« 上一页继续 »
The fairies frae their beds o' dew
Will rise and join the lay:
When Maggie gangs away!
MRS. RATTLEBY MAKES A CALL.
COMEDY COUNTRY-DIALECT MONOLOGUE FOR WOMAN.
LIBBIE C. BAER.
Written expressly for this book.
CHARACTERS REPRESENTED: MRS. RATTLEBY, speaker present;
Mrs. HARVEY, supposed to be present. SCENE: MRS. HARVEY's sitting-room. Enter Mrs. RATTLEBY.
OOD afternoon, Mrs. Harvey. Thought I'd run in an see
you a minute. It's a lovely day; in fact, it's jist be-u-tiful. [Seats herself.] But I'm too tired to injoy anything. How good it seems to git a chance to set down a minute. You see, I walked clean to Shelbyville an' back since one o'clock—six good, long miles, that's what it is! An' what's the matter with you, Mrs. Harvey? You don't seem to be feelin' fust rate. Oh-o, sick headache! Land sakes! I know what that is; have had it often enough, dear knows. Can't be nothin' done for it, either, that I knows of; jist have to keep right quiet, an' that's all you kin do. It's a kind o’sea-sickness, I hearn 'em say; git tired o' seein' so much I reckon, an' jist collapse an' feel like layin' still an’ shuttin' your eyes an' lettin the world slip by, without takin' any notice o’ what it's comin' to. You can't tell me anything about sick headache that I don't know. It's an awful sickness. Don't feel like talkin' yourself or hearin' anybody else talk. Wouldn't raise your little finger to save your own life or anybody else's life. Now ain't that so?
I jist thought I'd come in an' see how you was gittin' along, an' rest myself a minute. An' didn't I need the rest! You'd ought to see the washin' I did yisterday. The biggist washin' ever done in this town; an' then, besides that, I scrubbed the kitchen an dinin’-room floors, got dinner for four men—all big eaters, every one o' them—an' done all the rest o' the work, an' knit a whole mitten afore bed-time. I was clean played out! But Thomas Jefferson was to Shelbyville yisterday an' he brought home one o' them hand-bills, an' it told all about the big bargains at Jimberlie's. So I got up rale early, got my ironin' all done, baked six loaves o' bread, got dinner for the men-folks, an' started for Shelbyville. An’ straight I walked into Jimberlie's stote an' sez to the clerk—that Vera Donaldson, the one with the yaller hair done up in a gordon knot, I sez: “I want to see some o' them bargains what we've been hearin' about.”
An', sez she, “Anything particular you wish, ma'am ?”
An' sez I, "No, I don't want any particulars, I want some o'them bargains."
“Beg pardon, ma'am, but in what line?" jist like I was a railroad or a telegraph-pole.
“Not any line," I sez, “unless it's the 'bee line' I walked three miles to find out how much truth there is in all that advertisin' you've been sendin' out so peart lately.”
“Jist look around, ma'am, an' pick out what you wish,” sez she, as polite as a basket o'chips.
I'd been lookin' around, an' so I sez, kind o out o' patience like—fur I couldn't see one thing what was on that handbill, “Where's
aprons fur ten cents, an' double blankets fur a dollar, an' kaliker at two cents a yard, an' handkerchiefs six fur twenty-five cents ?”
Then she called a girl whose waist wasn't much bigger around than the lead-pencil stuck in her hair, an' sez to her, “You show this lady the ten-cent aprons.”
So that girl took me 'way down an' acrost the store to where a small-sized hoop-skirt was hung up by a string, an' the aprons all spread over it, an' she took one down an'handed it to me
to look at, an' land sakes, I wouldn't walk acrost our front yard fur the whole lot o’ 'em-little, skimpy, slimpsy things, made out o'cheese-cloth an' a fringy string o' scallops sewed on the bottom what she called "imbroidery."
"I don't need anything o' that kind," I sez; "I ain't a mason."
Then she showed me the dollar blankets. “Is that what you call blankets?” sez I, spreadin' out a strip of shoddy, cotton stuff with stripes down the sides an' through the middle, an' about big enough fur a sheep.
The two-cent kaliker had quite a purty figger, but it all come out when I wet it with my tongue an' rubbed it between the palms of my hands. Well, the “long an' the short” of it is that I didn't buy anything, only three han'kerchiefs fur fifteen cents. I could have saved five cents by gittin' six, but I didn't have no use fur so many, havin' no small children, an' you won't ketch me runnin' after bargains at Jimberlie's agin.
But I must be gittin' home or I won't git the dinner dishes washed in time fur supper. I hope you'll soon be gittin' over your headache, Mrs. Harvey. You doʻlook sick an' no mistake. Jist take my advice an' keep rale quiet—don't mind to go to the door, I'll find my way out. Good-day, Mrs. Harvey, good-day.
HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW.
Translated into German by Herman Behr,
UF der Brücke stand ich um Mittnacht;
Der Stunde Schlag erscholl,
Der Stadt schien klar und voll.
Es fielen seine Strahlen
Aufs Wasser glitzernd herab; Als wär's ein goldener Becher,
Versinkend im Wellengrab. Durch die weite, neblichte Ferne
Der lieblichen Juninacht Schien der Hochöfen flammendes Feuer,
Noch roter als Mondespracht.
Zwischen langem, schwarzem Gebälke
Floh'n Schatten hin und her; Es hob sie und riss sie mit sich
Die Flut vom nahen Meer.
Durchs Holzwerk rauschte tief unten
Des Meeres zögernde Flut;
Ihr Spiel in Mondesglut.
Die Wasser rauschten dahin,
Gedanken meinen Sinn.
Wie oft war ich auf der Brücke
Gestanden bei Mitternacht, Habe niedergestarrt ins Wasser
Und auf zu des Himmels Pracht.
Wie oft hat, und wie sehnlich,
Der Wunsch meine Seele bewegt, Dass ich einer der vielen wär,
Die's Meer in die Ferne trägt.
Schwer schienen mir die Sorgen,
Mein Herz schlug ohne Rast;
Erdrückend, kaum zu tragen,
War mir des Lebens Last.
Doch die ist von mir gefallen,
Versunken in tiefster See;
Berühren mein Herz noch mit Weh.
Wenn immer ich über das Pfahlwerk
Der hölzernen Brücke geh',
Zurück mit der Salzluft der See.
Ich denke der vielen Tausend
In Lebens Sturm und Drang,
Ein jeder sorgenbang.
Hinüber und herüber
Wallt endlos clas Treiben der Stadt;
Die Alten gelassen und matt.
Und immer, so lange Wasser
Im tiefen Strombett fliesst, .
Im Herzen Leidenschaft spriesst:
Soll der Mond mit seinem Schatten
Und glitzerndem Wiederschein
Ihr irdisches Abbild—sein.
MANAGER. You are the song-and-dance soubrette who wishes to join my company. What is your compass?
SOUBRETTE. If you refer to my voice, why, it's only two octaves; but I can kick over nineteen.