Puck — October 29, 1879 — page 6: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

540 PUCK. RUTHERFOORD THE GOOD. A TALE OF THE MIDDLE AGES. Cuaprter I, No man who's wed will ever be at loss ‘To know Is he or is his wife the boss.—Rown. T was a lovely morning in the early autumn of the year 1199. The rising sun poured its refulgent beams upon the Castle de Blanc, the ancestral home of the Haizes, The Castle was situated upon the bank of the noble Camotop River, near the centre of the Margra- vate of Youess; of which territory Rutherfoord de Haize, commonly called Rutherfoord the Good, was the Margrave. It was morning, and in the kitchen of the Castle de Blanc, for at least an hour, the ‘servants had been spitting chickens, when— “ Rutherfoord,” said the Margravine, as she dug her elbow into his fifth rib, “ it’s time to getup. We have a county fair to attend to- day.” * eon, dear!” exclaimed Rutherfoord. “I attended a fair yesterday, and the day before, and the day before that, and—I hate fairs.” “But, Rutherford,” expostulated his wife, “remember your high position and the cares of state.” “T hate the cares of state,” said Rutherfoord. “Nature has adapted me to preside over a ru- ral Sunday-school, or a rustic temperance club, and I like not the affairs of state. I feel so stale, I wish I had a gin-cocktail.” “A what?” cried the Margravine, as she bounced out of bed and stood in the middle of the room with her eyes flashing and her fin- gers working. “My dear,” explained Rutherfoord, “I meant a glass of seltzer. That was what Rich- ard Grant White calls heterophemy.” “T don’t know what that word means,” said the Margravine sternly, “ but it sounds wicked.” “Tt means, my dear,” said her husband, “speaking one thing when you mean another.” “When / went to school,” said the Margra- vine, slapsus slanguage was good enough Latin for that sort of mistake. Don’t you make a mistake, Rutherfoord, and take a gin-cocktail when you mean to drink seltzer.” “No, my dear,” said he as he bundled out of bed. Rutherfoord washed and dressed himself and, remarking that he would slip down-stairs and examine the papers, left the room. Madame the Margravine continued to deck her fair person for the fair. Finally she took her back-hair from the nail on which it hung at night, and as she pinned it to her head she hummed the following old ditty: “Oh, dear, what can the matter be? ‘Ob, dear, what can the matter be? Ob, dear, what can the matter be? Rutherfoord’s sick of the fairs.”” Cuaprer II. Lovisowp.—Wheace comes this cavalcade? Cnaxtes.—I know not. Perchance from Bedlam. Ovo Puay. "Twas ten o'clock, a.m. Rutherfoord, ar- rayed in his store-clothes, and wrapping his ulster around him, stood on the front-stoop of the Castle, ‘What ho, my horse!” he cried, In five minutes a dozen grooms had brought a dozen horses. “ Know, vile caitiffs,” cried Rutherfoord, “that when I propose to ride the horses must be here when I step on the stoop, or I'll send you to the deepest dungeon ‘neath the Castle's moat, That's the kind of a hair-pin I am,” he added, as he tapped the top of his plug-hat with his finger. Then those who were to accompany him aj proached. The Margravine was adorned in the latest style, and stood by Rutherfoord’s side. Now came Rutherfoord’s Spruch-Sprecher (sayer of long sentences), and his Ainne-Singer (player on the piano and song-singer), and his Hof- Narr (doer of funny things, such as sending battleships up the Mississippi). They mounted upon their steeds, and boldly ahd manfully they made their way towards the tent in which was held the county fair, Ruth- erfoord rode his Arabian charger, the Margra- vine caracoled upon her dark-colored jennet, and the rest of the troop were mounted on piebald ponies. “ Rutherfoord,” said his wife, ‘I wish our folks could see us now. They'd be compelled to admit that we are some—some—" “ Pumpkins,” suggested Rutherfoord. “ You're a fool!” said the Margravine. “That's not an original observation with you,” added he with a sigh. Cuarter Il, Cou —What shall I say to him, who's 90 obtuse? Daruxa—Why, boo! say boo to him, and call, ‘Snarvann’s CALENDAR, The tent in which the country fair was held was crowded with people and—things, when Rutherfoord entered. He was ushered in by the chairman, who treated the Margrave and his party with great deference, and pointed out to them the most remarkable objects there. Rutherford and his wife viewed with delight the giant turnips and squashes, which were spread before them. “My dear,” exclaimed Rutherford, “look at that cabbage. Why, it is fully as big as your head, hat and all!” “And has more in it than your head has,” added the Margravine, sharply. That discouraged Rutherford, and he merely observed the giant tomatoes and corn without remark. Presently they passed a smaller tent, and Rutherford inquired of his conductor what it was designed. “ For to feast in, your honor,” said the chair- man, bowing. “Is everything free?” asked Rutherfoord eagerly. “ Everything,” responded the chairman. “Then,” cried Rutherfoord, turning to the throng that surrounded him, “I order that there be distributed, among my good lieges here present, a butt of Malms—” “Rutherfoord!” cried the Margravine, ere he could name the wine. “ A butt of soda-water, my dear,” explained he, ‘Those who had taken off their hats, to throw them in the air, replaced them on their heads, and uttered some mild cheers. Soda-water is not a cheerful drink. Then Rutherfoord ascended a platform, in order that he might address his liege subjects. He explained to them fully that the times were very good, crops large, business active, and money plenty, and that, though heaven had had some little to do with it, yet those good things were chiefly due to him, Rutherford, their Margrave. He was expatiating at great length on this proposition, much to the delight of the Margravine, who sat close by him, and nodded her head repeatedly in approval, when the manager approached him, and whispered in his ear. “You're sure your goose is cooked?” asked Rutherfoord of the manager. “Certain,” answered the chairman, “Then I am all with you,” exclaimed Rutherfoord. He winked to the Margravine, who edged away towards the lunch tent. “And now, my liege subjects,” said Ruther- foord, I must retire, but I will leave my Spruch- Sprecher here to address you, His words of wisdom you will find ‘linked sweetness long drawn out.’ I would speak longer, but I am informed that the goose—the noble emblem of the house of Haize—is done to a turn. Not only is it the emblem of our house, but it is my favorite fodder.” And then the noble speaker added, as if the words came from his stom—that is, heart—the old rhyme: « For it is my opinion That, stuffed with sage and inyon, No bird that flies Is half so nice As goose, with sage and inyon.” * CHaprer IV, Qut of his jaws his breath Voileyed and thundered. —Taxwvson. The Spruck Sprecher took the stand as soon as Rutherfoord had retired. He spoke during all the time the feast lasted, during all the post- prandial toasts, during all the time that Ruther- foord was filling himself with soda-water and Vichy, and during all the time that Rutherfoord and the feasters were making another examina- tion of the turnips, and cabbages, and squashes. When Rutherford and his party again arrived at the platform, the Spruch-Sprecher had reached a colon, and everybody agreed to wait until he struck a period. They waited and waited, till finally, when darkness came down, they went away. Everything was removed from the fair grounds, and the tent was taken away, and yet that Spruch-Sprecher kept talking. Meanwhile Rutherfoord and the rest of his party rode sadly homeward. Rutherfoord was too full of goose to feel comfortable. When they reached the castle he felt worse. “My dear,” said he to his wife, ‘I do not feel very well. I think about a thimble-full of in—" 8 “No, no, Rutherfoord,” said the Margravine, “that is the way confirmed sots are made. Taking liquor medicinally is a very dangerous thing. I know what will do you good. A little nice herb-tea is the thing.” “ There, there, my dear,” exclaimed Ruther- foord witha wry face, “I am quite well now.” At about 2 o'clock aw there was a terrible ringing at the front-door of the Castle de Blanc. Rutherfoord rose from his bed, and groped his way downstairs. As he opened the door, the Spruch-Sprecher entered, “Did you strike a period?” asked Ruther- foord. “About one o'clock,” answered the Spruch- Sprecher, “It's the longest sentence on record, and 1 am exhausted. I must hurry to my rooms and get a drop of gi “My dear fellow,” cried Rutherford, scizing the Spruch-Sprecher’s arm, ‘let me help you to your room.” Athalf-past twoo'clock Rutherfoord returned to his waiting wife. As he placed his head on the pillow the Margravine sat up. “ Rutherfoord,” she cried, “ have you been drinking? I smell gin!" “No, my dear,” said Rutherfoord slowly, “ but the Spruch-Sprecher was full of it when I let him in, and he breathed his breath all over me.” “ Rutherfoord,” said the Margravine, as she again placed her head on the pillow, “ we must send that Sp*ich-Sprecher on a mission some- where.” “Yes, my dear, I—hic—quite agree with you—hic,” said Rutherfoord, Then Rutherfoord the Good and his wife fell asleep, and dreamed of thousands of county fairs yet to come.