WIDDER DOODLE AS A BRIDE.
The next mornin’ we went to the grounds early and walked along the broad, beautiful path (though very warm) and anon, we see through the tall, noble trees on the nigh side of us, beautiful Horticultural Hall a risin’ up lookin’ considerable like some splendid foreign pictures I had seen of Morocco (not Morocco shoes, but jography Morocco); and there I was calmly walkin’ along admirin’ the gorgeous, and stately but delicate and almost dream-like beauty of the structure, when all of a sudden I see a peaceable lookin’ old lady a comin’ along with her hair braided up in one long braid, and her dress cut night-gown fashion; she looked cool and comfortable and was mindin’ her own business, and carryin’ a umberell; and in her other hand she had some things done up in a paper. She was from some of the old countries I knew by her dress and her curious looks—her eyes bein’ sot in sort o’ biasin’, and her complexion was too yeller for health—she wasn’t well; she eat tea-grounds I knew the minute I looked at her; nothin’ will give the complexion that saffrony yeller look that tea-grounds will. And jest as she got most up to us three young fellers begun to impose upon her. They wasn’t men, and they wasn’t childern; they was passin’ through the land of conceitedness, feeble whiskers, and hair-oil.
POLITENESS TO A STRANGER.
And there she was, behavin’ herself like a perfect lady, and them three healthy young American fellers a laughin’ and a scorfin’ and a pokin’ fun at her—a pintin’ at her hair and her dress, and her shoes, which was wooden—but none of their business nor mine if they was; finally one of them took holt of her long braid and give it a yank, and called her “John”; and she, a tryin’ to save herself, dropped her paper and it bust open and all the things in it scattered out on the ground. As she stooped down in a patient way and went to pickin’ ’em up, I jest advised them young fellers for their good. I had been told that day that the fureigners had most all of ’em had to change their own costume for ourn, the Americans made such fun of ’em; it mortified me dretful to have my own folks show such awful bad manners; and says I:
“I would be ashamed of myself if I was in your places; are you such conceited fools as to think our dress is the dress of the world, and our ways all the ways there is under the sun? Although you probable don’t know it, you are only a very small part of the world—a very little and mean part. You would do well to learn a little Japan gentleness, and some Turkey politeness,” and says I, warmly, as I looked at their pert impudent faces, and then at her patient form—“Poles could learn you a good deal, and they would to, if I had my way.” They started off lookin’ kinder meachin’, and I laid to and helped her pick up her things; and I told her she must overlook it in coots; says I, “most Americans would be ashamed of them, as they ort to be of themselves.”
But Josiah hunched me, and whispered: “Be you a goin’ to stand all day a talkin’ to that man?”
“Man” says I, in witherin’ tones.
“Yes, it is a Chinaman, and do come along.”
Says I, “Josiah Allen, it is a pity if I can’t have the privilege of speakin’ to a likely woman, afflicted with ganders, without your up and callin’ her a man.”