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Mrs. Squash. 1 should like to have my questions answered b the gal herself.

Miss Fairman. Madam, 1 never made a pie of the kind you name.

Mrs. Squash. A pretty farmer's wife you'd make!

Miss Fairman. Madam, I applied for a school, and not for a husband.

Mrs. Lug. Holding her hand to her ear.] What! does she want a husband! Why, there's Jonathan Squash, jest old enough

for her.

Mrs. Vestry. Ladies, let us not wander from the purpose of our meeting. Miss Fairman, will you be good enough to inform the committee where you were educated, and the extent of your studies.

Mrs. Blunt. Ay, ay; where were you allicated? what do you know? Come, I'll question you, my self. In what state were you born into the world?

Miss Fairman. In Massachusetts, madam. Mrs. Blunt, In Massafiddlestick!

Miss Snap. Mrs. Blunt expected you would say you were born in a state of sin aud misery. She is a sound divine, but no geographer.

Mrs. Vestry. Please to inform us, Miss Fairman, of such particulars as we may need to aid us in our judgment.

Miss Fairman, I have had a good school education. ladies. but pretend to nothing more than is necessary to qualify me to teach the common branches in a cominon village school, which is all I understand yours to be.

Miss Prim. That will never do for Smartville: we must have something more than common. In my day, no teacher with such pretensions would have dared to apply for a school. Have you ever studied algebra?

Miss Fairman. Never I did not know

that it was taught in a common village

school.

Miss Prim. It is not; but it is the basis of a good education. No lady should be ignorant of algebra.

Mrs. Lug. What! don't the gal know there is such a thing as a zebra?" [Holding her hand up to her ear.]

Miss Snap. This knowledge would be of more use to her than algebra. Pray, Miss Prim, did you ever study algebra yourself?

Miss Prim. Yes; I spent two weeks upon the delightful science, and almost made myself mistress of it.

Mrs. Pill. Did you ever make use of it afterwards?

Miss Prim. I came to examine, but not to be catechized, madam.

Miss Snap. When a stocking was minus a foot, did your algebra ever make it plus? Mrs. Lug. What! does the gal blush? Well, I like to see young folks blush Mrs. Pill. Pray, Miss Fairman, have you ever learned Latin?

Miss Fairman No, madam; my father did not think it so important for females as their own language; and he never encouraged the study of it by his daughters.

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and my husband, Dr. Pill, says he could not prescribe without it.

Mrs. Squash. The more is the pity; they only use Latin to hide the p-on names of their nasty drugs. My husband once took it into his head, that every good farmer must know Latin, that he might know the larned names of vegetables; and so every single tree was called an Arbor alter that; and every squash, an Iguana-falciforma peripatetica, or some other such nonsense. For my part, I hope to hear a squash called a squash as long as I bear the name.

Mrs. Vestry. Ladies, let us not forget the object of our meeting. Miss Fairman, may ! ask at what school you were educated? Miss Fairman. At the Female Monitorial School, madam. in Boston.

A tor

Mrs. Lug. What school is that? school! that will never do, miss; we are al wigs here.

Mrs. Squash. I really believe the gal is a Jackson-man in disguise.

Miss Fairman. Ladies, you mistake the nature as well as the name of the school is called monitorial, because the elder pupiis, who assist the teacher, are called monitors.

Miss Prim. Ay, ay; this is one of the new-fangled notions that have made instrue tion so vulgar an employment, that I canbot endure it. When children take up the ferule, it is time for us [drawing herself up] to lay t down.

Mrs. Blunt. You don't intend to introduce any such notions here, miss?

Mrs Fairman. I hoped, madam, that a judicious use of monitors would not be objected to.

Mrs. Squash. What! do you mean to set other children to teach my darters?

Miss Fairman. I should like to employ the more advanced pupils, whosever children they may be, in instructing those who know less than themselves.

Mrs. Brief. Then Mrs. Cowyard's brats may be set to teach our children, Mrs. Vestry!

My

Mrs. Vestry. I have no objection to that. if her children know more than ours. husband says we should always be willing to receive instruction from any source, however humble.

Miss Prim. I dare say, Mr. Vestry would even allow that children are competent to teach children. Preposterous idea!

Mrs. Vestry. I know he would allow it; for I have often heard him say, that men are only children of a larger growth, and there was no more difference between his attain ments and those of his parishioners, than there is between some children and others. considers himself as a monitor amongst his brethren.

He

Mrs. Brief. If he is only a monitor, pray who is our Teacher? or have not we any?

Mrs. Vestry. He is accustomed t call the Saviour the great Tencher. But I think we had better ascertain how the young lady has been instructed, and what she has learned, before we condemn her system utterly.

Mrs Pil. He was a dolt. Why, Latin, Mrs. Pill I should like to ask her one miss, is the basis of every learned profession; question Pay, miss, if one of your pupi's

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Mrs. Blunt. Young woman, I don't know what my husband. Deacon Blunt, would say, to find you so ignorant of the first principles of religion.

Miss Fairman. Madam, I would respect fully remark, that I have been taught to draw the principles of my religion from the Bible, and not from the Primer.

Mrs. Blunt. Yes, that is one of Mr. Vestry's notions; but every body learned the Primer when I was a gal. I could say it backwards as well as forruds.

Miss Prim. Will the young lady be good enough to inform the committee whether she bas studied botany?

Miss Fairman. I have, madam.

Miss Prim. Did you study the philosophical part of the science, which treats of the loves and the language of plants?

Mess Fairman. No, madam, I have only studied their structure and uses.

Miss Prim. I supposed you had neglected the only ethereal part of the science. This comes of your new fangled system, I suppose. Miss Fairman. No, indeed, madain. Nonsense can be taught by the monitorial plan, as well as by any other. The subjects taught depend upon the teacher, and not upon the system.

Mrs. Blunt. I have seen enough of the gal. She will never do for me. She don't even know her Primer. [She dashes out.] Miss Snap. "The eagle's flight Is out of sight."

Mrs. Brief. Mr. Brief will never suffer his children to be taught by Mrs. Cowyard's (Exit.]

brats.

Miss Snap. "Out, out, Brief candle!" Mrs. Pill. I cannot swallow her ignorance of Latin. (Exit] Miss Snap. Because she could not swallow your pills, I suppose.

Mrs. Squash. I cannot vote for a miss so young that she cannot make a punkin pic. I thought, at first, she might do for my son Jonathan. [Aside.] [E.cit.]

Miss Snap. So, because she can't cook a punkiu, she is not allowed to become a Squash!

Miss Prim. I must withhold my approbation from one who has no soul for the loves and language of flowers, and who has never studied algebra.

Miss Snap. And whose charms being plus, would render yours a negative quantity.

my

Miss Prim. My children--I mean neighbor's, for I desire to be thankful that I have none of the nasty things-shall never go to a monitorial school with my consent. Monitorial, indeed! [Eaus Mrs. Lug. Who did she say was dead? Miss Snap. Your tories, I suppose.

Mrs. Lug. Well, I am sorry for them I had rather they had repented; but they sha'n't get foothold in our village, while I am on the committee. Good bye. [Exit}

Miss Snap. A good riddance upon them all! Now, Miss Fairman, let me congratulate you upon escaping from such patrons.

Mrs. Vestry. Give me your hand, my dear. You have borne the trial modestly and patiently. My husband has been applied to for a preceptress of an academy, and I am sure, that, after he has heard the result of this meeting, he will confer the situation upon my young friend. Come, let us find him. (F. F. D.)

752. CITY FINISHING.-ORIGINAL.

Miss Puff. How vulgar you will appear in the city, Miss Homespun! It is a pity that you have not the advantage of a quarter's instruction in the city, as I have had.

Miss Homespun. I have no fears on my own account. I shall make no pretensions to superior refinement, und, therefore, shall not risk any failure.

Miss Puff. That will not do, my dear, in the city. If one has not a certain jinnissy quar, she will be considered as savage as if she had been brought up on a dissolute

oiland.

Miss Homespun. It may be so; but such treatment would only lead me to pity them, and not to undervalue myself. I do not believe that unassuming manners, and unpre tending conversation, are in so much danger of being insulted.

Miss Puf I shall endeavor to spare you as much as I can; but one who has always been in the country, can have no superstition how much she is exposed to be quizzed by the knowing ones of the city. My. quarter's education did the business for me.

Miss Homespun. You almost alarm me, Miss Puff; but I will not believe, until I see, that the superior education of the city ladies unfits them for making a proper discrimination between plain sense and nonsense. I expect a lady from the city to spend a few days, with me.

Miss Puff. When is she a coming? Miss Homespun. That may be she at the door.

Miss Puff. Well, now, my dear, be careful and do not expose yourself. Put a little of my o dick alone on your dress.

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Ass Homespun. I shall make it a point to avoid such folly, even if it costs me eternal banishment from the city.

Mess Puf. Your obstinacy will bring down some tremenduous mortification upon your head.

Miss Homespun. I will risk it. But there comes my city friend; I shall hope to profit by her advice, before I visit the city.

Miss Paff. My dear, there is nothing like spending a whole quarter at some city seminary, if you would not have your country airs preceptible.

Miss Homespun. It is too late for me to go to school again, and therefore I shall be contented to observe what I may, without exposing my ignorance.

Miss Puf. You may as well expect to make a muff out of a leg of beacon.

Miss Homespun. It is not such an impossibility. I trust.

Miss Puf. My dear, your disposition is so ingenious and candid, that you will be the dupe of every one you meet. What a pity that you had not gone one quarter with me to that city seminary! It would have taught you the right use of language, at least; for, as I said before, you can have no superstition how precise the city ladies are in this respect. Now, while I should be conversing fluently with them, you would be standing mute as a statale. But your friend is coming, I shall retire.

Miss Homespun. You need not withdraw. Miss Puff. Yes, my dear, I do not wish to afford your friend any opportunity for compari son, considering how poor a chance you have had; for you know the proverb says, "comparisons are odorous." You must have courage, now, and make some pretty remarks on the season, the foilage of the trees, and other things that go to constitute pastural felicity, Now, do, my dear, take my advice. Good bye; farewell; adieu!

Miss Homespun. Poor girl! she means well; but if she would make a convert of me, she will be disappointed. True gentility, and real civilization, cannot approve of such ridiculous notions as she has adopted. I shall not use more than half a point of Cologne water, if the city belles do banish me to a dissolute orland. (F. F. D.)

753. THE GRIDIRON. THE CAPTAIN, PATRICK, AND THE FRENCHMAN.

Patrick. WELL, captain, whereabouts in the wide world are we? Is it Roosia, Proosia, or the Jarmant oceant?

Captain Tut, you fool; it's France. Patrick. Tare an ouns! do you tell me so? and how do you know it's France, captain dear?

Captain. Because we were on the coast of the Bay of Biscay, when the vessel was

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Patrick. Throth, I was thinkin' so myself. And now, captain jewel, it is I that wishes we had a gridiron

Captain. Why, Patrick, what puts the notion of a gridiron into your head?

Patrick. Becase I'm starving with hunger, captain dear.

Captain. Surely you do not intend to eat a gridiron, do you?

Patrick. Ate a gridiron! bad luck to it! no. But if we had a gridiron, we could dress a beef stake.

Captain. Yes; but where's the beef steak, Patrick?

Patrick. Sure, couldn't we cut it off the pork?

Captain. I never thought of that. You aro a clever fellow, Patrick. (Laughing.)

Patrick. There's many a thrue word said in a joke, captain. And now, if you will go and get the bit of pork that we saved from the rack, I'll go to the house there beyant, and ax some of them to lind me the loan of a gridiron.

Patrick. But, Patrick, this is France, and they are all foreigners here. Patrick.

Well, and how do you know but am as good a fuiriner myself as any o' them?

I

Captain. What do you mean, Patrick?
Patrick. Parley voo frongsay?

Cuplain Oh, you understand French, then, is it?

Patrick. Throth, you may say that, captain dear.

Captain. Well, Patrick, success to you. Be civil to the foreigners, and I will be back with the pork in a minute. [He goes out.]

Patrick Ay, sure enough I be civil to them; for the Frinch are always mighty plite intirely, and I'll show them I know what good manners is. Indade, and here comes munseer himself, quite convaynient. 4s the Frenchman enters, Patrick takes off his hut and, making a low bow, says,] God save you, sir, and all your children. I beg your pardon for the libeity I take, but it's only being in disthress in regard of ateing, that I make bowld to trouble ye; and if ye could lind me the loan of a gridiron, I'd be intirely obleeged to ye.

I'm

Frenchman. [Staring at him.] Comment! Patrick. Indade its thrue for you. tathered to paces, and God knows I look quare enough; but its by rason of the storm, that dhruv us ashore jist here, and we're all starvin'.

Frenchman. Je m'y t

je meet.]

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Patrick. Oh! not at all! by no manes! we have plenty of mate ourselves, and we'll dhress it, if you'd be plased jist to lind us the loan of a gridiron, sir. [Making a low buir.]

Frenchman. [Staring at him, but not understanding a word.}

Patrick. I beg pardon, sir; but may be I'm under a mistake, but I thought I was in France, sir. An't you all furriners here? Parley voo frongsay?

Frenchman. Oui, monsieur.

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Patrick. Then lind me the loan of a gridiron, I say, and bad scram to you. Frenchman. [Bowing and scraping.] Monsieur, je ne l'entend

Patrick. Phoo! the divil sweep yourself and your long tongs! I don't want a tongs at all at all. Can't you listen to rason?

Frenchman. Oui, oui, monsieur; certaine ment, mais.

Patrick. Then lind me the loan of a gridiron, and howld your prate. [The French man shakes his head, as if to say he did not understand; but Patrick, thinking he meant it as a refusal, says, in a passion,] Bad cess to the likes o' you! Throth, if you were in my counthry, it's not that a-way they'd use you. The curse o' the crows on you, you owld sinner!-The divil another word I'll say to you. The Frenchman puts his hand on his heart, and tries to express compassion in his countenance. Well, I'll give you one chance more, you owld thafe! Are you a Christhian at all at all? Are you a furriner, that all the world calls so p'lite? Bad luck to you! do you understand your mother tongue? Parley Woo frongsay? [Very loud] Parley voo ffrongsay?

Frenchman. Oui, monsieur, oui, oui. Patrick. Then, thunder and turf! will you find me the loan of a gridiron? [The French man shakes his head, as if he did not understand; and Pat says, vehemently,] The carse of the hungry be on you, you owld negarly villain! the back of my haud and the sowl of my fut to you! May you want a gridiron yourself. yet! and wherever I go, it's high and low, rich and poor, shall hear of it, and be hanged to you! (F. F. D.)

754. IRISH COURTESY --STRANGER AND
O'CALLAGHAN.

Stranger. I HAVE lost my way, good friend. Can you assist me in finding it?

O'Callaghan. Assist you in finding it, is't? Ay, by my faith and troth, and that I will, if it was to the world's end, and farther too.

Stranger. I wish to return, by the shortest route, to the Black Rock.

own self will show you the way, and then you | can't miss it, you know.

Stranger. I would not give you so much trouble, Mr. O'Callaghan.

O'Collaghan. It is never a trouble, se plase your honor, for an Irishman to do his duty. [Bowing.]

Stranger. Whither do you travel, friend? O'Callaghan To Dublin, so plase your honor. Sure, all the world knows that Judy O'Flannaghan will be married to-morrow, God willing, to Pat Ryan; and Pat, you know, is my own foster-brother-because why?-we had but one nurse betwane us, and that was my own mother; but she died one day-the Lord rest her swate soul!--and left me an orphan; for my father married again, and his new wife was the divil's own child, and did nothing but bate me from morning till night. Och! why did not I die before I was born to see that day? for, by St Patrick, the woman's heart was as cold as a hailstone.

Stranger. But what reason could she have for treating you so unmercifully?

O'Callaghan. Ah, your honor, and sure enough, there are always rasons as plenty as potatoes, for being hard hearted. And I was no bigger than a dumpling at the time, so I could not help myself, and my father did not care to help me, and so I hopped the twig, and parted old Nick's darling. Och! may the divil find her wherever she goes! But here 1 am, alive and lapeing, and going to see Pat married; and faith, to do him justice, he's as honest lad as any within ten miles of us, and no disparagement neither; and I love Pat, and I love all his family-ay, by my sow do I, every mother's skin of them--and by the same token, I have travelled many a long mile to be present at his wedding.

Stranger. Your miles in Ireland are much longer than ours, I believe.

O'Callaghan Indade, and you may belav that, your honor-because why ?--St. Patrick measured them in his coach, you know. Och! by the powers! the time has been-but 'tis no matter--the divil a copper now belonge to the family. But, as I was saying, the day has been-ay, by my troth, and the night, too-when the O'Callaghans-good luck to them!-held their heads up as high as the best; and though I have not a rod of laud belonging to me, but what I hire, I love my country, and would halve my last potatoe with every poor cratur that has none.

Stranger. Pray, how does the bride appear?

O'Callaghan. Och! by my soul, your honor, she's a nate article; and then she will be rigged out as gay as a lark, and as fine as a pacock-because why?-she has great lady for her godmother--long life and saccess to her!-who has given Judy two milch cows, and five pounds in hard money. And Pat has taken as dacent apartments as any in Dublin-a nate, comely parlor, as you'd wish to see, just six fate under ground, with a nice, beautiful ladther to go down--and all so complate, and gentule, and comfortable, an

O'Callaghan. Indade, and you will, so plase your honor's honor-and O'Callaghan's i a body may say

Stranger. Nothing like comfort, Mr. O'Callaghan.

O'Callaghan. Faith, and you may say that, your honor. [Rubbing his hands.] Comfort is comfort, says I to Mrs. O'Callaghan, when we are all sated so cleverly around a gre big turf fire, as merry as grigs, with the dear little grunters snoring so swately in the corner, defying wind and weather, with a dry thatch, and a sound conscience to go to slape upon

Stranger. soft pillow.

A good conscience makes a

O'Callaghan. Och! jewel, sure it is not the best beds that makes the best slapers; for there's Cathleen and myself can slape like two great big tops; and our bed is none of the softest-because why ?-we slape on the ground, and have no bed at all at all.

Stranger. It is a pity, my honest fellow, that you should ever want one. There, [giving him a guinea.] Good bye, Mr. O'Callaghan.

O'Callaghan, I'll drink your honor's health. that I will! and may God and the blessed Virgin bless you and yours, as long as grass (F. F. D.)

grows and water runs!

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just now.

Digit. Why, I could solve an equation, while you are answering a question of five werds-I mean if the unknown terms were all on one side of the equation. Can I see him?

Drone. Very likely, sir. I will inform him that Mr.

Digit. Digit, Digit. Drone. Oh, Mr. Digy-Digy wishes to see him. [Exit Drone.]

Digit. [Alone] That fellow is certainly a negative quantity. He is minus common sense. If this Mr. Morrell is the man I take him to be, he cannot but patronize my talents. Should he not, I don't know how I shall obtain a new coat. I have worn this ever since I began to write my theory of sines, and my elbows have so often formed tangents with the surface of my table, that a new coat is very necessary. But here comes Mr. Morrell. Enter Sesquipedalia.] Sir, (bowing low, I am your most mathematical servant. I am sorry, sir, to give you this trouble; but an affair of consequence-[pulling the rags over kis elbows]-an affair of consequence, as your servant informed you

Sesquipedalia. Servus non est mihi, domine; that is, I have no servant, sir. I presume you have erred in your calculation; and

Digit. No, sir. The calculations I am about to present you, are founded on the most correct theorems of Euclid. You may examine them, if you please. They are contained in this small manuscript. [Producing a folio.]

Sesquipedalia. Sir, you have bestowed degree of interruption upon my observations. I was about, or, according to the Latins, futurus sum, to give you a little information concerning the luminary who appears to have deceived your vision. My name, sir, is Tullius Maro Titus Crispus Sesquipedalia, by profession a linguist and philosopher. The most abstruse points in physics or metaphysics, to me, are as transparent as ether. I have come to this house for the purpose of obtaining the patronage of a gentleman who befriends all the literati. Now, sir, perhaps I have produced conviction in mente tua; that is, in your mind, that your calculation was erroneous.

Digit. Yes, sir, your person was mistaken; but my calculations, I maintain, are correct, to the tenth place of a circulating decimal.

Sesquipedalia. But, what is the subject of your manuscript? Have you discussed the infinite divisibility of matter?

Digit. No, sir, we cannot reckon infinity; and have nothing to do with subjects that cannot be reckoned.

Sesquipedalia. Why, I can reckon about it. I reckon it is divisible ad infinitum. But perhaps your work is upon the materiality of light; and if so, which side of the question do you espouse?

Digit. Oh, sir, I think it quite immaterial. Sesquipedalia. What! light immaterial! Do you say light is immaterial?

Digit. No, I say it is quite immaterial which side of the question I espouse. I have nothing to do with it. And, besides, I am a bachelor, and do not mean to espouse any thing at present.

Sesquipedalia.

Do you write upon the attraction of cohesion? You know matter has the properties of attraction and repulsion.

Digit. I care nothing about matter, so I can find enough for mathematical demon

stration.

Sesquipedalia. I cannot conceive what you have written upon, then. Oh, it must be the centripetal and cer.trifugal motions.

Digit. [Pecvishly.] No, no. I wish Mr. Morrell would come. Sir, I have no motions but such as I can make with my pencil upon my slate, thus, [figuring upon his hand :) Six, minus four, plus two, equal eight, minus six, plus two. There, those are my motions.

Sesquipedalia Oh, I perceive you grovel in the depths of arithmetic! I suppose you never soared into the regions of philosophy. You never thought of the vacuum which ha so long filled the heads of philosophers?

Digit. Vacuum! [Putting his hand to his forehead.] Let me think.

Sesquipedalia. Ha! what! have you got it sub manu; that is, under your hand! Ha!

ha! ha!

Digit. Eh! under my hand? what do you mean, sir? that my head is a vacuum? Would you insult me, sir? insult Archimedes Digit? Why, sir, I'll cipher you into infinite divisibnl.ty. I'll set you on an upright cone. I'll give you a centrifugal motion out of the window, sir! I'll tear you up by the roots and scatter your solid contents to the winds sir!

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