THE b.u.mPKIN.

Giles was the eldest son and heir of Jeremiah Styles--a cultivator of the soil--who, losing his first wife, took unto himself, at the mature age of fifty, a second, called by the neighbours, by reason of the narrowness of her economy, and the slenderness of her body, Jeremiah's Spare-rib.

Giles was a "'cute" lad, and his appet.i.te soon became, under his step-mother's management, as sharp as his wit; and although he continually complained of getting nothing but fat, when pork chanced to form a portion of her dietary, it was evident to all his acquaintance that he really got lean! His legs, indeed, became so slight, that many of his jocose companions amused themselves with striking at them with straws as he pa.s.sed through the farmyard of a morning.

"Whoy, Giles!" remarked one of them, "thee calves ha' gone to gra.s.s, lad."

"Thee may say that, Jeames," replied Giles; "or d'ye see they did'nt find I green enough."

"I do think now, Giles," said James, "that Mother Styles do feed thee on nothing, and keeps her cat on the leavings."

"Noa, she don't," said Giles, "for we boath do get what we can catch, and nothing more. Whoy, now, what do you think, Jeames; last Sat.u.r.day, if the old 'ooman did'nt sarve me out a dish o' biled horse-beans--"

"Horse-beans?" cried James; "lack-a-daisy me, and what did you do?"

"Whoy, just what a horse would ha' done, to be sure--"

"Eat 'em?"

"Noa--I kicked, and said 'Nay,' and so the old 'ooman put herself into a woundy pa.s.sion wi' I. 'Not make a dinner of horsebeans, you dainty dog,' says she; 'I wish you may never have a worse.'--'Noa, mother,' says I, 'I hope I never shall.' And she did put herself into such a tantrum, to be sure--so I bolted; whereby, d'ye see, I saved my bacon, and the old 'ooman her beans. But it won't do. Jeames, I've a notion I shall go a recruit, and them I'm thinking I shall get into a reg'lar mess, and get shut of a reg'lar row."

"Dang it, it's too bad!" said the sympathising James; "and when do thee go?"

"Next March, to be sure," replied Giles, with a spirit which was natural to him--indeed, as to any artificial spirit, it was really foreign to his lips.

"But thee are such a scare-crow, Giles," said James; "thee are thin as a weasel."

"My drumsticks," answered he, smiling, "may recommend me to the band--mayhap--for I do think they'll beat anything."

"I don't like sogering neither," said James, thoughtfully. "Suppose the French make a hole in thee with a bagnet--"

"Whoy, then, I shall be 'sewed up,' thee know."

"That's mighty foine," replied James, shaking his head; "but I'd rather not, thank'ye."

"Oh! Jeames, a mother-in-law's a greater bore than a bagnet, depend on't; and it's my mind, it's better to die in a trench than afore an empty trencher--I'll list."

And with this unalterable determination, the half-starved, though still merry Giles, quitted his companion; and the following month, in pursuance of the resolve he had made, he enlisted in his Majesty's service.

Fortunately for the youth, he received more billets than bullets, and consequently grew out of knowledge, although he obtained a world of information in his travels; and, at the expiration of the war, returned to his native village covered with laurels, and in the Joyment of the half-pay of a corporal, to which rank he had been promoted in consequence of his meritorious conduct in the Peninsula. His father was still living, but his step-nother was lying quietly in the church-yard.

"I hope, father," said the affectionate Giles, "that thee saw her buried in a deep grave, and laid a stone a-top of her?"

"I did, my son."

"Then I am happy," replied Giles.

[WATTY WILLIAMS AND BULL]

"He sat, like patience on a monument, smiling at grief."

Watty Williams was a studious youth, with a long nose and a short pair of trowsers; his delight was in the green fields, for he was one of those philosophers who can find sermons in stones, and good in everything. One day, while wandering in a meadow, lost in the perusal of Zimmerman on Solitude, he was suddenly aroused from his reverie by a loud "Moo!" and, turning about, he descried, to his dismay, a curly-fronted bull making towards him.

Now, Watt., was so good-humoured a fellow, that he could laugh at an Irish bull, and withal, so staunch a Protestant, that a papal bull only excited a feeling of pity and contempt; but a bull of the breed which was careering towards him in such lively bounds, alarmed him beyond all bounds; and he forthwith scampered over the meadow from the pugnaceous animal with the most agile precipitation imaginable; for he was not one of those stout-hearted heroes who could take the bull by the horns--especially as the animal appeared inclined to contest the meadow with him; and though so fond of beef (as he naturally was), he declined a round upon the present occasion.

Seeing no prospect of escape by leaping stile or hedge, he hopped the green turf like an encaged lark, and happily reached a pollard in the midst of the meadow.

Climbing up with the agility of a squirrel, he seated himself on the k.n.o.bby summit of the stunted willow.

Still retaining his Zimmerman and his senses, he looked down and beheld the corniferous quadruped gamboling playfully round his singular asylum.

"Very pleasant!" exclaimed he; "I suppose, old fellow you want to have a game at toss!--if so, try it on with your equals, for you must see, if you have any gumption, that Watty Williams is above you. Aye, you may roar!--but if I sit here till Aurora appears in the east, you won't catch me winking. What a pity it is you cannot reflect as well as ruminate; you would spare yourself a great deal of trouble, and me a little fright and inconvenience."

The animal disdainfully tossed his head, and ran at the tree--and

"Away flew the light bark!"

in splinters, but the trunk remained unmoved.

"Shoo! shoo!" cried Watty, contemptuously; but he found that shoo'ing horns was useless; the beast still b.u.t.ted furiously against the harmless pollard.

"Hallo!" cried he to a dirty boy peeping at a distance--"Hallo!" but the lad only looked round, and vanished in an instant.

"The little fool's alarmed, I do believe!" said he; "He's only a cow-boy, I dare say!" And with this sapient, but unsatisfactory conclusion, he opened his book, and read aloud, to keep up his courage.

The bull hearing his voice, looked up with a most melancholy leer, the corners of his mouth drawn down with an expression of pathetic gravity.

Luckily for Watty, the little boy had given information of his dilemma, and the farmer to whom the bull belonged came with some of his men, and rescued him from his perilous situation.

"The gentleman will stand something to drink, I hope?" said one of the men.

"Certainly" said Watty.

"That's no more than right," said the farmer, "for, according to the New Police Act, we could fine you."

"What for?"

"Why, we could all swear that when we found you, you were so elevated you could not walk!"

Hereupon his deliverers set up a hearty laugh.

Watty gave them half-a-crown; saying, with mock gravity--

"I was on a tree, and you took me off--that was kind! I was in a fright, and you laughed at me; that was uncharitable. Farewell!"