money, She marries him for his hair! One of the very best matches,-- Both are well mated in life; _She's got a fool for a husband, He's got a fool for a wife_!

WIDOW MACHREE

_By_ SAMUEL LOVER

Widow machree, it's no wonder you frown,-- Och hone! widow machree; Faith, it ruins your looks, that same dirty black gown,-- Och hone! widow machree. How altered your air, With that close cap you wear,-- 'Tis destroying your hair, Which should be flowing free; Be no longer a churl Of its black silken curl,-- Och hone! widow machree!

Widow machree, now the summer is come,-- Och hone! widow machree, When everything smiles, should a beauty look glum? Och hone! widow machree! See the birds go in pairs, And the rabbits and hares; Why, even the bears Now in couples agree; And the mute little fish, Though they can't spake, they wish,-- Och hone! widow machree.

Widow machree, and when winter comes in,-- Och hone! widow machree,-- To be poking the fire all alone is a sin, Och hone! widow machree. Sure the shovel and tongs To each other belongs, And the kettle sings songs Full of family glee; While alone with your cup Like a hermit you sup, Och hone! widow machree.

And how do you know, with the comforts I've towld,-- Och hone! widow machree,-- But you're keeping some poor fellow out in the cowld, Och hone! widow machree! With such sins on your head, Sure your peace would be fled; Could you sleep in your bed Without thinking to see Some ghost or some sprite, That would wake you each night, Crying "Och hone! widow machree!"

Then take my advice, darling widow machree,-- Och hone! widow machree,-- And with my advice, Faith, I wish you'd take me, Och hone! widow machree! You'd have me to desire Then to stir up the fire; And sure hope is no liar In whispering to me, That the ghosts would depart When you'd me near your heart,-- Och hone! widow machree!

LIMESTONE BROTH

_By_ GERALD GRIFFIN

"My father went once upon a time about the country, in the idle season, seeing if he could make a penny at all by cutting hair or setting rashurs or pen-knives, or any other job that would fall in his way.

Weel an' good--he was one day walking alone in the mountains of Kerry, without a ha'p'ny in his pocket (for though he traveled afoot, it cost him more than he earned), an' knowing there was but little love for a County Limerick man in the place where he was, an' being half perished with the hunger, an' evening drawing nigh, he didn't know well what to do with himself till morning.

Very good--he went along the wild road; an' if he did, he soon sees a farmhouse at a little distance o' one side--a snug-looking place, with the smoke curling up out of the chimney, an' all tokens of good living inside. Well, some people would live where a fox would starve.

What do you think did my father do? He wouldn't beg (a thing one of our people never done yet, thank heaven!) an' he hadn't the money to buy a thing, so what does he do? He takes up a couple o' the big limestones that were lying in the road, in his two hands, an' away with him to the house.

'Lord save all here!' says he, walking in the door.

'And you kindly,' says they.

'I'm come to you,' says he, this way, looking at the two limestones, 'to know would ye let me make a little limestone broth over your fire, until I'll make my dinner?'

'Limestone broth!' says they to him again: 'what's that, _aroo_?'

'Broth made of limestone,' says he; 'what else?'

'We never heard of such a thing,' says they.

'Why, then, you may hear it now,' says he, 'an' see it also, if you'll gi' me a pot an' a couple o' quarts o' soft water.'

'You can have it an' welcome,' says they.

So they put down the pot an' the water, an' my father went over an' tuk a chair hard by the pleasant fire for himself, an' put down his two limestones to boil, an' kept stirrin' them round like stir-about.

Very good--well, by-an'-by, when the wather began to boil--''Tis thickening finely,' says my father; 'now if it had a grain o' salt at all, 'twould be a great improvement to it.'

'Raich down the salt-box, Nell,' says the man o' the house to his wife. So she did.

'Oh, that's the very thing, just,' says my father, shaking some of it into the pot. So he stirred it again a while, looking as sober as a minister. By-an'-by he takes the spoon he had stirring it an' tastes it.

'It is very good now,' says he, 'altho' it wants something yet.'

'What is it?' says they.

'Oyeh, wisha nothin',' says he; 'maybe 't is only fancy o' me.'

'If it's anything we can give you,' says they, 'you're welcome to it.'

''Tis very good as it is,' says he; 'but when I'm at home, I find it gives it a fine flavor just to boil a little knuckle o' bacon, or mutton trotters, or anything that way along with it.'

'Raich hether that bone o' sheep's head we had at dinner yesterday, Nell,' says the man o' the house.

'Oyeh, don't mind it,' says my father; 'let it be as it is.'

'Sure if it improves it, you may as well,' says they.

'Baithershin!' says my father, putting it down.

So after boiling it a good piece longer, ''Tis fine limestone broth,' says he, 'as ever was tasted, and if a man had a few piatez,' says he, looking at a pot o' them that was smoking in the chimney corner, 'he couldn't desire a better dinner.'

They gave him the piatez, and he made a good dinner of themselves and the broth, not forgetting the bone, which he polished equal to chaney before he let it go. The people themselves tasted it, an' tho't it as good as any mutton broth in the world."

THE KNOCKOUT

_Adapted From The Autobiography of_ DAVY CROCKETT

One day as I was walking through the woods, I came to a clearing on a hillside, and as I climbed the slope I was startled by loud, profane and boisterous voices which seemed to proceed from a thick cover of undergrowth about two hundred yards in advance of me.

"You kin, kin you?"

"Yes I kin and I'm able to do it! Boo-oo-oo!--O wake snakes, brimstone and fire! Don't hold me, Nick Stoval; the fight's made up and I'll jump down your throat before you kin say 'quit.'"

"Now Nick, don't hold him! Just let the wildcat come, and I'll tame him. Ned'll see me a fair fight, won't you Ned?"

"O yes, I'll see you a fair fight; blast my old shoes if I don't."

"That's sufficient, as Tom Haines said when he saw the elephant; now let him come."

Thus they went on with countless oaths and with much that I could not distinctly hear. In mercy's name, I thought, what a band of ruffians is at work here. I quickened my gait and had come nearly opposite the thick grove, whence the noises proceeded, when my eye caught, indistinctly through the foliage of the scrub oaks and hickories that intervened, glimpses of a man or men who seemed to be in a violent struggle. Occasionally, too, I could catch those deep-drawn, emphatic oaths which men utter when they deal heavy blows in conflict. As I was hurrying to the spot, I saw the combatants fall to the ground, and after a short struggle I saw the uppermost one (for I could not see the others) make a heavy plunge with both his thumbs. At the same instant I heard a cry in the accent of keenest torture--"Enough, my eye is out."

For a moment I stood completely horror-struck. The accomplices in this brutal deed had apparently all fled at my approach, for not a one was to be seen.

"Now blast your corn-shucking soul," said the victor, a lad of about eighteen, as he arose from the ground, "come cuttin' your shines 'bout me agin next time I come to the court-house will you? Get your owl-eye in agin if you kin."

At this moment he saw me for the first time. He looked frightened and was about to run away when I called out--"Come back, you brute, and help me relieve the poor critter you have ruined forever."

Upon this rough salutation he stopped, and with a taunting curl of the nose, replied. "You needn't kick before you're spurred. There an't nobody here nor han't been, nuther. I was just seeing how I could have fout." So saying, he pointed to his plow, which stood in the corner of the fence about fifty yards from the battle ground. Would any man in his senses believe that a rational being could make such a fool of himself? All that I had heard and seen was nothing more nor less than a rehearsal of a knock-down and drag-out fight in which the young man had played all the parts for his own amusement. I went to the ground from which he had risen, and there were the prints of his two thumbs plunged up to the balls in the mellow earth, and the ground around was broken up as if two stags had been fighting on it.

As I resumed my journey, I laughed outright at this adventure, for it reminded me of Andrew Jackson's attack on the United States bank. He had magnified it into a monster and then began to swear and gouge until he thought he had the monster on his back, and when the fight was over and he got up to look for his enemy, he could find none anywhere.

THE COUNTRY SQUIRE

_Translated From The Spanish of_ THOMAS YRIARTE

A country squire of greater wealth than wit (For fools are often blessed with fortune's smile), Had built a splendid house and furnished it In splendid style.

"One thing is wanting," said a friend; "for though The rooms are fine, the furniture profuse, You lack a library, dear sir, for show, If not for use."

"'Tis true, but zounds!" replied the squire with glee, "The lumber-room in yonder northern wing (I wonder I ne'er thought of it) will be The very thing.

"I'll have it fitted up without delay With shelves and presses of the newest mode, And rarest wood, befitting every way A squire's abode.

"And when the whole is ready, I'll dispatch My coachman--a most knowing fellow--down To buy me, by admeasurement, a batch Of books in town."

But ere the library was half supplied With all its pomps of cabinet and shelf, The booby squire repented him, and cried Unto himself:

"This room is much more roomy than I thought; Ten thousand volumes hardly would suffice To fill it, and would cost, however bought, A plaguey price.

"Now, as I only want them for their looks, It might, on second thoughts, be just as good, And cost me next to nothing, if the books Were made of wood.

"It shall be so, I'll give the shaven deal A coat of paint--a colorable dress, To look like calf or vellum and conceal Its nakedness.

"And, gilt and lettered with the author's name, Whatever is most excellent and rare Shall be, or seem to be ('tis all the same), Assembled there."

The work was done, the simulated hoards Of wit and wisdom round the chamber stood, In binding some; and some, of course, in _boards_ Where all were wood.

From bulky folios down to slender twelves The choicest tomes, in many an even row Displayed their lettered backs upon the shelves, A goodly show.

With such a stock as seemingly surpassed The best collections ever formed in Spain, What wonder if the owner grew at last Supremely vain?

What wonder, as he paced from shelf to shelf And conned their titles, that the squire began, Despite his ignorance, to think himself A learned man?

Let every amateur, who merely looks To backs and binding, take the hint, and sell His costly library--_for painted books Would serve as well_.

Poetry means more to us and we get more enjoyment from reading it when we understand some of the difficulties that the poet has in writing it and can recognize those things which make it poetry in form.

For instance, you will notice in the poem which we have just read that every stanza has four lines; that, in printing, the first and third lines begin close to the margin, while the second and fourth lines begin a little farther in on the page--that is, they are _indented_. Now if you will look at the ends of the lines you will see that the words with which the first and third lines terminate are in rhyme, and that the words with which the second and fourth lines terminate are in rhyme. In other words, the indentation at beginning of lines in poetry calls attention to the rhymes.

It is true throughout _The Country Squire_ that every pair of lines taken alternately ends in rhymes which are perfect or nearly so. Now a perfect rhyme is one in which the two rhyming syllables are both accented, the vowel sound and the consonants which follow the vowels are identical, and the sounds preceding the vowel are different. For instance, the words _smile_ and _style_ rhyme. Both of these are monosyllables and hence accented. The vowel sound is the long sound of _i_; the consonant sound of _l_ follows. The sounds preceding the _i_ are similar but not identical, represented by _sm_ in the first case and _st_ in the second. In the fifth stanza the first line ends with the word _dispatch_, the third with the word _batch_. This rhyme is perfect, because the accent on the word _dispatch_ is naturally on the second syllable. In the ninth stanza the word _dress_ is made to rhyme with _nakedness_. This is not strictly perfect, for the natural accent of _nakedness_ is on the first syllable.

It may be interesting for beginners to work out the rhyme scheme of a poem and write it down. This is very easily done. Take the first stanza in _The Country Squire_. Represent the rhyming syllable of the first line by _a_, the rhyming syllable of the second line by _b_. It follows then that the rhyming syllable of the third line must be represented by _a_, and the rhyming syllable of the fourth line by _b_. Writing these letters in succession we have the nonsense word _abab_, which will always stand for stanzas of this kind. If you are interested in this turn to the studies at the end of the next poem, _To My Infant Son_.

TO MY INFANT SON

_By_ Thomas Hood

Thou happy, happy elf! (But stop, first let me kiss away that tear,) Thou tiny image of myself! (My love, he's poking peas into his ear,) Thou merry, laughing sprite, With spirits, feather light, Untouched by sorrow, and unsoiled by sin; (My dear, the child is swallowing a pin!)

Thou little tricksy Puck! With antic toys so funnily bestuck, Light as the singing bird that rings the air,-- (The door! the door! he'll tumble down the stair!) Thou darling of thy sire! (Why, Jane, he'll set his pinafore afire!) Thou imp of mirth and joy! In love's dear chain so bright a link, Thou idol of thy parents;--(Drat the boy! There goes my ink.)

Thou cherub, but of earth; Fit playfellow for fairies, by moonlight pale, In harmless sport and mirth, (That dog will bite him, if he pulls his tail!) Thou human humming-bee, extracting honey From every blossom in the world that blows, Singing in youth's Elysium ever sunny,-- (Another tumble! That's his precious nose!)

Thy father's pride and hope! (He'll break that mirror with that skipping rope!) With pure heart newly stamped from nature's mint, (Where did he learn that squint?) Thou young domestic dove! (He'll have that ring off with another shove,)

Dear nursling of the hymeneal nest! (Are these torn clothes his best?) Little epitome of man! (He'll climb upon the table, that's his plan,) Touched with the beauteous tints of dawning life, (He's got a knife!)

Thou enviable being! No storms, no clouds, in thy blue sky foreseeing, Play on, play on, My elfin John! Toss the light ball, bestride the stick,-- (I knew so many cakes would make him sick!) With fancies buoyant as the thistle-down, Prompting the face grotesque, and antic brisk, With many a lamb-like frisk! (He's got the scissors snipping at your gown!) Thou pretty opening rose! (Go to your mother, child, and wipe your nose!) Balmy and breathing music like the south (He really brings my heart into my mouth!) Bold as a hawk, yet gentle as the dove; (I'll tell you what, my love, I cannot write unless he's sent above.)

The stanzas of this poem vary considerably in length, but it will be interesting to examine them according to the plans suggested at the end of the preceding poem, _The Country Squire_. The first stanza here has eight lines, the first four of them rhyming alternately in pairs, the next four in couplets. If now we apply the plan that is suggested for writing out the rhyme scheme, the word for the first stanza is _ababccdd_.

The second stanza has ten lines. Its rhyme scheme is evidently quite different, for here the first six lines rhyme in couplets and the last four alternately in pairs. The word to represent such a scheme is _aabbccdede_.

Can you write out the words which will represent the rhyme scheme in the other stanzas in this poem?

Find the other poems in this book and write out the rhyme scheme for them. Notice that in most poems the stanzas have the same number of lines, and that the rhyme scheme of one stanza is just like that of another. Take the other books in this series and turn to the poems, find what an endless variety of rhymes there is and how the scheme differs in different poems.

PRONUNCIATION OF PROPER NAMES

NOTE.--The pronunciation of difficult words is indicated by respelling them phonetically. _N_ is used to indicate the French nasal sound; _K_ the sound of _ch_ in German; _ü_ the sound of the German _ü_, and French _u_; _ö_ the sound of _ö_ in foreign languages.

ALGIDUS, _al´ ji dus_

ANJOU, _oN´´ zhoo´_

ATHELSTANE, _ath´ el stane_

BANGWEOLO, _bang´´ we o´ lo_

BECHUANALAND, _beck´´ oo ah´ na land_

BOIS-GUILBERT, BRIAN DE, _bwah geel bayr´_, _bre oN´ deh_

CEDRIC, _ked´ rick_, or _sed´ rick_

CHALDEA, _kal de´ ah_

CHARGÉ D'AFFAIRES, _shahr´´ zhay´ daf fayr´_

CHIAJA, _kyah´ ya_

FALERII, _fah le´ ry i_

FRONT-DE-BOEUF, _froN deh beuf´_

GIBAULT, _zhee bo´_

KHIVA, _ke´ vah_

LIGEIA, _li je´ yah_

MAISONVILLE, _may´´ zoN veel´_

MALVOISIN, _mal vwah saN´_

MARESCHAL, _mahr´ shal_

MASSOUEY, _mas su´ y_

NAOMI, _nay o´ mi_

NGAMI, _ngah´ me_

NICARAGUA, _nee´´ kar ah´ gwah_

ONEIDA, _o ni´ dah_

PSALMS, _sahms_

RAKSH, _rahksh_

ROWENA, _ro e´ na_

RUSTUM, _roos´ tum_

SAGA, _say´ gah_

SEIUS, _se´ yus_

SEISTAN, _says´ tahn_

SENNACHERIB, _sen nak´ e rib_

SOHRAB, _so´ rahb_

TARPEIAN, _tahr pe´ yan_

TONGRES, _toN´ gr´_

VELASQUEZ, _vay lahs´ kayth_

VENEZUELA, _ven e zwe´ lah_

VINCENNES, _vin senz´_

YRIARTE, _e re ahr´ tay_

ZOUCHE, _zooch_