The Sight Jackey saw.
“How lovely!” Jackey exclaimed; “oh, could I but imitate those sweet sounds!” “Try,” the violin said from its bag. “Well thought,” Jackey cried; and taking it out, immediately began to play the fairy song. He played it over and over again, and each time better, till at length he said, kissing his dear violin, “Well done, Fiddle, we can do it now.” Then Jackey ate his breakfast, and having tried the song once more, he resumed his wanderings through the forest. He stopped several times to play the fairy song again, trying also his other tunes, to see that they had not been driven out of his memory by these still sweeter sounds; and having had his breakfast very early, had made a finish of his stock of provisions, but that did not trouble him, though there seemed no end to the forest.
About mid-day, however, he began to feel hungry again, and hastened his steps, in hopes of finding some outlet from the forest, or at least some woodman’s hut. He began to feel some anxiety for the future; but he did not despair, for he was a good boy, and put his trust in Providence. The birds sang merrily, as if to cheer him; and soon he sawthat the forest became lighter, nor was it long before he found himself on the highway, and at no great distance stood a village.
Anxious as he was to reach some human habitations, when he was outside the forest he turned round to bid it farewell, and thank his dear birds for their kindness to him. A farewell sounded back, and cheerfully he went on his way to the village. He remembered his father having said that wheresoever he played he would be sure to find friends; and no sooner did he reach the first houses, than he took out his violin and began to play. First he played the voices of the forest, and soon all the people were at their windows and their doors, listening to him; but when he played the fairy song, they came out and surrounded him, and he had to begin again and again.
There was now a contest amongst the principal inhabitants of the village who should take the wonderful boy to their home, when the clergyman and his wife carried him off.
Jackey would not accept their kindness without telling them that he could not stay long, for hisfather had sent him to seek his fortune in the world, that his father was not happy at home, and that he was going back to fetch him as soon as he had made his fortune.
The good people promised that they would not keep him longer than he felt inclined to remain with them. They were, however, so kind that week after week still found him there, and he was so intelligent and docile that every one loved him. Living now with people of good education, Jackey soon felt his ignorance, and applied himself so diligently to his studies, in which he was assisted both by the clergyman and his wife, that he made rapid progress.
He did not neglect his music, and frequently went back into the forest—no one interfering with his wanderings. Neither did he forget his father, nor give up the intention of seeking his fortune in the world, though he was delayed by the persuasion of his kind protectors, who, however, gave their consent to his departure after he had been with them about a year, providing him with every necessary for his journey, as also with a small supply of money.
Jackey had improved as much in person as in mind, but retained his former innocent simplicity of heart and kindly feelings, so that his feathered friends loved him still, and he was as happy as the day was long.
He visited one country after another, passing from village to village, and from town to town; and wherever he played, both old and young surrounded him, and every one was ready to befriend him. Thus year after year passed away, and Jackey had grown to be a tall, handsome youth of about nineteen, with flowing black hair, large dark eyes, and an expression of cheerfulness and good humour. His playing was celebrated far and wide, but, more particularly, when he played the fairy song every one was carried away by admiration and surprise.
In each country he visited many inducements had been held out to detain him; but a secret impulse drew him on till he came to a large and powerful kingdom, which he found plunged in the deepest mourning; for not only had the queen just died, but the most beautiful of princesses, her daughter,was brought to the very verge of death by grief at the loss of her beloved mother.
Her royal father, whose only child she was, in the utmost despair, had promised half his kingdom to the physician who should save her; but the only remedy the most learned could propose was any excitement that would distract her from her grief, for it was that alone that was consuming her. This remedy was beyond their art, and the king proclaimed that whoever cured the princess should be the inheritor of his throne and the husband of his daughter, if she consented to marry him.
Jackey, on hearing this proclamation, determined to try what his art could do to cure the princess, since all that was required was to enliven her, and make her forget her grief. He trusted that, with the help of Providence, he should succeed; and that, if even the princess would not marry him, which he scarcely dared to hope, he might still receive a reward sufficient to secure his old father’s future happiness, besides having the consolation of saving the life of a young lady universally beloved.
He went boldly to the palace, where he was immediatelyadmitted, on stating what his errand was; for the king had given orders not to refuse admittance to any one, however humble, who came to cure his daughter.
Jackey playing to the Princess.
The king was much surprised and disappointed when he saw Jackey; but after he had received an explanation of the means intended to be employed, he became more reconciled, and ordered him to be conducted to the princess’s apartment.
Jackey gazed with admiration at the beautiful form before him; and to the interest he before felt was added pity, for the princess lay in bed with closed eyes and so pale as if death had already laid its icy hand upon her. He felt that he would willingly lay down life itself to restore colour and animation to that lovely face, and determined to exert his utmost skill in her behalf.
First he played the voices of the forest—the soft breeze gliding through the leaves, the low murmur of the stream, and the gentle warbling of the birds; then, as the princess’s attention was attracted, he made his violin speak louder and louder, and the Princess exclaimed, “How came I into the forest?Oh! how delightful it is! Sing on, you darling birds!” At length she opened her eyes, and sitting up in the bed, looked about her in amazement.
Jackey now played the fairy song; and when he had finished, she said—“Go on, gentle Youth, I entreat you. You have been sent by heaven to call me back to life.” She sank back upon her pillow, and as Jackey continued to play, she fell into a soft sleep, with a smile on her lovely face.
The king, having been informed of all that had happened, hastened to his daughter’s room; and the calm expression of her features, together with the assurance of the head physician that all danger had now passed over, made him, for the moment, forget all his sorrow; and embracing Jackey, he assured him of his everlasting gratitude.
The next day the princess awoke, restored to health; and when her preserver was presented to her by the king, she received him with the sweetest smile, and thanked him in the kindest terms. But that was not all Jackey’s reward; for when the princess was told of the promise made by her royal father to whoever should save her life, she declaredherself ready to fulfil that promise, as soon as the time of mourning for her departed mother had passed.
They were, however, betrothed before the whole court, and the king publicly proclaimed that, next to himself, Jackey should be the first in the land. An establishment in every way befitting a prince of the royal blood was appointed him, and he lived in the closest intimacy with the king and his amiable daughter.
Jackey, however, in all his splendour, and by the side of his future bride, did not forget his old father, nor the promise he had made him; so he begged permission of the king to go and visit him, which was immediately granted.
He set out on his journey to the village where he was born, attended by a numerous retinue, travelling day and night till he reached the forest where he had learned the first notes of music, the foundation of all his fortune. He remembered all the trees, but the whole generation of birds that had known him had long since died. In his heart, however, he thanked them for their kindness, and in remembrance ofthem he passed on in silence, having left his attendants at the beginning of the forest.
His heart beat with anxiety and fear, lest his father should no longer be living, for it was more than ten years since he had left his home; but when he reached the stream where he had first sat in the forest he saw an old man sitting by its side. Jackey immediately recognized his father, but the old man did not see him, for he was plunged in sorrow.
Wiping a tear from his eyes, he said, “Am I never to see my dear Jackey again? For how many years have I come here every day, till gradually all his friends have died off—and he, too, I am afraid, must be dead; and I am the cause of his death, for it was I persuaded him to go out into the world.”
Jackey now took out his violin, which he had carried with him, and played the tune with which he had first soothed his father’s grief. The old man recognized the notes, and he cried out, “That is my own Jackey! Come to my arms, my dear Boy!”
It was long before either could find words; but then the old man told him that his stepmother was dead; and Jackey related all his adventures, and hispresent happiness and splendour. Jackey went with his father to the village; but the next day he had him removed to where he had left his followers, and they all returned, without loss of time, to the king, and Jackey’s future wife.
Jackey and his father were received with great rejoicings, and when the time of mourning for the late queen was over, Jackey was married to the lovely princess, with whom he spent a long life of happiness and peace, reigning with justice and wisdom over the kingdom after the king and his own old father were dead.
Teeny-Tiny.*
O
Onceupon a time there was a teeny-tiny woman, who lived in a teeny-tiny house in a teeny-tiny village. Now one day this teeny-tiny woman put on her teeny-tiny bonnet, and went out of her teeny-tiny house to take a teeny-tiny walk. And when this teeny-tiny woman had gone a teeny-tiny way she came to a teeny-tiny gate, and went into a teeny-tiny church-yard.
And when this teeny-tiny woman had got into the teeny-tiny churchyard she saw a teeny-tiny bone on a teeny-tiny grave, and the teeny-tiny woman said to her teeny-tiny self, “This teeny-tiny bone will make me some teeny-tiny soup for my teeny-tiny supper.” So the teeny-tiny woman put theteeny-tiny bone into her teeny-tiny pocket, and went home to her teeny-tiny house.
Now when the teeny-tiny woman got home to her teeny-tiny house she was a teeny-tiny tired; so she went up her teeny-tiny stairs to her teeny-tiny bed, and put the teeny-tiny bone into a teeny-tiny cupboard. And when this teeny-tiny woman had been to sleep a teeny-tiny time she was awakened by a teeny-tiny voice from the teeny-tiny cupboard, which said—“Give me my bone!”
At this the teeny-tiny woman was a teeny-tiny frightened, so she hid her teeny-tiny head under the teeny-tiny clothes, and went to sleep again.
And when she had been asleep a teeny-tiny time the teeny-tiny voice again cried out from the teeny-tiny cupboard a teeny-tiny louder—“Give me my bone!”
This made the teeny-tiny woman a teeny-tiny more frightened, and she hid her teeny-tiny head a teeny-tiny further under the teeny-tiny clothes. And when the teeny-tiny woman had been to sleep again a teeny-tiny time the teeny-tiny voice from theteeny-tiny cupboard said again a teeny-tiny louder—“Give me my bone!”
The Teeny-tiny Woman’s Fright.
And this teeny-tiny woman was a teeny-tiny bit more frightened, but she put her teeny-tiny head out of the teeny-tiny clothes, and said in her loudest teeny-tiny voice—“Take it!”
*From Halliwell’s “Nursery Stories.”
*From Halliwell’s “Nursery Stories.”
The Cannibal Cow.
I
Itwas in the year ——. But why should I insult you by being more particular in date than that it was during the Irish rebellion, when, one dreadfully stormy night, old Goff, with his wife, daughter, and only son, Tim, were sitting in the kitchen, which not only served as general sitting-room, but was also the old couple’s bed-room? The wind howled and blew in gusts, shaking the windows and doors as one without, in a hurry to get in, amongst whose virtues patience could not be numbered.
“This is a fearful night,” old Goff said, “and fearful work, may be, is going on just now; for I heard from neighbour Flanagan that the red-coats have been seen in the neighbourhood. Go, Tim, and see that all the doors are well fastened; and when the old woman has given us our supper,we’ll get to bed, for that is the safest place these times.”
The old man had no sooner spoken than there was a tap at the door—at first, gentle; as, however, neither father nor son moved, but sat staring at each other in fear and trembling, the knocking grew louder and louder. At length Tim whispered, “Hadn’t you best go to the door, Father, for that will impose upon them more, if it’s thaves they are, and show more respect, like, if it’s the red-coats?”
“No, no, my Son!” the old man whispered back, “you go; for then they will see that you are safely at home, like a steady lad, and not out with those wild boys, who are the cause of all these troubles. Go, my Son; but don’t open the door, for the life of ye, but ask the gintlemen, civil, Who might be there, and what they might be wanting?”
There was no help for it, so poor Tim crept to the door, and, after listening whether he heard the cocking of pistols or the clanking of swords, mustered courage to ask who was there.
“And who should it be, sure,” was answered from without, “but Paddy, auld Paddy the Piper? Och!then let me in, darlint, that I may warm and dry mesel’, for it’s caulder than the ‘Squire’s greetin’, and as damp as the say itsel’.”
A Terror-stricken Household.
Without answering him, Tim ran back to his father, who, in the mean time, had put out the light, and had got as far as the kitchen-door to listen. Now Tim, in his hurry, rushed upon the old man, who went rolling down, and Tim, to save himself, caught hold of the table, which he upset, and he himself fell sprawling upon the floor. Not being hurt, he went to help his father, who was shouting thieves and murder, and it was some time before his son could convince him that the place was not full of thieves, but that it was only Paddy the Piper who wanted to come in.
“Nay, lave me in pace,” he said, as Tim tried to raise him up, “for I’m dead, sure!”
“But what about Paddy?” Tim asked.
“And are ye sure it’s Paddy it is, and that it is by himself he is?” And then the old man added—“If it’s the Piper himself, I think bad not to give him the bit and the sup; but ye mustn’t let him in, Tim, for sure it’s Paddy has a baddish name, and ifhe’s found here we shall all swing for’t. But take the kay, my Boy, and let him into Katty’s shed, where he can be as comfortable, like, as the priest himself in his own bed, and he shall not go without his supper.”
Now Katty, you must know, was old Goff’s best and favourite cow, and as such had a shed to herself, to which Tim led the Piper; and when Paddy had a good large mug of whisky, he forgot that he was wet and cold. We will not assist at old Goff’s recovery from being “murthered quite,” but suppose him, as well as the others, safely in bed; and as we shall be busy with the Piper we will not disturb them till the morning.
Paddy was so warm and comfortable after his supper, but more particularly after the whisky, that he felt one drop more would make him the happiest man in all Ireland; but he dared not risk offending old Goff by disturbing him again, for he always found a good friend in him when his wanderings took him that way. What was to be done? He tried to sleep, but it would not do; though it was not the want of a bed that troubled him, for it waslittle Paddy knew of that, except by name, and, indeed, Katty gave him the best of accommodation; but yet the comfort was fast oozing out of him.
Now Paddy had a friend who, quietly and quite in private, distilled the best of spirit, and there was no fear of his being in bed—at least, not at night. True, he lived full four miles off, and most of the way lay across a dreary bog; but now that Paddy was once with him in imagination he found less rest than ever.
Tim had carefully locked Katty’s door; but, though old, the Piper was still active, so made nothing of clambering up to a hole in the roof—for where is the shed or cabin to be found in Ireland that has not a hole in the roof? if, indeed, what should be the roof is not one big hole. In dear old Ireland everything is old, excepting the hearts and spirits of its people. Once outside the shed, Paddy made the best of his way towards his friend’s; and expectation giving strength and activity to his legs, he ran briskly on, when, all at once, he was brought to a stand—not because he was out of breath from running, but fromastonishment at the fruit borne by a sturdy old tree he had just reached.
A man, well and securely hanged, was dangling from a branch of the tree, with his toes most provokingly just beyond reach of the ground.
Paddy peered at him through the dark, to see which of his friends it was, and then addressed him thus:—“Och! Murphy, me lad! and is it yerself I run my nose agin here in the dark? but I forgie yer for not gettin’ out o’ the way, seeing that yer movements are not quite yer own. Now tell me what has brought yer here in this ugly fix? But how’s this?” he continued, examining his friend still more closely—“and was it for this dance yer put on them iligant boots? Why, Murphy, I shouldn’t know yer if I didn’t see that it’s yerself! But now,” Paddy continued, talking to himself, “his dance is over, and what will he be wanting with his boots? I’m sartain he won’t mind if I borrow them, for sure me own brogues are none of the best. But why, my auld Friend,” he said, again addressing the hanging man, “why didn’t yer put on yer Sunday bestintirely, for yer no better than a scarecrow dangling there?”
Paddy examined himself from head to foot, and then, shaking his head, he muttered—“No, I canna better mesel’, ’cepting with the boots, which I’ll make bold to take, trusting poor Murphy won’t feel his feet cauld.” After thus alternately soliloquising and addressing his friend, Paddy set himself to work to pull off the dead man’s boots, but they resisted all his efforts. He took it good-humouredly and out of humour, but with equally bad success, and at length went on his way; but he could not make up his mind to resign such a splendid piece of good fortune, so he returned after he had gone a few steps, and made another attempt.
The boots, however, remained immoveable, and losing all patience, he exclaimed, “Bad luck to them!” and taking out a large knife he carried with him, cut off the legs just above the boots, thinking that, more at his leisure, he would be able to clear them out.
His plans were now altered, and instead of goingon to his friend, he returned to Katty’s shed, carefully carrying his new acquisition under his arm.
He found no difficulty in getting back into the shed, but the difficulty of freeing the boots from the feet and portion of the legs that remained in them was increased rather than lessened; and at length Paddy fell asleep over his unaccomplished task. When he awoke day was already beginning to dawn, and as he wanted to be early at a small town, some six miles off, where there was to be a fair, he had no time to lose; so he quickly got out of the shed, leaving the boots behind him as useless—his friend Murphy’s feet pertinaciously keeping possession of them.
Not long after, Tim went to fetch him to breakfast, to make up for the inhospitality of the previous night; for with returning light the courage of the family was restored, and, as is frequently the case with weak minds, day gave an appearance of security to that which night had shrouded in danger.
What was his surprise to see the shed occupied by Katty alone; for he had found the door locked as he had left it the night before, and yet Paddy was nowhere to be seen.
He never once thought of the hole in the roof, and was puzzled beyond measure. Paddy must be somewhere; so he looked in all the four corners of the shed, under the straw, and even under Katty herself, who was comfortably lying down. He now saw the boots, and was more puzzled than ever. He scratched his head, as people will do when the understanding is at fault, and during that process a horrible light burst upon him.
He rushed out of the shed back to the kitchen, where, to the amazement of all, he let himself fall into old Goff’s, just then, vacant chair, his mouth open, his hair erect, and his eyes nearly starting from his head.
All exclaimed with one voice, “What in heaven’s name has happened! What is the matter with you, Tim?” After gasping several times for breath Tim cried out, “Och, the unnatural baste! Och, the blood-thirsty cannibal! Poor Paddy! Och, the murthering brute!”
“In the name of all the saints tell us what has happened!” his Father said; and after a few more incoherent sentences, Tim related how on goinginto the shed he could not find the Piper, though he could not have got out, for he had locked the door the night before, and found it still locked; how that, after looking all about, he had discovered the boots, but that Katty had eaten up poor Paddy.
Tim’s Dismay at Katty’s Cannibalism.
An exclamation of horror burst from all.
“Every bit of him,” Tim continued. “The blood-thirsty baste has eaten every bit of him. Not a morsel of poor Paddy is left but the boots.” The rest were quite as much horrified as Tim himself, and not a word was uttered till his Sister, who first recovered something like self-possession, said, “Let us go and look once more, for it is almost too horrible to believe that Katty could do such a thing; she has always been such a good, gentle beast.”
“Och, the cannibal!” Tim muttered, with a shudder.
“Tim,” old Goff said, “I’ve heard that a cannibal is one man that eats another, and if so, perhaps Katty is not a cannibal; but, mind me, I’m not going to defend the unnatural baste if she has eaten the Piper. Did you say his pipes and all are gone? Take care and don’t go too near the crittur, but takethe pitchfork with you. Oh, that I should ever live to hear the like!”
Most unwillingly Tim went back to the shed; but as his sister led the way he was ashamed to remain behind. However, when they got there Katty began bellowing with all her might, for she was unused to being neglected, and felt herself ill used that Tim should have been in without taking her her morning’s food, and now finding herself again disappointed, she stared wildly at them.
Both started back, and Tim cried, “See there, how wicked she looks! Is that the baste you say is so gentle? Sure she’s dangerous, let’s go back.” The sister ventured in and took the boots, which she carried to the house.
These told the tale but too clearly, and poor Katty had not a single voice raised in her favour. It was now discussed what should be done with the animal, for keeping her was out of the question. Who would drink the milk of such a beast! Besides, it was dangerous to go near her; and it was therefore settled that Tim should take her to the fair, which fortunately was held that very day, and sell her at any price.
Suddenly they were startled by a loud bellowing from the shed, for during this time no one had thought of feeding the poor beast, and the next moment all were seized with the utmost consternation, for Katty appeared at the shed door and walked straight up towards the house.
The kitchen was now a scene of the wildest confusion, for in their eagerness to seize upon any article of furniture that might serve as a weapon of defence, they rushed against each other; but Katty stopped at some fresh grass that was in a cart near the house, which indeed had attracted her. As soon, however, as she had taken the edge off her morning appetite she went to the window, for she was a sociable beast, and had always been accustomed to be noticed; but all the inmates of the kitchen were huddled together at the further end, and their terror is indescribable when she pushed the window open, for it had not been properly fastened.
She, however, stood so quiet, and looked so gentle and mild, that after a time old Goff mustered courage to say, “Now that she has filled herself with grass she will perhaps not bite, so now is the time tosecure her. Take the rope that is hanging up there, Tim, make a noose, and slip it quickly over her nose.” As Tim hesitated, his Sister said, “I will go with you;” and then he did as he was directed, till, as he was about to slip the rope over her nose, she opened her mouth, thinking it was something for her to eat.
Tim started back so suddenly that, losing his balance, he fell flat upon the floor, shouting for help, but his sister, catching hold of the rope, put it round Katty’s nose; and when Tim saw that there was no danger he finished the work for her, tying the rope at least half-a-dozen times round the unresisting creature’s jaws. Nothing now remained to be done but for Tim to get on his Sunday clothes, which did not take long, and poor Katty was led off, receiving much rougher treatment than she had been accustomed to.
For a time Tim and Katty had the road to themselves, and were not over-pleasant companions, for to poor Katty all seemed strange; besides that she received many a blow from her guide, who was in anything but a good humour; and when they werejoined by any one it made it none the more pleasant for Tim, who now found out all the difficulties he had to contend with, for he was not prepared with an answer when asked what was the reason why Katty was to be sold, or why her mouth was fastened up so. What could he answer, for, as he said to himself, “If I tell the truth who would buy the unnatural baste? And I won’t let the people think we want money.” His pride revolted at this; but it was evident he must be prepared with a more satisfactory answer than he had hitherto given, namely, that he did not know why his father intended to part with his cow, for he heard two farmers, who had lately joined the others, talking thus together.
The one said, “Why, that is old Goff’s favourite cow, sure it can’t be it’s selling her he is, for I heard that he was offered twelve pounds for her no longer than a fortnight ago, but he wouldn’t sell her at any price.”
“May be it’s gone dry she is,” said the other.
“No, she doesn’t look like that.”
“Then it’s money he wants. May be the rint isn’t paid, and—”
“No, it’s not that,” the first speaker interrupted him, “for old Goff is too close an old fist not to have plenty of money; but mark me, Neighbour, there’s something wrong with her, sleek and fresh as she looks, and it isn’t I that would be buying her at any price.”
Poor Tim was sadly puzzled, for it was impossible he could escape being asked all manner of questions, and he knew no more than his heels what to say. Then, too, he feared that no one would have her, and what should he do with her then. His worst fears were soon to be realized, for a new comer, who had heard the end of the conversation of the last two speakers, now said to him—
“Well, Tim, and what has the darling of your house done that you want to sell her? Is it fits she has, for there is something wild in her eye? Or it’s vicious she is? Speak, Man, what is the matter with her?”
To avoid unpleasant questions, Tim said, “It’s too much trouble to my sister to attend to her, for it’s my sister’s cow she is.”
“And is it washing her face of a morning that’stoo much trouble to your sister?” Tim was now asked; “or perhaps combing her hair is troublesome, or may be it’s cutting her corns your sister doesn’t like; but come, Tim, that won’t do, Man, for why is Katty more trouble than the other cows? Let me look at her, that I may see what ails her.” He examined her all over; and, to Tim’s horror, taking the rope from round her nose, looked into her mouth, but he could not discover one single fault in her, which only excited his suspicion the more. “May be you’d take five pounds for her?” And, as Tim eagerly assented, he continued, “You’ll take five pounds for her, and your father just a day or two ago refused twelve. There’s something in all this I can’t make out, so go on with her, for I’ll none of her. I’m not going to be tricked by you.”
Tim was now in utter despair. He saw plainly he must say that it was money they wanted. But would even that do, for his father had other cows, and why sell the one which everybody knew was the favourite? His only chance was to get rid of her to some one who did not know him, and he therefore hurried her on to the market.
The market was very full, and, when he found himself surrounded by strange faces, he felt more at ease; however, no purchaser was found, and Tim began to feel not only impatient, but seriously uneasy, for Katty looked about her in a very suspicious manner, and he dreaded the consequences should she grow very hungry. He shuddered as he thought of the fate of poor Paddy, and, oh horror! just then he thought he saw Paddy himself in the distance. He could not take his eyes from the spot where he had seen the horrid apparition, though he trembled at the possibility of its reappearance.
There it was again, beckoning to him.
This was more than poor Tim could bear, and he rushed wildly out of the market, down the nearest turning, and out of the town. On he ran, not knowing where, pursued in imagination by poor Paddy’s ghost, till out of breath, when he ventured to look back. He could run no more, for he was now transfixed to the spot by horror. Katty, with her mouth open, came full gallop after him, and quicker than the wind followed Paddy’s ghost. He stoodmotionless till they were close upon him, and then fell senseless to the ground.
When he recovered he found Paddy holding a pocket flask of whisky to his lips, whilst Katty was looking at him with the mildest expression of concern.
“What were you doing in the market with Katty? And what, in heaven’s name, induced you to run away as if possessed by a thousand devils?” Paddy said. “What does all this mean, Tim? Have you gone clean mad?”
“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 lastnight, 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.
The Three Men of Gotham on Nottingham Bridge.
Y
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 saywould 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 shoeMaker and poet too.”
“Hans Saxs shoeMaker and poet too.”
“Hans Saxs shoeMaker 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 thatdoes 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?”
The Three Wise Gothamites.
“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?
The Man of Gotham and his Cheeses.