The Book Of The Bush by George Dunderdale (books to read to improve english .TXT) 📕

I Had Parted With My Bottom Dollar,  Was Also In Debt,  And Therefore

In The Best Position For Getting Along; But I Could Not All At Once

Think Of Anything To Patent,  And Had To Earn My Daily Bread Some Way

Or Other.  I Began To Do It By Hammering Sheets Of Iron Into The

Proper Curves For An Undershot Water-Wheel.  After I Had Worked Two

Days My Boss Suggested That I Should Seek Other Employment--In A

School,  For Instance; A New Teacher Was Wanted In The Common School

Of West Joliet.

I Said I Should Prefer Something Higher; A Teacher Was Of No More

Earthly Account Than A Tailor.

The Boss Said:  "That Might Be So In Benighted Britain,  But In The

Great United States Our Prominent Citizens Begin Life As Teachers In

The Common Schools,  And Gradually Rise To The Highest Positions In

The Republic."

I Concluded To Rise,  But A Certificate Of Competency Was Required,

And I Presented Myself For Examination To The Proper Official,  The

Editor And Proprietor Of 'The True Democrat' Whose Office Was Across

The Bridge,  Nearly Opposite Matheson's Woollen Factory. I Found The

Editor And His Compositor Labouring Over The Next Edition Of The

Paper.

The Editor Began The Examination With The Alphabet.  I Said In

England We Used Twenty-Six Letters,  And I Named All Of Them Correctly

Except The Last.  I Called It "Zed," But The Editor Said It Was

"Zee," And I Did Not Argue The Point.

He Then Asked Me To Pick Out The Vowels,  The Consonants,  The Flats,

The Sharps,  The Aspirates,  The Labials,  The Palatals,  The Dentals,

And The Mutes.  I Was Struck Dumb; I Could Feel The Very Foundation

Of All Learning Sinking Beneath Me,  And Had To Confess That I Did Not

Know My Letters.

Then He Went On To Spelling And Writing.  My Writing Was Barely

Passable,  And My Spelling Was Quite Out Of Date.  I Used Superfluous

Letters Which Had Been Very Properly Abolished By Webster's

Dictionary.

At Last The Editor Remarked,  With Becoming Modesty,  That He Was

Himself Of No Account At Figures,  But Mr. Sims Would Put Me Through

The Arithmetic.  Mr. Sims Was The Compositor,  And An Englishman; He

Put Me Through Tenderly.

When The Examination Was Finished,  I Felt Like A Convicted Impostor,

And Was Prepared To Resume Work On The Undershot Water-Wheel,  But The

Two Professors Took Pity On Me,  And Certified In Writing That I Was

Qualified To Keep School.

Then The Editor Remarked That The Retiring Teacher,  Mr. Randal,  Had

Advertised In The 'True Democrat' His Ability To Teach The Latin

Language; But,  Unfortunately,  Father Ingoldsby Had Offered Himself As

A First Pupil; Mr. Randal Never Got Another,  And All His Latin Oozed

Out.  On This Timely Hint I Advertised My Ability To Teach The

Citizens Of Joliet Not Only Latin,  But Greek,  French,  Spanish,  And

Portuguese.  My Advertisement Will Be Found Among The Files Of The

'True Democrat' Of The Year 1849 By Anyone Taking The Trouble To Look

For It.  I Had Carelessly Omitted To Mention The English Language,

But We Sometimes Get What We Don't Ask For,  And No Less Than Sixteen

Germans Came To Night School To Study Our Tongue.  They Were All

Masons And Quarrymen Engaged In Exporting Steps And Window Sills To

The Rising City Of Chicago.

When Goldsmith Tried To Earn His Bread By Teaching English In

Holland,  He Overlooked The Fact That It Was First Necessary For Him

To Learn Low Dutch.  I Overlooked The Same Fact,  But It Gave Me No

Trouble Whatever.  There Was No United Germany Then,  And My Pupils

Disagreed Continually About The Pronunciation Of Their Own Language,

Which Seemed,  Like That Of Babel,  Intelligible To Nobody.  I Composed

Their Quarrels By Confining Their Minds To English Solely,  And

Harmony Was Restored Each Night By Song.

The School-House Was A One-Storey Frame Building On The Second

Plateau In West Joliet,  And Was Attended By About One Hundred

Scholars.  In The Rear Was A Shallow Lagoon,  Fenced On One Side By A

Wall Of Loose Rocks,  Infested With Snakes.  The Track To The Cemetery

Was Near,  And It Soon Began To Be In Very Frequent Use.  One Day

During Recess The Boys Had A Snake Hunt,  And They Tied Their Game In

One Bunch By The Heads With String,  And Suspended Them By The

Wayside.  I Counted Them,  And There Were Twenty-Seven Snakes In The

Bunch.

The Year '49 Was The 'Annus Mirabilis' Of The Great Rush For Gold

Across The Plains,  And It Was Also An 'Annus Miserabilis' On Account

Of The Cholera.  In Three Weeks Fourteen Hundred Waggons Bound For

California Crossed One Of The Bridges Over The Canal.  I Was Desirous

Of Joining The Rush,  But Was,  As Usual,  Short Of Cash,  And I Had To

Stay At Joliet To Earn My Salary.  I Met The Editor Of The 'True

Democrat' Nearly Every Day Carrying Home A Bucket Of Water From The

Aux Plaines River.  He Did His Own Chores.  He Sent Two Young Men Who

Wished To Become Teachers To My School To Graduate.  One Was Named

O'reilly,  Lately From Ireland; I Gave Him His Degree In A Few Weeks,

And He Kept School Somewhere Out On The Prairie.  The Other Did Not

Graduate Before The Cholera Came.  He Was A Native Of Vermont,  And He

Played The Clarionet In Our Church Choir.  The Instrumental Music

Came From The Clarionet,  From A Violin,  And A Flute.  The Choir Came

From France And Germany,  Old England And New England,  Ireland,

Alsace,  And Belgium.  It Was Divided Into Two Hostile Camps,  And The

Party Which First Took Possession Of The Gallery Took Precedence In

The Music For That Day Only.  There Was A Want Of Harmony.  One

Morning When The Priest Was Chanting The First Words Of The Gloria,

The Head Of A Little French Bugler Appeared At The Top Of The Gallery

Stairs,  And At Once Started A Plaint Chant,  Gloria,  We Had Never

Rehearsed Or Heard Before.  He Sang His Solo To The End.  He Was

Thirsting For Glory,  And He Took A Full Draught.

I Don't Think There Was Ever A Choir Like Ours But One,  And That Was

Conducted By A Butcher From Dolphinholm In The Anglican Church At

Garstang.  One Sunday He Started A Hymn With A New Tune.  Three Times

His Men Broke Down,  And Three Times They Were Heard By The Whole

Congregation Whispering Ferociously At One Another. At Length The

Parson Tried To Proceed With The Service,  And Said:  "Let Us Pray."

But The Bold Butcher Retorted:  "Pray Be Hanged.  Let Us Try Again,

Lads; I Know We Can Do It."  He Then Started The Hymn For The Fourth

Time,  And They Did It.  After The Service The Parson Demanded

Satisfaction Of The Butcher,  And Got It In A Neighbouring Pasture.

The Cholera Came,  And We Soon Grew Very Serious.  The Young Man From

Vermont Walked With Me After School Hours,  And We Tried To Be

Cheerful,  But It Was Of No Use. Our Talk Always Reverted To The

Plague,  And The Best Way To Cure It Or To Avoid It.  The Doctors

Disagreed.  Every Theory Was Soon Contradicted By Facts; All Kinds Of

People Were Attacked And Died; The Young And The Old,  The Weak And

The Strong,  The Drunken And The Sober.  Every Man Adopted A Special

Diet Or A Favourite Liquor--Brandy,  Whiskey,  Bitters,  Cherry-Bounce,

Sarsaparilla.  My Own Particular Preventive Was Hot Tea,  Sweetened

With Molasses And Seasoned With Cayenne Pepper.  I Survived,  But That

Does Not Prove Anything In Particular.

The Two Papers,  The 'Joliet Signal' And The 'True Democrat',  Scarcely

Ever Mentioned The Cholera.  It Would Have Been Bad Policy,  Tending

To Scare Away TrS HAD FORMERLY STOOD

THERE. THESE WILD MEN GREW FOND OF LITTLE BEN, AND MADE HIM VERY HAPPY BY

GIVING HIM SOME OF THE RED AND YELLOW PAINT WITH WHICH THEY WERE

ACCUSTOMED TO ADORN THEIR FACES. HIS MOTHER, TOO, PRESENTED HIM WITH A

PIECE OF INDIGO. THUS HE NOW HAD THREE COLORS, RED, BLUE, AND YELLOW AND

COULD MANUFACTURE GREEN, BY MIXING THE YELLOW WITH THE BLUE. OUR FRIEND

BEN WAS OVERJOYED, AND DOUBTLESS SHOWED HIS GRATITUDE TO THE INDIANS BY

TAKING THEIR LIKENESSES, IN THE STRANGE DRESSES WHICH THEY WORE, WITH

FEATHERS, TOMAHAWKS, AND BOWS AND ARROWS.

BUT, ALL THIS TIME, THE YOUNG ARTIST HAD NO PAINT-BRUSHES, NOR WERE THERE

ANY TO BE BOUGHT, UNLESS HE HAD SENT TO PHILADELPHIA ON PURPOSE. HOWEVER,

HE WAS A VERY INGENIOUS BOY, AND RESOLVED TO MANUFACTURE PAINT-BRUSHES FOR

HIMSELF. WITH THIS DESIGN, HE LAID HOLD UPON WHAT DO YOU THINK? WHY, UPON

A RESPECTABLE OLD BLACK CAT, WHO WAS SLEEPING QUIETLY BY THE FIRESIDE.

"PUSS," SAID LITTLE BEN TO THE CAT, "PRAY GIVE ME SOME OF THE FUR FROM THE

TIP OF THY TAIL!"

THOUGH HE ADDRESSED THE BLACK CAT SO CIVILLY, YET BEN WAS DETERMINED TO

HAVE THE FUR, WHETHER SHE WERE WILLING OR NOT. PUSS, WHO HAD NO GREAT ZEAL

FOR THE FINE ARTS, WOULD HAVE RESISTED IF SHE COULD; BUT THE BOY WAS ARMED

WITH HIS MOTHER S SCISSORS, AND VERY DEXTEROUSLY CLIPPED OFF FUR ENOUGH TO

MAKE A PAINT-BRUSH. THIS WAS OF SO MUCH USE TO HIM, THAT HE APPLIED TO

MADAM PUSS AGAIN AND AGAIN, UNTIL HER WARM COAT OF FUR HAD BECOME SO THIN

AND RAGGED, THAT SHE COULD HARDLY KEEP COMFORTABLE THROUGH THE WINTER.

POOR THING! SHE WAS FORCED TO CREEP CLOSE INTO THE CHIMNEY-CORNER, AND

EYED BEN WITH A VERY RUEFUL PHYSIOGNOMY. BUT BEN CONSIDERED IT MORE

NECESSARY THAT HE SHOULD HAVE PAINT-BRUSHES, THAN THAT PUSS SHOULD BE

WARM.

ABOUT THIS PERIOD,