Pat.—The nixt kitchen we mate in will be the kitchen of Mr. and Mrs. Patrick Dolan; how do ye loike that?
Miss Spyall (aside).—Well I’m supplied with a lot of fresh news anyhow. (All take positions.)
NICHOLAS.—And as there appears to be a wedding near at hand, we must prepare for it; so we’ll say good night—and dream of getting ready.
[CURTAIN.]
Geo. M. Vickers.
“I hate him, for he is a Christian.”
The Humors of Elocution
Sitting in our Library some few weeks ago we were startled by a resounding knock upon the door, and in answer to our summons, “Come in,” a large woman entered, followed by a bouncing girl of seventeen or thereabouts. The costumes of both bespoke them to be just from the rural districts. After a courtesy from the woman, followed by a fac-simile from the girl, the former said: “We’ve heard that you was a good hand at learnin’ people fur to speak pieces, and Samanthy here hez to spout at the next meetin’ of our Lyceum, and she wants you fur to larn her somethin’ funny. You see, all the young folks down our way has gone just cracked over speakin’ pieces, and the school ma’am has been coachin’ ’em, but Samanthy wants to do better nor the rest, and wants to hev it to say that she has took lessons from a reg’lar purfessor, so I thought if you would find her a piece and coach her on it, I wouldn’t begrudge a quarter of a dollar, even if I has to save it out of my egg-money, then if she’ll hold on to what she larns she can go ahead of the hull caboodle of ’em.” Seeing in the credulous face of the old woman a rich chance for some fun at her expense we said: “Is it howld on ye say? An’ didn’t I howld on till the heart of me was clane broke intoirely, an’ me wastin’ that thin you could clutch me wid yer two hands.” “Oh, law!” exclaimed the old woman, “is elocution so bad on you as that, but you don’t seem to look the wuss for it now.” “Seems! madam, nay, it is! I know not seems! Oh that this
too, too solid flesh would melt, thaw, and resolve itself into a dew.” “Oh, I catch your meanin’ now. You mean you was thin and then you got fleshy. That’s just like my husband’s sister’s son’s wife. You see she was always kind o’ sickly, but she was such a shrew.”—“Oh, yes, ’tis about twenty years since Abel-Law, a short, round-favored, merry old soldier of the Revolutionary war was wedded to a most abominable shrew.” “No marm, you’re mistaken, her husband’s name was Timothy Titcomb, and he never was a soldier, but he was jest like a rollin’ stone, he never made nothin’—” “Off a rollin’ shtone vas der root of all efil, und a settin’ hens vould catch der early vorm by chance der usual vay, alzo der early bird vould not got fat on moss ofer he don’t had vorms, ain’t it?” The girl who had been standing at one side with her mouth wide open, here pulled her mother’s sleeve and whimpered, “Mom, let’s go. I’m afeared! I think that woman’s mad.” We turned upon her with—