The Universal Reciter Part 21

_Gol._ I see him not.

_Dav._ Behold him here.

_Gol._ Say, where?

Direct my sight. I do not war with boys.

_Dav._ I stand prepared; thy single arm to mine.

_Gol._ Why, this is mockery, minion; it may chance To cost thee dear. Sport not with things above thee: But tell me who, of all this numerous host, Expects his death from me? Which is the man Whom Israel sends to meet my bold defiance?

_Dav._ The election of my sovereign falls on me.

_Gol._ On thee! on thee! by Dagon, 'tis too much!

Thou curled minion! thou a nation's champion!

'Twould move my mirth at any other time; But trifling's out of tune. Begone, light boy!

And tempt me not too far.

_Dav._ I do defy thee, Thou foul idolator! Hast thou not scorned The armies of the living G.o.d I serve!

By me he will avenge upon thy head Thy nation's sins and thine. Armed with his name, Unshrinking, I dare meet the stoutest foe That ever bathed his hostile spear in blood.

_Gol._ Indeed! 'tis wondrous well! Now, by my G.o.ds!

The stripling plays the orator! Vain boy!

Keep close to that same bloodless war of words, And thou shalt still be safe. Tongue-valiant warrior!

Where is thy sylvan crook, with garlands hung, Of idle field-flowers? Where thy wanton harp, Thou dainty-fingered hero?

Now will I meet thee, Thou insect warrior; since thou dar'st me thus, Already I behold thy mangled limbs, Dissevered each from each, ere long to feed The fierce, blood-snuffing vulture. Mark me well, Around my spear I'll twist thy s.h.i.+ning locks And toss in air thy head all gashed with wounds.

_Dav._ Ha, say'st thou so? Come on, then; Mark us well.

Thou com'st to me with sword and spear, and s.h.i.+eld; In the dread name of Israel's G.o.d, I come; The living Lord of Hosts, whom thou defi'st; Yet though no s.h.i.+eld I bring; no arms, except These five smooth stones I gathered from the brook With such a simple sling as shepherds use; Yet all exposed, defenceless as I am, The G.o.d I serve shall give thee up a prey To my victorious arm. This day, I mean To make the uncirc.u.mcised tribes confess There is a G.o.d in Israel. I will give thee, Spite of thy vaunted strength and giant bulk, To glut the carrion-kites. Nor thee alone; The mangled carca.s.ses of your thick hosts Shall spread the plains of Elah; till Philistia, Through all her trembling tents and flying bands, Shall own that Judah's G.o.d is G.o.d indeed!

I dare thee to the trial!

_Gol._ Follow me.

In this good spear I trust.

_Dav._ I trust in Heaven!

The G.o.d of battles stimulates my arm, And fires my soul with ardor not its own.

In this dialogue, the first speech of Goliath is simple vaunt. Confident in his huge bulk and strength, he strides occasionally from side to side while speaking, elevating his arms and throwing his limbs about as if anxious to display his powerful sinews and muscular proportions. He speaks very loud, as if willing to terrify all Israel with his voice.

In this second speech, Goliath partly stoops, half shuts his eyes like a person endeavouring to discern some diminutive object, and, after looking intently a short time, suddenly straightens himself up to his full height, and says arrogantly: "I see him not."

In his third speech, Goliath maintains the same ground, till, in the conclusion, he seems, at last, to have perceived David, and, turning away contemptuously, adds: "I do not war with boys."

In the latter part of the dialogue, Goliath becomes really furious, and is in haste to transfix David with his spear; while David, on the other hand, becomes more calm, collected, and observant as the critical moment approaches, thus denoting his firm and unwavering trust in the G.o.d of Israel. David makes but few gestures, but always a.s.sumes a reverential att.i.tude when he mentions the name of G.o.d--not puritanical by any means, but expressive of humble hope and smiling confidence.

THE WIDOW BEDOTT'S POETRY.

FRANCES M. WHITCHER.

Yes,--he was one o' the best men that ever trod shoe-leather, husband was, though Miss Jinkins says (she 't was Poll Bingham), _she_ says, I never found it out till after he died, but that 's the consarndest lie, that ever was told, though it 's jest a piece with everything else she says about me. I guess if everybody could see the poitry I writ to his memory, n.o.body wouldn 't think I dident set store by him.

Want to hear it? Well, I 'll see if I can say it; it ginerally affects me wonderfully, seems to harrer up my feelin's; but I'll try. Dident know I ever writ poitry? How you talk! used to make lots on 't; hain't so much late years. I remember once when Parson Potter had a bee, I sent him an amazin' great cheese, and writ a piece o' poitry, and pasted on top on 't. It says:--

Teach him for to proclaim Salvation to the folks; No occasion give for any blame, Nor wicked people's jokes.

And so it goes on, but I guess I won't stop to say the rest on now, seein' there's seven and forty verses.

Parson Potter and his wife was wonderfully pleased with it; used to sing it to the tune o' Haddem. But I was gwine to tell the one I made in relation to husband; it begins as follers:--

He never jawed in all his life, He never was unkind,-- And (tho' I say it that was his wife) Such men you seldom find.

(That's as true as the Scripturs; I never knowed him to say a harsh word.)

I never changed my single lot,-- I thought 't would be a sin--

(though widder Jinkins says it's because I never had a chance.) Now 't ain't for me to say whether I ever had a numerous number o' chances or not, but there 's them livin' that _might_ tell if they wos a mind to; why, this poitry was writ on account of being joked about Major c.o.o.n, three year after husband died. I guess the ginerality o' folks knows what was the nature o' Major c.o.o.n's feelin's towards me, tho' his wife and Miss Jinkins _does_ say I tried to ketch him. The fact is, Miss c.o.o.n feels wonderfully cut up 'cause she knows the Major took her "Jack at a pinch,"--seein' he couldent get such as he wanted, he took such as he could get,--but I goes on to say--

I never changed my single lot, I thought 't would be a sin,-- For I thought so much o' Deacon Bedott, I never got married agin.

If ever a hasty word he spoke, His anger dident last, But vanished like tobacker smoke Afore the wintry blast.

And since it was my lot to be The wife of such a man, Tell the men that's after me To ketch me if they can.

If I was sick a single jot, He called the doctor in--

That's a fact,--he used to be scairt to death if anything ailed me.

Now only jest think,--widder Jinkins told Sam Pendergra.s.ses wife (she 'twas Sally Smith) that she guessed the deacon dident set no great store by me, or he wouldent a went off to confrence meetin' when I was down with the fever. The truth is, they couldent git along without him no way. Parson Potter seldom went to confrence meetin', and when he wa' n't there, who was ther, pray tell, that knowed enough to take the lead if husband dident do it? Deacon Kenipe hadent no gift, and Deacon Crosby hadent no inclination, and so it all come on Deacon Bedott,--and he was always ready and willin' to do his duty, you know; as long as he was able to stand on his legs he continued to go to confrence meetin'; why, I've knowed that man to go when he couldent scarcely crawl on account o' the pain in the spine of his back. He had a wonderful gift, and he wa' n't a man to keep his talents hid up in a napkin,--so you see 't was from a sense o' duty he went when I was sick, whatever Miss Jinkins may say to the contrary. But where was I?

Oh!--

If I was sick a single jot, He called the doctor in-- I sot so much by Deacon Bedott I never got married agin.

A wonderful tender heart he had, That felt for all mankind,-- It made him feel amazin bad To see the world so blind.

Whiskey and rum he tasted not--

That's as true as the Scripturs,--but if you'll believe it, Betsy Ann Kenipe told my Melissy that Miss Jinkins said one day to their house, how 't she 'd seen Deacon Bedott high, time and agin! did you ever!

Well, I'm glad n.o.body don't pretend to mind anything _she_ says. I've knowed Poll Bingham from a gall, and she never knowed how to speak the truth--besides she always had a pertikkler spite against husband and me, and between us tew I 'll tell you why if you won't mention it, for I make it a pint never to say nothin' to injure n.o.body. Well she was a ravin'-distracted after my husband herself, but it's a long story. I 'll tell you about it some other time, and then you'll know why widder Jinkins is etarnally runnin' me down. See,--where had I got to? Oh, I remember now,--

Whiskey and rum he tasted not,-- He thought it was a sin,-- I thought so much o' Deacon Bedott I never got married agin.

But now he's dead! the thought is killin', My grief I can't control-- He never left a single s.h.i.+llin'

His widder to console.

But that wa' n't his fault--he was so out o' health for a number o' year afore he died, it ain't to be wondered at he dident lay up nothin'--however, it dident give him no great oneasiness,--he never cared much for airthly riches, though Miss Pendergra.s.s says she heard Miss Jinkins say Deacon Bedott was as tight as the skin on his back,--begrudged folks their vittals when they came to his house! did you ever! why, he was the hull-souldest man I ever see in all my born days. If I'd such a husband as Bill Jinkins was, I'd hold my tongue about my neighbors' husbands. He was a dretful mean man, used to git drunk every day of his life, and he had an awful high temper,--used to swear like all posset when he got mad,--and I've heard my husband say, (and he wa' n't a man that ever said anything that wa' n't true),--I've heard _him_ say Bill Jinkins would cheat his own father out of his eye teeth if he had a chance. Where was I? Oh! "His widder to console,"--ther ain't but one more verse, 't ain't a very lengthy poim. When Parson Potter read it, he says to me, says he,--What did you stop so soon for?"--but Miss Jinkins told the Crosbys _she_ thought I'd better a' stopt afore I 'd begun,--she 's a purty critter to talk so, I must say. I 'd like to see some poitry o' hern,--I guess it would be astonis.h.i.+n' stuff; and mor'n all that, she said there wa'

n't a word o' truth in the hull on 't,--said I never cared two cents for the deacon. What an everlastin' lie!! Why, when he died, I took it so hard I went deranged, and took on so for a spell, they was afraid they should have to send me to a Lunattic a.r.s.enal. But that's a painful subject, I won't dwell on 't. I conclude as follers:--