Successful Recitations Part 69

'TWAS EVER THUS.

BY HENRY S. LEIGH.

I never rear'd a young gazelle (Because, you see, I never tried); But, had it known and loved me well, No doubt the creature would have died.

My rich and aged uncle JOHN Has known me long and loves me well, But still persists in living on-- I would he were a young gazelle!

I never loved a tree or flower; But, if I _had_, I beg to say, The blight, the wind, the sun, or shower, Would soon have wither'd it away.

I've dearly loved my uncle JOHN From childhood to the present hour, And yet he _will_ go living on-- I would he were a tree or flower!

MISS MALONEY ON THE CHINESE QUESTION.

BY MARY MAPES DODGE.

Ovh! don't be talkin'. Is it howld on, ye say? An' didn't I howld on till the heart of me was clane broke entirely, and me wastin' that thin ye 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, and I'll sit down when I'm ready, so I will, Ann Ryan; and ye'd better be listenin' than drawin' yer remarks). An' is it meself, with five good characters from respectable places, woud 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 once-t 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 them French waiters, wid their paper collars and bra.s.s rings on their fingers, isn't company for no gurril brought up dacent and honest. Och! sorra a bit I knew what was comin' till the missus walked into me kitchen, smilin', and says, kind o' schared, "Here's Fing Wing, Kitty; an' ye'll have too much sinse to mind his bein' a little strange." Wid that she shoots the doore; and I, misthrustin' 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 rayle haythen Chineser, a-grinnin' like he'd just come off a tay-box. If ye'll belave me, the crayther was that yeller it 'ud sicken ye to see him; and sorra stick was on him but a black night-gown over his trowsers, and the front of his head shaved claner nor a copper biler, and a black tail a-hangin'

down from it behind, wid his two feet stook into the haythenestest shoes yer ever set eyes on. Och! but I was upstairs afore ye could turn about, a-givin' the missus warnin', an' only stopt wid her by her raisin' me wages two dollars, an' playdin' wid me how it was a Christian's duty to bear wid haythens, and taich 'em all in our power--the saints save us! Well, the ways and trials I had wid that Chineser, Ann Ryan, I couldn't be tellin'. Not a blissid thing cud I do, but he'd be lookin' on wid his eyes c.o.c.ked up'ard like two poomp-handles; an' he widdout a speck or smitch o' whishkers on him, an' his finger-nails full a yard long. But it's dyin' ye'd be to see the missus a-larnin' him, an' he a-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, ye'd be shurprised, an' ketchin an' copyin' things the best of us will do a-hurried wid work, yet don't want comin' to the knowledge o' 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 drumsticks?--yes, an' atin' dogs an' cats unknownst to me, I warrant ye, which it is the custom of them Chinesers, till the thought made me that sick I could die. An' didn't the crayture proffer to help me a week ago come Toosday, an' me foldin' down me clane clothes for the ironin', an' fill his haythen 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 been doin' till ye'd be dishtracted. It's yerself knows the tinder feet that's on me since ever I been in this counthry. Well, owin' to that, I fell into a way o' slippin' me shoes off when I'd be sittin' down to pale the praties, or the likes o' that; an' do ye mind, that haythen would do the same thing after me whiniver the missus set him to parin' apples or tomaterses.

Did I lave for that? Faix, an' I didn't. Didn't he get me into trouble wid my missus, the haythen! Ye're aware yerself 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'-blanket, the how it cuddent be bodderin' any one. Well, what shud it be, but this blessed Sathurday morn, the missus was a-spakin' pleasant an' respec'ful wid me in me kitchen, when the grocer boy comes in, and stands fornenst her wid his boondles; and she motions like to Fing Wing (which I never would call him by that name or any other but just haythen)--she motions to him, she does, for to take the boondles, an' emty out the sugar and what not where they belongs. If ye'll belave me, Ann Ryan, what did that blatherin' Chineser do but take out a sup of sugar, an'

a han'ful o' tay, an' a bit o' chaze, right afore the missus, wrap, 'em into bits o' paper, an' I s.p.a.cheless wid shurprise, an' he the next minute up wid the ironin'-blanket, an' pullin' out me box wid a show o' bein sly to put them in. Och! the Lord forgive me, but I clutched it, an' missus sayin' "O Kitty!" in a way that 'ud cruddle yer blood. "He's a haythen nager," says I. "I've found yer out," says she, "I'll arrist him," says I. "It's yerself ought to be arristid,"

says she. "Yer won't," says I, "I will," says she. And so it went, till she give me such sa.s.s as I cuddent take from no lady, an' I give her warnin' an' left that instant, an' she a-pointin' to the doore.

--_Theophilus and Others_.

THE HEATHEN CHINEE.

BY BRET HARTE.

_PLAIN LANGUAGE FROM TRUTHFUL JAMES (TABLE MOUNTAIN, 1870)_.

Which I wish to remark, And my language is plain, That for ways that are dark And for tricks that are vain The heathen Chinee is peculiar, Which the same I would rise to explain.

Ah Sin was his name!

And I shall not deny, In regard to the same, What that name might imply; But his smile it was pensive and childlike, As I frequent remarked to Bill Nye.

It was August the third, And quite soft was the skies; Which it might be inferred That Ah Sin was likewise; Yet he played it that day upon William And me in a way I despise,

Which we had a small game, And Ah Sin took a hand; It was Euchre. The same He did not understand; But he smiled as he sat by the table, With the smile that was childlike and bland.

Yet the cards they were stocked In a way that I grieve, And my feelings were shocked At the state of Nye's sleeve, Which was stuffed full of aces and bowers, And the same with intent to deceive.

But the hands that were played By that heathen Chinee, And the points that he made Were quite frightful to see,-- Till at last he put down a right bower, Which the same Nye had dealt unto me.

Then I looked up at Nye, And he gazed upon me; And he rose with a sigh, And said, "Can this be?

We are ruined by Chinese cheap labour,"-- And he went for that heathen Chinee.

In the scene that ensued I did not take a hand; But the floor it was strewed Like the leaves on the strand With the cards that Ah Sin had been hiding, In the game "he did not understand."

In his sleeves, which were long, He had twenty-four packs,-- Which was coming it strong, Yet I state but the facts; And we found on his nails, which were taper, What is frequent in tapers,--that's wax.

Which is why I remark, And my language is plain, That for ways that are dark And for tricks that are vain The heathen Chinee is peculiar, Which the same I am free to maintain.

HO-HO OF THE GOLDEN BELT.

_ONE OF THE "NINE STORIES OF CHINA."_ BY JOHN G. SAXE.

A beautiful maiden was little Min-Ne, Eldest daughter of wise w.a.n.g-Ke; Her skin had the colour of saffron-tea, And her nose was flat as flat could be; And never was seen such beautiful eyes.

Two almond-kernels in shape and size, Set in a couple of slanting gashes, And not in the least disfigured by lashes; And then such feet!

You'd scarcely meet In the longest walk through the grandest street (And you might go seeking From Nanking to Peking) A pair was remarkably small and neat.

Two little stumps, Mere pedal lumps, That toddle along with the funniest thumps In China, you know, are reckon'd trumps.

It seems a trifle, to make such a boast of it; But how they _will_ dress it: And bandage and press it, By making the least, to make the most of it!

As you may suppose, She had plenty of beaux Bowing around her beautiful toes, Praising her feet, and eyes, and nose In rapturous verse and elegant prose!

She had lots of lovers, old and young: There was lofty Long, and babbling Lung, Opulent Tin, and eloquent Tung, Musical Sing, and, the rest among, Great Hang-Yu and Yu-be-Hung.

But though they smiled, and smirk'd, and bow'd, None could please her of all the crowd; Lung and Tung she thought too loud; Opulent Tin was much too proud; Lofty Long was quite too tall; Musical Sing sung very small; And, most remarkable freak of all, Of great Hang-Yu the lady made game, And Yu-be-Hung she mocked the sama, By echoing back his ugly name!

But the hardest heart is doom'd to melt; Love is a pa.s.sion that _will_ be felt; And just when scandal was making free To hint "What a pretty old maid she'd be,"-- Little Min-Ne, Who but she?

Married Ho-Ho of the Golden Belt!

A man, I must own, of bad reputation, And low in purse, though high in station,-- A sort of Imperial poor relation, Who rank'd as the Emperor's second cousin Multiplied by a hundred dozen; And, to mark the love the Emperor felt, Had a pension clear Of three pounds a year, And the honour of wearing a Golden Belt!

And gallant Ho-Ho Could really show A handsome face, as faces go In this Flowery Land, where, you must know, The finest flowers of beauty grow.

He'd the very widest kind of jaws, And his nails were like an eagle's claws, And--though it may seem a wondrous tale-- (Truth is mighty and will prevail!) He'd a _queue_ as long as the deepest cause Under the Emperor's chancery laws!

Yet how he managed to win Min-Ne The men declared they couldn't see; But all the ladies, over their tea, In this one point were known to agree: _Four gifts_ were sent to aid his plea: A smoking-pipe with a golden clog, A box of tea and a poodle dog, And a painted heart that was all aflame, And bore, in blood, the lover's name, Ah! how could presents pretty as these A delicate lady fail to please?

She smoked the pipe with the golden clog, And drank the tea, and ate the dog, And kept the heart,--and that's the way The match was made, the gossips say.

I can't describe the wedding-day, Which fell in the lovely month of May; Nor stop to tell of the Honey-moon, And how it vanish'd all too soon; Alas! that I the truth must speak, And say that in the fourteenth week, Soon as the wedding guests were gone, And their wedding suits began to doff, Min-Ne was weeping and "taking-on,"

For _he_ had been trying to "take her off."

Six wives before he had sent to heaven, And being partial to number "seven,"

He wish'd to add his latest pet, Just, perhaps, to make up the set!

Mayhap the rascal found a cause Of discontent in a certain clause In the Emperor's very liberal laws, Which gives, when a Golden Belt is wed, Six hundred pounds to furnish the bed; And if in turn he marry a score, With every wife six hundred more.