“OUR LEARNED FRIEND, DR. BUSHWHACKER.” “SIR,” said our learned friend, Dr. Bushwhacker, “we are indebted to China for the four principal blessings we enjoy. Tea came from China, the compass came from China, printing came from China, and gunpowder came from China—thank God! China, sir, is an old country, a very old country. There is one word, sir, we got from China that is oftener in the mouths of American people than any other word in the language. It is cash, sir, cash! That we derive from the Chinese. It is the name, sir, of the small brass coin they use, the coin with a square hole in the middle. And then look at our Franklin; he drew the lightning from the skies with his kite; but who invented the kite, sir? The long-tailed Chinaman, sir. Franklin had no invention; he never would have invented a kite or a printing-press. But he could use them, sir, to the best possible advantage, sir; he had no genius, sir, but he had remarkable talent and industry. “Then, sir, we got our umbrella from China. The first man that carried an umbrella, in London, in Queen Anne’s reign, was followed by a mob. That is only one hundred and fifty years ago. We get the art of making porcelain from China. Our ladies must thank the Celestials for their tea-pots. “Queen Elizabeth never saw a tea-pot in her life. In 1664 the East India Company brought two pounds two ounces of tea as a present for his Majesty King Charles the Second. In 1667 they imported one hundred pounds of tea. “Then, sir, rose the reign of scandal. Queen scandal, sir! Then, sir, rose the intolerable race of waspish spinsters who sting reputations and defame humanity over their dyspeptic “The curiosity of Eve was bad enough; but, sir, when Eve’s curiosity becomes sharpened by turgid tonics, and scandal is added to inquisitiveness, and innuendo supplies the place of truth, and an imperfect digestion is the pilot instead of charity; then, sir, we must expect to see human nature vilified, and levity condemned, and good fellowship condemned, and all good men, from Washington down, damned by Miss Tittle, and Miss Tattle, and the widow Blackleg, and the whole host of tea-drinking conspirators against social enjoyment.” Here Dr. Bushwhacker grew purple with eloquence and indignation. We ventured to remark that he had spoken of tea “as a blessing” at first. “Yes, sir,” responded Dr. Bushwhacker, shaking his bushy head, “that reminds one of Doctor Pangloss. Yes, sir, it is a blessing, but like all other blessings it must be used temperately, or else it is a curse! China, sir,” continued the doctor, dropping the oratorical and taking up Frederick S. Cozzens. OLD AUNT MARY’S. WASN’T it pleasant, O brother mine, In those old days of the lost sunshine Of youth—when the Saturday’s chores were through, And the “Sunday’s wood” in the kitchen, too, And we went visiting, “me and you,” Out to Old Aunt Mary’s? Though I am as bald as you are grey— Out by the barn-lot, and down the lane, We patter along in the dust again, As light as the tips of the drops of the rain, Out to Old Aunt Mary’s! We cross the pasture, and through the wood Where the old grey snag of the poplar stood, Where the hammering “red-heads” hopped awry, And the buzzard “raised” in the “clearing” sky, And lolled and circled, as we went by Out to Old Aunt Mary’s! And then in the dust of the road again; And the teams we met, and the countrymen; And the long highway, with sunshine spread As thick as butter on country bread, Our cares behind, and our hearts ahead, Out to Old Aunt Mary’s! Why, I see her now in the open door, Where the little gourds grew up the sides and o’er The clapboard roof!—and her face—ah, me! Wasn’t it good for a boy to see— And wasn’t it good for a boy to be Out to Old Aunt Mary’s! And oh, my brother, so far away, This is to tell you she waits to-day To welcome us:—Aunt Mary fell Asleep this morning, whispering, “Tell The boys to come!” And all is well Out to Old Aunt Mary’s! James Whitcomb Riley. |