Eighth Reader Part 14

[Footnote 28: By Charles Lamb, an English essayist and humorist (1775-1834).]

EXPRESSION: What holidays are named in this selection? What holidays do you know about that were not present at this dinner?

Refer to the dictionary and learn about all the days here mentioned. Select the humorous pa.s.sages in this story, and tell why you think they are humorous.

THE TOWN PUMP[29]

[SCENE.--_The corner of two princ.i.p.al streets. The Town Pump talking through its nose._]

Noon, by the north clock! Noon, by the east! High noon, too, by those hot sunbeams which fall, scarcely aslope, upon my head, and almost make the water bubble and smoke in the trough under my nose. Truly, we public characters have a tough time of it! And among all the town officers, chosen at the annual meeting, where is he that sustains, for a single year, the burden of such manifold duties as are imposed in perpetuity, upon the Town Pump?

The t.i.tle of town treasurer is rightfully mine, as guardian of the best treasure the town has. The overseers of the poor ought to make me their chairman since I provide bountifully for the pauper, without expense to him that pays taxes. I am at the head of the fire department, and one of the physicians of the board of health. As a keeper of the peace all water drinkers confess me equal to the constable. I perform some of the duties of the town clerk, by promulgating public notices, when they am pasted on my front.

To speak within bounds, I am chief person of the munic.i.p.ality, and exhibit, moreover, an admirable pattern to my brother officers by the cool, steady, upright, downright, and impartial discharge of my business, and the constancy with which I stand to my post. Summer or winter, n.o.body seeks me in vain; for, all day long I am seen at the busiest corner, just above the market, stretching out my arms to rich and poor alike; and at night I hold a lantern over my head, to show where I am, and to keep people out of the gutters.

At this sultry noontide, I am cupbearer to the parched populace, for whose benefit an iron goblet is chained to my waist. Like a dram seller on the public square, on a muster day, I cry aloud to all and sundry, in my plainest accents, and at the very tiptop of my voice, "Here it is, gentlemen! Here is the good liquor! Walk up, walk up, gentlemen, walk up, walk up! Here is the superior stuff! Here is the unadulterated ale of father Adam! better than cognac, Hollands, Jamaica, strong beer, or wine of any price; here it is by the hogshead or the single gla.s.s, and not a cent to pay. Walk up, gentlemen, walk up, and help yourselves!"

It were a pity if all this outcry should draw no customers. Here they come. A hot day, gentlemen. Quaff and away again, so as to keep yourselves in a nice, cool sweat. You, my friend, will need another cupful to wash the dust out of your throat, if it be as thick there as it is on your cowhide shoes. I see that you have trudged half a score of miles to-day, and, like a wise man, have pa.s.sed by the taverns, and stopped at the running brooks and well curbs. Otherwise, betwixt heat without and fire within, you would have been burnt to a cinder, or melted down to nothing at all--in the fashion of a jellyfish.

Drink, and make room for that other fellow, who seeks my aid to quench the fiery fever of last night's potations, which he drained from no cup of mine. Welcome, most rubicund sir! You and I have been strangers. .h.i.therto; nor, to confess the truth, will my nose be anxious for a closer intimacy till the fumes of your breath be a little less potent.

Mercy on you, man! The water absolutely hisses down your red-hot gullet, and is converted quite into steam in the miniature Tophet, which you mistake for a stomach. Fill again, and tell me, on the word of an honest toper, did you ever, in cellar, tavern, or any other kind of dramshop, spend the price of your children's food for a swig half so delicious?

Now, for the first time these ten years, you know the flavor of cold water. Good-by; and whenever you are thirsty, recollect that I keep a constant supply at the old stand.

Who next? Oh, my little friend, you are just let loose from school, and come hither to scrub your blooming face, and drown the memory of certain taps of the ferule, and other schoolboy troubles, in a draft from the Town Pump. Take it, pure as the current of your young life; take it, and may your heart and tongue never be scorched with a fiercer thirst than now.

[Ill.u.s.tration: The Town Pump.]

There, my dear child, put down the cup, and yield your place to this elderly gentleman, who treads so tenderly over the paving stones that I suspect he is afraid of breaking them. What! he limps by without so much as thanking me, as if my hospitable offers were meant only for people who have no wine cellars.

Well, well, sir, no harm done, I hope! Go, draw the cork, tip the decanter; but when your great toe shall set you a-roaring, it will be no affair of mine. If gentlemen love the pleasant t.i.tillation of the gout, it is all one to the Town Pump. This thirsty dog, with his red tongue lolling out, does not scorn my hospitality, but stands on his hind legs and laps eagerly out of the trough. See how lightly he capers away again! Jowler, did your worship ever have the gout?

Your pardon, good people! I must interrupt my stream of eloquence, and spout forth a stream of water, to replenish the trough for this teamster and his two yoke of oxen, who have come all the way from Staunton, or somewhere along that way. No part of my business gives me more pleasure than the watering of cattle. Look! how rapidly they lower the watermark on the sides of the trough, till their capacious stomachs are moistened with a gallon or two apiece, and they can afford time to breathe, with sighs of calm enjoyment! Now they roll their quiet eyes around the brim of their monstrous drinking vessel. An ox is your true toper.

I hold myself the grand reformer of the age. From the Town Pump, as from other sources of water supply, must flow the stream that will cleanse our earth of a vast portion of the crime and anguish which have gushed from the fiery fountains of the still. In this mighty enterprise, the cow shall be my great confederate. Milk and water!

Ahem! Dry work this speechifying, especially to all unpracticed orators.

I never conceived, till now, what toil the temperance lecturers undergo for my sake. Do, some kind Christian, pump a stroke or two, just to wet my whistle. Thank you, sir. But to proceed.

The Town Pump and the Cow! Such is the glorious partnership that shall finally monopolize the whole business of quenching thirst. Blessed consummation! Then Poverty shall pa.s.s away from the land, finding no hovel so wretched where her squalid form may shelter itself. Then Disease, for lack of other victims, shall gnaw his own heart and die.

Then Sin, if she do not die, shall lose half her strength.

Then there will be no war of households. The husband and the wife, drinking deep of peaceful joy, a calm bliss of temperate affections, shall pa.s.s hand in hand through life, and lie down, not reluctantly, at its protracted close. To them the past will be no turmoil of mad dreams, nor the future an eternity of such moments as follow the delirium of a drunkard. Their dead faces shall express what their spirits were, and are to be, by a lingering smile of memory and hope.

Drink, then, and be refreshed! The water is as pure and cold as when it slaked the thirst of the red hunter, and flowed beneath the aged bough, though now this gem of the wilderness is treasured under these hot stones, where no shadow falls but from the brick buildings. But still is this fountain the source of health, peace, and happiness, and I behold, with certainty and joy, the approach of the period when the virtues of cold water, too little valued since our father's days, will be fully appreciated and recognized by all.

FOOTNOTE:

[Footnote 29: By Nathaniel Hawthorne, an American writer of romances and short stories (1804-1864).]

EXPRESSION: Read this selection again and again until you understand it clearly and appreciate its rare charm. Study each paragraph separately, observing how the topic of each is developed.

Select the expressions which are the most pleasing to you. Tell why each pleases.

Did you ever see a town pump? In the cities and larger towns, what has taken its place? Can we imagine a hydrant or a water faucet talking as this town pump did? If Hawthorne were writing to-day, would he represent the town pump as the "chief person of the munic.i.p.ality"? Discuss this question fully.

Talk with your teacher about the life and works of the author of this selection. If you have access to any of his books, bring them to the cla.s.s and read selections from them. Compare the style of this story with that of the selection from d.i.c.kens, page 22; or from Thackeray, page 27; or from Goldsmith, page 94.

WORD STUDY: Refer to the dictionary for the p.r.o.nunciation and meaning of: _perpetuity_, _constable_, _munic.i.p.ality_, _cognac_, _quaff_, _rubicund_, _Tophet_, _decanter_, _t.i.tillation_, _capacious_.

COME UP FROM THE FIELDS, FATHER[30]

Come up from the fields, father; here's a letter from our Pete, And come to the front door, mother; here's a letter from thy dear son.

Lo, 'tis autumn; Lo, where the fields, deeper green, yellower and redder, Cool and sweeten Ohio's villages, with leaves fluttering in the moderate wind;

Where apples ripe in the orchards hang, and grapes on the trellised vines, (Smell you the smell of the grapes on the vines?

Smell you the buckwheat, where the bees were lately buzzing?) Above all, lo! the sky so calm, so transparent after the rain, and with wondrous clouds; Below, too, all calm, all vital and beautiful,--and the farm prospers well.

Down in the fields all prospers well; But now from the fields come, father,--come at the daughter's call; And come to the entry, mother,--to the front door come, right away.

Fast as she can she hurries,--something ominous,--her steps trembling; She does not tarry to smooth her white hair, nor adjust her cap.

Open the envelope quickly; Oh, this is not our son's writing, yet his name is signed!

Oh, a strange hand writes for our dear son--O stricken mother's soul!

All swims before her eyes,--flashes with black,--she catches the main words only; Sentences broken,--_gunshot wound in the breast_--_cavalry skirmish, taken to hospital, At present low, but will soon be better._

Ah! now the single figure to me Amid all teeming and wealthy Ohio, with all its cities and farms, Sickly white in the face and dull in the head, very faint, By the jamb of a door leans.

_Grieve not so, dear mother_ (the just grown daughter speaks through her sobs; The little sisters huddle around, speechless and dismayed).

_See, dearest mother, the letter says Pete will soon be better._ Alas, poor boy! he will never be better (nor, maybe, needs to be better, that brave and simple soul).

While they stand at home at the door he is dead already, The only son is dead.

[Ill.u.s.tration: "Come up from the fields, father."]

But the mother needs to be better; She, with thin form, presently dressed in black; By day her meals untouched,--then at night fitfully sleeping, often waking, In the midnight waking, weeping, longing with one deep longing, Oh, that she might withdraw unnoticed, silent from life, escape and withdraw, To follow, to seek, to be with her dear dead son!

FOOTNOTE:

[Footnote 30: By Walt Whitman, an American poet (1819-1892).]

EXPRESSION: This poem is descriptive of an incident which occurred during the Civil War. There were many such incidents, both in the North and in the South. Read the selection silently to understand its full meaning. Who are the persons pictured to your imagination after reading it? Describe the place and the time.

Now read the poem aloud, giving full expression to its pathetic meaning. Select the most striking descriptive pa.s.sage and read it.