I don't know whether our literary or professional people are more amiable than they are in other places, but certainly quarrelling is out of fashion among them.This could never be, if they were in the habit of secret anonymous puffing of each other.That is the kind of underground machinery which manufactures false reputations and genuine hatreds.On the other hand, I should like to know if we are not at liberty to have a good time together, and say the pleasantest things we can think of to each other, when any of us reaches his thirtieth or fortieth or fiftieth or eightieth birthday.
We don't have "scenes," I warrant you, on these occasions.No "surprise" parties! You understand these, of course.In the rural districts, where scenic tragedy and melodrama cannot be had, as in the city, at the expense of a quarter and a white pocket-handkerchief, emotional excitement has to be sought in the dramas of real life.Christenings, weddings, and funerals, especially the latter, are the main dependence; but babies, brides, and deceased citizens cannot be had at a day's notice.Now, then, for a surprise-party!
A bag of flour, a barrel of potatoes, some strings of onions, a basket of apples, a big cake and many little cakes, a jug of lemonade, a purse stuffed with bills of the more modest denominations, may, perhaps, do well enough for the properties in one of these private theatrical exhibitions.The minister of the parish, a tender-hearted, quiet, hard-working man, living on a small salary, with many children, sometimes pinched to feed and clothe them, praying fervently every day to be blest in his "basket and store,"but sometimes fearing he asks amiss, to judge by the small returns, has the first role,--not, however, by his own choice, but forced upon him.The minister's wife, a sharp-eyed, unsentimental body, is first lady; the remaining parts by the rest of the family.If they only had a playbill, it would run thus:
ON TUESDAY NEXT
WILL BE PRESENTED
THE AFFECTING SCENE
CALLED
THE SURPRISE-PARTY
OR
THE OVERCOME FAMILY;
WITH THE FOLLOWING STRONG CAST OF CHARACTERS.
The Rev.Mr.Overcome, by the Clergyman of this Parish.
Mrs.Overcome, by his estimable lady.
Masters Matthew, Mark, Luke, and John Overcome, Misses Dorcas, Tabitha, Rachel, and Hannah, Overcome, by their interesting children.
Peggy, by the female help.
The poor man is really grateful;--it is a most welcome and unexpected relief.He tries to express his thanks,--his voice falters,--he chokes,--and bursts into tears.That is the great effect of the evening.The sharp-sighted lady cries a little with one eye, and counts the strings of onions, and the rest of the things, with the other.The children stand ready for a spring at the apples.The female help weeps after the noisy fashion of untutored handmaids.
Now this is all very well as charity, but do let the kind visitors remember they get their money's worth.If you pay a quarter for dry crying, done by a second-rate actor, how much ought you to pay for real hot, wet tears, out of the honest eyes of a gentleman who is not acting, but sobbing in earnest?
All I meant to say, when I began, was, that this was not a surprise-party where I read these few lines that follow:
We will not speak of years to-night;
For what have years to bring, But larger floods of love and light And sweeter songs to sing?
We will not drown in wordy praise The kindly thoughts that rise;If friendship owns one tender phrase, He reads it in our eyes.
We need not waste our schoolboy art To gild this notch of time;Forgive me, if my wayward heart Has throbbed in artless rhyme.
Enough for him the silent grasp That knits us hand in hand, And he the bracelet's radiant clasp That locks our circling band.
Strength to his hours of manly toil!
Peace to his starlit dreams!
Who loves alike the furrowed soil, The music-haunted streams!
Sweet smiles to keep forever bright The sunshine on his lips, And faith, that sees the ring of light Round Nature's last eclipse!
--One of our boarders has been talking in such strong language that Iam almost afraid to report it.However, as he seems to be really honest and is so very sincere in his local prejudices, I don't believe anybody will be very angry with him.
It is here, Sir! right here!--said the little deformed gentleman,--in this old new city of Boston,--this remote provincial corner of a provincial nation, that the Battle of the Standard is fighting, and was fighting before we were born, and will be fighting when we are dead and gone,--please God! The battle goes on everywhere throughout civilization; but here, here, here is the broad white flag flying which proclaims, first of all, peace and good-will to men, and, next to that, the absolute, unconditional spiritual liberty of each individual immortal soul! The three-hilled city against the seven-hilled city! That is it, Sir,--nothing less than that; and if you know what that means, I don't think you'll ask for anything more.Iswear to you, Sir, I believe that these two centres of civilization are just exactly the two points that close the circuit in the battery of our planetary intelligence! And I believe there are spiritual eyes looking out from Uranus and unseen Neptune,--ay, Sir, from the systems of Sirius and Arcturus and Aldebaran, and as far as that faint stain of sprinkled worlds confluent in the distance that we call the nebula of Orion,--looking on, Sir, with what organs I know not, to see which are going to melt in that fiery fusion, the accidents and hindrances of humanity or man himself, Sir,--the stupendous abortion, the illustrious failure that he is, if the three-hilled city does not ride down and trample out the seven-hilled city!
--Steam 's up!--said the young man John, so called, in a low tone.
--Three hundred and sixty-five tons to the square inch.Let him blow her off, or he'll bu'st his b'iler.
