Part 3 (1/2)

This state of things lasted for some years. But Ralph did not make much progress in the art. His horses continued to be the same stiff, awkward things that they were at first. So did his cows, and oxen, and dogs, and cats, and men. It became pretty evident, at least to everybody except the young artist himself, that he never would s.h.i.+ne in his favorite profession. He was not ”cut out for it,” apparently, though it took a great while to beat the idea out of his head, that he was going to make one of the greatest painters in the country. When he became a young man, however, he had sense enough to choose the carpenter's trade, instead of the painter's art. I think he showed a great deal more judgment than many other people do, who imagine they are destined to astonish two or three continents with their wonderful productions in some department of the fine arts, but who, unfortunately, are not much better fitted for either of them than a goose or a sheep.

V.

PUTTING ON AIRS:

OR, HOW I TRIED TO WIN RESPECT.

Reader--young reader, for I take it for granted you _are_ young, though if you should not happen to be, it does not matter--I have about three quarters of a mind to let you know what I think of the practice of _putting on airs_. The best way to do the thing perhaps, will be in the form of a story, and a story it shall be--a story about a friend of mine who is sometimes called Aunt Kate, and who has been known to call herself by that name.

It is true that some of the incidents in this story are not much to my friend's credit. But I am sure she cannot blame me for mentioning them to you; for she gave me the whole story, and I shall tell it almost exactly in her own words. Are you ready for it? Well, then, here it is:

Reader, have you ever been from home? Of course you have. Everybody goes from home in these days; but in the days of my childhood such an event was not a matter of course affair, as it now is. Most people stayed at home then, more then they do now--the very aged, and the very young, especially.

When I was a child, my parents sometimes took me with them, when they went to visit their city friends. These journeys used to excite the envy of all my young companions, none of whom, if I recollect right, had ever been to a city. But times have changed even in my native village; and the juvenile portion of its inhabitants begin their travels much earlier in life now, than they did then.

But the first time I went from home alone--that was an event! Went alone, did I say? I am too fast. My father saw me safely to the place where I was to go, and left me to spend a few days and come home in the _stage_.

When he left me, he gave me a bright half dollar, for spending money.

Now would you give anything, my little friend, to know how I spent it?

If you had known me in those days, you could have easily guessed, even if not much of a Yankee. I bought a book with it, of course. I thought I could not purchase anything to be compared with that in value. Since then I have learned there are other things in the world besides books, although I must own that I still cling to not a little of my old friends.h.i.+p for them. How long seemed the few days I was absent from my father's house. I had seen a great deal of the world, I thought, during that time. There seemed to be an illusion about it--a feeling as if I had been from home for weeks; and when I returned, and found some of the good things upon the table which were baked before I left home, I thought they must be very old--very old indeed.

”I should like to know how long you think you have been gone,” said some member of the family.

Sure enough! How long had I been away? Not quite a week. But you need not smile, for that week _was_ a long one. We do not always measure time by minutes and hours. That is not the only week of my life that has appeared long. I have seen other weeks that seemed as long as some months. We sometimes live very fast, and at other times, more slowly.

But this is not _the_ journey I am going to tell you about. I was young then, and a little green, no doubt; but before I left home again, I had got rid of my ignorance on some points. Miss Tompkins, a maiden lady, who sometimes came to our house to sew, and who laid claim to more personal experience in such matters than myself, had received from some one a chapter of instructions about traveling--a kind of traveler's guide--and as she did not wish to be so selfish as to keep all her knowledge for her own use, she very freely gave away some of it for my benefit.

[Ill.u.s.tration: AUNT KATE AND HER TUTOR]

”When you travel,” said my instructor, ”you must not be too modest and retiring. You must always help yourself to the best things that come within your reach, as if you considered them yours, as a matter of course. If you only act as if you think yourself a person of consequence, you will be treated as such. But if you stand one side, and seem to think that anything is good enough for you, every one will be sure to think so too. It is as much as saying that you don't think yourself of much importance. Others, of course, will conclude that you ought to be the best judge, and that you are a sort of n.o.body, who may be disposed of to suit anybody's convenience.”

Now as these items of advice were given as the result of the experience of those who had seen a great deal of the world, and as I was very ready to admit my own ignorance, I resolved to lay up these hints for future service, when I should travel again.

The time came, at length, for another journey. The stage, which pa.s.sed regularly through our village once a day, accommodating those who wished to go north one day, and those who wished to go south the next, picked me and my baggage up, at my father's door. A very young lady, an acquaintance of mine, and two stranger gentlemen, were the only pa.s.sengers besides myself, until we reached the next town, five miles distant, where we stopped to change horses. When we got into the coach again, at this place, we found a new pa.s.senger safely stowed away in one corner of the back seat.

This pa.s.senger was an old lady, of a cla.s.s sometimes found in our country villages, who are aunts to everybody, and claim the greater part of the younger portion of the community as sheer boys and girls.

It seems the driver was one of her boys, and, on account of his being so nearly related, she claimed a free pa.s.sage. She was already _there_, and the driver had to choose between these two things--either to admit her claim, or to turn her out. He wisely concluded to make a virtue of necessity. It would not answer to be rude to Aunt Polly, he thought. Some of the other nephews and nieces might think him cruel.

But there was another question to be settled. She had possession of the back seat. This would hardly do on the strength of a free ticket, when it was claimed by those who had paid their pa.s.sage.

”You must get up, Aunt Polly,” said the driver, ”and let these ladies have the back seat.”

But Aunt Polly, alas! declared, in the most positive manner, that she _could not_ ride on the middle seat.

”Yes you _can_,” said the driver, ”and you _must_; so get up.”