LITERATURE.

Globe, Volume XXII, Issue 2090, 4 November 1880, Page 3

LITERATURE.

AH CHOY—BAEBAEIAN, AND THE CIRCUMSTANCES ATTENDING HIS CIVILISATION, By E. H. Clough. [Argonaut. I ’] With a whoop and a yell the young reprobates sprang from their covert in the chaparral, discharged a volley of rocks at the defenceless form of Ah Choy, and when that persecuted wretch turned and attempted to climb the steep river bluff, with the evident intention of punishing the boys, they scattered and disappeared among the pines as suddenly as they had appeared. With a muttered curse, in choice Cantonese, the baffled Mongolian returned to the river path. He had not proceeded a dozen paces when another volley brought him to a standstill, his impotent wrath wrinkling his sallow countenance, and his little bleared eyes sparkling with rage. ‘ Wha' for ?’ he shrieked, as he shook his clenched hand at his enemies. The urchins, secure in their fastness among the beetling crags, only laughed the louder, and replied by raining down another shower of pebbles. It was cruel sport, but the boys relished it as only boys can. It was more exquisite sport than pelting frogs in a stagnant pool. There was a certain element of excitement in it—just the faintest tinge of danger. Every time the Chinaman dodged, the boys screamed with delight, and when a stone better aimed than aimed than usnal struck its mark, the fact was shouted from one to the other with fiendish glee. It was certainly a most unequal contest. The Stanislaus River, swollen high in impetuous flood of mountain snow water, rushed roaring by at the Chinaman's back. Before him towered precipitous bluffs, reefed and ridged with ragged slate and flint-rook boulders, among which grew thickets of pine, chaparral, and buckeye. It was from this impregnable natural fortress that the juvenile Bashl-Bazonks conducted their attack. It was useless for Ah Choy to attempt to scale thohilleide, for, the moment he plunged into the underbush, the young Ishmaelites sprang to cover, and, like a flock of goats, clambered through the rocks to a safer position, again to harass and jeer at their victim. It was useless for him to run—his persecutors could follow the path and hurl their missiles as they ran. There seemed to be no hope of escape, and his danger became momentarily greater The rocks fell around him like hail, and occasionally one of them struck him on the shoulder or arm. Bis head or chest might receive the next wound. All he could do was to stand and shout ‘Wha’ for?’ supplementing that mutilated English enquiry with the direst curses and objurgations known to his Chinese tongue. His threats and curses were alike vain, and only served to draw down upon him louder peala of merry childish laughter, and thicker showers of jagged slate or larger fragments of gleaming quartz. Thus does the infant mind of the proud Saxon delight in impaliug files on the keen point of a penetrative pin, glorying the while, and rejoicing to see the helpless insect struggling In its death agony. Asa fitting sequel to the fusillade, one of the rooks, thrown by the hacd of a shockheaded youngster, whose activity and commanding tone proclaimed him a leader of the band, struck Ah Choy on the head, crashing the light straw hat that he wore, and raising a Himalayan welt npon bis sknll, in close proximity to the roots of hia greasy queue. The boys shouted to see the poor wretch stagger, stunned and dazed. But the echo had scarcely caught the impish laughter 1 when a sterner voice rang out through the

momfng air, startling all other human sounds to silence:

* Let up on thet, yon young scalawags, or I’ll come down there a' break every bone in yer bodies. It’ye hear? Drop them rocks, you young imps o’ the devil. Jack Billings, ef ye throw another atene at that Chinaman, I’ll skin je alive. Aint ye aehamed o’ yourselves, to go scootin’ round the country beltin’ poor helpless Chinamen, ez can’t hit back ? What kind o’ bringin’ fup hev ye hed ? Where’s yer Sunday-school teaohin’s an’ yer principle, ye heathens ? Ef I was thet Chinaman, I’d cut ev’ry one o’ yer throats from year to year. Now, you boys go ’long ’bout yer bizoess, an’let thet Chinaman alone. Ye oughter know better’n to treat a dog the way ye’ve been treatin’ him. Go on now, an’ don’t ye let me ketch ye stonin’ any more Chinamen—ef ye do, 111 whalo ye ’ithin an inch o’yer lives. Now, mind 1 ’ The boyi slunk back into the brush, leaving the tall stalwart form of their threatened Nemesis standing outlined against the yellow herbage of the hillside, as motionless os a statue. He remained in this position until the distant whoop of thebojs indicated that they had relinquished all thoughts of renewing their attack upon the Chinaman. Then, with a half-audible remark regarding the fact that ‘boys will be boys,’ he descended the trail and approached the late victim of juvenile tyranny. ‘ Hullo, John I ’ he shouted, as he reached the Mongolian, ‘ them kids used ye pretty rough, I should jadge, didn’t they ? ’ ‘Too muohea dlam hooglum,’ was the pertinent reply of Ah Ohoy as he tenderly unfolded his ample queue, and, with his thin yellow talon-like fingers, caressed the spot where Jack Billings’s rock had landed, * Yes, John, they’re hoodlums, thot’s a fact, or they wouldn’t go browsin’ round the country stonin’ poor harmless roosters like you. Air ye hurt bad ? ’ * Too muchee,’ answered the wounded man, with sullen emphasis, as he stumbled toward the river, to bathe his injury. ‘ Too much fur you, I reckon,’ commented his protector ; 1 but I guess ye’ll git over it. Put a slice o’ raw beef on it; thet’ll fetch it.’ With this medical advice, the white man turned on hla heel and started up the river. He had not proceeded beyond earshot when Ah Choy hailed him—

‘ Melioan man! ma llkee tallica you.’ The other turned, and at the spectacle of Ah Ohoy, dripping like a saffron river god with the water ho had ponred npon his wound, laughed a loud merry laugh, ‘ Well, you ol’ chicken, what’s the matter now ? ’ he enquired. * What you callem you ? ’ ‘ What do I call myself ? ’ ‘Yea ; what name you ? ’ ‘ Thet’s a funny question fur a Chinaman to ask. My name’s Bums, John—Scotty Burns.’ ‘ Solotty Bluns,’ repeated the Chinaman, as if wishing to impress it upon his memory. * Me call you Sclotty, alia slame, eh ? ’ * Well, thet’s puttin’ it purty familiar on short acquaintance; but seein’ ez yer a heathen barbarian, an’ can’t vote, I reckon yer kinder prev’ledged, ez it were. I wouldn’t mind ef ye’d pnt it a little plainer ez to the pronouncin’ o’ the name; but I s’pose thet’ll hev to go, too—’taint to be expected thet yer uncivilised tongue ken slip round sech a civilised name ez Scotty Burns; not easy, anyhow; an’, ez the ’Merican language ain’t yer best holt, I don’t see no use in growlin’ at ye fur what ye ain’t cut out fur. ’ Ah Choy listened attentively to the fastidious logic of Scotty, not a muscle iu his saddle-hued countenance twitching, not a glimmer of intelligence lighting his restless black eyss. ‘ Where you live, Solotty?’ ‘ Now ye put it a little too strong, John, Where do I live? Mebhe ye’d like to know, bo’s ye could hunt me up some night, and rob mo when I was asleep Yer » treach’rons sort o’ rcptll, but yer kind never laid a straw in my way, a’ ez I don’t intend ye shall I’ll tell ye where I live. Look here, John, you sabe Soldier Gulch ? ’ ‘Me shabbee.’ * Well, you go up Soldier Gulch—you sabe up ? ’ (Pantomime.) ‘ Me shabbee, ’ * You come, bimeby, ’rastra—yon sabe ’rastraf ’ *Me shabbee. Alia slame tnrnee turnee.’ (Chinese pantomime explanatory of the revolution of arastra drags ) * Yen’ve struck it, John. I b’lieve I could oivilise you In & month or two. blamed ef I don’t. Well, thet’s where I live. An’, blast yer barbarian heart, ef I catch you prowlin’ round my cabin, lay in’ low fur what ain’t yourn, I’ll blow the whole top o’ yer head off! Sabe?’

‘Me no shabbee.’ *Ye don’t, eh !• Yon aabe steal ? ’ ‘Me no stealee; me alle slama too machee lonest. ’

‘ I’m glad to hear it, my heathen friend, far ye’ll find it the best polioy ye ever tackled ’specially in your dealin’s ’lth me.’ There was a short pause In the confer* enoo, as if each party was seeking In his own mind to gauge the motives of the other. Presently the Chinamen reopened the debate : * Yon pletty glood man.’ ‘Thet’s oompliment’ry, anyhow.’ ‘You shabbee me, me shabbee you.’ ‘ Bully fur us.’ ‘ Me likee you, you likee me.’ ‘ Thet depends. I can’t say Igo my bottom dollar on you, but I don’t want to see ye abused when yer mindin’ yer own bizness, an’ ain’t round robbin’ sluices on’ chicken roosts. ’ ‘ All light. You likee mee, me likee you —me likee washes you.’ ‘Not much, John, I don’t object to lottin’ ye know my full name; I don’t say nothin’ when ye chew it all to pieces ; I’m even willin’ ye should know where I bunk (though mebba it’s runnin’ a mighty big risk), but I’ll be hanged eff I’m goin’ to let ye wash me. No, sir. ’ ‘Me likee washes you,’ persisted Ah Choy, this time rendering himself intelligible by a pantomime illustrative of the process by which soiled linen is cleansed on a washboard. *Me no charge you one dlam cent,’ ho added earnestly. ‘Oh, now I understsn’ ye. Ye want to wash my dads. ‘ Well, ez yer terms are purty lib’ral, I reckon I’ll try ye. But ef I miss anything out o’ my wash when ye fetch it home Saturday night (Saturday night, mind ye, ‘cause I go courtin’ Sundays ’ith a biled shirt) I’ll make it mighty warm for ye. You sabe ? ’ ‘Me shabbee, me ketchee washee, me fetchee washee Slataday.’ ‘All right, John. So long—l can’t stay hero all day. ’ ‘ Bimeby me see you, Sclotty. Glood bly.’ And so they parted, Burns pursuing his way up the river, and Ah Choy shambling in the opposite direction. Twilight was creeping, ‘like a hooded nun,’ through the pine thickets fringing the crest of Soldier Gulch, as Scotty Burns lay upon a rude bunk in his cabin, listening to the monotonous creaking of the arastra machinery, mingling with the rush and roar of the water against the_ hurdy-gurdy wheel which supplied the motive power of the primitive qnartz crusher. His ear had become so familiar with the confusion of sound arising from the machinery, that the least disarrangement of the gearing, the slipping of a belt, the loosening of a drag, even the addition of an inch of water on the wheel was instantly detected, although the arastra was a considerable distance from the cabin. Scotty was so intently listening to the arastra that he failed to notice the entrance of a shambling shu filing form. ‘ Me ketchee washee.' Burns turned with a start, and for an instant gazed stupefied at the apparition. Then he laughed. ‘ Look here,’ he exclaimed; ‘ don’t yon know no better’n to come into a man’s house ’ithont knockin’? What kind o’ bringin’ up hev ye bed, anyhow? But I don’t s’poso ye could expect anything else of an uncivilised heathen so I’ll let it pass till I get a chance to regulate your manners.’ ‘ Me ketchee washee.’ * All right John, jest hist out thet ol’ trunk, under thet bunk there—l’ve stowed all my dirty duds into that.’ (2> be continued .)

A preacher at a Sunday aohool eiouwion described heaven as an eternity of picnics—and several young men members of his congregation, who lugged baskets weighing nearly a ton each and climbed high trees to put up swines, have left church.” —“ Norristown Herald.”