Volume I Part 10 (1/2)
”We're all a set of stupid fools To think the skipper knows by _tasting_ What ground he's on--Nantucket schools Don't teach such stuff, with all their basting!”
And so he took the well-greased lead And rubbed it o'er a box of earth That stood on deck--a parsnip-bed---- And then he sought the skipper's berth.
”Where are we now, sir? Please to taste.”
The skipper yawned, put out his tongue, Then ope'd his eyes in wondrous haste, And then upon the floor he sprung!
The skipper stormed and tore his hair, Thrust on his boots, and roared to Marden, _”Nantucket's sunk, and here we are_ _Right over old Marm Hackett's garden!”_
JAMES T. FIELDS.
THE WEDDING JOURNEY
_He_: Dearest, if I had known this tunnel was so long, I'd have given you a jolly hug.
_She_: Didn't you? Why, somebody did!
OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES
FOREIGN CORRESPONDENCE
Do I think that the particular form of lying often seen in newspapers under the t.i.tle, ”From Our Foreign Correspondent,” does any harm? Why, no, I don't know that it does. I suppose it doesn't really deceive people any more than the ”Arabian Nights” or ”Gulliver's Travels” do.
Sometimes the writers compile _too_ carelessly, though, and mix up facts out of geographies and stories out of the penny papers, so as to mislead those who are desirous of information. I cut a piece out of one of the papers the other day which contains a number of improbabilities and, I suspect, misstatements. I will send up and get it for you, if you would like to hear it. Ah, this is it; it is headed
”OUR SUMATRA CORRESPONDENCE
”This island is now the property of the Stamford family--having been won, it is said, in a raffle by Sir ---- Stamford, during the stock-gambling mania of the South Sea scheme. The history of this gentleman may be found in an interesting series of questions (unfortunately not yet answered) contained in the 'Notes and Queries.'
This island is entirely surrounded by the ocean, which here contains a large amount of saline substance, crystallizing in cubes remarkable for their symmetry, and frequently displays on its surface, during calm weather, the rainbow tints of the celebrated South Sea bubbles. The summers are oppressively hot, and the winters very probably cold; but this fact cannot be ascertained precisely, as, for some peculiar reason, the mercury in these lat.i.tudes never shrinks, as in more northern regions, and thus the thermometer is rendered useless in winter.
”The princ.i.p.al vegetable productions of the island are the pepper tree and the bread-fruit tree. Pepper being very abundantly produced, a benevolent society was organized in London during the last century for supplying the natives with vinegar and oysters, as an addition to that delightful condiment. (Note received from Dr. D. P.) It is said, however, that, as the oysters were of the kind called _natives_ in England, the natives of Sumatra, in obedience to a natural instinct, refused to touch them, and confined themselves entirely to the crew of the vessel in which they were brought over. This information was received from one of the oldest inhabitants, a native himself, and exceedingly fond of missionaries. He is said also to be very skilful in the _cuisine_ peculiar to the island.
”During the season of gathering pepper, the persons employed are subject to various incommodities, the chief of which is violent and long-continued sternutation, or sneezing. Such is the vehemence of these attacks that the unfortunate subjects of them are often driven backward for great distances at immense speed, on the well-known principle of the aeolipile. Not being able to see where they are going, these poor creatures dash themselves to pieces against the rocks, or are precipitated over the cliffs, and thus many valuable lives are lost annually. As during the whole pepper harvest they feed exclusively on this stimulant, they become exceedingly irritable. The smallest injury is resented with ungovernable rage. A young man suffering from the _pepper-fever_, as it is called, cudgeled another most severely for appropriating a superannuated relative of trifling value, and was only pacified by having a present made him of a pig of that peculiar species of swine called the _Peccavi_ by the Catholic Jews, who, it is well known, abstain from swine's flesh in imitation of the Mohammedan Buddhists.
”The bread tree grows abundantly. Its branches are well known to Europe and America under the familiar name of _maccaroni_. The smaller twigs are called _vermicelli_. They have a decided animal flavor, as may be observed in the soups containing them. Maccaroni, being tubular, is the favorite habitat of a very dangerous insect, which is rendered peculiarly ferocious by being boiled. The government of the island, therefore, never allows a stick of it to be exported without being accompanied by a piston with which its cavity may at any time be thoroughly swept out. These are commonly lost or stolen before the maccaroni arrives among us. It, therefore, always contains many of these insects, which, however, generally die of old age in the shops, so that accidents from this source are comparatively rare.
”The fruit of the bread tree consists princ.i.p.ally of hot rolls. The b.u.t.tered-m.u.f.fin variety is supposed to be a hybrid with the cocoanut palm, the cream found on the milk of the cocoanut exuding from the hybrid in the shape of b.u.t.ter, just as the ripe fruit is splitting, so as to fit it for the tea-table, where it is commonly served up with cold----”
There--I don't want to read any more of it. You see that many of these statements are highly improbable. No, I shall not mention the paper.--_The Autocrat of the Breakfast Table._
MUSIC-POUNDING
The old Master was talking about a concert he had been to hear.
--I don't like your chopped music anyway. That woman--she had more sense in her little finger than forty medical societies--Florence Nightingale--says that the music you _pour_ out is good for sick folks, and the music you _pound_ out isn't. Not that exactly, but something like it. I have been to hear some music-pounding. It was a young woman, with as many white muslin flounces round her as the planet Saturn has rings, that did it. She gave the music-stool a twirl or two and fluffed down on to it like a whirl of soap-suds in a hand-basin. Then she pushed up her cuffs as if she was going to fight for the champion's belt. Then she worked her wrists and her hands, to limber 'em, I suppose, and spread out her fingers till they looked as though they would pretty much cover the keyboard, from the growling end to the little squeaky one.