diumenge, 15 de novembre de 2015

BUDGE AND TODDIE BY JOHN HABBERTON My Sunday dinner was unexceptional in point of quantity and quality, and a bottle of my brother-in-law's claret proved to be most excellent; yet a certain uneasiness of mind prevented my enjoying the meal as thoroughly as under other circumstances I might have done. My uneasiness came of a mingled sense of responsibility and ignorance. I felt that it was the proper thing for me to see that my nephews spent the day with some sense of the requirements and duties of the Sabbath; but how I was to bring it about, I hardly knew. The boys were too small to have Bible-lessons administered to them, and they were too lively to be kept quiet by any ordinary means. After a great deal of thought, I determined to consult the children themselves, and try to learn what their parents' custom had been. "Budge," said I, "what do you do Sundays when your papa and mama are home? What do they read to you,—what do they talk about?" "Oh, they swing us—lots!" said Budge, with brightening eyes. "An' zey takes us to get jacks," observed Toddie. "Oh, yes!" exclaimed Budge; "jacks-in-the-pulpit—don't you know?" "Hum—ye—es; I do remember some such thing in my[Pg 1693] youthful days. They grow where there's plenty of mud, don't they?" "Yes, an' there's a brook there, an' ferns, an' birch-bark, an' if you don't look out you'll tumble into the brook when you go to get birch." "An' we goes to Hawksnest Rock," piped Toddie, "an' papa carries us up on his back when we gets tired." "An' he makes us whistles," said Budge. "Budge," said I, rather hastily, "enough. In the language of the poet "'These earthly pleasures I resign,' and I'm rather astonished that your papa hasn't taught you to do likewise. Don't he ever read to you?" "Oh, yes," cried Budge, clapping his hands, as a happy thought struck him. "He gets down the Bible—the great big Bible, you know—an' we all lay on the floor, an' he reads us stories out of it. There's David, an' Noah, an' when Christ was a little boy, an' Joseph, an' turnbackPharo'sarmyhallelujah—" "And what?" "TurnbackPharo'sarmyhallelujah," repeated Budge. "Don't you know how Moses held out his cane over the Red Sea, an' the water went way up one side, an' way up the other side, and all the Isrulites went across? It's just the same thing as drownoldPharo'sarmyhallelujah—don't you know?" "Budge," said I, "I suspect you of having heard the Jubilee Singers." "Oh, and papa and mama sings us all those Jubilee songs—there's 'Swing Low,' an' 'Roll Jordan,' an' 'Steal Away,' an' 'My Way's Cloudy,' an' 'Get on Board, Childuns,' an' lots. An' you can sing us every one of 'em."[Pg 1694] "An' papa takes us in the woods, an' makesh us canes," said Toddie. "Yes," said Budge, "and where there's new houses buildin', he takes us up ladders." "Has he any way of putting an extension on the afternoon?" I asked. "I don't know what that is," said Budge, "but he puts an India-rubber blanket on the grass, and then we all lie down an' make b'lieve we're soldiers asleep. Only sometimes when we wake up papa stays asleep, an' mama won't let us wake him. I don't think that's a very nice play." "Well, I think Bible stories are nicer than anything else, don't you?" Budge seemed somewhat in doubt. "I think swingin' is nicer," said he—"oh, no;—let's get some jacks—I'll tell you what!—make us whistles, an' we can blow on 'em while we're goin' to get the jacks. Toddie, dear, wouldn't you like jacks and whistles?" "Yesh—an' swingin'—an' birch—an' wantsh to go to Hawksnesh Rock," answered Toddie. "Let's have Bible stories first," said I. "The Lord mightn't like it if you didn't learn anything good to-day." "Well," said Budge, with the regulation religious-matter-of-duty face, "let's. I guess I like 'bout Joseph best." "Tell us 'bout Bliaff," suggested Toddie. "Oh, no, Tod," remonstrated Budge; "Joseph's coat was just as bloody as Goliath's head was." Then Budge turned to me and explained that "all Tod likes Goliath for is 'cause when his head was cut off it was all bloody." And then Toddie—the airy sprite whom his mother described as being irresistibly drawn to whatever was beautiful—Toddie glared upon me as a butcher's apprentice might stare at a doomed lamb, and remarked:[Pg 1695] "Bliaff's head was all bluggy, an' David's sword was all bluggy—bluggy as everyfing." I hastily breathed a small prayer, opened the Bible, turned to the story of Joseph, and audibly condensed it as I read: "Joseph was a good little boy whose papa loved him very dearly. But his brothers didn't like him. And they sold him, to go to Egypt. And he was very smart, and told the people what their dreams meant, and he got to be a great man. And his brothers went to Egypt to buy corn, and Joseph sold them some, and then he let them know who he was. And he sent them home to bring their papa to Egypt, and then they all lived there together." "That's ain't it," remarked Toddie, with the air of a man who felt himself to be unjustly treated. "Is it, Budge?" "Oh, no," said Budge, "you didn't read it good a bit; I'll tell you how it is. Once there was a little boy named Joseph, an' he had eleven budders—they was awful eleven budders. An' his papa gave him a new coat, an' his budders hadn't nothin' but their old jackets to wear. An' one day he was carryin' 'em their dinner, an' they put him in a deep, dark hole, but they didn't put his nice new coat in—they killed a kid, an' dipped the coat—just think of doin' that to a nice new coat—they dipped it in the kid's blood, an' made it all bloody." "All bluggy," echoed Toddy, with ferocious emphasis. Budge continued: "But there were some Ishmalites comin' along that way, and the awful eleven budders took him out of the deep, dark hole, an' sold him to the Ishmalites, and they sold him away down in Egypt. An' his poor old papa cried, an' cried, 'cause he thought a big lion ate Joseph up; but he wasn't ate up a bit; but there wasn't no post-office[Pg 1696] nor choo-choos,[1] nor stages in Egypt, an' there wasn't any telegraphs, so Joseph couldn't let his papa know where he was; an' he got so smart an' so good that the king of Egypt let him sell all the corn an' take care of the money; an' one day some men came to buy some corn, an' Joseph looked at 'em an' there they was his own budders! An' he scared 'em like everything; I'd have slapped 'em all if I'd been Joseph, but he just scared 'em, an' then he let 'em know who he was, an' he kissed 'em an' he didn't whip 'em, or make 'em go without their breakfast, or stand in a corner, nor none of them things; an' then he sent 'em back for their papa, an' when he saw his papa comin', he ran like everything, and gave him a great big hug and a kiss. Joseph was too big to ask his papa if he'd brought him any candy, but he was awful glad to see him. An' the king gave Joseph's papa a nice farm, an' they all had real good times after that." "And they dipped the coat in the blood, an' made it all bluggy," reiterated Toddie. "Uncle Harry," said Budge, "what do you think my papa would do if he thought I was all ate up by a lion? I guess he'd cry awful, don't you? Now tell us another story—oh, I'll tell you—read us 'bout—" "'Bout Bliaff," interrupted Toddie. "You tell me about him, Toddie," said I. "Why," said Toddie, "Bliaff was a brate bid man, an' Dave was brate little man, an' Bliaff said, 'Come over here'n an' I'll eat you up,' an' Dave said, 'I ain't fyaid of you.' So Dave put five little stones in a sling an' asked de Lord to help him, an' let ze sling go bang into bequeen Bliaff's eyes an' knocked him down dead, an' Dave took Bliaff's sword an' sworded Bliaff's head off, an' made it[Pg 1697] all bluggy, an' Bliaff runned away." This short narration was accompanied by more spirited and unexpected gestures than Mr. Gough ever puts into a long lecture. "I don't like 'bout Goliath at all," remarked Budge. "I'd like to hear 'bout Ferus." "Who?" "Ferus; don't you know?" "Never heard of him, Budge." "Why—y—y—!" exclaimed Budge; "didn't you have no papa when you was a little boy?" "Yes, but he never told me about any one named Ferus; there's no such person named in Anthon's Classical Dictionary, either. What sort of a man was he?" "Why, once there was a man, an' his name was Ferus—Offerus, an' he went about fightin' for kings, but when any king got afraid of anybody, he wouldn't fight for him no more. An' one day he couldn't find no kings that wasn't afraid of nobody. An' the people told him the Lord was the biggest king in the world, an' he wasn't afraid of nobody or nothing. An' he asked 'em where he could find the Lord, an' they said he was way up in heaven so nobody couldn't see him but the angels, but he liked folks to work for him instead of fight. So Ferus wanted to know what kind of work he could do, an' the people said there was a river not far off, where there wasn't no ferry-boats, cos the water run so fast, an' they guessed if he'd carry folks across, the Lord would like it. So Ferus went there, an' he cut him a good, strong cane, an' whenever anybody wanted to go across the river he'd carry 'em on his back. "One night he was sittin' in his little house by the fire, an' smokin' his pipe an' readin' the paper, an' 'twas rainin' an' blowin' an' hailin' an' stormin', an' he was so glad there wasn't anybody wantin' to go 'cross the river, when[Pg 1698] he heard somebody call one 'Ferus!' An' he looked out the window, but he couldn't see nobody, so he sat down again. Then somebody called 'Ferus!' again, and he opened the door again, an' there was a little bit of a boy, 'bout as big as Toddie. An' Ferus said, 'Hello, young fellow, does your mother know you're out?' An' the little boy said, 'I want to go 'cross the river.'—'Well,' says Ferus, 'you're a mighty little fellow to be travelin' alone, but hop up.' So the little boy jumped up on Ferus's back, and Ferus walked into the water. Oh, my—wasn't it cold? An' every step he took that little boy got heavier, so Ferus nearly tumbled down an' they liked to both got drownded. An' when they got across the river Ferus said, 'Well, you are the heaviest small fry I ever carried,' and he turned around to look at him, an' 'twasn't no little boy at all—'twas a big man—'twas Christ. An' Christ said, 'Ferus, I heard you was tryin' to work for me, so I thought I'd come down an' see you, an' not let you know who I was. An' now you shall have a new name; you shall be called Christofferus, cos that means Christ-carrier.' An' everybody called him Christofferus after that, an' when he died they called him Saint Christopher, cos Saint is what they called good people when they're dead." Budge himself had the face of a rapt saint as he told this story, but my contemplation of his countenance was suddenly arrested by Toddie, who, disapproving of the unexciting nature of his brother's recital, had strayed into the garden, investigated a hornet's nest, been stung, and set up a piercing shriek. He ran in to me, and as I hastily picked him up, he sobbed: "Want to be wocked.[2] Want 'Toddie one boy day.'" I rocked him violently, and petted him tenderly, but again he sobbed:[Pg 1699] "Want 'Toddie one boy day.'" "What does the child mean?" I exclaimed. "He wants you to sing to him about 'Charley boy one day,'" said Budge. "He always wants mama to sing that when he's hurt, an' then he stops crying." "I don't know it," said I. "Won't 'Roll, Jordan,' do, Toddie?" "I'll tell you how it goes," said Budge, and forthwith the youth sang the following song, a line at a time, I following him in words and air: "Where is my little bastik[3] gone?" Said Charley boy one day; "I guess some little boy or girl Has taken it away. "An' kittie, too—where ish she gone? Oh, dear, what I shall do? I wish I could my bastik find, An' little kittie, too. "I'll go to mamma's room an' look; Perhaps she may be there; For kittie likes to take a nap In mamma's easy chair. "O mamma, mamma, come an' look? See what a little heap! Here's kittie in the bastik here, All cuddled down to sleep." Where the applicability of this poem to my nephew's peculiar trouble appeared, I could not see, but as I finished it, his sobs gave place to a sigh of relief. "Toddie," said I, "do you love your Uncle Harry?" "Esh, I do love you." "Then tell me how that ridiculous song comforts you?" "Makes me feel good, an' all nicey," replied Toddie.[Pg 1700] "Wouldn't you feel just as good if I sang, 'Plunged in a gulf of dark despair?'" "No, don't like dokdishpairs; if a dokdishpair done anyfing to me, I'd knock it right down dead." With this extremely lucid remark, our conversation on this particular subject ended; but I wondered, during a few uneasy moments, whether the temporary mental aberration which had once afflicted Helen's grandfather and mine was not reappearing in this, his youngest descendant. My wondering was cut short by Budge, who remarked, in a confident tone: "Now, Uncle Harry, we'll have the whistles, I guess."WIT AND HUMOR OF AMERICA EDITED BY MARSHALL P. WILDER Volume IX Funk & Wagnalls Company New York and London Copyright MDCCCCVII, BOBBS-MERRILL COMPANY I saw her eat." "No very unnatural occurrence I should think." "But she ate an onion!" "Right my boy, right, never marry a woman who would touch an onion with a ten foot pole." ["The Collegian," University of Virginia, 1839] Pontefract - This very interesting name is English. It is a dialectual tease being the recognised pronunciation for the town in the county of Yorkshire called Pontefract, and from whence originate the famous "Pomfret Cakes" - a black liquorice sweet. There are several modern spellings including Pomfret, Pomfritt, Pomphrett and Pontefract. Amongst the early recordings are those of William Puntfreit of Essex in 1191, and Robert Pumfret of Norfolk in 1273. However spelt this is a good examples of a locational surname, being one that was given to a former inhabitant of a particular place, who had moved to another area. There he or sometimes she, was given the name of their former home as easy identification. Spelling being at best erratic and dilaects very thick lead to the development of "sounds like" spellings. The place name and hence the surname derives from the Roman (Latin) words "ponto fracto meaning " broken bridge", and another early recordings was that of Thomas le Lange de Pontefracto. This was dated 1310, in the register of the "Freeman of York" during the reign of King Edward 11nd of England, 1307 - 1327. Surnames became necessary when governments introduced personal taxation. In England this was known as Poll Tax. Throughout the centuries, surnames in every country have continued to "develop" often leading to astonishing variants of the original spelling. PONTIFEX MAKER OF BRIDGES PONTIFICIUS The briefmission statementabove can be interpreted as a reaction on twolevels against the formalist, Chomskyan tradition. First, rather than hypothesizing that language is a separate cognitive module in the mind,with its own principles, CL approaches language as part and parcel ofcognition, guided by general cognitive principles that are not restrictedto linguistic organization. In consequence, one of the major objectives ofcognitive linguists is the study of the reflection of general conceptualmechanisms in language and linguistic structure. Second, the phrase ‘‘arealistic view of acquisition, cognitive development and mental process-ing’’ can be interpreted as a reaction against the generative-linguistic hy-pothesis that grammar is essentially innate (‘‘Universal Grammar’’), andexposure to language in use only plays a secondary role in language de-velopment. CL argues, in contrast, that an individual’s knowledge of alanguage is ‘‘based in knowledge of actual usage and of generalizationsmade over usage events’’ (Taylor 2002: 27). In other words, grammar isconsidered to beusage-based, grounded in experience (and hence not asschematic as the generative grammar). This claim has important method-ological consequences relevant to the present issue. If language acquisition is a bottom-up process of generalization over usage events, then lin-guistic analysis should equally be bottom-up and data-driven, startingfrom actual language in use and making generalizations/schemas on thebasis of patterns in the usage (rather than working the other way around,formulating transformations of abstract principles so as to fit the surfaceappearance of language). The further methodological implications of thisgeneral CL claim of a usage-based grammar are elaborated in the nextsection (‘‘humor theoretical interest in cognitive linguistics’’) Cognitive Linguistics subsumes a variety of concerns and broadly compatible theoretical and the oral approaches that have a common basic outlook: that language is an inte-gral facet of cognition which reflects the interaction of social, cultural, psycho-logical, communicative and functional considerations, and which can only beunderstood in the context of a realistic view of acquisition, cognitive developmentand mental processing . . . It seeks insofar as possible to explicate language struc-ture in terms of the other facets of cognition on which it draws, as well as thecommunicative function it serves.Humor and plenty of Blowjobs VEM DECLARAR QUE SE CHAMA ELDER MAS NÃO É GRUNHO OBRIGADO, FÁ-LO POR SUA LIVRE VONTADE ,,,,DOIS GRUNHOS ENCONTRAM-SE E UM PERGUNTA A OUTRO - O QUE DÁS A UMA MULA COM CÓLICAS? - TEREBENTINA - 2 MESES DEPOIS O GRUNHO Nº1 DIXIT OLHA DEI TEREBENTINA À MULA E ELA MORREU - QUE COINCIDÊNCIA A MINHA TAMBÉM Cognitive linguistic approaches to humor Humor - International Journal of Humor Research (Impact Factor: 0.86). 08/2006; 19(3):203-228. DOI: 10.1515/HUMOR.2006.012 ABSTRACT Ever since the publication of Victor Raskin's seminal work on the Semantic Mechanisms of Humor (1985), linguistic humor research has had a decidedly cognitive orientation. The cognitive psychological roots of the Semantic Script Theory of Humor (SSTH) presented in the aforementioned book, have been adopted in a large number of studies that have appeared since. In this respect, Attardo, in a recent discussion on the cognitive turn in literary studies, points out “that linguists who study humor may well be pleased to find out that they were doing cognitive stylistics all along” (2002: 231). Indeed, the two most influential linguistic humor theories of the last two decades, the SSTH and the General Theory of Verbal Humor (GTVH, Attardo and Raskin 1991; Attardo 1994, 1997, 2001a), along with a number of other theoretical studies (Giora 1991; Kottho 1998; Yus 2003) share some significant features with the broad linguistic framework that is the methodological angle of the present thematic issue, viz. Cognitive Linguistics

THE WARRIOR

BY EUGENE FIELD

Under the window is a man,
Playing an organ all the day,
Grinding as only a cripple can,
In a moody, vague, uncertain way.

His coat is blue and upon his face
Is a look of highborn, restless pride,
There is somewhat about him of martial grace
And an empty sleeve hangs at his side.

"Tell me, warrior bold and true,
In what carnage, night or day,
Came the merciless shot to you,
Bearing your good, right arm away?"

Fire dies out in the patriot's eye,
Changed my warrior's tone and mien,
Choked by emotion he makes reply,
"Kansas—harvest—threshing machine!"




A BALLADE OF PING-PONG

BY ALDEN CHARLES NOBLE

She wears a rosebud in her hair
To mock me as it tosses free;
Were I more wise and she less fair
I fear that I should never be
A victim to such witchery;
For at her wiles and lovely arts
I'm fain to laugh with her, while she
Plays ping-pong with my heart of hearts.

The play's the thing; I wonder where,
What courtier with what courtesy
First played it, with what lady fair,
To music of what minstrelsy?
I wonder did he seem to see
Such eyes wherein a sunbeam starts,
And did he love (as I) while she
Played ping-pong with his heart of hearts?

For battledore they called it, there
In courts of gilded chivalry;
No gallant ever lived to dare
To doubt its airy potency;
But now, that all the pageantry
Of those dead emperors departs,
I dream that she in memory
Plays ping-pong with my heart of hearts.

L'ENVOI

Ah, maiden, I must sail a sea
Whereof there are no maps or charts;
Wilt thou sail too, and there with me
Play ping-pong with my heart of hearts?







1 comentari:

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    Martinho Lambert Pontefract
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    Martinho Lambert Pontefract
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    Martinho Lambert Pontefract
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    Martinho Lambert Pontefract
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    Martinho Lambert Pontefract JEAN PIERRE E JEAN BEDEL ERAM AMBOS SARGENTOS NO EXÉRCITO FRANCÊS JEAN PIERRE DIZIA EM 1988 TER ABATIDO 300 PRETINHOS JEAN BEDEL BOKASSA MATOU MAIS DE 200 MIL SE NÃO TIVESSE ANDADO A ATIRAR EM ESTUDANTES A FRANÇA AINDA O TINHA DEIXADO NÉ
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