 Don't lay in that posture, dear," said Mrs. Partington, to Ike, who was stretched upon a saddle with his heels a foot or two higher than his head. Don't lay so. Raise yourself up and put this pillow under you. I knew a young man once who had a suggestion of the brain in consequence of laying so. His brains all run down into his head. And with this admonition she left him to practice, soon after, the hazardous experiment of tying his legs in a bow knot round his neck as he had seen Professor Baldwin do. A lesson on sympathy. What a to-do they are making about this cosset, said Mrs. Partington smilingly. The news had reached her ear of the triumphs of Coshute, and the name had assumed a form, and that form recalled a train of peculiar and characteristic associations, and she went on like an eight-day clock. A cosset is a pretty thing in a family where there's children, and they are dear critters for girls that hasn't got sweethearts to invent their young affectations on. But what's the use of making such a fuss about it? But this is Coshute, Aunt, the great Hungarian, said Ike, tremendously, who was well-posted up in passing matters, who has come over here to ask our sympathy and enlist us in behalf of his country. Well, said she, as the new light dawned upon her, they may have our sympathy and welcome, because it don't cost anything, but we mustn't list and give them money that would be against our constitutions. And the prudent dame drummed thoughtfully on her snuffbox cover, with her eyes fixed upon the vein of the Old South, while Ike amused himself by scratching K-O-S-U-T-H with a fork on the end of the new Japan waiter. How Ike dropped the cat. Now Isaac, said Mrs. Partington, as she came into the room, with a basket snugly covered over, take our tabby and drop her somewhere and see that she don't come back again, for I am sick and tired of driving her out of the butter. She is the thievenest creter. But don't hurt her, Isaac, only take care that she don't come back. Ike smiled as he received his charge, and the old lady felt happy in getting rid of her trouble without resorting to violence. She would rather have endured the evil of the cat great as that evil was, than that the poor quadruped should be inhumanely dealt with. She saw Ike depart in the dusk of the evening and watched him until he became lost to view in the shadow of a tree. It was a full half-hour before he returned with his empty basket, and an unusual glee marked his appearance. It sparkled in his eye, it glowed in his cheek, it sported in his hair, and Ike looked really handsome as he stood before the dame and proclaimed the success of his mission. Did she drop easy, Isaac, asked the old lady, looking upon him kindly, and won't she come back? She dropped just as easy, said Ike, letting his basket fall on the floor, and shying his cap upon the table, somewhat endangering a glass lamp with a wooden bottom that stood there on. She dropped just as easy, and she won't come back. You may bet high on that. But you didn't beat and mangle her, Isaac, did you? If you did, I should be afraid she would come back and haunt us. I have heard of such things. And she looked anxiously in his face. But detecting there no trace of guilt, she patted him on the head and parted his hair and told him to sit down and eat his supper, which the young gentleman did with considerable unction. Isaac! Isaac! screamed Mrs. Partington at the foot of the little stairway that led to the attic where the boy slept the next morning after the above occurrence. Isaac! And he came downstairs slowly, rubbing his eyes as he came. She had disturbed his morning nap. Isaac! said she. What is that hanging yonder to a limb of our apple tree? One scattering tree, as she said, constituted her whole orchard, unless she counted the poplar by the corner. I can't see so far off, said Ike, still rubbing his eyes. Well, I just think it was a cat. And it looks to me like our tabby. Oh, Isaac, if you have done this, and a tone akin to horror trembled in her voice. I'll go and see if it's her, said Ike, as if not hearing the last part of her remark, and he dashed out of the door, but soon came back with wonder depicted on every feature of his expressive countenance. Oh, it's her! Sure enough, it's her! cried he. But I did drop her. Well, how could she come there, then? And the good old lady looked puzzled. I'll tell you how I guess it was, said Ike, looking demurely up. I guess that she committed suicide because we was going to drop her. They are dreadful knowing critters, you know. True enough, replied the old lady, while something like a tear glistened in her eye, her pity was excited. True enough, Isaac, and I daresay she thought hard of us for doing it, but she had an ought to as she'd have considered a minute. Ike said no more, but went out and cut down the supposed suicide with a serious manner, and buried her beneath her gallows, deep down among the roots of the old tree, and she never came back. The old lady told the story to the minister, and Ike vouched for it, but the good man shook his head incredulously at the idea of the suicide and looked at the boy. He very evidently understood how the cat was dropped. Stopping a bus. Mrs. Partington had watched three quarters of an hour for an omnibus, and she swung her umbrella as one drove up, and the driver stopped his horses near where she stood. Now Isaac, says she, feeling in her ridicule for a copper, a way down under the handkerchief and snuff box and knitting work and thread case and needle-book. Be a good boy, dear, while I am gone, and don't cause a constellation among the neighbors, as some boys do, and there's a scent for you, and be sure you don't lay it out extravagantly now, and be careful you don't break the windows, and if anybody rings at the door, be sure and see who it is before you open it, because there are so many dishonest rogues about. If any porpoises come a-begging, give them what was left of the dinner. Heaven bless them, and much good may it do them, and why bless me if the omnibus hasn't gone off and left me standing here in the middle of the street. Such impudence is without a parable. Her spectacles gleamed indignantly down the street after the disappearing bus, and for a moment anger had the mastery. But equanimity, like twilight, came over her mind, and she waited for the next bus with calmness on her face, and her green cotton umbrella under her arm. After a wedding, I liked to tend weddings, said Mrs. Partington, as she came back from a neighboring church, where one had been celebrated, and hung up her shawl and replaced the black bonnet in the long-preserved band box. I like to see young people come together with the promise to love, cherish, and nourish each other, but it is a solemn thing is matrimony, a very solemn thing. Where the pasture comes into the chancery with a surplus on, and goes through with the ceremony of making a man and wife, it ought to be husband and wife, for it ain't every husband that turns out a man. I declare I shall never forget how I felt when I had the nuptial ring put on to my finger when Paul said, with my goods I thee endow. He used to keep a dry good store, then, and I thought he was going to give me all there was in it. I was young and simple and didn't know till utter words that it only meant one calico gown in a year. It is a lovely sight to see the young people plighting their trough and coming up to consume their vows. She bustled about and got tea ready, but abstractedly she put on the broken teapot that had lain away unused since Paul was alive, and the tea cups mended with putty and dark with age, as if the idea had conjured the ghost of past enjoyment to dwell for the moment in the home of present widowhood. A young lady who expected to be married on Thanksgiving night wept copiously at her remarks, but kept on hemming the veil that was to adorn her bride ship, and Ike sat pulling bristles out of the hearth brush in expressive silence. Mrs. Partington in the Market I wonder what they mean by a better feeling in the market, said Mrs. Partington, looking up from the newspaper which she was reading, and the problem deeply agitated her mind, revealed in the vibration of her cat-border. Her address was directed to nobody in particular. It was a little private wonder got up for her own amusement. The market and the deaths and marriages were Mrs. P's favorite study in the weekly chronicle. But some of the mercantile phrases were at times imperfectly understood. I wonder what they mean. I'm sure I don't feel any better there, and I don't believe anybody does but the butchers, and that's when they are pocketing the money. Things are so dear. But, continued she brightening up, I should like to see the trade embracing Ten Hogs Heads of Tobacco that I see here printed about. That must have been a real touching sight. She thought of Paul and the association brought out the cotton handkerchief with the Constitution and Gary heir upon it, and she discontinued. Partington Philosophy Before the railroad company bought and tore down the Partington mansion and uprooted and overturned the old family shrines without regard to their sacredness, the bandals, turning the good old heart that worshipped there out upon the world to seek new ties amid new scenes, it was Mrs. Partington's delight to gather friends about her at Thanksgiving time, and the time-honored season passed very happily. Amid the festivities her benignity would beam with such irradiance that the red seed peppers upon the wall looked rudder in its genial glow, and the bright tin pans upon the shelf seemed brimful of sunshine and smiled out upon all who looked at them. There were fine times at the Partington mansion at Thanksgiving, you may depend. She didn't keep Christmas, she was puritanical in her religious notions, and tended the old North Meeting House for a third of a century, and took pride in saying that she had never been to church. A nice distinction, which we leave the old folks to make. Christmas was a church holiday unsanctioned by a governor's proclamation, and she would none of it. She scented in it the garment of the disreputable, Babylon-ish female mentioned in the Apocalypse and avoided it. But it is Thanksgiving that we are speaking about now. Well, what has all this to do with patience? Have patience, darling, and we'll tell you an instance of patient resignation under disappointment not surpassed since Newton's dog Diamond committed an incendiary act and his master gravely informed the quadruped that he was not probably aware of the extent of the damage he had committed, which was doubtless the fact. It was the custom with Mrs. P. to shut up a turkey previous to Thanksgiving in order that he might be nice and fat for the generous season. One year the gobbler had thus been penned like a sonnet with reference to Thanksgiving, and anticipations were indulged of the good time coming. But alas, the brightest hopes must fade. The turkey, when looked for, was not to be found. It had been stolen away. Upon discovering her great loss, Mrs. P. was, for a moment, overcome with surprise, disconcerted. But the son of her benevolence soon broke the clouds away and spread over her features like new butter upon hot biscuit. And with a smile, warm with the feeling of her heart, she said, I hope they will find it tender. I guess we can be thankful on pork and cabbage. Say ye severest, what would ye have done under such circumstances? You would, perhaps, have raved and stamped and swore and made yourself generally ridiculous, besides periling your soul in the excess of your anger. But Mrs. P. didn't, and there is where you and she differ. She stood calmly and tranquilly a living lesson of philosophical patience under extreme difficulty. We cite this example that the world may profit by it. Filial duty versus washing powder. Children of the present day sighed the reverend Adoniram spade as he was visiting Mrs. Partington during the spring anniversaries. Children of the present day, ma'am, sadly ruffled the bosoms of their parents. He crossed his legs as he spoke and tied his handkerchief in a hard knot over his knee at the same time looking at Ike through the back window as that young gentleman was performing a slack rope exercise upon the clothes line, endangering the caps and handkerchiefs that swung like banners in the breeze. Mrs. Partington suspended washing and looked round at her visitor, at the same time wiping her hands to take a pinch of snuff. Yes, sir, she said, I think so. But it isn't so bad, either, as it used to be before the soap powder was found out. Mr. Spade quietly protested that he could not see the relevancy of the remark. Why, continued she, inhaling the rapé and handing the box to the minister. Then it was a great labor to wash and do them up. But now the washing powder makes it so easy that the children can rumple bosoms or anything else with perfect impurity. We don't make nothing of it. I consider washing powder, holding up a pair of Ike's gallagascans that had just gone through a course of purification, as a great blessing to mothers. The minister smiled and thought what a curious proposition it would be in the society for the mitigation of everything, to recommend washing powder as an auxiliary to other operative blessings, and thanked Mrs. Partington for the hint. A serious question. Old Roger came downstairs one Sunday morning with a face unusually animated and stood with his hands behind his back, playing nervously with the tails of his coat. The breakfast was waiting for him. The fish balls were getting cold. The coffee was evaporating, but he didn't seem to care. He leaned over the back of the landlady's chair and asked her, in a whisper, if she could tell him why a dyspectic was out of immediate danger when his disease was most distressing. She looked earnestly at the top of the teapot a few moments, and then said that for the life of her she couldn't tell. A curiosity was evinced by the borders, and they asked what it was. They all gave it up, too. Why, said he, looking very red? It is because he can't digest then. Drawing his chin within his stock, the old fellow laughed lustily, and in his paroxysm threw his arms around the landlady's neck for support. But she threw them off very indignantly, for the borders were all looking at her. He then sat down to breakfast with a good appetite. Rather Erascal Mrs. Partington, your neighbor Mr. Gruff is rather erascible, I think, said the new minister on his first visit to the old lady, as he heard Gruff scolding Ike for throwing snowballs at his new martin house. Gruff kept a grocery over the way and was in a constant quarrel with every boy in the neighborhood. Mrs. Partington looked at the minister through her spectacles inquiringly before she answered. Rather Erascal, said she, slightly misapprehending his question and patting her box affectionately. Yes, indeed, I think he is a great Erascal. He sold me burnt peas for the best coffee once, and it wasn't wait another. When they built our new church, somebody said there was a nave in it, and I knelt in a minute who they meant. Why, I mean, interrupted the minister, blandly laying his white hand gently on his arm. I mean that he is quick tempered. Oh, that's another thing. Yes, he is very. And she changed the subject. But that word, Erascal, ran in her head for an hour after he was gone, and when Ike came in she told him to take down the old Johnson's decency and find the defamation of it. The sensitive man sees a bloomer. The sensitive man came in one day just after dinner, threw himself into a chair and fainted. After a mug or two of coquettuate water had been dashed in his interesting face, he came to a little, gazed wildly upon the circle that surrounded him, and said in a sort of unearthly whisper, Where is she? Nobody knew what he meant. The fog a moment later rolled from his soul, and he was enabled to explain with the aid of some slight stimulant. A crowd in the street had obstructed his path as he walked pensively along with his eyes cast down. Looking up, a vision of beauty burst upon his ravished sight, and he stood entranced as he gazed upon it. And when it passed away with the crowd, he climbed upon an omnibus and watched that object through his tunneled hand until it became indistinct and lost in the distance. That object was a bloomer. He had long ardently wished for this opportunity. In visions of the night had angels in short dresses and trousers thrust themselves among his sleeping fancies to the bewilderment of his waking thoughts. It had become the great idea of his mind and all his other thoughts bowed to this as did the sheaves of the Israelite-ish brethren to the sheaf of Joseph of Old. He had at last seen a bloomer. The climax of his earthly desire was attained. The driver of the bus, callous to the emotion of his bosom, asked him, what in thunder he was looking at up there? The sensitive man made, but one stepped to the ground. So buoyant was he, and he bounded like cork. He could have leaped over the State House. Little boys and sedate passengers stepped back dismayed, and a gentleman in a black coat and white neck cloth looked around anxiously after a policeman. What were policemen to the sensitive man? Those terrific functionaries were nothing. Even the cold reality of a watch-house floor would be as soft as down could he carry with him the consciousness that he had seen a bloomer. He looked to see if her passing figure had not left its impression in aerial portraiture upon the impelpable atmosphere. He looked upon the pave to detect the print of her charming foot upon the insensate bricks, but she had fled like some bright exhalation of the morning, and he turned back sorrowing. A coach came nigh running over him, the tension of his spirit relaxed, enduring only to bring him within the precinct of his vocation when his too sensitive nature gave out, and the result was as explained above. And hourly since has he longingly gazed from the window in ardent hope of seeing again the beautyous vision which had enthralled him, and disappointment, like a worm in the mud, feeds on his damaged cheek. POWER OF ATTORNEY When the widow Ames had been notified that her share of the Paul Jones prize money would be paid to her upon presenting herself at the Dumber Bank, she debated in her own mind, though the debate never was reported, whether she should go herself or give a power of attorney to someone else to receive the eleven dollars and sixty-two cents that was her share. In this straight she called on Mrs. Partington, who she knew had authorized a person to settle with the Beaneville estate for her when the Beaneville railroad had driven her from the homestead. Go yourself, dear, said the old lady, bringing the poker down emphatically upon the bail of the tea kettle as she was clearing out the ashes from the stove. Don't trust nobody but yourself for, raising the poker, if you give anybody power of eternity, depend upon it you won't never see the final conclusion of it. The poker fell again upon the harmless tea kettle, which seemed to sing out with reproach for the outrage, and Ike, who was looking slyly into the back window, wondered if Mrs. Ames wasn't sitting on a favorite piece of spruce gum of his, and whether it wouldn't stick her to the chair so that she couldn't get up. It showed that the boy had a reflective turn of mind. The New Dress for Ladies A new custom for ladies, said Mrs. Partington, when a friend spoke to her about the proposed innovation in dress. The sound of costume came to her ear indistinctly, and she slightly misapprehended the word. A new custom for ladies. I should think they had better reform many of their old customs before they tried to get new ones. We're none of us better than we ought to be, and costume, ma'am, I said, cried her informant, interrupting her. They are thinking of changing their dress. Well, for my part, I don't see what they wanted to make a public thing of it for. Changing the dress used to be a private matter, but folks do so alter. They are always a changing dresses now, like the caterpillar in the morning that turns into a butterfly at night, or the butterfly at night that turns to a caterpillar in the morning. I don't know which, but, again, interrupted her informant. I mean, they are going to have a new dress. Oh, they are, are they? replied the old lady. Well, I'm sure I'm glad in it if they can afford it, but they don't always think enough of this. A good many can't afford it. They can't. But did you hear of the new apparel for women that somebody is talking about? Well, my dear Mrs. P, said he's smiling, that is just what I was trying to get your opinion about. Then, returned she, why didn't you say so in the first place? Well, I don't know why a woman can't be as virtuous in a short dress as in a long one, and it will save some trouble in wet weather to people who have to lift their dresses and show their ankles. It may do for young critters as sportive as lambs in a pasture, but only think how I should look in short coats and trousers, shouldn't I? And old Mrs. Jones, who weighs three hundred pounds, wouldn't look well in them neither. But I say let them do just what they please as long as they don't touch my dress. I like the old way best, and that's the long and the short of it. She here cast a glance at the profile on the wall as if for its approval of her resolution, and an idea for a moment seemed to cross her mind that he, the ancient corporal, would not know her, were he to visit sub-lunar scenes and find her a raid in the new dress, and her compressed lips showed the determination of her heart to abide by the old costume, and she solemnly and slowly took an energetic pinch of snuff as if to confirm it. Psychology. Sensitive people talk about feeling in the presence or atmosphere of a man the peculiar disposition that governs him, whether a gentle or a stern one, whether a hypocritical or a naivish one. We have realized in some degree what the feeling must be, as we have at times elbowed our way among the gentlemen who throng about State or Wall Street. The atmosphere was so hard that we shrank it once into our empty pocket, a thing which finds no sympathy in those dick eats, and escaped as fast as possible. We could read every disposition that we rubbed against, like a book, or as well as the most subtle magician could do it. The dollar was the idea that every brain was working and struggling to coin itself into. The dollar gleamed in every eager glance of the eye, and was heard in every word. The dollar was the sun that shone in the air that blew, and those celestial choirs had been at hand chanting the music of the spears, and lest it had the right chink to it, it would not have been regarded. Let sensitive ones who have no money go down upon change and try the experiment. It will not make them any poorer, though most certainly they will not be any richer by it. Matter of fact, Shakespeare's well enough, said Mr. Slow, but he don't come up to my idea of poetry. There is too much of your highfalutin' humbug about him. What he says don't seem to mount to nothing. As for Faustaff, he's a miserable and disreputable old fellow, and Hamlic's mad as a bedbug. Why didn't he knock his old father-in-law over and down with it, and not make such a hillabaloo about it? Shakespeare isn't what he is cracked up to be, and if he doesn't improve, I wouldn't give two percent for his chance of immortality. Who believes this ear, for instance? Orpheus Lute was strung with poet sinews, whose golden touch could soften steel and stones, make tiger's tame and huge leviathons, forsake unsounded deeps to dance on sand. It's all gammon, poet sinews indeed. Dare say it wasn't nothing but catgut, and as for its softening steel and stones and taming tiger's and making leviathons dance on the sand, that air's all bosh and too ridiculous for any man to believe. Mr. Slow looked fearfully oracular, as he said this, and the subject was suspended. The Cat and Kittens Before Ike dropped the cat, it was a matter of much annoyance to Mrs. Partington, upon coming downstairs one morning, to find a litter of kittens in her Indian work-basket beside her black Sunday bonnet, and upon the black gloves and handkerchief long consecrate to grief. Ike had left the basket uncovered during a search for some thread to make a snare to catch a pigeon with. Her temper was stirred by the circumstance, as what good tidy housekeepers would not have been by such an occurrence. I'll drown them, said she, every one of them. Oh, you wicked creature! continued she, raising her finger and shaking it at the cat. Oh, you wicked creature, to serve me such a trick! But the cat, happy in the joys of maternity, purred gladly among her offspring, and looked upon the old lady through her half-closed eyes, as if she didn't really see any cause for such a fuss. Isaac, said the dame, take the big tub and drown them kittens. There was determination in her eyes and authority in her tone, and Ike clapped his hands as he hastened to obey her. Stop, Isaac, a minute, she cried, and I'll take the chill off the water. It would be cruel to put him into its stone cold. She took the steaming kettle from the stove and emptied it into the tub, and then left the rest to Ike. But she reproached herself for her inhumanity long afterwards, and could not bear to look the childless cat in the face. And many a dainty bit to that injured animal received from her mistress. Mrs. Partington perhaps did wrong, as who hasn't at some period of life, perfection belongeth not to man or woman. And we would throw this good pen of ours into the street and never take another in our fingers could we pretend that Mrs. Partington was an exception to this universal rule. End of Section 4 Section Number 5 With Life and Sings of Mrs. Partington This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer please visit LibriVox.org. Life and Sings of Mrs. Partington and others of the family by B. P. Schiller-Behr Section 5 A Point Settled Dr. Digg, for whose researches the world can never be grateful enough, has been studying out of the genealogy of the great family of Coe, which occupies such a distinguished mercantile position. These families scattered the world over, and almost every sign in every city bears the name of one of them as partner. He traces their genealogy back to Jerry Coe, of Palestine, modern Jeremiah Coe, or for shortness, Jerry Coe, whom we find frequently mentioned in ancient books. The doctor expresses the belief that the exclusive business habits of the family may be attributed to their Jewish extraction. Moral Training Moral Training, said Mrs. Partington, is the best after all. She had heard someone in the omnibus speaking of moral training, and her benefits gave it into the charge of memory until she got home, and memory revolved it, and pondered it, and reviewed it, and fancy construed it to mean something about the military training that was to come off the next day. I hope it will be a moral training. I'm sure, said she. For I see the governor is to be there in his new suit, and I hope they'll make the revolutions well before him. I do admire the military, where the soggers and their fancy unicorns look just like a patchwork quilt. They wasn't moral trainings in old times when men put enemies into their heads to steal away their hats, as Mr. Smooth, the schoolmaster used to say your Uncle Paul had a good deal of military spirits sometimes, Isaac. A.K. had remained very quiet while she was speaking. What upon earth are you doing there, Isaac? cried she. The young gentleman readily told her he was painting a horse at the same time displaying an animal, normally of that description, done beautifully in blue, which he appeared to look on with much satisfaction. But what are you painting it with? As true as I'm alive, you've got your Uncle Paul's trumpet in that he used to wear in his cap so long ago, and you're using up all my bluing. That pump-on saved for so many years to be used for such a purpose. Ah, Ike, Ike, we fear the old lady will have sad times with thee yet. Why did thou, yes, or even, secret the large ball of yarn for thine own purposes, which tomorrow she will seek for in vain? Say, why? A little truth. There's something for all of us to do, is the heading of a poem in the papers, a subject which seems to have more of truth than poetry in it. There are exceptions, however, to the rule, for a very seedy gentleman with a very red nose told us, one day, that he couldn't get a thing to do. The man appeared strong, and so did his breath. But there are many worthy people who cannot find the proportion of the something for all to do, and suppose some philanthropist is doing it for them. Hairdressing. What a queer place this Boston is, said Mrs. Partington when she first came here from the country. I was walking along the street just now and saw on a sign, Hairdressing. Something like guano, I guess, for the hair, said I to myself. I declare, I'm a good mind to look at some. So I went in and asked a dear, pretty young man smelling as sweet as catnip, to let me look at some of his hairmenu. I wanted to be as polite as possible. Gracious! How he stared at me, just as if I'd been a hot and porter or wild arad. I mean your hairdressing, said I. Oh, ah, yes, said he. Sit down here in the big chair, ma'am. Scratch, perhaps, ma'am. Scratch, said I, completely dumbfounded. You saucy fellow. I can do all my own scratching and some of your too, if you say that again. Scratch indeed. And I went right down the stairs. She never before had hinted that she stood in need of any hurt on it, though everybody knew that she had worn a wig for twenty years. Mrs. Bartington says that it makes no difference to her if flour is dear or cheap. She always has to pay the same price for half a dollar's worth. Omnibus writing, It is a rainy morning and health considered, we think, we'll ride. The bus heaves in sight and we look anxiously through the dusty windows to see a dense parking of humanity in one long lane that has no turning occupying the inside. The driver pulls up as we wave our cane. He has been watching us for some distance, calculating on the chances of a summons, and peering down from his perch, through the ticket hall, ascertains that there is room for one more. And there always is. We take her to the announcement and mount the steps while the door swings open to admit us. Calculated to hold four persons, beams upon us from the front of the vehicle, rather nature in framing the persons, bore the bus maker's limit in mind or not. It must hold well, irrespective of size. There are about eleven inside and we make the twelfth, but where to sit? Six lean persons occupy one side and five fat ones the other. Of course, our places with the five and they seem conscious of it, they have read the arbitrary inscription and crowd one another and squirt their sights to the smallest squeezable limit to admit us. And, just as the bus starts, we fall plump between a very fiery looking old gentleman and a lady of unromantic yes and billuously wicked looking role. Something cracks in the old gentleman's pocket and the growl reads us from him, while with half of our person resting upon the lady's carpet bag we are made sensible of a sharp elbow and the ejaculation. Oh Lord! uttered in a turn between a prayer and a reproach. Of course, we have a right there, for isn't the coach bound to hold twelve and won't we give one ball for the ride before we'll give it up? That's a beautiful face opposite. A glimpse convinces us of this, for we cannot stare at her. Good man has forbid it. There is a glass beneath the driver's seat and here the pretty face and duplicate appears and we gaze upon it, unnoted. We are now reminded of the presence of the collector of the tickets. We touch with our shoulder and look significantly without saying anything. He was never known to say anything but twice in his life. It is said, once to inform a man in the bus that he was cold and again in a confidential whisper to hint that it was unpleasant. We struggle to reach the pocket, which contains our ticket, but the mass that hams us in won't move and in a sparse modic effort to entrap the card three buttons are sacrificed and a bonnet disturbed in its position. We laugh at some pleasant illusion of our own about clumsiness, but the laugh appears only upon one side and he relapses into silence and look in the glass beneath the driver's seat. Thank heaven! The big man here pulls the string and sturdily tramples over, quite centaurs in his agress. Then the lady with the carpet back pulls vehemently in a vain effort to jerk the driver through and she gets out. Then another and another until all are gone but us. The pretty girl lasts and we are captain of the ship, all the difficulties of our outset merged in the trumpet consciousness that we have room. What do we care now about how many the bus will hold? We snap our fingers at the insulting rule that will curtail humanity and gaze upon the other inscription that enjoins the pull for the right. Then pulls the string magnificently, the coat stops and we descend among the pedestumes, not a wit inflated by our momentary exaltation. For a furious meditations Golden airs of California, said Mrs. Partington as she read in the post an advertisement of some new music. Such ears! I should think would be very replenishing and I wish a draft of them would blow this way. What a country that California is! Mermaid she, in a half-ravory, in which golden visions like the sunshine reflections on the kitchen wall from a teacup by dancing through her brain. What a queer thing, where gold is so plenty they pick it up in quads in American forks, Connecticut once I dare say, but spoons, I should think would be a good deal better. Of course it would, strange that the miners didn't think of this in the first place. Many a valuable suggestion of hers has benefitted the world, though the world was not aware of its indebtedness, until she said, I always thought so, and this coming late, she never got the credit for it. A.K. and the oranges. I can't conceive, said Mrs. Partington, standing upon tiptoe and pushing aside the antique washbowl that stood on the front shelf in the old cupboard in the corner and rattling the papers of seeds and the teacups and the plates and looking into the dark corners and feeling in, also to be certain. When she said she couldn't conceive, it was but part of the sentence that she wished to speak. The earnestness of her search had suspended the reminder of it. I can't conceive where those oranges are, said she, that the young lady sent to me. Heaven bless them. They were so good to lookabright the throat with when it's dry and taut with the information that comes with the cough. It is strange where they have gone. If I believed in super humorous things, I should say the spirits had got them, but they wouldn't take mine when they could go so easy where they grow and get as many as they want. She stopped her search amid the dust and regaled her nose with dust of a more fragrant character. What are you doing, Isaac? Said she as she saw him forming a star out of an orange upon the closet door and using up a pump tax. The boy pointed to his handiwork and the delight she felt with genius-blinded eyes to the possibility of how he might have come by the oranges. Hey, Chorsten. A young key gentleman convoying a British friend around to view the different objects of attraction in the vicinity of Boston brought him to Bunker Hill. They stood looking at the splendid shaft when the Yankee said, That is the place where Warren fell. Ah, replied the Englishman evidently not posted up in local historical matters. Did it hurt him much? The native looked at him with the expression of 14th of Julys in his countenance. Hurt him? said he. He was killed, sir. He was, eh? said the stranger, still eyeing the monument and computing at sight in his own mind-layer by layer. Well, I should think he would have been to fall so far. The native tore his hair, but it gave him a good opportunity to enlarge upon the glorious events connected with the hill and the benefits, therefore, flowing towards somewhat extensive country and he soon topped himself into good humor. Keep your eyes wide open for the truth. Let it come down into your mind like the sunlight to illumine all of its dark corners. Buy the truth and sell it not. Dull business. A long time ago in an old town we bought hope. There lived a man of humble means. There are some poor people there now and in pity for his need he was made sexton of the church of which he was a member. The times were dull, his salary was low and he found it hard work to make both ends meet. He called upon the members of the church but they could not or would not do anything for his relief. As a last resort he called upon the minister and told him his troubles and how hard he found it to get along. The minister heard his story but instead of relieving his wants or telling him how to do it went arguing with him about the unreasonableness of his complaint. Why? says he. Don't you have besides your salary a number of perquisites? Are you not paid for ringing the bell on the 4th of July and other public celebrations and are you not paid too for your services at funeral when any occur in our society? True, said the Dolores sexton looking up solemnly but I have little hope from this source for it can found it. None of our society ever die. The poor fellow went away sorrowing thinking probably that Providence was rather harsh on him in not killing off half the parish that he might have the profit of burying them. Antiquity in a shower. Mrs. Partington attended the dedication of Mount Hope's symmetry in Dorchester and got wedged with the rain. No sheltering umbrella was there to hold his broad surface above her venerable head and the rain all regardless of her august presence powed down relentlessly but we will let her tell the story in her own way. The seminary would have been dictated but by an imposition of divine providence the bottles of heaven were uncocked and the rains fell as if another delusion was going to destroy the world. The lightning biased horribly and everybody was filled with constipation not a shelter to be had. I tried to lean over and get my bonnet under a gentleman's umbrella in front of me and the water all run down into my back like a spout till I was satiated and threw and threw like an old boot. Cold chills run over me as if I had an agar and oh dear! Look at that bonnet! Certainly the faded remnant had wilted the passport that formed the crown had relaxed and shook flybilly as we held it and irreparable decay seemed written upon it. Never will be fit to be seen again, said she and we fancied a tone of deeper sorrow in her words as she looked straight about the stiff old corporal on the wall whom this anti-crape commemorated. Heaven bless thee, Mrs. Partington, we thought, and felt round of a capacious pocket for a dolly to leave with her. But as it usually happens when our benevolence comes on, we found none and came away with a paper-pint to our hotel by that everlasting Ike, the national epic. I can't see through it, said Mrs. Partington with a reflective nod of her head and her eyes N.S.C. bent upon the keyhole of the closet door as if that were the object she could not see through. She had just learned the report of the committee upon the prized poem reposition of Mr. Latham and the loss of five hundred dollars to the musical genius of the country. I can't see why somebody couldn't have written an epic poem and there are so many beautiful epic-ack poets in the country. Dear me, the older I grow and I never shall see fifty-seven again, I am convinced that geniuses thought half enough of and that versatility of talent and great power of versification isn't rewarded as it ought to be. This was set in compliment to White's worth, who, if his half suspected, had put in for the prize and he bowed modestly as he placed his hand in the vicinity of his heart and felt in his vest pocket for a toothpick. Mrs. Partington in the main liquor bill Mrs. Partington was in the gallery of the house of representatives when the main liquor law was under discussion. The member from Cranberry's center was very attentive to the old dame and replied to her questions concerning the main liquor law and spoke of various provisions of the bill. Provisions? Said the kind old dame. Tapping her box gently. I never heard there was any provisions mentioned in the bill, though I dare say there is, for Paul used to say that give old Mr. Tickle a pint of rum it would be vitals and drink and house rent for a week and I believe it was so for only give him rum enough she never asked for bread. I remember too, continued the old lady raising her voice as she saw Mr. Batkins about to interrupt her. They used always to put rum into bacon into their provision bills in old times when they went to fishing and I suppose this putting provisions into the liquor bill is about the same thing. She looked at Mr. Batkins and smiled as she saw him looking smilingly at her and they both smiled at each other. The provisions meant, mem, said the member impressively, are provisions of law. Ah, replied the old lady musingly as she took third pinch and handed the box to Mr. Batkins. Yes, yes, I've heard of folks being bred to the law for, though a good many of them is more like vegetables, but here the speaker as Mallard attracted her attention and she listened to the reading of part of the liquor bill, watching carefully for the items. Is that the liquor bill? As she in an incredible stone of her friend, the member. Is that it? He assured her that it was. Well, continued she as she rose to go, I must say that I never see a bill made out in that way at all. Mr. Batkins handed her out and she mocked Mr. Verygreen, whom she met on the stairs, that she had come to hear the liquor bill and they were reading a new chapter that she had never read in the book of Acts. Take things easy. I never load anything gained by being in too much of a hurry, said Mrs. Battington. When me and my dear Paul was married, he was in such a trepidation that he came nigh marrying one of the bridesmaids instead of me by mistake. He was such a queer man, she continued. Why? He joined the fire apartment and one night in his hurry he put his boots on his hind part of bore and as he ran along everybody behind him got tripped up and the papers were full of crowness quests and broken legs and limbs were weak afterwards and she lapsed into an abstraction on the ups and downs of life, carried away with music. Everybody will remember the organ grinder's little child who was carried around seated upon the instrument his father was tuning, his young heart well satisfied with things as they were so he enjoyed his musical throne. We regret to say that this babe of tender years was once made the subject of as cruel a joke as was ever seen in print. Our friend old Roger was concerned in it too and with his kind feelings was a wonder he could have done it. Phil Anthropos observed old Roger standing upon the sidewalk could humidly beating time to a lively air performed by the man of the organ and observing the dexterity with which he could pick up a scent and not lose enough. Sir, said Phil Anthropos, observed the heart fortune of that babe thus chained to such a destiny a child with a soul to save thus risking its safety by breathing continually such abominable airs. I know it, said old Roger in his way. I know it and yet the little fellow seems to be entirely carried away with the music. Phil Anthropos immediately left him. Mrs. Partington in trouble. Trying the French sea steamer, said Mrs. Partington as she read in foreign news an account of trial trips made by the French steamships. She has always had a deep interest in the French since Mr. Leigh-Martin, as she calls Le Morteen, has been driven out of the provisional government and the people have got to go back to the frog soup again. What can they be going to try them for, continued she. I never know that steamboats could be arranged for murder and such things before, though I don't see no reason why they shouldn't. Seeing so many murders come from their arrangements and I wish they'd try them all before they do the mischief and condemnation will be a warning to them just as it would if you could try all of the murderers and hang them off beforehand and save the lives of their innocent victims. Isaac! She screamed as a snowball struck the window. Don't throw your snow this way. And she rushed out to save her glass. Alas! She was a moment too soon for a snowball struck her cap as she shoot from the door, tore it from her head and bore it with its strings hanging down far from her. Her hair, all unconfined, danced madly in the wind and Mrs. Pottington for a moment looked every which way. Virtue is of little account unless it be tried. Nor is patience. Mrs. Pottington calmly digested her cap on her head venting. Influenza! I declare, I believe, I'm going to have the Influenestay! Said Mrs. Pottington tenderly and lopping her nose in her cotton vagina previous to a blast that would have done credit to Sam Robinson's stage horn in the old time. It is a dread fulfilling to have your head as big as a bucket of water and your nose dropping like the eaves and your flesh all creepy with old pimples like a child over the mizzles. Poor sister's child, she that married with a smith had the distemperature so bad that they had to put the cock stoppers in his nostrils to keep his brains from running out. She was here, brought up suddenly with a fit of coughing, knitting work was laid by her for the night and she went upstairs with a hot brick for her feet and a little preparation of something hotter for her stomach. An answer. What did they call them dances the cops de ballet for? Asked Mr. Very Green of Old Roger at a theater. The old fellow was watching them intently from the pocket with a double magnifying opera glass and didn't wish to be disturbed but answered because no live dancers can jump half so high as they can. Mutton custard As regards this mutton custard said Mrs. Partington as she held up the spoon with which she was stirring the preserves and let the tree core trickle back into the kettle in sceptitious ropeiness and stirred it again till the little yellow eyes that bubbled on the top seemed to snap and wink at Ike who sat whittling a stick and looking intently at the operation till his mouth watered again. Mutton custard and she smiled as the ideas stole across her mind like the shadows of a cloud and summer over a green meadow full of dandelion blossoms and buttercups. Some new regimen for sick people I dare say but I hope it'll be better than the custards that Vito Grudge used to make for the poor. God bless him! We want to act to a quart of milk and sweeten with molasses and thought that having a cell was too small and an immuneration for what she had done. But mutton custard It is mutton custard said Ike who had read the name to her in the post of the individual when he arrived in Boston. Costa the Hungarian Well, continued she, it might have been worse. As the girl said when she kissed the young minister by mistake in the dark entry for her cousin Betsy a mistake is now haystack Isaac. Isaac silently admitted the truth of the remark as she thrust the stick he had been whittling into the kettle and then made a drawing of the equatorial line across both cheeks and warm molasses. Mrs. Partington on the religious test The religious test among politicians exclaimed Mrs. Partington as their opinion was asked on the great question that was then agitating the people of New Hampshire and she smiled incredulously as she answered I never heard that they had any religious taste at all nor religious feeling nother for that matter. We see that all the politicians they say away that ever had any religion has given it all up. There is pass and trot who used to compound the gospel up in the old church has come at a politician and where is this religious taste now I should like to know. And there's lots just like him. But your madam caught the interrogator blandly I didn't mean taste it was a test that I spoke about. She inhaled a large thumb and finger full of her favourite before she spoke. They testiness said she is quite another thing and none of them a no better need are to be. The inquirer left decidedly impressed with the originality and truth of her remark Mrs. Partington's idea of humour What is your opinion of the humour of Hawthorne Mrs. Partington as the young neighbour that had been reading twice stole tales. I don't know said she looking at him earnestly but you've got it you better take something to keep it from striking in. Syrup of buckthorn is good for all sorts of diseases of that kind. I don't know about the humour of Hawthorne but I guess the buckthorn will be beneficial. Wee too much butter and butter is very humourous. There was a slight tremour in his voice as he said he would try her remedy and a smile might have been perceived about his mouth next day when she asked him with a solicitous air and tone how his humour was. A great curiosity. Dr. Dick in a lecture before the spunkville Lyceum stated it as an interesting fact and as indicative of the progress of the age that he had in a recent journey among the green mountains discovered a sage cheese. We hope the doctor will be induced to give a paper upon subject to the world. Cheeses have often been noted for their activity but none of them, we believe, have ever been distinguished for their profundity. Mrs. Partington on extradition Extradition of sims said Mrs. Partington as she paused a moment before the bulletin board of the commonwealth during the great excitement. I don't see what they want an extra addition of sims for when they had so much trouble in getting off the first one. Here is the commonwealth fourth edition balden use vine here. She raised her umbrella with a massing air for the noise was strange to her when her good genius stayed her hand. The umbrella the old green cotton one descended gently as a snowflake and the kind old lady invested two corpus American currency in last week's paper which the urchin chance to have on hand. Irreverent One of our preachers in a sermon spoke of those who do business as travelling along the level plain of life. Old Roger happened to be there and the old fellow reached over to his neighbor and whispered it may be a plain for some but for myself I have always found it uphill work. The neighbor laughed at Roger with the back of his head but kept the part grave that was towards the minister. End of section pi Section number six of life and sins of Mrs. Partington. This is a liberal box recording all liberal box recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer please visit liberalbox.org Life and Things of Mrs. Partington and others of the family by B. P. Shillaber Section 6 Indignation Meeting The enforcement of the law requiring our canine friends and fellow citizens to wear collars about their necks a survival mark no dog of spirit could for a moment consent to wear cast as might be supposed much growling among them and many teeth were shown and much dogged determination was a win to resist the law. Acting upon this feeling the more energetic of the canineites went round among their brethren counseling them to withstand the law and telling them besides that the rights of universal puppydom were in their keeping and asking them in terms of earnest entreaty if they would see those rights sacrificed without a struggle. This appeal was effectual and a meeting was forthwith assembled at the old slaughterhouse on south Boston flats to discuss the great question of resistance. It was composed chiefly of dogs whose necks had never shaped but the anonymous batch of ownership of hard-faring dogs, bone-dying dogs of dogs not nursed in the lap of luxury or pampered by the indulgence of favoring masters. None of the silk-eared and soft-witted aristocracy but there were the huge paws from Roxbury neck, the shag-barbs from the north end and the toughen ruffles from west Boston and many of minor note. Not a smile mocked their meeting, not a tail wagged, not a bug disturbed the stillness and anybody with half an eye could see that each hot was nipped with mighty resolution. The meeting was organized by the choice of Caesar, the biggest dog present. For President and Plato, a lean dog in specs who had been very active in getting up the meeting and who was known to be an excellent reporter was appointed scribe. Some said in an undertone aside that the scribe had nominated himself but his well-known modesty precluded the possibility of this and it may be set down as slander. The chairman on taking his seat stood up and after wagging his tail in silence for some moments, expressive of his deep emotion, he then proceeded to make a speech describing the object of the meeting, characterized by all the profundity, eloquence, brilliancy and power that has rendered the name of Caesar immortal and that has more or less marked the efforts of every chairman of every meeting since when the memory of man or dog know it not the contrary. We regret very much that we have not this great speech to print. In recommending union in their action, he related an original anecdote about an old man and his sons in a bundle of sticks which was received with tremendous applause. There was a struggle for the floor as the chairman seized and amidst much yelping it was assigned to Cato, an old setter who called upon his seers to keep cool and not to be in too much of a hurry. They would accomplish more by masterly inactivity than by thrusting their necks in the way of danger. They must remember the conduct of an ancient member of their race. He must refer to it. Although it was humiliating to think that a dog should be such a fool who dropped a piece of beef he had in his mouth for its shadow in the water. Prudence, with both eyes wide open tight, would remove them out of the way of trouble as a last word he would advise them to lay low and look out for bricks, a species of dogbane inimical to canine constitutions. A heavy old dog-browed dog here arose who commenced to be violently against the law and those who were enforcing it. He was astonished. He was paralyzed. He was dumbfounded to hear dogs counsel, coolness in this crisis. The policemen are upon us. We have already felt our tails within their degrading fingers. I hold them and their leader in detestation. He, I would pocket the woman who does his washing. I hate him so. I have acquainted him in State Street, though not naturally a pointer. I have it show my teeth at him wherever I met him. His excitement overpowered him and he sat down. Planto, a large gnarly, hard-looking dog, here arose, and it was doubtful for a time if he could be heard for the noise and confusion which prevailed among the opposers of the law. He was for law and order. Law was too sacred a thing to be handled without gloves. It was the palladium of our liberty. If the law was oppressive as it doubtless was, he would suggest in his reverence for law that they grin and bear it. If their necks were a little shaved, the evil would be mitigated by the reflection that the law was inviolate. Individual grievance was nothing in comparison with his grand idea. Everything that is legal is right. What is wrong in the individual may become right in law. Did the law require him to fast in the collar upon his own neck or upon the necks of those with whom he was allied, he would not hesitate to do it. In his regard for the law, he would. He was here pulled down by his tail then amid the shaggy hair which thickly covered his neck. A collar was discovered fitting closely to the skin. Amid the confusion attending this discovery, he sneaked away. A sandy-haired dog named Carlo next took the floor and snalled ominously as he commenced. He had but a few words to say. He would ask them if they were going to allow this law to be enforced. For his part he would fill his pockets with pistols and with a 24 pounder under each arm would he go alone to oppose it. His remarks produced an immense sensation among the younger portion of the audience. A cry was here made for bones. A venerable dog arose whose appearance excited respect. He gained his feet with much difficulty and it was perceived that he had a wooden leg and bore about his person sundry are the marks of dilapidation. My brethren said he when the cheering which had greeted him had subsided. You have before you but a sorry dog but such as I am is all that was left over from that fatal 19th of April and so many of our race was served up cold. I was then young and ardent. At the first howl of danger I left the bone I was gnawing and threw myself into the front rank of the defenders of my race. Alas, my friends, I soon found that I was barking up the wrong tree and discovered too that canine sagacity however good it might be in saving children from drowning or worrying cats could never call with humanity armed with clubs and actuated by the love of money. In a bloody fray my leg was broken with an anonymous brick. In another my termination was curtailed. In another my right eye closed in darkness in the world forever. With this view of the power of man and of our own weakness I would counsel caution, submission, even for the present resting in the assurance of the fulfillment of the ancient prophecy of the good time coming then every dog shall have his day. When basking in the broad sunshine of beneficent law we may cash flies in peaceful security fearing not the butcher's art fearing not the urchin's mischief who so reckless of our feelings persist in ornamenting our extremities with cast-off culinary utensils. This speech produced a great sensation awakening the president who had fallen asleep during the pathetic part of it and a few sensitive perps near the door were so deeply affected that they had to go out and take a little wine to restore their strength. This scribe who had prepared a series of resolutions before he came concluded not to submit them and let them drop back in his pocket to read some other time to private admirers and the meeting dissolved. Hard to get out of an omnibus. Keep the string a sudden jerk at the same instant you start from your seat to make for the door. The motion of the coach will afford you an excellent opportunity of testing your powers of navigation and will not in the least annoy you. Although it may be annoying to those whose quants you treat on if you are timid of falling into the laps of your fellow passengers incline your body forward as if about commencing to swim and place your hands upon projecting knees on each side until you are at a right distance from the door and then make a sudden and energetic plunge at it as if attempting to carry it by storm. We have seen a lady attempt this mode of aggress and my skillful management contrived to sit on seven masculine laps before she reached the door. It saves time to start a trifle before pulling the string. You might lose a full sixteenth of a minute by waiting for the coach to stop and that is something where time is money and money is two percent a month. A literal construction. Preachers, said a reverent gentleman, should be careful in doing their master's service never to exceed their commission or take anything but the Bible into their mouths. Plus me, taught Mrs. Partington as he said this, I don't see how he could find room for anything more very well though some mouths are a great deal larger than others. I remember my poor Paul and his brother were digging a collar once when Paul threw some dirt in his brother's mouth. Paul, says he. You've filled my mouth half full of dirt. His brother had a very big mouth. Have I? said Paul. Well, just spit it outside and we shan't have any more to dig. Ah, Paul was such a queer man. He was the beat-a-most creature. What a joyous gleam shot from his specs as his remeniscence crossed her mind giving the very iron of the bows a semblance of gold in its light. But the reflection cast her the whole of the fourthly. A legitimate conclusion. Old Mr. Brown and his son George were engaged in the haymow when the conversation turned upon California and the young man expressed his strong desire to go. The old man said he shouldn't go. They talked about it, reasoned about it, grew mad about it and the end of it all was that George showed his venerable progenitor down over the mow through a hole in the barren floor into an apple bin to the imminent risk of the venerable gentleman's neck and then ran away leaving his father in the bin among the apples. The old man some months afterwards told the minister the story and the reverend very profoundly said that he taught children who showed such disrespect to their parents never came to a good end. No sir said old Mr. Brown firmly striking his hoe with energy into the turf. No sir depend upon it that boys who throw their fathers down into apple bins don't go to heaven by a great sight. An epigram Upon the election of general Pierce the usual changes were made in the various subordinate offices with the usual anxiety among the outs and ins expressed by the following The office holders are all in a sweat said an office hopper with exaltation True said old Roger I never yet saw such a journal pure aspiration question answered Where is the fire? As Mrs. Partington of a fireman from an upper window as the bells were waking the night with their clanger In was the un-gallant response naming the hottest title of perpetual warmth Dear me said the old lady not comprehending him Is it so far off? I wish it was nearer for your sake but he'll get there soon She muttered to herself if he goes on as he does now and she went to sleep again invoking blessings on the guardians of public safety The test refused Mr. Jabez Brattle the locationist was introduced one day to professor and expressed himself much pleased at making that gentleman's acquaintance Mr. Brattle stated to the professor that he was an ardent admirer of his works and that he could repeat Evangeline and the golden legend from beginning to end He commenced the former and had not got more than half through before the professor was seen dashing wildly up School Street and in 15 minutes by the old south he stood upon Cambridge Bridge thankful at his escape from a boar A wholesome lesson A dog is a very singular animal said the owner of Fido to old Roger after they had marked the affectionate gambles of the faithful creature who now in wariness had come to light his mask with speed a very singular animal now you see I will flog him severely suiting the action to the word and now you see him licking my hand in return old Roger was moved yes said the old man severely and where I the dog I would give you a difference out of licking from that he is the noblest animal of the two and ought to change places with you let me tell you sir that a man who by a mere accident occupies the superior position and out of pure wantonness abuses the power he may possess or presumes upon that power to hurt the helpless is a scoundrel sir that dog there is a king to him and the old man turned away leaving Fido and his master to experience perhaps the benefit of the lesson there is a moral in it a bootless case I wish I could find something to help my cons said Mr. Wood despondingly they ache so I'll tell you what will cure him said one of the boarders their large boots about two sizes larger and you now wear and your cons will be better Mr. Wood wore number 12s already and as he cast his eyes towards his feet upon hearing this advice he sighed piteously for the remedies seemed bootless young man said old Roger wiping his mouth on his napkin I PTU case if you depend upon that for to carry out the plan recommended the streets would surely have to be widened and land is very dear in Boston it was touching the young man upon a sore spot and he left off complaining from then perhaps true a paper begins a paragraph you logistic price the immortal friend of mothers etc we are assured by a friend at our elbow that knows that prize is no object with some mothers and that however much it may be pretended that prize is the mother's friend it is a notorious fact that price is obnoxious to fathers old Roger's new hat for heaven's sake old woman get off my hat said Roger at the concert as he saw a 250 pound asset along his new ventilated caster old woman it was an ungallant expression but the circumstance would seem to justify it a new hat was a new error in his existence and this was one of the latest recovering himself and pressing over his knee as best he might his crush tile the wrinkles but too apparent he calmly continued I wouldn't object to your trying it on ma'am whether the least chances of it fitting but it is evident that it isn't large enough I never saw a hat worn in that way before and I don't want to finish one to experiment upon either the hat was put on but how like an apothecary's apparenty is long and indeed it looked contrasted with its previous fair proportions they operate very destructive to hats especially where they throw them at the singers Christmas reflection I wish you a merry Christmas and a happy new year with your stomach full of money and your pocket full of beer yelled Ike as he skipped into Mrs. Partington's kitchen where the old dame was busily engaged in cooking breakfast on Christmas morning don't make such a noise dear said the kind old lady holding up a hand you give me a scrutinizing pain in my head and your young voice goes through my brains like a scalpel knife but what did the good Santa cross put in your stocking Isaac as she looked at him with an arc and pleased expression as he took out of his pockets a jackknife and a humtob painted with gaudy colors Ike held them up joyously and it was a sight to see the two standing there she's smiling serenely upon the boy's happiness and he grateful in the possession of his treasures said she with a sigh there's many a home today Isaac that Santa Cruz won't visit and many a poor child will find nothing in his stocking but his own little foot might have been a greyness the snuff she took it might have been a floating mote of the atmosphere but Mrs. Partington's eyes looked humid though she smiled upon the boy before her who stood trying to pull the cord out of her reticule to spin his new top bit reflection about mosquitoes there now I hope you've got it you everlasting torment said Mrs. Partington angrily giving Margaret her young neighbor who was in spending the evening with her a smart slap on her forehead and nearly throwing her from her chair at the same time knocking the botanical lamp from the table by her violent motion what's the matter inquired Margaret alarmed for such conduct was very unusual and the oil from the lamp had marred her new calico it's only a pesky musketeer dear said the old lady rewriting the lamp it's only a musketeer and I can't see the use of amlit tormenting creatures they say the lord makes everything for some good purpose and so I think that these sort of an noisome reptiles must be made by somebody else I do the remark may be thought irreverent by some but the old lady was excited and the heat of these warm musketeer teaming evenings ought to excuse more even under such annoyance as she was suffering a passable joke old Roger was at the concert one evening and as he sat awaiting the commencement of the performances in a slip where there was room for one more a gentle man came along and tapping him on the shoulder told him in a whisper that he should like to pass inside of him old Roger looked at the stranger a moment he was a large man very large upon my words said the old fellow I don't think you can for I have just eaten a hearty supper and from appearances I should judge that he wouldn't sit well on my stomach this was said loud enough for people in the adjacent seats to hear and in an instant 11 double spy glasses were leveled at him the gentleman looked very red at first I mean said he pointing to the vacant seat will you allow me to pass by you to that seat certainly sir said old Roger gravely and I am rejoiced to find that your request is so much more possible than I first regarded it the stranger immediately tended old Roger his hat which he magnanimously declined receiving a poor sign exposure could you should get young pork ma'am to bake with your beans said old Roger somewhat cynically as he sat at table one Sunday they told me it was young said the landlady well it may be so but gray hair is not a juvenile feature by any means in our latitude ma'am continued he fishing up a gray hair about a foot and a half long with his pork he may have been young but he must have lived a very wicked life to be gray so soon as he spoke he looked along the table and a slight emotion was visible among the borders and the man who sat opposite with his mouth full of the edibles with which he had been endeavouring to smother a laugh grew dark with the effort and then collapsed scattering dismay and crumbs amid nicely plaited folds of old Roger's shirt frills I wouldn't be so bothered about my meals said a jaw printer to a brother typo who had to wait pretty often for dinner that didn't pay for waiting if I bowed it out I'd have my dinner just as soon as I could get it a nave in the church a nave in our church screamed Mrs. Partington as her eye rested on a description of the new edifice and the offensive verse struck terror to her soul a nave in our church who can it be dear me and they have been so careful too who they took in exercising in my forehand and putting them through the catechus in the lethargy and pounding them into a state of grace who can it be and the spectacles expressed anxiety I believe it must be slander after all oh what a terrible thing it is to piss in the peace of a neighbourhood deteriorating and backbiting and lying about people when the blessed truth is full bad enough about the best of us what a lesson is here for the mischief maker to ponder upon truthful and dignity to her words and gave a beam to her countenance reminding one somewhat of a sunset in the fall on a used up landscape Mrs. Partington one fourth of july was much incommodated by the crowd that rushed to see the procession she said she didn't see the least need of scrubbing so for she daresay the procession was full long enough to go around the punted punt Dr. Dick and old Roger were holding an animated conversation upon the subject of California the doctor contending that the chances were against the immigrants did they're getting recompensed for their trouble four said the doctor the ground is all occupied and those coming last have small chance of procuring a lucrative field for their operations my dear sir said old Roger with animation I can assure you it is not so for I'm informed by an intelligent returned Californian that every man who goes to the mine has his pick the doctor however still contended for his point and could not see how it could be possible and thought old Roger's friend must be mistaken punch in the head old Sherry came home one night when it was so near morning that the line dividing the night from the morning was legitimate debatable and having taken an extra glass or two previous to leaving the company he had been with he was somewhat dull of apprehension and the houses seemed walking around him unaccountably and the streets by some sort of undulatory motion that he had never before noticed seemed determined to throw him down but he got home safely so far well but he had lost his night key or it was in the pocket of his other pants in the wardrobe within 10 feet of the spot where Mrs. Sherry was probably at that time reposing whose snore he even fancied he heard jarring the latch of the outside door it must be one or the other for he felt in his pockets for it in vain he didn't like to alarm the house nor the people in it for a quarter of a century's experience of the quality of Mrs. Sherry's temper let him to know that her welcome to him in his present plight would be more warm than agreeable even if she consented to let him in at all it at last occurred to him that a window in the rear of the house could be open from the outside and he at once resolved to gain an entrance in this manner then creep upstairs to bed and say nothing to anybody accordingly with this burglarious idea in his mind he went round to the back of the house the window was a little about his reach but he found a barrel somewhere and by skillfully maneuvering got it beneath the window and elevated himself upon it he tried to lift the sash and it slid up easily to the desired height where he secured it with a stick Mr. Sherry congratulated himself upon his stromphant achievement on the difficulty the outposts were one another step and he would be master of the citadel already was his foot raised to take this last step his head and shoulders were within the window when the treacherous barrel losing its equipose in the exertion Mr. Sherry was making fell over his luckless elbow touching the stick that sustained the window it fell with a crash upon Mr. Sherry's broad shoulders and he found himself in a trap from which he could not a stick Mr. Sherry's maiden sister a romantic damsel of 35 had heard the noise and as she awaked from her slumber the idea of thieves flashed across her mind she had been dreaming of brigands and robbers and the noise occurred just where a heroine was forcibly carried from her paternal home her ruffians and masks upon the spur of the moment she darted into her nephew's chamber can take a whisper to her and told him in a big whisper that robbers were breaking into the house and added the gratuitous and sanguinary information that they would all be murdered in their beds while she went to impart this gratifying news to the rest of the household the young man arose and without stopping to dress and self-seize the big sick and went stealthily downstairs he opened the door softly of the room from which the noise proceeded and beholding the supposed burglar in the window the young Sherry gave his parents had a couple of wax with the stick when a cry from that suffering specimen of a suspended animation revealed to the young man who the victim was and with the assistance of the rest of the family who had now assembled the 200 pounds of old Sherry was soon housed such a lecture as he received either the lecture or the debauch or the cane perhaps the whole combined gave him a severe headache the next morning and he was constrained to keep his bed he summoned his son to his bedside and with an expression of grave authority he asked the young man if he didn't think he was a graceless rogue to be punching his parents head in the way he did if he wasn't really ashamed of himself the young Sherry made up a mouth in which much fun blended with considerable that was serious and replied that his respected sire would never have got any punch in his head from him had enough been for the punch he had got in his head before he came home the old Sherry admitted the corn turned over and slept on it and a section six section seven is of life and things of mrs. partington this is a LibriVox recording all LibriVox recordings are in the public domain for more information or to volunteer please visit LibriVox.org life and things of mrs. partington and others of the family by bp shillabair section eight matter of fact and sentiment said Augustus as he gazed from mrs. partington's little window his finger pensively resting upon a cracked china teapot upon the sill here is a spot in which to cultivate the flowers of poise here the imagination may soar on unrestricted wing here barmy zephyr is rising from embubbering roses waft embrosial sweets them is being splanted in the window said the old lady interrupting him what you say is very true there is nothing better for soar than barmy gilliot buds in rum and it's so handy to have them in a temperance neighborhood too where people are too good to keep rum in the house themselves but leave it all to be borrowed of the neighborhoods how glad i am always to have it for em they're so kind too always advising me to give up keeping it in the house but dear me what would those poor creatures do if i should i may be committing sin in keeping it but a bad use of a thing makes all the trouble after all Augustus was moved but there was so much of the cart earthy in her remark that he was silent i should like to know what he meant about embubbling roses remile mode she to herself peppermint would be better if he has colic she looked at him earnestly but there seemed no token of pain as she forebored to speak commissuration for clerks shopkeepers is not enough thought of said mrs partington after having been out making some purchases how they do toil and how they suffer one dear pretty young man with a nice black coat on and a gold chain and a starched collar with a caravan on his neck told me the tears in his eyes that he was sending to me at less than he gave for it and i bought it out of pity though i know that i could get it five cents a yard cheaper next door talk about most is being executed on one string indeed these poor crutches are rogers is every one of them by the odd steak and are all the time a dying there's a constant flow of the milk of compassion in her breast in a exhaustible like the purse of the gentleman in the story the more that it's taken from it the more remains the allusion to moses was drawn from an advertisement of a prodigy violinist who was to play a violin solo from the oratorio of moses upon one string the bouquet look here exclaimed mrs pottington in a tone of triumph as she returned from answering the doorbell bearing in her withered hand a bouquet of generous proportions and exquisite beauty with her name written in fair characters upon an accompanying card look here at the bucket of flowers somebody has sent me how charmingly it smells as well as looks and the colors is all blinded together too so prettily at this stage of her admiration a small belay dropped upon the floor and here she continued is a letter besides written in a beautiful hand from somebody with ornamental corners from your valentine team of the tobey close the missive she said not another word took one more inspiration from the bucket and busied herself in preparing the large mouthed honey bottle for its accommodation it might have been from the projecting lace beer it might have been from a grain of subtle macaboy coming in contact with her eye and it might have been from some deeper cause but at here escaped the area of the right eye of her specs and stood for an instant in pellicid luster on her cheekbone before passing away through the channels time had worn in her face mrs pottington on ventilation we've got a new generator on our meeting house said mrs pottington but how on earth they can contrive to climb up there to let the excrocrations go out is more than i can see into but it is such a nice intervention for keeping a house warm what sort of a ventilator is it asked we anxious to get an inkling of the old lady's philosophy it is one of the emissaries replied she sage lee and it is ever so much better than professor absence because a room is kept so warm and comfortable by it not the least danger of taking cold from drafts of too fresh air it will be a great accusation and cold weather but how will you do in summer we again asked the dame for a moment was puzzled she had not thought of this contingency oh cried she after a few moments reflection aided by the merest riffle of maca boy at the same time preferring as the box i suppose then they will stop it up all together and open the windows it was an idea worthy of the profound black bonnet and far seeing specks before us she left us then we watched her from the window and felt anxious about the rheumatism as we saw her right foot sink in a ball in an attempt to reach a canton's street omnibus anyone who breathes a suffocating air of our concert dreams will be reminded of mrs partington's venerator for keeping a room warm our relations with mexico our relations with mexico said mrs partington contemplatively at a glance stand upward to the wall where the portrait of the deceased corporal in rigid passport looks straightforward as of indicating a b-line of duty that she should follow a sort of pictorial sinosa to which she always looked for guidance our relations with mexico said she some of the poor creatures maybe left there in the late hospitalities too poor to go back if i was president pierce now i'd send right away and bring them all to him by the express the mexicans had better not trouble any of our relations i can tell them of course she could tell them there was no doubt of it mrs sledd believed she could and ike who was busy in transforming the old ladies new clothes taken to a pat in state world if there is a weakness in mrs p's character and as a chronicler we should be false to our trust to say that there was not that weakness is love for her relations continually manifesting itself in blue yarn stockings in su chan tea the first of april i never see the like said mrs partington as she slammed to the front door with the noise and joy that set everything to dancing in the house and the timid croqueries stood with chattering teeth upon the little buffet in the corner it was wrong in her to say she had never seen the like for this was the fifth time that she had been called to the door by a violent ringing within half an hour and had found no one there hence anger so rarely an occupant of her mind but so justifiable now prompted the slamming of the door and their mark i never see the like it was the first of april and the occurrence was the more annoying for this reason she stood still by the door and watched stealthily for the intruder tapped her box easily and regaled her old factories with a dusty oblation and held still the peel of the bell again startled her by its vehemence she opened the door and looked out but no one was to be seen as she turned away a string attached to the bell wire extending from the banister met her gaze and sitting quietly upon the stairs with a grin on his face that had a world of meaning in it in the world of fun in it sat ike how the spectacle sparkled in the rays of her indignation she went for the road which had long rested on the shelf but it had been manufactured three days before into an arrow by ike and as a chance of finding it diminished her anger cooled like hot iron in the air and the rogue escaped an inquiry answered does i said manifest any taste for poetry mrs. partington asked the schoolmaster's wife felt conversing on the merits of the youthful partington the old lady was basting a chicken that her friends had sent her from the country oh yes said the old lady smiling he's very partially fond of poetry and it always seems as if he can't get enough of it the old spit turned by the fireplace in response to her answer while the basting was going on i mean said the lady does he show any of the divine a flattice the old lady thought a moment as for the divine flatness i don't know about it he's had all the complaints of children and when he was a baby he fell and broke the cartridge of his nose but i hardly think he's he's had this that you speak of the roasting chicken hissed and sputtered and mrs. partington basted it again bailed out so our neighbor mr. guzzle has been arranged at the bar for dracades said mrs. partington and she sighed as she thought of his wife and children at home with cold weather closed at hand and the searching vins intruding through the chinks in the windows and waving the tattered curtain like a banner where the little one stood shivering by the faint embers god forgive him and to pity them said she in a tone of voice tremolous with emotion but he was bailed out said he ike who had devoured the residue of the paragraph and laid the paper in a pan of liquid custard that the dame was preparing for thanksgiving and sat swinging the oven door to and fro as of defend the fire that crackled and blazed within bailed out was he said she well i should think it would have been cheaper to have pumped him out for when our cellar was filled out of the city fathers had degraded the street we had to have it pumped out though there wasn't half so much in it as he has swill down she passed and reached up on high shelves at the closet for her pie plates while ike possessed himself in tasting the various preparations the dame thought that was the smallest port of sweet cider she had ever seen have you got a baby a bachelor friend of ours was riding upon a time through the state when he overtook a little girl and boy apparently on their way to school the little girl appeared to be a five or six years old and was as beautiful as a fairy her eyes were lit up with a gleam of intense happiness and her cheeks glowed with the hues of health our bachelor looked at her for a moment admiringly she met his glance with a smile and with an eager voice saluted him with have you got a baby he was struck back by the question and something like a regret stole over his mind as he looked upon the animated and beautiful little face before him no he answered well she replied drawing her tiny form proudly up we have and passed on still smiling to tell the joyous news to the next one she might meet what a world of happiness to her was concentrated in that one idea the baby and in a joy she felt as if all must have the same delight as herself and it was a matter of affectionate pride to her that lifted her little heart about the reach of ordinary care for in the baby was her world and what else had she to crave such was the reflection of our friend and he remembered it long enough to tell it to us a home truth what a to-do they make about treating the slaves bad at the south said mrs pattington and everybody's trained their ears to catch an opinion that perhaps was fraught with the destiny of millions there was a slight tremor in a voice a sort of rumbling before the bustin of the volcano and her eye looked troubled as a lake by a fitful gust what a to-do they do make about it to be sure but some of our folks don't do much better I know a poor old collared man here in boston that they treat just like a nigger people ain't no better than scribes Pharisees and hypocrites that say one thing and do another there is truth in their remarks oh most esteemable mrs p a philanthropy we fear evading just balance would be found often sadly wanting a seasonable pun fine gloves them said old roger as he held out his hand in case in the new pair he had just bought an ascent was expressed but continued he can you tell me why a man is more likely to get taken in while buying gloves in the winter than in summer they couldn't I'll tell you then it's because they're more apt to get worsted very close ways what is the matter with mrs juke's doctor asked mrs pattington as dr boless pastor of house she had been watching for him for half an hour through a chink in the door and people who detected the end of it knows thrust out of the chink of a force that stopped an instant to look at it strongly inclined to touch it and see what it was she's troubled with very close veins ma'am replied the doctor blandly do you tell cry the old lady well that accounts for her very coarse behavior then and it isn't any fault of her after all poor women because what is to be will be and if one has very coarse veins what can one expect ah where none of us better than the ought to be good morning ma'am said dr boless as he turned away and the old lady shut the door no better than we ought to be what an original remark and how can did the admission the little front entry heard it and the broad stare that led to the chamber heard it and I heard it as he sat in the kitchen dobbing up the old lady's fembroke table with flour paste in an attempt to make a kite out of a choicely saved copy of the puritan recorder we're no better than we ought to be generally mrs pattington on vacation five weeks vexation in august said mrs pattington when she heard that the school had a vacation for five weeks five weeks vexation which is a trying season for mothers and bearing and tearing to their patients in the jackets and trousers of the children talk about the relaxing from study I don't believe it's half as bad as the green apples they get in the country but I do love to see the little dears enjoying themselves frisking about like pigs and clover as happy as the days is long what an idea of freedom there is in a little boy with his face and hair full of molasses and fun and good nature be still you could for nothing cried she as I attempted to take a snuff box be still I say but it was not an anger for she felt in her capacious pocket and from away down under her snuff box and thimbles and bone buttons and needles and pin cushions and bees facts she brought up a ball of variegated hues and smiled as she gave it into his eager hand and beat him be a good boy torchlight patriotism hooray hooray yelled Ike as he dashed in at the front door with a lighted torch swinging it over his head and spattering the oily fluid around upon the tables and chairs a drop even falling upon the snow white table cover that lay folded up on a shelf the smoke of the torch filled the kitchen and rolled along the snow white ceiling in murky volume to the great annoyance of mrs. pottington who always said if there was anything on earth that she held in utter excruciance it was aisle what's the pain now said the dame rising and she heard through the floor the noise made by the unterified democracy in torchlight procession assembled Paul was a democrat and a sympathy kept time with the marcio music quite a furrer said we to her as we recognized her a tremendous cheer interrupted us a few roar said she's smiling i think it is a good many roar ah continued she i do love to see the un-clarified democracy in possession with the torches of blazing and the patricism of busting she felt patriotic her face was momentarily lit up with the emotions of her soul and the light of a roman candle and then the venerable countenance melted away in the darkness as the candle after making a great effort to sustain itself became exhausted and snuffed itself out mrs. pottington on suffrage how these men do talk about exercising the right of suffering said mrs. pottington as if nobody in the world suffered but themselves they don't think of our sufferings we poor creatures must suffer and say nothing about it and drink cheap tea and be trouble with the children and scar and scrub ourselves out and we never say a thing about it but a man comes on regularly once a year like a farmer's almanac and grumbles about his sufferings and it's only then just to choose a garner after all these men are hard creatures to find out and end worth much after you have found him out this was intended as the lesson to margaret who was working charlotte and verteur on a blue ground at his side but margaret had her own idea of the matter and remained silent down with the tyrant ha ha down with the tyrant death to the spaniard shouted ike as he rushed into the kitchen brandishing paul's old artillery sword that had hung so long on the wall he struck an attitude and then struck the upright portion of the stove funneled till it rung with the blow and mrs. pottington with amazement on a countenance in the glass lamp in her hand stood looking at him ike had been reading the thrilling tale of the black avenger or the pirate of the spanish main and his intellects as sir hugue evans might say were absorbed by the horrible don't isaac dia send mrs. pottington as she's spoken a gentle but firm tone you're very scaring and it don't look well to see a young boy acting so it comes i know of reading them yellow cupboard books you should read good ones and if you won't touch that again i will let you have my big bible king james aversion with the beautiful pictures i declare i don't know what i shall do with you if you carry on so i'm afraid i shall have to send you to a geological cemetery to get the old sancho out of you the point of the sword was lowered as it was making a passage for a dark spot in the center panel of the door the eye of the boy so fiercely lit by the spirit of the black avenger became mild and laughing as he said he was only making belief and mrs. pottington gave him a penny as she disarmed him what a visible emotion of penis became manifest as he grasped the copper and made tracks for the door and climbed over the snow drifts to reach the grocers opposite mrs. pottington and the clerk is the steamer signified sir asked mrs. pottington at the telegraph station yes um replied the clerk who was busily engaged turning over the leaves of his daybook can you tell me continued she if the queen's enroachment has taken place yet some say she's enroaching all the time so the clerk looking pleasantly at the old lady and evidently pleased with his own smartness that is impossible responded the venerable day but said she to herself how could he be expected to know about such things and yet there is no reason why he shouldn't for all the bus to signs not me and them things is let down nowadays and nature is shown all on dress like a puppet shows expense aside good morning sir said she as he bowed her out and as she passed down the stairs her mind grasping the manifold subjects of the telegraph queen and facilities and signs became oblivious in a flock thought for thanksgiving day this day long celebrated in new england again returns amid whose festivities the heart expands itself and awakes a new cheerful life though the whole year has bounded with selfish fetters and it has pursued unremittingly its aim of baldy gain or baldy advancement on this day all the avenues to its genialities are thrown open and troops of kindly feelings long strangers come thronging back to their early home as their possesses return on this last season and revisit the source from whence sprung it is a time of glee and a time of thankfulness the twin feelings of the season the joy of meeting after long separation the gathering of friendly faces about the generous board the hilarious song and the graceful dance the spoils of childhood and the heart mingling of youth old enough and willing to love all our worship and offerings of thanksfulness where sweet innocence lends a charm it was known months ago that tom was to come home from the city of thanksgiving he had been gone a whole year and when his great red face had disappeared it seemed for a while as if the sun had ceased to shine his first said it was an event in the lives of the old folks at home and tom's sisters and tom's sisters had to carry the letter all around the neighborhood that people might see how well he could write and what proper words he used and how he crossed his knees and minded his eyes but tom has written many letters since and the novelty has worn off but the affection around the old homestead is as bright as ever and tom is actually coming home to thanksgiving and the girls will pinch his red cheeks and tease him with their kindness as they used to do his last letter tells his father that he must have the mare at the depot by six o'clock the girls insist that they will drive down to meet him they're not afraid of a horse not they and go they will the house is swept and the wood is piled up in the bedroom fireplace and the floor is nearly sanded and the chair with the new tidy that bella has knit is in its place for master tom when he comes for tom has got to be a character and it is a question if more preparation could be made for a king's reception the old folks talk of his coming and a softer expression than usual mingles in their voices and the clock is watched for the hour of his appearing here they are at last and the red faced boy gets out father mother god bless you both and he's a child again the child of the old homestead and he loves every stick in the old house better than ever before it is not time to talk yet about the big city that is reserved for the evening and their seated around the cheerful fire now he must answer the questions about his health and if his last talking fitted and what he thought when he heard his aunt Debra had got married and if his cousin John had given him the little Bible his old school mistress sent him they knew he had because Tom had said so in a letter home and if he heard that his cousin Sally had got a baby heavens how the questions poured in upon him and will until he gets his turn to ask and theirs comes to answer this is a picture sample of a thousand such freights of happiness are born on every railroad car the steam whistle of the locomotive conveys a thrill of pleasure to many a listening heart the hum of business pulls the ear that listens for happiness and the shutters are put up for one day the heart's jubilee those seen in excess may mark and mark its hilarity and aggregative joy remains to it commensurate with the virtue that remains to us the noise of the turkeys heard in the land evaluations are made to the genius of plenty groaning tables pave the way to groaning stomachs and thankfulness works its way out between its canned apertures left in compact stomach storage heaven give the rich heart to help the poor and to make them thankful on this day in spite of the 364 other days of hardship and probation peace inculcated better is across the bird and quietness therewith than a stolid ox in strife said mrs. spottington as she heard the noise of rank in the neighbor's house it was a Sunday morning and i was cleaning his shoes by the door with the clothes brush why can't folks live in peace without distention how much people have to answer for that causes animosity in a neighborhood thank heaven i have never done anything of that kind that my conscience acquits me of with what a feeling this was uttered and the sunlight came into the window and he looked through his packs down into his soul and it was as calm there as the bottom of a well not disturbed by ike's whistling all day and tougher as an accompaniment to his brush human nature seat 11 millionaires in an omnibus and seat between them one old woman who has but five coppers in the world which she intends to invest in that one right when the collector comes in and the old lady takes out her antique wallet to pay him this curious to observe the avidity and eagerness with which the millionaires watch her operations and people were to catch a glimpse at the interior of the wallet this is human nature mr. straight pasts soliloquy well my mind's at last made up i'm going against from this election i've made up my mind on that pint and there's no shaking me but i say my mind's made up folks may know what to depend on yes i go against from it's time he looked about us it's time the people got their eyes open to the evil and i'm one of them but struggling suddenly the party what would the party say i didn't think of that before the party of course must be looked into what could we do without party where would the union be in our institutions and what do you call it if it wasn't for the party i should like to know parties are eagles our pal pal what's his name but i can't go against from without going against the party if i was against from and the champions inspectors and constables and things are chosen where would our institutions be on our destiny as a nation and the respect of people abroad who we don't care a copper about and then if i vote for party and run triumphs it would go on undermining our moral institutions and our physical constitutions so hang me between some boats if i know what to do have it i make a compromise between cold water and limb and make it half rum and the other half rum and water that's the ticket and my mind's made up to vote it when my mind's made up there's no moving me mrs pattington ruralizing mrs pattington and i were hucklebearing in the country and a large swamp was verily canvas to fill in the quad which she bore in a five-quad pail she despaired of filling it look here aunt said i can a sort of confidential whisper look in there and see what a lot of them there is a smile upon the face of the boy that be token mischief or it might have been a gleam of satisfaction at the prospect of filling the pail but suddenly a smile was drawn the little mouth and the eye caught it and a roguish twinkle like a sunbeam lay sparkling there i see said the old lady and a moment later the lock cabin bonnet borrowed for the occasion was seen about the tops the bushes his wristlessness indicating its various activity i remained outside fizz buzz what was that humble bee as we are a sinner another and another the lock cabin was besieged and mrs pattington rushed frantically from the bushes swinging the tin pail and crying shoo shoo with all her might it was a trying time for the video of corporal paul and i did not escape for a big humble bee attacked him and he roared heartily with a sting upon his cheek the laugh disappeared as it recited all their troubles at home people regarded the matter as a trick of ikes but how could he have known about the humble bee's mess being in there mrs pattington about that she never was frustrated by anything in her born days and the people believed her she thinks notwithstanding the bees that she would like to have a villain in the country and become an amateury pharma ventilation in the course of his rambles in the country mrs pattington called it a poor looking house by the roadside to inquire the whereabouts of a trout brook which he had supposed to be in the vicinity some pretty children attracted his attention and he stepped inside the door to play with them and invest a few cents in the reflection the father came in a moment afterwards and appeared somewhat confused to find a stranger in his humble domicile warm sir said he wiping his forehead wife threw up the window and let us have a mouthful of fresh air mrs potgham looked at the winter about to be thrown up and saw with pain that every square of glass had been broken out his mind turned to a nice mathematical calculation in which he endeavored to make out the difference between the quantity of air received through an open window and one with no glass in it and gave it up in despair and it's section seven