Bill and the BoysBill and the Boys.Ihavebeen often requested by my young readers to tell them something more about Bill Keeler. I have, therefore, been rumaging over my memory, to see if I could pick up something about him, worth relating. Now Bill was a great story teller, and he with myself and several other boys, used often to get together, and amuse one another by relating such narratives as we could invent or recollect. Bill was always foremost on these occasions, and not only told the best, but the most stories. It is my purpose to present my readers with such of these tales as I can recollect. I shall not try to put them down in the exact language in which they were originally spoken,—but I shall give their substance and point. The first of these tales, I shall callTHE LOTTERY TICKET.There was once a poor, but worthy man, whose name was Trudge. He was a pedler, and though he dealt only in pins, needles, thread, combs and such little articles, he succeeded in getting a comfortable living. Nay, more—he laid up a trifle every year, and finally he had enough to buy him a small house. He had a wife and two or three children, and to this humble cottage they speedily removed.Trudge thought himself very happy when he was snugly established at his new house. He kissed Mrs. Trudge, and all the little Trudges; danced “heyBetty Martin!” and thought himself one of the luckiest fellows in the world. And so he was, if he could have been content; but, alas! he was beset with certain very troublesome visiters; they were Ambition, Envy and Idleness. I must tell you all about it.As Trudge travelled about the country selling his wares, he noticed some fine houses, around which he always saw nice carriages, gay horses, and well-dressed people, who seemed to have nothing to do but to amuse themselves. This made Trudge feel uneasy, and he said to himself—“Why wasn’t I rich, and why can’t I live in a fine house, and be a gentleman? Here I am—only a pedler—poor Tom Trudge—and it’s all trudge, trudge, from morning to night; winter and summer, fair or foul, hot or cold, I must trudge, trudge! If I was rich, and lived in a fine house, I should be Thomas Trudge,Esq., and then I should be as good as anybody. I should have easy carriages and fat, slick horses, and Mrs. Trudge would be a fine lady!”Thus it was that poor Tom indulged his fancy, and all the time Envy and Ambition and Idleness were at work within, making him very unhappy. Envy made him feel a sort of hatred toward people who were richer than himself. Ambition urged him to make every effort to be rich; and, at the same time, Idleness told him that the greatest comfort in life was to have nothing to do. Thus it was that Tom, who had a neat pretty home, and every necessary comfort and convenience, was really miserable, because of these uneasy and uncomfortable thoughts.Tom at last opened his mind to his wife, and it seems that she had been feeling pretty much like himself. “I don’t see,” said she, “why we ain’t as good as the best; and I think it mean of you, Mr. Trudge, not to let me have as good a gown as Mrs. Million, up there on the hill. Last Sunday she came out with a bran-new yaller silk gown, and there was I, in the next pew, in my old caliker; and I thought to myself, ’tan’t right! And then, you must know, when the minister said any pleasant and comforting scriptures, he looked very kind at Mrs. Million and her new silk gown, and when he said anything about the wicked, he looked at me and my caliker. Now, Tom, I say ’tan’t fair.” And here Mrs. Trudge buried her face in her apron.Poor Trudge did all he could to comfort his spouse; but, alas! the peace of the cottage was gone. Tom and his wife had cast out Content and let in Envy, and Envy is a troublesome companion. He is never happy himself, and will let nobody else be happy. Envy is like a chestnut burr—all covered with prickles—and the closer you clasp it, the more it torments you. Yet this was now the inmate of Trudge’s cottage.Well, time went on, and things grew worse rather than better. It is true that Tom and his wife were thrifty people; they had now got to be pretty well off in the world, but still they were by no means as happy as they once were; envy and ambition still goaded them on; they yearned to be rich; and, strange to say, they hated the people who were in the station they themselves desired.They envied and hated Mrs. Million; yet they wanted very much to be like Mrs. Million.And—who would have thought it?—the time came when they had an opportunity to gratify their desires. Tom was one day in New York, whither he had gone to buy his stock of pins, thread, and needles—when he chanced to pass by a lottery office. Here, in the window, was a picture of a gay, lightly-dressed lady, pouring out gold and silver from a long thing, shaped like a horn, but as big as a corn basket. Plash went the money upon the ground, as free as water from the town pump. A bright thought struck Tom: “it’s of no use to plod,” said he to himself; “here I’ve got fifty dollars; if I lay it out in goods, I must go and peddle them out, and that’s hard work. Besides, what’s the use of it? Though I am a little richer by means of my labors, still, compared with the Millions and the Goldboys, I shall be poor. Now, I’ve a good mind to step in and buy a ticket in the New York State Lottery,☞HIGHEST PRIZE FIFTY THOUSAND DOLLARS!☜Perhaps I shall draw it.”While these thoughts passed in his mind, Tom entered the lottery office, and in a kind of frenzy, bought a ticket and paid his fifty dollars for it. He then rolled it carefully up in his pocket and set off for home—a distance of some forty miles. On his arrival here, he communicated what he had done, to his wife; and though she secretly approved of what he had done, she took him to task for it roundly; for it was dear Mrs. Trudge’s way to find fault with everything her husband did. Besides, in the present case, she wished, if the ticket should draw a blank, and the money be thus lost, to have it in her power to say to her spouse,☞“I told you so, Mr. Trudge!”—thereby proving her own sagacity and her husband’s want of sense. It is a pleasure to some wives, to prove that they ought to have been men, and their husbands women, and Mrs. Thomas Trudge was one of this amiable species. But, let us not be misunderstood. Mrs. Trudge wished only to degrade her husband in her own house, so as to keep the upper hand of him. Out of it, she always praised him to the skies, and she passed—except with those who knew better—as a most obedient, devoted, respectful wife.The lottery was to draw in about two months. Tom whiled away the time as well as he could. It is strange that creatures who have got only a few years to live, should still, at least half the time, be wishing to annihilate that very time which is so short. Yet so it is. Tom had given up peddling, for he was determined to be a rich man, and toil no more; besides, he had spent his money in the lottery ticket, and he had no cash to buy pins and needles with. He went to the tavern, drank gin sling, loafed with the idle fellows of the town, talked politics and scandal, and thus killed the time; but all did not make him content. Many times did he say to himself, “This idleness is a great curse; I wish I was at work; I’d rather peddle than play;” and yet, all the time, he was hoping and yearning for the day when he could be rich, and live without work.At last the time came when the lottery was to be drawn, and Tom waspreparing to set off for New York, to be present at the important crisis. “Now, Tom,” said his wife, “mind! If you draw the highest prize, I want you to buy me a yaller silk gown, jest like Mrs. Million’s, only a great deal smarter. And do you buy me a red satin bonnet, like Mrs. Goldboy’s, only redder. And then do you buy me a new fan, with a pikter of a Wenus on one side, and a Cowpig on the other. And then if I don’t go to meetin’, and see who’ll hold their heads highest, and who’ll get the comfortin’ scripters—I’m not Bridget Trudge!”“Well, well,” said Tom, in reply, “and suppose I don’t draw the prize?”“Suppose you don’t draw the prize!” said the spouse, “why then you have thrown away your money like a fool, and remember what I say; if you don’t draw the prize, remember that I told you so; and if you do draw the prize, get the silk gown and the silk bonnet, and the fan.”After a little further conversation, Tom departed on his errand. The result will be told in another chapter.
Bill and the Boys
Ihavebeen often requested by my young readers to tell them something more about Bill Keeler. I have, therefore, been rumaging over my memory, to see if I could pick up something about him, worth relating. Now Bill was a great story teller, and he with myself and several other boys, used often to get together, and amuse one another by relating such narratives as we could invent or recollect. Bill was always foremost on these occasions, and not only told the best, but the most stories. It is my purpose to present my readers with such of these tales as I can recollect. I shall not try to put them down in the exact language in which they were originally spoken,—but I shall give their substance and point. The first of these tales, I shall call
THE LOTTERY TICKET.
There was once a poor, but worthy man, whose name was Trudge. He was a pedler, and though he dealt only in pins, needles, thread, combs and such little articles, he succeeded in getting a comfortable living. Nay, more—he laid up a trifle every year, and finally he had enough to buy him a small house. He had a wife and two or three children, and to this humble cottage they speedily removed.
Trudge thought himself very happy when he was snugly established at his new house. He kissed Mrs. Trudge, and all the little Trudges; danced “heyBetty Martin!” and thought himself one of the luckiest fellows in the world. And so he was, if he could have been content; but, alas! he was beset with certain very troublesome visiters; they were Ambition, Envy and Idleness. I must tell you all about it.
As Trudge travelled about the country selling his wares, he noticed some fine houses, around which he always saw nice carriages, gay horses, and well-dressed people, who seemed to have nothing to do but to amuse themselves. This made Trudge feel uneasy, and he said to himself—“Why wasn’t I rich, and why can’t I live in a fine house, and be a gentleman? Here I am—only a pedler—poor Tom Trudge—and it’s all trudge, trudge, from morning to night; winter and summer, fair or foul, hot or cold, I must trudge, trudge! If I was rich, and lived in a fine house, I should be Thomas Trudge,Esq., and then I should be as good as anybody. I should have easy carriages and fat, slick horses, and Mrs. Trudge would be a fine lady!”
Thus it was that poor Tom indulged his fancy, and all the time Envy and Ambition and Idleness were at work within, making him very unhappy. Envy made him feel a sort of hatred toward people who were richer than himself. Ambition urged him to make every effort to be rich; and, at the same time, Idleness told him that the greatest comfort in life was to have nothing to do. Thus it was that Tom, who had a neat pretty home, and every necessary comfort and convenience, was really miserable, because of these uneasy and uncomfortable thoughts.
Tom at last opened his mind to his wife, and it seems that she had been feeling pretty much like himself. “I don’t see,” said she, “why we ain’t as good as the best; and I think it mean of you, Mr. Trudge, not to let me have as good a gown as Mrs. Million, up there on the hill. Last Sunday she came out with a bran-new yaller silk gown, and there was I, in the next pew, in my old caliker; and I thought to myself, ’tan’t right! And then, you must know, when the minister said any pleasant and comforting scriptures, he looked very kind at Mrs. Million and her new silk gown, and when he said anything about the wicked, he looked at me and my caliker. Now, Tom, I say ’tan’t fair.” And here Mrs. Trudge buried her face in her apron.
Poor Trudge did all he could to comfort his spouse; but, alas! the peace of the cottage was gone. Tom and his wife had cast out Content and let in Envy, and Envy is a troublesome companion. He is never happy himself, and will let nobody else be happy. Envy is like a chestnut burr—all covered with prickles—and the closer you clasp it, the more it torments you. Yet this was now the inmate of Trudge’s cottage.
Well, time went on, and things grew worse rather than better. It is true that Tom and his wife were thrifty people; they had now got to be pretty well off in the world, but still they were by no means as happy as they once were; envy and ambition still goaded them on; they yearned to be rich; and, strange to say, they hated the people who were in the station they themselves desired.They envied and hated Mrs. Million; yet they wanted very much to be like Mrs. Million.
And—who would have thought it?—the time came when they had an opportunity to gratify their desires. Tom was one day in New York, whither he had gone to buy his stock of pins, thread, and needles—when he chanced to pass by a lottery office. Here, in the window, was a picture of a gay, lightly-dressed lady, pouring out gold and silver from a long thing, shaped like a horn, but as big as a corn basket. Plash went the money upon the ground, as free as water from the town pump. A bright thought struck Tom: “it’s of no use to plod,” said he to himself; “here I’ve got fifty dollars; if I lay it out in goods, I must go and peddle them out, and that’s hard work. Besides, what’s the use of it? Though I am a little richer by means of my labors, still, compared with the Millions and the Goldboys, I shall be poor. Now, I’ve a good mind to step in and buy a ticket in the New York State Lottery,☞HIGHEST PRIZE FIFTY THOUSAND DOLLARS!☜Perhaps I shall draw it.”
While these thoughts passed in his mind, Tom entered the lottery office, and in a kind of frenzy, bought a ticket and paid his fifty dollars for it. He then rolled it carefully up in his pocket and set off for home—a distance of some forty miles. On his arrival here, he communicated what he had done, to his wife; and though she secretly approved of what he had done, she took him to task for it roundly; for it was dear Mrs. Trudge’s way to find fault with everything her husband did. Besides, in the present case, she wished, if the ticket should draw a blank, and the money be thus lost, to have it in her power to say to her spouse,☞“I told you so, Mr. Trudge!”—thereby proving her own sagacity and her husband’s want of sense. It is a pleasure to some wives, to prove that they ought to have been men, and their husbands women, and Mrs. Thomas Trudge was one of this amiable species. But, let us not be misunderstood. Mrs. Trudge wished only to degrade her husband in her own house, so as to keep the upper hand of him. Out of it, she always praised him to the skies, and she passed—except with those who knew better—as a most obedient, devoted, respectful wife.
The lottery was to draw in about two months. Tom whiled away the time as well as he could. It is strange that creatures who have got only a few years to live, should still, at least half the time, be wishing to annihilate that very time which is so short. Yet so it is. Tom had given up peddling, for he was determined to be a rich man, and toil no more; besides, he had spent his money in the lottery ticket, and he had no cash to buy pins and needles with. He went to the tavern, drank gin sling, loafed with the idle fellows of the town, talked politics and scandal, and thus killed the time; but all did not make him content. Many times did he say to himself, “This idleness is a great curse; I wish I was at work; I’d rather peddle than play;” and yet, all the time, he was hoping and yearning for the day when he could be rich, and live without work.
At last the time came when the lottery was to be drawn, and Tom waspreparing to set off for New York, to be present at the important crisis. “Now, Tom,” said his wife, “mind! If you draw the highest prize, I want you to buy me a yaller silk gown, jest like Mrs. Million’s, only a great deal smarter. And do you buy me a red satin bonnet, like Mrs. Goldboy’s, only redder. And then do you buy me a new fan, with a pikter of a Wenus on one side, and a Cowpig on the other. And then if I don’t go to meetin’, and see who’ll hold their heads highest, and who’ll get the comfortin’ scripters—I’m not Bridget Trudge!”
“Well, well,” said Tom, in reply, “and suppose I don’t draw the prize?”
“Suppose you don’t draw the prize!” said the spouse, “why then you have thrown away your money like a fool, and remember what I say; if you don’t draw the prize, remember that I told you so; and if you do draw the prize, get the silk gown and the silk bonnet, and the fan.”
After a little further conversation, Tom departed on his errand. The result will be told in another chapter.