JACK AND JILL IN VARIATIONS

While on soldier duty in the Philippine Islands, Professor O. W. Coursey clipped from a United States newspaper furnished by the Red Cross Society the following account of "Jack and Jill" Whoever the author of it, "C. N.," is, we do not know, but we take off our hats to his or her mastery of style.

           

               Jack and Jill went up the hill

            To get a pail of water.           

Jack fell down and broke his crown

            And Jill came tumbling after.

It is all a matter of temperament. Mother Goose was not given to sentiment, and so could report with coolness this great tragedy. The same sad sight wit­nessed by another might have been the occasion for awful warning, for philosophic speculation, for mournful story long drawn out.

Milton, indeed, used it as the theme for an immortal epic, and with his weary head upon his hand he wrote:

Of Jack's great fall from that high eminence,

 From which fell also his companion Jill,

While they were climbing hither to a spring

In hope that they might dip one sparkling cup

Of water, and so quench their parching thirst,

 Sing, heavenly muse.

Whittier, with honest sorrow, would have sung:

Alas for Jack! alas for Jill!

That fateful quest for mountain rill

And alas for any whom ills betide,

 Upon a treacherous mountain side!

 For of all hard trials, the hardest lies

In slipping when so near our prize.

 Mrs. Hemans would have pointed the moral in this way:

The boy stood there with his happy face

            Beside his sweetheart Jill.

Within his bucket was no trace

            Of water from the hill.

The father's unexpected call

            Alarmed the pretty Jill,

And in their haste to answer him

            Both tumbled down the hill.

­

Tennyson would have sighed as he sung:

            Rich sunshine fills the vale and hills,

            Two tender children, girl and brother,

Start out to bring from the high spring

A cup of water to their mother.

"Hie, children, hie!" we hear her faint voice crying,

"Yes, mother, yes," the children answer,

hieing, hieing,             hieing.

0 fate, 0 death! They feel my breath,

            For as they climb the rocky slope

The brother slips, the sister trips,

            And shattered is the mother's hope.

"Come, children, come," we hear her sad voice crying,

"Come, children, come," the echo answers, dying, dying,

            dying.

­

            And poor Robert Burns, with a heart full of sorrow, would have said with touching tenderness:

            Ye birds that sing sae merrily,

            And bitterly bid me sweet good morrow,

            Wi' ye nae breathe some sadder note?

            Oh, ken ye not some sang O' sorrow?

            'Twi' break my heart, unless thou'll cease

            To warble thus thy mirth and gladn~

            For my twa e'en are fu' O' tears,

            And i' my heart is muckle sadness.

            Oft gaze I on the quiet hill,

            And see my bairns, my lass, my daughter,

            And her fair brother, gae to bring

            From yonder spring a cup of water.

            O birds, wi' ye nae mourn wi' me,

            O'er these, my bonnie girl and brother?

            Wi' ye nae bring me flowers and leaves,

            And help these hands their graves to cover?

­

 Wordsworth would have been pleased with the simplicity of this story, though it would have troubled him to have ended it so tragically. Doubtless he would have said something like this:

He dwelt within a lowly cot,

            Beside a towering hill;

A boy who shared his simple lot

            With his loved sister Jill.

One day they wandered forth full gay,

            To find a mountain-rill,

At eventide they made their grave

            By this unfriendly hill.

Had he witnessed such a scene as this, dear Wilt Shakespeare would have fallen into a reverie:

Was it Jack or was it Jill?

That is the question.

Could it be Jill who pushed her brother down

And caused that pail of water to be spilled,

And that poor skull to crack in such way

And work such inconvenience?

 Oh, yes, 'twas Jill! No other.

 She only thought that she would end

 Those ills which at that instant did confront her

And stir her spirit-' twas a consummation

Devoutly to be wished.

To give one push!

To push! Perchance to fall herself!

Ay, there's the rub.

 But in that deed she saw no cause of fear,

Which to an act so treacherous and unwise,

Should give a pause.

Longfellow would have made a kind of melodrama, something on this order:

            And the setting sun descending

            Threw its light upon the mountain,

To this slope went boy and maiden,

Traveling toward a pool of water.

Oh, the hard and treacherous hillside!

Oh, the slippery, stony pathway!

 Fatal 'twas to many a brave one,

Fatal, too, unto our hero.

'Neath his feet a trembling boulder

Moved a little toward the valley;

To the valley fell our hero.

Quick the maiden's heart was beating,

And with out a moment's pausing,

Thus aloud she spoke, declaring,

"I will go where'er thou goest!"

Then from off the selfsame boulder

Down the maiden cast her body.

Thus departed girl and lover;

In their death they're not divided.

Poe would never have taken this accident to Jack and Jill so much to heart, but in a half reckless mood he would have written:

Once upon a morning merry,

 Jack and Jill felt quite contrary,

As they wandered forth together

to fetch water from the hill.

As they sauntered, acting badly,

Jack began to speak most madly,

And his temper was most sadly

 patterned after sister Jill;

For his tasting she chastised him,

 gave a push and lost her balance,

            And both tumbled down the hill.

            C. N., in Vermillion Republic, Buffalo, I88g.