5 JENNY. Well — JONATHAN. So I went right in, and they showed me away clean up to the garret, just like a meeting-house gallery. And so I saw a power of topping folks, all sitting round in little cabbins, just like father's corn-cribs'; - and then there was such a squeaking with the fiddles, and such a tarnal blaze with the lights, my head was near turned. At last the 10 people that sat near me set up such a hissing hisslike so many mad cats; and then they went thump, thump. thump, just like our Peleg threshing wheat, and stampt away, just like the 15 nation; and called out for one Mr. Langolee, I suppose he helps acts the tricks. 20 JENNY. Well, and what did you do all this time? JONATHAN. Gor, I- I liked the fun, and so I tumpt away, and hiss'd as lustily as the best of 'em. One sailor-looking man that sat by me, seeing me stamp, and knowing I was a cute fellow, be- 25 cause I could make a roaring noise, clapt me on the shoulder and said, you are a d d hearty cock, smite my timbers! I told him so I was, but I thought he need not swear so, and make 30 use of such naughty words. JENNY. The savage! Well, and did you see the man with his tricks? JONATHAN. Why, I vow, as I was looking out for him, they lifted up a great 35 green cloth, and let us look right into the next neighbour's house. Have you a good many houses in New York made so in that 'ere way? JENNY. Not many: but did you see the 40 family? JONATHAN. Yes, swamp it; I see'd the family. JENNY. Well, and how did you like them? JONATHAN. Why, I VOW they were pretty much like other families; there was a poor, good natured, curse of a husband, and a sad rantipole of a wife. 45 50 JENNY. But did you see no other folks? JONATHAN. Yes. There was one youngster, they called him Mr. Joseph; he talked as sober and as pious as a minister; but like some ministers that I 55 know, he was a fly tike in his heart for all that: He was going to ask a young woman to spark it with him, and — the Lord have mercy on my soul! - she was another man's wife. JESSAMY. The Wabash! JENNY. And did you see any more folks? JONATHAN. Why they came on as thick as mustard. For my part, I thought the house was haunted. There was a soldier fellow, who talked about his row de dow dow, and courted a young woman; but of all the cute folk I saw, I liked one little fellowJENNY. Aye! who was he? JONATHAN Why, he had red hair, and a little round plump face like mine, only not altogether so handsome. His name was Darby:-that was his baptizing name, his other name I forgot. Oh! it was Wig - Wag — Wag-all, Darby Wag-all; pray, do you know him? I should like to take a fling with him, or a drap of cyder with a pepper-pod in it, to make it warm and comfortable. JENNY. I can't say I have that pleasure. JONATHAN. I wish you did, he is a cute fellow. But there was one thing I did n't like in that Mr. Darby; and that was, he was afraid of some of them ́ere shooting irons, such as your troopers wear on training days. Now, I'm a true born Yankee American son of liberty, and I never was afraid of a gun yet in all my life. Why JENNY. Well, Mr. Jonathan, you were certainly at the play-house. JONATHAN. I at the play-house! did n't I see the play then? JENNY. Why, the people you saw were players. JONATHAN. Mercy on my soul! did I see the wicked players? Mayhap that 'ere. Darby that I liked so, was the old serpent himself, and had his cloven foot in his pocket. Why, I vow, now I come to think on 't, the candles seemed to burn blue, and I am sure where I sat it smelt tarnally of brimstone. JESSAMY. Well, Mr. Jonathan, from your account, which I confess it very accurate, you must have been at the playhouse. JONATHAN. Why, I vow I began to smell a rat. When I came away. I went to the man for my money again: you want your money, says he: yes, says I; for what, says he; why, says I, no man shall jocky me out of my money: I paid my money to see sights and the dogs a bit of a sight have I seen, unless you call listening to people's private business a sight. Why, says he, it is the School for Scandalization.- The School for Scandalization! - Oh, ho! no wonder you New York folks are so cute at it, when you go to school to learn it: 5 and so I jogged off. JESSAMY. My dear Jenny, my master's business drags me from you; would to heaven I knew no other servitude than to your charms. JONATHAN. Well, but don't go; you won't leave me so. JESSAMY. Excuse me.- Remember the cash. (Aside to him, and Exit.) JENNY. The stupid creature! but I must pass some little time with him, if it is 30 only to endeavour to learn, whether it was his master that made such an abrupt entrance into our house, and my young mistress's heart, this morning. (Aside.) As you don't seem to like to 35 talk, Mr. Jonathan, do you sing? JONATHAN. Gor, I— I am glad she asked that, for I forgot what Mr. Jessamy bid me say, and I dare as well be hanged as act what he bid. me to, I'm 40 so ashamed. (Aside.) Yes, Ma'am, I can sing I can sing Mear, Old Hundred, and Bangor. JONATHAN. (Sings.) Father and I went to camp, Yankee Doodle do, etc. And there we saw a swamping gun, Big as a log of maple, On a little deuced cart, A load for father's cattle. Yankee Doodle do, etc. And every time they fired it off, It made a noise-like father's gun, Yankee Doodle do, etc. There was a man in our town, No, no, that won't do. Now, if I was with Tabitha Wymen and Jemima Cawley, down at father Chase's, I should n't mind singing this all out before them you would be affronted if I was to sing that, though that's a lucky thought; if you should be affronted, I have something dang'd cute, which Jessamy told me to say to you. JENNY. Is that all! I assure you I like it of all things it JONATHAN. No, no. I can sing more, some other time, when you and I are better acquainted, I'll sing the whole of no, no- that's a fib- I can't sing but a hundred and ninety verses: our Tabitha at home can sing it all(Sings.) Marblehead's a rocky place, And Cape-Cod is sandy; Charleston is burnt down, Boston is the dandy. Yankee Doodle do, etc. I vow, my own town song has put me in such topping spirits, that I believe I'll begin to do a little, as Jessamy says we must when we go a courting (Runs and kisses her.) Burning rivers! cooling flames! red hot roses! pignuts! hasty-pudding and ambrosia! JENNY. What means this freedom! you insulting wretch. (Strikes him.) JONATHAN. Are you affronted? JENNY. Affronted! with what looks shall I express my anger? JONATHAN. Looks! why, as to the matter of looks, you look as cross as a witch. JENNY. Have you no feeling for the delicacy of my sex? 5 20 JONATHAN. Feeling! Gor, I-I feel JENNY. Marry you! you audacious mon- ACT FIFTH 45 the rattle makes you look so tarnation JONATHAN. Coolly, do you call it? Why, JESSAMY. I mean graces of person; for JESSAMY. That's the very fault, Mr. Jonathan. Besides, you absolutely misplace it. I was told by a friend of mine that you laughed outright at the play the other night, when you ought only to have tittered. JONATHAN. Gor! I-what does one gc to see fun for if they can't laugh? JESSAMY. You may laugh; - but you must laugh by rule. JONATHAN. Swamp it-laugh by rule! Well, I should like that tarnally. JESSAMY. Why you know, Mr. Jonathan, that to dance, a lady to play with her fan, or a gentleman with his cane, and all other natural motions, are regulated by art. My master has composed an immensely pretty gamut, by which any lady, or gentleman, with a few years' close application, may learn to laugh as gracefully as if they were born and bred to it. 50 JONATHAN. Mercy on my soul! A gamut for laughing just like fa, la, sol? SCENE I. DIMPLE'S Lodgings. JESSAMY meeting JONATHAN JESSAMY. Well, Mr. Jonathan, what success with the fair? JONATHAN. Why, such a Why, such a tarnal cross 55 tike you never saw! You would have counted she had lived on crab-apples and vinegar for a fortnight. But what JESSAMY. Yes. It comprises every possible display of jocularity, from an affettuoso smile to a piano titter, or full chorus fortissimo ha, ha, ha! My master employs his leisure-hours in mark ing out the plavs. like a cathedral chant ing-book, that the ignorant may know -- JESSAMY. Yes; the notes say you must 'And she asked her husband leave to make a will,'- now you must begin to look grave; and her husband said 'd 5 JONATHAN. Aye, what did her husband say? something dang'd cute, I reckon. JESSAMY. And her husband said, you have had your will all your life time, and would you have it after you are dead too?' JONATHAN. Ho, ho, ho! There the old. man was even with her; he was up to the notch ha, ha, ha! JESSAMY. Oh! yes, Mr. Jonathan; here 30 JONATHAN. Well, read it again; I war- 35 rant I'll mind my eye. JESSAMY. There was a certain man, who had a sad scolding wife,'- now you must laugh. JONATHAN. Tarnation! laughing matter, though. That's no 40 JESSAMY. And she lay sick a-dying'; JESSAMY. But, Mr. Jonathan, you must not laugh so. Why, you ought to have tittered piano, and you have laughed fortissimo. Look here; you see these marks, A. B. C. and so on; these are the references to the other part of the book. Let us turn to it, and you will see the directions how to manage the muscles. This (turns over) was note D you blundered at. You must purse the mouth into a smile, then titter, discovering the lower part of the three front upper teeth.' he's returned, I fear - Here, Mr. Jon- (1790) ALEXANDER WILSON (1766-1813) Wilson, who shares with Audubon pioneer honors in the realm of American ornithology, was born in Scotland and did not arrive in America until he was twenty-eight. His youthful ambition had centered wholly upon poetry. An edition of his poems had appeared in 1789 three years after the first volume of his contemporary neighbor Burns, and he had followed it with others, one of which had sold a hundred thousand copies in a few weeks. Sympathy with the spirit of the French revolution led him, as Burns was tempted to do at about the same period. to emigrate to America. Almost as soon as he landed he became intensely interested in the strange new bird life of the new world, and began at once to study it, supporting himself in the meantime by teaching school. Under difficulties almost insuperable he struggled on until in 1808 he was able to issue the first volume of what ultimately was to be the nine volumes of his American Ornithology. He lacked Audubon's energy and vision, and as a result worked on a smaller scale for a smaller audience and has won a smaller place for himself. His writings, however, are more literary than Audubon's and far more poetical. He was a true poet. The poetical endings of his studies of American birds are original and poetic and intensely American. THE BLUEBIRD The pleasing manners, and sociable disposition of this little bird, entitle him to particular notice. As one of the first messengers of spring, bringing the charming tidings to our very doors, he bears his own recommendation always along with him, and meets with a hearty welcome from everybody. 5 Though generally accounted a bird of passage, yet, so early as the middle of February, if the weather be open, he usually makes his appearance about his old haunts, the barn, orchard, and fence 15 posts. Storms and deep snows sometimes succeeding, he disappears for a time; but about the middle of March is again seen, accompanied by his mate, visiting the box. in the garden, or the hole in the old apple 20 tree, the cradle of some generations of his ancestors. When he first begins his amours,' says a curious and correct observer, it is pleasing to behold his courtship, his solicitude to please and to secure 25 the favour of his beloved female. He uses the tenderest expressions, sits close by her, caresses and sings to her his most endearing warblings. When seated together, if he espies an insect delicious to her 30 taste, he takes it up, flies with it to her, spreads his wings over her, and puts it in her mouth.' If a rival makes his appearance (for they are ardent in their loves), he quits her in a moment, attacks and pursues the intruder as he shifts from place to place, in tones that bespeak the jealousy of his affection, conducts him, with many reproofs, beyond the extremities of his territory, and returns to warble out his transports of triumph beside his beloved mate. The preliminaries being thus settled, and the spot fixed on, they begin to clean out the old nest, and the rubbish of the former year, and to prepare for the reception of their future offspring. Soon after this, another sociable little pilgrim (motacilla domestica, house wren), also arrives from the south, and, finding such a snug berth preoccupied, shows his spite, by watching a convenient opportunity, and, in the absence of the owner, popping in and pulling out sticks; but takes special care to make off as fast as possible. The female lays five, and sometimes six eggs, of a pale blue colour; and raises two, and sometimes three brood in a season; the male taking the youngest under his particular care while the female is again setting. Their principal food are insects, particularly large beetles, and other hard-shelled sorts, that lurk among old, dead, and decaying trees. Spiders are also a favourite repast with them. In the fall, they occasionally regale themselves on the berries of the sour gum; and, as winter approaches, on those of the |