Chapter 8

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?