Part 21 (2/2)
to try him; Ef he'd been married to 'Bijah Brown, folks wouldn't have dared come nigh him.
Trials, indeed! Now I'll tell you what--ef you want to be sick of your life, Jest come and change places with me a spell, for I'm an inventor's wife.
And sech inventions! I'm never sure when I take up my coffee-pot, That 'Bijah hain't been ”improvin'” it, and it mayn't go off like a shot.
Why, didn't he make me a cradle once that would keep itself a-rockin', And didn't it pitch the baby out, and wasn't his head bruised shockin'?
And there was his ”patent peeler,” too, a wonderful thing I'll say; But it hed one fault--it never stopped till the apple was peeled away.
As for locks and clocks, and mowin' machines, and reapers, and all such trash, Why, 'Bijah's invented heaps of them, but they don't bring in no cas.h.!.+
Law! that don't worry him--not at all; he's the aggravatinest man-- He'll set in his little workshop there, and whistle and think and plan, Inventin' a Jews harp to go by steam, or a new-fangled powder-horn, While the children's goin' barefoot to school, and the weeds is chokin' our corn.
When 'Bijah and me kep' company, he wasn't like this, you know; Our folks all thought he was dreadful smart--but that was years ago.
He was handsome as any pictur' then, and he had such a glib, bright way-- I never thought that a time would come when I'd rue my weddin'-day; But when I've been forced to chop the wood, and tend to the farm beside, And look at 'Bijah a-settin' there, I've jest dropped down and cried.
We lost the hull of our turnip crop while he was inventin' a gun, But I counted it one of my marcies when it bust before 'twas done.
So he turned it into a ”burglar alarm.” It ought to give thieves a fright-- 'Twould scare an honest man out of his wits, ef he sot it off at night.
Sometimes I wonder ef 'Bijah's crazy, he does such curious things.
Have I told you about his bedstead yit? 'Twas full of wheels and springs; It hed a key to wind it up, and a clock-face at the head; All you did was to turn them hands, and at any hour you said That bed got up and shook itself, and bounced you on the floor, And then shet up, jest like a box, so you couldn't sleep any more.
Wa'al, 'Bijah he fixed it all complete, and he sot it at half-past five, But he hadn't more 'n got into it, when--dear me! sakes alive!
Them wheels began to whizz and whirr! I heard a fearful snap, And there was that bedstead with 'Bijah inside shet up jest like a trap!
I screamed, of course, but 'twant no use. Then I worked that hull long night A-tryin' to open the pesky thing. At last I got in a fright: I couldn't hear his voice inside, and I thought he might be dyin', So I took a crowbar and smashed it in. There was 'Bijah peacefully lyin', Inventin' a way to git out agin. That was all very well to say, But I don't believe he'd have found it out if I'd left him in all day.
Now, since I've told you my story, do you wonder I'm tired of life, Or think it strange I often wish I warn't an inventor's wife?
AN UNRUFFLED BOSOM.
(_Story of an old Woman who knew Was.h.i.+ngton._)
BY LIZZIE W. CHAMPNEY.
An aged negress at her door Is sitting in the sun; Her day of work is almost o'er, Her day of rest begun.
Her face is black as darkest night, Her form is bent and thin, And o'er her bony visage tight Is stretched her wrinkled skin.
Her dress is scant and mean; yet still About her ebon face There flows a soft and creamy frill Of costly Mechlin lace.
What means the contrast strange and wide?
Its like is seldom seen-- A pauper's aged face beside The laces of a queen.
Her mien is stately, proud, and high, And yet her look is kind, And the calm light within her eye Speaks an unruffled mind.
”Dar comes anodder ob dem tramps,”
She mumbles low in wrath, ”I know dose sleek Centennial chaps Quick as dey mounts de path.”
A-axing ob a lady's age I tink is impolite, And when dey gins to interview I disremembers quite.
Dar was dat spruce photometer Dat tried to take my head, And Mr. Squibbs, de porterer, Wrote down each word I said.
Six hundred years I t'ought it was, Or else it was sixteen-- Yes; I'd shook hands wid Was.h.i.+ngton And likewise General Greene.
I tole him all de generals' names Dar ebber was, I guess, From General Lee and La Fayette To General Distress.
Den dar's dem high-flown ladies My _old_ tings came to see; Wanted to buy dem some heirlooms Of real Aunt Tiquity.
Says I, ”Dat isn't dis chile's name, Dey calls me Auntie Scraggs,”
And den I axed dem, by de pound How much dey gabe for rags?
De missionary had de mose Insurance of dem all; He tole me I was ole, and said, Leabes had dar time to fall.
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