You got bravely over it, anyhow, says mother.- Courtin', says he, Sam, is about the hardest work I know on; fightin' is nothin' to it. Facin' ball, grape, or bullet, or baganut, as we did at Bunker's Hill, is easy when a man is used to it, but face-in' a woman is-it's the devil, that's a fact. When I first seed her she filled my eye chock full; her pints were all good; short back, good rate to the shoulder, neat pastern, full about the- -There you go agin, says mother; I don't thank you one bit for talkin' of me as if I was a filly, and I won't stay to hear it, so there now: I believe, in my soul, you are onfakilized.-Well, I reconnoitred and reconnoitred for ever so long, a-considerin' how I was to lay siege to her, stormin' a battery or escaladin' a redoubt is nothin' to it, I have done it fifty times.Fifty times! says mother, lookin' arch to him, for she was kinder sorted wrathy at bein' talked of as a horse.-Well, says father, forty times, at any rate.- Forty times! says mother; that's a powerful number. Well, d-n it! twenty times, then, and more too. Twenty times! said she; did our folks storm twenty batteries all together? Why, tarnation! says father, I suppose at last you'll say I warn't at Bunker's Hill at all, or Mud Creek, or the battle atween the outposts at Peach Orchard? Or chargin' Elder Solomon Longstaff's sheep, says mother.-Well, by the tarnal! says father, who hopped with rage like a ravin' distracted parched pea; if that bean't pitikilar I am a punkin, and the pigs may do their prettiest with me. Didn't I tell you, Sam, nothin' could come up to a woman? Except a filly, says mother; now don't compare me to a hoss, and talk of p'ints that ain't to be thought of, much less talked of, and I won't jibe you about your campaigns, for one thing is sartin, no man ever doubted your courage, and Gineral Gates told me so himself. Polly, says the Gineral, if you take Sargeant Slick, you take a hero.-Well, says father, quite mollified by that are title of hero, Gates was a good judge, and a good feller too. Fill your glass, Sam, for I always calculate to be merry on this night; and, Polly dear, you must take a drop too: if we do get warm sometimes, makin' up seems all the sweeter for it. Well, as I was a-sayin', I studied every sort of way how I should begin; so at last, thinks I, a faint heart never won a fair lady; so one Sabbath-day I brushed up my regimentals and hung old Bunker by my side, and ironed out my hat anew, and washed the feather in milk till it looked as well as one jist boughten, and off I goes to meetin'. Well, I won't say I heerd much of the sarmon, because I didn't; but I know it was a little the longest I ever sot out; and when we was dismissed, I was e'en a'most sorry it was over, I was so discomboborated, and I breathed as short as if I had a-been chasin' of the British all day; but at last I moved out with the crowd, and movin' sot me all to rights agin. So I marches up to Polly Styles, that was your mother that is,-Mornin', says I, Miss Styles, and I gave her a salute. Why, Slick, says she, how you talk! you never did no such a thing; jist as if I would let you salute me before all the folks that way. I did tho', upon my soul, says father. I'll take my Bible-oath, says mother, there is not a word of truth in it. Why, Polly, says father, how can you say so? I brought both feet to the first position this way (and he got upon the floor and indicated), then I came attention this way (and he stood up as stiff as a poker, he held his arms down by his side quite - - straight, and his head as erect as a flagstaff), then I brought up my right arm with a graceful sweep, and without bendin' the body or movin' the head the least mite or morsel in the world, I brought the back of my hand against the front of my regimental hat (and he indicated again).-Oh! says mother, that salute, indeed! I detract, I recollect you did.-That salute! says father: why what salute did you mean? Why, says mother, colorin' up, I thought you meant that-that-that-never mind what I meant.-Oh, ho! says father, I take, I take; talk of a salute, and a woman can't think of anything else but a kiss. It's the first thing they think of in the mornin' and the last at night.-Go on with your story, and cut it short, if you please, says mother, for it's gettin' rather tedious.-Mornin', says I, Miss Styles, how do you do?-Reasonable well, I give you thanks, says she, how be you?-Considerable, says I. When that was done, the froth was gone, and the beer flat; I couldn't think of another word to say for mindin' of her, and how beautiful she was, and I walked on as silent as if I was at the head of my guard.-At last, says your mother, Is that splendid regimental you have on, Mr. Slick, the same you wore at Bunker's Hill?-Oh, dear! what a load that word took off my heart; it gave me somethin' to say, tho' none of the clearest. Yes, Miss, says I, it is; and it was a glorious day for this great republic,-it was the cradle of our liberty.-Well done, Slick! says her father, as he rode by jist at that moment; you are gittin' on bravely, talkin' of cradles already. Well, that knocked me all up of a heap, and sot your mother a-colorin' as red as anything. I hardly know what I said arter that, and used one word for another like a fool. We had twenty thousand as fine gallant young galls there, says I, that day as ever I laid eyes on.- Twenty thousand! said Polly: do tell! Why, what on airth was they a-doin' of there?—In arms, says I, a-strugglin' for their liberty. And did they get away? said she, a-laughin'.-Poor things! said I, many of thein, whose bosoms beat high with ardor, were levelled there that day, I guess. Why, Mr. Slick, said she, how you talk!-Yes, says I, nine of them from Charlestown accompanied me there, and we spent the night afore the ingagement in the trenches without a blankit to cover us.-They had little to do to be there at such hours with you, said Polly.-Little to do! said I; you wouldn't have said so, Miss, if you had a-been there. You'd a-found that lyin' exposed. -I don't want to hear no more about it, said she; let's join mother, and I'll axe her about it. - Do, said I, and she 'll tell you they fell on a bed of glory.-Mother, says Polly, Sargeant Slick says there were twenty thousand galls at Bunker's Hill; did you ever heer tell of it afore?-Men, says I.-No, galls, said she.-No, men, says I. Twenty thousand galls, they all repeated; and then they laughed ready to kill themselves, and said, what onder the sun could put such a crotchet as that are into your head?-Miss, says I, if I did say so. -Oh! you did, said she, and you know it.—If I did say so, it was a mistake; but that put it into my head that put everything else out.-And what was that? said she.-Why, as pretty a gall, said I, as—. —.—Oh! then, said she, they was all galls in the trenches, after all? I won't hear no more about them at no rate. Good-b'ye! Well, there I stood lookin' like a fool, and feelin' a proper sight bigger fool than I looked. Dear heart! says mother, gittin' up and goin' behind him, and pattin' him on the cheek,-did she make a fool of him then?-and she put her arm round his neck and kissed him, and then filling up his tumbler, said—go on, dear.— Well, it was some time, said father, afore I recovered that misstep; and whenever I looked at her arterwards she larfed, and that confused me more; so that I began to think at last it would be jist about as well for me to give it up as a bad bargain, when one Sabbath-day I observed all the Styles's a-comin' to meetin' except Polly, who staid to home; so I waits till they all goes in, and then cuts off hot foot for the river, and knocks at the door of the house, tho' I actilly believe my heart beat the loudest of the two. Well, when I goes in, there sot Polly Styles that was, your mother that is, by the fire a-readin' of a book. Goin' to meetin'? says I.—I guess not, said she; are you?-I guess not, said I. Then there was a pause. We both looked into the fire. I don't know what she was a-thinkin' on ; but I know what I was, and that was what to say next. Polly, said I. Did you speak? said she.-I—I—I—it stuck in my throat.Oh! said she, I thought you spoke. Then we sot and looked into the coals agin. At last she said,-What couple was that was called last Lord's-day?—I don't mind, said I; but I know who I wish it was. Who? said she.-Why, me and somebody else. Then why don't you and somebody else get called then? said she.-I-I-Iit stuck again in my throat. If I hadn't a-been so bothered advisin' of myself, I could have got it out, I do suppose; but jist as I was a-goin' to speak, I couldn't think of any words; but now's your time, it's a grand chance. Arter a while, says she,-Father will be to home soon, I am a-thinkin'; meetin' must be near out now.— Likes as not, says I. Presently up jumps Polly, and says,-Entertainin' this, ain't it? s'posen' you read me a sarmon, it will give us somethin' to talk about.-And afore I could say a word agin' it, she put a book into my hand, and said, - Begin, and threw herself down on the settle.-Well, I hadn't read a page hardly afore she was asleep, and then I laid down the book, and says I to myself, says I, what shall I do next? and I had jist got a speech ready for her, when she woke up, and rubbin' her eyes, said, I am 'most afeerd I gave you a chance of a forfeit by nappin' arter that fashion; but, as luck would have it, you was too busy reading. I'll take care not to do so agin. Go on, if you please, sir.-Well, I began to read a second time, and hadn't gone on above a few minutes afore a little wee snore showed me she was asleep agin. Now, says I to myself, arter such an invitation as she gin me about the gloves, I am darned if I don't try for the forfeit while she is asleep. I didn't give no such invitation at all about the gloves, says mother; don't believe one word of it; it's jist an invention of his own. Men like to boast, and your father is the greatest bragger livin' out of the twenty thousand galls that was at Bunker's Hill.-Polly, says father, it's nateral to deny it, but it's true for all that.-Well, says I to myself, says I, suppose it was the devil or a Britisher that was there, Sergeant Slick, what would you do? Why, says I to myself, for answer, says I, I would jist shut my eyes and rush right at it; and with that I plucked up courage and run right at the settee full split. Oh, dear! the settee warn't strong enough. - Lawful heart! says mother, what a fib! did you ever? well, I never did hear the beat of that; it's all made out of whole cloth, I declare.-The settee warn't strong enough, said father. It broke down with an awful smash, your mother, Polly Styles that was, kickin' and screamin' till all was blue agin. Her comb broke, and out came her hair, and she looked as wild as a hawk.-Gloves! says I.-You shan't, says she.-I will, says I.-In arms a-strugglin' for their liberty, says her father, who jist then come in from meetin'. -Polly squeeled like a rat in a trap, and cut and run out of the room full chisel.-Dear, dear, said mother, what will he say next, I wonder?-And then the old man and me stood facein' one another like two strange cats in a garret. An accident, says I; so I perceeve, says he.-Nothin' but lookin' for a pair of gloves, says I.-As you and the nine galls did at the trenches, at Bunker's Hill, said he, for the blankit.-Now friend Styles, said I.-Now friend Slick, said he.-It warn't my fault, says I. Certainly not, says he; a pretty gall at home, family out; used to twenty thousand galls in war, it's nateral to make love in peace : do you take?-Well, says I, it does look awkward, I confess.-Very, says he. Well, Slick, says he, the long and short of the matter is, you must either marry or fight.-Says I, friend Styles, as for fightin', Bunker's Hill, Mud Creek, and Peach Orchard are enough for any one man, in all conscience; but I'll marry as soon as you please, and the sooner the better. So I should think, said he.. No, no, neighbour Styles, said I, you don't do me justice, you don't indeed ; I never had the courage to put the question yet. Well, if that don't cap all! says mother; that beats the bugs; it does fairly take the rag off.-A man, says Mr. Styles, that has nine ladies in the trenches with him all night, in arms a-strugglin' for liberty, without a blankit to cover them, to talk of not havin' courage to put the question, is rather too good. Will you marry?—I will, says I, and only jist too happy to-You shall be called then this blessed arternoon, said he, so stay dine, son Slick.-Well, to make a long story short, the thing turned out better than I expected, and we were spliced in little better than half no time. That was the first and last kiss I ever had afore we was married, Polly was so everlastin' coy; but arterwards she nev-. -Not one word more, says mother, to your peril, not one word more, and she got up and shook her knittin' at him quite spunky. Most o' that are story was an invention of your own, jist a mere brag, and I won't hear no more. I don't mind a joke when we are alone, but I won't hear nothin' said afore that are boy that lessens his respect for his mother the leastest grain, so there now.-Well, well, says father, have it your own way, Polly, dear; I have had my say, and I wouldn't ryle you for the world, for this I will say, a most an excellent wife, dependable friend, and whiskin' housekeeper you have made to me, that's sartain. No man don't want no better, that's a fact. She hadn't no ear for musick, Sam, but she had a capital eye for dirt, and for poor folks that's much better. No one never seed as much dirt in my house as a fly couldn't brush off with his wings. Boston galls may boast of their spinnetts, and their gytars, and their eyetalian airs, and their ears for musick; but give me the gall, I say, that has an eye for dirt, for she is the gall for my money. But to eventuate my story,-when the weddin' was over, Mr. Styles, that was your grandfather that is, come up to me, and tappin' me on the shoulder, says he, Slick, says he, everybody knew you was a hero in the field, but I actilly did not think you was such a devil among the galls. Nine of them in the trenches at one time, in arms, a-strugglin' for their liberty, and so on. You must give over them pranks now you are married. This is all very well as a joke, says father; but Sam, my son, says he, them that have seed sarvice, and I flatter myself I have seed as much as most men, at Bunker's Hill, Mud Creek, and Peach Orchard, et sarterar, as the Boston marchants say,-veterans I mean,—will tell you, that to face an inimy is nothin'; but it is better to face the devil than to face—a woman. THE ORIGIN OF THE BUCENTAUR.* A MAN yet young, but clad in garments tatter'd, Hath sat for days-motionless as a thing No homage yields-scarce hears the crowd's acclaim Nay scarce the Doge's shout," Ha!-art thou not?-Thy name?" Roland Ranucci was my name by birth; But Alexander is the one more known. Sienna was my birth-place, the wide earth A houseless vagabond!-yea, so that Rome, Hath yell'd me from her! Friend, nor food, nor home Before the beggar'd Pontiff, and around The City of the Islands of the Sea Behold the nobles grovelling on the ground In homage, like their noblest. A wild sound Of welcome multitudinous shakes the sky, Startling like thunder! And the clouds which frown'd On the unthron'd Alexander's destiny Are swept away! Visions, long, long past by, Resume existence in his brain again: For She of the Lion lifts her hand on high, Swearing to seek the Kaiser in his den, *A melancholy interest surrounds the above production. The clever author, who had been for some time a contributor to our Miscellany, besides being the author of several popular ballads, placed it in our hands only a few days before, in a moment of mental aberration, he terminated his existence. Mr. Inman had been subject to occasional fits of mental excitement, induced principally by too much study. To this clever young man a medal was awarded by the Melodists' Club in 1837, for the words of a song entitled "The days of yore," set to music by John Parry, jun., and also gained the prize of the value of ten guineas in 1838. Mr. Inman was also the writer of the national song, "St. George's flag of Eng land," composed by Mr. Blewett, to whom the same club awarded its prize of fifteen guineas on the 25th of June last. He also wrote the song, "Sweet Mary mine," which Madame Stockhausen and Miss Birch rendered so popular last season by singing it at numerous concerts. |