Uncle Joe's Stories

For tyrants like Famcram I greatly detest,
And if your good father was not such a dolt,
From the land of the despot he'd speedily bolt.
For Binks and for Chinks I have nothing to say,
And they're probably just as well out of the way;
But as to their daughters – I'm really inclined
To think that the king has gone out of his mind,
And in your case, I'll teach him, as well as I can,
A woman has rights just as much as a man,
And he's vastly mistaken, poor wretch, if he thinks
A god-child of mine is the same as Miss Binks.
Now listen to me: when King Famcram comes here,
Betray not the slightest suspicion of fear,
But enter, quite calmly, the banqueting room
Arrayed in your commonest morning costume.
He'll show irritation; and rage, beyond doubt
(You know he could scarcely be royal without);
But never mind that, tho' he rages meanwhile,
Bestow on the fool a contemptuous smile;
In spite of his anger, continue the same,
And ask 'If he isn't content, why he came?'
Whate'er he replies, pray be careful of this,
And do not one word or one syllable miss;
As soon as he threatens, stand just as you are,
But hold up before him this earthenware jar,
Remarking, 'King Famcram, determined I am
To ask you to taste of my raspberry jam.'
He'll do it – he must – since, the truth for to tell,
This jar carries with it a wonderful spell;
And when I've said o'er it the words I'll now say,
Whoever you choose will acknowledge your sway.
While kept in your hand (not a difficult task)
Each person you speak to will do what you ask;
And once the jam tasted, you'll have for your slave
King Famcram, and teach him the way to behave.
But keep the jar safe, for, broken or chipped,
Of your spell and your sway you'll be speedily stripped."

With these words the old lady, who, whilst speaking, had pulled out of some pocket or other, or else from the folds of her umbrella, a small jar, now held it aloft in her hand and displayed it before the eyes of Ophelia. As soon as she had done so for as long a time as she thought fit, she stuck her umbrella firmly into the ground, and holding the jar immediately over it, pronounced certain mystic and fearful words, which no mortal of ordinary nature could utter, much less write, and which there is the less reason to mention, because if they were written or uttered, no child of man could possibly understand them. But when she had finished this fearful muttering to herself, she spoke out more loudly, addressing herself thus to the jar and its contents:

"Jar! possessed of mighty spell,
Do thy work, and do it well.
Serve Ophelia night and day —
Famcram bring beneath her sway.
Jam! do duty day and night;
Tempt the royal appetite —
Be to Famcram wine and meat,
Bring him to Ophelia's feet;
Cause him eagerly to crave
Life but as Ophelia's slave;
Bow him humbly, bring him down,
At her footstool place his crown,
And, thy mission to fulfil,
Let him live but by her will."

Having finished her incantation, and repeated these lines in a voice sufficiently distinct, though not unlike the croak of a raven, the old woman now turned once more to Ophelia, as if to ascertain whether she had anything more to say. The maiden smiled sweetly upon her, and at once expressed her thanks in the following words: —

"Dear godmother! how good thou art!
The burden now has left my heart,
Which like a weight has bowed me down
With fear of tyrant Famcram's frown.
Well do I know 'twere hard to find
A councillor more wise and kind;
And, with thy might and magic aid
No longer shall I feel afraid.
I'll use the jar and jam as told,
And very tight the former hold,
And when King Famcram is subdued
I, with this magic power imbued,
Will make him slave – and let him know it —
And ne'er forget to whom I owe it!"

So speaking, Ophelia held out her hand for the promised jar, when the old woman, making a stride forward, placed it in her hands, and then, throwing both her arms round the maiden, clasped her tightly in a long and loving embrace with which she could very well have dispensed. Gratitude, however, for the immense favour which she was about to receive at the hands of her excellent godmother, prevented her from disclosing the repugnance which she probably felt at the vehemence of the old lady's affection, and having endured it with silent fortitude, she took the jar into her hands, and, bidding her companion a respectful farewell, forthwith re-entered the private door through which she had come, and shortly disappeared within the house.

The old woman then took up her umbrella, and slowly descending the bank of the river to the rushes from which she had emerged, speedily became invisible. The shades of night closed in, and darkness soon set its seal upon the Pigmy capital and nation.

The Chief Justice did not see his daughter that evening, and although he had great confidence in her sagacity, talents, and resources, it must be confessed that he rose next morning with a heavy heart. In all probability, he thought, it was his last day of office, and not only of office, but of freedom. With the fate of the Prime Minister and the Lord Chamberlain before his eyes, how could he possibly hope to escape? For a moment the thought of flight crossed his mind, but was as instantly banished. His hopes, his wealth, his relations, his home – everything that could make life pleasant was fixed and centred in his native country, and at his age no change was to be thought of or could be endured. And then, where could he fly to, and how escape from the tyrant's spies?

No: the thought was madness – the event, be it what it might, must be encountered: the morrow must come in its due course, and, after all, he, a lawyer, a statesman and a philosopher, ought to be able to put up with his fate at least as well as other people.

While the worthy Pigspud thus mused upon the melancholy prospect before him, he was interrupted by the approach of his daughter, the calmness of whose countenance and demeanour was certainly calculated to reassure her anxious parent. However, although she spoke hopefully and bade the old man take courage and be sure that things would turn out better than he expected, she told him not one word about her secret interview of the previous evening, or of the powerful assistance she had procured.

So the old gentleman passed but a sad day, and could only console himself by resolving to be loyal to the last to his sovereign, and to provide him an entertainment of which he should not be ashamed.

Vast, indeed, were the preparations made for that banquet. So many delicacies had probably not been collected together for one repast within the memory of man. Nothing was omitted. From the oysters with which each guest was to be furnished at the beginning, down to the liqueurs at the end of the feast, everything was there, and everything was in perfection.

Pigspud had even hired a special poet to compose and recite an ode in praise of the King, but there were doubts expressed as to the complete success of the composition, confined as it was to the doings of the table, and celebrating dishes which were made to tickle the palate by their taste rather than the ear by their well-sung praises. The ode began, —

"Come servants all, the table put on
Well-roasted beef and tender mutton.
Guests, down your throats white veal and lamb cram,
And drink the health of good King Famcram!
Consume the oaten cakes and wheat-bread,
The calves-foot jelly and the sweet-bread,
And own the table splendid, that is
So well supplied with oyster-patties."

There was much more of this, in a similar strain, but in the confusion that afterwards followed, and in the interesting events which I shall presently have to chronicle, the ode itself was lost, and as no copies could be afterwards obtained, I am unable to supply the rest of it to the anxious reader. With regard to the entertainment, generally, there was certainly no fault to be found.

Old Winelees and Mrs. Brushemup had surpassed themselves, and the confectioners, cooks and pastrycooks to whom had been assigned the duties connected with the preparation of the affair, had exerted themselves beyond all praise.