University of Virginia Library

A DANBURY SPELLING-SCHOOL.

AN impromptu spelling-school was inaugurated in Merrill's grocery Saturday evening. A young man, who last winter aided Mr. Couch in the management of the North Centre School, conducted the class. The first word he gave out was Indian.

The first man said, "I-n, in, d-i-n, din,—Indin."

The teacher shook his head. "Well, I declare! I thot I had it," said the speller with keen disappointment; but he picked up when the second man started, and eyed him with considerable anxiety.

The next man with desperate earnestness said, "I-n, in, d-e, de, inde, u-n, un,—Indeun."

Then he sighed, and gazed anxiously at the teacher; while an old party at the end of the bench, who was watching the efforts with derisive amusement, turned the quid in his mouth, and said,—

"You ain't in a rod on't. But go on: let's see more try."

The teacher told the second speller that he, also, had failed; whereupon he sighed again.

Then the third man took hold. He squared himself upon his seat, and, holding up one finger, ticked off the letters with becoming solemnity, as follows: "I-n, in, d-d-d-a, da, inda,—i-n, in,—Indain."

The old party on the end of the bench, who had been teetering on the precipice of a laugh while this effort was being put forth, snickered right out in a loud guffaw at its conclusion.

"Well, that's a spell for you, I mus' say." And then he laughed again. The speller said nothing; but he grew very red in the face when his failure was announced, and cast a baleful glance at the old party, whose turn had now come, and who said,—

"You people should keep away from Oheo, you should. And now I'll tackle that little word;" and he smiled all over his face, while his eyes twinkled with merriment; and, looking sideways from one to the other, he rapidly spelled,—

"I-n, in, g-i-n, gin,—Ingin."

His smile deepened into a broad grin as he watched the chagrin flush to the countenances of the other spellers, who had been misled all the time on a wrong pronunciation of the word. He was grinning with all his might, when the teacher said,—

"You ain't got the right word."

"Wh—ah—ot?" and he bore down on the brazen-faced young man a look calculated to freeze him to the bone.

"Indian is the word. There is no such word as Ingin," said the teacher.

"Oh! there isn't, hey!" (sarcastically.) "You know, of course. You know all about it, you pimply"—

"But, my dear sir, I"—

"You needn't apologize to me!" shouted the old party, stamping the floor with his cane. "Who be you, anyway, putting on your airs about me? I could twist your scrawny neck off of you in two minutes, you white-livered puppy, you!"

"But, my dear sir, let me ex"—

"It isn't Ingin, is it?" ground out the old chap between his teeth. "It's somethin' else, I suppose. Oh, yes! you know, of course. And a nice one you are with your eddication! Why don't your mother send back them apples she borrowed a month ago?" and he looked around the store with a triumphant glare of sarcasm.

"But just hear me"—

"Hear you! Who are you, anyway? What's your father? When's he drawed a sober breath, I'd like to know? An' where's your smart brother, Ben! In pris'n somewhere, I'll be bound. Oh! I know your hull family like a book; and a wuss lot than they are can't be found in this neighborhood; and you just put that in your pipe and smoke it, you egregious ass! Talk to me about spellin'!" And the old man, stamping his cane again, stalked passionately out of the store.

The lesson was then postponed.