Michaelmas Day; or, How Tammas Pattle very nearly Cooked his Goose.
Begin by explaining the situation, thus:—"This is supposed to be spoken by a Loompshire cottager, who overhears a stranger admiring the goodly proportions of his goose,"—then start with as broad a drawl as you can assume. Remember that to be effective you must be unintelligible.
"Bewty," I 'ears ya carl her?—aye, ya niver spoöke truthfuller wurrëd!
Rammack t' coontry side ovver, an ya weänt see no foiner burrëd!
Passon he axed ma to sell her—but I towld him, "Beänt o' naw use—
She's as mooch of a Chris'en as moäst," I sez, "if she's nobbut a guse!"
Coom, then!
(This coaxingly, to an imaginary bird—be careful not to seem to make any invidious distinctions among your audience.)
... Naäy, but she wunna! she's gotten a wull of her oän!
Looök at the heye of her,—pink an' greëy, loike t'fire in a hopal stoän!
Howsiver she sims sa hinnercent-loike, she's a follerin' arl I saäy:
An' I boärt 'er at Kettleby Feär, I did, two yeär coom Cannelmas Daäy.
Araminta her neäme is—but I carls 'er "Minty," fur shoärt,
She weänt naw moor nor a goslin' o' coorse, what taïme she wur boärt:
But a' knawed she'd turn oot a rare 'un, to jedge by her weëight an' feäl,
An' I reckoned to fat her by Michaelmas Eve, ef I buzzled 'er oop wi meäl,
Mayhappen ya'll ardly beleäve ma—but she unnerstood fra' the fust,
What wur hexpected of 'er, (with a senile chuckle,) I thowt that burr'd 'ud ha' bust!
Cram her, a' did! but she swuckered it doon, wi' niver a weästed drop,
Fur she tuk that hinterest in it as she'd ruther ha' choäked nor stop!
An' she'd foller wheeriver a went—till I hedn't naw peäce fur t' foäk,
"'Ere be Tammy long of his sweetart!" wur hallus the village joäk!
An' I'd saäy: "'Tis ma Michaelmas denner I'm squirin' aboot, owd chap!"
An' Minty she'd stan' up a' tiptoe, an' fluther her neck, an' flap!
Did I 'appen to gaw of a hevenin, to looök at ma hinion patch?
Minty 'ud coom in along o' meä, an' rarstle aboot, an' scratch,
Cocking her heye at the bed o' saäge, with a kink as mooch as to saäy:
"Wull the saäge an' th' hinions be ready fur meä, by toime I be ready for theëy?"
Or she'd snifter at arl the windfalls as ligged i' the horchard graäss,
I knawed what she wur erfter, a did—she wur pickin' 'em oot for the saäss!
An' I'd roob ma ands fur to see her a ploddlin' across th' roärd,
(Tenderly.) "Thee'll mak' a denner, ma pratty," I'd saäy to her, "fit fur a loärd!"
Maäin an' boolky she wur as Michaelmas week coom nigh,
"Her'll niver not bulge naw bigger," I sez, "an she art fur to die!"
I knawed she wur doitlin' soomwheer by the pasture under t' moör,
Sa I fetched the chopper an' fettled 'im oop—an' I went fur to do 'er! (Grimly.)
An' I chillupped to Araminty, an' oop she rins with a clack,
"Seeä what I've gotten to show 'ee," I sez, (wi' the chopper behind ma back)
But I looked sa straänge an callow, she knawed I wur meanin' 'er ill,
An' she kep a sidlin' an' edgin' awaäy, an' a gaäpin' wi' hopen bill!
Then I maäde a grab at her sooden—an' she skirtled off to a feäld,
Wheer Squire had been diggin' fur fireclaäy—eh, but she yellocked an' beäled!
Cloppity-joggle I chaäsed her, sa well as I cud, bein' laäme,
An' flippity-flopper she kep' on ahead—an' a' squawked out "Shaäme!"
(The Amateur Reciter should find little difficulty here in suggesting something of the intonation of a frightened goose: Pause—then continue apologetically.)
I wur haäf asheämed o' mysen' I wur, afoor I coom to the hend,
(Remorsefully.) "Ye owd ongreätful guzzard," I thowt, "to gaw killin' ya hoänly friend!"
But ma friend wur a Michaelmas denner tew as I hedn't naw art to refuse!
(More remorsefully.) An' it maäde me seeä what a gowk I'd beeän to ha' gotten sa thick with a guse!
Sa I danged 'er well as I slummocked on, as ard as ma legs cud stoomp,
"Waäit till I gets tha, ma laädy!" I sez,—when, arl on a sooden ... Boomp!
—An I wur a sprawlin' an' floppin' in wan of the owd Squire's pits,
But fur t' claäy at t' bottom an' that, I mout ha bin brokken to bits!
An' I roared fur 'elp, fur I cudn't git up, an' the watter wur oop to my chin.
But nobbudy eerd ma a' beälin', nor thowt on the hole I wur in!
They'd niver find nawthin but boäns, I knawed, if they'd iver the gumption to dredge,
Then I groäned (impressively)—fur I eerd Araminty a tooklin' 'oop by the edge!
(Sulky sarcasm.) "Wunnerful funny, beänt it?" I sez, (I wur feälin' fit for to choäk.
To be catched loike a bee in a bottle—an' see her enjyin' the joäk!)
(Indignantly.) "Hevn't ya naw moor manners," I sez, "ya greät fat himpident thing!"
(Pathetically.) Fur I'd bred her oop from a goslin', I had—and theer wur the sting!
Well, she left ma aloän at laäst, an' I hedn't a mossel o' hoäpe—
When by coom Harry the hedger, an a' hoickt ma oop with a roäpe!
"Shudn't ha' heerd 'ee, Tammas," he sez, "or knawed as owt wur t' matter—
Ef it hedn't ha bin fur yon guse o' thine, as coom an raäised sech a clatter.
An' drawed ma hon in spite o' mysen—till I moinded the hopen shaäft!"
(Catch your breath, then brokenly.) Aye, Minty wur saävin ma life oop theer—when I wur a thinkin' she laäft!
Then I rooshed fur to catch her to coodle and gie her a greätful kiss—
Eh, but I right down bloobered (with pained surprise)—fur she scatted awaäy with a hiss!
"Weän't niver 'urt 'ee ageän!" I sez, "if thee'll hoänly forgit what's past!"
She wur raäre an' stiff fur a bit, she wur—but (with a doddering complacency) I maäde her coom round at last!
An' I had ma Michaelmas denner the saäme—an' a arty good denner he wur!
Sat down coompany, tew—fur I cudn't ha' done without her!
What did we maäke a meäl on? (Shamefaced confusion here, expressed by scratching the head.) Well,—happen thee'll think me a haäss—
But I'll tell 'ee: (with candour) I dined wi Minty on the stooffin' an happle saäss!
(Retire without ostentation, to have your jaw set at the nearest Surgeon's.)
Scarcely Worth While.—For some personal remarks on the Prince of Wales, utterly gratuitous and in the worst possible taste, the P. M. G., as we hear, has been dropped by the Service Clubs, and subsequently by the Turf. As a mark of strong disapprobation this was right enough, but if it was intended as a punishment which would inflict loss, we are inclined to think such boycotting may have had exactly the contrary effect. How happy was Thackeray's title "The Pall Mall Gazette written by gentlemen for gentlemen!" If it is not so now, what have we got in-Stead?