The Town Pump.A STORY OF THE COW WITH AN IRON TAIL.Noon by the Town Clock; noon, by the shadow of the blessed sun on the dial face, on the face of the Town Pump. High, hot, scorching, melting, smelting noon. Noon, by the thermometer at eighty-two degrees; noon, by the whirr of the dragon-fly,[A]and the quivering haze over the meadow; noon, by heat without and heat within, and by every melting moment. Come, then, my younkers, fresh from school, where you have been turning over dictionaries and spelling, with sweaty fingers—come and take another lesson. Come and shake hands with the Town Pump![A]The dragon-flyrestsat noontide, and flies most actively towards sundown.The Town PumpHow do you do, my young gentlemen? Take hold of my iron hand. Welcome to you all; I am not above shaking hands with the meanest of you, although I am a public character. Some people have dignified me with the name of Town Treasurer; and not an improper title either, as I am the guardian of the best treasure the Town has: whoever has a draught upon me will be sure to get it honoured, which cannot be said of every Treasurer. The Overseers of the Town ought to make me their Chairman, since I have the best interestsof the Town’s people at heart. I am at the head of the Fire Department, and one of the Physicians of the Board of Health. I ought to be dubbed High Constable also, as I am the best Justice of the Peace; for whosoever taketh my cool advice will seldom fall into black eyes or bloody noses: and, in this my magisterial capacity, I think myself as useful as a dozen policemen at least. To speak within bounds, I amthe chief person in the Municipality; a Mayor in my own right; and exhibit, moreover, an admirable pattern to my brother officers, by the cool, steady, downright-and-upright motion of my arm in the cause of sobriety and virtue, and by the copious and impartial discharge of my duty. Summer and winter few seek my aid in vain; for all day long I am sure to be found at my post, ready to welcome all comers with a pure and delightful glass, sparkling like the diamond, or the light of gladness in a good man’s eye.Let me be the Cup-bearer to the State; for I ought to be, by virtue of the iron goblet chained round my waist, and I can sing, with swanging jingle—“Let’s quaff the goblet full and bright,And see it in the soul’s best light!—â€and be a water-Anacreon. I am the wisdom that crieth out in the streets, “Will no man regard me?†Yes; I am sure some will. Here is theaqua vitæ, the pure blood of the earth, the distilled juices of heaven. Walk up, gentlemen and children! walk up! Here is the true elixir of life, theprimum mobileof existence—the spring of springiness in the joints—the fountain of Diana herself—chaste, pure, and holy! Come and taste the unadulterated ale of Father Adam! Here you can have it pure, or mixed with sunshine, or bubbling with cheerful looks—all without stint—by the hogshead or single glass; and all for love, and nothing to pay! The only untaxed article in the kingdom; think of that! Walk up! walk up! friends and neighbours, and help yourselves.It would be a pity if this outcry should draw no customers. Here they come, scores of them. A hot day, gentlemen!Quaff, and away again! You, my friend, will need another cupfull to wash the dust off your mustaches—the new English invention. I see you have been inhaling the dust of a cotton-mill, and this will wash it all down, not leaving one single particle sticking to the palate, as the “jolly fat ale†does. Come on you, also, Mr. Traveller; you have walked half a score miles to-day, and, like a wise man, have passed by the taverns and stopped at the running brooks and well-curbs; otherwise, betwixt heat without and fire within, you would have been burnt to a cinder, or melted like a lump of butter in a frying-pan. Drink, friend, and be thankful, and make room for that other fellow who seeks my aid to quench the fever of last night’s potations at the “Pig and Whistle.†Welcome, most rubicund sir, with your rosy gills, round paunch, and pimpled nose; I am very glad to see you here, sir! You and I have been great strangers hitherto; nor, to confess the truth, will my nose be anxious for a closer intimacy, till the fumes of your breath become a little less potent. Mercy on you, man, the water absolutelyhissesdown your red-hot gullet, and is converted quite to steam in the miniature “tophet†which you mistake for a stomach. Fill again, and tell me, on the word of an honest toper, did you ever, in cellar, tavern, gin palace, or dram-shop, spend the price of your children’s food for a swig half so delicious? Now, for the first time for a long while, you know the flavour of cold water. Good bye! and remember, whenever you are thirsty, that I keep a constant supply at the old stand. Who next? O, my little friend, just let loose from school; you would clear your throat with a sup of the pure and lovely? Take it, and may your heart and throat be never scorched by afiercer thirst than now. There, my dear child, put down the cup, and yield your place to this good-looking gentleman, with a countenance fair and ruddy, and cheerful as the sun in May. It is Stephen Grovely, a friend to water, and to peace, and to vegetable food, and a good friend beside. He takes a sup as if he could make a supper of it, and sleep like moonshine on the placid deep. Who is that coming by, with a sneer and a laugh at Mr. Grovely? He is an oldish kind of gentleman, and treads very lightly on the stones, saving his poor old toes with a stick, and stopping for breath every minute or so. How he pants and wheezes, and what strange winces and contortions are on his face at every movement! How do you find yourself this morning, sir? I hope you had a comfortable night—no nightmares, groanings, fearful dreams, or kickings about in your sleep. “You be hanged!†says the old man. “Thank you, sir, for your good wishes.†I only say:—Go and draw one cork, tip the decanter, pour out the ‘rosy red,’ the ‘golden saffron,’ the ‘purple blue;’ but, when your great toe shall set you a-roaring, don’t say it is the Town Pump.“ If gentlemen love the pleasant titilation of the gout, and won’t take advice, ’tis all one to the Town Pump. Ah, ah! Old Lion,Peter Parley’sold dog, sixteen years old this very day! Come and celebrate your nativity. Well done, old boy, with your two fore-legs on the cistern, and your hind-legs erect; loll out your red tongue, while I pump you a draught. Well may you wag your old tail as thanks, and walk away satisfied, and, old as you are, gambol about refreshed. Lion, Lion! your worship never had the gout, so do not bark at that poor old gentleman who hobbles by you, looking so sour and woeful.Are you all satisfied? then wipe your mouths, my good friends, and be thankful; and while the spout has a moment’s leisure, I will delight the town with a few historical reminiscences. In far antiquity, beneath the darksome shadow of venerable boughs a spring bubbled out of the leaf-strewn earth, on the very spot where you now behold me on the sunny pavement. The water was bright and clear, and seemed as precious as liquid diamonds. Amid the grove—for it was a sacred one—Druid-seers celebrated their mystic rites, and, with the pure, undulterated stream, allayed the fiery thirst of feverish lips, and cured diseases. Here they assembled in high delight at Christmas time, and while snow covered all the earth, was kept open by their prayers the then only bubbling spring. But the Druids passed away, and in their place, ages after, were seen, yet still in the same white robes, holy priests of Christ, sanctifying the sacred spot. The spring bubbled as before: but now it had the power to heal—pilgrims flocked to it from all parts—the pious St. Columb had sanctified it. It worked miracles on the diseased. The halt, the maimed, the sick came to it and were healed. Free rose the spring; but it was no longer a free offering to the poor, the sick, and the wretched. A price was set upon it. Those that thirsted for the water had to pay before they got any;—as the pay was increased the miracles were more wonderful, till at last, over the once free and natural spring a stupendous building arose, with its flying buttresses high in air; its spandrils within, and their corbels capped with the faces of the condemned; its lofty pinnacle studded with angels, and every coign of vantage speaking the mysteries of a faith which was obliterated by its grotesque ornaments; yet, age after age, the miraculouswaters flowed. At last, the sacred fane decayed, and holy men were no more seen; broken pillars and scattered mouldings bestrewed the place; and the grass, and the rank plants of summer, and the briar, and the burdock, and the tansy were the only guardians of the spot; yet, still the spring bubbled forth, and threw its bright gems of brilliance to the light of heaven; and solitary men would come and moralise over its site, with tears as deep as its own gushings. At last the fountain was broken up; the ruins of the old abbey were cleared away; place was given to the levelling hand of time; a hostlery arose near to the place whereon the fountain stood, a part of which occupied the very spot. Still, however, the spring bubbled forth by fits and starts,—its waters sometimes clear, sometimes turbid. It was turned into a tank or pool; and while horses slackened their thirst, their masters increased theirs by the strong waters of the inn; and there were carousals, and debaucheries, and strifes, and murders upon a place which had once been considered holy. Fire came during an intoxicating season—the season when peace on earth and good-will towards man was proclaimed. The hostlery was burnt down—the pure spring was smothered—and its very site, after a lapse of years, forgotten. At last foundations were dug—a new town sprang up over the old—a church and market-house took the place of the old abbey—and a Temperance Hotel that of the Inn. The old spring bubbled up again, in delight, at the improved prospect. But it now lay on the earth, yet higher on Sabbath-days. Whenever a baby was to be baptised, the sexton came and filled his basin, and placed it on the font in the baptistry of the church: and hither, too, came the pious deacon of the chapel,with his rude basin of delf, for the same holy purpose. Thus, one generation after another was consecrated to heaven by its waters, and cast their waning shadows into its crystal bosom. But in course of time another change took place; a greedy bricklayer of a churchwarden, who wanted a job out of the parish, proposed to build over the spring; and cartloads of bricks and high mountains of mortar incased it on every side. The spring was effectually brick-bound, and upon it arose the Town Pump, with its spout and handle of iron, and a gas-light above it, and a stone cistern below, on which appeared, in all the emblazoning of municipal grandeur—“Erected in 1848: Job Trick and Giles Keen, Churchwardens.†Then let us drink the health of these worthy gentlemen, and success to their better motives. Drink then again, my friends, to the cause of Temperance; drink to the cause of peace all the world over; drink to the cause of righteousness; to that of pure religion, drawn from the fountain-head of Him who called himself the “Living Water.†Pump away, while you have life, in the cause of Truth! Pump away, my lads, for all that thirst! Let our Town Pump be our Physician, our Town Councillor, our Keeper of the Peace, and our best resource when we are sick, sad, or thirsty.Fishing at a rustic bridge
A STORY OF THE COW WITH AN IRON TAIL.
Noon by the Town Clock; noon, by the shadow of the blessed sun on the dial face, on the face of the Town Pump. High, hot, scorching, melting, smelting noon. Noon, by the thermometer at eighty-two degrees; noon, by the whirr of the dragon-fly,[A]and the quivering haze over the meadow; noon, by heat without and heat within, and by every melting moment. Come, then, my younkers, fresh from school, where you have been turning over dictionaries and spelling, with sweaty fingers—come and take another lesson. Come and shake hands with the Town Pump!
[A]The dragon-flyrestsat noontide, and flies most actively towards sundown.
[A]The dragon-flyrestsat noontide, and flies most actively towards sundown.
The Town Pump
How do you do, my young gentlemen? Take hold of my iron hand. Welcome to you all; I am not above shaking hands with the meanest of you, although I am a public character. Some people have dignified me with the name of Town Treasurer; and not an improper title either, as I am the guardian of the best treasure the Town has: whoever has a draught upon me will be sure to get it honoured, which cannot be said of every Treasurer. The Overseers of the Town ought to make me their Chairman, since I have the best interestsof the Town’s people at heart. I am at the head of the Fire Department, and one of the Physicians of the Board of Health. I ought to be dubbed High Constable also, as I am the best Justice of the Peace; for whosoever taketh my cool advice will seldom fall into black eyes or bloody noses: and, in this my magisterial capacity, I think myself as useful as a dozen policemen at least. To speak within bounds, I amthe chief person in the Municipality; a Mayor in my own right; and exhibit, moreover, an admirable pattern to my brother officers, by the cool, steady, downright-and-upright motion of my arm in the cause of sobriety and virtue, and by the copious and impartial discharge of my duty. Summer and winter few seek my aid in vain; for all day long I am sure to be found at my post, ready to welcome all comers with a pure and delightful glass, sparkling like the diamond, or the light of gladness in a good man’s eye.
Let me be the Cup-bearer to the State; for I ought to be, by virtue of the iron goblet chained round my waist, and I can sing, with swanging jingle—
“Let’s quaff the goblet full and bright,And see it in the soul’s best light!—â€
“Let’s quaff the goblet full and bright,And see it in the soul’s best light!—â€
“Let’s quaff the goblet full and bright,And see it in the soul’s best light!—â€
“Let’s quaff the goblet full and bright,
And see it in the soul’s best light!—â€
and be a water-Anacreon. I am the wisdom that crieth out in the streets, “Will no man regard me?†Yes; I am sure some will. Here is theaqua vitæ, the pure blood of the earth, the distilled juices of heaven. Walk up, gentlemen and children! walk up! Here is the true elixir of life, theprimum mobileof existence—the spring of springiness in the joints—the fountain of Diana herself—chaste, pure, and holy! Come and taste the unadulterated ale of Father Adam! Here you can have it pure, or mixed with sunshine, or bubbling with cheerful looks—all without stint—by the hogshead or single glass; and all for love, and nothing to pay! The only untaxed article in the kingdom; think of that! Walk up! walk up! friends and neighbours, and help yourselves.
It would be a pity if this outcry should draw no customers. Here they come, scores of them. A hot day, gentlemen!Quaff, and away again! You, my friend, will need another cupfull to wash the dust off your mustaches—the new English invention. I see you have been inhaling the dust of a cotton-mill, and this will wash it all down, not leaving one single particle sticking to the palate, as the “jolly fat ale†does. Come on you, also, Mr. Traveller; you have walked half a score miles to-day, and, like a wise man, have passed by the taverns and stopped at the running brooks and well-curbs; otherwise, betwixt heat without and fire within, you would have been burnt to a cinder, or melted like a lump of butter in a frying-pan. Drink, friend, and be thankful, and make room for that other fellow who seeks my aid to quench the fever of last night’s potations at the “Pig and Whistle.†Welcome, most rubicund sir, with your rosy gills, round paunch, and pimpled nose; I am very glad to see you here, sir! You and I have been great strangers hitherto; nor, to confess the truth, will my nose be anxious for a closer intimacy, till the fumes of your breath become a little less potent. Mercy on you, man, the water absolutelyhissesdown your red-hot gullet, and is converted quite to steam in the miniature “tophet†which you mistake for a stomach. Fill again, and tell me, on the word of an honest toper, did you ever, in cellar, tavern, gin palace, or dram-shop, spend the price of your children’s food for a swig half so delicious? Now, for the first time for a long while, you know the flavour of cold water. Good bye! and remember, whenever you are thirsty, that I keep a constant supply at the old stand. Who next? O, my little friend, just let loose from school; you would clear your throat with a sup of the pure and lovely? Take it, and may your heart and throat be never scorched by afiercer thirst than now. There, my dear child, put down the cup, and yield your place to this good-looking gentleman, with a countenance fair and ruddy, and cheerful as the sun in May. It is Stephen Grovely, a friend to water, and to peace, and to vegetable food, and a good friend beside. He takes a sup as if he could make a supper of it, and sleep like moonshine on the placid deep. Who is that coming by, with a sneer and a laugh at Mr. Grovely? He is an oldish kind of gentleman, and treads very lightly on the stones, saving his poor old toes with a stick, and stopping for breath every minute or so. How he pants and wheezes, and what strange winces and contortions are on his face at every movement! How do you find yourself this morning, sir? I hope you had a comfortable night—no nightmares, groanings, fearful dreams, or kickings about in your sleep. “You be hanged!†says the old man. “Thank you, sir, for your good wishes.†I only say:—Go and draw one cork, tip the decanter, pour out the ‘rosy red,’ the ‘golden saffron,’ the ‘purple blue;’ but, when your great toe shall set you a-roaring, don’t say it is the Town Pump.“ If gentlemen love the pleasant titilation of the gout, and won’t take advice, ’tis all one to the Town Pump. Ah, ah! Old Lion,Peter Parley’sold dog, sixteen years old this very day! Come and celebrate your nativity. Well done, old boy, with your two fore-legs on the cistern, and your hind-legs erect; loll out your red tongue, while I pump you a draught. Well may you wag your old tail as thanks, and walk away satisfied, and, old as you are, gambol about refreshed. Lion, Lion! your worship never had the gout, so do not bark at that poor old gentleman who hobbles by you, looking so sour and woeful.
Are you all satisfied? then wipe your mouths, my good friends, and be thankful; and while the spout has a moment’s leisure, I will delight the town with a few historical reminiscences. In far antiquity, beneath the darksome shadow of venerable boughs a spring bubbled out of the leaf-strewn earth, on the very spot where you now behold me on the sunny pavement. The water was bright and clear, and seemed as precious as liquid diamonds. Amid the grove—for it was a sacred one—Druid-seers celebrated their mystic rites, and, with the pure, undulterated stream, allayed the fiery thirst of feverish lips, and cured diseases. Here they assembled in high delight at Christmas time, and while snow covered all the earth, was kept open by their prayers the then only bubbling spring. But the Druids passed away, and in their place, ages after, were seen, yet still in the same white robes, holy priests of Christ, sanctifying the sacred spot. The spring bubbled as before: but now it had the power to heal—pilgrims flocked to it from all parts—the pious St. Columb had sanctified it. It worked miracles on the diseased. The halt, the maimed, the sick came to it and were healed. Free rose the spring; but it was no longer a free offering to the poor, the sick, and the wretched. A price was set upon it. Those that thirsted for the water had to pay before they got any;—as the pay was increased the miracles were more wonderful, till at last, over the once free and natural spring a stupendous building arose, with its flying buttresses high in air; its spandrils within, and their corbels capped with the faces of the condemned; its lofty pinnacle studded with angels, and every coign of vantage speaking the mysteries of a faith which was obliterated by its grotesque ornaments; yet, age after age, the miraculouswaters flowed. At last, the sacred fane decayed, and holy men were no more seen; broken pillars and scattered mouldings bestrewed the place; and the grass, and the rank plants of summer, and the briar, and the burdock, and the tansy were the only guardians of the spot; yet, still the spring bubbled forth, and threw its bright gems of brilliance to the light of heaven; and solitary men would come and moralise over its site, with tears as deep as its own gushings. At last the fountain was broken up; the ruins of the old abbey were cleared away; place was given to the levelling hand of time; a hostlery arose near to the place whereon the fountain stood, a part of which occupied the very spot. Still, however, the spring bubbled forth by fits and starts,—its waters sometimes clear, sometimes turbid. It was turned into a tank or pool; and while horses slackened their thirst, their masters increased theirs by the strong waters of the inn; and there were carousals, and debaucheries, and strifes, and murders upon a place which had once been considered holy. Fire came during an intoxicating season—the season when peace on earth and good-will towards man was proclaimed. The hostlery was burnt down—the pure spring was smothered—and its very site, after a lapse of years, forgotten. At last foundations were dug—a new town sprang up over the old—a church and market-house took the place of the old abbey—and a Temperance Hotel that of the Inn. The old spring bubbled up again, in delight, at the improved prospect. But it now lay on the earth, yet higher on Sabbath-days. Whenever a baby was to be baptised, the sexton came and filled his basin, and placed it on the font in the baptistry of the church: and hither, too, came the pious deacon of the chapel,with his rude basin of delf, for the same holy purpose. Thus, one generation after another was consecrated to heaven by its waters, and cast their waning shadows into its crystal bosom. But in course of time another change took place; a greedy bricklayer of a churchwarden, who wanted a job out of the parish, proposed to build over the spring; and cartloads of bricks and high mountains of mortar incased it on every side. The spring was effectually brick-bound, and upon it arose the Town Pump, with its spout and handle of iron, and a gas-light above it, and a stone cistern below, on which appeared, in all the emblazoning of municipal grandeur—“Erected in 1848: Job Trick and Giles Keen, Churchwardens.†Then let us drink the health of these worthy gentlemen, and success to their better motives. Drink then again, my friends, to the cause of Temperance; drink to the cause of peace all the world over; drink to the cause of righteousness; to that of pure religion, drawn from the fountain-head of Him who called himself the “Living Water.†Pump away, while you have life, in the cause of Truth! Pump away, my lads, for all that thirst! Let our Town Pump be our Physician, our Town Councillor, our Keeper of the Peace, and our best resource when we are sick, sad, or thirsty.
Fishing at a rustic bridge