The Contrast Part 8

JENNY. Well, and how did you like them?

JONATHAN. Why, I vow they were pretty much like other families;--there was a poor, good-natured curse of a husband, and a sad rantipole of a wife.

JENNY. But did you see no other folks?

JONATHAN. Yes. There was one youngster; they called him Mr. Joseph; he talked as sober and as pious as a minister; but, like some ministers that I know, he was a sly tike in his heart for all that: He was going to ask a young woman to spark it with him, and--the Lord have mercy on my soul!--she was another man's wife.

JESSAMY. The Wabas.h.!.+

JENNY. And did you see any more folks?

JONATHAN. Why, they came on as thick as mustard. For my part, I thought the house was haunted. There was a soldier fellow, who talked about his row de dow, dow, and courted a young woman; but, of all the cute folk I saw, I liked one little fellow--

JENNY. Aye! who was he?

JONATHAN. Why, he had red hair, and a little round plump face like mine, only not altogether so handsome. His name was--Darby;--that was his baptizing name; his other name I forgot. Oh! it was Wig--Wag--Wag-all, Darby Wag-all,--pray, do you know him?--I should like to take a sling with him, or a drap of cyder with a pepper-pod in it, to make it warm and comfortable.

JENNY. I can't say I have that pleasure.

JONATHAN. I wish you did; he is a cute fellow. But there was one thing I didn't like in that Mr. Darby; and that was, he was afraid of some of them 'ere shooting irons, such as your troopers wear on training days.

Now, I'm a true born Yankee American son of liberty, and I never was afraid of a gun yet in all my life.

JENNY. Well, Mr. Jonathan, you were certainly at the play-house.

JONATHAN. I at the play-house!--Why didn't I see the play then?

JENNY. Why, the people you saw were players.

JONATHAN. Mercy on my soul! did I see the wicked players?--Mayhap that 'ere Darby that I liked so was the old serpent himself, and had his cloven foot in his pocket. Why, I vow, now I come to think on't, the candles seemed to burn blue, and I am sure where I sat it smelt tarnally of brimstone.

JESSAMY. Well, Mr. Jonathan, from your account, which I confess is very accurate, you must have been at the play-house.

JONATHAN. Why, I vow, I began to smell a rat. When I came away, I went to the man for my money again; you want your money? says he; yes, says I; for what? says he; why, says I, no man shall jocky me out of my money; I paid my money to see sights, and the dogs a bit of a sight have I seen, unless you call listening to people's private business a sight.

Why, says he, it is the School for Scandalization.--The School for Scandalization!--Oh! ho! no wonder you New-York folks are so cute at it, when you go to school to learn it; and so I jogged off.

JESSAMY. My dear Jenny, my master's business drags me from you; would to heaven I knew no other servitude than to your charms.

JONATHAN. Well, but don't go; you won't leave me so.--

JESSAMY. Excuse me.--Remember the cash.

[_Aside to him, and--Exit._]

JENNY. Mr. Jonathan, won't you please to sit down. Mr. Jessamy tells me you wanted to have some conversation with me. [_Having brought forward two chairs, they sit._]

JONATHAN. Ma'am!--

JENNY. Sir!--

JONATHAN. Ma'am!--

JENNY. Pray, how do you like the city, sir?

JONATHAN. Ma'am!--

JENNY. I say, sir, how do you like New-York?

JONATHAN. Ma'am!--

JENNY. The stupid creature! but I must pa.s.s some little time with him, if it is only to endeavour to learn whether it was his master that made such an abrupt entrance into our house, and my young mistress' heart, this morning. [_Aside._] As you don't seem to like to talk, Mr.

Jonathan--do you sing?

JONATHAN. Gor, I--I am glad she asked that, for I forgot what Mr.

Jessamy bid me say, and I dare as well be hanged as act what he bid me do, I'm so ashamed. [_Aside._] Yes, ma'am, I can sing--I can sing Mear, Old Hundred, and Bangor.

JENNY. Oh! I don't mean psalm tunes. Have you no little song to please the ladies, such as Roslin Castle, or the Maid of the Mill?

JONATHAN. Why, all my tunes go to meeting tunes, save one, and I count you won't altogether like that 'ere.

JENNY. What is it called?

JONATHAN. I am sure you have heard folks talk about it; it is called Yankee Doodle.

JENNY. Oh! it is the tune I am fond of; and, if I know anything of my mistress, she would be glad to dance to it. Pray, sing!

JONATHAN [_sings_].

Father and I went up to camp, Along with Captain Goodwin; And there we saw the men and boys, As thick as hasty-pudding.

Yankee doodle do, &c.

And there we saw a swamping gun, Big as log of maple, On a little deuced cart, A load for father's cattle.

Yankee doodle do, &c.

And every time they fired it off It took a horn of powder, It made a noise--like father's gun, Only a nation louder.

Yankee doodle do, &c.

There was a man in our town, His name was--

No, no, that won't do. Now, if I was with Tabitha Wymen and Jemima Cawley down at father Chase's, I shouldn't mind singing this all out before them--you would be affronted if I was to sing that, though that's a lucky thought; if you should be affronted, I have something dang'd cute, which Jessamy told me to say to you.

JENNY. Is that all! I a.s.sure you I like it of all things.

JONATHAN. No, no; I can sing more; some other time, when you and I are better acquainted, I'll sing the whole of it--no, no--that's a fib--I can't sing but a hundred and ninety verses: our Tabitha at home can sing it all.--[_Sings._]

Marblehead's a rocky place, And Cape-Cod is sandy; Charlestown is burnt down, Boston is the dandy.

Yankee doodle, doodle do, &c.

I vow, my own town song has put me into such topping spirits that I believe I'll begin to do a little, as Jessamy says we must when we go a-courting.--[_Runs and kisses her._] Burning rivers! cooling flames!