The William Henry Letters Part 30

FATHER.

W. B., it seems, from his own account, set sail on the great sea of commerce with flying colors, and favorable winds,--probably the Trade-winds.

_Old Wonder Boy to William Henry._

DEAR FRIEND,--

I like my place, and think it is a very excellent one. It is "Veazey & Summ's." When you get a place it is my advice that you should procure one in New York, as New York is greatly superior to Boston. Boston is a one-horse place. I wouldn't be seen riding in that slow coach.

Washington Street could be put whole into Broadway, and not know it was there hardly, for you could travel both sides and all round it. Our store is a very excellent store. Some consider it greatly superior to Stewart's. All our clerks dress in very superior style and go in very good society, and so I learn to use very good language. We keep boys to do the errands, and porters. All the stylish people do their trading here. The young ladies like to trade with me very much. The New York ladies are greatly superior to any other ladies. The firm think a great deal of me, so I expect to be promoted quite fast. I am learning to smoke. I have got a very handsome pipe. The head clerk thinks it has got a very superior finish to it. We two are quite thick. How are all the fellers? Write soon. Remember me to all inquiring friends, and excuse handwriting.

Your friend,

WALTER BRIESDEN.

_William Henry to Matilda._

DEAR COUSIN,--

Now I'm going to answer your letter, and then I sha' n't have to think about it any longer. I was sorry to hear about poor Reddie. But if it had been Tommy, then it would have been a great deal worse. Think of that. Dorry and I have been wishing 'most a week about something, and now I'll tell you what 't is about. About a party. 'T is going to be at Colonel Grey's. He lives in a large light-colored brick house, with a piazza round it, and a fountain, and bronze dogs, and everything lovely.

It is Maud Grey's birthday party. Sixteen years old. Old and young are going to be invited, because her little sister's birthday comes next day to hers. Now sometimes when there's a party some of the biggest of our fellows get invited, because there are not very many young gentlemen in town, and they are glad to take some from the school. But we two never have yet. But Dorry thinks we stand a better chance now, for we've been to dancing-school, and will do to fill up sets with. Maud Grey didn't go as a scholar, but she went spectator sometimes, and took my partner's place once, when her string of beads broke. Dorry was in the same set. I never polkaed better in my life, for she took me round and made me keep time whether I wanted to or not, but I told Dorry I felt just like a little boy that had been lifted over a puddle. He's afraid she won't remember us, but I guess I'm afraid she will, and then won't invite such a bad dancer. We two thought we'd walk by the house, just for fun, and make ourselves look tall. So we held up our chins, and swung two little canes we'd cut, going along, for small chaps are plenty enough, but young gentlemen go off to college, or stores, soon's they're of any size. The blinds were all shut up, but Dorry said there was hope if the slats were turned the right way. Blind slats here move all ways.

Yesterday, in school-time, I saw a colored man coming towards the school-house, and thought 't was Cicero, the one that works for Colonel Grey, coming with the invitations, and made a loud "hem!" for Dorry to look up, and a hiss, to mean Cicero, and pointed out doors. 't wasn't very loud, but that one we call Brown Bread, that has eyes in the back of his head, and ears all over him, and smells rat where there isn't any, and wears slippers, so you can't hear him, even if 'tis still enough to drop a pin,--I thought he was over the other side of the room, tending to his own affairs, but all of a sudden he was standing just back of me, and I had to lose a recess just for that. And 't wasn't Cicero after all, but the one that comes after the leavings.--(Somebody knocks.)

_Afternoon._--Hurrah! We're going! The one that knocked at the door was Spicey, with our invitations. When I come home I'll bring them home to show. They came through the post-office. We expect they all came to the professor, with orders to pick out the ten tallest ones, for they are directed in his writing. I never went to such a party, and shouldn't know how to behave, if 't wasn't for Dorry. First thing you do is to go up and speak to the lady of the house and the lady of the party. I mean after you've been up stairs, and looked in the looking-gla.s.s and smoothed down your hair. Mine always comes up again. I've tried water and I've tried oil, and I've tried beef-marrow, but 't is bound to come up. Dorry says I ought to put it in a net. Don't you remember that time I had my head shaved off close, and how it looked like an orange? I'm glad 't isn't so red as it was. 'T is considerable dark now. When you come down you walk up to the lady of the house and say "How do you do?"

and shake hands, and when you go home you have to bid her good-night, and say you've had a very pleasant time, and shake hands again. Not shove out your fist, as if you were shoving a croquet-ball, but slow, with the fingers about straight, and not speak it out blunt, as if you were singing out "good-night!" to the fellers, but quite softly and smiling. Dorry's been showing me beforehand. Bubby Short stood up in the floor, and had the bedspread tied round him with a cod-line, for a trail, and shavings for curls. He was the lady of the house and we walked up to him, and said, "How do you do, Mrs. Grey?" and so forth.

Dorry drew this picture of us. He draws better than I do. I will write about the party.

[Ill.u.s.tration]

From your Cousin,

WILLIAM HENRY.

_William Henry to his Grandmother._

MY DEAR GRANDMOTHER,--

Now if you will be a good little grandmother, and promise never to worry any more, then I'll tell you about that party. We had to wear white gloves. I'll begin at the outside. The piazzas had colored lights hanging round them, and there were colored lights hung in the trees and the gateways. 'T was a foggy night, and those colored lights lighted up the fog all around, so when you came towards the place it looked just like a great bright spot in the midst of darkness. There was a tall lady, standing in the middle of the room, with a splendid dress on, dragging way behind her, and I went right up to her, and just got my foot the way Mr. Tornero told us, and the palm of my hand right, when Dorry jerked me back by my jacket and said she wasn't the right one.

You see we got belated, going back after our clean pocket-handkerchiefs, and hurried so that Dorry fell down and muddied his trousers' knees, but lucky 't was close to the Two Betseys' shop, for we went in there and got sponged up, but we had to wait for 'em to dry. Lame Betsey said she used to take care of Maud Grey when she was a little sc.r.a.p, and she wanted to make her a birthday present. So they both hunted round, to see if they had anything. In the desk they found a little thin book, a funny-looking old blue-covered book, "Advice to a Young Lady," that was given to Lame Betsey when she was young. The t.i.tle was on the blue cover. 'T was a funny-looking thing and it smelt snuffy. She asked me to give it to Maud, after she'd written her name in it. I tell you now Lame Betsey makes quite good letters! I didn't want to take the book, but I did, for both Betseys are clever women.

[Ill.u.s.tration]

All this was the reason we got belated, and Mrs. Grey had got mixed up with the other people, but we found her and did the right thing by her.

And Maud too. I don't think any of you would believe that I could behave so well! so polite I mean. Course I didn't feel bashful any! O no!

They had four pieces, and they played as if they knew how. I didn't dance at the first of it. Didn't dare to. 'T was too light there. The carpets were covered with white. Then chandeliers, and lamps, and wax candles, and flowers everywhere they could be, set up in vases,--one lady called vases, varzes,--and hanging-baskets. I never was in such a beautiful place. The ladies sang at the piano, and the young gentlemen turned their leaves over. O you ought to 've heard 'em when the tunes went up, up, up! Enough to make you catch your breath! Seemed as if it could never get down again. I don't like that kind. But Dorry said 'twas opera style and n.o.body was to blame but me, if I didn't like it. Now John Brown's Body, I like that, and when they all sang that, I joined right in, same as any of them. For I knew I knew that tune. But first one looked round at me, and then another looked round at me, as if something was the matter. I thought I saw 'em smiling. Then I kept still. But I didn't know I was singing wrong. O, I do wish I knew what this singing is! Seems easy enough. Now when the tune goes up loud, I go up loud, and when that goes down low, I go down low. But Dorry says it isn't singing. Says 'tis discord. But I can't tell discord from any other cord, and he says the harder I try, the worse noise I make. I do wish I could roar out that Glory Hallelujah! for I feel the tune inside of me, but it never comes out right. Dorry laughs when I set out to sing. He says I chase the tune up and down all the way through, and never hit it! Now, if 't is right inside, why can't it come out right? I don't see!

We went into a large room to eat refreshments, and I wish Aunt Phebe could see the things we had. And taste of them too. I saved the frosting off my cake for Tommy. 'T is wrapped up in a paper in my trunk. 'T is different from your frosting, good deal harder. I had a sort of funny time in that room. Somebody had to hit my elbow when I was pa.s.sing custard to a girl, and joggled over a mess of it on to her white dress and my trousers. I whipped out my pocket-handkerchief to sop it up, and whipped out that little blue book. Somebody picked it up, and one young man, that had been cutting up all the evening, Maud Grey's cousin, he got hold of it and read her name and called out to her to come get her present, and made a good deal of fun about it, and began to read it loud. She wanted to know who brought it, and somebody told her I was the one. I began to grow red as fire, but all of a sudden I thought, Now, Billy, what's the use? So I said very plain, "Miss Grey, Lame Betsey sent you that book." She didn't laugh very much, only smiled and asked me to tell Lame Betsey she was glad that she remembered her. Guess she thought I looked bashful, for afterwards she asked me if I wouldn't try a polka with her. I don't think she's very proud, for when I was looking at a painted vase, she came and told me how it was done, for all I wasn't much acquainted with her. She talked to me as easy and sociable as if she'd been Lucy Maria.

A company of us got together in one of the rooms and ate our ice-creams there, and while we were eating them, we beheaded words. Lucy Maria must read this letter, for she'll want to know how. When you behead a word you take off the first letter. It's fun, when you get beheading them fast. The spelling mustn't be changed. Dorry made some of these. I didn't. I couldn't think fast enough.

Behead an article of dress, and you leave a farming tool.

Shoe--hoe.

I'll put the rest of the answers at the bottom, so as to give all of you a chance to guess what they are.

1. Behead what leads men to fight, and you leave the cause of much misery, sin, and death.

2. Behead what young ladies are said to be fond of, and you leave a young lady.

3. Behead what comes nearest the hand, and you leave what comes nearest the heart.

4. Behead something sweet, and it leaves an address to the sweet.

5. Behead part of a coach, and you leave part of yourself. Behead that, and you leave a fish.

6. Behead a rogue, and you leave a musician.

7. Behead an old-fashioned occupation, and you leave what prevents many a parting.

8. Behead a part of ladies' apparel, and you leave what is higher than the king.

9. Behead what always comes hard, and you leave what makes things go easy.

10. Behead a weapon, and you leave a fruit. Behead that, and you leave part of the body.

1. Drum, rum.

2. Gla.s.s, la.s.s.

3. Glove, love.

4. Mola.s.ses, O La.s.ses!

5. Wheel, heel, eel.

6. Sharper, harper.

7. Spin, pin.

8. Lace, ace.

9. Toil, oil.

10. Spear, pear, ear.

Sometimes they make them in rhyme.

Behead what is born in the fire, And lives but a moment or so,-- For it can't live long you know,-- And you leave what all admire.

Where gra.s.s so green doth grow, And trees in many a row.

Behead this last, and you leave in its place What once preserved the human race.