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diff --git a/6112-0.txt b/6112-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..18c5c5b --- /dev/null +++ b/6112-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,16934 @@ +The Project Gutenberg eBook of Nature and Human Nature, by Thomas Chandler Haliburton + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and +most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions +whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms +of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at +www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you +will have to check the laws of the country where you are located before +using this eBook. + +Title: Nature and Human Nature + +Author: Thomas Chandler Haliburton + +Release Date: November 10, 2002 [eBook #6112] +[Most recently updated: April 14, 2022] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: UTF-8 + +Produced by: Don Lainson + +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK NATURE AND HUMAN NATURE *** + + + + +Nature and Human Nature + +by Thomas Chandler Haliburton + +1855 + + + + +Hominem, pagina nostra sapit.—MART + +Eye nature’s walks, shoot folly as it flies, +And catch the manners living as they rise.—POPE + + + + +Contents + + CHAPTER I. A SURPRISE + CHAPTER II. CLIPPERS AND STEAMERS + CHAPTER III. A WOMAN’S HEART + CHAPTER IV. A CRITTER WITH A THOUSAND VIRTUES AND BUT ONE VICE + CHAPTER V. A NEW WAY TO LEARN GAELIC + CHAPTER VI. THE WOUNDS OF THE HEART + CHAPTER VII. FIDDLING AND DANCING, AND SERVING THE DEVIL + CHAPTER VIII. STITCHING A BUTTON-HOLE + CHAPTER IX. THE PLURAL OF MOOSE + CHAPTER X. A DAY ON THE LAKE.—PART I + CHAPTER XI. A DAY ON THE LAKE.—PART II + CHAPTER XII. THE BETROTHAL + CHAPTER XIII. A FOGGY NIGHT + CHAPTER XIV. FEMALE COLLEGES + CHAPTER XV. GIPSEYING + CHAPTER XVI. THE WORLD BEFORE THE FLOOD + CHAPTER XVII. LOST AT SEA + CHAPTER XVIII. HOLDING UP THE MIRROR + CHAPTER XIX. THE BUNDLE OF STICKS + CHAPTER XX. TOWN AND COUNTRY + CHAPTER XXI. THE HONEYMOON + CHAPTER XXII. A DISH OF CLAMS + CHAPTER XXIII. THE DEVIL’S HOLE; OR, FISH AND FLESH + CHAPTER XXIV. THE CUCUMBER LAKE + CHAPTER XXV. THE RECALL + + + + +CHAPTER I. +A SURPRISE. + + +Thinks I to myself, as I overheard a person inquire of the servant at +the door, in an unmistakeable voice and tone, “Is the Squire to hum?” +that can be no one else than my old friend Sam Slick the Clockmaker. +But it could admit of no doubt when he proceeded, “If he is, tell him +_I_ am here.” + +“Who shall I say, Sir?” + +The stranger paused a moment, and then said, “It’s such an everlastin’ +long name, I don’t think you can carry it all to wunst, and I don’t +want it broke in two. Tell him it’s a gentleman that calculates to hold +a protracted meeten here to-night. Come, don’t stand starin’ there on +the track, you might get run over. Don’t you hear the eng_ine_ coming? +Shunt off now.” + +“Ah, my old friend,” said I, advancing, and shaking him by the hand, +“how are you?” + +“As hearty as a buck,” he replied, “though I can’t jist jump quite so +high now.” + +“I knew you,” I said, “the moment I heard your voice, and if I had not +recognised that, I should have known your talk.” + +“That’s because I am a Yankee, Sir,” he said, “no two of us look alike, +or talk alike; but being free and enlightened citizens, we jist talk as +we please.” + +“Ah, my good friend, you always please when you talk, and that is more +than can be said of most men.” + +“And so will you,” he replied, “if you use soft sawder that way. Oh, +dear me! it seems but the other day that you laughed so at my theory of +soft sawder and human natur’, don’t it? They were pleasant days, warn’t +they? I often think of them, and think of them with pleasure too. As I +was passing Halifax harbour, on my way hum in the ‘Black Hawk,’ the +wind fortunately came ahead, and thinks I to myself, I will put in +there, and pull foot1 for Windsor and see the Squire, give him my +Journal, and spend an hour or two with him once more. So here I am, at +least what is left of me, and dreadful glad I am to see you too; but as +it is about your dinner hour I will go and titivate up a bit, and then +we will have a dish of chat for desert, and cigars, to remind us of +by-gones, as we stroll through your shady walks here.” + +1 The Americans are not entitled to the credit or ridicule, whichever +people may be disposed to bestow upon them, for the extraordinary +phrases with which their conversation is occasionally embellished. Some +of them have good classical authority. That of “pull-foot” may be +traced to Euripides. +“ἀναίρων ἐκ δώματων ποδὰ” + + +My old friend had worn well; he was still a wiry athletic man, and his +step as elastic and springy as ever. The constant exercise he had been +in the habit of taking had preserved his health and condition, and +these in their turn had enabled him to maintain his cheerfulness and +humour. The lines in his face were somewhat deeper, and a few +straggling grey hairs were the only traces of the hand of time. His +manner was much improved by his intercourse with the great world; but +his phraseology, in which he appeared to take both pride and pleasure, +was much the same as when I first knew him. So little indeed was he +changed, that I could scarcely believe so many years had elapsed since +we made our first tour together. + +It was the most unexpected and agreeable visit. He enlivened the +conversation at dinner with anecdotes that were often too much for the +gravity of my servant, who once or twice left the room to avoid +explosive outbreaks of laughter. Among others, he told me the following +whimsical story. + +“When the ‘Black Hawk’ was at Causeau, we happened to have a queer +original sort of man, a Nova Scotia doctor, on board, who joined our +party at Ship Harbour, for the purpose of taking a cruise with us. Not +having anything above particular to do, we left the vessel and took +passage in a coaster for Prince Edward’s Island, as my commission +required me to spend a day or two there, and inquire about the +fisheries. Well, although I don’t trade now, I spekelate sometimes when +I see a right smart chance, and especially if there is fun in the +transaction. So, sais I, ‘Doctor, I will play possum1 with these folks, +and take a rise out of them, that will astonish their weak narves, _I_ +know, while I put several hundred dollars in my pocket at the same +time.’ So I advertised that I would give four pounds ten shillings for +the largest Hackmetack knee in the island, four pounds for the second, +three pounds ten shillings for the third, and three pounds for the +fourth biggest one. I suppose, Squire, you know what a ship’s knee is, +don’t you? It is a crooked piece of timber, exactly the shape of a +man’s leg when kneeling. It forms two sides of a square, and makes a +grand fastening for the side and deck beams of a vessel. + +1 The opossum, when chased by dogs, will often pretend to be dead, and +thus deceives his pursuers. + + +“‘What in the world do you want of only four of those knees?’ said the +Doctor. + +“‘Nothing,’ said I, ‘but to raise a laugh on these critters, and make +them pay real handsome for the joke.’ + +“Well, every bushwhacker and forest ranger in the island thought he +knew where to find four enormous ones, and that he would go and get +them, and say nothing to nobody, and all that morning fixed for the +delivery they kept coming into the shipping place with them. People +couldn’t think what under the light of the living sun was going on, for +it seemed as if every team in the province was at work, and all the +countrymen were running mad on junipers. Perhaps no livin’ soul ever +see such a beautiful collection of ship-timber afore, and I am sure +never will again in a crow’s age. The way these ‘old oysters’ (a +nick-name I gave the islanders, on account of their everlastin’ beds of +this shell-fish) opened their mugs and gaped was a caution to dying +calves. + +“At the time appointed, there were eight hundred sticks on the ground, +the very best in the colony. Well, I went very gravely round and +selected the four largest, and paid for them cash down on the nail, +according to contract. The goneys seed their fix, but didn’t know how +they got into it. They didn’t think hard of me, for I advertised for +four sticks only, and I gave a very high price for them; but they did +think a little mean of themselves, that’s a fact, for each man had but +four pieces, and they were too ridiculous large for the thunderin’ +small vessels built on the island. They scratched their heads in a way +that was harrowing, even in a stubble field. + +“‘My gracious,’ sais I, ‘hackmetacks, it seems to me, is as thick in +this country as blackberries in the Fall, after the robins have left to +go to sleep for the winter. Who on earth would have thought there was +so many here? Oh, children of Israel! What a lot there is, ain’t there? +Why, the father of this island couldn’t hold them all.’ + +“‘Father of this island,’ sais they, ‘who is he?’ + +“‘Why,’ sais I, ‘ain’t this Prince Edward’s?’ + +“‘Why, yes,’ sais they, looking still more puzzled. + +“‘Well,’ sais I, ‘in the middle of Halifax harbour is King George’s +Island, and that must be the father of this.’ + +“Well if they could see any wit in that speech, it is more than I +could, to save my soul alive; but it is the easiest thing in the world +to set a crowd off a tee-heeing. They can’t help it, for it is +electrical. Go to the circus now, and you will hear a stupid joke of +the clown; well, you are determined you won’t laugh, but somehow you +can’t help it no how you can fix it, although you are mad with yourself +for doing so, and you just roar out and are as big a fool as all the +rest. + +“Well it made them laugh, and that was enough for me. + +“Sais I, ‘the wust of it is, gentle_men_, they are all so shocking +large, and there is no small ones among them; they can’t be divided +into lots, still, as you seem to be disappointed, I will make you an +offer for them, cash down, all hard gold.’ So I gave them a bid at a +very low figure, say half nothing, ‘and,’ sais I, ‘I advise you not to +take it, they are worth much more, if a man only knows what to do with +them. Some of your traders, I make no manner of doubt, will give you +twice as much if you will only take your pay in goods, at four times +their value, and perhaps they mightent like your selling them to a +stranger, for they are all responsible government-men, and act +accordin’ ‘to the well understood wishes of the people.’ I shall sail +in two hours, and you can let me know; but mind, I can only buy all or +none, for I shall have to hire a vessel to carry them. After all,’ sais +I, ‘perhaps we had better not trade, for,’ taking out a handful of +sovereigns from my pocket, and jingling them, ‘there is no two ways +about it; these little fellows are easier to carry by a long chalk than +them great lummokin’ hackmetacks. Good bye, gentle_men_.’ + +“Well, one of the critters, who was as awkward as a wrong boot, soon +calls out, ‘woh,’ to me, so I turns and sais ‘well, “old hoss,” what do +you want?’ At which they laughed louder than before. + +“Sais he, ‘we have concluded to take your offer.’ + +“‘Well,’ sais I, ‘there is no back out in me, here is your money, the +knees is mine.’ So I shipped them, and had the satisfaction to oblige +them, and put two hundred and fifty pounds in my pocket. There are +three things, Squire, I like in a spekelation:—_First._ A fair shake; +_Second._ A fair profit; and _Third,_ a fair share of fun.” + +In the course of the afternoon, he said, “Squire, I have brought you my +Journal, for I thought when I was a startin’ off, as there were some +things I should like to point out to my old friend, it would be as well +to deliver it myself and mention them, for what in natur’ is the good +of letter writing? In business there is nothing like a good face to +face talk. Now, Squire, I am really what I assume to be—I am, in fact, +Sam Slick the Clockmaker, and nobody else. It is of no consequence +however to the world whether this is really my name or an assumed one. +If it is the first, it is a matter of some importance to take care of +it and defend it; if it is a fictitious one, it is equally so to +preserve my incognito. I may not choose to give my card, and may not +desire to be known. A satirist, like an Irishman, finds it convenient +sometimes to shoot from behind a shelter. Like him, too, he may +occasionally miss his shot, and firing with intent to do bodily harm is +almost as badly punished as if death had ensued. And besides, an +anonymous book has a mystery about it. Moreover, what more right has a +man to say to you, ‘Stand and deliver your name,’ than to say, ‘Stand +and fork out your purse’—I can’t see the difference for the life of me. +Hesitation betrays guilt. If a person inquires if you are to home, the +servant is directed to say No, if you don’t want to be seen, and choose +to be among the missing. Well, if a feller asks if I am _the Mr_ Slick, +I have just as good a right to say, ‘Ask about and find out.’ + +“People sometimes, I actilly believe, take you for me. If they do, all +I have to say is they are fools not to know better, for we neither act +alike, talk alike, nor look alike, though perhaps we may think alike on +some subjects. You was bred and born here in Nova Scotia, and not in +Connecticut, and if they ask you where I was raised, tell them I warn’t +raised at all, but was found one fine morning pinned across a clothes +line, after a heavy washing to hum. It is easy to distinguish an editor +from the author, if a reader has half an eye, and if he hain’t got +that, it’s no use to offer him spectacles, that’s a fact. Now, by trade +I am a clockmaker, and by birth I have the honour to be a Yankee. I use +the word honour, Squire, a purpose, because I know what I am talking +about, which I am sorry to say is not quite so common a thing in the +world as people suppose. The English call all us Americans, Yankees, +because they don’t know what they are talking about, and are not aware +that it is only the inhabitants of New England who can boast of that +appellation.1 + +1 Brother Jonathan is the general term for all. It originated thus. +When General Washington, after being appointed commander of the army of +the Revolutionary War, came to Massachusetts to organize it, and make +preparations for the defence of the country, he found a great want of +ammunition and other means necessary to meet the powerful foe he had to +contend with, and great difficulty to obtain them. If attacked in such +condition, the cause at once might be hopeless. On one occasion at that +anxious period, a consultation of the officers and others was had, when +it seemed no way could be devised to make such preparations as was +necessary. His Excellency Jonathan Trumbull, the elder, was then +Governor of the State of Connecticut, on whose judgment and aid the +General placed the greatest reliance, and remarked, “We must consult +‘Brother Jonathan’ on the subject. The General did so, and the Governor +was successful in supplying many of the wants of the army. When +difficulties arose, and the army was spread over the country, it became +a by-word, “We must consult Brother Jonathan.” The term Yankee is still +applied to a portion, but “Brother Jonathan” has now become a +designation of the whole country, as John Bull is for +England.—BARTLETT’S AMERICANISMS. + + +“The southerners, who are both as proud and as sarcy as the British, +call us Eastern folk Yankees as a term of reproach, because having no +slaves, we are obliged to be our own niggers and do our own work, which +is’nt considered very genteel, and as we are intelligent, enterprising, +and skilful, and therefore too often creditors of our more luxurious +countrymen, they do not like us the better for that, and not being +Puritans themselves, are apt to style us scornfully, those ‘d—d +Yankees.’ + +“Now all this comes of their not knowing what they are talking about. +Even the New Englanders themselves, cute as they be, often use the word +foolishly; for, Squire, would you believe it, none of them, though they +answer to and acknowledge the appellation of Yankee with pride, can +tell you its origin. I repeat, therefore, I have the honour to be a +Yankee. I don’t mean to say that word is ‘all same,’ as the Indians +say, as perfection; far from it, for we have some peculiarities common +to us all. Cracking and boasting is one of these. Now braggin’ comes as +natural to me as scratchin’ to a Scotchman. I am as fond of rubbing +myself agin the statue of George the Third, as he is of se-sawing his +shoulders on the mile-stones of the Duke of Argyle. Each in their way +were great benefactors, the one by teaching the Yankees to respect +themselves, and the other by putting his countrymen in an upright +posture of happiness. So I can join hands with the North Briton, and +bless them both. + +“With this national and nateral infirmity therefore, is it to be +wondered at if, as my ‘Sayings and Doings’ have become more popular +than you or I ever expected, that I should crack and boast of them? I +think not. If I have a claim, my role is to go ahead with it. Now don’t +leave out my braggin’, Squire, because you are afraid people will think +it is you speaking, and not me, or because you think it is bad taste as +you call it. I know what I am at, and don’t go it—blind. My Journal +contains much for my own countrymen as well as the English, for we +expect every American abroad to sustain the reputation in himself of +our great nation. + +“Now our Minister to Victoria’s Court, when he made his brag speech to +the great agricultural dinner at Gloucester last year, didn’t intend +that for the British, but for us. So in Congress no man in either house +can speak or read an oration more than an hour long, but he can send +the whole lockrum, _includin’ what he didn’t say,_ to the papers. One +has to brag before foreign assemblies, the other before a Congress, but +both have an eye to the feelings of the Americans at large, and their +own constituents in particular. Now that is a trick others know as well +as we do. The Irish member from Kil_many,_ and him from Kil_more_, when +he brags there never was a murder in either, don’t expect the English +to believe it, for he is availed they know better, but the brag pleases +the patriots to home, on account of its impudence. + +“So the little man, Lord Bunkum, when he opens Oxford to Jew and +Gentile, and offers to make Rothschild Chancellor instead of Lord +Derby, and tells them old dons, the heads of colleges, as polite as a +stage-driver, that he does it out of pure regard to them, and only to +improve the University, don’t expect them to believe it; for he gives +them a sly wink when he says so, as much as to say, how are you off for +Hebrew, my old septuagenarians? Droll boy is Rothey, for though he +comes from the land of _Ham,_ he don’t eat _pork._ But it pleases the +sarcumsised Jew, and the unsarcumsised tag-rag and bobtail that are to +be admitted, and who verily do believe (for their bump of conceit is +largely developed) that they can improve the Colleges by granting +educational excursion tickets. + +“So Paddy O’Shonnosey the member for Blarney, when he votes for +smashing in the porter’s lodges of that Protestant institution, and +talks of Toleration and Equal Rights, and calls the Duke of Tuscany a +broth of a boy, and a light to illumine heretical darkness, don’t talk +this nonsense to please the outs or ins, for he don’t care a snap of +his finger for either of them, nor because he thinks it right, for it’s +plain he don’t, seeing that he would fight till he’d run away before +Maynooth should be sarved arter that fashion; but he does it, because +he knows it will please him, or them, that sent him there. + +“There are two kinds of boastin’, Squire, act_ive_ and pass_ive_. The +former belongs exclusively to my countrymen, and the latter to the +British. A Yankee openly asserts and loudly proclaims his superiority. +John Bull feels and looks it. He don’t give utterance to this +conviction. He takes it for granted all the world knows and admits it, +and he is so thoroughly persuaded of it himself, that, to use his own +favourite phrase, he don’t care a fig if folks don’t admit it. His +vanity, therefore, has a sublimity in it. He thinks, as the Italians +say, ‘that when nature formed him, she broke the mould.’ There never +was, never can, and never will be, another like him. His boastin’, +therefore, is passive. He shows it and acts it; but he don’t proclaim +it. He condescends and is gracious, patronizes and talks down to you. +Let my boastin’ alone therefore, Squire, if you please. You know what +it means, what bottom it has, and whether the plaster sticks on the +right spot or not. + +“So there is the first division of my subject. Now for the second. But +don’t go off at half-cock, narvous like. I am not like the black +preacher that had forty-eleven divisions. I have only a few more +remarks to make. Well, I have observed that in editin’ my last Journal, +you struck out some scores I made under certain passages and maxims, +because you thought they were not needed, or looked vain. I know it +looks consaited as well as you do, but I know their use also. I have my +own views of things. Let them also be as I have made them. They warn’t +put there for nothin’. I have a case in pint that runs on all fours +with it, as brother Josiah the lawyer used to say, and if there was +anythin’ wantin’ to prove that lawyers were not strait up and down in +their dealings, that expression would show it. + +“I was to court wunst to Slickville, when he was addressin’ of the +jury. The main points of his argument he went over and over again, till +I got so tired I took up my hat and walked out. Sais I to him, arter +court was prorogued and members gone home, + +“‘Sy,’ sais I, ‘why on airth did you repeat them arguments so often? It +was everlastin’ yarny.’ + +“‘Sam,’ sais he, and he gave his head a jupe, and pressed his lips +close, like a lemon-squeezer, the way lawyers always do when they want +to look wise, ‘_when I can’t drive a nail with one blow, I hammer away +till I do git it in._ Some folks’ heads is as hard as hackmetacks—you +have to bore a hole in it first to put the nail in, to keep it from +bendin’, and then it is as touch as a bargain if you can send it home +and clinch it.’ + +“Now maxims and saws are the sumtotalisation of a thing. Folks won’t +always add up the columns to see if they are footed right, but show ’em +the amount and result, and _that_ they are able to remember and carry +away with them. No—no, put them Italics in, as I have always done. They +show there is truth at the bottom. I like it, for it’s what I call +sense on the short-cards—do you take? Recollect always, you are not Sam +Slick, and I am not you. The greatest compliment a Britisher would +think he could pay you, would be to say, ‘I should have taken you for +an Englishman.’ Now the greatest compliment he can pay me is to take me +for a Connecticut Clockmaker, who hoed his way up to the Embassy to +London, and preserved so much of his nationality, after being so long +among foreigners. Let the Italics be—you ain’t answerable for them, nor +my boastin’ neither. When you write a book of your own, leave out both +if you like, but as you only edit my Journal, if you leave them out, +just go one step further, and leave out Sam Slick also. + +“There is another thing, Squire, upon which I must make a remark, if +you will bear with me. In my last work you made me speak purer English +than you found in my Journal, and altered my phraseology, or rather my +dialect. Now, my dear Nippent—” + +“Nippent!” said I, “what is that?” + +“The most endearing word in the Indian language for friend,” he said, +“only it’s more comprehensive, including ally, foster-brother, +life-preserver, shaft-horse, and everything that has a human tie in +it.” + +“Ah, Slick,” I said, “how skilled you are in soft sawder! You laid that +trap for me on purpose, so that I might ask the question, to enable you +to throw the lavender to me.” + +“Dod drot that word soft sawder,” said he, “I wish I had never invented +it. I can’t say a civil thing to anybody now, but he looks arch, as if +he had found a mare’s nest, and says, ‘Ah, Slick! none of your soft +sawder now.’ But, my dear nippent, by that means you destroy my +individuality. I cease to be the genuine itinerant Yankee Clockmaker, +and merge into a very bad imitation. You know I am a natural character, +and always was, and act and talk naturally, and as far as I can judge, +the little alteration my sojourn in London with the American embassy +has made in my pronunciation and provincialism, is by no means an +improvement to my Journal. The moment you take away my native dialect, +I become the representative of another class, and cease to be your old +friend ‘Sam Slick, the Clockmaker.’ Bear with me this once, Squire, and +don’t tear your shirt, I beseech you, for in all probability it will be +the last time it will be in your power to subject me to the ordeal of +criticism, and I should like, I confess, to remain true to myself and +to Nature to the last. + +“On the other hand, Squire, you will find passages in this Journal that +have neither Yankee words nor Yankee brag in them. Now pray don’t go as +you did in the last, and alter them by insarten here and there what you +call ‘Americanisms,’ so as to make it more in character and uniform; +that is going to t’other extreme, for I can write as pure English, if I +can’t speak it, as anybody can.1 My education warn’t a college one, +like my brothers, Eldad’s and Josiah’s, the doctor and lawyer; but it +was not neglected for all that. Dear old Minister was a scholar, every +inch of him, and took great pains with me in my themes, letters, and +composition. ‘Sam,’ he used to say, ‘there are four things needed to +write well: first, master the language grammatically; second, master +your subject; third, write naturally; fourth, let your heart as well as +your hand guide the pen.’ It ain’t out of keeping therefore for me to +express myself decently in composition if I choose. It warn’t out of +character, with Franklin, and he was a poor printer boy, nor +Washington, and he was only a land-surveyor, and they growed to be +‘some punkins’ too. + +1 The reader will perceive from a perusal of this Journal, that Mr +Slick, who is always so ready to detect absurdity in others, has in +this instance exhibited a species of vanity by no means uncommon in +this world. He prides himself more on composition, to which he has but +small pretensions, than on those things for which the public is willing +enough to give him full credit. Had he however received a classical +education, it may well be doubted whether he would have been as useful +or successful a man as President of Yale College, as he has been as an +itinerant practical Clockmaker. + + +“An American clockmaker ain’t like a European one. He may not be as +good a workman as t’other one, but he can do somethin’ else besides +makin’ wheels and pulleys. One always looks forward to rise in the +world, the other to attain excellence in his line. I am, as I have +expressed it in some part of this Journal, not ashamed of having been a +tradesman—I glory in it; but I should indeed have been ashamed if, with +the instruction I received from dear old Minister, I had always +remained one. No, don’t alter my Journal. I am just what I am, and +nothing more or less. You can’t measure me by English standards; you +must take an American one, and that will give you my length, breadth, +height, and weight to a hair. If silly people take you for me, and put +my braggin’ on your shoulders, why jist say, ‘You might be mistakened +for a worse fellow than he is, that’s all.’ Yes, yes, let my talk +remain ‘down-east talk,’1 and my writin’ remain clear of cant terms +when you find it so. + +1 It must not be inferred from this expression that Mr Slick’s talk is +all “pure down-east dialect.” The intermixture of Americans is now so +great, in consequence of their steamers and railroads, that there is +but little pure provincialism left. They have borrowed from each other +in different sections most liberally, and not only has the vocabulary +of the south and west contributed its phraseology to New England, but +there is recently an affectation in consequence of the Mexican war, to +naturalise Spanish words, some of which Mr Slick, who delights in this +sort of thing, has introduced into this Journal.—ED. + + +“I like Yankee words—I learned them when young. Father and mother used +them, and so did all the old folks to Slickville. There is both fun, +sense, and expression in ’em too, and that is more than there is in +Taffy’s, Pat’s, or Sawney’s brogue either. The one enriches and +enlarges the vocabulary, the other is nothing but broken English, and +so confoundedly broken too, you can’t put the pieces together +sometimes. Again, my writing, when I freeze down solid to it, is just +as much in character as the other. Recollect this—Every woman in our +country who has a son knows that he may, and thinks that he will, +become President of the United States, and that thought and that chance +make that boy superior to any of his class in Europe. + +“And now, Squire,” said he, “I believe there has been enough said about +myself and my Journal. Sposen we drink success to the ‘human nature,’ +or ‘men and things,’ or whatever other name you select for this +Journal, and then we will talk of something else.” + +“I will drink that toast,” I said, “with all my heart, and now let me +ask you how you have succeeded in your mission about the fisheries?” + +“First rate,” he replied; “we have them now, and no mistake!” + +“By the treaty?” I inquired. + +“No,” he said, “I have discovered the dodge, and we shall avail of it +at once. By a recent local law foreigners can hold real estate in this +province now. And by a recent Act of Parliament our vessels can obtain +British registers. Between these two privileges, a man don’t deserve to +be called an American who can’t carry on the fisheries in spite of all +the cruisers, revenue officers, and prohibitary laws under the sun. It +is a peaceable and quiet way of getting possession, and far better than +fighting for them, while it comports more with the dignity of our great +and enlightened nation.” + +“What do you think,” I said, “of the Elgin treaty as a bargain?” + +After some hesitation, he looked up and smiled. + +“We can’t complain,” said he. “As usual we have got hold of the right +eend of the rope, and got a vast deal more than we expected. The truth +is, the English are so fond of trade, and so afraid of war, if we will +only give them cotton, and flour at a fair price, and take their +manufactures in return, we can bully them into anythin’ almost. It is a +positive fact, there were fifty deserters from the British army taken +off of the wreck of the ‘San Francisco,’ and carried to England. John +Bull pretended to wink at it, hired a steamer, and sent them all out +again to us. Lord! how our folks roared when they heard it; and as for +the President, he laughed like a hyena over a dead nigger. Law sakes +alive man! Make a question between our nation and England about fifty +desarters, and if the ministers of the day only dared to talk of +fighting, the members of all the manufactoren towns in England, the +cottonocracy of Great Britain, would desert too! + +“It’s nateral, as an American, I should be satisfied with the treaty; +but I’ll tell you what I _am_ sorry for. I am grieved we asked, or your +Governor-General granted, a right to us to land on these shores and +make our fish. Lord Elgin ought to have known that every foot of the +sea-coast of Nova Scotia has been granted, and is now private property. + +“To concede a privilege to land, with a proviso to respect the rights +of the owner, is nonsense. This comes of not sending a man to negociate +who is chosen by the people, not for his rank, but for his ability and +knowledge. The fact is, I take blame to myself about it, for I was +pumped who would do best and be most acceptable to us Americans. I was +afeared they would send a Billingsgate contractor, who is a plaguy +sight more posted up about fisheries than any member of parliament, or +a clever colonist (not a party man), and they know more than both the +others put together; and I dreaded if they sent either, there would be +a _quid pro quo,_ as Josiah says, to be given, afore we got the +fisheries, if we ever got them, at all. ‘So,’ sais I, out of a bit of +fun, for I can’t help taken a rise out of folks no how I can fix it, +‘send us a lord. We are mighty fond of noblemen to Washington, and +toady them first-rate. It will please such a man as Pierce to show him +so much respect as to send a peer to him. He will get whatever he +asks.’ + +“Well, they fell into the trap beautiful. They sent us one, and we +rowed him up to the very head waters of Salt River in no time.1 But I +am sorry we asked the privilege to land and cure fish. I didn’t think +any created critter would have granted that. Yes, I foresee trouble +arising out of this. Suppose ‘Cayenne Pepper,’ as we call the captain +that commanded the ‘Cayenne’ at Grey Town, was to come to a port in +Nova Scotia, and pepper it for insultin’ our flag by apprehenden +trespassers (though how a constable is to arrest a crew of twenty men +unless, Irishman like, he surrounds them, is a mystery to me). What +would be done in that case? Neither you nor I can tell, Squire. But +depend upon it, there is a tempestical time comin’, and it is as well +to be on the safe side of the fence when there is a chance of kicking +going on. + +1 To row up Salt River is a common phrase, used generally to denote +political defeat. The distance to which a party is rowed up Salt River +depends entirely upon the magnitude of the majority against him. If the +defeat is overwhelming, the unsuccessful party is said “to be rowed up +to the very head waters of Salt River.” The phrase has its origin in +the fact that there is a small stream of that name in Kentucky, the +passage of which is made difficult and laborious, as well by its +tortuous course as by numerous shallows and bars. The real application +of the phrase is to the unhappy wight who propels the boat, but +politically, in slang usage, it means the man rowed up, the +passenger—I. INMAN. + + +“The bombardment of Grey Town was the greatest and bravest exploit of +modern times. We silenced their guns at the first broadside, and shut +them up so sudden that envious folks like the British now swear they +had none, while we lost only one man in the engagement, but he was +drunk and fell overboard. What is the cannonade of Sebastopool to that? +Why it sinks into insignificance.” + +He had hardly ceased speaking, when the wheels of a carriage were heard +rapidly approaching the door. Taking out his watch, and observing the +hour, he said: “Squire, it is now eleven o’clock. I must be a movin’. +Good bye! I am off to Halifax. I am goin’ to make a night flight of it. +The wind is fair, and I must sail by daylight to-morrow morning. +Farewell!” + +He then shook hands most cordially with me, and said: “Squire, unless +you feel inclined at some future day to make the tour of the States +with me, or somethin’ turns up I am not availed of, I am afraid you +have seen the last Journal of your old friend ‘Sam Slick.’” + + + + +CHAPTER II. +CLIPPERS AND STEAMERS. + + +Whoever has taken the trouble to read the “Wise Saws” of Mr Slick, will +be prepared to resume the thread of his narrative without explanation, +if indeed these unconnected selections deserve the appellation. But as +this work may fall into the hands of many people who never saw its +predecessor, it may be necessary to premise that our old friend Sam, +having received a commission from the President of the United States, +to visit the coast of Nova Scotia, and report to him fully on the state +of the fisheries, their extent and value, the manner in which they were +prosecuted, and the best mode of obtaining a participation in them, he +proceeded on his cruise in a trading vessel, called the “Black Hawk,” +whereof Timothy Cutler was master, and Mr Eldad Nickerson the pilot. +The two preceding volumes contained his adventures at sea, and in the +harbours of the province, to the westward of Halifax. The present work +is devoted to his remarks on “nature and human nature.” + +While amusing himself fishing within three miles of the coast, off La +Haive, in contravention of the treaty, he narrowly escaped capture by +the British cruiser “Spitfire,” commanded by Captain Stoker. By a +skilful manoeuvre, he decoyed the man-of-war, in the eagerness of the +chase, on to a sand-bar, when he dexterously slipt through a narrow +passage between two islands, and keeping one of them in a line between +the “Black Hawk” and her pursuer, so as to be out of the reach of her +guns, he steered for the eastern shore of Nova Scotia, and was soon out +of sight of the islands behind which his enemy lay embedded in the +sand; from this point the narrative is resumed in Mr Slick’s own +words.1 + +1 His remarks on the fisheries I have wholly omitted, for they have now +lost their interest. His observations on “nature and human nature” are +alone retained, as they may be said to have a universal +application.—ED. + + +“I guess,” said I, “Captain, the ‘Spitfire’ will have to put into +Halifax to report herself and be surveyed, so we may pursue our course +in peace. But this ‘Black Hawk’ is a doll, ain’t she? don’t she skim +over the water like a sea gull? The truth is, Cutler, when you ain’t in +a hurry, and want to enjoy yourself at sea, as I always do, for I am a +grand sailor, give me a clipper. She is so light and buoyant, and the +motion so elastic, it actilly exilerates your spirits. There is +something like life in her gait, and you have her in hand like a horse, +and you feel as if you were her master, and directed her movements. I +ain’t sure you don’t seem as if you were part of her yourself. Then +there is room to show skill and seamanship, and if you don’t in reality +go as quick as a steamer, you seem to go faster, if there is no visible +object to measure your speed by, and that is something, for the white +foam on the leeward side rushes by you in rips, raps, and rainbows like +Canadian rapids. + +“Then if she is an atrysilly1 like this, and she is doing her +prettiest, and actilly laughs again, she is so pleased, why you are +satisfied, for you don’t make the breeze, you take it as you find it, +like all other good gifts of Providence, and say, ‘ain’t she going like +wink, how she forges ahead, don’t she?’ Your attention is kept alive, +too, watchin’ the wind, and trimmin’ sail to it accordingly, and the +jolly ‘Oh, heave oh,’ of the sailors is music one loves to listen to, +and if you wish to take a stretch for it in your cloak on deck, on the +sunny or shady side of the companion-way, the breeze whistles a nice +soft lullaby for you, and you are off in the land of Nod in no time.” + +1 The Atricilla, or laughing sea-gull. Its note resembles a coarse +laugh. Hence its name. It is very common in the Bahamas. + + +“Dreaming of Sophy Collingwood,” sais the Captain, “and the witch of +Eskisooney, eh?” + +“Yes, dreamin’ of bright eyes and smilin’ faces, or anythin’ else +that’s near and dear, for to my idea, the heart gives the subject for +the head to think upon. In a fair wind and a charmin’ day like this, I +never coiled up on the deck for a nap in my life, that I had’nt +pleasant dreams. You feel as if you were at peace with all the world in +general, and yourself in partikeler, and that it is very polite of +folks to stay to home ashore, and let you and your friends enjoy +yourselves without treadin’ on your toes, and wakin’ of you up if +asleep, or a jostlin’ of you in your turn on the quarter-deck, or +over-hearin’ of your conversation. + +“And ain’t you always ready for your meals, and don’t you walk into +them in rael right down earnest? Oh, nothing ever tastes so good to me +as it does at sea. The appetite, like a sharp knife, makes the meat +seem tender, and the sea air is a great friend of digestion, and always +keeps company with it. Then you don’t care to sit and drink after +dinner as you do at an hotel of an idle day, for you want to go on +deck, light your cigar, take a sweep round the horizon with your glass +to see if there is any sail in sight, glance at the sky to ascertain if +the breeze is likely to hold, and then bring yourself to anchor on a +seat, and have a dish of chat for a dessert with the captain, if he is +a man of books like you, Cutler, or a man of reefs, rocks, and +sandbars, fish, cordwood, and smugglin’, or collisions, wracks, and +salvage, like the pilot. + +“Then, if you have a decent sample or two of passengers on board, you +can discuss men and things, and women and nothings, law, physick, and +divinity, or that endless, tangled ball of yarn, politicks, or you can +swap anecdotes, and make your fortune in the trade. And by the same +trail of thought we must give one or two of these Blue-Noses now and +then a cast on board with us to draw them out. “Well, if you want to +read, you can go and turn in and take a book, and solitudinise to it, +and there is no one to disturb you. I actilly learned French in a +voyage to Calcutta, and German on my way home. I got enough for common +use. It warn’t all pure gold; but it was kind of small change, and +answered every purpose of trade or travel. Oh, it’s no use a talkin’; +where time ain’t the main object, there’s nothin’ like a sailin’ vessel +to a man who ain’t sea-sick, and such fellows ought to be cloriformed, +put to bed, and left there till the voyage is over. They have no +business to go to sea, if they are such fools as not to know how to +enjoy themselves. + +“Then sailors are characters; they are men of the world, there is great +self-reliance in them. They have to fight their way in life through +many trials and difficulties, and their trust is in God and their own +strong arm. They are so much in their own element, they seem as if they +were born on the sea, cradled on its billows, and, like Mother Carey’s +chickens, delighted in its storms and mountain waves. They walk, talk, +and dress differently from landsmen. They straddle as they pace the +deck, so as to brace the body and keep their trowsers up at the same +time; their gait is loose, and their dress loose, and their limbs +loose; indeed, they are rather too fond _of slack._ They climb like +monkeys, and depend more on their paws than their legs. They tumble up, +but never down. They count, not by fingers, it is tedious, but by +hands; they put a part for the whole, and call themselves hands, for +they are paid for the use of them, and not their heads. + +“Though they are two-handed they are not close-fisted fellows. They +despise science, but are fond of practical knowledge. When the sun is +over the foreyard, they know the time of day as well as the captain, +and call for their grog, and when they lay back their heads, and turn +up the bottom of the mug to the sky, they call it in derision taking an +observation. But though they have many characteristics in common, there +is an individuality in each that distinguishes him from the rest. He +stands out in bold relief—I by myself, I. He feels and appreciates his +importance. He knows no plural. The word ‘our’ belongs to landsmen; +‘my’ is the sailor’s phrase—my ship, my captain, my messmate, my watch +on deck, ‘my eyes!’ ‘you lubber, don’t you know that’s _me?’_ I like to +listen to their yarns and their jokes, and to hear them sing their +simple ditties. The odd mixture of manliness and childishness—of +boldness and superstitious fears; of preposterous claims for wages and +thoughtless extravagance; of obedience and discontent—all goes to make +the queer compound called ‘Jack.’ How often have I laughed over the fun +of the forecastle in these small fore and aft packets of ourn! and I +think I would back that place for wit against any bar-room in New York +or New Orleans, and I believe they take the rag off of all creation. + +“But the cook is my favourite. He is a scientific man, and so skilful +in compounds, he generally goes by the name of doctor. I like the daily +consultation with him about dinner: not that I am an epicure; but at +sea, as the business of life is eating, it is as well to be master of +one’s calling. Indeed, it appears to be a law of nature, that those who +have mouths should understand what to put in them. It gratifies the +doctor to confer with him, and who does it not please to be considered +a man of importance? He is therefore a member of the Privy Council, and +a more useful member he is too than many Right Honourables I know +of—who have more acres than ideas. The Board assembles after breakfast, +and a new dish is a great item in the budget. It keeps people in good +humour the rest of the day, and affords topics for the table. To eat to +support existence is only fit for criminals. Bread and water will do +that; but to support and gratify nature at the same time is a noble +effort of art, and well deserves the thanks of mankind. The cook too +enlivens the consultation by telling marvellous stories about strange +dishes he has seen. He has eaten serpents with the Siamese, monkeys in +the West Indies, crocodiles and sloths in South America, and cats, +rats, and dogs with the Chinese; and of course, as nobody can +contradict him, says they are delicious. Like a salmon, you must give +him the line, even if it wearies you, before you bag him; but when you +do bring him to land his dishes are savoury. They have a relish that is +peculiar to the sea, for _where there is no garden, vegetables are +always most prized._ The glorious onion is duly valued, for as there is +no mistress to be kissed, who will dare to object to its aroma? + +“Then I like a Sunday at sea in a vessel like this, and a day like +this, when the men are all clean and tidy, and the bell rings for +prayers, and all hands are assembled aft to listen to the captain as he +reads the Church Service. It seems like a family scene. It reminds me +of dear old Minister and days gone by, when he used to call us round +him, and repeated to us the promise ‘that when two or three were +gathered together in God’s name, he would grant their request.’ The +only difference is, sailors are more attentive and devout than +landsmen. They seem more conscious that they are in the Divine +presence. They have little to look upon but the heavens above and the +boundless ocean around them. Both seem made on purpose for _them—_the +sun to guide them by day, and the stars by night, the sea to bear them +on its bosom, and the breeze to waft them on their course. They feel +how powerless they are of themselves; how frail their bark; how +dependent they are on the goodness and mercy of their Creator, and that +it is He alone who can rule the tempest and control the stormy deep. +Their impressions are few, but they are strong. It is the world that +hardens the heart, and the ocean seems apart from it. + +“They are noble fellows, sailors, and I love them; but, Cutler, how are +they used, especially where they ought to be treated best, on board of +men-of-war? The moment a ship arrives in port, the anchor cast and the +sails furled—what dees the captain do? the popular captain too, the +idol of the men; he who is so kind and so fond of them? Why, he calls +them aft, and says, ‘Here, my lads, here is lots of cash for you, now +be off ashore and enjoy yourselves.’ And they give three cheers for +their noble commander—their good-hearted officer—the sailor’s +friend—the jolly old blue jacket,—and they bundle into the boats, and +on to the beach, like school-boys. And where do they go? Well, we won’t +follow them, for I never was in them places where they _do_ go, and so +I can’t describe them, and one thing I must say, I never yet found any +place answer the picture drawn of it. But if half only of the accounts +are true that I have heerd of them, they must be the devil’s own +seminaries of vice—that’s a fact. Every mite and morsel as bad as the +barrack scenes that we read of lately. + +“Well, at the end of a week back come the sailors. They have had a +glorious lark and enjoyed themselves beyond anything in the world, for +they are pale, sick, sleepy, tired out, cleaned out, and kicked out, +with black eyes, broken heads, swelled cheeks, minus a few teeth, half +their clothes, and all their money. + +“‘What,’ says the captain, ‘what’s the matter with you, Tom Marlin, +that you limp so like a lame duck?’ + +“‘Nothing, your honour,’ says Tom, twitching his forelock, and making a +scrape with his hind leg, ‘nothing, your honour, but a scratch from a +bagganet.’ + +“‘What! a fight with the soldiers, eh? The cowardly rascals to use +their side arms!’ + +“‘We cleared the house of them, Sir, in no time.’ + +“‘That’s right. Now go below, my lads, and turn in and get a good +sleep. I like to see my _lambs_ enjoy themselves. It does my heart +good.’ + +“And yet, Cutler, that man is said to be a father to his crew.” + +“Slick,” said Cutler, “what a pity it is you wouldn’t always talk that +way!” Now if there is any created thing that makes me mad, it is to +have a feller look admiren at me, when I utter a piece of plain common +sense like that, and turn up the whites of his eyes like a duck in +thunder, as much as to say, what a pity it is you weren’t broughten up +a preacher. It ryles me considerable, I tell you. + +“Cutler,” said I, “did you ever see a colt in a pasture, how he would +race and chase round the field, head, ears, and tail up, and stop +short, snort as if he had seen the ghost of a bridle, and off again hot +foot?” + +“Yes,” said he, “I have, but you are not a colt, nor a boy either.” + +“Well, did you ever see a horse when unharnessed from a little, light +waggon, and turned out to grass, do nearly the same identical thing, +and kick up his heels like mad, as much as to say, I am a free nigger +now?” + +“Well, I have,” said he. + +“Stop,” said I, a touchin’ of him on his arm; “what in the world is +that?” and I pointed over the taffrail to the weather-bow. + +“Porpoises,” said he. + +“What are they a doin’ of?” + +“Sportin’ of themselves.” + +“Exactly,” sais I, “and do you place man below the beasts of the field +and the fishes of the sea? What in natur’ was humour given to us for +but for our divarsion? What sort of a world would this be if every +fellow spoke sermons and talked homilies, and what in that case would +parsons do? I leave you to cypher that out, and then prove it by +algebra; but I’ll tell you what they wouldn’t do, I’ll be hanged if +they’d strike for higher wages, for fear they should not get any at +all.” + +“I knock under,” said he; “you may take my hat; now go on and finish +the comparison between Clippers and Steamers.” + +“Well,” sais I, “as I was a sayin’, Captain, give me a craft like this, +that spreads its wings like a bird, and looks as if it was born, not +made, a whole-sail breeze, and a seaman every inch of him like you on +the deck, who looks you in the face, in a way as if he’d like to say, +only bragging ain’t genteel, Ain’t she a clipper now, and ain’t I the +man to handle her? Now this ain’t the case in a steamer. They ain’t +vessels, they are more like floating factories; you see the steam +machines and the enormous fires, and the clouds of smoke, but you don’t +visit the rooms where the looms are, that’s all. They plough through +the sea dead and heavy, like a subsoiler with its eight-horse team; +there is no life in ’em; they can’t dance on the waters as if they +rejoiced in their course, but divide the waves as a rock does in a +river; they seem to move more in defiance of the sea than as if they +were in an element of their own. + +“They puff and blow like boasters braggin’ that they extract from the +ocean the means to make it help to subdue itself. It is a war in the +elements, fire and water contendin’ for victory. They are black, dingy, +forbiddin’ looking sea monsters. It is no wonder the superstitious +Spaniard, when he first saw one, said: ‘A vessel that goes against the +tide, and against the wind, and without sails, goes against God,’ or +that the simple negro thought it was a sea-devil. They are very well +for carrying freight, because they are beasts of burden, but not for +carrying travellers, unless they are mere birds of passage like our +Yankee tourists, who want to have it to say I was _‘thar.’_ I hate +them. The decks are dirty; your skin and clothes are dirty; and your +lungs become foul; smoke pervades everythin’, and now and then the +condensation gives you a shower of sooty water by way of variety, that +scalds your face and dyes your coat into a sort of pepper-and-salt +colour. + +“You miss the sailors, too. There are none on board—you miss the nice +light, tight-built, lathy, wiry, active, neat, jolly crew. In their +place you have nasty, dirty, horrid stokers; some hoisting hot cinders +and throwing them overboard (not with the merry countenances of +niggers, or the cheerful sway-away-my-boys expression of the Jack Tar, +but with sour, cameronean-lookin’ faces, that seem as if they were +dreadfully disappointed they were not persecuted any longer—had no +churches and altars to desecrate, and no bishops to anoint with the oil +of hill-side maledictions as of old), while others are emerging from +the fiery furnaces beneath for fresh air, and wipe a hot dirty face +with a still dirtier shirt sleeve, and in return for the nauseous +exudation, lay on a fresh coat of blacking; tall, gaunt wretches, who +pant for breath as they snuff the fresh breeze, like porpouses, and +then dive again into the lower regions. They are neither seamen nor +landsmen, good whips nor decent shots, their hair is not woolly enough +for niggers, and their faces are too black for white men. They ain’t +amphibious animals, like marines and otters. They are Salamanders. But +that’s a long word, and now they call them stokers for shortness. + +“Then steamers carry a mob, and I detest mobs, especially such ones as +they delight in—greasy Jews, hairy Germans, Mulatto-looking Italians, +squalling children, that run between your legs and throw you down, or +wipe the butter off their bread on your clothes; Englishmen that will +grumble, and Irishmen that will fight; priests that won’t talk, and +preachers that will harangue; women that will be carried about, because +they won’t lie still and be quiet; silk men, cotten men, bonnet men, +iron men, trinket men, and every sort of shopmen, who severally know +nothing in the world but silk, cotten, bonnets, iron, trinkets, and so +on, and can’t talk of anythin’ else; fellows who walk up and down the +deck, four or five abreast when there are four or five of the same +craft on board, and prevent any one else from promenadin’ by sweepin’ +the whole space, while every lurch the ship gives, one of them tumbles +atop of you, or treads on your toes, and then, instead of apoligisin’, +turns round and abuses you like a pick-pocket for stickin’ your feet +out and trippin’ people up. Thinkin’ is out of the question, and as for +readin’, you might as well read your fortune in the stars. + +“Just as you begin, that lovely-lookin’, rosy-cheeked, wicked-eyed +gall, that came on board so full of health and spirits, but now looks +like a faded striped ribbon, white, yeller, pink, and brown—dappled all +over her face, but her nose, which has a red spot on it—lifts up a pair +of lack-lustre peepers that look glazed like the round dull +ground-glass lights let into the deck, suddenly wakes up squeamish, and +says, ‘Please, Sir, help me down; I feel so ill.’ Well, you take her up +in your arms, and for the first time in your life hold her head from +you, for fear she will reward you in a way that ain’t no matter, and +she feels as soft as dough, and it seems as if your fingers left dents +in her putty-like arms, and you carry her to the head of the stairs, +and call out for the stewardess, and a waiter answers, ‘Stewardess is +tight, Sir.’ + +“‘I am glad of it, she is just the person I want. I wish all the other +passengers were tight also.’ + +“‘Lord, Sir, that ain’t it—she is mops and brooms.’ + +“‘Mops and brooms, I suppose she is, she must have plenty use for them, +I reckon, to keep all snug and tidy down there.’ + +“‘Good gracious, Sir, don’t you understand, she is half seas over.’ + +“‘True, so we all are, the captain said so to-day at twelve o’clock, I +wish we were over altogether. Send her up.’ + +“‘No, no, Sir, she is more than half shaved.’ + +“‘The devil! does she shave? I don’t believe she is a woman at all. I +see how it is, you have been putting one of the sailors into +petticoats.’ And the idea makes even the invalid gall laugh. + +“‘No, no, Sir, she is tipsy.’ + +“‘Then why the plague couldn’t you say so at once. I guess you kinder +pride yourself in your slang. Help me to assist this lady down to her +friends.’ + +“Well, when you return on deck, lo and behold, your seat is occupied, +and you must go and stand by the rail till one is vacant, when another +gall that ain’t ill, but inconveniently well, she is so full of chat, +says, ‘Look, look, Sir, dear me, what is that, Sir? a porpoise. Why you +don’t, did you ever! well, I never see a porpoise afore in all my born +days! are they good to eat, Sir?’ + +“‘Excellent food for whales, Miss.’ + +“‘Well I never! do they swallow them right down?’ + +“‘I guess they do, tank, shank, and flank, at one gulp.’ + +“‘Why how in the world do they ever get—’ but she don’t finish the +sentence, for the silk man, cotten man, iron man, or trinket man, which +ever is nearest, says, ‘There is a ship on the lee-bow.’ He says that +because it sounds sailor-like, but it happens to be the weather-bow, +and you have seen her an hour before. + +“‘Can you make her out?’ sais he; that’s another sea tarm he has picked +up; he will talk like a horse-marine at last. + +“‘Yes,’ sais you, ‘she is a Quang-Tonger.’ + +“‘A Quang-Tonger?’ sais the gall, and before the old coon has disgested +that hard word, she asks, ‘what in natur is that?’ + +“‘Why, Miss, Quang-Tong is a province of China, and Canton is the +capital; all the vessels at Canton are called Quang-Tongers, but +strangers call them Chinese Junks. Now, Miss, you have seen two new +things to-day, a bottle-nosed porpoise and—’ + +“‘Was that a bottle-nosed porpoise, Sir? why you don’t say so! why, how +you talk, why do they call them bottle-noses?’ + +“‘Because, Miss, they make what is called velvet corks out of their +snouts. They are reckoned the best corks in the world. And then, you +have seen a Chinese Junk?’ + +“‘A Chinese Junk,’ sais the astonished trinket man. ‘Well I vow! a +Chinese Junk, do tell!’ and one gall calls Jeremiah Dodge, and the +other her father and her sister, Mary Anne Matilda Jane, to come and +see the Chinese Junk, and all the passengers rush to the other side, +and say, ‘whare, whare,’ and the two discoverers say, ‘there, there;’ +and you walk across the deck and take one of the evacuated seats you +have been longin’ for; and as you pass you give a wink to the officer +of the watch, who puts his tongue in his cheek as a token of +approbation, and you begin to read again, as you fancy, in peace. + +“But there is no peace in a steamer, it is nothin’ but a large +calaboose,1 chock full of prisoners. As soon as you have found your +place in the book, and taken a fresh departure, the bonnet man sais, +‘Please, Sir, a seat for a lady,’ and you have to get up and give it to +his wife’s lady’s-maid. His wife ain’t a lady, but having a lady’s-maid +shows she intends to set up for one when she gets to home. To be a +lady, she must lay in a lot of airs, and to brush her own hair and +garter her own stockins is vulgar; if it was known in First Avenue, +Spruce Street, in Bonnetville, it would ruin her as a woman of fashion +for ever. + +1 Calaboose is a Southern name for jail. + + +“Now bonnet man wouldn’t ask you to get up and give your place to his +wife’s hired help, only he knows you are a Yankee, and we Yankees, I +must say, are regularly fooled with women and preachers; just as much +as that walking advertisement of a milliner is with her lady’s-maid. +All over America in rail carriages, stage coaches, river steamers, and +public places, of all sorts, every critter that wears a white choker, +and looks like a minister, has the best seat given him. He expects it, +as a matter of course, and as every female is a lady, every woman has a +right to ask you to quit, without notice, for her accommodation. Now +it’s all very well and very proper to be respectful to preachers; and +to be polite and courteous to women, and more especially those that are +unprotected; but there is a limit, tother side of which lies absurdity. + +“Now if you had seen as much of the world as I have, and many other +travelled Yankees, when bonnet man asked you to give up your seat to +the maid, you would have pretended not to understand English, and not +to know what he wanted, but would have answered him in French and +offered him the book, and said certainly you would give it to him with +pleasure, and when he said he didn’t speak French, but what he desired +was your place for the lady, you would have addressed her in German, +and offered her the book, and when they looked at each other, and +laughed at their blunder, in thus taking you for a Yankee, perhaps the +man next to you would have offered his seat, and then when old bonnet +man walked off to look at the Chinese Junk, you would have entered into +conversation with the lady’s-maid, and told her it was a rise you took +out of the old fellow to get her along-side of you, and she would enjoy +the joke, and you would have found her a thousand times more handsome +and more conversational and agreeable than her mistress. + +“But this wouldn’t last long, for the sick gall would be carried up on +deck agin, woman like, though ill, very restless, and chock full of +curiosity to see the Chinese Junk also; so you are caught by your own +bam, and have to move again once more. The bell comes in aid, and +summons you to dinner. Ah, the scene in the Tower of Babel is +rehearsed; what a confusion of tongues! what a clatter of knives and +forks and dishes! the waiter that goes and won’t come back; and he who +sees, pities but can’t help you; and he who is so near _sighted,_ he +can’t _hear;_ and he who is intercepted, and made prisoner on his way. + +“What a profusion of viands—but how little to eat! this is cold; that +under-done; this is tough; that you never eat; while all smell oily; +oh, the only dish you did fancy, you can’t touch, for that horrid +German has put his hand into it. But it is all told in one short +sentence; two hundred and fifty passengers supply two hundred and fifty +reasons themselves, why I should prefer a sailing vessel with a small +party to a crowded steamer. If you want to see them in perfection go +where I have been it on board the California boats, and Mississippi +river crafts. The French, Austrian, and Italian boats are as bad. The +two great Ocean lines, American and English, are as good as anything +bad can be, but the others are all abominable. They are small worlds +over-crowded, and while these small worlds exist, the evil will remain; +for alas, their passengers go backward and forward, they don’t +emigrate—they migrate; they go for the winter and return for the +spring, or go in the spring and return in the fall. + +“Come, Commodore, there is old Sorrow ringing his merry bell for us to +go to dinner. I have an idea we shall have ample room; a good appetite, +and time enough to eat and enjoy it: come, Sir, let us, like true +Americans, never refuse to go where duty calls us.” + +After dinner, Cutler reverted to the conversation we had had before we +went below, though I don’t know that I should call it conversation, +either; for I believe I did, as usual, most of the talking myself. + +“I agree with you,” said he, “in your comparative estimate of a sailing +vessel and a steamer, I like the former the best myself. It is more +agreeable for the reasons you have stated to a passenger, but it is +still more agreeable to the officer in command of her on another +account. In a sailing vessel, all your work is on deck, everything is +before you, and everybody under your command. One glance of a seaman’s +eye is sufficient to detect if anything is amiss, and no one man is +indispensable to you. In a steamer the work is all below, the machinery +is out of your sight, complicated, and one part dependent on another. +If it gets out of order you are brought up with a round turn, all +standing, and often in a critical situation too. You can’t repair +damage easily; sometimes, can’t repair at all. + +“Whereas carrying away a sail, a spar, a topmast, or anything of that +kind, impedes but don’t stop you, and if it is anything very serious +there are a thousand ways of making a temporary rig that will answer +till you make a port. But what I like best is, when my ship is in the +daldrums, I am equal to the emergency; there is no engineer to bother +you by saying this can’t be done, or that won’t do, and to stand jawing +and arguing instead of obeying and doing. Clippers of the right lines, +size, and build, well found, manned, and commanded, will make nearly as +good work, in ordinary times, as steamers. Perhaps it is prejudice +though, for I believe we sailors are proverbial for that. But, Slick, +recollect it ain’t all fair weather sailing like this at sea. There are +times when death stares you wildly in the face.” + +“Exactly,” sais I, “as if he would like to know you the next time he +came for you, so as not to apprehend the wrong one. He often leaves the +rascal and seizes the honest man; my opinion is, he don’t see very +well.” + +“What a droll fellow you are,” said he; “it appears to me as if you +couldn’t be serious for five minutes at a time. I can tell you, if you +were on a rocky lee-shore, with the wind and waves urging you on, and +you barely holding your own, perhaps losing ground every tack, you +wouldn’t talk quite so glibly of death. Was you ever in a real heavy +gale of wind?” + +“Warn’t I,” said I; “the fust time I returned from England it blew +great guns all the voyage, one gale after another, and the last always +wuss than the one before. It carried away our sails as fast as we bent +them.” + +“That’s nothing unusual,” said Cutler; “there are worse things than +that at sea.” + +“Well, I’ll tell you,” sais I, “what it did; and if that ain’t an +uncommon thing, then my name ain’t Sam Slick. It blew all the hair off +my dog, except a little tuft atween his ears. It did, upon my soul. I +hope I may never leave—” + +“Don’t swear to it, Slick,” said he, “that’s a good fellow. It’s +impossible.” + +“Attestin’ to it will make _your_ hair stand on eend too, I suppose,” +said I; “but it’s as true as preachin’ for all that. What will you bet +it didn’t happen?” + +“Tut, man, nonsense,” said he, “I tell you the thing is impossible.” + +“Ah!” said I, “that’s because you have been lucky, and never saw a +riprorious hurricane in all your life. I’ll tell you how it was. I +bought a blood-hound from a man in Regent’s Park, just afore I sailed, +and the brute got sea-sick, and then took the mange, and between that +and death starin’ him in the face, his hair all came off, and in course +it blew away. Is that impossible?” + +“Well, well,” said he, “you have the most comical way with you of any +man I ever see. I am sure it ain’t in your nature to speak of death in +that careless manner, you only talked that way to draw me out. I know +you did. It’s not a subject however to treat lightly, and if you are +not inclined to be serious just now, tell us a story.” + +“Serious,” sais I, “I am disposed to be; but not sanctimonious, and you +know that. But here goes for a story, which has a nice little moral in +it too. + +“‘Once on a time, when pigs were swine, and turkeys chewed tobacco, and +little birds built their nests in old men’s beards.’ + +“Pooh!” said he, turning off huffy like, as if I was a goin’ to bluff +him off. “I wonder whether supper is ready?” + +“Cutler,” sais I, “come back, that’s a good fellow, and I’ll tell you +the story. It’s a short one, and will just fill up the space between +this and tea-time. It is in illustration of what you was a sayin’, that +it ain’t always fair weather sailing in this world. There was a +jack-tar once to England who had been absent on a whaling voyage for +nearly three years, and he had hardly landed when he was ordered off to +sea again, before he had time to go home and see his friends. He was a +lamentin’ this to a shipmate of his, a serious-minded man, like you. + +“Sais he, ‘Bill, it breaketh my heart to have to leave agin arter this +fashion. I havn’t seen Polly now goin’ on three years, nor the little +un either.’ And he actilly piped his eye. + +“‘It seemeth hard, Tom,’ said Bill, tryin’ to comfort him; ‘it seemeth +hard; but I’m an older man nor you be, Tom, the matter of several +years;’ and he gave his trowsers a twitch (you know they don’t wear +galluses, though a gallus holds them up sometimes), shifted his quid, +gave his nor’wester a pull over his forehead, and looked solemncholly, +‘and my experience, Tom, is, that _this life ain’t all beer and +skittles.’_ + +“Cutler, there is a great deal of philosophy in that maxim: a preacher +couldn’t say as much in a sermon an hour long, as there is in that +little story with that little moral reflection at the eend of it. + +“‘_This life ain’t all leer and skittles._’ Many a time since I heard +that anecdote—and I heard it in Kew Gardens, of all places in the +world—when I am disappointed sadly, I say that saw over, and console +myself with it. I can’t expect to go thro’ the world, Cutler, as I have +done: stormy days, long and dark nights, are before me. As I grow old I +shan’t be so full of animal spirits as I have been. In the natur of +things I must have my share of aches, and pains, and disappointment, as +well as others; and when they come, nothing will better help me to bear +them than that little simple reflection of the sailor, which appeals so +directly to the heart. Sam, _this life ain’t all beer and skittles, +that’s a fact.”_ + + + + +CHAPTER III. +A WOMAN’S HEART. + + +As we approached the eastern coast, “Eldad,” sais I, to the pilot, “is +there any harbour about here where our folks can do a little bit of +trade, and where I can see something of ‘Fishermen at home?’” + +“We must be careful now how we proceed, for if the ‘Spitfire’ floats at +the flood, Captain Stoker will try perhaps to overhaul us.” + +“Don’t we want to wood and water, and ain’t there some repairs +wanting,” sais I, and I gave him a wink. “If so we can put into port; +but I don’t think we will attempt to fish again within the treaty +limits, for it’s dangerous work.” + +“Yes,” sais he, touching his nose with the point of his finger, “all +these things are needed, and when they are going on, the mate and I can +attend to the business of the owners.” He then looked cautiously round +to see that the captain was not within hearing. + +“Warn’t it the ‘Black Hawk’ that was chased?” said he. “I think that +was our name then.” + +“Why, to be sure it was,” said I. + +“Well,” sais he, “this is the ‘Sary Ann’ of New Bedford now,” and +proceeding aft he turned a screw, and I could hear a board shift in the +stern. “Do you mind that?” said he: “well, you can’t see it where you +stand just now at present; but the ‘Sary Ann’ shows her name there now, +and we have a set of papers to correspond. I guess the Britisher can’t +seize her, because the ‘Black Hawk’ broke the treaty; can he?” And he +gave a knowing jupe of his head, as much as to say, ain’t that grand? + +“Now our new captain is a strait-laced sort of man, you see; but the +cantin’ fellow of a master you had on board before, warn’t above a +dodge of this kind. If it comes to the scratch, you must take the +command again, for Cutler won’t have art nor part in this game; and we +may be reformed out afore we know where we are.” + +“Well,” sais I, “there is no occasion, I guess; put us somewhere a +little out of sight, and we won’t break the treaty no more. I reckon +the ‘Spitfire,’ after all, would just as soon be in port as looking +after us. It’s small potatoes for a man-of-war to be hunting poor game, +like us little fore and afters.” + +“As you like,” he said, “but we are prepared, you see, for the mate and +men understand the whole thing. It ain’t the first time they have +escaped by changing their sign-board.” + +“Exactly,” said I, “a ship ain’t like a dog that can only answer to one +name; and ‘Sary Ann’ is as good as the ‘Black Hawk,’ every mite and +morsel. There is a good deal of fun in altering sign-boards. I +recollect wunst, when I was a boy, there was a firm to Slickville who +had this sign over their shop: + +‘Gallop and More, +Taylors.’ + + +“Well, one Saturday-night brother Josiah and I got a paintbrush, and +altered it in this way: + +‘Gallop and 8 More +Taylors +Make a man.’ + + +“Lord, what a commotion it made. Next day was Sunday; and as the folks +were going to church, they stood and laughed and roared like anything. +It made a terrible hulla-bulloo. + +“‘Sam,’ said Minister to me, ‘what in natur is all that ondecent noise +about so near the church-door.’ + +“I told him. It was most too much for him, but he bit in his breath, +and tried to look grave; but I see a twinkle in his eye, and the corner +of his mouth twitch, the way your eyelid does sometimes when a nerve +gets a dancing involuntarily. + +“‘A very foolish joke, Sam,’ he said; ‘it may get you into trouble.’ + +“‘Why, Minister,’ said I, ‘I hope you don’t think that—’ + +“‘No,’ said he, ‘I don’t think at all, I know it was you, for it’s just +like you. But it’s a foolish joke, for, Sam: + +“‘Honour and worth from no condition rise—’ + + +“‘Exactly,’ sais I. + +“‘Stitch well your part, there all the honour lies.’ + + +“‘Sam, Sam,’ said he, ‘you are a bad boy,’ and he put on a serious +face, and went in and got his gown ready for service. + +“The ‘Sary Ann’ for the ‘Black Hawk,’” sais I to myself, “well that +ain’t bad either; but there are more chests of tea and kegs of brandy, +and such like, taken right by the custom-house door at Halifax in loads +of hay and straw, than comes by water, just because it is the +onlikeliest way in the world any man would do it. But it is only some +of the Bay of Fundy boys that are up to that dodge. Smugglers in +general haven’t the courage to do that. Dear me!” sais I to myself, +“when was there ever a law that couldn’t be evaded; a tax that couldn’t +be shuffled off like an old slipper; a prohibition that a smuggler +couldn’t row right straight through, or a treaty that hadn’t more holes +in it than a dozen supplemental ones could patch up? _It’s a high fence +that can’t be scaled, and a strong one that can’t be broke down. When +there are accomplices in the house, it is easier to get the door +unlocked than to force it. Receivers make smugglers. Where there are +not informers, penalties are dead letters._ The people here like to see +us, for it is their interest, and we are safe as long as they are +friendly. I don’t want to smuggle, for I scorn such a pettifogin’ +business, as Josiah would call it; but I must and will see how the +thing works, so as to report it to the President.” + +“Well, Eldad,” sais I, “I leave all this to you. I want to avoid a +scrape if I can, so put us in a place of safety, and be careful how you +proceed.” + +“I understand,” said he. “Now, Mr Slick, look yonder,” pointing towards +the shore. “What is that?” + +“A large ship under full sail,” said I, “but it is curious she has got +the wind off shore, and just dead on end to us.” + +“Are you sure,” said he, “it is a ship, for if we get foul of her, we +shall be sunk in a moment, and every soul on board perish.” + +“Is it a cruiser?” sais I; “because if it is, steer boldly for her, and +I will go on board of her and show my commission as an officer of our +everlastin’ nation. Captain,” said I, “what is that stranger?” + +He paused for a moment, shaded his eyes with his hand, and examined +her. “A large square-rigged vessel,” he said, “under a heavy press of +canvas,” and resumed his walk on the deck. + +After a while the pilot said: “Look again, Mr Slick, can you make her +out now?” + +“Why,” sais I, “she is only a brigantine; but ask the skipper.” + +He took his glass and scrutinized her closely, and as he replaced it in +the binnacle said: “We are going to have southerly weather I think; she +loomed very large when I first saw her, and I took her for a ship; but +now she seems to be an hermaphrodite. It’s of no consequence to us +however what she is, and we shall soon near her.” + +“Beyond that vessel,” said the pilot, “there is a splendid harbour, and +as there has been a head wind for some time, I have no doubt there are +many coasters in there, from the masters of whom you can obtain much +useful information on the object of your visit, while we can drive a +profitable trade among them and the folks ashore. How beautifully these +harbours are situated,” he continued, “for carrying on the fisheries, +and Nova Scotian though I be, I must say, I do think in any other part +of the world there would be large towns here.” + +“I think so too, Eldad,” sais I, “but British legislation is at the +bottom of all your misfortunes, after all, and though you are as lazy +as sloths, and as idle as that fellow old Blowhard saw, who lay down on +the grass all day to watch the vessels passing, and observe the motion +of the crows, the English, by breaking up your monopoly of +inter-colonial and West India trade and throwing it open to us, not +only without an equivalent, but in the face of our prohibitory duties, +are the cause of all your poverty and stagnation. They are rich and +able to act like fools if they like in their own affairs, but it was a +cruel thing to sacrifice you, as they have done, and deprive you of the +only natural carrying trade and markets you had. The more I think of it +the less I blame you. It is a wicked mockery to lock men up, and then +taunt them with want of enterprise, and tell them they are idle.” + +“Look at that vessel again, Sir,” said Eldad; “she don’t make much +headway, does she?” + +“Well, I took the glass again and examined her minutely, and I never +was so stumpt in my life. + +“Pilot,” said I, “is that the same vessel?” + +“The identical,” said he. + +“I vow to man,” sais I, “as I am a livin’ sinner, that is neither a +ship, nor a brigantine, nor a hermaphrodite, but a topsail schooner, +that’s a fact. What in natur’ is the meanin’ of all this? Perhaps the +captain knows,” so I called him again. + +“Cutler, that vessel is transmografied again,” sais I; “look at her.” + +“Pooh,” said he, “that’s not the same vessel at all. The two first we +saw are behind that island. That one is nothing but a coaster. You +can’t take me in, Slick. You are always full of your fun, and taking a +rise out of some one or another, and I shall be glad when we land, you +will then have some one else to practise on.” + +In a short time the schooner vanished, and its place was supplied by a +remarkable white cliff, which from the extraordinary optical delusion +it occasions gives its name to the noble port which is now called Ship +Harbour. I have since mentioned this subject to a number of mariners, +and have never yet heard of a person who was not deceived in a similar +manner. As we passed through the narrows, we entered a spacious and +magnificent basin, so completely land-locked that a fleet of vessels of +the largest size may lay there unmoved by any wind. There is no haven +in America to be compared with it. + +“You are now safe,” said the pilot; “it is only twelve leagues from +Halifax, and nobody would think of looking for you here. The fact is, +_the nearer you hide the safer you be._” + +“Exactly,” sais I; “what you seek you can’t find, but when you ain’t +looking for a thing, you are sure to stumble on it.” + +“If you ever want to run goods, Sir,” said he, “the closer you go to +the port the better. Smugglers ain’t all up to this, so they seldom +approach the lion’s den, but go farther and fare worse. Now we may +learn lessons from dumb animals. They know we reason on probabilities, +and therefore always do what is improbable. “We _think_ them to be +fools, but they _know_ that we are. The fox sees we always look for him +about his hole, and therefore he carries on his trade as far from it, +and as near the poultry yard, as possible. If a dog kills sheep, and +them Newfoundlanders are most uncommon fond of mutton, I must say, he +never attacks his neighbour’s flock, for he knows he would be suspected +and had up for it, but sets off at night, and makes a foray like the +old Scotch on the distant borders. + +“He washes himself, for marks of blood is a bad sign, and returns afore +day, and wags his tail, and runs round his master, and looks up into +his face as innocent as you please, as much as to say, ‘Squire, here I +have been watchin’ of your property all this live-long night, it’s +dreadful lonely work, I do assure you, and oh, how glad I am to see the +shine of your face this morning.’ + +“And the old boss pats his head, fairly took in, and says, ‘That’s a +good dog, what a faithful honest fellow you be, you are worth your +weight in gold.’ + +“Well, the next time he goes off on a spree in the same quarter, what +does he see but a border dog strung up by the neck, who has been seized +and condemned as many an innocent fellow has been before him on +circumstantial evidence, and he laughs and says to himself, ‘What fools +humans be, they don’t know half as much as we dogs do.’ So he thinks it +would be as well to shift his ground, where folks ain’t on the watch +for sheep-stealers, and he makes a dash into a flock still farther off. + +“Them Newfoundlanders would puzzle the London detective police, I +believe they are the most knowin’ coons in all creation, don’t you?” + +“Well, they are,” sais I, “that’s a fact, and they have all the same +passions and feelings we have, only they are more grateful than man is, +and you can by kindness lay one of them under an obligation he will +never forget as long as he lives, whereas an obligation scares a man, +for he snorts and stares at you like a horse at an engine, and is e’en +most sure to up heels and let you have it, like mad. The only thing +about dogs is, they can’t bear rivals, they like to have all attention +paid to themselves exclusively. I will tell you a story I had from a +British colonel. + +“He was stationed in Nova Scotia, with his regiment, when I was a +venden of clocks there. I met him to Windsor, at the Wilcox Inn. He was +mightily taken with my old horse Clay, and offered me a most an +everlastin’ long price for him; he said if I would sell him, he +wouldn’t stand for money, for he never see such an animal in all his +born days, and so on. But old Clay was above all price, his ditto was +never made yet, and I don’t think ever will be. I had no notion to sell +him, and I told him so, but seein’ he was dreadful disappointed, for a +rich Englishman actually thinks money will do anything and get +anything, I told him if ever I parted with him he should have him on +condition he would keep him as long as he lived, and so on. + +“Well, it pacified him a bit, and to turn the conversation, sais I, +‘Colonel,’ sais I, ‘what a most an almighty everlastin’ super superior +Newfoundler that is,’ a pointin’ to his dog; ‘creation,’ sais I, ‘if I +had a regiment of such fellows, I believe I wouldn’t be afraid of the +devil. My,’ sais I, ‘what a dog! would you part with him? I’de give +anything for him.’ + +“I said that a purpose to show him I had as good a right to keep my +horse as he had his long-haired gentleman. + +“‘No,’ sais he, with a sort of half smile at my ignorance in pokin’ +such a question at him (for a Britisher abroad thinks he has privileges +no one else has), ‘no, I don’t want to part with him. I want to take +him to England with me. See, he has all the marks of the true breed: +look at his beautiful broad forehead, what an intellectual one it is, +ain’t it? then see his delicate mouse-like ears, just large enough to +cover the orifice, and that’s all.’ + +“‘Orifice,’ said I, for I hate fine words for common use, they are like +go-to-meeting’ clothes on week days, onconvenient, and look too all +fired jam up. Sais I, ‘what’s that when it’s fried. I don’t know that +word?’ + +“‘Why, ear-hole,’ said he. + +“‘Oh,’ sais I, simple like, ‘I take now.’ + +“He smiled and went on. ‘Look at the black roof of his mouth,’ said he, +‘and do you see the dew claw, that is a great mark? Then feel that +tail, that is his rudder to steer by when swimming. It’s different from +the tail of other dogs, the strength of that joint is surprising. But +his chest, Sir, his chest, see how that is formed on purpose for +diving. It is shaped internally like a seal’s. And then, observe the +spread of that webbed foot, and the power of them paddles. There are +two kinds of them, the short and the long haired, but I think those +shaggy ones are the handsomest. They are very difficult to be got now +of the pure breed. I sent to the Bay of Bulls for this one. To have +them in health you must make them stay out of doors in all weather, and +keep them cool, and above all not feed them too high. Salt fish seems +the best food for them, they are so fond of it. Singular that, ain’t +it? but a dog is natural, Sir, and a man ain’t. + +“‘Now, you never saw a codfish at the table of a Newfoundland merchant +in your life. He thinks it smells too much of the shop. In fact, in my +opinion the dog is the only gentleman there. The only one, now that the +Indian is extinct, who has breeding and blood in that land of oil, +blubber, and icebergs.’ + +“Lord, I wish one of them had been there to have heard him, wouldn’t he +a harpooned him? that’s all. He made a considerable of a long yarn of +it, and as it was a text he had often enlarged on, I thought he never +would have ended, but like other preachers, when he got heated, spit on +the slate, rub it all out, and cypher it over again. Thinks I to +myself, I’ll play you a bit, my boy. + +“‘Exactly,’ sais I, ‘there is the same difference in dogs and horses as +there is in men. Some are noble by nature, and some vulgar; each is +known by his breed.’ + +“‘True,’ said he, ‘very true,’ and he stood up a little straighter as +if it did him good to hear a republican say that, for his father was an +Earl. ‘A very just remark,’ said he, and he eyed me all over, as if he +was rather surprised at my penetration. + +“‘But the worst of it,’ sais I, ‘is that a high bred dog or horse and a +high bred man are only good for one thing. A pointer will point—a blood +horse run—a setter will set—a bull dog fight—and a Newfoundlander will +swim; but what else are they good for? Now a duke is a duke, and the +devil a thing else. All you expect of him is to act and look like one +(and I could point out some that don’t even do that). If he writes a +book, and I believe a Scotch one, by the help of his tutor, did once, +or makes a speech, you say, Come now, that is very well for a duke, and +so on. Well, a marquis ain’t quite so high bred, and he is a little +better, and so on, downwards; when you get to an earl, why, he may be +good for more things than one. I ain’t quite sure a cross ain’t +desirable, and in that way that you couldn’t improve the intelligence +of both horses, noblemen, and dogs—don’t you think so, Sir?’ sais I. + +“‘It is natural for you,’ said he, not liking the smack of democracy +that I threw in for fun, and looking uneasy. ‘So,’ sais he (by way of +turning the conversation), ‘the sagacity of dogs is very wonderful. I +will tell you an anecdote of this one that has surprised everybody to +whom I have related it. + +“‘Last summer my duties led me to George’s Island. I take it for +granted you know it. It is a small island situated in the centre of the +harbour of Halifax, has a powerful battery on it, and barracks for the +accommodation of troops. There was a company of my regiment stationed +there at the time. I took this dog and a small terrier, called Tilt, in +the boat with me. The latter was a very active little fellow that the +General had given me a few weeks before. He was such an amusing +creature, that he soon became a universal favourite, and was suffered +to come into the house (a privilege which was never granted to this +gentleman, who paid no regard to the appearance of his coat, which was +often wet and dirty), and who was therefore excluded. + +“‘The consequence was, Thunder was jealous, and would not associate +with him, and if ever he took any liberty, he turned on him and +punished him severely. This however he never presumed to do in my +presence, as he knew I would not suffer it, and therefore, when they +both accompanied me in my walks, the big dog contented himself with +treating the other with perfect indifference and contempt. Upon this +occasion, Thunder lay down in the boat and composed himself to sleep, +while the little fellow, who was full of life and animation, and +appeared as if he did not know what it was to close his eyes, sat up, +looked over the gunwale, and seemed to enjoy the thing uncommonly. He +watched the motions of the men, as if he understood what was required +of them, and was anxious they should acquit themselves properly.’ + +“‘He knew,’ said I, ‘it was what sailors call the _dog watch.’_ + +“‘Very _good,’_ said he, but looking all the time as if he thought the +interruption very _bad._ + +“‘After having made my inspection, I returned to the boat, for the +purpose of recrossing to the town, when I missed the terrier. Thunder +was close at my heels, and when I whistled for the other, wagged his +tail and looked up in my face, as if he would say, Never mind that +foolish dog, I am here, and that is enough, or is there anything you +want me to do? + +“‘After calling in vain, I went back to the barracks, and inquired of +the men for Tilt, but no one appeared to have seen him or noticed his +motions. + +“‘After perambulating the little island in vain, I happened to ask the +sentry if he knew where he was. + +“‘Yes, Sir,’ said he, ‘he is buried in the beach.’ + +“‘Buried in the beach,’ said I, with great anger, ‘who dared to kill +him? Tell me, Sir, immediately.’ + +“‘That large dog did it, Sir. He enticed him down to the shore by +playing with him, pretending to crouch and then run after him; and then +retreating and coaxing him to chase him; and when he got him near the +beach, he throttled him in an instant, and then scratched a hole in the +shingle and buried him, covering him up with the gravel. After that he +went into the water, and with his paws washed his head and face, shook +himself, and went up to the barracks. You will find the terrier, just +down there, Sir.’ + +“‘And sure enough there was the poor little fellow, quite dead, and yet +warm. + +“‘In the mean time Thunder, who had watched our proceedings from a +distance, as soon as he saw the body exhumed, felt as if there was a +court-martial holding over himself, plunged into the harbour and swam +across to the town, and hid himself for several days, until he thought +the affair had blown over; and then approached me anxiously and +cautiously, lest he should be apprehended and condemned. As I was +unwilling to lose both my dogs, I was obliged to overlook it, and take +him back to my confidence. A strange story, ain’t it, Mr Slick.’ + +“‘Well, it is,’ sais I, ‘but dogs do certainly beat all natur, that’s a +fact.’ + +“But to get back to the ‘Black Hawk:’ as soon as we anchored, I +proposed to Cutler that we should go ashore and visit the ‘natives.’ +While he was engaged giving his orders to the mate, I took the +opportunity of inquiring of the pilot about the inhabitants. This is +always a necessary precaution. If you require light-houses, buoys, and +sailing directions to enter a port, you want similar guides when you +land. The navigation there is difficult also, and it’s a great thing to +know who you are going to meet, what sort of stuff they are made of, +and which way to steer, so as to avoid hidden shoals and sand-bars, for +every little community is as full of them as their harbour. It don’t +do, you know, to talk tory in the house of a radical, to name a bishop +to a puritan, to let out agin smugglin’ to a man who does a little bit +of business that way himself; or, as the French say, ‘to talk of a rope +in a house where the squatter has been hanged.’ If you want to please a +guest, you must have some of his favourite dishes at dinner for him; +and if you want to talk agreeably to a man, you must select topics he +has a relish for. + +“So,” sais I, “where had we better go, Pilot, when we land?” + +“Do you see that are white one-story house there?” said he. “That is a +place, though not an inn, where the owner, if he is at home, will +receive the likes of you very hospitably. He is a capital fellow in his +way, but as hot as pepper. His name is Peter McDonald, and he is +considerable well to do in the world. He is a Highlander; and when +young went out to Canada in the employment of the North-west Fur +Company, where he spent many years, and married, broomstick fashion, I +suppose, a squaw. Alter her death he removed, with his two half-caste +daughters, to St John’s, New Brunswick; but his girls I don’t think +were very well received, on account of their colour, and he came down +here and settled at Ship Harbour, where some of his countrymen are +located. He is as proud as Lucifer, and so are his galls. Whether it is +that they have been slighted, and revenge it on all the rest of the +world, I don’t know; or whether it is Highland and Indian pride mixed, +I ain’t sartified; but they carry their heads high, and show a stiff +upper lip, I tell you. I don’t think you will get much talk out of +them, for I never could.” + +“Well, it don’t follow,” said I, “by no manner of means, Eldad, because +they wouldn’t chat to you, that they wouldn’t open their little mugs to +me. First and foremost recollect, Mr Nickerson, you are a married man, +and it’s no use for a gall to talk it into you; and then, in the next +place, you see you know a plaguey sight more about the shape, make, and +build of a craft like this than you do about the figure-head, waist, +and trim of a gall. You are a seaman, and I am a landsman; you know how +to bait your hooks for fish, and I know the sort of tackle women will +jump at. See if I don’t set their clappers a going, like those of a +saw-mill. Do they speak English?” + +“Yes,” said he, “and they talk Gaelic and French also; the first two +they learned from their father, and the other in Canada.” + +“Are they pretty?” + +“The eldest is beautiful,” said he; “and there is something in her +manner you can’t help thinking she is a lady. You never saw such a +beautiful figure as she is in your life.” + +Thinks I to myself, “that’s all you know about it, old boy.” But I +didn’t say so, for I was thinking of Sophy at the time. + +We then pushed off, and steered for Peter McDonald’s, Indian Peter, as +the pilot said the fishermen called him. As we approached the house he +came out to meet us. He was a short, strong-built, athletic man, and +his step was as springy as a boy’s. He had a jolly, open, manly face, +but a quick, restless eye, and the general expression of his +countenance indicated at once good nature and irascibility of temper. + +“Coot tay, shentlemen,” he said, “she is glad to see you; come, walk +into her own house.” He recognised and received Eldad kindly, who +mentioned our names and introduced us, and he welcomed us cordially. As +soon as we were seated, according to the custom of the north-west +traders, he insisted upon our taking something to drink, and calling to +his daughter Jessie in Gaelic, he desired her to bring whiskey and +brandy. As I knew this was a request that on such an occasion could not +be declined without offence, I accepted his offer with thanks, and no +little praise of the virtues of whiskey; the principal recommendation +of which, I said, “was that there was not a headache in a hogshead of +it.” + +“She believes so herself,” he said, “it is petter ash all de rum, +prandy, shin, and other Yanke pyson in the States; ta Yankies are +cheatin smugglin rascals.” + +The entrance of Jessie fortunately gave a turn to this complimentary +remark; when she set down the tray, I rose and extended my hand to her, +and said in Gaelic, “_Cair mur tha thu mo gradh_ (how do you do, my +dear), _tha mi’n dochas gam biel thu slan_ (I hope you are quite +well).” + +The girl was amazed, but no less pleased. How sweet to the ear are the +accents of the paternal language, or the mother tongue as we call it, +for it is women who teach us to talk. It is a bond of union! Whoever +speaks it, when we are in a land of strangers, is regarded as a +relative. I shall never forget when I was in the bazaar at Calcutta, +how my heart leaped at hearing the voice of a Connecticut man as he was +addressing a native trader. + +“Tell you what, stranger,” said he, “I feel as mad as a meat axe, and I +hope I may be darned to all darnation, if I wouldn’t chaw up your ugly +mummyised corpse, hair, hide, and hoof, this blessed minute, as quick +as I would mother’s dough-nuts, if I warn’t afraid you’d pyson me with +your atimy, I’ll be dod drotted if I wouldn’t.” + +Oh, how them homespun words, coarse as they were, cheered my drooping +spirits, and the real Connecticut nasal twang with which they were +uttered sounded like music to my ears; how it brought up home and +far-off friends to my mind, and how it sent up a tear of mingled joy +and sadness to my eye. + +Peter was delighted. He slapped me on the back with a hearty good will, +in a way nearly to deprive me of my breath, welcomed me anew, and +invited us all to stay with him while the vessel remained there. Jessie +replied in Gaelic, but so rapidly I could only follow her with great +difficulty, for I had but a smattering of it, though I understood it +better than I could speak it, having acquired it in a very singular +manner, as I will tell you by and by. Offering her a chair, she took it +and sat down after some hesitation, as if it was not her usual habit to +associate with her father’s visitors, and we were soon on very sociable +terms. I asked the name of the trading post in the north-west where +they had resided, and delighted her by informing her I had once been +there myself on business of John Jacob Astor’s New York Fur Company, +and staid with the Governor, who was the friend and patron of her +father’s. This was sufficient to establish us at once on something like +the footing of old friends. When she withdrew, Peter followed her out, +probably to give some directions for our evening meal. + +“Well, well,” said the pilot, “if you don’t beat all! I never could get +a word out of that girl, and you have loosened her tongue in rale right +down earnest, that’s a fact.” + +“Eldad,” sais I, “there is two sorts of pilotage, one that enables you +to steer through life, and another that carries you safely along a +coast, and there is this difference between them: This universal globe +is all alike in a general way, and the knowledge that is sufficient for +one country will do for all the rest of it, with some slight +variations. Now you may be a very good pilot on this coast, but your +knowledge is no use to you on the shores of England. A land pilot is a +fool if he makes shipwreck wherever he is, but the best of coast pilots +when he gets on a strange shore is as helpless as a child. Now a woman +is a woman all over the world, whether she speaks Gaelic, French, +Indian, or Chinese; there are various entrances to her heart, and if +you have experience, you have got a compass which will enable you to +steer through one or the other of them, into the inner harbour of it. +Now, Minister used to say that Eve in Hebrew meant talk, for providence +gave her the power of chattyfication on purpose to take charge of that +department. Clack then you see is natural to them; _talk therefore to +them as they like, and they will soon like to talk to you._ If a woman +was to put a Bramah lock on her heart, a skilful man would find his way +into it if he wanted to, I know. That contrivance is set to a +particular word; find the letters that compose it, and it opens at +once. The moment I heard the Gaelic, I knew I had discovered the +cypher—I tried it and succeeded. _Tell you what, Pilot, love and skill +laugh at locks, for them that can’t be opened can be picked. The +mechanism of the human heart, when you thoroughly understand it, is, +like all the other works of nature, very beautiful, very wonderful, but +very simple. When it does not work well, the fault is not in the +machinery, but in the management.”_ + + + + +CHAPTER IV. +A CRITTER WITH A THOUSAND VIRTUES AND BUT ONE VICE. + + +Soon after McDonald had returned and resumed his seat, a tall thin man, +dressed in a coarse suit of homespun, entered the room, and addressing +our host familiarly as Squire Peter, deposited in the corner a +fishing-rod, and proceeded to disencumber himself of a large salmon +basket apparently well filled, and also two wallets, one of which +seemed to contain his clothes, and the other, from the dull heavy sound +it emitted as he threw it on the floor, some tools. He was about forty +years of age. His head, which was singularly well formed, was covered +with a luxuriant mass of bushy black curls. His eyes were large, deep +set, and intelligent, his forehead expansive and projecting, and his +eyebrows heavy and shaggy. When addressing Peter he raised them up in a +peculiar manner, nearly to the centre of his forehead, and when he +ceased they suddenly dropped and partially concealed his eyes. + +It was impossible not to be attracted by a face that had two such +remarkable expressions; one of animation, amiability, and intelligence; +and the other of total abstraction. He bent forward, even after he +relieved himself of his load, and his attitude and gait suggested the +idea of an American land-surveyor, who had been accustomed to carry +heavy weights in the forest. Without condescending to notice the party, +further than bestowing on us a cursory glance to ascertain whether he +knew any of us, he drew up to the chimney corner, and placing the soles +of his boots perpendicularly to the fire (which soon indicated by the +vapour arising from them that he had been wading in water), he asked in +a listless manner and without waiting for replies, some unconnected +questions of the landlord: as, “Any news, Peter? how does the world use +you? how are the young ladies? how is fish this season? macarel plenty? +any wrecks this year, Peter, eh? any vessels sinking and dead men +floating; silks, satins, ribbons, and gold watches waiting to be picked +up? Glorious coast this! the harvest extends over the whole year.” And +then he drew his hand over his face as if to suppress emotion, and +immediately relapsed into silence and stared moodily into the fire. + +Peter seemed to understand that no answer was required, and therefore +made none, but asked him where he had come from? + +“Where did he come from?” said the stranger, who evidently applied the +question to a fish in his basket, and not to himself, “originally from +the lake, Peter, where it was spawned, and whither it annually returns. +You ought to understand that, Mac, for you have a head on your +shoulders, and that is more than half the poor wretches that float +ashore here from the deep have. It’s a hard life, my friend, going to +sea, and hard shores sailors knock against sometimes, and still harder +hearts they often find there. A stone in the end of a stocking is a +sling for a giant, and soon puts an end to their sufferings; a +punishment for wearing gold watches, a penalty for pride. Jolly tars +eh? oh yes, very jolly! it’s a jolly sight, ain’t it, to see two +hundred half-naked, mangled, and disfigured bodies on the beach, as I +did the other day?” and he gave a shudder at the thought that seemed to +shake the very chair he sat on. “It’s lucky their friends don’t see +them, and know their sad fate. They were lost at sea! that is enough +for mothers and wives to hear. The cry for help, when there is none to +save, the shriek of despair, when no hope is left, the half-uttered +prayer, the last groan, and the last struggle of death, are all hushed +in the storm, and weeping friends know not what they lament.” + +After a short pause, he continued: + +“That sight has most crazed me. What was it you asked? Oh, I have it! +you asked where he came from? From the lake, Peter, where he was +spawned, and where he returned you see, to die. You were spawned on the +shores of one of the bays of the Highlands of Scotland. Wouldn’t you +like to return and lay your bones there, eh? From earth you came, to +earth you shall return. Wouldn’t you like to go back and breathe the +air of childhood once more before you die? Love of home, Peter, is +strong; it is an instinct of nature; but, alas! the world is a +Scotchman’s home—anywhere that he can make money. Don’t the mountains +with their misty summits appear before you sometimes in your sleep? +Don’t you dream of their dark shadows and sunny spots, their heathy +slopes and deep deep glens? Do you see the deer grazing there, and hear +the bees hum merrily as they return laden with honey, or the grouse +rise startled, and whirr away to hide itself in its distant covert? Do +the dead ever rise from their graves and inhabit again the little +cottage that looks out on the stormy sea? Do you become a child once +more, and hear your mother’s voice, as she sings the little simple air +that lulls you to sleep, or watch with aching eyes for the returning +boat that brings your father, with the shadows of evening, to his +humble home? And what is the language of your dreams? not English, +French, or Indian, Peter, for they have been learned for trade or for +travel, but Gaelic, for that was the language of love. Had you left +home early, Mac, and forgotten its words or its sounds, had all trace +of it vanished from your memory as if it had never been, still would +you have heard it, and known it, and talked it in your dreams. Peter, +it is the voice of nature, and that is the voice of God!” + +“She’ll tell her what she treams of sometimes,” said McDonald, “she +treams of ta mountain dew—ta clear water of life.” + +“I will be bound you do,” said the doctor, “and I do if you don’t, so, +Peter, my boy, give me a glass; it will cheer my heart, for I have been +too much alone lately, and have seen such horrid sights, I feel dull.” + +While Peter (who was a good deal affected with this reference to his +native land) was proceeding to comply with his request, he relapsed +into his former state of abstraction, and when the liquor was presented +to him, appeared altogether to have forgotten that he had asked for it. + +“Come, Toctor,” said the host, touching him on the shoulder, “come, +take a drop of this, it will cheer you up; you seem a peg too low +to-day. It’s the genuine thing, it is some the Governor, Sir Colin +Campbell, gave me.” + +“None the better for that, Peter, none the better for that, for the +rich give out of their abundance, the poor from their last cup and +their last loaf; one is the gift of station, the other the gift of the +heart.” + +“Indeed then, she is mistakened, man. It was the gift of as +true-hearted a Highlander as ever lived. I went to see him lately, +about a grant of land. He was engaged writing at the time, and an +officher was standing by him for orders, and sais he to me, ‘My good +friend, could you call to-morrow? for I am very busy to-day, as you +see.’ Well, I answered him in Gaelic that the wind was fair, and I was +anxious to go home, but if he would be at leisure next week I would +return again. Oh, I wish you had seen him, Doctor, when he heard his +native tongue. He threw down his pen, jumped up like a boy, and took me +by the hand, and shook it with all his might. ‘Oh,’ said he, ‘I haven’t +heard that for years; the sound of it does my heart good. You must come +again and see me after the steamer has left for England. What can I do +for you? So I told him in a few words I wanted a grant of two hundred +acres of land adjoining this place. And he took a minute of my name, +and of Skip Harbour, and the number of my lot, and wrote underneath an +order for the grant. ‘Take that to the Surveyor-General,’ said he, ‘and +the next time you come to Halifax the grant will be ready for you.’ +Then he rang the bell, and when the servant came, he ordered him to +fill a hamper of whiskey and take it down to my vessel.’ + +“Did you get the grant?” said the stranger. + +“Indeed she did,” said Peter, “and when she came to read it, it was for +five instead of two hundred acres.” + +“Good!” said the other. “Come, I like that. Fill me another glass and I +will drink his health.” + +“Well done, old boy!” said I to myself, “you know how to carry your +sentimentality to market anyhow. Doctor, doctor! So you are a doctor,” +sais I to myself, “are you? Well, there is something else in you than +dough pills, and salts, and senna, at any rate, and that is more than +most of your craft have, at all events. I’ll draw you out presently, +for I never saw a man with that vein of melancholy in him, that didn’t +like fun, providin’ his sadness warn’t the effect of disease. So here’s +at you; I’ll make the fun start or break a trace, I know.” + +Cutler and I had been talking horse when he came in; a sort of talk I +rather like myself, for I consait I know a considerable some about it, +and ain’t above getting a wrinkle from others when I can. “Well,” sais +I, “Capting, we was a talking about horses when the doctor came in.” + +“Captain,” said the doctor, turning round to Cutler, “Captain, excuse +me, Sir, how did you reach the shore?” + +“In the boat,” said Cutler. + +“Ah!” said the other with animation, “was all the crew saved?” + +“We were in no danger whatever, Sir; my vessel is at anchor in the +harbour.” + +“Ah,” replied the doctor, “that’s fortunate, very fortunate;” and +turned again to the fire, with an air, as I thought, of disappointment, +as if he had expected a tale of horror to excite him. + +“‘Well, Mr Slick,” said the captain, “let us hear your story about _the +horse that had a thousand virtues and only one vice.”_ + +At the sound of my name, the stranger gave a sudden start and gazed +steadily at me, his eyebrows raised in the extraordinary manner that I +have described, something like the festoon of a curtain, and a smile +playing on his face as if expecting a joke and ready to enter into it, +and enjoy it. All this I observed out of the corner of my eye, without +appearing to regard him or notice his scrutiny. + +Sais I, “when I had my tea-store in Boston, I owned the fastest +trotting horse in the United States; he was a sneezer, I tell you. I +called him Mandarin—a very appropriate name, you see, for my business. +It was very important for me to attract attention. Indeed, you must do +it, you know, in our great cities, or you are run right over, and +crushed by engines of more power. Whose horse is that? Mr Slick’s the +great tea-merchant. That’s the great Mandarin, the fastest beast in all +creation—refused five thousand dollars for him, and so on. Every +wrapper I had for my tea had a print of him on it. It was action and +reaction, you see. Well, this horse had a very serious fault that +diminished his value in my eyes down to a hundred dollars, as far as +use and comfort went. Nothing in the world could ever induce him to +cross a bridge. He had fallen through one when he was a colt, and got +so all-fired frightened he never forgot it afterwards. He would stop, +rear, run back, plunge, and finally kick if you punished him too hard, +and smash your waggon to pieces, but cross he never would. Nobody knew +this but me, and of course I warn’t such a fool as to blow upon my own +beast. At last I grew tired of him and determined to sell him; but as I +am a man that always adheres to the truth in my horse trades, the +difficulty was, how to sell him and not lose by him. Well, I had to go +to Charleston, South Carolina, on business, and I took the chance to +get rid of Mr Mandarin, and advertised him for sale. I worded the +notice this way: + +“‘A gentleman, being desirous of quitting Boston on urgent business for +a time, will dispose of a first-rate horse, that he is obliged to leave +behind him. None need apply but those willing to give a long price. The +animal may be seen at Deacon Seth’s livery stables.’ + +“Well, it was soon known that Mandarin was for sale, and several +persons came to know the lowest figure. ‘Four thousand dollars,’ said +I, ‘and if I didn’t want to leave Boston in a hurry, six would be the +price.’ + +“At last young Mr Parker, the banker’s son from Bethany, called and +said he wouldn’t stand for the price, seeing that a hundred dollars was +no more than a cord of wood in his pocket (good gracious, how the +doctor laughed at that phrase!), but would like to inquire a little +about the critter, confidential like. + +“‘I will answer any questions you ask,’ I said, candidly. + +“‘Is he sound?’ + +“‘Sound as a new hackmetack trenail. Drive it all day, and you can’t +broom it one mite or morsel.’ + +“‘Good in harness?’ + +“‘Excellent.’ + +“‘Can he do his mile in two fifteen?’ + +“‘He has done it.’ + +“‘Now between man and man,’ sais he, ‘what is your reason for selling +the horse, Slick? for you are not so soft as to be tempted by price out +of a first chop article like that.’ + +“‘Well, candidly,’ sais I, ‘for I am like a cow’s tail, straight up and +down in my dealing, and ambition the clean thing.’” + +“Straight up and down!” said the doctor aloud to himself; ‘straight up +and down like a cow’s tail.’ Oh Jupiter! what a simile! and yet it +ain’t bad, for one end is sure to be in the dirt. A man may be the +straight thing, that is right up and down, like a cow’s tail, but hang +me if he can be the clean thing anyhow he can fix it.” And he stretched +out his feet to their full length, put his hands in his trowsers +pocket, held down his head, and clucked like a hen that is calling her +chickens. I vow I could hardly help bustin’ out a larfin myself, for it +warn’t a slow remark of hisn, and showed fun; in fact, I was sure at +first he was a droll boy. + +“Well, as I was a sayin’, sais I to Mr Parker, ‘Candidly, now, my only +reason for partin’ with that are horse is, that I want to go away in a +hurry out of Boston clear down to Charleston, South Carolina, and as I +can’t take him with me, I prefer to sell him.” + +“‘Well,’ sais he, ‘the beast is mine, and here is a cheque for your +money.’ + +“‘Well,’ sais I, ‘Parker, take care of him, for you have got a +fust-rate critter. He is all sorts of a horse, and one that is all I +have told you, and more too, and no mistake.’ + +“Every man that buys a new horse, in a general way, is in a great hurry +to try him. There is sumthin’ very takin’ in a new thing. A new watch, +a new coat, no, I reckon it’s best to except a new spic and span coat +(for it’s too glossy, and it don’t set easy, till it’s worn awhile, and +perhaps I might say a new saddle, for it looks as if you warn’t used to +ridin’, except when you went to Meetin’ of a Sabbaday, and kept it +covered all the week, as a gall does her bonnet, to save it from the +flies); but a new waggon, a new sleigh, a new house, and above all a +new wife, has great attractions. Still you get tired of them all in a +short while; you soon guess the hour instead of pullin’ out the watch +for everlastin’. The waggon loses its novelty, and so does the sleigh, +and the house is surpassed next month by a larger and finer one, and as +you can’t carry it about to show folks, you soon find it is too +expensive to invite them to come and admire it. But the wife; oh, Lord! +In a general way, there ain’t more difference between a grub and a +butterfly, than between a sweetheart and wife. Yet the grub and the +butterfly is the same thing, only, differently rigged out, and so is +the sweetheart and wife. Both critters crawl about the house, and ain’t +very attractive to look at, and both turn out so fine and so painted +when they go abroad, you don’t scarcely know them agin. Both, too, when +they get out of doors, seem to have no other airthly object but to show +themselves. They don’t go straight there and back again, as if there +was an end in view, but they first flaunt to the right, and then to the +left, and then everywhere in general, and yet nowhere in particular. To +be seen and admired is the object of both. They are all finery, and +that is so in their way they can neither sit, walk, nor stand +conveniently in it. They are never happy, but when on the wing.” + +“Oh, Lord!” said the doctor to himself, who seemed to think aloud; “I +wonder if that is a picture or a caricature?” + +Thinks I, “old boy, you are sold. I said that a purpose to find you +out, for I am too fond of feminine gender to make fun of them. You are +a single man. If you was married, I guess you wouldn’t ask that are +question.” + +But I went on. “Now a horse is different, you never get tired of a good +one. He don’t fizzle out1 like the rest. You like him better and better +every day. He seems a part of yourself; he is your better half, your +‘_hal_ter _he_go’ as I heard a cockney once call his fancy gall. + +1 Fizzle out. To prove a failure. + + +“This bein’ the case, as I was a sayin’, as soon as a man gits a new +one, he wants to try him. So Parker puts Mandarin into harness, and +drives away like wink for Salem, but when he came to the bridge, the +old coon stopt, put forward his ears, snorted, champed his bit, and +stamped his fore feet. First Parker coaxed him, but that did no good, +and then he gave him the whip, and he reared straight up on eend, and +nearly fell over into his waggon. A man that was crossing over at the +time took him by the head to lead him, when he suddenly wheeled half +round, threw him in the mud, and dragged him in the gutter, as he +backed up agin the side walk all standin’. Parker then laid on the +whip, hot and heavy; he gave him a most righteous lickin’. Mandarin +returned blow for blow, until he kicked the waggon all to flinders. + +“Well, I must say that for his new owner, he was a plucky fellow, as +well as Mandarin, and warn’t agoin’ to cave in that way. So he takes +him back to the livery stables, and puts him into another carriage, and +off he starts agin, and thinkin’ that the horse had seen or smelt +sumthen at that bridge to scare him, he tries another, when the same +scene was acted over again, only he was throwed out, and had his +clothes nearly tore off. Well, that afternoon, up comes Parker to me, +choking with rage. + +“‘Slick,’ said he, ‘that is the greatest devil of a horse I ever see. +He has dashed two carriages all to shivereens, and nearly tuckard the +innerds out of me and another man. I don’t think you have acted +honestly by me.’ + +“‘Parker,’ said I, ‘don’t you use words that you don’t know the meanin’ +of, and for goodness gracious sake don’t come to me to teach you +manners, I beseech you, for I am a rough schoolmaster, I tell _you._ I +answered every question you asked me, candidly, fair and square, and +above board.’ + +“‘Didn’t you know,’ said he, ‘that no living man could git that horse +across a bridge, let him do his darndest?’ + +“‘I did,’ said I, ‘know it to my cost, for he nearly killed me in a +fight we had at the Salem Pike.’ + +“‘How could you then tell me, Sir, your sole reason for parting with +him was, that you wanted to leave Boston and go to Charleston?’ + +“‘Because, Sir,’ I replied, ‘it was the literal truth. Boston, you know +as well as I do, is almost an island, and go which way you will, you +must cross a bridge to get out of it. I said I wanted to quit the city, +and was compelled to leave my horse behind. How could I ever quit the +place with that tormented beast? And warn’t I compelled to leave him +when Old Scratch himself couldn’t make him obey orders? If I had a +waited to leave town till he would cross a bridge, I should have had to +have waited till doomsday.’ + +“He scratched his head and looked foolish. ‘What a devil of a sell,’ +said he. ‘That will be a standing joke agin me as long as I live.’ + +“‘I don’t see that,’ said I, ‘if you had been deceived, you might have +called it a sell, but you bought him with your eyes and ears open, and +a full knowledge of the truth. And, after all, where will you go to +better yourself? for the most that can be said is, you have got _a +critter with a thousand virtues and but one vice._’ + +“‘Oh, get out!’ said he, ‘and let me alone.’ And he walked off, and +looked as sheepish as you please.” + +“‘Oh dear!” said the doctor; “oh dear.” And he placed his hands on his +ribs, and walked round the room in a bent position, like a man affected +with colic, and laughed as if he was hysterical, saying, “Oh dear! Oh, +Mr Slick, that’s a capital story. Oh, you would make a new man of me +soon, I am sure you would, if I was any time with you. I haven’t +laughed before that way for many a long day. Oh, it does me good. There +is nothing like fun, is there? I haven’t any myself, but I do like it +in others. Oh, we need it. We need all the counterweights we can muster +to balance the sad relations of life. _God has made sunny spots in the +heart; why should we exclude the light from them?”_ + +“Stick a pin in that, Doctor,” says I, “for it’s worth rememberin’ as a +wise saw.” + +He then took up his wallet, and retired to his room to change his +clothes, saying to himself, in an under-tone: “Stick a pin in it. What +a queer phrase; and yet it’s expressive, too. It’s the way I preserve +my insects.” + +The foregoing conversation had scarcely terminated, when Peter’s +daughters commenced their preparations for the evening meal. And I +confess I was never more surprised than at the appearance of the older +one, Jessie. In form and beauty she far exceeded the pilot’s high +encomiums. She was taller than American women generally are; but she +was so admirably proportioned and well developed, you were not aware of +her height, till you saw her standing near her sister. Her motions were +all quiet, natural, and graceful, and there was an air about her, that +nothing but the native ease of a child of the forest, or highbred +elegance of fashionable life, can ever impart. She had the delicate +hands and small feet peculiar to Indian women. Her hair was of the +darkest and deepest jet, but not so coarse as that of the aborigines; +whilst her large black eyes were oval in shape, liquid, shaded by long +lashes, and over-arched by delicately-pencilled brows. Her neck was +long, but full, and her shoulders would have been the envy of a London +ball-room. She was a perfect model of a woman. + +It is true she had had the advantage, when young, of being the +companion of the children of the Governor of the Fort, and had been +petted, partially educated, and patronised by his wife. But neither he +nor his lady could have imparted what it is probable neither possessed, +much polish of manner or refinement of mind. We hear of nature’s +noblemen, but that means rather manly, generous, brave fellows, than +polished men. There are however splendid specimens of men, and +beautiful looking women, among the aborigines. Extremes meet; and it is +certain that the ease and grace of highly civilised life do not surpass +those of untutored nature, that neither concedes nor claims a +superiority to others. She was altogether of a different stamp from her +sister, who was a common-looking person, and resembled the ordinary +females to be found in savage life. Stout, strong, and rather stolid, +accustomed to drudge and to obey, rather than to be petted and rule; to +receive and not to give orders, and to submit from habit and choice. +One seemed far above, and the other as much below, the station of their +father. Jessie, though reserved, would converse if addressed; the other +shunned conversation as much as possible. + +Both father and daughters seemed mutually attached to each other, and +their conversation was carried on with equal facility in Indian, +French, Gaelic, and English, although Peter spoke the last somewhat +indifferently. In the evening a young man, of the name of Fraser, with +his two sisters, children of a Highland neighbour, came in to visit the +McDonalds, and Peter producing his violin, we danced jigs and reels, in +a manner and with a spirit not often seen but in Ireland or Scotland. +The doctor, unable to withstand the general excitement, joined in the +dances with as much animation as any of us, and seemed to enjoy himself +amazingly. + +“Ah, Mr Slick,” said he, patting me on the shoulder, “this is the true +philosophy of life. But how is it with your disposition for fun, into +which you enter with all your heart, that you have such a store of +‘wise saws.’ How in the world did you ever acquire them? for your time +seems to have been spent more in the active pursuits of life than in +meditation. Excuse me, I neither undervalue your talent nor power of +observation, but the union does not seem quite natural, it is so much +out of the usual course of things.” + +“Well,” sais I, “Doctor, you have been enough in the woods to know that +a rock, accidentally falling from a bank into a brook, or a drift-log +catching cross-ways of the stream, will often change its whole course, +and give it a different direction; haven’t you? Don’t you know that the +smallest and most trivial event often contains colouring matter enough +in it to change the whole complexion of our life? For instance, one +Saturday, not long before I left school, and when I was a considerable +junk of a boy, father gave me leave to go and spend the day with Eb +Snell, the son of our neighbour old Colonel Jephunny Snell. We amused +ourselves catching trout in the mill-pond, and shooting king-fishers, +about the hardest bird there is to kill in all creation, and between +one and the other sport, you may depend we enjoyed ourselves +first-rate. Towards evenin’ I heard a most an awful yell, and looked +round, and there was Eb shoutin’ and screamin’ at the tip eend of his +voice, and a jumpin’ up and down, as if he had been bit by a +rattlesnake. + +“‘What in natur is the matter of you, Eb?’ sais I. ‘What are you a +makin’ such an everlastin’ touss about?’ But the more I asked, the more +he wouldn’t answer. At last, I thought I saw a splash in the water, as +if somebody was making a desperate splurging there, and I pulled for +it, and raced to where he was in no time, and sure enough there was his +little brother, Zeb, just a sinkin’ out of sight. So I makes a spring +in after him in no time, caught him by the hair of his head, just as he +was vamosing, and swam ashore with him. The bull-rushes and long +water-grass was considerable thick there, and once or twice I thought +in my soul I should have to let go my hold of the child, and leave him +to save my own life, my feet got so tangled in it; but I stuck to it +like a good fellow, and worked my passage out with the youngster. + +“Just then, down came the women folk and all the family of the Snells, +and the old woman made right at me, as cross as a bear that has cubs, +she looked like a perfect fury. + +“‘You good-for-nothin’ young scallowag,’ said she, ‘is that the way you +take care of that poor dear little boy, to let him fall into the pond, +and get half drowned?’ + +“And she up and boxed my ears right and left, till sparks came out of +my eyes like a blacksmith’s chimney, and my hat, which was all soft +with water, got the crown knocked in in the scuffle, and was as flat as +a pancake. + +“‘What’s all this,’ sais Colonel Jephunny, who came runnin’ out of the +mill. ‘Eb,’ sais he, ‘what’s all this?’ + +“Well, the critter was so frightened he couldn’t do nothin’, but jump +up and down, nor say a word, but ‘Sam, Sam!’ + +“So the old man seizes a stick, and catchin’ one of my hands in his, +turned to, and gave me a most an awful hidin’. He cut me into ribbons +a’most. + +“‘I’ll teach you,’ he said, ‘you villain, to throw a child into the +water arter that fashin.’ And he turned to, and at it agin, as hard as +he could lay on. I believe in my soul he would have nearly killed me, +if it hadn’t a been for a great big nigger wench he had, called Rose. +My! what a slashin’ large woman, that was; half horse, half alligator, +with a cross of the mammoth in her. She wore a man’s hat and jacket, +and her petticoat had stuff enough in it to make the mainsail of a +boat. Her foot was as long and as flat as a snow shoe, and her hands +looked as shapeless and as hard as two large sponges froze solid. Her +neck was as thick as a bull’s, and her scalp was large and woolly +enough for a door-mat. She was as strong as a moose, and as ugly too; +and her great-white pointed teeth was a caution to a shark. + +“‘Hullo,’ sais she, ‘here’s the devil to pay, and no pitch hot. Are you +a goin’ to kill that boy, massa?’ and she seized hold of me and took me +away from him, and caught me up in her arms as easy as if I was a doll. + +“‘Here’s a pretty hurrahs nest,’ sais she, ‘let me see one of you dare +to lay hands on this brave pickininny. He is more of a man than the +whole bilin’ of you put together. My poor child,’ said she, ‘they have +used you scandalous, ridiculous,’ and she held down her nasty oily +shiny face and kissed me, till she nearly smothered me. Oh, Doctor, I +shall never forget that scene the longest day I ever live. She might a +been Rose by name, but she warn’t one by nature, I tell _you._ When +niggers get their dander raised, and their ebenezer fairly up, they +ain’t otter of roses, that’s a fact; whatever Mrs Stowe may say. Oh, I +kicked and yelled and coughed like anything. + +“‘Poor dear boy,’ she said, ‘Rosy ain’t a goin’ to hurt her own brave +child,’ not she, and she kissed me again and again, till I thought I +should have fainted. She actually took away my breath. + +“‘Come,’ said she, and she set me down on my feet. ‘Come to the house, +till I put some dry clothes on you, and I’ll make some lasses candy for +you with my own hands!’ But as soon as I touched land, I streaked off +for home, as hard as I could lay legs to the ground; but the perfume of +old Rose set me a sneezing so, I fairly blew up the dust in the road as +I went, as if a bull had been pawin of it, and left a great wet streak +behind me as if a watering-pot had passed that way. Who should I meet +when I returned, but mother a standin at the door. + +“‘Why, Sam,’ said she, ‘what under the sun is the matter? What a spot +of work? Where in the world have you been?’ + +“‘In the mill pond,’ said I. + +“‘In the mill pond,’ said she, slowly; ‘and ruinated that beautiful new +coat I made out of your father’s old one, and turned so nicely for you. +You are more trouble to me than all the rest of the boys put together. +Go right off to your room this blessed instant minite, and go to bed +and say your prayers, and render thanks for savin’ your clothes, if you +did lose your life.’ + +“‘I wish I had lost my life,’ said I. + +“‘Wish you had lost your life?’ said she. ‘Why you miserable, +onsarcumsised, onjustified, graceless boy. Why do you wish you had lost +your life?’ + +“‘Phew, phew,’ said I, ‘was you ever kissed by a nigger? because if you +was, I guess you wouldn’t have asked that are question,’ and I sneezed +so hard I actually blew down the wire cage, the door of it flew open, +and the cat made a spring like wink and killed the canary bird. + +“‘Sam, Sam,’ said she (‘skat, skat, you nasty devil, you—you have got +the knary, I do declare.) Sam! Sam! to think I should have lived to +hear you ask your mother if she had ever been kissed by a nigger!’ and +she began to boohoo right out. ‘I do believe in my soul you are drunk, +Sam,’ said she. + +“‘I shouldn’t wonder if I was,’ said I, ‘for I have drunk enough to-day +to serve a cow and a calf for a week.’ + +“‘Go right off to bed; my poor dear bird,’ said she. ‘And when your +father comes in I will send him to your cage. You shall be punished for +this.’ + +“‘I don’t care,’ sais I, for I was desperate and didn’t mind what +happened, ‘who you send, providin’ you don’t send black Rose, the +nigger wench, to me.’ + +“Well, in about an hour or so I heard father come to the foot of the +stairs and call out ‘Sam.’ I didn’t answer at first, but went and threw +the winder open ready for a jump. + +“Thinks I, ‘Sam, you are in great luck to-day. 1st. You got nearly +drowned, savin’ that little brat Zeb Snell. 2nd. You lost a bran new +hat, and spoilt your go-to-meetin’ clothes. 3rd. Mrs Snell boxed your +ears till your eyes shot stars, like rockets. 4th. You got an all-fired +licking from old Colonel Jephunny, till he made a mulatto of you, and +you was half black and half white. 5th. You got kissed and pysoned by +that great big emancipated she-nigger wench. 6th. You have killed your +mother’s canary bird, and she has jawed you till she went into +hysterics. 7th. Here’s the old man a goin’ to give you another +walloping and all for nothin. I’ll cut and run, and dot drot me if I +don’t, for it’s tarnation all over.’ + +“‘Sam,’ sais father again, a raisin’ of his voice. + +“‘Father,’ sais I, ‘I beg your pardon, I am very sorry for what I have +done, and I think I have been punished enough. If you will promise to +let me off this time, I will take my oath I will never save another +person from drowning again, the longest day I ever live.’ + +“‘Come down,’ said he, ‘when I tell you, I am goin’ to reward you.’ + +“‘Thank you,’ sais I, ‘I have been rewarded already more than I +deserve.’ + +“Well, to make a long story short, we concluded a treaty of peace, and +down I went, and there was Colonel Snell, who said he had drove over to +beg my pardon for the wrong he had done to me, and said he, ‘Sam, come +to me at ten o’clock on Monday, and I will put you in a way to make +your fortune, as a recompense for saving my child’s life.’ + +“Well, I kept the appointment, tho’ I was awful skared about old Rose +kissin of me again; and sais he, ‘Sam, I want to show you my +establishment for making wooden clocks. One o’ them can be manufactured +for two dollars, scale of prices then. Come to me for three months, and +I will teach you the trade, only you musn’t carry it on in Connecticut +to undermine me.’ I did so, and thus accidentally I became a +clockmaker. + +“To sell my wares I came to Nova Scotia. By a similar accident I met +the Squire in this province, and made his acquaintance. I wrote a +journal of our tour, and for want of a title he put my name to it, and +called it ‘Sam Slick, the Clockmaker.’ That book introduced me to +General Jackson, and he appointed me attaché to our embassy to England, +and that again led to Mr Polk making me Commissioner of the Fisheries, +which, in its turn, was the means of my having the honour of your +acquaintance,” and I made him a scrape of my hind leg. + +“Now,” sais I, “all this came from the accident of my havin’ saved a +child’s life one day. I owe my ‘wise saws’ to a similar accident. My +old master and friend, that you have read of in my books, Mr Hopewell, +was chock full of them. He used to call them wisdom boiled down to an +essence, concretes, and I don’t know what all. He had a book full of +English, French, Spanish, Italian, German, and above all, Bible ones. +Well, he used to make me learn them by heart for lessons, till I was +fairly sick and tired to death of ’em. + +“‘Minister,’ sais I, one day, ‘what under the sun is the use of them +old, musty, fusty proverbs. A boy might as well wear his father’s +boots, and ride in his long stirrups, as talk in maxims, it would only +set other boys a laughin’ at him.’ + +“‘Sam,’ sais he, ‘you don’t understand them now, and you don’t +understand your Latin grammar, tho’ you can say them both off by heart. +But you will see the value of one when you come to know the world, and +the other, when you come to know the language. The latter will make you +a good scholar, and the former a wise man.’ + +“Minister was right, Doctor. As I came to read the book of life, I soon +began to understand, appreciate, and apply my proverbs. _Maxims are +deductions ready drawn,_ and better expressed than I could do them, to +save my soul alive. Now I have larned to make them myself. I have +acquired the habit, as my brother the lawyer sais, ‘of extracting the +principle from cases.’ Do you take? I am not the accident of an +accident; for I believe the bans of marriage were always duly published +in our family; but I am the accident of an incident.” + +“There is a great moral in that too, Mr Slick,” he said. “How important +is conduct, when the merest trifle may carry in its train the misery or +happiness of your future life.” + +“Stick a pin in that also. Doctor,” said I. + +Here Cutler and the pilot cut short our conversation by going on board. +But Peter wouldn’t hear of my leaving his house, and I accordingly +spent the night there, not a little amused with my new acquaintances. + + + + +CHAPTER V. +A NEW WAY TO LEARN GAELIC. + + +After the captain and the pilot had retired, sais I, “Miss Jessie, +sposin we young folks—(ah me, it is time to get a new word, I guess, +for that one has been used so long, it’s e’en amost worn out +now)—sposin we young folks leave the doctor and your father to finish +their huntin’ stories, and let us go to the other room, and have a dish +of chat about things in general, and sweethearts in particular.” + +“Oh, we live too much alone here,” said she, “to know anything of such +matters, but we will go if you will promise to tell us one of your +funny stories. They say you have written a whole book full of them; how +I should like to see it.” + +“Would you, Miss?” said I, “well, then, you shall have one, for I have +a copy on board I believe, and I shall be only too proud if you will +read it to remember me by. But my best stories ain’t in my books. +Somehow or another, when I want them they won’t come, and at other +times when I get a goin talkin, I can string them together like onions, +one after the other, till the twine is out. I have a heap of them, but +they are all mixed and confused like in my mind, and it seems as if I +never could find the one I need. Do you work in worsted, Miss?” + +“Well, a little,” sais she. “It is only town-bred girls, who have +nothing to attend to but their dress and to go to balls, that have +leisure to amuse themselves that way; but I can work a little, though I +could never do anything fit to be seen or examined.” + +“I shouldn’t wonder,” said I, and I paused, and she looked as if she +didn’t over half like my taking her at her word that way. “I shouldn’t +wonder,” said I, “for I am sure your eyes would fade the colour out of +the worsted.” + +“Why, Mr Slick,” said she, drawing herself up a bit, “what nonsense you +_do_ talk, what a quiz you be.” + +“Fact,” sais I, “Miss, I assure you, never try it again, you will be +sure to spoil it. But as I was a sayin, Miss, when you see a thread of +a particular colour, you know whether you have any more like it or not, +so when a man tells me a story, I know whether I have one of the same +kind to match it or not, and if so, I know where to lay my hand on it; +but I must have a clue to my yarns.” + +Squire, there is something very curious about memory, I don’t think +there is such a thing as total forgetfulness. I used once to think +there was, but I don’t now. It used to seem to me that things rusted +out, but now it appears as if they were only misplaced, or overlaid, or +stowed away like where you can’t find them; but depend on it, when once +there, they remain for ever. How often you are asked, “Don’t you +recollect this or that?” and you answer, “No, I never heard, or saw it, +or read it,” as the case may be. And when the time, and place, and +circumstances are told you, you say, “Stop a bit, I do now mind +something about it, warn’t it so and so, or this way, or that way,” and +finally up it comes, all fresh to your recollection. Well, until you +get the clue given you, or the key note is struck, you are ready to +take your oath you never heard of it afore. Memory has many cells: Some +of them ain’t used much, and dust and cobwebs get about them, and you +can’t tell where the hinge is, or can’t easily discarn the secret +spring; but open it once, and whatever is stowed away there is as safe +and sound as ever. I have a good many capital stories poked away in +them cubby-holes, that I can’t just lay my hand on when I want to; but +now and then, when looking for something else, I stumble upon them by +accident. Tell you what, as for forgettin’ a thing tee-totally, I don’t +believe there is sich a thing in natur. But to get back to my story. + +“Miss,” sais I, “I can’t just at this present moment call to mind a +story to please you. Some of them are about hosses, or clocks, or rises +taken out of folks, or dreams, or courtships, or ghosts, or what not; +but few of them will answer, for they are either too short or too +long.” + +“Oh,” says Catherine Fraser, “tell us a courtship; I dare say you will +make great fun of it.” + +“No, no,” says Jessie, “tell us a ghost story. Oh! I delight in them.” + +“Oh,” said Janet, “tell us about a dream. I know one myself which came +out as correct as provin’ a sum.” + +“That’s it, Miss Janet,” said I; “do you tell me that story, please, +and it’s hard if I can’t find one that will please you in return for +it.” + +“Yes, do, dear,” said Jessie; “tell Mr Slick that story, for it’s a +true one, and I should like to hear what he thinks of it, or how he can +account for it.” + +“Well,” said Janet, “you must excuse me, Mr Slick, for any mistakes I +make, for I don’t speak very good English, and I can hardly tell a +story all through in that language. + +“I have a brother that lives up one of the branches of the Buctouche +River in New Brunswick. He bought a tract of land there four or five +years ago, on which there was a house and barn, and about a hundred +acres of cleared land. He made extensive improvements on it, and went +to a great expense in clearing up the stumps, and buying stock and +farming implements, and what not. One season, between plantin’ and +harvest, he run short of money for his common daily use, and to pay +some little debts he owed, and he was very dull about it. He said he +knew he could come here and borrow it from father, but he didn’t like +to be away from home so long, and hardly knew how the family was to get +on or to pay the wages till his return, so it was agreed that I was to +go the next Monday in a vessel bound for Halifax and bring him what he +wanted. + +“At that time, he had a field back in the woods he was cultivating. +Between that and the front on the river, was a poor sand flat covered +with spruce, birch, and poplar, and not worth the expense of bringing +to for the plough. The road to the back field ran through this wood +land. He was very low-spirited about his situation, for he said if he +was to borrow the money of a merchant, he would require a mortgage on +his place, and perhaps sell it before he knew where he was. Well, that +night he woke up his wife, and said to her— + +“‘Mary,’ said he, ‘I have had a very curious dream just now. I dreamed +that as I was going out to the back lot with the oxcart, I found a +large sum of money all in dollars in the road there.’ + +“‘Well,’ says Mary, ‘I wish it was true, John, but it is too good news +for us. The worriment we have had about money lately has set you a +dreaming. Janet sails on Monday, she will soon be back, and then it +will all be right; so go to sleep again, dear.’ + +“Well, in the morning, when he and his wife got up, he never spoke or +thought any more about the dream, but as soon as breakfast was over, he +and his man yoked up the oxen, put them to the cart, and lifted the +harrow into it, and started for the field. The servant drove the team, +and John walked behind with his head down, a turning over in his mind +whether he couldn’t sell something off the farm to keep matters a-goin’ +till I should return, when all at once, as they were passing through +the wood, he observed that there was a line of silver dollars turned up +by one of the wheels of the cart, and continued for the space of sixty +feet and then ceased. + +“The moment he saw the money he thought of his dream, and he was so +overjoyed that he was on the point of calling out to the man to stop, +but he thought it was more prudent as they were alone in the woods to +say nothing about it. So he walked on, and joined the driver, and kept +him in talk for awhile. And then, as if he had suddenly thought of +something, said, ‘Jube, do you proceed to the field and go to work till +I come. I shall have to go to the house for a short time.’ + +“Well, as soon as he got out of sight of the cart, off he ran home as +hard as he could lay legs to it, only stopping to take up a handful of +the coins to make sure they were real. + +“‘Mary, Mary,’ sais he, ‘the dream has come true; I have found the +money—see here is some of it; there is no mistake;’ and he threw a few +pieces down on the hearth and rung them. ‘They are genuine Spanish +crowns. Do you and Janet bring the market-basket, while I go for a +couple of hoes, and let us gather it all up.’ + +“Well, sure enough, when we came to the place he mentioned, there was +the wheel-track full of dollars. He and I hoed each side of the rut, +which seemed to be in a sort of yellow powder, like the dust of rotten +wood, and got out all we could find. We afterwards tried under the +opposite wheel, and behind and before the rut, but could find no more, +and when we got home we counted it, and found we had eighty-two pounds, +five shillings. + +“‘Well, this is a God-send, Mary, ain’t it?’ said brother; and she +threw her arms round his neck, and cried for joy as she kissed him.” + +“Which way,” said I, “show me, Miss, how she did it, only you may laugh +instead of cry if you like.” + +“Not being a wife,” said she, with great quietness, “I cannot show you +myself, but you may imagine it, it will do just as well, or dream it, +and that will do better. + +“Well, John was a scrupulous man, and he was determined to restore the +money, if he could find an owner for it; but he could hear of no one +who had lost any, nor any tradition in that place that any one ever had +done so since the first settlement of the country. All that he could +discover was, that about forty years before, an old Frenchman had lived +somewhere thereabouts alone, in the midst of the woods. Who he was, or +what became of him, nobody knew; all he could hear was, that a party of +lumbermen had, some years afterwards, found his house amidst a second +growth of young wood that wholly concealed it, and that it contained +his furniture, cooking utensils, and trunks, as he had left them. Some +supposed he had been devoured by bears or wolves; others, that he had +been lost in the woods; and some, that he had died by his own hands. + +“On hearing this, John went to examine his habitation, or the remains +of it, and he found that about four acres around it were covered with +the second growth, as it is called, which was plainly to be +distinguished from the forest, as the trees were not only not so large +or so old as the neighbouring ones, but, as is always the case, were of +a different description of wood altogether. On a careful inspection of +the spot where he found the money, it appeared that the wheel had +passed lengthways along an enormous old decayed pine, in the hollow of +which he supposed the money must have been hid; and when the tree fell, +the dollars had rolled along its centre fifty feet or more, and +remained there until the wood was rotten, and had crumbled into dust. + +“There, Sir, there is my story: it is a true one, I assure you, for I +was present at the time. What do you think of it?” + +“Well,” sais I, “if he had never heard a rumour, nor had any reason to +suppose that the money had been hid there, why it was a singular thing, +and looks very much like a—” + +“Like a what?” said she. + +“Like a supply that one couldn’t count upon a second time, that’s all.” + +“It’s a dream that was fulfilled though,” she said; “and that don’t +often happen, does it?”1 + +1 The names of the persons and river are alone changed in this +extraordinary story. The actors are still living, and are persons of +undoubted veracity and respectability. + + +“Unless,” sais I, “a young lady was to dream now that she was a going +to be married to a certain person, and that does often come true. Do +you—” + +“Oh, nonsense,” said she. “Come, do tell us your story now, you know +you promised me you would if I related mine.” + +“Yes,” said Miss Jessie; “come now, Mr Slick, that’s a good man, do?” + +Sais I, “Miss, I will give you my book instead, and that will tell you +a hundred of them.” + +“Yes, but when will you give it to me?” she replied. + +“To-morrow,” said I, “as soon as I go on board. But mind, there is one +condition.” And I said in Gaelic: “_Feumieth thu pog thoir dhomh eur a +shon_ (you must give me a kiss for it).” + +“Oh,” said she, lookin’ not over pleased, I consaited; but perhaps it +was because the other girls laughed liked anything, as if it was a +capital joke, “that’s not fair, you said you would give it, and now you +want to sell it. If that’s the case I will pay the money for it.” + +“Oh, fie,” sais I, “Miss Jessie.” + +“Well, I want to know!” + +“No, indeed; what I meant was to give you that book to remember me by +when I am far away from here, and I wanted you to give me a little +token, _O do bhilean boidheach_ (from your pretty lips), that I should +remember the longest day I live.” + +“You mean that you would go away, laugh, and forget right off. No, that +won’t do, but if you must have a token I will look up some little +keepsake to exchange for it. Oh, dear, what a horrid idea,” she said, +quite scorney like, “to trade for a kiss; it’s the way father buys his +fish, he gives salt for them, or flour, or some such barter, oh, Mr +Slick, I don’t think much of you. But for goodness gracious sake how +did you learn Gaelic?” + +“From lips, dear,” said I, “and that’s the reason I shall never forget +it.” + +“No, no,” said she, “but how on earth did you ever pick it up.” + +“I didn’t pick it up, Miss,” said I, “I kissed it up, and as you want a +story I might as well tell you that as any other.” + +“It depends upon what sort of a story it is,” said she, colouring. + +“Oh, yes,” said the Campbell girls, who didn’t appear quite so skittish +as she was, “do tell us, no doubt you will make a funny one out of it. +Come, begin.” + +Squire, you are older than I be, and I suppose you will think all this +sort of thing is clear sheer nonsense, but depend upon it a kiss is a +great mystery. There is many a thing we know that we can’t explain, +still we are sure it is a fact for all that. Why should there be a sort +of magic in shaking hands, which seems only a mere form, and sometimes +a painful one too, for some folks wring your fingers off amost, and +make you fairly dance with pain, they hurt you so. It don’t give much +pleasure at any time. What the magic of it is we can’t tell, but so it +is for all that. It seems only a custom like bowing and nothing else, +still there is more in it than meets the eye. But a kiss fairly +electrifies you, it warms your blood and sets your heart a beatin’ like +a brass drum, and makes your eyes twinkle like stars in a frosty night. +It tante a thing ever to be forgot. No language can express it, no +letters will give the sound. Then what in natur is equal to the flavour +of it? What an aroma it has! How spiritual it is! It ain’t gross, for +you can’t feed on it; it don’t cloy, for the palate ain’t required to +test its taste. It is neither visible, nor tangible, nor portable, nor +transferable. It is not a substance, nor a liquid, nor a vapour. It has +neither colour nor form. Imagination can’t conceive it. It can’t be +imitated or forged. It is confined to no clime or country, but is +ubiquitous. It is disembodied when completed, but is instantly +reproduced, and so is immortal. It is as old as the creation, and yet +is as young and fresh as ever. It preëxisted, still exists, and always +will exist. It pervades all natur. The breeze as it passes kisses the +rose, and the pendant vine stoops down and hides with its tendrils its +blushes, as it kisses the limpid stream that waits in an eddy to meet +it, and raises its tiny waves, like anxious lips to receive it. Depend +upon it Eve learned it in Paradise, and was taught its beauties, +virtues, and varieties by an angel, there is something so transcendent +in it. + +How it is adapted to all circumstances! There is the kiss of welcome +and of parting, the long-lingering, loving present one, the stolen or +the mutual one, the kiss of love, of joy, and of sorrow, the seal of +promise, and the receipt of fulfilment. Is it strange therefore that a +woman is invincible whose armoury consists of kisses, smiles, sighs, +and tears? Is it any wonder that poor old Adam was first tempted, and +then ruined? It is very easy for preachers to get up with long faces +and tell us he ought to have been more of a man. My opinion is, if he +had been less of a man, it would have been better for him. But I am not +agoin’ to preach; so I will get back to my story; but, Squire, I shall +always maintain to my dying day, that kissing is a sublime mystery. + +“Well,” sais I, “ladies, I was broughten up to home, on my father’s +farm, and my edecation, what little I had of it, I got from the +Minister of Slickville, Mr Joshua Hopewell, who was a friend of my +father’s, and was one of the best men I believe that ever lived. He was +all kindness and all gentleness, and was at the same time one of the +most learned men in the United States. He took a great fancy to me, and +spared no pains with my schooling, and I owe everything I have in the +world to his instruction. I didn’t mix much with other boys, and, from +living mostly with people older than myself, acquired an old-fashioned +way that I have never been able to shake off yet; all the boys called +me ‘Old Slick.’ In course, I didn’t learn much of life that way. All I +knew about the world beyond our house and hisin, was from books, and +from hearing him talk, and he convarsed better than any book I ever set +eyes on. Well, in course I grew up unsophisticated like, and I think I +may say I was as innocent a young man as ever you see.” + +Oh, how they all laughed at that! “You ever innocent!” said they. +“Come, that’s good; we like that; it’s capital! Sam Slick an innocent +boy! Well, that must have been before you were weaned, or talked in +joining hand, at any rate. How simple we are, ain’t we?” and they +laughed themselves into a hooping-cough amost. + +“Fact, Miss Janet,” said I, “I assure you” (for she seemed the most +tickled at the idea of any of them) “I was, indeed. I won’t go for to +pretend to say some of it didn’t rub off when it became dry, when I was +fishing in the world on my own hook; but, at the time I am speaking of, +when I was twenty-one next grass, I was so guileless, I couldn’t see no +harm in anything.” + +“So I should think,” said she; “it’s so like you.” + +“Well, at that time there was a fever, a most horrid typhus fever, +broke out in Slickville, brought there by some shipwrecked emigrants. +There was a Highland family settled in the town the year afore, +consisting of old Mr Duncan Chisholm, his wife, and daughter Flora. The +old people were carried off by the disease, and Flora was left without +friends or means, and the worst of it was, she could hardly speak a +word of intelligible English. Well, Minister took great pity on her, +and spoke to father about taking her into his house, as sister Sally +was just married, and the old lady left without any companion; and they +agreed to take her as one of them, and she was in return to help mother +all she could. So, next day, she came, and took up her quarters with +us. Oh my, Miss Janet, what a beautiful girl she was! She was as tall +as you are, Jessie, and had the same delicate little feet and hands.” + +I threw that in on purpose, for women, in a general way, don’t like to +hear others spoken of too extravagant, particularly if you praise them +for anything they hain’t got; but if you praise them for anything they +pride themselves on, they are satisfied, because it shows you estimate +them also at the right valy, too. It took, for she pushed her foot out +a little, and rocked it up and down slowly, as if she was rather proud +of it. + +“Her hair was a rich auburn, not red (I don’t like that at all, for it +is like a lucifer-match, apt to go off into a flame spontinaciously +sometimes), but a golden colour, and lots of it too, just about as much +as she could cleverly manage; eyes like diamonds; complexion, red and +white roses; and teeth, not quite so regular as yours, Miss, but as +white as them; and lips—lick!—they reminded one of a curl of rich +rose-leaves, when the bud first begins to swell and spread out with a +sort of peachy bloom on them, ripe, rich, and chock full of kisses.” + +“Oh, the poor ignorant boy!” said Janet, “you didn’t know nothing, did +you?” + +“Well, I didn’t,” sais I, “I was as innocent as a child; but nobody is +so ignorant as not to know a splendiferous gall when he sees her,” and +I made a motion of my head to her, as much, as to say, “Put that cap +on, for it just fits you.” + +“My sakes, what a neck she had! not too long and thin, for that looks +goosey; nor too short and thick, for that gives a clumsy appearance to +the figure; but betwixt and between, and perfection always lies there, +just midway between extremes. But her bust—oh! the like never was seen +in Slickville, for the ladies there, in a gineral way, have no—” + +“Well, well,” said Jessie, a little snappish, for praisin’ one gall to +another ain’t the shortest way to win their regard, “go on with your +story of Gaelic.” + +“And her waist, Jessie, was the most beautiful thing, next to your’n, I +ever see. It was as round as an apple, and anything that is round, you +know, is larger than it looks, and I wondered how much it would +measure. I never see such an innocent girl as she was. Brought up to +home, and in the country, like me, she knew no more about the ways of +the world than I did. She was a mere child, as I was; she was only +nineteen years old, and neither of us knew anything of society rules. +One day I asked her to let me measure her waist with my arm, and I did, +and then she measured mine with her’n, and we had a great dispute which +was the largest, and we tried several times before we ascertained there +was only an inch difference between us. I never was so glad in my life +as when she came to stay with us; she was so good-natured, and so +cheerful, and so innocent, it was quite charming. + +“Father took a wonderful shindy to her, for even old men can’t help +liking beauty. But, somehow, I don’t think mother did; and it appears +to me now, in looking back upon it, that she was afraid I should like +her too much. I consaited she watched us out of the corner of her +glasses, and had her ears open to hear what we said; but p’raps it was +only my vanity, for I don’t know nothin’ about the working of a woman’s +heart even now. I am only a bachelor yet, and how in the world should I +know anything more about any lady than what I knew about poor Flora? In +the ways of women I am still as innocent as a child; I do believe that +they could persuade me that the moon is nothin’ but an eight-day clock +with an illuminated face. I ain’t vain, I assure you, and never brag of +what I don’t know, and I must say, I don’t even pretend to understand +them.” + +“Well, I never!” said Jessie. + +“Nor I,” said Janet. + +“Did you ever, now!” said Catherine. “Oh dear, how soft you are, ain’t +you?” + +“Always was, ladies,” said I, “and am still as soft as dough. Father +was very kind to her, but he was old and impatient, and a little hard +of hearing, and he couldn’t half the time understand her. One day she +came in with a message from neighbour Dearborne, and sais she, + +“‘Father—’ + +“‘Colonel, if you please, dear,’ said mother, ‘he is not your father;’ +and the old lady seemed as if she didn’t half fancy any body calling +him that but her own children. Whether that is natural or not, Miss +Jessie,” said I, “I don’t know, for how can I tell what women thinks?” + +“Oh, of course not,” said Janet, “you are not waywise, and so artless; +you don’t know, of course!” + +“Exactly,” sais I; “but I thought mother spoke kinder cross to her, and +it confused the gall. + +“Says Flora, ‘Colonel Slick, Mr Dearborne says—says—’ Well, she +couldn’t get the rest out; she couldn’t find the English. ‘Mr Dearborne +says—’ + +“‘Well, what the devil does he say?’ said father, stampin’ his foot, +out of all patience with her. + +“It frightened Flora, and off she went out of the room crying like +anything. + +“‘That girl talks worse and worse,’ said mother. + +“‘Well, I won’t say that,’ says father, a little mollified, ‘for she +can’t talk at all, so there is no worse about it. I am sorry though I +scared her. I wish somebody would teach her English.’ + +“‘I will,’ sais I, ‘father, and she shall teach me Gaelic in return.’ + +“‘Indeed you shan’t,’ sais mother; ‘you have got something better to do +than larning her; and as for Gaelic I can’t bear it. It’s a horrid +outlandish language, and of no earthly use whatever under the blessed +sun. It’s worse than Indian.’ + +“‘Do, Sam,’ said father; ‘it’s an act of kindness, and she is an +orphan, and besides, Gaelic may be of great use to you in life. I like +Gaelic myself; we had some brave Jacobite Highland soldiers in our army +in the war that did great service, but unfortunately nobody could +understand them. And as for orphans, when I think how many fatherless +children we made for the British—’ + +“‘You might have been better employed,’ said mother, but he didn’t hear +her, and went right on. + +“‘I have a kindly feelin’ towards them. She is a beautiful girl that.’ + +“‘If it warn’t for her carrotty hair and freckled face,’ said mother, +looking at me, ‘she wouldn’t be so awful ugly after all, would she?’ + +“‘Yes, Sam,’ sais father, ‘teach her English for heaven’s sake; but +mind, she must give you lessons in Gaelic. Languages is a great thing.’ + +“‘It’s great nonsense,’ said mother, raisin’ her voice. + +“‘It’s my orders,’ said father, holding up his head and standing erect. +‘It’s my orders, marm, and they must be obeyed;’ and he walked out of +the room as stiff as a ramrod, and as grand as a Turk. + +“‘Sam,’ sais mother, when we was alone, ‘let the gall be; the less she +talks the more she’ll work. Do you understand, my dear?’ + +“‘That’s just my idea, mother,’ sais I. + +“‘Then you won’t do no such nonsense, will you, Sammy?’ + +“‘Oh no!’ sais I, ‘I’ll just go through the form now and then to please +father, but that’s all. Who the plague wants Gaelic? If all the +Highlands of Scotland were put into a heap, and then multiplied by +three, they wouldn’t be half as big as the White Mountains, would they, +marm? They are just nothin’ on the map, and high hills, like high +folks, are plaguy apt to have barren heads.’ + +“‘Sam,’ said she, a pattin’ of me on the cheek, ‘you have twice as much +sense as your father has after all. You take after me.’ + +“I was so simple, I didn’t know what to do. So I said yes to mother and +yes to father; for I knew I must honour and obey my parents, so I +thought I would please both. I made up my mind I wouldn’t get books to +learn Gaelic or teach English, but do it by talking, and that I +wouldn’t mind father seein’ me, but I’d keep a bright look out for the +old lady.” + +“Oh dear! how innocent that was, warn’t it?” said they. + +“Well, it was,” said I; “I didn’t know no better then, and I don’t now; +and what’s more, I think I would do the same agin, if it was to do over +once more.” + +“I have no doubt you would,” said Janet. + +“Well, I took every opportunity when mother was not by to learn words. +I would touch her hand and say, ‘What is that?’ And she would say, +_‘Làuch,’_ and her arm, her head, and her cheek, and she would tell me +the names; and her eyes, her nose, and her chin, and so on; and then I +would touch her lips, and say, ‘What’s them?’ And she’d say. +‘_Bhileau?’_ And then I’d kiss her, and say, ‘What’s that?’ And she’d +say. _‘Pog.’_ But she was so artless, and so was I; we didn’t know +that’s not usual unless people are courtin; for we hadn’t seen anything +of the world then. + +“Well, I used to go over that lesson every time I got a chance, and +soon got it all by heart but that word _Pog_ (kiss), which I never +could remember. She said I was very stupid, and I must say it over and +over again till I recollected it. Well, it was astonishing how quick +she picked up English, and what progress I made in Gaelic; and if it +hadn’t been for mother, who hated the language like pyson, I do believe +I should soon have mastered it so as to speak it as well as you do. But +she took every opportunity she could to keep us apart, and whenever I +went into the room where Flora was spinning, or ironing, she would +either follow and take a chair, and sit me out, or send me away of an +errand, or tell me to go and talk to father, who was all alone in the +parlour, and seemed kinder dull. I never saw a person take such a +dislike to the language as she did; and she didn’t seem to like poor +Flora either, for no other reason as I could see under the light of the +livin’ sun, but because she spoke it; for it was impossible not to love +her—she was so beautiful, so artless, and so interesting, and so +innocent. But so it was. + +“Poor thing! I pitied her. The old people couldn’t make out half she +said, and mother wouldn’t allow me, who was the only person she could +talk to, to have any conversation with her if she could help it. It is +a bad thing to distrust young people, it makes them artful at last; and +I really believe it had that effect on me to a certain extent. The +unfortunate girl often had to set up late ironing, or something or +another. And if you will believe it now, mother never would let me sit +up with her to keep her company and talk to her; but before she went to +bed herself, always saw me off to my own room. Well, it’s easy to make +people go to bed, but it ain’t just quite so easy to make them stay +there. So when I used to hear the old lady get fairly into hers, for my +room was next to father’s, though we went by different stairs to them, +I used to go down in my stocking feet, and keep her company; for I +pitied her from my heart. And then we would sit in the corner of the +fire-place and talk Gaelic half the night. And you can’t think how +pleasant it was. You laugh, Miss Janet, but it really was delightful; +they were the happiest hours I almost ever spent.” + +“Oh, I don’t doubt it,” she said, “of course they were.” + +“If you think so, Miss,” said I, “p’raps you would finish the lessons +with me this evening, if you have nothing particular to do.” + +“Thank you, Sir,” she said, laughing like anything. “I can speak +English sufficient for my purpose, and I agree with your mother, Gaelic +in this country is of no sort of use whatever; at least I am so artless +and unsophisticated as to think so. But go on, Sir.” + +“Well, mother two or three times came as near as possible catching me, +for she was awful afraid of lights and fires, she said, and couldn’t +sleep sound if the coals weren’t covered up with ashes, the hearth +swept, and the broom put into a tub of water, and she used to get up +and pop into the room very sudden; and though she warn’t very light of +foot, we used to be too busy repeating words to keep watch as we +ought.” + +“What an artless couple,” said Janet; “well I never! how you can have +the face to pretend so, I don’t know! Well, you do beat all!’ + +“A suspicious parent,” sais I, “Miss, as I said before, makes an artful +child. I never knew what guile was before that. Well, one night; oh +dear, it makes my heart ache to think of it, it was the last we ever +spent together. Flora was starching muslins, mother had seen me off to +my room, and then went to hers, when down I crept in my stockin feet as +usual, puts a chair into the chimney corner, and we sat down and +repeated our lessons. When we came to the word _Pog_ (kiss), I always +used to forget it; and it’s very odd, for it’s the most beautiful one +in the language. We soon lost all caution, and it sounded so loud and +sharp it started mother; and before we knew where we were, we heard her +enter the parlour which was next to us. In an instant I was off and +behind the entry door, and Flora was up and at work. Just then the old +lady came in as softly as possible, and stood and surveyed the room all +round. I could see her through the crack of the door, she actually +seemed disappointed at not finding me there. + +“‘What noise was that I heard, Flora?’ she said, speakin’ as mild as if +she was actilly afraid to wake the cat up. + +“Flora lifted the centre of the muslin she was starching with one hand, +and makin’ a hollow under it in the palm of the other, she held it +close up to the old woman’s face, and clapped it; and it made the very +identical sound of the smack she had heard, and the dear child repeated +it in quick succession several times. The old lady jumped back the +matter of a foot or more, she posi_tively_ looked skared, as if the old +gentleman would think somebody was a kissin’ of her. + +“Oh dear, I thought I should have teeheed right out. She seemed utterly +confounded, and Flora looked, as she was, the dear critter, so artless +and innocent! It dumbfoundered her completely. Still she warn’t quite +satisfied. + +“‘What’s this chair doing so far in the chimbley corner?’ said she. + +“How glad I was there warn’t two there. The fact is, we never used but +one, we was quite young, and it was always big enough for us both. + +“Flora talked Gaelic as fast as hail, slipt off her shoes, sat down on +it, put her feet to the fire, folded her arms across her bosom, laid +her head back and looked so sweet and so winnin’ into mother’s face, +and said, ‘_cha n’eil Beurl’_ (I have no English), and then proceeded +in Gaelic— + +“‘If you hadn’t sat in that place yourself, when you was young, I guess +you wouldn’t be so awful scared at it, you old goose you.’ + +“I thought I never saw her look so lovely. Mother was not quite +persuaded she was wrong after all. She looked all round agin, as if she +was sure I was there, and then came towards the door where I was, so I +sloped up-stairs like a shadow on the wall, and into bed in no time; +but she followed up and came close to me, and holdin the candle in my +face, said: + +“‘Sam, are you asleep?’ + +“Well, I didn’t answer. + +“‘Sam,’ said she, ‘why don’t you speak?’ and she shook me. + +“‘Hullo,’ sais I, pretendin’ to wake up, ‘what’s the matter! have I +overslept myself? is it time to get up?’ and I put out my arm to rub my +eyes, and lo and behold I exposed my coat sleeve. + +“‘No, Sam,’ said she, ‘you couldn’t oversleep yourself, for you haven’t +slept at all, you ain’t even ondressed.’ + +“‘Ain’t I,’ said I, ‘are you sure?’ + +“‘Why look here,’ said she, throwin’ down the clothes and pullin’ my +coat over my head till she nearly strangled me. + +“‘Well, I shouldn’t wonder if I hadn’t stripped,’ sais I. ‘When a +feller is so peskilly sleepy as I be, I suppose he is glad to turn in +any way.’ + +“She never spoke another word, but I saw a storm was brewin, and I +heard her mutter to herself, ‘Creation! what a spot of work! I’ll have +no teaching of ‘mother tongue’ here.’ Next morning she sent me to +Boston of an errand, and when I returned, two days after, Flora was +gone to live with sister Sally. I have never forgiven myself for that +folly; but really it all came of our being so artless and so innocent. +There was no craft in either of us. She forgot to remove the chair from +the chimbley corner, poor simple-minded thing, and I forgot to keep my +coat sleeve covered. Yes, yes, it all came of our being too innocent; +but that’s the way, ladies, I learned Gaelic.” + + + + +CHAPTER VI. +THE WOUNDS OF THE HEART. + + +When I took leave of the family I returned to the room where I had left +Peter and the doctor, but they had both retired. And as my chamber +adjoined it, I sat by the fire, lighted a cigar, and fell into one of +my rambling meditations. + +Here, said I to myself, is another phase of life. Peter is at once a +Highlander, a Canadian, a trapper, a backwoodsman, and a coaster. His +daughters are half Scotch and half Indian, and have many of the +peculiarities of both races. There is even between these sisters a wide +difference in intellect, appearance, and innate refinement. The doctor +has apparently abandoned his profession for the study of nature, and +quit the busy haunts of men for the solitude of the forest. He seems to +think and act differently from any one else in the country. Here too we +have had Cutler, who is a scholar and a skilful navigator, filling the +berth of a master of a fishing craft. He began life with nothing but +good principles and good spirits, and is now about entering on a +career, which in a few years will lead to a great fortune. He is as +much out of place where he is, as a salmon would be in a horse pond. +And here am I, Squire, your humble servant, Sam Slick the Clockmaker, +not an eccentric man, I hope, for I detest them, they are either mad, +or wish to be thought so, because madness they suppose to be an +evidence of genius; but a specimen of a class not uncommon in the +States, though no other country in the world but Yankeedoodledum +produces it. + +This is a combination these colonies often exhibit, and what a fool a +man must be when character is written in such large print, if he can’t +read it even as he travels on horseback. + +Of all the party assembled here to-night, the Scotch lasses alone, who +came in during the evening, are what you call everyday galls. They are +strong, hearty, intelligent, and good-natured, full of fun and +industry, can milk, churn, make butter and cheese, card, spin, and +weave, and will make capital wives for farmers of their own station in +life. As such, they are favourable representatives of their class, and +to my mind, far, far above those that look down upon them, who ape, but +can’t copy, and have the folly, because they sail in the wake of larger +craft, to suppose they can be mistaken for anything else than tenders. +Putting three masts into a coaster may make her an object of ridicule, +but can never give her the appearance of a ship. They know this in +England, they have got to learn it yet in the Provinces. + +Well, this miscellaneous collection of people affords a wide field for +speculation. Jessie is a remarkable woman, I must ask the doctor about +her history. I see there is a depth of feeling about her, a simplicity +of character, a singular sensitiveness, and a shade of melancholy. Is +it constitutional, or does it arise from her peculiar position? I +wonder how she reasons, and what she thinks, and how she would talk, if +she would say what she thinks. Has she ability to build up a theory of +her own, or does she, like half the women in the world, only think of a +thing as it occurs? Does she live in instances or in generalities, I’ll +draw her out and see. Every order, where there are orders, and every +class (and no place is without them where women are), have a way of +judging in common with their order or class. What is her station I +wonder in her own opinion? What are her expectations? What are her +notions of wedlock? All girls regard marriage as an enviable lot, or a +necessary evil. If they tell us they don’t, it’s because the right man +hante come. And therefore I never mind what they say on this subject. I +have no doubt they mean it; but they don’t know what they are a talking +about. + +You, Squire, may go into a ball-room, where there are two hundred +women. One hundred and ninety-nine of them you will pass with as much +indifference as one hundred and ninety-nine pullets; but the two +hundredth irresistibly draws you to her. There are one hundred +handsomer, and ninety-nine cleverer ones present; but she alone has the +magnet that attracts you. Now, what is that magnet? Is it her manner +that charms? is it her voice that strikes on one of those thousand and +one chords of your nervous system, and makes it vibrate, as sound does +hollow glass? Or do her eyes affect your gizzard, so that you have no +time to chew the cud of reflection, and no opportunity for your head to +judge how you can digest the notions they have put into it? Or is it +animal magnetism, or what the plague is it? + +You are strangely affected; nobody else in the room is, and everybody +wonders at you. But so it is. It’s an even chance if you don’t +perpetrate matrimony. Well, that’s a thing that sharpens the eyesight, +and will remove a cateract quicker than an oculist can, to save his +soul alive. It metamorphoses an angel into a woman, and it’s plaguey +lucky if the process don’t go on and change her into something else. + +After I got so far in my meditations, I lit another cigar, and took out +my watch to look at the time. “My eyes,” sais I, “if it tante past one +o’clock at night. Howsomever, it ain’t often I get a chance to be +alone, and I will finish this here weed, at any rate.” Arter which I +turned in. The following morning I did not rise as early as usual, for +it’s a great secret for a man never to be in the way, especially in a +house like Peter’s, where his daughters had, in course, a good deal to +see to themselves. So I thought I’d turn over and take another snoose; +and do you know, Squire, that is always a dreamy one, and if your mind +ain’t worried, or your digestion askew, it’s more nor probable you will +have pleasant ones. + +When I went into the keeping-room, I found Jessie and her sister there, +the table set, and everything prepared for me. + +“Mr Slick,” said the elder one, “your breakfast is ready.” + +“But where is your father?” said I, “and Doctor Ovey?” + +“Oh, they have gone to the next harbour, Sir, to see a man who is very +ill there. The doctor left a message for you, he said he wanted to see +you again very much, and hoped to find you here on his return, which +will be about four o’clock in the afternoon. He desired me to say, if +you sailed before he got back, he hoped you would leave word what port +he would find you in, as he would follow you.” + +“Oh,” said I, “we shall not go before to-morrow, at the earliest, so he +will be in very good time. But who in the world is Doctor Ovey? He is +the most singular man I ever met. He is very eccentric; ain’t he?” + +“I don’t know who he is,” she replied. “Father agrees with you. He says +he talks sometimes as if he was daft, but that, I believe, is only +because he is so learned. He has a house a way back in the forest, +where he lives occasionally; but the greater part of the year he +wanders about the woods, and camps out like—” + +She hesitated a moment, and then brought out the reluctant word: “an +Indian. He knows the name of every plant and flower in the country, and +their uses; and the nature of every root, or bark, or leaf that ever +was; and then he knows all the ores, and coal mines, and everything of +that kind. He is a great hand for stuffing birds and animals, and has +some of every kind there is in the province. As for butterflies, +beetles, and those sort of things, he will chase them like a child all +day. His house is a regular—. I don’t recollect the word in English; in +Gaelic it is ‘_tigh neonachais._’” + +“Museum?” said I. + +“Ah, that’s it,” said she. + +“He can’t have much practice,” I said, “if he goes racing and chasing +over the country that way, like a run-away engine.” + +“He don’t want it, Sir,” she replied, “he is very well off. He says he +is one of the richest men in the country, for he don’t spend half his +income, and that any man who does that is wealthy. He says he ain’t a +doctor. Whether he is or not, I don’t know; but he makes wonderful +cures. Nothing in the world makes him so angry as when anybody sends +for him that can afford a doctor, for he don’t take pay. Now, this +morning he stormed, and raved, and stamped, and foamed at the mouth, as +if he was mad; he fairly swore, a thing I never heard him do before; +and he seized the hammer that he chips off stones with, and threatened +the man so who come for him, that he stood with the door in his hand, +while he begged him to go. + +“‘Oh, Sir,’ said he, ‘the Squire will die if you don’t go.’ + +“‘Let him die, then,’ he replied, ‘and be hanged. What is it to me? It +serves him right. Why didn’t he send for Doctor Smith, and pay him? +Does he think I am a going to rob that man of his living? Be off, Sir, +off with you. Tell him I can’t come, and won’t come, and do you go for +a magistrate to make his will.’ + +“As soon as the man quitted the house, his fit left him. + +“‘Well,” said he, ‘Peter, I suppose we musn’t let the man perish after +all; but I wish he hadn’t sent for me, especially just now, for I want +to have a long talk with Mr Slick.’ + +“And he and father set off immediately through the woods.” + +“Suppose we beat up his quarters,” said I, “Jessie. I should like to +see his house and collection, amazingly.” + +“Oh,” said she, “so should I, above all things; but I wouldn’t ask him +for the world. He’ll do it for you, I know he will; for he says you are +a man after his own heart. You study nature so; and I don’t know what +all, he said of you.” + +“Well, well,” sais I, “old trapper as he is, see if I don’t catch him. +I know how to bait the trap; so he will walk right into it. And then, +if he has anything to eat there, I’ll show him how to cook it woodsman +fashion. I’ll teach him how to dress a salmon; roast, boil, or bake. +How to make a bee-hunter’s mess; a new way to do his potatoes camp +fashion; and how to dispense with kitchen-ranges, cabouses, or +cooking-stoves. If I could only knock over some wild-ducks at the lake +here, I’d show him a simple way of preparing them, that would make his +mouth water, I know. Truth is, a man that lives in the country ought to +know a little of everything a’most, and he can’t be comfortable if he +don’t. But dear me, I must be a movin.” + +So I made her a bow, and she made me one of her best courtseys. And I +held out my hand to her, but she didn’t take it, though I see a smile +playin’ over her face. The fact is, it is just as well she didn’t, for +I intended to draw her—. Well, it ain’t no matter what I intended to +do; and therefore it ain’t no use to confess what I didn’t realise. + +“Truth is,” said I, lingering a bit, not to look disappointed, “a +farmer ought to know what to raise, how to live, and where to save. If +two things are equally good, and one costs money, and the other only a +little trouble, the choice ain’t difficult, is it?” + +“Mr Slick,” sais she, “are you a farmer?” + +“I was bred and born on a farm, dear,” sais I, “and on one, too, where +nothin’ was ever wasted, and no time ever lost; where there was a place +for everything, and everything was in its place. Where peace and plenty +reigned; and where there was a shot in the locker for the minister, and +another for the poor, and—” + +“You don’t mean to say that you considered them _game,_ did you?” said +she, looking archly. + +“Thank you,” sais I. “But now you are making _game_ of me, Miss; that’s +not a bad hit of yours though; and a shot for the bank, at the eend of +the year. I know all about farm things, from raisin’ Indian corn down +to managing a pea-hen; the most difficult thing to regulate next to a +wife, I ever see.” + +“Do you live on a farm now?” + +“Yes, when I am to home,” sais I, “I have returned again to the old +occupation and the old place; for, after all, what’s bred in the bone, +you know, is hard to get out of the flesh, and home is home, however +homely. The stones, and the trees, and the brooks, and the hills look +like old friends—don’t you think so?” + +“I should think so,” she said; “but I have never returned to my home or +my people, and never shall.” And the tears rose in her eyes, and she +got up and walked to the window, and said, with her back towards me, as +if she was looking at the weather: “The doctor has a fine day for his +journey; I hope he will return soon. I think you will like him.” + +And then she came back and took her seat, as composed as if I had never +awakened those sad thoughts. Poor thing! I knew what was passing in her +mind, as well as if those eloquent tears had not touched my heart. +Somehow or another, it appears to me, like a stumblin’ horse, I am +always a-striking my foot agin some stone, or stump, or root, that any +fellow might see with half an eye. She forced a smile, and said: + +“Are you married, Sir?” + +“Married,” sais I, “to be sure I am; I married Flora.” + +“You must think me as innocent as she was, to believe that,” she said, +and laughed at the idea. “How many children have you?” + +“Seven,” sais I: + +“Richard R., and Ira C., +Betsey Anne, and Jessie B., +Sary D., Eugeen—E, +And Iren—ee.” + + +“I have heard a great deal of you, Mr Slick,” she said, “but you are +the queerest man I ever see. You talk so serious, and yet you are so +full of fun.” + +“That’s because I don’t pretend to nothin’, dear;” sais I, “I am just a +nateral man. There is a time for all things, and a way to do ’em too. +If I have to freeze down solid to a thing, why then, ice is the word. +If there is a thaw, then fun and snow-ballin’ is the ticket. I listen +to a preacher, and try to be the better for his argufying, if he has +any sense, and will let me; and I listen to the violin, and dance to +it, if it’s in tune, and played right. I like my pastime, and one day +in seven is all the Lord asks. Evangelical people say he wants the +other six. Let them state day and date and book and page for that, for +I won’t take their word for it. So I won’t dance of a Sunday; but show +me a pretty gall, and give me good music, and see if I don’t dance any +other day. I am not a droll man, dear, but I say what I think, and do +what I please, as long as I know I ain’t saying or doing wrong. And if +that ain’t poetry, it’s truth, that’s all.” + +“I wish you knew the doctor,” said she; “I don’t understand these +things, but you are the only man I ever met that talked like him, only +he hante the fun you have; but he enjoys fun beyond everything. I must +say I rather like him, though he is odd, and I am sure you would, for +you could comprehend many things he sais that I don’t.” + +“It strikes me,” sais I to myself, for I thought, puttin’ this and that +together; “her rather likin’ him, and her desire to see his house, and +her tryin’ to flatter me that I talked like him; that perhaps, like her +young Gaelic friend’s brother who dreamed of the silver dollars, she +might have had a dream of him.” + +So, sais I, “I have an idea, Jessie, that there is a subject, if he +talked to you upon, you could understand.” + +“Oh, nonsense,” said she, rising and laughing, “now do you go on board +and get me your book; and I will go and see about dinner for the +Doc—for my father and you.” + +Well, I held out my hand, and said, + +“Good-morning, Miss Jessie. Recollect, when I bring you the book that +you must pay the forfeit.” + +She dropt my hand in a minute, stood up as straight as a tragedy +actress, and held her head as high as the Queen of Sheby. She gave me a +look I shan’t very easily forget, it was so full of scorn and pride. + +“And _you_ too, Sir,” said she, “I didn’t expect _this_ of _you_,” and +then left the room. + +“Hullo!” sais I, “who’s half-cracked now; you or the doctor? it appears +to me it’s six of one and half-a-dozen of the other;” and I took my +hat, and walked down to the beach and hailed a boat. + +About four I returned to the house, and brought with me, as I promised, +the “Clockmaker.” When I entered the room, I found Jessie there, who +received me with her usual ease and composure. She was trimming a +work-bag, the sides of which were made of the inner bark of the +birch-tree, and beautifully worked with porcupine quills and moose +hair. + +“Well,” sais I, “that is the most delicate thing I ever saw in all my +born days. Creation, how that would be prized in Boston! How on earth +did you learn to do that?” sais I. + +“Why,” said she, with an effort that evidently cost her a struggle, “my +people make and barter them at the Fort at the north-west for things of +more use. Indians have no money.” + +It was the first time I had heard so distinct an avowal of her American +origin, and as I saw it brought the colour to her face, I thought I had +discovered a clue to her natural pride, or, more properly, her sense of +the injustice of the world, which is too apt to look down upon this +mixed race with open or ill-concealed contempt. The scurvey opens old +sores, and makes them bleed afresh, and an unfeeling fellow does the +same. Whatever else I may be, I am not that man, thank fortune. Indeed, +I am rather a dab at dressin’ bodily ones, and I won’t turn my back in +that line, with some simples I know of, on any doctor that ever trod in +shoe-leather, with all his compounds, phials, and stipties. + +In a gineral way, they know just as much about their business as a +donkey does of music, and yet both of them practise all day. They don’t +make no improvements. They are like the birds of the air, and the +beasts of the forest. Swallows build their nests year after year and +generation after generation in the identical same fashion, and moose +winter after winter, and century after century, always follow in each +other’s tracks. They consider it safer, it ain’t so laborious, and the +crust of the snow don’t hurt their shins. If a critter is such a fool +as to strike out a new path for himself, the rest of the herd pass, and +leave him to worry on, and he soon hears the dogs in pursuit, and is +run down and done for. Medical men act in the same manner. + +Brother Eldad, the doctor, used to say to me when riggin’ him on the +subject: + +“Sam, you are the most conceited critter I ever knew. You have picked +up a few herbs and roots, that have some virtue in them, but not +strength enough for us to give a place to in the pharmacopia of +medicine.” + +“Pharmacopia?” sais I, “why, what in natur is that? What the plague +does it mean? Is it bunkum?” + +“You had better not talk on the subject,” said he, “if you don’t know +the tarms.” + +“You might as well tell me,” sais I, “that I had better not speak +English if I can’t talk gibberish. But,” sais I, “without joking, now, +when you take the husk off that, and crack the nut, what do you call +the kernel?” + +“Why,” sais he, “it’s a dispensary; a book containin’ rules for +compoundin’ medicines.” + +“Well then, it’s a receipt-book, and nothin’ else, arter all. Why the +plague can’t you call it so at once, instead of usin’ a word that would +break the jaw of a German?” + +“Sam,” he replied, “the poet says with great truth, + +“‘A little learning is a dangerous thing; +Drink deep, or taste not the Pierian spring.’” + + +“Dear, dear,” said I, “there is another strange sail hove in sight, as +I am alive. What flag does ‘Pierian’ sail under?” + +“The magpies,” said he, with the air of a man that’s a goin’ to hit you +hard. “It is a spring called Pierus after a gentleman of that name, +whose daughters, that were as conceited as you be, were changed into +magpies by the Muses, for challenging them out to sing. All pratin’ +fellows like you, who go about runnin’ down doctors, ought to be sarved +in the same way.” + +“A critter will never be run down,” said I, “who will just take the +trouble to get out of the way, that’s a fact. Why on airth couldn’t the +poet have said Magpian Spring, then all the world would understand him. +No, the lines would have had more sense if they had run this way: + +“‘A little physic is a dangerous thing; +Drink deep, or drink not of the doctor’s spring.’” + + +Well, it made him awful mad. Sais he, “You talk of treating wounds as +all unskilful men do, who apply balsams and trash of that kind, that +half the time turns the wound into an ulcer; and then when it is too +late the doctor is sent for, and sometimes to get rid of the sore, he +has to amputate the limb. Now, what does your receipt book say?” + +“It sais,” sais I, “that natur alone makes the cure, and all you got to +do, is to stand by and aid her in her efforts.” + +“That’s all very well,” sais he, “if nature would only tell you what to +do, but nature leaves you, like a Yankee quack as you are, to guess.” + +“Well,” sais I, “I am a Yankee, and I ain’t above ownin’ to it, and so +are you, but you seem ashamed of your broughtens up, and I must say I +don’t think you are any great credit to them. Natur, though you don’t +know it, because you are all for art, does tell you what to do, in a +voice so clear you can’t help hearing it, and in language so plain you +can’t help understandin’ it. For it don’t use chain-shot words like +‘pharmacopia’ and ‘Pierian,’ and so on, that is neither Greek nor +Latin, nor good English, nor vulgar tongue. And more than that, it +shows you what to do. And the woods, and the springs, and the soil is +full of its medicines and potions. Book doctrin’ is like book farmin’, +a beautiful thing in theory, but ruination in practice.” + +“Well,” said he, with a toss of his head, “this is very good stump +oratory, and if you ever run agin a doctor at an election, I shouldn’t +wonder if you won it, for most people will join you in pullin’ down +your superiors.” + +That word superiors grigged me; thinks I, “My boy, I’ll just take that +expression, roll it up into a ball, and shy it back at you, in a way +that will make you sing out ‘Pen and ink,’ I know. Well,” sais I, quite +mild (I am always mild when I am mad, a keen razor is always smooth), +“have you any other thing to say about natur?” + +“Yes,” sais he, “do you know what healin’ by the _first intention is,_ +for that is a nateral operation? Answer me that, will you?” + +“You mean the second intention, don’t you?” sais I. + +“No,” he replied, “I mean what I say.” + +“Well, Eldad,” sais I, “my brother, I will answer both. First about the +election, and then about the process of healin’, and after that we +won’t argue no more, for you get so hot always, I am afraid you will +hurt my feelins. First,” sais I, “I have no idea of runnin’ agin a +doctor either at an election or elsewhere, so make yourself quite easy +on that score, for if I did, as he is my superior, I should be sure to +get the worst of it.” + +“How,” said he, “Sam?” lookin’ quite pleased, seein’ me kinder knock +under that way. + +“Why dod drot it,” sais I, “Eldad, if I was such a born fool as to run +agin a doctor, his clothes would fill mine so chock full of asafoetida +and brimstone, I’d smell strong enough to pysen a poll-cat. Phew! the +very idea makes me sick; don’t come any nearer, or I shall faint. Oh, +no, I shall give my superiors a wide berth, depend upon it. Then,” sais +I, “secondly, as to healin’ by the first intention, I have heard of it, +but never saw it practised yet. A doctor’s first intention is to make +money, and the second is to heal the wound. You have been kind enough +to treat me to a bit of poetry, now I won’t be in your debt, so I will +just give you two lines in return. Arter you went to Philadelphia to +study, Minister used to make me learn poetry twice a week. All his +books had pencil marks in the margin agin all the tid bits, and I had +to learn more or less of these at a time according to their length; +among others I remember two verses that just suit you and me. + +“‘To tongue or pudding thou hast no pretence, +Learning thy talent is, but mine is SENSE.’” + + +“Sam,” said he, and he coloured up, and looked choked with rage, “Sam.” + +“Dad,” sais I, and it stopped him in a minute. It was the last syllable +of his name, and when we was boys, I always called him Dad, and as he +was older than me, I sometimes called him Daddy on that account. It +touched him, I see it did. Sais I, “Dad, give me your daddle, fun is +fun, and we may carry our fun too far,” and we shook hands. “Daddy,” +sais I, “since I became an author, and honorary corresponding member of +the Slangwhanger Society, your occupation and mine ain’t much unlike, +is it?” + +“How?” said he. + +“Why, Dad,” sais I, “you cut up the dead, and I cut up the livin.” + +“Well,” sais he, “I give less pain, at any rate, and besides, I do more +good, for I make the patient leave a legacy to posterity, by furnishing +instruction in his own body.” + +“You don’t need to wait for dissection for the bequest,” said I, “for +many a fellow after amputation has said to you, ‘_a-leg-I-see_.’ But +why is sawing off a leg an _unprofitable_ thing? Do you give it up? +Because it’s always _bootless_.” + +“Well,” said he, “why is an author the laziest man in the world? Do you +give that up? Because he is most of his time in sheets.” + +“Well, that is better than being two sheets in the wind,” I replied. +“But why is he the greatest coward in creation in hot weather? Because +he is afraid somebody will quilt him.” + +“Oh, oh,” said he, “that is an awful bad one. Oh, oh, that is like +lead, it sinks to the bottom, boots, spurs, and all. Oh, come, that +will do, you may take my hat. What a droll fellow you be. You are the +old sixpence, and nothin’ will ever change you. I never see a feller +have such spirits in my life; do you know what pain is?” + +“Oh,” sais I, “Dad,” and I put on a very sad look, “Daddy,” sais I, “my +heart is most broke, though I don’t say anythin’ about it. There is no +one I can confide in, and I can’t sleep at all. I was thinkin’ of +consultin’ you, for I know I can trust you, and I am sure your kind and +affectionate heart will feel for me, and that your sound, excellent +judgment will advise me what is best to be done under the peculiar +circumstances.” + +“Sam,” said he, “my good fellow, you do me no more than justice,” and +he took my hand very kindly, and sat down beside me. “Sam, I am very +sorry for you. Confide in me; I will be as secret as the grave. Have +you consulted dear old Minister?” + +“Oh, no,” said I, “Minister is a mere child.” + +“True, true, my brother,” said he, “he is a good worthy man, but a mere +child, as you say. Is it an affair of the heart, Sam?” + +“Oh, no,” sais I, “I wish it was, for I don’t think I shall ever die of +a broken heart for any one, it don’t pay.” + +“Is it a pecuniary affair?” + +“No, no, if it was it might be borne, an artful dodge, a good +spekelation, or a regular burst would soon cure that.” + +“I hope it ain’t an affair of law,” said he, lookin’ frightened to +death, as if I had done something dreadful bad. + +“No, I wish it was, for a misnomer, an alibi, a nonjoinder, a demurrer, +a nonsuit, a freemason or a know-nothin’ sign to a juror, a temperance +wink, or an orange nod to a partisan judge, or some cussed quirk or +quibble or another, would carry me through it. No, it ain’t that.” + +“What is it then?” + +“Why,” sais I, a bustin’ out a larfin, “I am most dead sometimes with +the jumpin’ toothache.” + +“Well, well,” said he, “I never was sold so before, I vow; I cave in, I +holler, and will stand treat.” + +That’s the way we ended our controversy about wounds. + +But he may say what he likes. I consider myself rather a dab at healing +bodily ones. As to those of the heart, I haven’t had the experience, +for I am not a father confessor to galls, and of course ain’t +consulted. But it appears to me clergymen don’t know much about the +right way to treat them. The heart is a great word. In itself it’s +nothin’ but a thing that swells and contracts, and keeps the blood a +movin; a sort of central post-office that communicates with all the +great lines and has way stations to all remote parts. Like that, there +is no sleep in it day or night. Love, hope, fear, despair, +disappointment, ambition, pride, supplication, craft, cant, fraud, +piety, speculation, secrets, tenderness, bitterness, duty, +disobedience, truth, falsehood, gratitude, humbug, and all sorts of +such things, pass through it or wait till called for; they “are +_thar_.” All these are dispersed by railways, expresses, fast and slow +coaches, and carriers. By a figure of speech all these things are +sumtotalized, and if put on paper, the depository is called the +post-office, and the place where they are conceived and hatched and +matured, the heart. + +Well, neither the one nor the other has any feeling. They are merely +the edifices respectively designed for these operations. The thing and +its contents are in one case called the heart; but the contents only of +the other are called the mail. Literally therefore the heart is a +muscle, or some such an affair, and nothing more; but figuratively it +is a general term that includes, expresses, and stands for all these +things together. We talk of it therefore as a living, animated, +responsible being that thinks for itself, and acts through its agents. +It is either our spiritual part, or something spiritual within us. +Subordinate or independent of us—guiding or obeying us—influencing or +influenced by us. We speak of it, and others treat it, as separate, for +they and we say our heart. We give it, a colour and a character; it may +be a black heart or a base heart; it may be a brave or a cowardly one; +it may be a sound or a weak heart also, and a true or a false one; +generous or ungrateful; kind or malignant, and so on. + +It strikes me natur would have been a more suitable word; but poets got +hold of it, and they bedevil everything they touch. Instead of speaking +of a critter’s heart therefore, it would to my mind have been far +better to have spoke of the natur of the animal, for I go the whole hog +for human natur. But I suppose nobody would understand me if I did, and +would say I had no heart to say so. I’ll take it therefore, as I find +it—a thing having a body or substance that can be hurt, and a spirit +that can be grieved. + +Well, as such, I don’t somehow think ministers in a general way know +how to treat it. The heart, in its common acceptation, is very +sensitive and must be handled gently; if grief is there, it must be +soothed and consoled, and hope called in to open views of better +things. If disappointment has left a sting, the right way is to show a +sufferer it might have been wuss, or that if his wishes had been +fulfilled, they might have led to something more disastrous. If pride +has been wounded, the patient must be humoured by agreeing with him, in +the first instance, that he has been shamefully used (for that admits +his right to feel hurt, which is a great thing); and then he may be +convinced he ought to be ashamed to acknowledge it, for he is superior +to his enemy, and in reality so far above him it would only gratify him +to think he was of consequence enough to be hated. If he has met with a +severe pecuniary loss in business, he ought to be told it’s the fortune +of trade; how lucky he is he ain’t ruined, he can afford and must +expect losses occasionally. If he frets over it, it will hurt his +mercantile credit, and after all, he will never miss it, except in a +figure in the bottom of his balance-sheet, and besides, riches ain’t +happiness, and how little a man can get out of them at best; and a +minister ought to be able to have a good story to tell him, with some +point in it, for there is a great deal of sound philosophy in a good +anecdote. + +He might say, for instance: “Did you ever hear of John Jacob Astor?” + +“No, never.” + +“What not of John Jacob Astor, the richest man in all the unevarsal +United States of America? The man that owns all the brown and white +bears, silver-gray and jet-black foxes, sables, otters, stone martins, +ground squirrels, and every created critter that has a fur jacket, away +up about the North Pole, and lets them wear them, for furs don’t keep +well, moths are death on ’em, and too many at a time glut the market; +so he lets them run till he wants them, and then sends and skins them +alive in spring when it ain’t too cold, and waits till it grows again?” + +“No, never,” sais the man with the loss. + +“Well, if you had been stript stark naked and turned loose that way, +you might have complained. Oh! you are a lucky man, I can tell you.” + +“Well,” sais old Minus, “how in the world does he own all them +animals?” + +“If he don’t,” sais preacher, “perhaps you can tell me who does; and if +nobody else does, I think his claim won’t be disputed in no court under +heaven. Don’t you know him? Go and see him. He will make your fortune +as he has done for many others. He is the richest man you ever heard +of. He owns the Astor House Hotel to New York, which is bigger than +some whole towns on the Nova Scotia coast.” And he could say that with +great truth, for I know a town that’s on the chart, that has only a +court-house, a groggery, a jail, a blacksmith’s shop, and the wreck of +a Quebec vessel on the beach. + +“Well, a man went to him lately, and sais he: ‘Are you the great John +Jacob?’ + +“‘I am John Jacob,’ said he, ‘but I ain’t great. The sun is so almighty +hot here in New York, no man is large; he is roasted down like a +race-horse.’ + +“‘I don’t mean that,’ said the poor man, bowin’ and beggin’ pardon. + +“‘Oh,’ sais he, ‘you mean great-grandfather,’ laughing. ‘No, I hante +come that yet; but Astoria Ann Oregon, my grand-daughter, says I am to +be about the fore part of next June.’ + +“Well, the man see he was getting rigged, so he came to the pint at +once. Sais he, ‘Do you want a clerk?’ + +“‘I guess I do,’ said he. ‘Are you a good accountant?’ + +“‘Have been accountant-book-keeper and agent for twenty-five years,’ +sais stranger. + +“Well, John Jacob see the critter wouldn’t suit him, but he thought he +would carry out the joke. Sais he, ‘How would you like to take charge +of my almighty everlastin’ property?’ + +“‘Delighted!’ says the goney. + +“‘Well,’ said Mr Astor, ‘I am tired to death looking after it; if you +will relieve me and do my work, I’ll give you what I get out of it +myself.’ + +“‘Done!’ said the man, takin’ off his hat, and bowin’ down to the +ground. ‘I am under a great obligation to you; depend upon it you will +get a good account of it.’ + +“‘I have no doubt of it,’ said John Jacob. ‘Do your part faithfully’ +(‘Never fear me,’ said the clerk) ‘and honestly, and I will fulfil +mine. All I get out of it myself is my board and clothing, and you +shall have the same.” + +“Ah! my friend,” the preacher might say, “how much wisdom there is in +John Jacob Astor’s remark. What more has the Queen of England, or the +richest peer in the land, out of all their riches than their board and +clothing. ‘So don’t repine, my friend. Cheer up! I will come and fast +on canvas-back duck with you to-morrow, for it’s Friday; and whatever +lives on aquatic food is fishy—a duck is twice-laid fish. A few glasses +of champaine at dinner, and a cool bottle or two of claret after, will +set you all right again in a jiffy.” + +If a man’s wife races off and leaves him, which ain’t the highest +compliment he can receive, he should visit him; but it’s most prudent +not to introduce the subject himself. If broken-heart talks of it, +minister shouldn’t make light of it, for wounded pride is mighty +tender, but say it’s a dreadful thing to leave so good, so kind, so +indulgent, so liberal, so confidin’ a man as you, if the case will bear +it (in a general way it’s a man’s own fault); and if it won’t bear it, +why then there really is a guilty man, on whom he can indulge himself, +to expend a few flowers of speech. And arter restin’ here awhile, he +should hint at the consolation that is always offered, “of the sea +having better fish than ever was pulled out of it,” and so on. + +Well, the whole catalogue offers similar topics, and if a man will, +while kindly, conscientiously, and strictly sticking to the truth, +offer such consolation as a good man may, taking care to remember that +manner is everything, and all these arguments are not only no good, but +do harm if the misfortunate critter is rubbed agin the grain; he will +then prepare the sufferer to receive the only true consolation he _has_ +to offer—the consolation of religion. At least, that’s my idea. + +Now, instead of that, if he gets hold of a sinner, he first offends his +delicacy, and then scares him to death. He tells him to confess all the +nasty particulars of the how, the where, the when, and the who with. He +can’t do nothing till his curiosity is satisfied, general terms won’t +do. He must have all the dirty details. And then he talks to him of the +devil, an unpronouncible place, fire and brimstone, and endless +punishment. And assures him, if ever he hopes to be happy hereafter, he +must be wretched for the rest of his life; for the evangelical rule is, +that a man is never forgiven up to the last minute when it can’t be +helped. Well, every man to his own trade. Perhaps they are right and I +am wrong. But my idea is you can coax, but can’t bully folks. _You can +win sinners, but you can’t force them. The door of the heart must be +opened softly, and to do that you must be the hinge and the lock._ + +Well, to get back to my story, and I hardly know where I left off, I +think the poor gall was speakin’ of Indians in a way that indicated she +felt mortified at her descent, or that somehow or somehow else, there +was a sore spot there. Well, having my own thoughts about the wounds of +the heart and so on, as I have stated, I made up my mind I must get at +the secret by degrees, and see whether my theory of treatment was right +or not. + +Sais I, “Miss, you say these sort of things are bartered at the +north-west for others of more use. There is one thing though I must +remark, _they_ never were exchanged for anything half so beautiful.” + +“I am glad you like it,” she said, “but look here;” and she took out of +her basket a pair of mocassins, the soles of which were of moose +leather, tanned and dressed like felt, and the upper part black velvet, +on which various patterns were worked with beads. I think I never saw +anything of the kind so exquisite, for those nick-nacks the Nova Scotia +Indians make are rough in material, coarse in workmanship, and +ineligant in design. + +“Which do you prefer?” said she. + +“Well,” sais I, “I ain’t hardly able to decide. The bark work is more +delicate and more tasteful; but it’s more European in appearance. The +other is more like our own country, and I ain’t sure that it isn’t +quite as handsome as the other. But I think I prize the mocassins most. +The name, the shape, and the ornaments all tell of the prairie.” + +“Well, then,” she said, “it shall be the mocassins, you must have them, +as the exchange for the book.” + +“Oh,” said I, taking out of my pocket the first and second +“Clockmakers,” I had no other of my books on board, and giving them to +her, “I am afraid, Miss, that I either said or did something to offend +you this morning. I assure you I did not mean to do so, and I am very +sorry for it.” + +“No, no,” she said, “it was me; but my temper has been greatly tried +since I came to this country. I was very wrong, for _you_ (and she laid +a stress on that word as if I was an exception) have been very kind to +me.” + +“Well,” sais I, “Miss, sometimes there are things that try us and our +feelings, that we don’t choose to talk about to strangers, and +sometimes people annoy us on these subjects. It wouldn’t be right of me +to pry into any one’s secrets, but this I _will_ say, any person that +would vex you, let him be who he will, can be no man, he’d better not +do it while I am here, at any rate, or he’ll have to look for his +jacket very quick, I know.” + +“Mr Slick,” she said, “I know I am half Indian, and some folks want to +make me feel it.” + +“And you took me for one o’ them cattle,” said I, “but if you knew what +was passin’ in my mind, you wouldn’t a felt angry, _I_ know.” + +“What was it?” said she, “for I know _you_ won’t say anything to me you +oughtn’t to. What was it?” + +“Well,” sais I, “there is, between you and me, a young lady here to the +southern part of this province I have set my heart on, though whether +she is agoin’ to give me hern, or give me the mitten, I ain’t quite +sartified, but I rather kinder sorter guess the first, than kinder +sorter not so.” I just throwed that in that she mightn’t misunderstand +me. “Well, she is the most splendiferous gall I ever sot eyes on since +I was created; and,” sais I to myself, “now, here is one of a different +style of beauty, which on ’em is, take her all in all, the handsomest?” + +Half Indian or half Gaelic, or whatever she was, she was a woman, and +she didn’t flare up this time, I tell you, but taking up the work-bag +she said: + +“Give this to her, as a present from me.” + +Thinks I, “My pretty brunette, if I don’t get the heart opened to me, +and give you a better opinion of yourself, and set you all straight +with mankind in general, and the doctor in particular, afore I leave +Ship Harbour, I’ll give over for ever undervalyin’ the skill of +ministers, that’s a fact. That will do for trial number one; by and by +I’ll make trial number two.” + +Taking up the “Clockmaker,” and looking at it, she said: “Is this book +all true, Mr Slick? Did you say and do all that’s set down here?” + +“Well,” sais I, “I wouldn’t just like to swear to every word of it, but +most of it is true, though some things are embellished a little, and +some are fancy sketches. But they are all true to nature.” + +“Oh, dear,” said she, “what a pity! how shall I ever be able to tell +what’s true and what ain’t? Do you think I shall be able to understand +it, who know so little, and have seen so little?” + +“You’ll comprehend every word of it,” sais I, “I wrote it on purpose, +so every person should do so. I have tried to stick to life as close as +I could, and there is nothin’ like natur, it goes home to the heart of +us all.” + +“Do tell me, Mr Slick,” said she, “what natur is, for I don’t know.” + +Well, now that’s a very simple question, ain’t it? and anyone that +reads this book when you publish it, will say, “Why, everybody knows +what natur is,” and any schoolboy can answer that question. But I’ll +take a bet of twenty dollars, not one in a hundred will define that +tarm right off the reel, without stopping. It fairly stumpt me, and I +ain’t easily brought to a hack about common things. I could a told her +what natur was circumbendibusly, and no mistake, though that takes +time. But to define it briefly and quickly, as Minister used to say, if +it can be done at all, which I don’t think it can, all I can say is, as +galls say to conundrums, “I can’t, so I give it up. What is it?” + +Perhaps it’s my own fault, for dear old Mr Hopewell used to say, “Sam, +your head ain’t like any one else’s. Most men’s minds resembles what +appears on the water when you throw a stone in it. There is a centre, +and circles form round it, each one a little larger than the other, +until the impelling power ceases to act. Now you set off on the outer +circle, and go round and round ever so often, until you arrive to the +centre where you ought to have started from at first; I never see the +beat of you.” + +“It’s natur,” sais I, “Minister.” + +“Natur,” sais he, “what the plague has natur to do with it?” + +“Why,” sais I, “can one man surround a flock of sheep?” + +“Why, what nonsense,” sais he; “of course he can’t.” + +“Well, that’s what this child can do,” sais I. “I make a good sizeable +ring-fence, open the bars, and put them in, for if it’s too small, they +turn and out agin like wink, and they will never so much as look at it +a second time. Well, when I get them there, I narrow and narrow the +circle, till it’s all solid wool and mutton, and I have every mother’s +son of them. It takes time, for I am all alone, and have no one to help +me; but they are thar’ at last. Now, suppose I went to the centre of +the field, and started off arter them, what would it end in? Why, I’de +run one down, and have him, and that’s the only one I could catch. But +while I was a chasin’ of him, all the rest would disperse like a +congregation arter church, and cut off like wink, each on his own way, +as if he was afraid the minister was a-goin’ to run after ’em, head +’em, and fetch ’em back and pen ’em up again.” + +He squirmed his face a little at that part about the congregation, I +consaited, but didn’t say nothin’, for he knew it was true. + +“Now, my reason,” sais I, “for goin’ round and round is, I like to +gather up all that’s in the circle, carry it with me, and stack it in +the centre.” + +Lord! what fun I have had pokin’ that are question of Jessie’s sudden +to fellows since then! Sais I to Brother Eldad once— + +“Dad, we often talk about natur; what is it?” + +“Tut,” sais he, “don’t ask me; every fool knows what natur is.” + +“Exactly,” sais I; “that’s the reason I came to you.” + +He just up with a book, and came plaguy near lettin’ me have it right +agin my head smash. + +“Don’t do that,” sais I, “Daddy; I was only joking; but what is it?” + +Well, he paused a moment and looked puzzled, as a fellow does who is +looking for his spectacles, and can’t find them because he has shoved +them up on his forehead. + +“Why,” sais he, spreadin’ out his arm, “it’s all that you see, and the +law that governs it.” + +Well, it warn’t a bad shot that, for a first trial, that’s a fact. It +hit the target, though it didn’t strike the ring. + +“Oh,” said I, “then there is none of it at night, and things can’t be +nateral in the dark.” + +Well, he seed he had run off the track, so he braved it out. “I didn’t +say it was necessary to see them all the time,” he said. + +“Just so,” said I, “natur is what you see and what you don’t see; but +then feelin’ ain’t nateral at all. It strikes me that if—” + +“Didn’t I say,” said he, “the laws that govern them?” + +“Well, where are them laws writ?” + +“In that are receipt-book o’ yourn you’re so proud of,” said he. “What +do you call it, Mr Wiseacre?” + +“Then, you admit,” sais I, “any fool _can’t_ answer that question?” + +“Perhaps _you_ can,” sais he. + +“Oh Dad!” sais I, “you picked up that shot and throwed it back. When a +feller does that it shows he is short of ammunition. But I’ll tell you +what my opinion is. There is no such a thing as natur.” + +“What!” said he. + +“Why there is no such a thing as natur in reality; it is only a figure +of speech. The confounded poets got hold of the idea and parsonified it +as they have the word heart, and talk about the voice of natur and its +sensations, and its laws and its simplicities, and all that sort of +thing. The noise water makes in tumblin’ over stones in a brook, a +splutterin’ like a toothless old woman scoldin’ with a mouthful of hot +tea in her lantern cheek, is called the voice of natur speaking in the +stream. And when the wind blows and scatters about all the blossoms +from your fruit trees, and you are a ponderin’ over the mischief, a +gall comes along-side of you with a book of poetry in her hand and +sais: + +“‘Hark! do you hear the voice of natur amid the trees? Isn’t it sweet?’ + +“Well, it’s so absurd you can’t help laughin’ and saying, ‘No;’ but +then I hear the voice of natur closer still, and it says, ‘Ain’t she a +sweet critter?’ + +“Well, a cultivated field, which is a work of art, dressed with +artificial manures, and tilled with artificial tools, perhaps by steam, +is called the smiling face of nature. Here nature is strong and there +exhausted, now animated and then asleep. At the poles, the features of +nature are all frozen, and as stiff as a poker, and in the West Indies +burnt up to a cinder. What a pack of stuff it is! It is just a pretty +word like pharmacopia and Pierian spring, and so forth. I hate poets, +stock, lock, and barrel; the whole seed, breed, and generation of them. +If you see a she one, look at her stockings; they are all wrinkled +about her ancles, and her shoes are down to heel, and her hair is as +tangled as the mane of a two-year old colt. And if you see a he one, +you see a mooney sort of man, either very sad, or so wild-looking you +think he is half-mad; he eats and sleeps on earth, and that’s all. The +rest of the time he is sky-high, trying to find inspiration and +sublimity, like Byron, in gin and water. I like folks that have +common-sense.” + +Well, to get back to my story. Said Jessie to me: “Mr Slick, what is +natur?” + +“Well,” sais I, “Miss, it’s not very easy to explain it so as to make +it intelligible; but I will try. This world, and all that is in it, is +the work of God. When he made it, he gave it laws or properties that +govern it, and so to every living or inanimate thing; and these +properties or laws are called their nature. Nature therefore is +sometimes used for God himself, and sometimes for the world and its +contents, and the secret laws of action imposed upon them when created. +There is one nature to men (for though they don’t all look alike, the +laws of their being are the same), and another to horses, dogs, fish, +and so on. Each class has its own nature. For instance, it is natural +for fish to inhabit water, birds the air, and so on. In general, it +therefore means the universal law that governs everything. Do you +understand it?” says I. + +“Not just now,” she said, “but I will when I have time to think of it. +Do you say there is one nature to all men?” + +“Yes, the same nature to Indian as to white men—all the same.” + +“Which is the best nature?” + +“It is the same.” + +“Indian and white, are they both equal?” + +“Quite—” + +“Do you think so?” + +“Every mite and morsel, every bit and grain. Everybody don’t think so? +That’s natural; every race thinks it is better than another, and every +man thinks he is superior to others; and so does every woman. They +think their children the best and handsomest. A bear thinks her nasty, +dirty, shapeless, tailless cubs the most beautiful things in all +creation.” + +She laughed at that, but as suddenly relapsed into a fixed gloom. “If +red and white men are both equal, and have the same nature,” she said, +“what becomes of those who are neither red nor white, who have no +country, no nation, no tribe, scorned by each, and the tents and the +houses of both closed against them. Are they equal? what does nature +say?” + +“There is no difference,” I said; “in the eye of God they are all +alike.” + +“God may think and treat them so,” she replied, rising with much +emotion, “but man does not.” + +I thought it was as well to change the conversation, and leave her to +ponder over the idea of the races which seemed so new to her. “So,” +sais I, “I wonder the doctor hasn’t arrived; it’s past four. There he +is, Jessie; see, he is on the beach; he has returned by water. Come, +put on your bonnet and let you and I go and meet him.” + +“Who, me!” she said, her face expressing both surprise and pleasure. + +“To be sure,” said I. “You are not afraid of me, Miss, I hope.” + +“I warn’t sure I heard you right,” she said, and away she went for her +bonnet. + +Poor thing! it was evident her position was a very painful one to her, +and that her natural pride was deeply injured. Poor dear old Minister! +if you was now alive and could read this Journal, I know what you would +say as well as possible. “Sam,” you would say, “this is a fulfilment of +Scripture. _The sins of the fathers are visited on the children, the +effects of which are visible in the second and third generation_.” + + + + +CHAPTER VII. +FIDDLING AND DANCING, AND SERVING THE DEVIL. + + +By the time we had reached the house, Cutler joined us, and we dined +off of the doctor’s salmon, which was prepared in a way that I had +never seen before; and as it was a touch above common, and smacked of +the wigwam, I must get the receipt. The only way for a man who travels +and wants to get something better than amusement out of it, is to notch +down anything new, for every place has something to teach you in that +line. “_The silent pig is the best feeder_,” but it remains a pig +still, and hastens its death by growing too fat. Now the talking +traveller feeds his mind as well as his body, and soon finds the less +he pampers his appetite the clearer his head is and the better his +spirits. The great thing is to live and learn, and learn to live. + +Now I hate an epicure above all created things—worse than lawyers, +doctors, politicians, and selfish fellows of all kinds. In a giniral +way he is a miserable critter, for nothin’ is good enough for him or +done right, and his appetite gives itself as many airs, and requires as +much waitin’ on, as a crotchetty, fanciful, peevish old lady of +fashion. If a man’s sensibility is all in his palate he can’t in course +have much in his heart. Makin’ oneself miserable, fastin’ in sackcloth +and ashes, ain’t a bit more foolish than makin’ oneself wretched in the +midst of plenty, because the sea, the air, and the earth won’t give him +the dainties he wants, and Providence won’t send the cook to dress +them. To spend one’s life in eating, drinking, and sleeping, or like a +bullock, in ruminating on food, reduces a man to the level of an ox or +an ass. The stomach is the kitchen, and a very small one too, in a +general way, and broiling, simmering, stewing, baking, and steaming, is +a goin’ on there night and day. The atmosphere is none of the +pleasantest neither, and if a man chooses to withdraw into himself and +live there, why I don’t see what earthly good he is to society, unless +he wants to wind up life by writin’ a cookery-book. I hate them—that’s +just the tarm, and I like tarms that express what I mean. + +I shall never forget when I was up to Michelimackinic. A thunderin’ +long word, ain’t it? We call it Mackinic now for shortness. But perhaps +you wouldn’t understand it spelt that way, no more than I did when I +was to England that Brighton means Brighthelmeston, or Sissiter, +Cirencester, for the English take such liberties with words, they can’t +afford to let others do the same; so I give it to you both ways. Well, +when I was there last, I dined with a village doctor, the greatest +epicure I think I ever see in all my born days. He thought and talked +of nothing else from morning till night but eatin’. + +“Oh, Mr Slick,” said he, rubbin’ his hands, “this is the tallest +country in the world to live in. What a variety of food there is +here,—fish, flesh, and fowl,—wild, tame, and mongeral,—fruits, +vegetables, and spongy plants!” + +“What’s that?” sais I. I always do that when a fellow uses strange +words. “We call a man who drops in accidently on purpose to dinner a +sponging fellow, which means if you give him the liquid he will soak it +up dry.” + +“Spongy plants,” sais he, “means mushrooms and the like.” + +“Ah!” said I, “mushrooms are nateral to a new soil like this. Upstarts +we call them; they arise at night, and by next mornin’ their house is +up and its white roof on.” + +“Very good,” said he, but not lookin’ pleased at havin’ his oratory cut +short that way. “Oh, Mr Slick!” said he, “there is a poor man here who +richly deserves a pension both from your government and mine. He has +done more to advance the culinary art than either Ude or Soyer.” + +“Who on earth now were they?” said I. I knew well enough who they were, +for when I was to England they used to brag greatly of Soyer at the +Reform Club. For fear folks would call their association house after +their politics, “_the cheap and dirty_” they built a very splash +affair, and to set an example to the state in their own establishment +of economy and reform in the public departments, hired Soyer, the best +cook of the age, at a salary that would have pensioned half-a-dozen of +the poor worn-out clerks in Downing Street. _Vulgarity is always +showy._ It is a pretty word, “Reformers.” The common herd of them I +don’t mind much, for rogues and fools always find employment for each +other. But when I hear of a great reformer like some of the big bugs to +England, that have been grinning through horse-collars of late years, +like harlequins at fairs, for the amusement and instruction of the +public, I must say I do expect to see a super-superior hypocrite. + +Yes, I know who those great artists Soyer and Ude were, but I thought +I’d draw him out. So I just asked who on earth they were, and he +explained at great length, and mentioned the wonderful discoveries they +had made in their divine art. + +“Well,” sais I, “why on earth don’t your friend the Mackinic cook go to +London or Paris, where he won’t want a pension, or anything else, if he +excels them great men?” + +“Bless you, Sir,” he replied, “he is merely a voyageur.” + +“Oh dear,” sais I, “I dare say then he can fry ham and eggs and serve +’em up in ile, boil salt beef and pork, and twice lay cod-fish, and +perhaps boil potatoes nice and watery like cattle turnips. What +discoveries could such a rough-and-tumble fellow as that make?” + +“Well,” said the doctor, “I didn’t want to put myself forward, for it +ain’t pleasant to speak of oneself.” + +“Well, I don’t know that,” sais I, “I ain’t above it, I assure you. If +you have a horse to sell, put a thunderin’ long price on him, and folks +will think he must be the devil and all, and if you want people to +vally you right, appraise yourself at a high figure. _Braggin’ saves +advertising’._ I always do it; for as the Nova Scotia magistrate said, +who sued his debtor before himself, ‘What’s the use of being a justice, +if you can’t do yourself justice.’ But what was you sayin’ about the +voyageur?” + +“Why, Sir,” said he, “I made the discovery through his instrumentality. +He enabled me to do it by suffering the experiments to be made on him. +His name was Alexis St Martin; he was a Canadian, and about eighteen +years of age, of good constitution, robust, and healthy. He had been +engaged in the service of the American Fur Company as a voyageur, and +was accidentally wounded by the discharge of a musket, on the 9th of +June, 1822. The charge, consisting of powder and duck-shot, was +received in his left side; he being at a distance of not more than one +yard from the muzzle of the gun. The contents entered posteriorly, and +in an oblique direction, forward and inward, literally blowing off +integuments and muscles, of the size of a man’s hand, fracturing and +carrying away the anterior half of the sixth rib, fracturing the fifth, +lacerating the lower portion of the left lobe of the lungs, the +diaphragm, and perforating the stomach.” + +“Good gracious!” sais I, “how plain that is expressed! It is as clear +as mud, that! I do like doctors, for their talking and writing is +intelligible to the meanest capacity.” + +He looked pleased, and went ahead agin. + +“After trying all the means in my power for eight or ten months to +close the orifice, by exciting adhesive inflammation in the lips of the +wound, without the least appearance of success, I gave it up as +impracticable, in any other way than that of incising and bringing them +together by sutures; an operation to which the patient would not +submit. By using the aperture which providence had supplied us with to +communicate with the stomach, I ascertained, by attaching a small +portion of food of different kinds to a string, and inserting it +through his side, the exact time each takes for digestion, such as beef +or pork, or mutton or fowl, or fish or vegetables, cooked in different +ways.1 We all know how long it takes to dress them, but we did not know +how long a time they required for digestion. I will show you a +comparative table.” + +1 The village doctor appears to have appropriated to himself the credit +due to another. The particulars of this remarkable case are to be found +in a work published in New York in 1833, entitled “Experiments and +observations on the gastric juices, and the physiology of digestion,” +by William Beaumont, M. D., Surgeon in the United States’ Army, and +also in the “Albion” newspaper of the same place for January 4, 1834. + + +“Thank you,” sais I, “but I am afraid I must be a moving. “Fact is, my +stomach was movin’ then, for it fairly made me sick. Yes, I’d a plaguy +sight sooner see a man embroidering, which is about as contemptible an +accomplishment as an idler can have, than to hear him everlastingly +smack his lips, and see him open his eyes and gloat like an anaconda +before he takes down a bullock, horns, hair, and hoof, tank, shank, and +flank, at one bolt, as if it was an opium pill to make him sleep. + +Well, all this long lockrum arose out of my saying I should like to +have the receipt by which Jessie’s sister had cooked the salmon for +dinner; and I intend to get it too, that’s a fact. As we concluded our +meal, “Doctor,” sais I, “we have been meditating mischief in your +absence. What do you say to our makin’ a party to visit the ‘_Bachelor +beaver’s dam_,’ and see your museum, fixins, betterments, and what +not?” + +“Why,” said he, “I should like it above all things; but—” + +“But what?” said I. + +“But I am afraid, as you must stay all night, if you go, my poor wigwam +won’t accommodate so many with beds.” + +“Oh! some of us will camp out,” sais I, “I am used to it, and like it a +plaguy sight better than hot rooms.” + +“Just the thing,” said he. “Oh! Mr Slick, you are a man after my own +heart. The nature of all foresters is alike, _red_ or white, English or +French, Yankee or Blue-nose.” + +Jessie looked up at the coïncidence of that expression with what I had +said yesterday. + +“Blue-nose,” said I, “Doctor,” to familiarize the girl’s mind to the +idea I had started of the mixed race being on a footing of equality +with the other two, “Blue-nose ought to be the best, for he is half +Yankee and half English; two of the greatest people on the face of the +airth!” + +“True,” said he, “by right he ought to be, and it’s his own fault he +ain’t.” + +I thought it would be as well to drop the allusion there, so I said, +“That’s exactly what mother used to say when I did anything wrong: +‘Sam, ain’t you ashamed.’ ‘No, I ain’t,’ said I. ‘Then you ought to +be,’ she’d reply. + +“It’s a fixed fact, then,” said I, “that we go to-morrow to the Beaver +dam?” + +“Yes,” said he, “I shall be delighted. Jessie, you and your sister will +accompany us, won’t you?” + +“I should be charmed,” she replied. + +“I think you will be pleased with it,” he continued, “it will just suit +you; it’s so quiet and retired. But you must let Etienne take the +horse, and carry a letter to my sergeant and his commanding officer, +Betty, to give them notice of our visit, or he will go through the +whole campaign in Spain before he is done, and tell you how ill the +commissariat-people were used, in not having notice given to them to +lay in stores. I never was honoured with the presence of ladies there +before, and he will tell you he is broken-hearted at the accommodation. +I don’t know what there is in the house; but the rod and the gun will +supply us, I think, and the French boy, when he returns, will bring me +word if anything is wanted from the shore.” + +“Jessie,” said I, “can’t you invite the two Highland lassies and their +brother that were here last night, and let us have a reel this +evening?” + +“Oh! yes,” she said, and going into the kitchen, the message was +despatched immediately. As soon as the guests arrived, Peter produced +his violin, and the doctor waking out of one of his brown studies, +jumped up like a boy, and taking one of the new-comers by the hand, +commenced a most joyous and rapid jig, the triumph of which seemed to +consist in who should tire the other out. The girl had youth and +agility on her side; but the doctor was not devoid of activity, and the +great training which his constant exercise kept him in, threw the +balance in his favour; so when he ceased, and declared the other +victorious, it was evident that it was an act of grace, and not of +necessity. After that we all joined in an eight-handed reel, and eight +merrier and happier people I don’t think were ever before assembled at +Ship Harbour. + +In the midst of it the door opened, and a tall, thin, +cadaverous-looking man entered, and stood contemplating us in silence. +He had a bilious-looking countenance, which the strong light of the +fire and candles, when thrown upon it, rendered still more repulsive. +He had a broad-brimmed hat on his head, which he did not condescend to +remove, and carried in one hand a leather travelling-bag, as lean and +as dark-complexioned as himself, and in the other a bundle of +temperance newspapers. Peter seeing that he did not speak or advance, +called out to him, with a face beaming with good humour, as he kept +bobbing his head, and keeping time with his foot (for his whole body +was affected by his own music). + +“Come in, friend, come in, she is welcome. Come in, she is playin’ +herself just now, but she will talk to you presently.” And then he +stamped his foot to give emphasis to the turn of the tune, as if he +wanted to astonish the stranger with his performance. + +The latter however not only seemed perfectly insensible to its charms, +but immoveable. Peter at last got up from his chair, and continued +playing as he advanced towards him; but he was so excited by what was +going on among the young people, that he couldn’t resist dancing +himself, as he proceeded down the room, and when he got to him, capered +and fiddled at the same time. + +“Come,” said he, as he jumped about in front of him, “come and join +in;” and liftin’ the end of his bow suddenly, tipt off his hat for him, +and said, “Come, she will dance with you herself.” + +The stranger deliberately laid down his travelling-bag and paper +parcel, and lifting up both hands said, “Satan, avaunt.” But Peter +misunderstood him, and thought he said, “Sartain, I can’t.” + +“She canna do tat,” he replied, “can’t she, then she’ll teach you the +step herself. This is the way,” and his feet approached so near the +solemncolly man that he retreated a step or two as if to protect his +shins. Everybody in the room was convulsed with laughter, for all saw +what the intruder was, and the singular mistake Peter was making. It +broke up the reel. The doctor put his hands to his sides, bent forward, +and made the most comical contortions of face. In this position he +shuffled across the room, and actually roared out with laughter. + +I shall never forget the scene; I have made a sketch of it, to +illustrate this for you. There was this demure sinner, standing bolt +upright in front of the door, his hat hanging on the handle, which had +arrested it in its fall, and his long black hair, as if partaking of +his consternation, flowing wildly over his cheeks; while Peter, utterly +unconscious that no one was dancing, continued playing and capering in +front of him, as if he was ravin distracted, and the doctor bent +forward, pressing his sides with his hands, as if to prevent their +bursting, laughed as if he was in hysterics. It was the most comical +thing I ever saw. I couldn’t resist it no longer, so I joined the trio. + +“Come, Doctor,” sais I, “a three-handed reel,” and entering into the +joke, he seized the stranger by one hand, and I by the other, and +before our silent friend knew where he was, he was in the middle of the +floor, and though he was not made to dance, he was pushed or flung into +his place, and turned and faced about as if he was taking his first +lesson. At last, as if by common consent, we all ceased laughing, from +sheer exhaustion. The stranger still kept his position in the centre of +the floor, and when silence was restored, raised his hands again in +pious horror, and said, in a deep, sepulchral voice: + +“_Fiddling and dancing, and serving the devil._ Do you ever think of +your latter end?” + +“Thee had better think of thine, friend,” I whispered, assuming the +manner of a quaker for fun, “for Peter is a rough customer, and won’t +stand upon ceremony.” + +“_Amhic an aibhisteir_ (son of the devil),” said Peter, shaking his +fist at him, “if she don’t like it, she had better go. It’s her own +house, and she will do what she likes in it. Faat does she want?” + +“I want the man called Samuel Slick,” said he. + +“Verily,” sais I, “friend, I am that man, and wilt thee tell me who +thee is that wantest me, and where thee livest?” + +“Men call me,” he said, “Jehu Judd, and when to home, I live in Quaco +in New Brunswick.” + +I was glad of that, because it warn’t possible the critter could know +anything of me, and I wanted to draw him out. + +“And what does thee want, friend?” I said. + +“I come to trade with you, to sell you fifty barrels of mackerel, and +to procure some nets for the fishery, and some manufactures, commonly +called _domestics.”_ + +“Verily,” sais I, “thee hast an odd way of opening a trade, methinks, +friend Judd. Shaking quakers dance piously, as thee mayest have heard, +and dost thee think thy conduct seemly? What mayest thee be, friend?” + +“A trader,” he replied. + +“Art thee not a fisher of men, friend, as well as a fisher of fish?” + +“I am a Christian man,” he said, “of the sect called ‘_come-outers_,’1 +and have had experience, and when I meet the brethren, sometimes I +speak a word in season.” + +1 Come-outers. This name has been applied to a considerable number of +persons in various parts of the Northern States, principally in New +England, who have recently _come out_ of the various religious +denominations with which they have been connected; hence the name. They +have not themselves assumed any distinctive organization. They have no +creed, believing that every one should be left free to hold such +opinions on religious subjects as he pleases, without being held +accountable for the same to any human authority—_Bartlett’s +Americanisms._ + + +“Well, friend, thee has spoken thy words out of season tonight,” I +said. + +“Peradventure I was wrong,” he replied, “and if so, I repent me of it.” + +“Of a certainty thee was, friend. Thee sayest thy name is Jehu; now he +was a hard rider, and it may be thee drivest a hard bargain, if so, go +thy ways, for thee cannot ‘make seed-corn off of me;’ if not, tarry +here till this company goeth, and then I will talk to thee touching the +thing called mackarel. Wilt thee sit by the fire till the quaker +ceaseth his dancing, and perhaps thee may learn what those words mean, +‘and the heart danceth for joy,’ or it may be thee will return to thy +vessel, and trade in the morning.” + +“No man knoweth,” he said, “what an hour may bring forth; I will bide +my time.” + +“The night is cold at this season,” said Peter, who considered that the +laws of hospitality required him to offer the best he had in his house +to a stranger, so he produced some spirits, as the most acceptable +thing he possessed, and requested him to help himself. + +“I care not if I do,” he said, “for my pledge extendeth not so far as +this,” and he poured himself out a tumbler of brandy and water, that +warn’t half-and-half, but almost the whole hog. Oh, gummy, what a horn! +it was strong enough almost to throw an ox over a five-bar gate. It +made his eyes twinkle, I tell you, and he sat down and began to look as +if he thought the galls pretty. + +“Come, Peter,” said I, “strike up, the stranger will wait awhile.” + +“Will she dance,” said he, “tam her.” + +“No,” said I, but I whispered to the doctor, “he will _reel_ soon,” at +which he folded his arms across his breast and performed his gyrations +as before. Meanwhile Cutler and Frazer, and two of the girls, commenced +dancing jigs, and harmony was once more restored. While they were thus +occupied, I talked over the arrangements for our excursion on the +morrow with Jessie, and the doctor entered into a close examination of +Jehu Judd, as to the new asphalt mines in his province. He informed him +of the enormous petrified trunks of palm-trees that have been found +while exploring the coal-fields, and warmed into eloquence as he +enumerated the mineral wealth and great resources of that most +beautiful colony. The doctor expressed himself delighted with the +information he had received, whereupon Jehu rose and asked him in token +of amity to pledge him in a glass of Peter’s excellent cognac, and +without waiting for a reply, filled a tumbler and swallowed it at one +gulp. + +My, what a pull that was. Thinks I to myself, “Friend, if that don’t +take the wrinkles out of the parchment case of your conscience, then I +don’t know nothin’, that’s all.” Oh dear, how all America is overrun +with such cattle as this; how few teach religion, or practise it right. +How hard it is to find the genuine article. Some folks keep the people +in ignorance, and make them believe the moon is made of green cheese; +others, with as much sense, fancy the world is. One has old saints, the +other invents new ones. One places miracles at a distance, t’other +makes them before their eyes, while both are up to mesmerism. One says +there is no marryin’ in Paradise, the other says, if that’s true, it’s +hard, and it is best to be a mormon and to have polygamy here. Then +there is a third party who says, neither of you speak sense, it is +better to believe nothin’ than to give yourself up to be crammed. +Religion, Squire, ain’t natur, because it is intended to improve +corrupt natur, it’s no use talkin’ therefore, it can’t be left to +itself, otherwise it degenerates into something little better than +animal instinct. It must be taught, and teaching must have authority as +well as learning. There can be no authority where there is no power to +enforce, and there can be no learning where there is no training. If +there must be normal schools to qualify schoolmasters, there must be +Oxfords and Cambridges to qualify clergymen. At least that’s my idea. +Well, if there is a qualified man, he must be supported while he is +working. But if he has to please his earthly employer, instead of +obeying his heavenly Master, the better he is qualified the more +dangerous he is. If he relies on his congregation, the order of things +is turned upside down. He serves mammon, and not God. If he does his +duty he must tell unpleasant truths, and then he gets a walkin’ ticket. +Who will hire a servant, pay him for his time, find a house for him to +live in, and provide him in board, if he has a will of his own, and +won’t please his employer by doin’ what he is ordered to do? I don’t +think you would, Squire, and I know I wouldn’t. + +No, a fixed, settled church, like ourn, or yours, Squire, is the best. +There is safe anchorage ground in them, and you don’t go draggin’ your +flukes with every spurt of wind, or get wrecked if there is a gale that +rages round you. There is something strong to hold on to. There are +good buoys, known landmarks, and fixed light-houses, so that you know +how to steer, and not helter-skelter lights movin’ on the shore like +will-o’-the whisps, or wreckers’ false fires, that just lead you to +destruction. The medium between the two churches, for the clergy, would +be the right thing. In yours they are too independent of the people, +with us a little too dependent. But we are coming up to the notch by +making moderate endowments, which will enable the minister to do what +is right, and not too large to make him lazy or careless. Well then, in +neither of them is a minister handed over to a faction to try. Them +that make the charges ain’t the judges, which is a Magna Charta for +him. + +Yes, I like our episcopal churches, they teach, persuade, guide, and +paternally govern, but they have no dungeons, no tortures, no fire and +sword. They ain’t afraid of the light, for, as minister used to say, +“their light shines afore men.” Just see what sort of a system it must +be that produces such a man as Jehu Judd. And yet Jehu finds it answer +his purpose in his class to be what he is. His religion is a cloak, and +that is a grand thing for a pick-pocket. It hides his hands, while they +are fumblin’ about your waistcoat and trousers, and then conceals the +booty. You can’t make tricks if your adversary sees your hands, you may +as well give up the game. + +But to return to the evangelical trader. Before we recommenced dancing +again, I begged the two Gaelic girls, who were bouncing, buxom lasses, +and as strong as Shetland ponies, to coax or drag him up for a reel. +Each took a hand of his and tried to persuade him. Oh, weren’t they +full of smiles, and didn’t they look rosy and temptin’? They were sure, +they said, so good-lookin’ a man as he was, must have learned to dance, +or how could he have given it up? + +“For a single man like you,” said Catherine. + +“I am not a single man,” said Old Piety, “I am a widower, a lonely man +in the house of Israel.” + +“Oh, Catherine,” sais I, a givin’ her a wink, “take care of theeself, +or thy Musquodobit farm, with its hundred acres of intervale meadow, +and seventy head of horned cattle, is gone.” + +He took a very amatory look at her after that hint. + +“Verily she would be a _duck_ in _Quaco,_ friend Jehu,” said I. + +“Indeed would she, anywhere,” he said, looking sanctified Cupids at +her, as pious galls do who show you the place in your prayer-book at +church. + +“Ah, there is another way methinks she would be a duck,” said I, “the +maiden would soon turn up the whites of her eyes at dancin’ like a +_duck_ in thunder, as the profane men say.” + +“Oh, oh,” said the doctor, who stood behind me, “I shall die, he’ll +kill me. I can’t stand this, oh, how my sides ache.” + +“Indeed I am afraid I shall always be a _wild duck_,” said Catherine. + +“They are safer from the fowler,” said Jehu, “for they are wary and +watchful.” + +“If you are a widower,” she said, “you ought to dance.” + +“Why do you think so?” said he; but his tongue was becoming thick, +though his eyes were getting brighter. + +“Because,” she said, “a widower is an odd critter.” + +“Odd?” he replied, “in what way odd, dear?” + +“Why,” said the girl, “an ox of ourn lately lost his mate, and my +brother called him the odd ox, and not the single ox, and he is the +most frolicksome fellow you ever see. Now, as you have lost your mate, +you are an odd one, and if you are lookin’ for another to put its head +into the yoke, you ought to go frolickin’ everywhere too!” + +“Do single critters ever look for mates?” said he, slily. + +“Well done,” said I, “friend Jehu. The drake had the best of the duck +that time. Thee weren’t bred in Quaco for nothin’. Come, rouse up, wake +snakes, and walk chalks, as the thoughtless children of evil say. I see +thee is warmin’ to the subject.” + +“Men do allow,” said he, lookin’ at me with great self-complacency, +“that in speech I am _peeower_ful.” + +“Come, Mary,” said I, addressin’ the other sister, “do thee try thy +persuasive powers, but take care of thy grandmother’s legacy, the two +thousand pounds thee hast in the Pictou Bank. It is easier for that to +go to Quaco than the farm.” + +“Oh, never fear,” said she. + +“Providence,” he continued, “has been kind to these virgins. They are +surprising comely, and well endowed with understanding and money,” and +he smirked first at one and then at the other, as if he thought either +would do—the farm or the legacy. + +“Come,” they both said, and as they gave a slight pull, up he sprung to +his feet. The temptation was too great for him: two pairs of bright +eyes, two pretty faces, and two hands in his filled with Highland +blood—and that ain’t cold—and two glasses of grog within, and two +fortunes without, were irresistible. + +So said he,” If I have offended, verily I will make amends; but dancing +is a dangerous thing, and a snare to the unwary. The hand and waist of +a maiden in the dance lead not to serious thoughts.” + +“It’s because thee so seldom feels them,” I said. “Edged tools never +wound thee when thee is used to them, and the razor that cutteth the +child, passeth smoothly over the chin of a man. He who locketh up his +daughters, forgetteth there is a window and a ladder, and if gaiety is +shut out of the house, it is pitied and admitted when the master is +absent or asleep. When it is harboured by stealth and kept concealed, +it loses its beauty and innocence, and waxeth wicked. The crowd that +leaveth a night-meeting is less restrained than the throng that goeth +to a lighted ball-room. Both are to be avoided; one weareth a cloak +that conceals too much, the other a thin vestment that reveals more +than is seemly. Of the two, it is better to court observation than shun +it. Dark thoughts lead to dark deeds.” + +“There is much reason in what you say,” he said; “I never had it put to +me in that light before. I have heard of the shakers, but never saw one +before you, nor was aware that they danced.” + +“Did thee never hear,” said I, “when thee was a boy, + +“‘Merrily dance the quaker’s wife, +And merrily dance the quaker?’ + + +and so on?” + +“No, never,” said he. + +“Then verily, friend, I will show thee how a quaker can dance. They +call us shakers, from shaking our feet so spry. Which will thee +choose—the farm or the legacy?” + +Mary took his hand, and led him to his place, the music struck up, and +Peter gave us one of his quickest measures. Jehu now felt the combined +influence of music, women, brandy, and dancing, and snapped his fingers +over his head, and stamped his feet to mark the time, and hummed the +tune in a voice that from its power and clearness astonished us all. + +“Well done, old boy,” said I, for I thought I might drop the quaker +now, “well done, old boy,” and I slapped him on the back, “go it while +you are young, make up for lost time: now for the double shuffle. Dod +drot it, you are clear grit and no mistake. You are like a critter that +boggles in the collar at the first go off, and don’t like the start, +but when you do lay legs to it you certainly ain’t no slouch, I know.” + +The way he cut carlicues ain’t no matter. From humming he soon got to a +full cry, and from that to shouting. His antics overcame us all. The +doctor gave the first key-note. “Oh, oh, that man will be the death of +me,” and again rubbed himself round the wall, in convulsions of +laughter. Peter saw nothing absurd in all this, on the contrary, he was +delighted with the stranger. + +“Oigh,” he said, “ta preacher is a goot feller after all, she will +tance with her hern ainsel;” and fiddling his way up to him again, he +danced a jig with Jehu, to the infinite amusement of us all. The +familiarity which Mr Judd exhibited with the steps and the dance, +convinced me that he must have often indulged in it before he became a +Christian. At last he sat down, not a little exhausted with the violent +exertion, but the liquor made him peeowerful thick-legged, and his +track warn’t a bee line, I tell you. After a while a song was proposed, +and Mary entreated him to favour us with one. + +“Dear Miss,” said he, “pretty Miss,” and his mouth resembled that of a +cat contemplating a pan of milk that it cannot reach, “lovely maiden, +willingly would I comply, if Sall Mody (Psalmody) will do, but I have +forgotten my songs.” + +“Try this,” said I, and his strong, clear voice rose above us all, as +he joined us in— + +“Yes, Lucy is a pretty girl, +Such lubly hands and feet, +When her toe is in the Market-house, +Her heel is in Main Street. + +“Oh take your time, Miss Lucy, +Miss Lucy, Lucy Long, +Rock de cradle, Lucy, +And listen to de song.” + + +He complained of thirst and fatigue after this, and rising, said, “I am +_peeower_ful dry, by jinks,” and helped himself so liberally, that he +had scarcely resumed his seat before he was fast asleep, and so +incapable of sustaining himself in a sitting posture, that we removed +him to the sofa, and loosening his cravat, placed him in a situation +where he could repose comfortably. We then all stood round the +evangelical “_Come-outer_,” and sang in chorus: + +“My old master, Twiddledum Don, +Went to bed with his trousers on, +One shoe off, and the other shoe on— +That’s the description of Twiddledum Don.” + + +“Oh, my old ‘Come-outer,’” said I, as I took my last look at him for +the night, “you have ‘come-out’ in your true colours at last, but this +comes of _‘fiddling and dancing, and serving the devil_.’” + + + + +CHAPTER VIII. +STITCHING A BUTTON-HOLE. + + +After the family had retired to rest, the doctor and I lighted our +cigars, and discoursed of the events of the evening. + +“Such men as Jehu Judd,” he said, “do a monstrous deal of mischief in +the country. By making the profession of piety a cloak for their +knavery, they injure the cause of morality, and predispose men to +ridicule the very appearance of that which is so justly entitled to +their respect, a sober, righteous, and godly life. Men lose their +abhorrence of fraud in their distrust of the efficacy of religion. It +is a duty we owe to society to expose and punish such fellows.” + +“Well then, I will do _my_ duty,” said I, laughing, “he has fired into +the wrong flock this time, I’ll teach him not to do it again, or my +name is not Sam Slick. I will make that goney a caution to sinners, _I_ +know. He has often deceived others so that they didn’t know him, I will +now alter him so he shan’t know himself when he wakes up.” + +Proceeding to my bed-room, which, as I said before, adjoined the +parlour, I brought out the box containin’ my sketchin’ fixins, and +opening of a secret drawer, showed him a small paper of bronze-coloured +powder. + +“That,” said I,” is what the Indians at the Nor-west use to disguise a +white man, when he is in their train, not to deceive their enemies, for +you couldn’t take in a savage for any length of time, no how you could +fix it, but that his pale face might not alarm the scouts of their +foes. I was stained that way for a month when I was among them, for +there was war going on at the time.” + +Mixing a little of it with brandy I went to the sofa, where Mr Jehu +Judd was laid out, and with a camel’s hair brush ornamented his upper +lip with two enormous and ferocious moustachios, curling well upwards, +across his cheeks to his ears, and laid on the paint in a manner to +resist the utmost efforts of soap and water. Each eye was adorned with +an enormous circle to represent the effect of blows, and on his +forehead was written in this indelible ink in large print letters, like +those on the starn-board of a vessel, the words “Jehu of Quaco.” + +In the morning we made preparations for visiting the Bachelor Beaver. +The evangelical trader awoke amid the general bustle of the house, and +sought me out to talk over the sale of his mackarel. + +“Fa is tat,” said Peter, who first stared wildly at him, and then put +himself in a posture of defence. “Is she a deserter from the garishon +of Halifax?” + +“I am a man of peace,” said Jehu (who appeared to have forgotten the +aberrations of the last evening, and had resumed his usual +sanctimoniouslyfied manner). “Swear not, friend, it is an abomination, +and becometh not a Christian man.” + +Peter was amazed, he could not trust his eyes, his ears, or his memory. + +“Toctor,” said he, “come here for heaven’s sake, is she hern ainsel or +ta tevil.” + +The moment the doctor saw him, his hands as usual involuntarily +protected his sides, and he burst out a laughing in his face, and then +describing a circle on the grass, fell down, and rolled over, saying, +“Oh, oh, that man will be the death of me.” The girls nearly went into +hysterics, and Cutler, though evidently not approving of the practical +joke, as only fit for military life, unable to contain himself, walked +away. The French boy, Etienne, frightened at his horrible expression of +face, retreated backwards, crossed himself most devoutly, and muttered +an Ave Maria. + +“Friend Judd,” said I, for I was the only one who retained my gravity, +“thee ought not to wear a mask, it is a bad sign.” + +“I wear no mask, Mr Slick,” he said, “I use no disguises, and it does +not become a professing man like you to jeer and scoff because I +reprove the man Peter for his profaneness.” + +Peter stamped and raved like a madman, and had to resort to Gaelic to +disburden his mind of his effervescence. He threatened to shoot him; he +knew him very well, he said, for he had seen him before on the +prairies. He was a Kentucky villain, a forger, a tief, a Yankee spy +sent to excite the Indians against the English. He knew his false +moustachios, he would swear to them in any court of justice in the +world. “Deil a bit is ta loon Jehu Judd,” he said, “her name is prayin’ +Joe, the horse-stealer.” + +For the truth of this charge he appealed to his daughters, who stood +aghast at the fearful resemblance his moustachios had given him to that +noted borderer. + +“That man of Satan,” said Jehu, looking very uncomfortable, as he saw +Peter flourishing a short dirk, and the doctor holding him back and +remonstrating with him. “That man of Satan I never saw before +yesterday, when I entered his house, where there was _fiddling and +dancing, and serving the devil._ Truly my head became dizzy at the +sight, my heart sunk within me at beholding such wickedness, and I fell +into a swoon, and was troubled with dreams of the evil one all night.” + +“Then he visited thee, friend,” I said, “in thy sleep, and placed his +mark upon thee—the mark of the beast, come and look at it in the +glass.” + +When he saw himself, he started back in great terror, and gave vent to +a long, low, guttural groan, like a man who is suffering intense agony. +“What in the world is all this?” he said. He again approached the glass +and again retreated with a look of unspeakable despair, groaning like a +thousand sinners, and swelled out about the head and throat like a +startled blauzer-snake. After which he put his hand to his lip and +discovered there was no hair. He then took courage and advanced once +more, and examined it carefully, and rubbed it, but it did not remove +it. + +“He has burned it into the skin,” I said, “he hath made thee the image +of the horse-stealer, and who knoweth whom else thou resemblest. Thee +art a marked man verily. Thee said thee never used disguises.” + +“Never,” he said, “never, Mr Slick.” + +“Hush,” I said, “thee hast worn three disguises. First, thee wore the +disguise of religion; secondly, thee were disguised in liquor; and +thirdly, thee art now disguised with what fighting men call the +moustachio.” + +“Oh, Mr Slick,” said he, leaving off his cant, and really looking like +a different man, “dod drot it, it is a just punishment. I knock under, +I holler, I give in, have mercy on me. Can you rid me of this horrid +mark, for I can’t flunk out in the street in this rig.” + +“I can,” sais I, “but I will do it on one condition only, and that is, +that you give over canting that way, and coverin’ tricks with long +faces and things too serious to mention now, for that is doubly wicked. +Cheatin’ ain’t pretty at no time, though I wouldn’t be too hard on a +man for only gettin’ hold of the right eend of the rope in a bargain. I +have done it myself. Or puttin’ the leak into a consaited critter +sometimes for fun. But to cheat, and cant to help you a doin’ of it, is +horrid, that’s a fact. It’s the very devil. Will you promise, if I take +down that ornamental sign-board, that you will give up that kind o’ +business and set up a new shop?” + +“I will,” said he, “upon my soul—I’ll be d—d if I don’t. That ain’t +cant now, is it?” + +“Well, now you never said a truer word,” said I, “you will be d—d if +you don’t, that’s a fact. But there is no use to run to the other +extreme, neither.” + +“Are you a preacher?” said he, and I thought he gave me a sly look out +of the corner of his eye, as much as to say, “how good we are, ain’t +we,” as sin said when the devil was rebukin’ of him. The fact is, the +fellow was a thunderin’ knave, but he was no fool, further than being +silly enough to be a knave. + +“No,” sais I, “I ain’t, I scorn a man dubbin’ himself preacher, without +the broughtens up to it, and a lawful warrant for being one. And I +scorn cant, it ain’t necessary to trade. If you want that proved to +you, wait till I return to-morrow, and if you get to winderd of me in a +bargain, I’ll give you leave to put the moustachios on me, that’s a +fact. My maxim is to buy as low and sell as high as I can, provided the +article will bear a large profit. If not, I take a moderate advance, +turn the penny quick, and at it again. I will compound something that +will take out your false hair, for I don’t think it will be easy to +shave it off. It all came of pretence. What in the world was the reason +you couldn’t walk quietly into the cantecoi, where people were enjoying +themselves, and either join them, or if you had scruples, keep them to +yourself and sit by. Nobody would have molested you. Nothing but cant +led you to join temperance societies. A man ought to be able to use, +not abuse liquor, but the moment you obligate yourself not to touch it, +it kinder sets you a hankering after it, and if you taste it after +that, it upsets you, as it did last night. _It ain’t easy to wean a +calf that takes to suckin’ the second time, that’s a fact._ Your +pretence set folks agin you. They didn’t half like the interruption for +one thing, and then the way you acted made them disrespect you. So you +got a most an all-fired trick played on you. And I must say it sarves +you right. Now, sais I, go on board and—” + +“Oh, Mr Slick,” said he, “oh now, that’s a good fellow, don’t send me +on board such a figure as this, I’d rather die fust, I’d never hear the +last of it. The men would make me the laughing-stock of Quaco. Oh, I +can’t go on board.” + +“Well,” sais I, “go to bed then, and put a poultice on your face, to +soften the skin.” That warn’t necessary at all, but I said it to punish +him. “And when I come back, I will give you a wash, that will make your +face as white and as smooth as a baby’s.” + +“Oh, Mr Slick,” said he, “couldn’t you—” but I turned away, and didn’t +hear him out. + +By the time I had done with him, we were all ready to start for the +Bachelor Beaver. Peter borrowed an extra horse and waggon, and drove +his youngest daughter. Cutler drove Jessie in another, and the doctor +and I walked. + +“We can travel as fast as they can,” he said, “for part of the road is +full of stumps, and very rough, and I like the arrangement, and want to +have a talk with you about all sorts of things.” + +After travelling about two miles, we struck off the main highway into a +wood-road, in which stones, hillocks, and roots of trees so impeded the +waggons, that we passed them, and took the lead. + +“Are you charged?” said the Doctor, “if not, I think we may as well do +so now.” + +“Perhaps it would be advisable,” said I. “But where is your gun?” + +“I generally am so well loaded,” he replied, “when I go to the woods, I +find it an encumbrance. In addition to my other traps, I find forty +weight of pemican as much as I can carry.” + +“_Pemican_,”1 sais I, “what in natur is that?” I knew as well as he did +what it was, for a man that don’t understand how to make that, don’t +know the very abeselfa of wood-craft. But I tell you what, Squire, +unless you want to be hated, don’t let on you know all that a feller +can tell you. The more you _do_ know, the more folks are afeared to be +able to tell you something new. It flatters their vanity, and it’s a +harmless piece of politeness, as well as good policy to listen; for who +the plague will attend to you if you won’t condescend to hear them? +_Conversation is a barter, in which one thing is swapped for another, +and you must abide by the laws of trade._ What you give costs you +nothing; and what you get may be worth nothing; so, if you don’t gain +much, you don’t lose, at all events. “So,” sais I, “what in natur is +pemican?” + +1 See Dunn’s “Oregon.” + + +“Why,” sais he, “it is formed by pounding the choice parts of venison +or other meat very small, dried over a slack fire, or by the frost, and +put into bags, made of the skin of the slain animal, into which a +portion of melted fat is poured. The whole being then strongly pressed, +and sewed up in bags, constitutes the best and most portable food +known; and one which will keep a great length of time. If a dainty man, +like you, wishes to improve its flavour, you may spice it.” + +“What a grand thing that would be for soldiers during forced marches, +wouldn’t it. Well, Doctor,” sais I, “that’s a wrinkle, ain’t it? But +who ever heard of a colonial minister knowing anything of colony +habits?” + +“If we have a chance to kill a deer,” he said, “I will show you how to +make it,” and he looked as pleased to give me that information as if he +had invented it himself. “So I use this instead of a gun,” he +continued, producing a long, thick-barreled pistol, of capital +workmanship, and well mounted. “I prefer this, it answers every +purpose: and is easy to carry. There are no wolves here, and bears +never attack you, unless molested, so that the gun-barrel is not needed +as a club; and if Bruin once gets a taste of this, he is in no hurry to +face it again. The great thing is to know how to shoot, and where to +hit. Now, it’s no use to fire at the head of a bear, the proper place +to aim for is the side, just back of the fore leg. Are you a good +shot?” + +“Well,” said I, “I can’t brag, for I have seen them that could beat me +at that game; but, in a general way, I don’t calculate to throw away my +lead. It’s scarce in the woods. Suppose though we have a trial. Do you +see that blaze in the hemlock tree, there? try it.” + +Well, he up, and as quick as wink fired, and hit it directly in the +centre. + +“Well,” sais I, “you scare me. To tell you the truth, I didn’t expect +to be taken up that way. And so sure as I boast of a thing, I slip out +of the little eend of the horn.” Well, I drew a bead fine on it, and +fired. + +“That mark is too small,” said he (thinking I had missed it), “and +hardly plain enough.” + +“I shouldn’t wonder if I had gone a one side or the other,” said I, as +we walked up to it, “I intended to send your ball further in; but I +guess I have only turned it round. See, I have cut a little grain of +the bark off the right side of the circle.” + +“Good,” said he, “these balls are near enough to give a critter the +heart-ache, at any rate. You are a better shot than I am; and that’s +what I have never seen in this province. Strange, too, for you don’t +live in the woods as I do.” + +“That’s the reason,” said I, “I shoot for practice, you, when you +require it. Use keeps your hand in, but it wouldn’t do it for me; so I +make up by practising whenever I can. When I go to the woods, which +ain’t as often now as I could wish, for they ain’t to be found +everywhere in our great country, I enjoy it with all my heart. I enter +into it as keen as a hound, and I don’t care to have the Clockmaker run +rigs on. A man’s life often depends on his shot, and he ought to be +afraid of nothin’. Some men, too, are as dangerous as wild beasts; but +if they know you can snuff a candle with a ball, hand runnin’, why, +they are apt to try their luck with some one else, that ain’t up to +snuff, that’s all. It’s a common feeling, that. + +“The best shot I ever knew, was a tailor at Albany. He used to be very +fond of brousin’ in the forest sometimes, and the young fellows was apt +to have a shy at Thimble. They talked of the _skirts_ of the forest, +the _capes_ of the Hudson, laughing in their _sleeve,_ giving a fellow +a _bastin,_ having a _stitch_ in the side, _cuffing_ a fellow’s ears, +taking a _tuck-in_ at lunch, or calling mint-julip an _inside lining,_ +and so on; and every time any o’ these words came out, they all laughed +like anything. + +“Well, the critter, who was really a capital fellow, used to join in +the laugh himself, but still grinnin’ is no proof a man enjoys it; for +a hyena will laugh, if you give him a poke. So what does he do, but +practise in secret every morning and evening at pistol-shooting for an +hour or two, until he was a shade more than perfection itself. Well, +one day he was out with a party of them same coons, and they began to +run the old rig on him as usual. And he jumps up on eend, and in a +joking kind o’ way, said: ‘Gentle_men_, can any of you _stitch a +button-hole,_ with the button in it?’ Well, they all roared out at that +like mad. + +“‘No, Sir_ree_,’ sais they, ‘but come, show us _Thimble,_ will you? +that’s a good fellow. Tom, fetch the _goose_ to press it when it’s +done. Dick, _cabbage_ a bit of cloth for him to try it upon. Why, Tom, +you are as _sharp as a needle_.’ + +“‘Well,’ sais he, ‘I’ll show you.’ + +“So he went to a tree, and took out of his pocket a fip-penny bit, that +had a hole in the centre, and putting in it a small nail, which he had +provided, he fastened it to the tree. + +“‘Now,’ said he, taking out a pair of pistols, and lots of ammunition, +from the bottom of his prog-basket, where he had hid them. ‘Now,’ said +he, ‘gentle_men_, the way to stitch a buttonhole, is to put balls all +round that button, in a close ring, and never disturb them; that’s what +we tailors call workmanlike:’ and he fired away, shot after shot, till +he had done it. + +“‘Now,’ said he,’ gentle_men_, that button has to be fastened;’ and he +fired, and drove the nail that it hung on into the tree. ‘And now, +gentle_men_,’ said he, ‘I have stood your shots for many a long day, +turn about is fair play. The first man that cracks a joke at me, on +account of my calling, must stand my shot, and ‘if I don’t stitch his +button-hole for him, I am no tailor; that’s all.’ + +“Well, they all cheered him when he sat down, and they drank his +health; and the boss of the day said: ‘Well, Street (afore that he used +to call him Thimble), well, Street,’ said he, ‘you _are_ a _man_.’ + +“‘There you are again,’ said Street, ‘that is a covered joke at a +tailor being only the ninth part of one. I pass it over this time, but +let’s have no more of it.’ + +“‘No, Sir_ree_, no,’ said boss, ‘on honour now, I didn’t mean it. And I +say, too, let there be no more of it.’” + +“Not a bad story!” said the doctor. “A man ought to be able to take his +own part in the world; but my idea is we think too much of guns. Do you +know anything of archery?” + +“A little,” sais I, “at least folks say so; but then they really give +me credit for what I don’t deserve; they say I draw a thunderin’ long +bow sometimes.” + +“Oh! oh!” he said laughing, “posi_tive_ly, as the fellow said to the +tailor, you’ll give me a stitch in _my_ side. Well, that’s better than +being ‘_sewed_ up,’ as Jehu was last night. But, seriously, do you ever +use the bow?” + +“Well, I have tried the South American bow, and it’s a powerful weapon +that; but it takes a man to draw it, I tell you.” + +“Yes,” said he, “it requires a strong arm; but the exercise is good for +the chest. It’s the one I generally use. The bow is a great weapon, and +the oldest in the world. I believe I have a tolerable collection of +them. The Indian bow was more or less excellent, according to the wood +they had; but they never could have been worth much here, for the +country produces no suitable material. The old English long-bow perhaps +is a good one; but it is not so powerful as the Turkish. That has +immense power. They say it will carry an arrow from four hundred and +fifty to five hundred yards. Mine perhaps is not a first-rate one, nor +am I what I call a skilful archer; but I can reach beyond three hundred +yards—though that is an immense distance. The gun has superseded them; +but though superior in many respects, the other has some qualities that +are invaluable. In skirmishing, or in surprising outposts, what an +advantage it is to avoid the alarm and noise occasioned by firearms. +All troops engaged in this service in addition to the rifle ought to +have the bow and the quiver. What an advantage it would have been in +the Caffre war, and how serviceable now in the Crimea. They are light +to carry and quickly discharged. When we get to my house I will prove +it to you. We will set up two targets, at one hundred yards, say. You +shall fire from one to the other, and then stand aside, and before you +can reload I will put three arrows into yours. I should say four to a +common soldier’s practice; but I give even you three to one. If a man +misses his first shot at me with a gun, he is victimized, for I have +three chances in return before he gets his second, and if I don’t pink +him with one or the other—why, I deserve to be hit. For the same +reason, what a glorious cavalry weapon it is, as the Parthians knew. +What a splendid thing for an ambush, where you are neither seen nor +heard. I don’t mean to say they are better than fire-arms; but, +occasionally used with them they would be irresistible. If I were a +British officer in command I would astonish the enemy.” + +“You would astonish the Horse-Guards, too, _I_ know,” said I. “It would +ruin you for ever. They’d call you old ‘bows and arrows,’ as they did +the general that had no flints to his guns, when he attacked Buonus +Ayres; they’d have you up in ‘Punch;’ they’d draw you as Cupid going to +war; they’d nickname you a _Bow_-street officer. Oh! they’d soon teach +you what a _quiver_ was. They’d play the devil with you. They’d beat +you at your own game; you’d be stuck full of poisoned arrows. You could +as easily introduce the queue again, as the bow.” + +“Well, Cressy, Poictiers, and Agincourt were won with the bow,” he +said, “and, as an auxiliary weapon, it is still as effective as ever. +However that is not a mere speculation. When I go out after cariboo, I +always carry mine, and seldom use my gun. It don’t alarm the herd; they +don’t know where the shaft comes from, and are as likely to look for it +in the lake or in the wild grass as anywhere else. Let us try them +together. But let us load with shot now. We shall come to the brook +directly, and where it spreads out into still water, and the flags +grow, the wild fowl frequent; for they are amazin’ fond of +poke-lokeins, as the Indians call those spots. We may get a brace or +two perhaps to take home with us. Come, let us push ahead, and go +warily.” + +After awhile a sudden turn of the road disclosed to us a flock of +blue-winged ducks, and he whispered, “Do you fire to the right, and I +will take the left.” When the smoke from our simultaneous discharges +cleared away, we saw the flock rise, leaving five of their number as +victims of their careless watch. + +“That is just what I said,” he remarked, “the gun is superior in many +respects; but if we had our bows here, we would have had each two more +shots at them, while on the wing. As it is, we can’t reload till they +are out of reach. I only spoke of the how as subordinate and auxiliary; +but never as a substitute. Although I am not certain that, with our +present manufacturing skill, metallic bows could not now be made, equal +in power, superior in lightness, and more effective than any gun when +the object to be aimed at is not too minute, for in that particular the +rifle will never be equalled—certainly not surpassed.” + +The retriever soon brought us our birds, and we proceeded leisurely on +our way, and in a short time were overtaken by the waggons, when we +advanced together towards the house, which we reached in about an hour +more. As soon as we came in sight of it, the dogs gave notice of our +approach, and a tall, straight, priggish-looking man marched, for he +did not hurry himself, bareheaded towards the bars in the pole fence. +He was soon afterwards followed by a little old woman at a foot amble, +or sort of broken trot, such as distinguishes a Naraganset pacer. She +had a hat in her hand, which she hastily put on the man’s head. But, as +she had to jump up to do it, she effected it with a force that made it +cover his eyes, and nearly extinguish his nose. It caused the man to +stop and adjust it, when he turned round to his flapper, and, by the +motion of his hand, and her retrogade movement, it appeared he did not +receive this delicate attention very graciously. Duty however was +pressing him, and he resumed his stately step towards the bars. + +She attacked him again in the rear, as a goose does an intruder, and +now and then picked something from his coat, which I supposed to be a +vagrant thread, or a piece of lint or straw, and then retreated a step +or two to avoid closer contact. He was compelled at last to turn again +on his pursuer, and expostulate with her in no gentle terms. I heard +the words “mind your own business,” or something of the kind, and the +female voice more distinctly (women always have the best of it), “You +look as if you had slept in it. You ain’t fit to appear before +gentlemen.” Ladies she had been unaccustomed of late to see, and +therefore omitted altogether. “What would Colonel Jones say if he saw +you that way?” + +To which the impatient man replied: “Colonel Jones be hanged. He is not +my commanding officer, or you either—take that will you, old ooman.” If +the colonel was not there his master was, therefore pressing forward he +took down the bars, and removed them a one side, when he drew himself +bolt upright, near one of the posts, and placing his hand across his +forehead, remained in that position, without uttering a word, till the +waggons passed, and the doctor said, “Well, Jackson, how are you?” +“Hearty, Sir! I hope your Honour is well? Why, Buscar, is that you, +dog; how are you, my man?” and then he proceeded very expeditiously to +replace the poles. + +“What are you stopping for?” said the doctor to me, for the whole party +was waiting for us. + +“I was admirin’ of them bars,” said I. + +“Why, they are the commonest things in the country,” he replied. “Did +you never see them before?” Of course I had, a thousand times, but I +didn’t choose to answer. + +“What a most beautiful contrivance,” said I, “they are. First, you +can’t find them, if you don’t know beforehand where they are, they look +so like the rest of the fence. It tante one stranger in a thousand +could take them down, for if he begins at the top they get awfully +tangled, and if he pulls the wrong way, the harder he hauls the tighter +they get. Then he has to drag them all out of the way, so as to lead +the horse through, and leave him standin’ there till he puts them up +agin, and as like as not, the critter gets tired of waitin’, races off +to the stable, and breaks the waggon all to flinders. After all these +advantages, they don’t cost but a shilling or so more than a gate. Oh, +it’s grand.” + +“Well, well,” said the doctor, “I never thought of that afore, but you +are right after all,” and he laughed as good humouredly as possible. +“Jackson,” said he. + +“Yes, your Honour.” + +“We must have a gate there.” + +“Certainly,” said the servant, touching his hat. But he honoured me +with a look, as much as to say, “Thank you for nothing, Sir. It’s a +pity you hadn’t served under Colonel Jones, for he would have taught +you to mind your own business double quick.” + +We then proceeded to the door, and the doctor welcomed the party to the +“Bachelor Beaver’s-dam,” as he called it. In the mean time, the +bustling little old woman returned, and expressed great delight at +seeing us. The place was so lonesome, she said, and it was so pleasant +to see ladies there, for they were the first who had ever visited the +doctor, and it was so kind of them to come so far, and she hoped they +would often honour the place with their presence, if they could put up +with their accommodation, for she had only heard from the doctor the +night before; and she was so sorry she couldn’t receive them as she +could wish, and a whole volume more, and an appendix longer than that, +and an index to it, where the paging was so jumbled you couldn’t find +nothin’. + +Jackson joined in, and said he regretted his commissariat was so badly +supplied. That it was a poor country to forage in, and that there was +nothing but the common rations and stores for the detachment stationed +there. But that nothing should be wanting on his part, and so on. The +housekeeper led the way to the apartments destined for the girls. Peter +assisted the boy to unharness the horses, and the doctor showed Cutler +and myself into the hall, where the breakfast table was set for us. +Seeing Jackson marching to the well, as if he was on parade, I left the +two together in conversation, and went out to talk to him. “Sergeant,” +sais I. + +“Yes, your Honour,” said he, and he put down the pail, and raised his +hand to his forehead. + +“I understand you have seen a great deal of service in your time.” + +“Yes, Sir,” said he, looking well pleased, and as if his talking tacks +were all ready. I had hit the right subject. “I ave gone through a deal +of soldiering in my day, and been in many a ard fight, Sir.” + +“I see you have the marks on you,” I said. “That is a bad scar on your +face.” + +“Well, Sir,” said he, “saving your presence, I wish the devil had the +Frenchman that gave me that wound. I have some I am proud of having +received in the service of my king and country. I have three balls in +me now, which the doctors couldn’t extract, and nothin’ but death will +bring to the light of day again, if they can be said to be seen in the +grave. But that scar is the only disgraceful mark I ever received since +I first joined in 1808. + +“When we were laying siege to Badajoz, Sir, I was in the cavalry, and I +was sent with a message to a brigade that was posted some distance from +us. Well, Sir, as I was trotting along, I saw a French dragoon, well +mounted, leading a splendid spare orse, belonging to some French +hofficer of rank, as far as I could judge from his happearance and +mountings. Instead of pursuing my course, as I ought to have done, Sir, +I thought I’de make a dash at the rascal, and make prize of that are +hanimal. So I drew my sword, raised myself in my saddle (for I was +considered a first-rate swordsman, as most Hinglishmen hare who have +been used to the single-stick), and made sure I ad him. Instead of +turning, he kept steadily on, and never as much as drew his sabre, so +in place of making a cut hat him, for I’de scorn to strike han hunarmed +man, my play was to cut is reins, and then if he wanted a scrimmage, to +give him one, and if not, to carry off that hare orse. + +“Well, Sir, he came on gallantly, I must say that, and kept his eye +fixed steadily on me, when just as I was going to make a cut at his +reins, he suddenly seized his eavy-mounted elmet, and threw it slap at +my face, and I’ll be anged if it didn’t stun me, and knock me right off +the orse flat on the ground, and then he galloped off as ard as he +could go. When I got up, I took his elmet under my harm, and proceeded +on my route. I was ashamed to tell the story straight, and I made the +best tale I could of the scrimmage, and showed the elmet in token that +it was a pretty rough fight. But the doctor, when he dressed the wound, +swore it never was made with a sword, nor a bullet, nor any instrument +he knew hon, and that he didn’t think it was occasioned by a fall, for +it was neither insised, outsised, nor contused—but a confusion of all +three. He questioned me as close as a witness. + +“‘But,’ sais I, ‘doctor, there is no telling what himplements Frenchmen +ave. They don’t fight like us, they don’t. It was a runnin’ scrimmage, +or _handicap_ fight.’ Yes, Sir, if it was hanywhere helse, where it +wouldn’t show, it wouldn’t be so bad, but there it is on the face, and +there is no denyin’ of it.” + +Here the little woman made her appearance again, with the hat in her +hand, and said imploringly: + +“Tom, doee put your hat on, that’s a good soul. He don’t take no care +of himself, Sir,” she said, addressing herself to me. “He has seen a +deal of service in his day, and has three bullets in him now, and he is +as careless of hisself as if he didn’t mind whether I was left alone in +the oulin’ wilderness or not. Oh, Sir, if you heard the wild beastesis +here at night, it’s dreadful. It’s worse than the wolves in the Pyreen, +in Spain. And then, Sir, all I can do, I can’t get him to wear is at, +when he knows in is eart he had a stroke of the sun near Badajoz, which +knocked him off his orse, and see how it cut his face. He was so +andsome before, Sir.” + +“Betty,” said the sergeant, “the doctor is calling you. Do go into the +ouse, and don’t bother the gentleman. Oh, Sir,” said he, “I have had to +tell a cap of lies about that are scar on my face, and that’s ard, Sir, +for a man who has a medal with five clasps; ain’t it?” + +Here the doctor came to tell me breakfast was ready. + +“I was admiring, Doctor,” said I, “this simple contrivance of yours for +raising water from the well. It is very ingenious.” + +“Very,” he said, “but I assure you it is no invention of mine. I have +no turn that way. It is very common in the country.” + +I must describe this extraordinary looking affair, for though not +unusual in America, I have never seen it in England, although the happy +thought doubtless owes its origin to the inventive genius of its +farmers. + +The well had a curb, as it is called, a square wooden box open at the +top, to prevent accident to the person drawing the water. A few paces +from this was an upright post about twelve feet high, having a crotch +at the top. A long beam lies across this, one end of which rests on the +ground at a distance from the post, and the other projects into the air +with its point over the well. This beam is secured in the middle of the +crotch of the upright post by an iron bolt, on which it moves, as on an +axle. To the aerial end is attached a few links of a chain, that hold a +long pole to which the bucket is fastened, and hangs over the well. The +beam and its pendent apparatus resembles a fishing-rod and its line +protruding over a stream. When a person wishes to draw water, he takes +hold of the pole, and as he pulls it down, the bucket descends into the +well, and the heavy end of the beam rises into the air, and when the +pail is filled the weight of the butt end of the beam in its descent +raises the bucket. + +“Now,” said I, “Doctor, just observe how beautiful this thing is in +operation. A woman (for they draw more nor half the water used in this +country) has to put out all her strength, dragging down the pole, with +her hands over her head (an attitude and exercise greatly recommended +by doctors to women), in order to get the bucket down into the well. If +she is in too big a hurry, the lever brings it up with a jerk that +upsets it, and wets her all over, which is very refreshing in hot +weather, and if a child or a dog happens to be under the heavy end of +the beam, it smashes it to death, which after all ain’t no great +matter, for there are plenty left to them who have too many and don’t +care for ’em. And then if it ain’t well looked after and the post gets +rotten at the bottom, on a stormy day it’s apt to fall and smash the +roof of the house in, which is rather lucky, for most likely it wanted +shingling, and it is time it was done. Well, when the bucket swings +about in the wind, if a gall misses catching it, it is apt to hit her +in the mouth, which is a great matter, if she has the tooth-ache, for +it will extract corn-crackers a plaguey sight quicker than a dentist +could to save his soul.” + +“Well,” said he, “I never thought of that before. I have no turn for +these things, I’ll have it removed, it is a most dangerous thing, and I +wouldn’t have an accident happen to the sergeant and dear old Betty for +the world.” + +“God bless your Honour for that,” said Jackson. + +“But, Doctor,” said I, “joking apart, they are very picturesque, ain’t +they, how well they look in a sketch, eh! nice feature in the +foreground.” + +“Oh,” said he, patting me on the back, “there you have me again, Slick. +Oh, indeed they are, I can’t part with my old well-pole, oh, no, not +for the world: Jackson, have an eye to it, see that it is all safe and +strong and that no accident happens, but I don’t think we need take it +away. Come, Slick, come to breakfast.” + +Thinks I to myself, as I proceeded to the hall, “there are two classes +only in this world. Those who have genius, and those who have common +sense. They are like tailors, one can cut a coat and do nothin’ else, +for he is an artist. The other can put the parts together, for he is a +workman only. Now the doctor is a man of talent and learning, an +_uncommon_ man, but he don’t know _common_ things at all. He can _cut +out_ a garment, but he can’t _stitch a button-hole_.” + + + + +CHAPTER IX. +THE PLURAL OF MOOSE. + + +The room in which we breakfasted was about eighteen feet square, having +a large old-fashioned fire-place opposite to the front door, which +opened directly on the lawn. The walls were fancifully ornamented with +moose and deer horns, fowling-pieces, fishing-rods, landing nets and +baskets, bows and arrows of every description, and Indian relics, such +as stone hatchets, bowls, rude mortars, images, war clubs, wampum, and +implements not unlike broad swords made of black birch, the edges of +which were inlaid with the teeth of animals, or the shells of fish, +ground sharp. Besides these, were skulls of great size and in good +preservation, stone pipes, pouches, and so on; also some enormous teeth +and bones of an antediluvian animal, found in the Bras Dor lake in Cape +Breton. It was, take it altogether, the most complete collection of +relics of this interesting race, the Micmacs, and of natur’s products +to be found in this province. Some of the larger moose horns are +ingeniously managed, so as to form supports for polished slabs of +hardwood for tables. The doctor informed me that this department of his +museum was under the sole direction of the sergeant, who called it his +armoury, and to whose experience in the arrangement of arms he was +indebted for the good effect they produced. The only objection he said +he had to it was, that classification had been sacrificed to +appearance, and things were very much intermixed; but his collection +was too small to make this a matter of any importance. + +Jackson, as soon as the doctor was similarly engaged in showing them to +the captain and the Miss McDonalds, for whom they seemed to have a +peculiar interest, mounted guard over me. + +“You see, Sir,” said he, “the moose horns are the only thing of any +size here, and that’s because the moose is half English, you know. +Everything is small in this country, and degenerates, Sir. The fox +ain’t near as big as an English one. Lord, Sir, the ounds would run +down one o’ these fellows in ten minutes. They haven’t got no strength. +The rabbit too is a mere nothink; he is more of a cat, and looks like +one too, when he is hanged in a snare. It’s so cold, nothin’ comes to a +right size here. The trees is mere shrubbery compared to our hoaxes. +The pine is tall, but then it has no sap. It’s all tar and turpentine, +and that keeps the frost out of its heart. The fish that live under the +ice in the winter are all iley, in a general way, like the whales, +porpoises, dog-fish, and cod. The liver of the cod is all ile, and +women take to drinkin’ it now in cold weather to keep their blood warm. +Depend upon it, Sir, in two or three generations they will shine in the +sun like niggers. Porter would be better for ’em to drink than ile, and +far more pleasanter too, Sir, wouldn’t it? It would fill ’em out. +Saving your presence, Sir, you never see a girl here with—” + +“Hush! the ladies will hear you,” I said. + +“I ax your Honour’s pardon; perhaps I am making too bold, but it’s +nateral for a man that has seed so much of the world as I have to talk +a bit, especially as my tongue is absent on furlough more nor half the +year, and then the old ‘ooman’s goes on duty, and never fear, Sir, +her’n don’t sleep at its post. She has seen too much sarvice for that. +It don’t indeed. It hails every one that passes the sentry-box, and +makes ’em advance and give the countersign. A man that has seed so +much, Sir, in course has a good deal to talk about. Now, Sir, I don’t +want to undervaly the orns at no rate, but Lord bless you, Sir, I have +seen the orns of a wild sheep, when I was in the Medeteranion, so +large, I could hardly lift them with one hand. They say young foxes +sleep in them sometimes. Oh, Sir, if they would only get a few of them +sheep, and let them loose here, there would be some fun in unting of +them. They are covered over with air in summer, and they are so wild +you can’t take them no other way than by shooting of them. Then, Sir, +there is the orns of—” + +“But how is the moose half English?” sais I. + +“Why, Sir, I heard our colour-sergeant M’Clure say so when we was in +Halifax. He was a great reader and a great arguer, Sir, as most +Scotchmen are. I used to say to him, ‘M’Clure, it’s a wonder you can +fight as well as you do, for in England fellows who dispute all the +time commonly take it all out in words.’ + +“One day, Sir, a man passed the north barrack gate, tumping (as he +said, which means in English, Sir, hauling) an immense bull moose on a +sled, though why he didn’t say so, I don’t know, unless he wanted to +show he knew what M’Clure calls the botanical word for it. It was the +largest hanimal I ever saw here.” + +“Says Mac to him, ‘What do you call that creature?’ + +“‘Moose,’ said he. + +“‘Do you pretend to tell me,’ said Mac, ‘that that henormous hanimal, +with orns like a deer, is a moose?’ + +“‘I don’t pretend at all,’ said he; ‘I think I hought to know one when +I see it, for I have killed the matter of a undred of them in my day.’ + +“‘It’s a daumed lee,’ said the sergeant. ‘It’s no such thing; I +wouldn’t believe it if you was to swear to it.’ + +“‘Tell you what,’ said the man, ‘don’t go for to tell me that again, or +I’ll lay you as flat as he is in no time,’ and he cracked his whip and +moved on. + +“‘What’s the use,’ said I, ‘M’Clure, to call that man a liar? How do +you know whether it is a moose or not, and he is more like to get its +name right than you, who never saw one afore.’ + +“‘Moose,’ said he, ‘do you take me for a fool? do you suppose he is a +goin’ to cram me with such stuff as that? The idea of his pretending to +tell me that a creature six feet high with great spreading antlers like +a deer is a moose, when in fact they are no bigger than a cock-roach, +and can run into holes the size of a sixpence! Look at me—do you see +anything very green about me?’ + +“‘Why, Mac,’ sais I, ‘as sure as the world you mean a mouse.’ + +“‘Well, I said a moose,’ he replied. + +“‘Yes, I know you said a moose, but that’s not the way to pronounce a +mouse. It may be Scotch, but it ain’t English. Do you go into that +hardware shop, and ask for a moose-trap, and see how the boys will wink +to each other, and laugh at you.’ + +“‘A man,’ sais he, drawing himself up, ‘who has learned humanity at +Glaskee, don’t require to be taught how to pronounce moose.’ + +“‘As for your humanity,’ said I, ‘I never see much of that. If you ever +had that weakness, you got bravely over it, and the glass key must have +been broke years agone in Spain.’ + +“‘You are getting impertinent,’ said he, and he walked off and left me. + +“It’s very strange, your Honour, but I never saw an Irishman or +Scotchman yet that hadn’t the vanity to think he spoke English better +than we do.” + +“But the Yankees?” said I. + +“Well, Sir, they are foreigners, you know, and only speak broken +English; but they mix up a deal of words of their own with it, and then +wonder you don’t understand them. They keep their mouths so busy +chawing, they have to talk through their noses. + +“A few days after that, Sir, we walked down to the marketplace, and +there was another of these hanimals for sale. But perhaps I am making +too bold, Sir?” + +“No, no, not at all; go on. I like to hear you.” + +“‘Well,’ said M’Clure to the countryman, ‘What do you call that?’ + +“‘A moose,’ said he. + +“Well, I gives him a nudge of my helbow, to remind him not to tell him +it was a ‘daumed lee,’ as he did the other man. + +“‘What does moose mean, my man?’ + +“Would you believe it, Sir, he didn’t like that word ‘my man,’ +partikelarly coming from a soldier, for they are so hignorant here they +affect to look down upon soldiers, and call ’em ‘thirteen pences.’ + +“‘Mean,’ said he, ‘it means _that_,’ a-pointin’ to the carcass. ‘Do you +want to buy it?’ + +“‘Hem!’ said Mac. ‘Well now, my good fellow—’ + +“Oh, Sir, if you had a seen the countryman when he heard them words, it +would a been as good as a play. He eyed him all over, very scornful, as +if he was taking his measure and weight for throwing him over the sled +by his cape and his trousers, and then he put his hand in his waistcoat +pocket, and took out a large black fig of coarse tobacco, and bit a +piece out of it, as if it was an apple, and fell too a chewing of it, +as if to vent his wrath on it, but said nothing. + +“‘Well, my good fellow,’ said Mac, ‘when there are more than one, or +they are in the plural number, what do you call them?’ + +“‘Mice,’ said the fellow. + +“‘Mice!’ said M’Clure, ‘I must look into that; it’s very odd. Still, it +can’t be mooses either.’ + +“He didn’t know what to make of it; he had been puzzled with mouse +before, and found he was wrong, so he thought it was possible ‘mice’ +might be the right word after all. + +“‘Well,’ said he, ‘what do you call the female moose?’ + +“‘Why,’ sais the man, ‘I guess,’ a-talkin’ through his nose instead of +his mouth—how I hate that Yankee way, don’t you, Sir? ‘Why,’ sais he, +‘I guess we call the he-moose M, and the other N, as the case may be.’ + +“‘Who gave them that name?’ said M’Clure. + +“‘Why, I reckon,’ said the other, ‘their godfathers and godmothers at +their baptism, but I can’t say, for I warn’t there.’ + +“‘I say, my man,’ said M’Clure, ‘you had better keep a civil tongue in +your head.’ + +“‘Ask me no questions, then,’ said the countryman, ‘and I’ll tell you +no lies; but if you think to run a rig on me, you have made a mistake +in the child, and barked up the wrong tree, that’s all. P’raps I ain’t +so old as you be, but I warn’t born yesterday. So slope, if you please, +for I want to sneeze, and if I do, it will blow your cap over the +market-house, and you’ll be lucky if your head don’t go along with it.” + +“‘Come away,’ said I, ‘Mac, that fellow has no more manners than a +heathen.’ + +“‘He’s an hignorant beast,’ said he, ‘he is beneath notice.’ + +“The man eard that, and called after him, ‘Hofficer, hofficer,’ said +he. + +“That made M’Clure stop, for he was expectin’ to be one every day, and +the word sounded good, and Scotchmen, Sir, ain’t like other people, +pride is as natural as oatmeal to them. The man came up to us limpin’. + +“‘Hofficer,’ said he, ‘I ax your pardon if I offended you, I thought +you was a pokin’ fun at me, for I am nothing but a poor hignorant +farmer, from the country, and these townspeople are always making game +of us. I’ll tell you all about that are moose and how I killed him. He +urt my feelins, Sir, or I never would have mislested him, for Zack +Wilcox is as good-natured a chap, it’s generally allowed, as ever +lived. Yes, he trod on my toes, I don’t feel right yet, and when any +fellow does that to me, why there ain’t no mistake about it, his time +is out and the sentence is come to pass. He begged for his life, oh, it +was piteous to see him. I don’t mean to say the dumb beast spoke, but +his looks were so beseeching just the way if you was tied up to the +halbert to be whipped, you’d look at the general.’ + +“‘Me?’ said M’Clure. + +“‘Yes, you or anybody else,’ said the man. ‘Well,’ said he, ‘I told him +I wouldn’t shoot him, I’de give him one chance for his life, but if he +escaped he’d be deaf for ever afterwards. Poor feller, I didn’t intend +to come it quite so strong, but he couldn’t stand the shock I gave him, +and it killed him—frightened him to death.’ + +“‘How?’ said M’Clure. + +“‘Why,’ sais he, ‘I’ll tell you,’ and he looked cautiously all round, +as if he didn’t want any one to know the secret. ‘I gave him a most an +almighty hambler that fairly keeled him over.’ + +“‘What?’ said M’Clure. + +“‘Why,’ sais he, ‘I gave him,’ and he bent forward towards his hear as +if to whisper the word, ‘I gave him a most thunderin’ everlastin’ +loud—’ and he gave a yell into his hear that was eard clean across the +harbour, and at the ospital beyond the dockyard, and t’other way as far +as Fresh-water Bridge. Nothin’ was hever eard like it before. + +“M’Clure sprang backwards the matter of four or five feet, and placed +his hand on his side arms, while the countryman brayed out a horse +laugh that nearly took away one’s earing. The truck-men gate him a +cheer, for they are all Irishmen, and they don’t like soldiers commonly +on account of their making them keep the peace at ome at their meetin’ +of monsters, and there was a general commotion in the market. We beat a +retreat, and when we got out of the crowd, sais I, ‘M’Clure, that comes +of arguing with every one you meet. It’s a bad habit.’ + +“‘I wasn’t arguing,’ sais he, quite short, ‘I was only asking +questions, and how can you ever learn if you don’t inquire?’ + +“Well, when he got to the barrack, he got a book wrote by a Frenchman, +called Buffoon.” + +“A capital name,” sais I, “for a Frenchman,” but he didn’t take, for +there is no more fun in an Englishman than a dough pudding, and went on +without stopping. + +“Sais he, ‘this author is all wrong. He calls it han ‘horiginal,’ but +he ain’t a native animal, it’s half English and half Yankee. Some +British cattle at a remote period have been wrecked here, strayed into +the woods, and erded with the Carriboo. It has the ugly carcass and ide +of the ox, and has taken the orns, short tail, and its speed from the +deer. That accounts for its being larger than the native stags.’ I +think he was right, Sir, what is your opinion?” + +The doctor and the rest of the party coming up just put an end to +Jackson’s dissertation on the origin of the moose. The former said, + +“Come, Mr Slick, suppose we try the experiment of the bow,” and Jessie, +seeing us preparing for shooting, asked the doctor for smaller ones for +her sister and herself. The targets were accordingly prepared, and +placing myself near one of them, I discharged the gun and removed a few +paces on one side, and commenced as rapidly as I could to reload, but +the doctor had sent three arrows through mine before I had finished. It +required almost as little time as a revolver. He repeated the trial +again with the same result. + +“What do you think of the bow now?” said he in triumph. “Come, Captain, +do you and Mr Slick try your luck, and see what sort of shots you can +make.” The captain, who was an experienced hand with the gun, after a +few attempts to ascertain the power and practice necessary, made +capital play with the bow, and his muscular arm rendered easy to him +that which required of me the utmost exertion of my strength. Jessie +and her sister now stept forward, and measuring off a shorter distance, +took their stations. Their shooting, in which they were quite at home, +was truly wonderful. Instead of using the bow as we did, so as to bring +the arrow in a line with the eye, they held it lower down, in a way to +return the elbow to the right side, much in the same manner that a +skilful sportsman shoots from the hip. It seemed to be no sort of +exertion whatever to them, and every arrow was lodged in the inner +circle. It seemed to awaken them to a new existence, and in their +excitement I observed they used their mother tongue. + +“Beg your pardon, Sir,” said Jackson to the doctor, putting his hand to +his forehead, “if our sharp-shooters in Spain ad ad bows like yours, in +their scrimmages with the French light troops, they would ave done more +service and made less noise about it than they did.” And saluting me in +the same manner, he said in an under-tone, + +“If I ad ad one of them at Badajoz, Sir, I think I’d a put a pen in +that trooper’s mouth to write the account of the way he lost his elmet. +A shower of them, Sir, among a troop of cavalry would have sent riders +flying, and horses kicking, as bad as a shower of grape. There is no +danger of shooting your fingers off with them, Sir, or firing away your +ramrod. No, there ain’t, is there, Sir?” + +“Tom, do’ee put on your hat now, that’s a good soul,” said his +attentive wife, who had followed him out a third time to remind him of +his danger. “Oh, Sir,” said she, again addressing me, “what signifies a +armless thing like an harrow; that’s nothin but a little wooden rod to +the stroke of the sun, as they calls it. See what a dreadful cut it’s +given him.” + +Tom looked very impatient at this, but curbed in his vexation, and said +“Thankee, Betty,” though his face expressed anything but thanks. +“Thankee, Betty. There, the doctor is calling you. She is as good a +creature, Sir, as ever lived,” he continued; “and has seen a deal of +service in her day. But she bothers me to death about that stroke of +the sun. Sometimes I think I’ll tell her all about it; but I don’t like +to demean myself to her. She wouldn’t think nothin’ of me, Sir, if she +thought I could have been floored that way; and women, when they begin +to cry, throw up sometime what’s disagreeable. They ain’t safe. She +would perhaps have heaved up in my face that that dragoon had slapped +my chops for me, with his elmet. I am blowed, Sir, if I can take a +glass of grog out of my canteen, but she says, ‘Tom, mind that stroke +of the sun.’ And when I ave a big D marked agin my name in the pension +book, she’ll swear, to her dying day, I was killed by that are stroke.” + +“Why don’t you put it on then,” I said, “just to please her.” + +“Well, Sir, if I was at head-quarters, or even at han hout-post, where +there was a detachment, I would put it hon; because it wouldn’t seem +decent to go bare-headed. But Lord bless you, Sir, _what’s the use of a +hat in the woods, where there is no one to see you?”_ + +Poor fellow, he didn’t know what a touch of human nature there was in +that expression, “_what’s the use of a hat in the woods, where there is +no one to see you?”_ + +The same idea, though differently expressed, occurs to so many. “Yes,” +said I to myself, “put on your hat for your wife’s sake, and your own +too; for though you may fail to get a stroke of the sun, you may get +not an inflammation of the brain, for there ain’t enough of it for that +complaint to feed on, but rheumatism in the head; and that will cause a +plaguey sight more pain than the dragoon’s helmet ever did, by a long +chalk.” + +But, to get back to my story, for the way I travel through a tale is +like the way a child goes to school. He leaves the path to chase a +butterfly, or to pick wild strawberries, or to run after his hat that +has blown off, or to take a shy at a bird, or throw off his shoes, roll +up his trousers, and wade about the edge of a pond to catch polly-wogs; +but he gets to school in the eend, though somewhat of the latest, so I +have got back at last, you see. + +Mother used to say, “Sam, your head is always a woolgathering.” + +“I am glad of it,” says I, “marm.” + +“Why, Sam,” she’d say, “why, what on earth do you mean?” + +“Because, marm,” I’d reply, “a head that’s alway a gathering will get +well stored at last.” + +“Do get out,” the dear old soul would say, “I do believe, in my heart, +you are the most nimpent (impudent), idlest, good-for-nothingest boy in +the world. Do get along.” + +But she was pleased, though, after all; for women do like to repeat +little things like them, that their children say, and ask other people, +who don’t hear a word, or if they do, only go right off and laugh at +’em: “Ain’t that proper ‘cute now? Make a considerable smart man when +he is out of his time, and finished his broughtens up, won’t he?” + +Well, arter the archery meeting was over, and the congregation +disparsed, who should I find myself a walkin’ down to the lake with but +Jessie? How it was, I don’t know, for I warn’t a lookin’ for her, nor +she for me; but so it was. I suppose it is human natur, and that is the +only way I can account for it. Where there is a flower, there is the +bee; where the grass is sweet, there is the sheep; where the cherry is +ripe, there is the bird; and where there is a gall, especially if she +is pretty, there it is likely I am to be found also. Yes, it must be +natur. Well, we walked, or rather, strolled off easy. There are +different kinds of gaits, and they are curious to observe; for I +consait sometimes I can read a man’s character in his walk. The child +trots; the boy scarcely touches the ground with his feet, and how the +plague he wears his shoes out so fast I don’t know. Perhaps Doctor +Lardner can tell, but I’ll be hanged if I can, for the little critter +is so light, he don’t even squash the grass. The sailor waddles like a +duck, and gives his trousers a jerk to keep them from going down the +masts (his legs) by the run; a sort of pull at the main-brace. The +soldier steps solemn and formal, as if the dead march in Saul was a +playin’. A man and his wife walk on different sides of the street; _he_ +sneaks along head down, and _she_ struts head up, as if she never heard +the old proverb, “Woe to the house where the hen crows.” They leave the +carriage-way between them, as if they were afraid their thoughts could +be heard. When meetin’ is out, a lover lags behind, as if he had +nothin’ above particular to do but to go home; and he is in no hurry to +do that, for dinner won’t be ready this hour. But, as soon as folks are +dodged by a blue bonnet with pink ribbons ahead, he pulls foot like a +lamplighter, and is up with the gall that wears it in no time, and she +whips her arms in hisn, and they saunter off, to make the way as long +as possible. She don’t say, “_Peeower_ful sermon that, warn’t it?” and +he don’t reply, “I heerd nothin’ but the text, ‘Love one another.’” Nor +does he squeeze her arm with his elbow, nor she pinch his with her +little blue-gloved fingers. Watch them after that, for they go so slow, +they almost crawl, they have so much to say, and they want to make the +best of their time; and besides, walking fast would put them out of +breath. + +The articled-clerk walks the streets with an air as much like a +military man as he can; and it resembles it almost as much as +electrotype ware does silver. He tries to look at ease, though it is a +great deal of trouble; but he imitates him to a hair in some things, +for he stares impudent at the galls, has a cigar in his mouth, dresses +snobbishly, and talks of making a book at Ascot. The young lawyer +struts along in his seven-league boots, has a white-bound book in one +hand, and a parcel of papers, tied with red tape, in the other. He is +in a desperate hurry, and as sure as the world, somebody is a dying, +and has sent for him to make his will. The Irish priest walks like a +warder who has the keys. There is an air of authority about him. He +puts his cane down on the pavement hard, as much as to say, Do you hear +that, you spalpeen? He has the secrets of all the parish in his +keeping; but they are other folk’s secrets, and not his own, and of +course, so much lighter to carry, it don’t prevent him looking like a +jolly fellow, as he is, arter all. The high-churchman has an M. B. +waistcoat on, is particular about his dress, and walks easy, like a +gentleman, looks a little pale about the gills, like a student; but has +the air of a man that wanted you to understand—I am about my work, and +I would have you to know I am the boy to do it, and do it too without a +fuss. If he meets a bishop, he takes his hat off, for he admits his +authority. If a beggar accosts him, he slips some charity in his hands, +and looks scared lest he should be seen. + +The low-churchman hates the M. B. vestment, it was him who christened +it. He is a dab at nick-names. He meant it to signify the Mark of the +Beast. He likes the broad-brimmed beaver, it’s more like a quaker, and +less like a pope. It is primitive. He looks better fed than the other, +and in better care. Preachin’ he finds in a general way easier than +practice. Watch his face as he goes along, slowly and solemncoly +through the street. He looks _so_ good, all the women that see him say, +“Ain’t he a dear man?” He is meekness itself. Butter wouldn’t melt in +his mouth. He has no pride in him. If there is any, it ain’t in his +heart at any rate. Perhaps there is a little grain in his legs, but it +never got any higher. Sometimes, I suspect they have been touched with +the frost, for the air of a dining-room is colder under the table than +above it, and his legs do march stiff and formal like a soldier’s, but +then, as he says, he is of the church militant. See what a curious +expression of countenance he has when he meets his bishop. Read it, it +says: “Now, my old Don, let us understand each other; you may ordain +and confirm, but don’t you go one inch beyond that. No synods, no +regeneration in baptism, no control for me; I won’t stand it. My idea +is every clergyman is a bishop in his own parish, and his synod is +composed of pious galls that _work,_ and rich spinsters that _give._ If +you do interfere, I will do my duty and rebuke those in high places. +Don’t rile me, for I have an ugly pen, an ugly tongue, and an ugly +temper, and nothing but my sanctity enables me to keep them under.” If +he is accosted by a beggar, he don’t, like the other, give him money to +squander, but he gives him instruction. He presents him with a tract. +As he passes on, the poor wretch pauses and looks after him, and +mutters—“Is it a prayer? most likely, for that tract must be worth +something, for it cost something to print.” + +Then there is the sectarian lay-brother. He has a pious walk, looks +well to his ways lest he should stumble, and casting his eyes down, +kills two birds with one stone. He is in deep meditation about a +contract for a load of deals, and at the same time regards his steps, +for the ways of the world are slippery. His digestion is not good, and +he eats pickles, for the vinegar shows in his face. Like Jehu Judd, he +hates “fiddling and dancing, and serving the devil,” and it is lucky he +has a downcast look, for here come two girls that would shock him into +an ague. + +Both of them have the colonial step and air, both of them too are +beautiful, as Nova Scotia girls generally are. The first is young and +delicate, and as blooming as a little blush-rose. She holds out with +each hand a portion of her silk dress, as if she was walking a minuet, +and it discloses a snow-white petticoat, and such a dear little foot +and ankle—lick! Her step is short and mincing. She has a new bonnet on, +just imported by the last English steamer. It has a horrid name, it is +called a kiss-me-quick. It is so far back on her head, she is afraid +people will think she is _bare-faced,_ so she casts her eyes down, as +much as to say, “Don’t look at me, please, I am so pretty I am afraid +you will stare, and if you do I shall faint, as sure as the world, and +if you want to look at my bonnet, do pray go behind me, for what there +is of it is all there. It’s a great trial to me to walk alone, when I +am so pretty.” So she compresses her sweet lips with such resolution, +that her dear little mouth looks so small you’d think it couldn’t take +in a sugar-plum. Oh, dear, here are some officers approaching, for +though she looks on the pavement she can see ahead for all that. What +is to be done. She half turns aside, half is enough, to turn her back +would be rude, and she looks up at a print or a necklace, or something +or another in a shop window, and it’s a beautiful attitude, and very +becoming, and if they will stare, she is so intent on the show glass, +she can’t see them, and won’t faint, and her little heart flutters as +one of them says as he passes, “Devilish pretty gall, that, Grant, who +is she?” and then she resumes her walk, and minces on. + +If any man was to take his Bible oath that that little delicate girl, +when she gets home, and the hall-door is shut, will scream out at the +tip eend of her voice, like a screetching paraquet, “Eliza Euphemia, +where in creation have you stowed yourself too?” and that Eliza +Euphemia would hear her away up in the third story, and in the same key +answer: “I can’t come down, I ain’t fit to be seen, nary way, for I’m +all open before, and onfastened behind, and my hair is all in paper,” I +wouldn’t believe him; would you? + +The other young lady, that follows, is a little too much of Juno, and +somewhat too little of Venus. She is a tall, splendid-looking heifer, +as fine a gall as you will see in any country, and she takes it for +granted you don’t need to inquire who _she_ is. She ain’t bold, and she +ain’t diffident; but she can stare as well as you can, and has as good +a right too. Her look is scorny, as the snobocracy pass and do homage, +by bestowing on her an admiring look. Her step is firm, but elastic; it +is a decided step, but the pious lay-brother regards her not, and moves +not out of his way for her. So she stops that he may see his error, and +when he does look, he perceives that it would lead him into further +error if he gazed long, so he moves to the other side of the path, but +does it so slowly, she confronts him again. After a moment’s +reflection, he tries to turn her flank—a movement that is unfortunately +anticipated by her, and there is a collision on the track. The +concussion dislocates his hat, and the red silk Bandannah handkerchief, +which acted as travelling-bag, and pocket-book, discharges its +miscellaneous contents on the pavement. That’s onlucky; for he was a +going to shunt off on another line and get away; but he has to stop and +pick up the fragmentary freight of his beaver. + +Before he can do this, he is asked by Juno how he dares to stop a lady +in that indecent manner in the street; and while he is pleading not +guilty to the indictment, the gentlemen that stared at the simpering +beauty, come to the aid of the fair prosecutrix. She knows them, and +they say, “Capital, by Jove—what a rum one he is!” Rum one; why he is a +member of a temperance society, walks in procession when to home, with +a white apron in front, and the ends of a scarf-like sash behind, and a +rosette as large as a soup-plate on his breast—a rum one; what an +infamous accusation! + +The poor man stands aghast at this; he humbly begs pardon, and Juno is +satisfied. She takes one of the beaux by the arm, and says: “Do pray +see me home—I am quite nervous;” and to prove it she laughs as loud as +any of them. The joke is now being carried too far, and the young +sword-knots pick up, amid roars of laughter, his handkerchief, the +papers, the horn-comb, the fig of tobacco, the fractured pipe, the +jack-knife, and the clean shirt-collar, that was only worn once, and +toss them into his hat, which is carefully secured on his head, so low +as to cover his eyes, and so tight as nearly to shave off both his +ears. The lay-brother thinks, with great truth, that he would sooner +take five yoke of oxen, and tail a mast for a frigate through the solid +forest to the river, than snake his way through the streets of a +garrison-town. After re-adjusting his hat, he resumes his pious gait, +and Juno also goes her way, and exhibits her _decided_ step. + +Now, the step of Jessie and myself was unlike any of these—it was a +natural and easy one; the step of people who had no reason to hurry, +and, at the same time, were not in the habit of crawling. In this +manner we proceeded to the lake, and sought a point of land which +commanded a full view of it on both sides, and embraced nearly its +whole length. Here was a clump of trees from which the underwood had +been wholly cut away, so as to form a shade for the cattle depasturing +in the meadow. As we entered the grove, Jessie exclaimed: + +“Oh! Mr Slick, do look! Here is a canoe—can you use a paddle?” + +“As well as an oar,” said I, “and perhaps a little grain better; for I +haven’t been down all the New Brunswick and Nova Scotia rivers in ’em +for nothing, let alone Lake Michigan, George, Madawaska, and Rossignol, +and I don’t know how many others. Step in, and let us have at them on +the water.” + +In a minute the canoe was launched, and away we flew like lightning. +Oh, there is nothing like one of those light, elegant, graceful barks; +what is a wherry or a whale-boat, or a skull or a gig, to them? They +draw no more water than an egg-shell; they require no strength to +paddle; they go right up on the beach, and you can carry them about +like a basket. With a light hand, a cool head, and a quick eye, you can +make them go where a duck can. What has science, and taste, and +handicraft ever made to improve on this simple contrivance of the +savage? When I was for two years in John Jacob Astor Fur Company’s +employment, I knew the play of Jessie’s tribe. + +“Can you catch,” said I, “Miss?” + +“Can you?” + +“Never fear.” + +And we exchanged paddles, as she sat in one end of the canoe and I in +the other, by throwing them diagonally at each other as if we were +passing a shuttle-cock. She almost screamed with delight, and in her +enthusiasm addressed me in her native Indian language. + +“Gaelic,” said I, “give me Gaelic, dear, for I am very simple and very +innocent.” + +“Oh, very,” she said, and as she dropped her paddle into the water, +managed to give me the benefit of a spoonful in the eyes. + +After we had tried several evolutions with the canoe, and had proceeded +homeward a short distance, we opened a miniature bay into which we +leisurely paddled, until we arrived at its head, where a small +waterfall of about forty feet in height poured its tributary stream +into the lake. On the right-hand side, which was nearest to the house, +was a narrow strip of verdant intervale, dotted here and there with +vast shady beeches and elms. I never saw a more lovely spot. Hills rose +above each other beyond the waterfall, like buttresses to support the +conical one that, though not in itself a mountain (for there is not, +strictly speaking, one in this province), yet loomed as large in the +light mist that enveloped its lofty peak. As this high cliff rose +abruptly from the lake, the light of smaller cascades was discernible +through the thin shrubbery that clothed its rocky side, although their +voice was drowned in the roar of that at its base. + +Nothing was said by either of us for some time, for both were occupied +by different thoughts. I was charmed with its extraordinary beauty, and +wondered how it was possible that it should be so little known as not +even to have a name. My companion, on the other hand, was engaged in +sad reflections, which the similarity of the scene with her early +recollections of her home in the far west suggested to her mind. + +“Ain’t this beautiful, Jessie?” I said, “don’t this remind you of +Canada, or rather your own country?” + +“Oh, yes,” she said, “me—me,” for during the whole day there had been a +sad confusion of languages and idioms, “me very happy and very sad; I +want to laugh, I want to cry; I am here and there,” pointing to the +north-west. “Laughing, talking, sporting with my father, and Jane, and +you, and am also by the side of my dear mother, far—far beyond those +hills. I see your people and my people; I paddle in our canoe, shoot +with our bows, speak our language; yes, I am here, and there also. The +sun too is in both places. He sees us all. When I die, perhaps I shall +go back, but I am not of them or of you—I am nothing,” and she burst +into tears and wept bitterly. + +“Jessie,” said I, “let us talk about something else; you have been too +much excited this morning, let us enjoy what God gives us, and not be +ungrateful; let your sister come also, and try the canoe once more. +This is better than a hot room, ain’t it?” + +“Oh yes,” she replied, “this is life. This is freedom.” + +“Suppose we dine here,” I said. + +“Oh yes,” she replied, “I should like it above all things. Let us dine +on the grass, the table the great Spirit spreads for his children;” and +the transient cloud passed away, and we sped back to the lawn as if the +bark that carried us was a bird that bore us on its wings. + +Poor Jessie, how well I understood her emotions. Home is a word, if +there is one in the language, that appeals directly to the heart. Man +and wife, father and mother, brothers and sisters, master and servant, +with all their ties, associations, and duties, all, all are contained +in that one word. Is it any wonder, when her imagination raised them up +before her, that the woman became again a child, and that she longed +for the wings of the dove to fly away to the tents of her tribe in the +far west? I am myself as dry, as seasoned, and as hard as the wood of +which my clocks are made. I am a citizen of the world rather than of +Slickville. But I too felt my heart sink within me when I reflected +that mine, also, was desolate, and that I was alone in my own house, +the sole surviving tenant of all that large domestic circle, whose +merry voices once made its silent halls vocal with responsive echoes of +happiness. We know that our fixed domicile is not here, but we feel +that it is and must continue to be our home, ever dear and ever sacred, +until we depart hence for another and a better world. They know but +little of the agency of human feelings, who in their preaching attempt +to lessen our attachment for the paternal roof, because, in common with +all other earthly possessions, it is perishable in its nature, and +uncertain in it’s tenure. The home of life is not the less estimable +because it is not the home of eternity; but the more valuable perhaps +as it prepares and fits us by its joys and its sorrows, its rights and +its duties, and also by what it withholds, as well as imparts, for that +inheritance which awaits us hereafter. Yes, home is a great word, but +its full meaning ain’t understood by every one. + +It ain’t those who have one, or those who have none, that comprehend +what it is; nor those who in the course of nature leave the old and +found a new one for themselves; nor those who, when they quit, shut +their eyes and squinch their faces when they think of it, as if it +fetched something to their mind that warn’t pleasant to recollect; nor +those who suddenly rise so high in life, that their parents look too +vulgar, or the old cottage too mean for them, or their former +acquaintances too low. But I’ll tell you who knows the meaning and +feels it too; a fellow like me, who had a cheerful home, a merry and a +happy home, and who when he returns from foreign lands finds it +deserted and as still as the grave, and all that he loved scattered and +gone, some to the tomb, and others to distant parts of the earth. The +solitude chills him, the silence appals him. At night shadows follow +him like ghosts of the departed, and the walls echo back the sound of +his footsteps, as if demons were laughing him to scorn. The least noise +is heard over the whole house. The clock ticks so loud he has to remove +it, for it affects his nerves. The stealthy mouse tries to annoy him +with his mimic personification of the burglar, and the wind moans among +the trees as if it lamented the general desolation. If he strolls out +in his grounds, the squirrel ascends the highest tree and chatters and +scolds at the unusual intrusion, while the birds fly away screaming +with affright, as if pursued by a vulture. They used to be tame once, +when the family inhabited the house, and listen with wonder at notes +sweeter and more musical than their own. They would even feed from the +hand that protected them. His dog alone seeks his society, and strives +to assure him by mute but expressive gestures that he at least will +never desert him. As he paces his lonely quarter-deck (as he calls the +gravel-walk in front of his house), the silver light of the moon, +gleaming here and there between the stems of the aged trees, startles +him with the delusion of unreal white-robed forms, that flit about the +shady groves as if enjoying or pitying his condition, or perhaps +warning him that in a few short years he too must join this host of +disembodied spirits. + +Time hangs heavily on his hands, he is tired of reading, it is too +early for repose, so he throws himself on the sofa and muses, but even +meditation calls for a truce. His heart laments its solitude, and his +tongue its silence. Nature is weary and exhausted, and sleep at last +comes to his aid. But, alas! he awakes in the morning only to resume +his dull monotonous course, and at last he fully comprehends what it is +to be alone. Women won’t come to see him, for fear they might be talked +about, and those that would come would soon make him a subject of +scandal. He and the world, like two people travelling in opposite +directions, soon increase at a rapid rate the distance between them. He +loses his interest in what is going on around him, and people lose +their interest in him. If his name happens to be mentioned, it may +occasion a listless remark, “I wonder how he spends his time?” or, “The +poor devil must be lonely there.” + +Yes, yes, there are many folks in the world that talk of things they +don’t understand, and there are precious few who appreciate the meaning +of that endearing term “home.” He only knows it as I have said who has +lived in one, amid a large family, of which he is the solitary +surviving member. The change is like going from the house to the +sepulchre, with this difference only, one holds a living and the other +a dead body. Yes, if you have had a home you know what it is, but if +you have lost it, then and not till then do you feel its value. + + + + +CHAPTER X. +A DAY ON THE LAKE.—PART I. + + +When we reached the grove, I left Jessie in the canoe, and went up to +the house in search of her sister. Jackson and Peter were sitting on +the wood-pile; the latter was smoking his pipe, and the other held his +in his hand, as he was relating some story of his exploits in Spain. +When I approached, he rose up and saluted me in his usual formal +manner. + +“Where is the doctor,” said I, “and the rest of the party?” + +“Gone to see a tame moose of his, Sir,” he said, “in the pasture; but +they will be back directly.” + +“Well,” sais I, lighting a cigar by Peter’s pipe, and taking a seat +alongside of him, “go on Jackson; don’t let me interrupt you.” + +“I was just telling Mr McDonald, Sir,” said he, “of a night I once +spent on the field of battle in Spain.” + +“Well, go on.” + +“As I was a saying to him, Sir,” he continued, “you could ear the +wolves among the dead and the dying a owling like so many devils. I was +afraid to go to sleep, as I didn’t know when my turn might come; so I +put my carbine across my knees, and sat up as well as I could, +determined to sell my life as dearly as possible, but I was so weak +from the loss of blood, that I kept dozing and starting all the time +amost. Oh, what a tedious night that was, Sir, and how I longed for the +dawn of day, when search should be made among us for the wounded! Just +as the fog began to rise, I saw a henormous wolf, about a hundred yards +or so from me, busy tearing a body to pieces; and taking a good steady +haim at him, I fired, when he called out: + +“‘Blood and ounds! you cowardly furrin rascal, haven’t you had your +belly-full of fighting yet, that you must be after murthering a wounded +man that way? By the powers of Moll Kelly, but you won’t serve Pat +Kallahan that dirty trick again anyhow.’ + +“As he levelled at me, I fell back, and the ball passed right over me +and struck a wounded orse that was broke down behind, and a sittin’ up +on his fore-legs like a dog. Oh, the scream of that are hanimal, Sir, +was just like a Christian’s. It was hawful. I have the sound of it in +my ears now halmost. It pierced through me, and you might have eard it +that still morning over the whole field. He sprung up and then fell +over, and kicked and struggled furious for a minute or two before he +died, and every time he lashed out, you could a eard a elpless wounded +wretch a groanin’ bitterly, as he battered away at him. The truth is, +Sir, what I took for a wolf that hazy morning, was poor Pat, who was +sitting up, and trying to bandage his hankle, that was shattered by a +bullet, and the way he bobbed his head up and down, as he stooped +forward, looked exactly as a wolf does when he is tearing the flesh off +a dead body. + +“Well, the scream of that are orse, and the two shots the dragoon and I +exchanged, saved my life, for I saw a man and a woman making right +straight for us. It was Betty, Sir, God bless her, and Sergeant +M’Clure. The owling she sot up, when she saw me, was dreadful to ear, +Sir. + +“‘Betty,’ said I, ‘dear, for eaven’s sake see if you can find a drop of +brandy in any of these poor fellows’ canteens, for I am perishing of +thirst, and amost chilled to death.’ + +“‘Oh, Tom, dear,’ said she, ‘I have thought of that,’ and unslinging +one from her shoulders put it to my lips, and I believe I would have +drained it at a draft, but she snatched it away directly, and said: + +“‘Oh, do ‘ee think of that dreadful stroke of the sun, Tom. It will set +you crazy if you drink any more.’ + +“‘The stroke of the sun be anged!’ said I; ‘it’s not in my ead this +time—it’s in the other end of me.’ + +“‘Oh dear, dear!’ said Betty; ‘two such marks as them, and you so +handsome too! Oh dear, dear!’ + +“Poor old soul! it’s a way she had of trying to come round me. + +“‘Where is it?’ said M’Clure. + +“‘In the calf of my leg,’ said I. + +“Well, he was a handy man, for he had been a hospital-sargeant, on +account of being able to read doctors’ pot-hooks and inscriptions. So +he cut my boot, and stript down my stocking and looked at it. Says he, +‘I must make a turn-and-quit.’ + +“‘Oh, Rory,’ said I, ‘don’t turn and quit your old comrade that way.’ + +“‘Oh, Rory, dear,’ said Betty, ‘don’t ‘ee leave Tom now—don’t ’ee, +that’s a good soul.’ + +“‘Pooh!’ said he, ‘nonsense! How your early training has been +neglected, Jackson!’ + +“‘Rory,’ said I, ‘if I was well you wouldn’t dare to pass that slur +upon me. I am as well-trained a soldier and as brave a man as ever you +was.’ + +“‘Tut, tut, man,’ said he, ‘I meant your learning.’ + +“‘Well,’ says I, ‘I can’t brag much of that, and I am not sorry for it. +Many a better scholar nor you, and better-looking man too, has been +anged afore now, for all his schoolin’.’ + +“Says he, ‘I’ll soon set you up, Tom. Let me see if I can find anything +here that will do for a turn-and-quit.’ + +“Close to where I lay there, was a furrin officer who had his head +nearly amputated with a sabre cut. Well, he took a beautiful gold +repeater out of his fob, and a great roll of dubloons out of one +pocket, and a little case of diamond rings out of the other. + +“‘The thieving Italian rascal?’ said he, ‘he has robbed a jeweller’s +shop before he left the town,’ and he gave the body a kick and passed +on. Well, close to him was an English officer. + +“‘Ah,’ said he, ‘here is something useful,’ and he undid his sash, and +then feeling in his breast pocket, he hauled out a tin tobacco-case, +and opening of it, says he: + +“‘Tom, here’s a real god-send for you. This and the sash I will give +you as a keepsake. They are mine by the fortune of war, but I will +bestow them on you.’” + +“Oigh! oigh!” said Peter, “she was no shentleman.” + +“He warn’t then, Sir,” said Tom, not understanding him, “for he was +only a sargeant like me at that time, but he is now, for he is an +officer.” + +“No, no,” said Peter, “the king can make an offisher, but she can’t +make a shentleman. She took the oyster hern ainsel, and gave you the +shell.” + +“Well,” continued Jackson, “he took the sash, and tied it round my leg, +and then took a bayonet off a corpse, and with that twisted it round +and round so tight it urt more nor the wound, and then he secured the +bayonet so that it wouldn’t slip. There was a furrin trooper’s orse not +far off that had lost his rider, and had got his rein hunder his +foreleg, so Betty caught him and brought him to where I was a sitting. +By the haid of another pull at the canteen, which put new life into me, +and by their hassistance, I was got on the saddle, and he and Betty +steadied me on the hanimal, and led me off. I no sooner got on the orse +than Betty fell to a crying and a scolding again like anything. + +“‘What hails you now,’ says I, ‘Betty? You are like your own town of +Plymouth—it’s showery weather with you all the year round amost. What’s +the matter now?’ + +“‘Oh, Tom, Tom,’ said she, ‘you will break my eart yet—I know you +will.’ + +“‘Why what have I done?’ says I. ‘I couldn’t help getting that little +scratch on the leg.’ + +“‘Oh, it tante that,’ she said; ‘it’s that orrid stroke of the sun. +There’s your poor ead huncovered again. Where is your elmet?’ + +“‘Oh, bother,’ sais I, ‘ow do I know? Somewhere on the ground, I +suppose.’ + +“Well, back she ran as ard as she could, but M’Clure wouldn’t wait a +moment for her and went on, and as she couldn’t find mine, she undid +the furriner’s and brought that, and to pacify her I had to put it on +and wear it. It was a good day for M’Clure, and I was glad of it, for +he was a great scholar and the best friend I ever had. He sold the orse +for twenty pounds afterwards.” + +“She don’t want to say nothin’ disrespectable,” said Peter, “against +her friend, but she was no shentleman for all tat.” + +“He is now,” said Tom again, with an air of triumph. “He is an +hofficer, and dines at the mess. I don’t suppose he’d be seen with me +now, for it’s agen the rules of the service, but he is the best friend +I have in the world.” + +“She don’t know nothin’ about ta mess herself,” said Peter, “but she +supposes she eats meat and drinks wine every tay, which was more tan +she did as a poy. But she’d rather live on oatmeal and drink whiskey, +and be a poor shentlemen, than be an officher like M’Clure, and tine +with the Queen, Cot bless her.” + +“And the old pipe, then, was all you got for your share, was it?” says +I. + +“No, Sir,” said Tom, “it warn’t. One day, when I was nearly well, Betty +came to me— + +“‘Oh, Tom,’ said she, ‘I have such good news for you.’ + +“‘What is it?’ sais I, ‘are we going to have another general +engagement?’ + +“‘Oh, dear, I hope not,’ she said. ‘You have had enough of fighting for +one while, and you are always so misfortunate.’ + +“‘Well, what is it?’ sais I. + +“‘Will you promise me not to tell?’ + +“‘Yes,’ said I, ‘I will.’ + +“‘That’s just what you said the first time I kissed you. Do get out,’ +she replied, ‘and you promise not to lisp a word of it to Rory M’Clure? +or he’ll claim it, as he did that orse, and, Tom, I caught that orse, +and he was mine. It was a orrid, nasty, dirty, mean trick that.’ + +“‘Betty,’ said I, ‘I won’t ear a word hagin him: he is the best friend +I ever had, but I won’t tell him, if you wish it.’ + +“‘Well,’ said Betty, and she bust out crying for joy, for she can cry +at nothing, amost. ‘Look, Tom, here’s twenty Napoleons, I found them +quilted in that officer’s elmet.’ So after all, I got out of that +scrape pretty well, didn’t I, Sir?” + +“Indeed she did,” said Peter, “but if she had seen as much of wolves as +Peter McDonald has she wouldn’t have been much frightened by them. This +is the way to scare a whole pack of them;” and stooping down and +opening a sack, he took out the bagpipes, and struck up a favourite +Highland air. If it was calculated to alarm the animals of the forest, +it at all events served now to recall the party, who soon made their +appearance from the moose-yard. “Tat,” said Peter, “will make ’em +scamper like the tevil. It has saved her life several times.” + +“So I should think,” said I. (For of all the awful instruments that +ever was heard that is the worst. Pigs in a bag ain’t the smallest part +of a circumstance to it, for the way it squeals is a caution to cats.) +When the devil was a carpenter, he cut his foot so bad with an adze, he +threw it down, and gave up the trade in disgust. And now that +Highlanders have given up the trade of barbarism, and become the +noblest fellows in Europe, they should follow the devil’s example, and +throw away the bagpipes for ever. + +“I have never seen M’Clure,” said Jackson, addressing me, “but once +since he disputed with the countryman about the plural of moose in the +country-market. I met him in the street one day, and says I, + +“‘How are you, Rory? Suppose we take a bit of a walk.’ + +“Well, he held up his ead stiff and straight, and didn’t speak for a +minute or two; at last he said: + +“‘How do you do, Sargeant Jackson?’ + +“‘Why, Rory,’ sais I, ‘what hails you to hact that way? What’s the +matter with you now, to treat an old comrade in that manner?’ + +“He stared ard at me in the face hagain, without giving any +explanation. At last he said, ‘Sargeant Jackson,’ and then he stopped +again. ‘If anybody speers at you where Ensign Roderich M’Clure is to be +found, say on the second flat of the officers’ quarters at the North +Barracks,’ and he walked on and left me. He had got his commission.” + +“She had a Highland name,” said Peter, “and tat is all, but she was +only a lowland Glaskow peast. Ta teivil tack a’ such friends a tat.” + +“Doctor,” said I, “Jessie and I have discovered the canoe, and had a +glorious row of it. I see you have a new skiff there; suppose we all +finish the morning on the lake. We have been up to the waterfall, and +if it is agreeable to you, Jessie proposes to dine at the intervale +instead of the house.” + +“Just the thing,” said the doctor, “but you understand these matters +better than I do, so just give what instructions you think proper.” + +Jackson and Betty were accordingly directed to pack up what was +needful, and hold themselves in readiness to be embarked on our return +from the excursion on the water. Jessie, her sister, and myself took +the canoe; the doctor and Cutler the boat, and Peter was placed at the +stern to awaken the sleeping echoes of the lake with his pipes. The +doctor seeing me provided with a short gun, ran hastily back to the +house for his bow and arrows, and thus equipped and grouped, we +proceeded up the lake, the canoe taking the lead. Peter struck up a +tune on his pipes. The great expanse of water, and the large open area +where they were played, as well as the novelty of the scene, almost +made me think that it was not such bad music after all as I had +considered it. + +After we had proceeded a short distance, Jessie proposed a race between +the canoe and the boat. I tried to dissuade her from it, on account of +the fatigue she had already undergone, and the excitement she had +manifested at the waterfall, but she declared herself perfectly well, +and able for the contest. The odds were against the girls; for the +captain and the doctor were both experienced hands, and powerful, +athletic man, and their boat was a flat-bottomed skiff, and drew but +little water. Added to which, the young women had been long out of +practice, and their hands and muscles were unprepared by exercise. I +yielded at last, on condition that the race should terminate at a large +rock that rose out of the lake at about a mile from us. I named this +distance, not merely because I wished to limit the extent of their +exertion, but because I knew that if they had the lead that far, they +would be unable to sustain it beyond that, and that they would be +beaten by the main strength of the rowers. We accordingly slackened our +speed till the boat came up alongside of us. The challenge was given +and accepted, and the terminus pointed out, and when the signal was +made, away we went with great speed. + +For more than two-thirds of the distance we were bow and bow, sometimes +one and sometimes the other being ahead, but on no occasion did the +distance exceed a yard or so. When we had but the remaining third to +accomplish, I cautioned the girls that the rowers would now probably +put out all their strength, and take them by surprise, and therefore +advised them to be on their guard. They said a few words to each other +in their native language, laughed, and at once prepared for the crisis, +by readjusting their seats and foothold, and then the eldest said, with +a look of animation, that made her surpassingly beautiful, “Now,” and +away we went like iled lightning, leaving the boat behind at a rate +that was perfectly incredible. + +They had evidently been playing with them at first, and doing no more +than to ascertain their speed and power of propulsion, and had all +along intended to reserve themselves for this triumph at the last. As +soon as we reached the winning point, I rose up to give the cheer of +victory, but just at that moment, they suddenly backed water with their +paddles, and in turning towards the boat, the toe of my boot caught in +one of the light ribs of the canoe, which had been loosened by the heat +of the sun, and I instantly saw that a fall was unavoidable. To put a +hand on the side of the little bark would inevitably overset it, and +precipitate the girls into the lake. I had but one resource left +therefore, and that was to arch over the gunwale, and lift my feet +clear of it, while I dove into the water. It was the work of an +instant, and in another I had again reached the canoe. Begging Jessie +to move forward, so as to counterbalance my weight, I rose over the +stern (if a craft can be said to have one, where both ends are alike, +and it can be propelled either way), and then took the seat that had +been occupied by her. + +“Now, Jane,” said I, “I must return to the house, and get a dry suit of +the doctor’s clothes; let us see what we can do.” + +The doctor told me Betty knew more about his wardrobe than he did +himself, and would furnish me with what I required; and in the mean +time, that they would lay upon their oars till we returned. + +“Are you ready, Miss,” said I, “I want you to do your prettiest now, +and put your best foot out, because I wish them to see that I am not +the awkward critter in a canoe they think I am.” + +The fact is, Squire, that neither the doctor nor Cutler knew, that to +avoid falling under the circumstances I was placed in, and to escape +without capsizing the canoe, was a feat that no man, but one familiar +with the management of those fragile barks, and a good swimmer, too, +can perform. Peter was aware of it, and appreciated it; but the other +two seemed disposed to cut their jokes upon me; and them that do that, +generally find, in the long run, I am upsides with them, that’s a fact. +A cat and a Yankee always come on their feet, pitch them up in the air +as high and as often as you please. + +“Now for it,” said I, and away we went at a 2.30 pace, as we say of our +trotting horses. Cutler and the doctor cheered us as we went; and +Peter, as the latter told me afterwards, said: “A man who can dwell +like an otter, on both land and sea, has two lives.” I indorse that +saw, he made it himself; it’s genuine, and it was like a trapper’s +maxim. Warn’t it? + +As soon as I landed I cut off for the house, and in no time rigged up +in a dry suit of our host’s, and joined the party, afore they knew +where they were. I put on a face as like the doctor’s as two clocks of +mine are to each other. I didn’t do it to make fun _of_ him, but _out_ +of him. Oh, they roared again, and the doctor joined in it as heartily +as any of them, though he didn’t understand the joke. But Peter didn’t +seem to like it. He had lived so much among the Indians, and was so +accustomed to their way of biling things down to an essence, that he +spoke in proverbs, or wise saws. Says he to me, with a shake of his +head, “_a mocking bird has no voice of its own_.” It warn’t a bad +sayin’, was it? I wish I had noted more of them, for though I like ’em, +I am so yarney, I can’t make them as pithey as he did. I can’t talk +short-hand, and I must say I like condensation. Now, brevity is the +only use to individuals there is in telegraphs. There is very little +good news in the world for any of us; and bad news comes fast enough. I +hate them myself. The only good there is in ’em, is to make people +write short; for if you have to pay for every word you use, you won’t +be extravagant in ’em, there is no mistake. + +Telegraphs ruin intellect; they reduce a wise man to the level of a +fool; and fifty years hence there won’t be a sensible trader left. For +national purposes they are very well, and government ought to have kept +them to themselves, for those objects; but they play the devil with +merchants. There is no room for the exercise of judgment. It’s a dead +certainty now. Flour is eight dollars in England; well, every one knows +that, and the price varies, and every one knows that also, by +telegraph. Before that, a judgmatical trader took his cigar in his +mouth, sat down, and calculated. Crops short, Russian war, blockade, +and so on. Capital will run up prices, till news of new harvest are +known; and then they will come down by the run. He deliberates, +reasons, and decides. Now, the last Liverpool paper gives the price +current. It advises all, and governs all. Any blockhead can be a +merchant now. Formerly, they poked sapey-headed goneys into Parliament, +to play dummey; or into the army and navy, the church, and the colonial +office. But they kept clever fellows for law, special commissioners, +the stage, the “Times,” the “Chronicle,” and such like able papers, and +commerce; and men of middlin’ talents were resarved for doctors, +solicitors, Gretna Green, and so on. + +But the misfortinate prince-merchants now will have to go to the bottom +of the list with tradesmen and retailers. They can’t have an opinion of +their own, the telegraph will give it. The latest quotations, as they +call them, come to them, they know that iron is _firm,_ and timber +_giving way,_ that lead is _dull_ and _heavy,_ and coal gone to +_blases,_ while the stocks are _rising_ and vessels _sinking,_ all the +rest they won’t trouble their heads about. The man who trades with +Cuba, won’t care about Sinope, and it’s too much trouble to look for it +on the map. While the Black Sea man won’t care about Toronto, or +whether it is in Nova Scotia or Vermont, in Canada or California. There +won’t soon be a merchant that understands geography. + +But what is wuss, half the time the news is false, and if it hadn’t +been for that, old Hemp and Iron would have made a fortune. And if it +is true, it’s worse still, for he would have acted on his own judgment +if he hadn’t heard it, and circumstances would have altered as they +always are doing every day, and he would have made a rael hit. Oh, I +hate them. And besides this, they have spoiled them by swearing the +operators. An oath gives them fellows such an itch to blart, that +though they don’t inform, they let the cat out of the bag, and that is +as bad. Tell you what, I wouldn’t like to confess by telegraph. If I am +courting a gall and she sais all right, why then my fun is spoiled, for +when a thing is settled, all excitement is gone, and if I am refused, +the longer I am in ignorance the better. It is wiser to wait, as the +Frenchman did at Clare, who sat up three nights to see how the letters +passed over the wires. Well, if I am married, I have to report +progress, and logbooks are always made up before or afterwards. It’s +apt to injure my veracity. In short, you know what I mean, and I +needn’t follow it out, for a nod is as good as a wink to a blind horse. + +But the Lord have mercy on merchants, any fool will get along as well +as the best of them now. Dear me, I recollect a man they poked fun at +once at Salem. They induced him by way of a rise, to ship a cargo of +blankets and warming-pans to the West Indies. Well, he did so, and made +a good speck, for the pans were bought for dippers, and the blankets +for strainers. Yes, telegraphs will reduce merchants to the level of +that fellow Isaac Oxter. + +But I must look for the trail again, or I shall forget my story. + +I think I left off where I got back in the canoe, and joined the party +in the boat. Well, we then proceeded like the off and near ox, pulling +from rather than to each other, but still keeping neck and neck as it +were. In this manner we proceeded to the head of the lake, and then as +we returned steered for a small wooded island in the centre, where I +proposed to land and rest awhile, for this beautiful sheet of water was +of considerable extent. As we approached it, Peter again struck up his +pipes, and shortly afterwards a noble male moose, as much terrified by +the noise as McDonald said Canada wolves were, broke cover, and swam +for the main land. The moose frequently select such places to secure +their young from the bears, who are their greatest enemies, and find an +easy prey in their helpless calves. It is not improbable that the +female still remained, and that this act of gallantry in the buck was +intended to withdraw attention from her, and thus save her from +pursuit. I had no bullets with me, and my gun was only loaded with +duck-shot. To discharge that at him, would have been a wanton act of +cruelty, as at most it could only inflict upon him painful wounds. In +this emergency, Jessie pointed to a stout half-inch rope that was +coiled up in the bottom of the canoe, and I immediately exchanged +places with her, and commenced making a lasso, while she plied the +paddle. + +We gained rapidly upon him, and I was preparing to throw the fatal +noose over his horns, when to my astonishment he raised his neck and a +portion of his fore-legs out of the water, as if he was landing. We +were then a considerable distance from the shore, but it appeared, as I +afterwards learned from the doctor, that a long low neck of land made +out there into the lake, that was only submerged in the spring and +autumn, but in summer was covered with wild grass, upon which deer fed +with avidity, as an agreeable change from browsing. The instinct of the +animal induced him to make for this shallow, from which he could bound +away at full speed (trot) into the cover. + +All hope of the chase was now over, and I was about abandoning it in +despair, when an arrow whizzed by us, and in an instant he sprang to +his feet, and exposed his huge form to view. He was a remarkable fine +specimen of his kind, for they are the largest as well as the ugliest +of the deer tribe. For an instant he paused, shook himself violently, +and holding down his head, put up his fore-leg to break off that, which +evidently maddened him with pain. He then stood up erect, with his head +high in the air, and laid his horns back on his neck, and, giving a +snort of terror, prepared to save his life by flight. + +It is astonishing how much animation and attitude has to do with +beauty. I had never seen one look well before, but as his form was +relieved against the sky, he looked as he is, the giant king of the +forest. He was just in the act of shifting his feet in the yielding +surface of the boggy meadow, preparatory to a start, when he was again +transfixed by an arrow, in a more vulnerable and vital part. He sprung, +or rather reared forward, and came down on his knees, and then several +times repeated the attempt to commence his flight by the same desperate +effort. At last he fell to rise no more, and soon rolled over, and +after some splashing with his head to avoid the impending death by +drowning, quietly submitted to his fate. Nothing now was visible of him +but the tips of his horns, and a small strip of the hide that covered +his ribs. A shout from the boat proclaimed the victory. + +“Ah, Mr Slick,” said the doctor, “what could you have done with only a +charge of duck-shot in your gun, eh? The arrow, you see, served for +shot and bullet. I could have killed him with the first shaft, but his +head was turned, and covered the vital spot. So I had to aim a little +too far forward, but still it carried a death-warrant with it, for he +couldn’t have run over a mile without falling from exhaustion, arising +from the loss of blood. It is a charming day for the bow, for there is +no wind, and I could hit a dollar at a hundred and twenty yards. There +is another on that island, but she probably has a calf, perhaps two, +and it would be a wicked waste of the food that God provides for us, to +destroy her. But we must get this gentleman into the boat, and it will +bring us down so deep in the water, we must keep near the shore, as it +may be necessary occasionally to wade.” + +Peter, without ceremony, began to make preparations for such an +emergency. He had been accustomed all his life, until he left the +Nor-west Company’s employment, to the kilt, and he neither felt nor +looked at home in the trousers. Like most of his countrymen, he thought +there was more beauty in a hairy leg, and in a manly shammy-leather +looking skin, than in any covering. While his bald knee, the ugliest, +weakest, most complicated and important joint in the frame, he no doubt +regarded with as much veneration as the pious do the shaven crown of a +monk. He therefore very complacently and coolly began to disencumber +himself of this detestable article of the tailor’s skill. I thought it +best therefore to push off in time, to spare his daughters this +spectacle, merely telling the doctor we would wait for him where we had +embarked. + +We proceeded very leisurely, only once in a while dipping the paddle +gently into the water, so as to keep up the motion of the canoe. The +girls amused themselves by imitating the call and answer of the loon, +the blue-jay, the kingfisher, and the owl. With a piece of bark, rolled +up in the form of a short-ear trumpet, they mimicked the hideous voice +of the moose, and the not less disagreeable lowing of the cariboo. The +martin started in surprise at his affrighted neighbour on the water, +and the fox no doubt crept from his hole to listen to the voice that +called him to plunder, at this dangerous hour. All these sounds are +signals among the Indians, and are carried to a perfection that +deceives the ear of nature itself. I had read of their great power in +this species of ventriloquism, but never had heard it practised before, +with the exception of the imitation of the deer tribe, which is +well-known to white “still-hunters.” + +They are, in their own country, not very communicative to strangers; +and above all, never disclose practices so peculiarly reserved for +their own service or defence. I was amazed at their skill in this +branch of Indian accomplishment. + +But the notes of the dear little chick-a-dee-dee charmed me the most. +The stillness of this wild, sequestered place was most agreeably +diversified by all these fictitious birds and beasts, that seemed +inviting, each his own kind, to come and look at this lovely scene. +From the wonderful control they appeared to have over their voices, I +knew that one or both of them must sing. I therefore asked them if they +knew the Canadian-boat song; and they answered, with great delight, +that they did. And suiting the action to the word, which, by the by, +adds marvellously to its effect, they sung it charmingly. I couldn’t +resist their entreaties to join in it, although I would infinitely have +preferred listening to taking a part. When we concluded it, Jessie said +it was much prettier in her native tongue, and sung a verse in her own +language. She said the governor of the fort, who spoke Indian as well +as English, had arranged the words for it, and when she was a child in +his family, she learned it. “Listen,” said she, “what is that?” + +It was Jackson playing on the key-bugle. Oh, how gloriously it sounded, +as its notes fell on the ear, mellowed and softened by the distance. +When Englishmen talk of the hunters’ horn in the morning, they don’t +know what they are a saying of. It’s well enough I do suppose in the +field, as it wakes the drowsy sportsman, and reminds him that there is +a hard day’s ride before him. But the lake and the forest is nature’s +amphitheatre, and it is at home there. It won’t speak as it can do at +all times and in all places; but it gives its whole soul out in the +woods; and the echoes love it, and the mountains wave their plumes of +pines to it, as if they wanted to be wooed by its clear, sweet, +powerful notes.1 All nature listens to it, and keeps silence, while it +lifts its voice on high. The breeze wafts its music on its wings, as if +proud of its trust; and the lake lies still, and pants like a thing of +life, as if its heart beat to its tones. The birds are all hushed, as +if afraid to disturb it; and the deer pause, and listen, and gaze on +the skies, as if the music came from heaven. Money only can move some +men, and a white heat alone dissolve stones. But he who has ever heard +the bugle, and is not inspired by it, has no divinity within him. The +body is there, but the soul is wanting. + +1 This inflated passage, and some other similar ones, are extremely +characteristic of Americans in the same station of life as Slick. From +the use of superlative expressions in their conversation, they +naturally adopt an exaggerative style in writing, and the minor poets +and provincial orators of the Republic are distinguished for this +hyperbolical tone. In Great Britain they would be admired by the Irish; +on the Continent, by the Gascons. If Mr Slick were not affected by this +weakness himself, he would be among the first to detect and ridicule it +in others. + + +“Go on, Jackson, I will forgive your twaddle about sargeant M’Clure, +the stroke of the sun, the trooper’s helmet, and the night among the +wolves. I will listen to your old soldier’s stories all night, only go +on and play for me. Give me that simple air again. Let me drink it in +with my ears, till my heart is full. No grace notes, no tricks of the +band-master’s, no flourishes; let it be simple and natural. Let it suit +us, and the place we are in, for it is the voice of our common parent, +nature.” Ah, he didn’t hear me, and he ceased. + +“Jessie, dear, ain’t that beautiful?” said I. + +“Oh,” she said (and she clasped her hands hard), “it is like the sound +of a spirit speaking from above.” + +“Imitate it,” said I. + +She knew the air, it was a Scotch one; and their music is the most +touching, because the most simple, I know. + +Squire, you will think I am getting spooney, but I ain’t. You know how +fond I am of nature, and always was; but I suppose you will think if I +ain’t talking Turkey, that I am getting crankey, when I tell you an +idea that came into my mind just then. She imitated it in the most +perfect manner possible. Her clear, sweet, mellow, but powerful notes, +never charmed me so before. I thought it sounded like a maiden, +answering her lover. One was a masculine, the other a female voice. The +only difference was in the force, but softness was common to both. Can +I ever forget the enchantment of that day? + +“Dear Jessie,” said I, “you and your friend are just formed for each +other. How happy you could make him.” + +“Who?” said she, and there was no affectation in the question. She knew +not the import of that word. “What do you mean?” + +“Hush,” said I, “I will tell you by and by. Old Tom is playing again.” + +It was “Auld lang syne.” How touching it was! It brought tears to +Jessie’s eyes. She had learned it, when a child, far, far away; and it +recalled her tribe, her childhood, her country, and her mother. I could +see these thoughts throw their shadows over her face, as light clouds +chase each other before the sun, and throw their veil, as they course +along the sky, over the glowing landscape. It made me feel sad, too; +for how many of them with whom my early years were spent have passed +away. Of all the fruit borne by the tree of life, how small a portion +drops from it when fully ripe, and in the due course of nature. The +worm, and premature decay, are continually thinning them; and the +tempest and the blight destroy the greater part of those that are left. +Poor dear worthy old Minister, you too are gone, but not forgotten. How +could I have had these thoughts? How could I have enjoyed these scenes? +and how described them? but for you! Innocent, pure, and simple-minded +man, how fond you were of nature, the handy-work of God, as you used to +call it. How full you were of poetry, beauty, and sublimity! And what +do I not owe to you? I am not ashamed of having been a Clockmaker, I am +proud of it.1 But I should indeed have been ashamed, with your +instruction, always to have remained one. Yes, yes! + +“Why should auld acquaintance be forgot, +And never brought to mind?” + + +Why? indeed. + +1 This is the passage to which Mr Slick referred in the conversation I +had with him, related in Chapter I., entitled, “A Surprise.” + + +“Tam it,” said Peter, for we were so absorbed in listening to the +music, we did not hear the approach of the boat, “ta ting is very coot, +but it don’t stir up te blood, and make you feel like a man, as ta +pipes do! Did she ever hear _barris an tailler?_ Fan she has done with +her brass cow-horn, she will give it to you. It can wake the tead, that +air. When she was a piper poy to the fort, Captain Fraisher was killed +by the fall of a tree, knocked as stiff as a gunparrel, and as silent +too. We laid her out on the counter in one of the stores, and pefore we +put her into the coffin the governor said: ‘Peter,’ said he, ‘she was +always fond of _barris an tailler,_ play it before we nail her up, +come, _seid suas_ (strike up).’ + +“Well, she gets the pipes and plays it hern ainsel, and the governor +forgot his tears; and seized McPhee by the hand, and they danced; they +couldn’t help it when that air was played, and what do you think? It +prought Captain Fraisher to life. First she opened her eyes, and ten +her mouth again wunst more. She did, upon my shoul. + +“Says she, ‘Peter, play it faster, will you? More faster yet, you +blackguard.’ And she tropt the pipes and ran away, and it was the first +and last time Peter McDonald ever turned his pack on a friend. The +doctor said it was a trance, but he was a sassanach and knew nothing +about music; but it was the pipes prought the tead to. This is the +air,” and he played it with such vigour he nearly grew black in the +face. + +“I believe it,” sais I; “it has brought me to also, it has made me a +new man, and brought me back to life again. Let us land the moose.” + +“Ted,” said Peter, “she is worth two ted men yet. There is only two +teaths. Ted as te tevil, and ted drunk, and she ain’t neither; and if +she were poth she would wake her up with tat tune, _barris an tailler,_ +as she tid Captain Fraisher, tat she will.” + +“Now,” said I, “let us land the moose.” + + + + +CHAPTER XI. +A DAY ON THE LAKE.—PART II. + + +Peter’s horrid pipes knocked all the romance out of me. It took all the +talk of dear old Minister (whose conversation was often like poetry +without rhyme), till I was of age, to instil it into me. If it hadn’t +been for him I should have been a mere practical man, exactly like our +Connecticut folks, who have as much sentiment in them in a general way +as an onion has of otter of roses. It’s lucky when it don’t predominate +though, for when it does, it spoils the relish for the real business of +life. + +Mother, when I was a boy, used to coax me up so everlastingly with +loaf-cake, I declare I got such a sweet tooth, I could hardly eat plain +bread made of flour and corn meal, although it was the wholesomest of +the two. When I used to tell Minister this sometimes, as he was flying +off the handle, like when we travelled through New York State to +Niagara, at the scenery of the Hudson; or Lake George, or that +everlastin’ water-fall, he’d say— + +“Sam, you are as correct as a problem in Euclid, but as cold and dry. +Business and romance are like oil and water that I use for a +night-lamp, with a little cork dipsey. They oughtn’t to be mixed, but +each to be separate, or they spoil each other. The tumbler should be +nearly full of water, then pour a little oil on the top, and put in +your tiny wick and floater, and ignite it. The water goes to the +bottom—that’s business you see, solid and heavy. The oil and its burner +lies on the top—and that’s romance. It’s a living flame, not enough to +illuminate the room, but to cheer you through the night, and if you +want more, it will light stronger ones for you. People have a wrong +idea of romance, Sam. Properly understood, it’s a right keen, lively +appreciation of the works of nature, and its beauty, wonders, and +sublimity. From thence we learn to fear, to serve, and to adore Him +that made them and us. Now, Sam, you understand all the wheels, and +pullies, and balances of your wooden clocks; but you don’t think +anything more of them, than it’s a grand speculation for you, because +they cost you a mere nothing, seeing they are made out of that which is +as cheap as dirt here, and because you make a great profit out of them +among the benighted colonists, who know little themselves, and are +governed by English officials who know still less. Well, that’s +nateral, for it is a business view of things.1 Now sposen you lived in +the Far West woods, away from great cities, and never saw a watch or a +wooden clock before, and fust sot your eyes on one of them that was as +true as the sun, wouldn’t you break out into enthusiasm about it, and +then extol to the skies the skill and knowledge of the Yankee man that +invented and made it? To be sure you would. Wouldn’t it carry you off +into contemplatin’ of the planet whose daily course and speed it +measures so exact? Wouldn’t you go on from that point, and ask yourself +what must be the wisdom and power of Him who made innumerable worlds, +and caused them to form part of a great, grand, magnificent, and +harmonious system, and fly off the handle, as you call it, in +admiration and awe? To be sure you would. And if anybody said you was +full of romance who heard you, wouldn’t you have pitied his ignorance, +and said there are other enjoyments we are capable of besides corporeal +ones? Wouldn’t you be a wiser and a better man? Don’t you go now for to +run down romance, Sam; if you do, I shall think you don’t know there is +a divinity within you,” and so he would preach on for an hour, till I +thought it was time for him to say Amen and give the dismissal +benediction. + +1 It is manifest Mr Hopewell must have had Paley’s illustration in his +mind. + + +Well, that’s the way I came by it, I was inoculated for it, but I was +always a hard subject to inoculate. Vaccination was tried on me over +and over again by the doctor before I took it, but at last it came and +got into the system. So it was with him and his romance, it was only +the continual dropping that wore the stone at last, for I didn’t listen +as I had ought to have done. If he had a showed me where I could have +made a dollar, he would have found me wide awake, I know, for I set out +in life with a determination to go ahead, and I have; and now I am well +to do, but still I wish I had a minded more what he did say, for, poor +old soul, he is dead now. _An opportunity lost, is like missing a +passage, another chance may never offer to make the voyage worth while. +The first wind may carry you to the end. A good start often wins the +race. To miss your chance of a shot, is to lose the bird._ + +How true these “saws” of his are; but I don’t recollect half of them, I +am ashamed to say. Yes, it took me a long time to get romance in my +sails, and Peter shook it out of them by one shiver in the wind. So we +went to work. The moose was left on the shore, for the doctor said he +had another destination for him than the water-fall. Betty, Jackson, +and Peter, were embarked with their baskets and utensils in the boats, +and directed to prepare our dinner. + +As soon as they were fairly off, we strolled leisurely back to the +house, which I had hardly time to examine before. It was an irregular +building made of hewn logs, and appeared to have been enlarged, from +time to time, as more accommodation had been required. There was +neither uniformity nor design in it, and it might rather be called a +small cluster of little tenements than a house. Two of these structures +alone seemed to correspond in appearance and size. They protruded in +front, from each end of the main building, forming with it three sides +of a square. One of these was appropriated to the purposes of a museum, +and the other used as a workshop. The former contained an exceedingly +interesting collection. + +“This room,” he said, “I cannot intrust to Jackson, who would soon +throw everything into confusion by grouping instead of classifying +things. This country is full of most valuable minerals, and the people +know as much about them as a pudding does of the plums contained in it. +Observe this shelf, Sir, there are specimens of seven different kinds +of copper on it; and on this one, fragments of four kinds of lead. In +the argentiferous galena is a very considerable proportion of silver. +Here is a piece of a mineral called molybdena of singular beauty, I +found it at Gaberous Bay, in Cape Breton. The iron ores you see are of +great variety. The coal-fields of this colony are immense in extent, +and incalculable in value. All this case is filled with their several +varieties. These precious stones are from the Bay of Fundy. Among them +are amethyst, and other varieties of crystal, of quartz, henlandite, +stibite, analcine, chabasie, albite, nesotype, silicious sinter, and so +on. Pray do me the favour to accept this amethyst. I have several +others of equal size and beauty, and it is of no use to me.” + +He also presented Cutler with a splendid piece of nesotype or needle +stone, which he begged him to keep as a memento of the “Bachelor +Beaver’s-dam.” + +“Three things, Mr Slick,” he continued, “are necessary to the +development of the mineral wealth of this province—skill, capital, and +population; and depend upon it the day is not far distant, when this +magnificent colony will support the largest population, for its area, +in America.” + +I am not a mineralogist myself, Squire, and much of what he said was +heathen Greek to me, but some general things I could understand, and +remember such as that there are (to say nothing of smaller ones) four +immense independent coal-fields in the eastern section of Nova Scotia; +namely, at Picton, Pomquet, Cumberland, and Londonderry; the first of +which covers an area of one hundred square miles: and that there are +also at Cape Breton two other enormous fields of the same mineral, one +covering one hundred and twenty square miles, and presenting at Lingan +a vein eleven feet thick. Such facts I could comprehend, and I was +sorry when I heard the bugle announcing that the boat had returned for +us. + +“Jessie,” said the doctor, “here is a little case containing a +curiously fashioned and exquisitely worked ring, and a large gold cross +and chain, that I found while searching among the ruins of the nunnery +at Louisburg. I have no doubt they belonged to the superior of the +convent. These baubles answered her purpose by withdrawing the eyes of +the profane from her care-worn and cold features; they will serve mine +also, by showing how little you require the aid of art to adorn a +person nature has made so lovely.” + +“Hallo!” sais I to myself, “well done, Doctor, if that don’t beat +cock-fighting, then there ain’t no snakes in Varginny, I vow. Oh! you +ain’t so soft as you look to be after all; you may be a child of +nature, but that has its own secrets, and if you hain’t found out its +mysteries, it’s a pity.” + +“They have neither suffered,” he continued, “from the corrosion of time +nor the asceticism of a devotee, who vainly thought she was serving God +by voluntarily withdrawing from a world into which he himself had sent +her, and by foregoing duties which he had expressly ordained she should +fulfil. Don’t start at the sight of the cross; it is the emblem of +Christianity, and not of a sect, who claim it exclusively, as if He who +suffered on it died for them only. This one has hitherto been used in +the negation of all human affections, may it shed a blessing on the +exercise of yours.” + +I could hardly believe my ears; I didn’t expect this of him. I knew he +was romantic, and all that; but I did not think there was such a depth +and strength of feeling in him. + +“I wish,” I said, “Jehu Judd could a heard you, Doctor, he would have +seen the difference between the clear grit of the genuine thing and a +counterfeit, that might have made him open his eyes and wink.” + +“Oh! Slick,” said he, “come now, that’s a good fellow, don’t make me +laugh, or I shall upset these glass cases;” and before Jessie could +either accept or decline this act of gallantry, he managed to lead the +way to the lake. The girls and I embarked in the canoe, and the rest of +the party in the boat, but before I stepped into the bark, I hid the +pipes of Peter behind the body of the moose, very much to the amusement +of Jessie and the doctor, who both seemed to agree with me in giving a +preference to the bugle. + +I never saw so lovely a spot in this country as the one we had chosen +for our repast, but it was not my intention to land until the +preparations for our meal were all fully completed; so as soon as Jane +leaped ashore, I took her place and asked Jessie to take another look +at the lake with me. Desiring Jackson to recall us with his bugle when +required, we coasted up the west side of the lake for about half a +mile, to a place where I had observed two enormous birches bend over +the water, into which they were ultimately doomed to fall, as the +current had washed away the land where they stood, so as to leave them +only a temporary resting-place. Into this arched and quiet retreat we +impelled our canoe, and paused for awhile to enjoy its cool and +refreshing shade. + +“Jessie,” said I, “this time to-morrow I shall be on the sea again.” + +“So soon?” she replied. + +“Yes, dear; business calls us away, and life is not all like a day on +the lake.” + +“No, no,” she said, “not to me; it is the only really happy one I have +spent since I left my country. You have all been so kind to me; you, +the captain, and the doctor, all of you, you have made no difference, +you have treated me as if I was one of you, as if I was born a lady.” + +“Hasn’t the doctor always been kind to you?” I said. + +“Oh, yes,” she replied, “always very kind, but there is nobody here +like him.” + +“He loves you very much.” + +“Yes,” she said, in the most unembarrassed and natural manner possible, +“he told me so himself.” + +“And can’t you return his love?” + +“I do love him as I do my father, brother, or sister.” + +“Couldn’t you add the word husband?” + +“Never, never,” she said, “Mr Slick. He thinks he loves me now, but he +may not think so always. He don’t see the red blood now, he don’t think +of my Indian mother; when he comes nearer perhaps he will see plainer. +No, no, half-cast and outcast, I belong to no race. Shall I go back to +my tribe and give up my father and his people? they will not receive +me, and I must fall asleep with my mother. Shall I stay here and cling +to him and his race, that race that scorns the half-savage? never! +never! when he dies I shall die too. I shall have no home then but the +home of the spirits of the dead.” + +“Don’t talk that way, Jessie,” I said, “you make yourself wretched, +because you don’t see things as they are. It’s your own fault if you +are not happy. You say you have enjoyed this day.” + +“Oh, yes,” she said, “no day like this; it never came before, it don’t +return again. It dies to-night, but will never be forgotten.” + +“Why not live where you are? Why not have your home here by this lake, +and this mountain? His tastes are like yours, and yours like his; you +can live two lives here,—the forest of the red man around you—the roof +of the white one above you. To unite both is true enjoyment; there is +no eye to stare here, no pride to exclude, no tongue to offend. You +need not seek the society of others, let them solicit yours, and the +doctor will make them respect it.” + +It was a subject on which her mind appeared to have been made up. She +seemed like a woman that has lost a child, who hears your advice, and +feels there is some truth in it, but the consolation reaches not her +heart. + +“It can’t be,” she said, with a melancholy smile, as if she was +resigning something that was dear to her, “God or nature forbids it. If +there is one God for both Indian and white man, he forbids it. If there +are two great spirits, one for each, as my mother told me, then both +forbid it. The great spirit of the pale faces,” she continued, “is a +wicked one, and the white man is wicked. Wherever he goes, he brings +death and destruction. The woods recede before him—the wild fowl leave +the shores—the fish desert their streams—the red man disappears. He +calls his deer and his beaver, and his game (for they are all his, and +were given to him for food and for clothing), and travels far, far +away, and leaves the graves and the bones of his people behind him. But +the white man pursues him, day and night, with his gun, and his axe, +and fire-water; and what he spares with the rifle, rum, despair, and +starvation destroy. See,” she said, and she plucked a withered red cone +from a shumack that wept over the water, “see _that_ is dyed with the +blood of the red man.” + +“That is prejudice,” I said. + +“No, it is the truth,” she replied. “I know it. My people have removed +twice, if not three times, and the next move will be to the sea or the +grave.” + +“It is the effect of civilization, and arts, and the power of sciences +and learning, over untutored nature,” I said. + +“If learning makes men wicked, it is a bad thing,” she observed; “for +the devil instructs men how to destroy. But rum ain’t learning, it is +poison; nor is sin civilization, nor are diseases blessings, nor +madness reason.” + +“That don’t alter things,” I said, “if it is all true that you say, and +there is too much reality in it, I fear; but the pale faces are not all +bad, nor the red all good. It don’t apply to your case.” + +“No,” she said, “nature forbids the two races to mingle. That that is +wild, continues wild; and the tame remains tame. The dog watches his +sleeping master; and the wolf devours him. The wild-duck scorns +confinement; and the partridge dies if compelled to dwell with domestic +fowls. Look at those birds,” she said, as she threw a chip among a +flock of geese that were floating down the lake, “if the beautiful +Indian wild bird consorts with one of them, the progeny die out. They +are mongrels, they have not the grace, the shape, or the courage of +either. Their doom is fixed. They soon disappear from the face of the +earth and the waters. They are despised by both breeds;” and she shook +her head, as if she scorned and loathed herself, and burst into a +passionate flood of tears. + +“Jessie,” said I, and I paused a moment, for I wanted to give her a +homoeopathic dose of common sense—and those little wee doses work like +charms, that’s a fact. “Jessie,” says I, and I smiled, for I wanted her +to shake off those voluntary trammels. “Jessie, the doctor ain’t quite +quite tame, and you ain’t quite wild. You are both six of one, and +half-a-dozen of the other, and just about as like as two peas.” + +Well it’s astonishing what that little sentence did. _An ounce of +essence is worth a gallon of fluid. A wise saw is more valuable than a +whole book, and a plain truth is better than an argument._ She had no +answer for that. She had been reasoning, without knowing it, as if in +fact she had been in reality an Indian. She had imbibed in childhood +the feelings of her mother, who had taken the first step and repented +it—of one who had deserted, but had not been adopted—who became an +exile and remained an alien—who had bartered her birthright for +degradation and death. It is natural that regret for the past and +despair for the future should have been the burden of the mournful +ditties of such a woman; that she who had mated without love, and lived +without affection, the slave, the drudge, but not the wife or companion +of her master, should die with imprecations on her lips for a race who +were the natural foes of her people, and who had reduced her to be an +object of scorn and contempt to both. It is no wonder therefore poor +Jessie had a repugnance to the union, when she remembered her mother, +and the sad lesson her unhappy life and fearful death contained. It was +a feeling difficult to overcome. + +“Jessie,” sais I, “nature, instead of forbiddin’ it, approves of it; +for like takes to like. I don’t say it to please you, but you are as +good as he is, or any white man in the world. Your forefathers on your +mother’s side are a brave, manly, intelligent race; they are free men, +and have never been subdued or enslaved by any one: and if they have +degenerated at all, it is because they have contracted, as you say, +vices from the white man. You have reason to be proud of being +descended from a race of warriors. On the other hand, your father is a +Highlander, and they too have always been free, because they were +brave; they are the noblest fellows in Europe. As for the English, +there are none now, except in Wales, and they are called Taffies—which +means _lunatics,_ for they are awful proud, and their mountains are so +high, every fellow says his ancestors were descended from the man in +the _moon._ But the present race are a mixture of Taffies, French, +Danes, Saxons, Scotch, and the Lord knows who all, and to my mind are +all the better of it.” + +“But the colour,” said she. + +“As to colour!” said I, “nations differ in every shade, from black up +to chalk white. The Portuguese, Italians, and Turks are darker than the +Indian if anything; Spaniards and Greeks about the same.” + +“And do they intermarry?” + +“I guess they do,” said I; “the difference of language only stops +them,—for it’s hard to make love when you can’t understand each +other,—but colour never.” + +“Is that now really true?” she said; “for I am ignorant of the world.” + +“True as preachin’,” said I, “and as plain as poverty.” + +She paused awhile, and said slowly: + +“Well, I suppose if all the world says and does differently, I must be +wrong, for I am unacquainted with everything but my own feelings; and +my mother taught me this, and bade me never to trust a white man. I am +glad I was wrong, for if I feel I am right, I am sure I shall be +happy.” + +“Well,” sais I, “I am sure you will be so, and this is just the place, +above all others in the world, that will suit you, and make you so. +Now,” sais I, “Jessie, I will tell you a story;” and I told her the +whole tale of Pocahontas; how she saved Captain Smith’s life in the +early settlement of Virginia, and afterwards married Mr Rolfe, and +visited the court of England, where all the nobles sought her society. +And then I gave her all the particulars of her life, illness, and +death, and informed her that her son, who stood in the same +relationship to the whites as she did, became a wealthy planter in +Virginia, and that one of his descendants, lately deceased, was one of +the most eloquent as well as one of the most distinguished men in the +United States. It interested her uncommonly, and I have no doubt +greatly contributed to confirm her in the decision she had come to. I +will not trouble you, Squire, with the story, for it is so romantic, I +believe everybody has heard of it. I promised to give her a book +containing all the details. + +The bugle now sounded our recall, and in a few minutes we were seated +on the grass, and enjoying our meal with an appetite that exercise, +excitement, and forest air never fail to give. Songs, trout-fishing, +and stories agreeably occupied the afternoon; and when the sun began to +cast long shadows from the mountain, we reëmbarked with our traps, and +landed at the cove near the clump of trees where we started in the +morning. While preparations were making for tea in the house, I lit my +cigar to take a stroll with Cutler, and talk over our arrangements for +an early start in the morrow, and proceeding immediately to sea. In the +mean time, I briefly stated to the doctor that he would now find no +further obstacle to his wishes, and counselled him to lose no time, +while the impression was favourable, to bring his long-pending +negotiation to a conclusion. + +“Slick,” said he, laughing, “your government ought to have prevailed +upon you to remain in the diplomatic service. You are such a capital +negotiator.” + +“Well,” said I, “I believe I would have succeeded in that line; but do +you know how?” + +“By a plentiful use of soft sawder,” said he. + +“No, Doctor, I knew you would say that; and it ain’t to be despised +neither, I can tell you. No, it’s because you go coolly to work, for +you are negotiatin’ for another. If you don’t succeed, it’s the fault +of the mission, of course, and defeat won’t break your heart; if you do +carry your point, why, in the natur of things, it is all your own +skill. I have done famously for you; but I made a bungling piece of +business for myself, I assure you. What my brother, the lawyer, used to +say is very true: ‘A man who pleads his own cause has a fool for his +client.’ You can’t praise yourself unless it’s a bit of brag, and that +I can do as well as any one, I do suppose; but you can’t lay the +whitewash on handily no more than you can brush the back of your own +coat when it is on. Cutler and I will take a stroll, and do you invite +Jessie out, to see the moon on the lake.” + +In about an hour, Peter, who had found his pipes to his infinite +delight, intimated supper was ready; and the dispersed groups returned, +and sat down to a meal which, in addition to the tea and coffee and its +usual accompaniments at country-houses, had some substantial viands for +those, like myself, who had done more talking than eating at dinner. In +a short time, the girls retired for the night, and we arranged for a +peep of day return. + +“Mr Slick,” said the doctor, “I have ordered the boy to take the moose +down to the village as my share of the sea-stores. Will you give me +leave to go a part of the cruise with you?” + +“With great pleasure,” said I; “it’s just what I was going to ask the +favour of you to do. It’s the very identical thing.” + +“Come, Peter,” said he, “I will show you where to turn in;” and +returning, in a few minutes, with Jackson, desired him to attend the +captain. + +When we were alone, he said: + +“Come this way, Mr Slick. Put your hat on—I want you to take a turn +with me.” + +And leading me down to the verge of the woods, where I saw a light, we +entered a large bark wigwam, where he said he often slept during the +hot weather. + +It was not made in the usual conical form, but resembled a square tent, +which among Indians generally indicates there is a large family, and +that they propose to occupy the same spot for some time. In fact, it +was half wigwam, half summer-house, resembling the former in +appearance, construction, and material; but was floored on account of +the damp ground, and contained a small table, two chairs, and a couple +of rustic seats large enough to sleep upon, which, on the present +occasion, had hunters’ beds on them. The tent, or more properly camp, +as it is generally called here, was so contrived as to admit of the +door being shifted according to the wind. On the present occasion, the +opening was towards the lake, on which the moon was casting its silver +light. + +Here we sat till a late hour, discoursing, over our cigars, on a +variety of subjects, the first and last of which topic was Jessie, who +had, it appeared, at last accepted the Bachelor Beaver. Altogether, it +was a charming visit; and left a most agreeable recollection of the +enjoyment that is to be found in “_a day and a night in the woods_.” + + + + +CHAPTER XII. +THE BETROTHAL. + + +Early the following morning, just as the first dawn of day was +streaking the eastern sky, Jackson’s bugle sounded the _reveillé,_ and +we were all soon on foot and in motion. The moose was lifted into the +cart, and the boy despatched with it to the harbour, so as to have it +in readiness for putting on board as soon as we should arrive, and a +cup of coffee was prepared for us by Betty, as she said, to keep the +cold out of our stomach while travelling. The doctor had some few +arrangements to make for his voyage, and Cutler and I set out in +advance, on foot. It was agreed that Ovey, Peter, and his daughters, +should follow, as soon as possible, in the waggons, and breakfast with +us on board of the Black Hawk. + +“Mr Jackson,” said I, as I saw him standing at the door. + +“Yes, Sir,” and he was at my side in a minute, and honoured me with one +of his most gracious smiles, and respectful military salutes. + +There is great magic in that word “Mr,” when used to men of low degree, +and in “Squire” for those just a notch higher. Servitude, at best, is +but a hard lot. To surrender your will to another, to come and go at +his bidding, and to answer a bell as a dog does a whistle, ain’t just +the lot one would choose, if a better one offered. A master may forget +this, a servant never does. The great art, as well as one of the great +Christian duties, therefore, is not to make him feel it. Bidding is one +thing, and commanding is another. If you put him on good terms with +himself, he is on good terms with you, and affection is a stronger tie +than duty. The vanity of mankind is such, that you always have the +ingratitude of helps dinned into your ears, from one year’s end to +another, and yet these folk never heard of the ingratitude of +employers, and wouldn’t believe there was such a thing in the world, if +you were to tell them. Ungrateful, eh! Why, didn’t I pay him his wages? +wasn’t he well boarded? and didn’t I now and then let him go to a +frolic? Yes, he wouldn’t have worked without pay. He couldn’t have +lived if he hadn’t been fed, and he wouldn’t have stayed if you hadn’t +given him recreation now and then. It’s a poor heart that don’t rejoice +sometimes. So much thanks he owes you. Do you pray that it may always +rain at night or on Sundays? Do you think the Lord is the Lord of +masters only? But he has been faithful as well as diligent, and careful +as well as laborious, he has saved you more than his wages came to—are +there no thanks for this? Pooh! you remind me of my poor old mother. +Father used to say she was the most unreasonable woman in the world—for +when she hired a gall she expected perfection, for two dollars and a +half a month. + +Mr Jackson! didn’t that make him feel good all over? Why shouldn’t he +be called Mr, as well as that selfish conceited M’Clure, Captain? Yes, +there is a great charm in that are word, “Mr.” It was a wrinkle I +picked up by accident, very early in life. We had to our farm to +Slickville, an Irish servant, called Paddy Monaghan—as hard-working a +critter as ever I see, but none of the boys could get him to do a +blessed thing for them. He’d do his plowin’ or reapin’, or whatever it +was, but the deuce a bit would he leave it to oblige Sally or the boys, +or any one else, but father; he had to mind him, in course, or put his +three great coats on, the way he came, one atop of the other, to cover +the holes of the inner ones, and walk. But, as for me, he’d do anythin’ +I wanted. He’d drop his spade, and help me catch a horse, or he’d do my +chores for me, and let me go and attend my mink and musquash traps, or +he’d throw down his hoe and go and fetch the cows from pasture, that I +might slick up for a party—in short, he’d do anything in the world for +me. + +“Well, they all wondered how under the sun Paddy had taken such a +shindy to me, when nobody else could get him to budge an inch for them. +At last, one day, mother asked me how on airth it was—for nothin’ +strange goes on long, but a woman likes to get at the bottom of it. + +“Well,” sais I, “mother, if you won’t whisper a syllable to anybody +about it, I’ll tell you.” + +“Who, me,” sais she, “Sammy?” She always called me Sammy when she +wanted to come over me. “Me tell? A person who can keep her own secrets +can keep yours, Sammy. There are some things I never told your father.” + +“Such as what?” sais I. + +“A-hem,” said she. “A-hem—such as he oughtn’t to know, dear. Why, Sam, +I am as secret as the grave! How is it, dear?” + +“Well,” sais I, “I will tell you. This is the way: I drop Pat and Paddy +altogether, and I call him Mr Monaghan, and never say a word about the +priest.” + +“Why, Sammy,” said she, “where in the world did you pick up all your +cuteness? I do declare you are as sharp as a needle. Well, I never. How +you do take after me! _boys are mothers’ sons. It’s only galls who take +after their father.”_ + +It’s cheap coin, is civility, and kindness is a nice bank to fund it +in, Squire: for it comes back with compound interest. He used to call +Josiah, Jo, and brother Eldad, Dad, and then yoke ’em both together, as +“spalpeens,” or “rapscallions,” and he’d vex them by calling mother, +when he spoke to them of her, the “ould woman,” and Sally, “that young +cratur, Sal.” But he’d show the difference when he mentioned me; it was +always “the young master,” and when I was with him, it was “your +Honour.” Lord, I shall never forget wunst, when I was a practisin’ of +ball-shooting at a target, Pat brought out one of my muskits, and sais +he: “Would your Honour just let me take a crack at it. You only make a +little round hole in it, about the size of a fly’s eye; but, by the +piper that played before Moses, I’ll knock it all to smithereens.” + +“Yes,” sais I, “Mr Monaghan; fire and welcome.” + +Well, up he comes to the toe-line, and puts himself into attitude, +scientific like. First he throws his left leg out, and then braces back +the right one well behind him, and then he shuts his left eye to, and +makes an awful wry face, as if he was determined to keep every bit of +light out of it, and then he brought his gun up to the shoulder with a +duce of a flourish, and took a long, steady aim. All at once he lowered +the piece. + +“I think I’ll do it better knalin’, your Honour,” said he, “the way I +did when I fired at Lord Blarney’s land-agent, from behind the hedge, +for lettin’ a farm to a Belfast heretic. Oh! didn’t I riddle him, your +Honour.” He paused a moment, his tongue had run away with him. “His +coat, I main,” said he. “I cut the skirts off as nait as a tailor +could. It scared him entirely, so, when he see the feathers flyin’ that +way, he took to flight, and I never sot eyes on him no more. I +shouldn’t wonder if he is runnin’ yet.” + +So he put down one knee on the ground, and adjusting himself said, “I +won’t leave so much as a hair of that target, to tell where it stood.” +He took a fresh aim, and fired, and away he went, heels over head, the +matter of three or four times, and the gun flew away behind him, ever +so far. + +“Oh!” sais he, “I am kilt entirely. I am a dead man, Master Sam. By the +holy poker, but my arm is broke.” + +“I am afraid my gun is broke,” said I, and off I set in search of it. + +“Stop, yer Honour,” said he, “for the love of Heaven, stop, or she’ll +be the death of you.” + +“What?” sais I. + +“There are five more shots in her yet, Sir. I put in six cartridges, so +as to make sure of that paper kite, and only one of them is gone off +yet. Oh! my shoulder is out, Master Sam. Don’t say a word of it, Sir, +to the ould cratur, and—” + +“To who?” said I. + +“To her ladyship, the mistress,” said he, “and I’ll sarve you by day +and by night.” + +Poor Pat! you were a good-hearted creature naturally, as most of your +countrymen are, if repealers, patriots, and demagogues of all sorts and +sizes, would only let you alone. Yes, there is a great charm in that +word “Mr.” + +So, sais I, “Mr Jackson!” + +“Yes, Sir,” said he. + +“Let me look at your bugle.” + +“Here it is, your Honour.” + +“What a curious lookin’ thing it is,” sais I, “and what’s all them +little button-like things on it with long shanks?” + +“Keys, Sir,” said he. + +“Exactly,” sais I, “they unlock the music, I suppose, don’t they, and +let it out? Let me see if I could blow it.” + +“Try the pipes, Mr Slick,” said Peter. “Tat is nothin’ but a prass +cow-horn as compared to the pagpipes.” + +“No, thank you,” sais I, “it’s only a Highlander can make music out of +that.” + +“She never said a wiser word tan tat,” he replied, much gratified. + +“Now,” sais I, “let me blow this, does it take much wind?” + +“No,” said Jackson, “not much, try it, Sir.” + +“Well, I put it to my lips, and played a well-known air on it. “It’s +not hard to play, after all, is it, Jackson?” + +“No, Sir,” said he, looking delighted, “nothing is ard to a man as +knows how, as you do.” + +“Tom,” sais Betty, “don’t that do’ee good? Oh, Sir, I ain’t eard that +since I left the hold country, it’s what the guards has used to be +played in the mail-coaches has was. Oh, Sir, when they comed to the +town, it used to sound pretty; many’s the time I have run to the window +to listen to it. Oh, the coaches was a pretty sight, Sir. But them +times is all gone,” and she wiped a tear from her eye with the corner +of her apron, a tear that the recollection of early days had called up +from the fountain of her heart. + +Oh, what a volume does one stray thought of the past contain within +itself. It is like a rocket thrown up in the night. It suddenly expands +into a brilliant light, and sheds a thousand sparkling meteors, that +scatter in all directions, as if inviting attention each to its own +train. Yes, that one thought is the centre of many, and awakens them +all to painful sensibility. Perhaps it is more like a vivid flash of +lightning, it discloses with intense brightness the whole landscape, +and exhibits, in their minutest form and outline, the very leaves and +flowers that lie hid in the darkness of night. + +“Jessie,” said I, “will you imitate it?” + +I stopt to gaze on her for a moment—she stood in the doorway—a perfect +model for a sculptor. But oh, what chisel could do justice to that +face—it was a study for a painter. Her whole soul was filled with those +clear beautiful notes, that vibrated through the frame, and attuned +every nerve, till it was in harmony with it. She was so wrapt in +admiration, she didn’t notice what I observed, for I try in a general +way that nothing shall escape me; but as they were behind us all, I +just caught a glimpse of the doctor (as I turned my head suddenly) +withdrawing his arm from her waist. She didn’t know it, of course, she +was so absorbed in the music. It ain’t likely she felt him, and if she +had, it ain’t probable she would have objected to it. It was natural he +should like to press the heart she had given him; wasn’t it now his? +and wasn’t it reasonable he should like to know how it beat? He was a +doctor, and doctors like to feel pulses, it comes sorter habitual to +them, they can’t help it. They touch your wrist without knowing it, and +if it is a woman’s, why their hand, like brother Josiah’s cases that +went on all fours, crawls up on its fingers, till it gets to where the +best pulse of all is. Ah, Doctor, there is Highland blood in that +heart, and it will beat warmly towards you, I know. I wonder what Peter +would have said, if he had seen what I did. But then he didn’t know +nothin’ about pulses. + +“Jessie,” said I, “imitate that for me, dear. It is the last exercise +of that extraordinary power I shall ever hear.” + +“Play it again,” she said, “that I may catch the air.” + +“Is it possible,” said I to myself, “you didn’t hear it after all? It +is the first time your little heart was ever pressed before, perhaps it +beat so loud you couldn’t distinguish the bugle notes. Was it the new +emotion or the new music that absorbed you so? Oh, Jessie, don’t ask me +again what natur is.” + +Well, I played it again for her, and instantly she gave the repetition +with a clearness, sweetness, and accuracy, that was perfectly amazing. +Cutler and I then took leave for the present, and proceeded on our way +to the shore. + +“Ah, Sir!” said Jackson, who accompanied us to the bars, “it’s a long +while ago since I eard that hair. Warn’t them mail-coaches pretty +things, Sir? Hon the hold King’s birthday, Sir, when they all turned +out with new arness and coaches fresh painted, and coachman and guard +in new toggery, and four as beautiful bits of blood to each on ’em as +was to be found in England, warn’t it a sight to behold, Sir? The world +could show nothin’ like it, Sir. And to think they are past and gone, +it makes one’s eart hache. They tells me the coachman now, Sir, has a +dirty black face, and rides on a fender before a large grate, and +flourishes a red ot poker instead of a whip. The guard, Sir, they tells +me, is no—” + +“Good bye, Mr Jackson;” and I shook hands with him. + +“Isn’t that too bad, Sir, now?” he said. “Why, here is Betty again, +Sir, with that d—d hat, and a lecture about the stroke. Good bye, your +Honour,” said he. + +When we came to the bridge where the road curved into the woods, I +turned and took a last look at the place where I had spent such an +agreeable day. + +I don’t envy you it, Doctor, but I wish I had such a lovely place at +Slickville as that. What do you think, Sophy, eh? I have an idea you +and I could be very happy there, don’t you? + +“Oh! Mr Slick,” said Jehu Judd, who was the first person I saw at the +door of Peter’s house, “what an everlastin’ long day was yesterday! I +did nothing but renew the poultice, look in the glass, and turn into +bed again. It’s off now, ain’t it?” + +“Yes,” sais I, “and we are off, too, in no time.” + +“But the trade,” said he; “let’s talk that over.” + +“Haven’t time,” sais I; “it must be short meter, as you say when you +are to home to Quaco, practising Sall Mody (as you call it). Mackarel +is five dollars a barrel, sains thirty—say yes or no, that’s the word.” + +“How can you have the conscience?” said he. + +“I never talk of conscience in trade,” sais I; “only of prices. Bargain +or no bargain, that’s the ticket.” + +“I can’t,” he said. + +“Well, then, there is an end of it,” says I. “Good bye, friend Judd.” + +Sais he: “You have a mighty short way with you, my friend.” + +“A short way is better than a long face,” said I. + +“Well,” said he, “I can’t do without the sains (nets) no how I can fix +it, so I suppose I must give the price. But I hope I may be skinned +alive if you ain’t too keen.” + +“Whoever takes a fancy to skin you, whether dead or alive, will have a +tough job of it, I reckon,” sais I, “it’s as tight as the bark of a +tree.” + +“For two pins,” said he, “I’d tan your hide for you now.” + +“Ah,” said I, “you are usin’ your _sain_ before you pay for it. That’s +not fair.” + +“Why?” said he. + +“Because,” sais I, “you are _insaine_ to talk that way.” + +“Well, well,” said he, “you do beat the devil.” + +“You can’t say that,” sais I, “for I hain’t laid a hand on _you._ +Come,” sais I, “wake snakes, and push off with the Captain, and get the +fish on board. Cutler, tell the mate, mackarel is five dollars the +barrel, and nets thirty each. We shall join you presently, and so, +friend Judd, you had better put the licks in and make haste, or there +will be ‘more fiddling and dancing and serving the devil this +morning.’” + +He turned round, and gave me a look of intense hatred, and shook his +fist at me. I took off my hat and made him a low bow, and said “That’s +right, save your breath to cool your broth, or to groan with when you +get home, and have a refreshing time with the Come-outers. + +“My father was a preacher, + A mighty holy man; +My mother was a Methodist, + But I’m a Tunyan.” + + +He became as pale as a mad nigger at this. He was quite speechless with +rage, and turning from me, said nothing, and proceeded with the captain +to the boat. It was some time before the party returned from the lake, +but the two waggons were far apart, and Jessie and the doctor came +last—was it that the road was bad, and he was a poor driver? perhaps +so. A man who loves the woods don’t know or care much about roads. It +don’t follow because a feller is a good shot, he is a good whip; or was +it they had so much to say, the short distance didn’t afford time? +Well, I ain’t experienced in these matters, though perhaps you are, +Squire. Still, though Cupid is represented with bows and arrows (and +how many I have painted on my clocks, for they always sold the best), I +don’t think he was ever sketched in an old one-hoss waggon. A canoe +would have suited you both better, you would have been more at home +there. If I was a gall I would always be courted in one, for you can’t +romp there, or you would be capsized. It’s the safest place I know of. +It’s very well to be over head and ears in love, but my eyes, to be +over head and ears in the water, is no place for lovemaking, unless it +is for young whales, and even they spout and blow like all wrath when +they come up, as if you might have too much of a good thing, don’t +they? + +They both looked happy—Jessie was unsophisticated, and her countenance, +when it turned on me, seemed to say, “Mr Slick, I have taken your +advice, and I am delighted I did.” And the doctor looked happy, but his +face seemed to say, “Come now, Slick, no nonsense, please, let me +alone, that’s a good fellow.” + +Peter perceived something he didn’t understand. He had seen a great +deal he didn’t comprehend since he left the Highlands, and heard a +great many things he didn’t know the meaning of. It was enough for him +if he could guess it. + +“Toctor,” said he, “how many kind o’ partridges are there in this +country?” + +“Two,” said the simple-minded naturalist, “spruce and birch.” + +“Which is the prettiest?” + +“The birch.” + +“And the smartest?” + +“The birch.” + +“Poth love to live in the woods, don’t they?” + +“Yes.” + +“Well there is a difference in colour. Ta spruce is red flesh, and ta +birch white, did you ever know them mix?” + +“Often,” said the doctor, who began to understand this allegorical talk +of the North-West trader, and feel uncomfortable, and therefore didn’t +like to say no. “Well, then, the spruce must stay with the pirch, or +the pirch live with the spruce,” continued Peter. “The peech wood +between the two are dangerous to both, for it’s only fit for cuckoos.” + +Peter looked chuffy and sulky. There was no minister at the remote post +he had belonged to in the nor-west. The governor there read a sermon of +a Sunday sometimes, but he oftener wrote letters. The marriages, when +contracted, were generally limited to the period of service of the +_employés,_ and sometimes a wife was bought, or at others, entrapped +like a beaver. It was a civil or uncivil contract, as the case might +be. Wooing was a thing he didn’t understand; for what right had a woman +to an opinion of her own? Jessie felt for her father, the doctor, and +herself, and retired crying. The doctor said: + +“Peter, you know me, I am an honest man; give me your confidence, and +then I will ask the Chief for the hand of his daughter.” + +“Tat is like herself,” said Peter. “And she never doubted her; and +there is her hand, which is her word. Tam the coffee! let us have a +glass of whiskey.” + +And he poured out three, and we severally drank to each other’s health, +and peace was once more restored. + +Thinks I to myself, now is the time to settle this affair; for the +doctor, Peter, and Jessie are all like children; it’s right to show ’em +how to act. + +“Doctor,” sais I, “just see if the cart with the moose has arrived; we +must be a moving soon, for the wind is fair.” + +As soon as he went on this errand, “Peter,” sais I, “the doctor wants +to marry your daughter, and she, I think, is not unwilling, though, +between you and me, you know better than she does what is good for her. +Now the doctor don’t know as much of the world as you do. He has never +seen Scotland, nor the north-west, nor travelled as you have, and +observed so much.” + +“She never said a truer word in her life,” said Peter. “She has seen +the Shetlands and the Rocky Mountains—the two finest places in the +world, and crossed the sea and the Red River; pesides Canada and Nova +Scotia, and seen French, and pairs, and Indians, and wolves, and plue +noses, and puffaloes, and Yankees, and prairie dogs, and Highland +chiefs, and Indian chiefs, and other great shentlemen, pesides peavers +with their tails on. She has seen the pest part of the world, Mr +Slick.” And he lighted his pipe in his enthusiasm, when enumerating +what he had seen, and looked as if he felt good all over. + +“Well,” sais I, “the doctor, like an honourable man, has asked Squire +Peter McDonald for his daughter; now, when he comes in, call Jessie and +place her hand in his, and say you consent, and let the spruce and +birch partridge go and live near the lake together.” + +“Tat she will,” said he, “for ta toctor is a shentleman pred and porn, +though she hasn’t the honour to be a Highlander.” + +As soon as the Bachelor Beaver returned, Peter went on this paternal +mission, for which I prepared my friend; and the betrothal was duly +performed, when he said in Gaelic: + +“_Dhia Beammich sibh le choile mo chlam!_ God bless you both, my +children!” + +As soon as the ceremony was over, “Now,” sais I, “we must be a movin’. +Come, Peter, let us go on board. Where are the pipes? Strike up your +merriest tune.” + +And he preceded us, playing, “_Nach dambsadh am minster_,” in his best +manner—if anything can be said to be good, where bad is the best. When +we arrived at the beach, Cutler and my old friend, the black steward, +were ready to receive us. It would have been a bad omen to have had +Sorrow meet the betrothed pair so soon, but that was only a jocular +name given to a very merry negro. + +“Well, Sorrow,” sais I, as we pushed off in the boat, “how are you?” + +“Very bad, Massa,” he said, “I ab been used most rediculous shamful +since you left. Time was berry dull on board since you been withdrawn +from de light ob your countenance, and de crew sent on shore, and got a +consignment ob rum, for benefit ob underwriters, and all consarned as +dey said, and dey sung hymns, as dey call nigga songs, like Lucy Neal +and Lucy Long, and den dey said we must hab ablution sarmon; so dey +fust corned me, Massa.” + +“In the beef or pork-barrel, Sorrow?” said I. + +“Oh, Lord bless you, Massa, in needer; you knows de meaning ob dat are +word—I is sure you does—dey made me most tosicated, Massa, and dey +said, ‘Sorrow, come preach ablution sarmon.’ Oh, Massa, I was berry +sorry, it made me feel all ober like ague; but how could I insist so +many; what was I to do, dey fust made me der slave, and den said, ‘Now +tell us bout mancipation.’ Well, dey gub me glass ob rum, and I +swallowed it—berry bad rum—well, dat wouldn’t do. Well, den dey gub me +anoder glass, and dat wouldn’t do; dis here child hab trong head, +Massa, werry trong, but he hoped de rum was all out, it was so bad; den +dey rejectioned anoder in my face, and I paused and crastimated; sais +I, ‘Masters, is you done?’ for dis child was afeard, Massa, if he drank +all de bottle empty, dey would tro dat in his face too, so sais I: + +“‘Masters, I preaches under protest, against owners and ship for +bandonment; but if I must put to sea, and dis niggar don’t know how to +steer by lunar compass, here goes.’ Sais I, ‘My dear bredren,’ and dey +all called out: + +“‘You farnal niggar you! do you call us bredren, when you is as black +as de debbil’s hind leg?’ + +“‘I beg your most massiful pardon,’ sais I, ‘but as you is +ablutionists, and when you preach, calls us regraded niggars your +coloured bredren, I tought I might venture to foller in de same suit, +if I had a card ob same colour.’ + +“‘Well done, Uncle Tom,’ sais they. ‘Well done, Zip Coon,’ and dey made +me swallow anoder glass ob naked truth. Dis here child has a trong +head, Massa, dat are a fac. He stand so much sun, he ain’t easy +combustioned in his entails. + +“‘Go on,’ sais they. + +“Well, my bredren,” sais I, “I will dilate to you the valy of a niggar, +as put in one scale and white man in de oder. Now, bredren, you know a +sparrer can’t fall to de ground no how he can fix it, but de Lord knows +it—in course ob argument you do. Well, you knows twelve sparrers sell +in de market for one penny. In course ob respondence you do. How much +more den does de Lord care for a niggar like me, who is worth six +hundred dollars and fifty cents, at de least? So, gentlemen, I is done, +and now please, my bredren, I will pass round de hat wid your +recurrence.’ + +“Well, dey was pretty high, and dey behaved like gentlemen, I must +submit dat; dey gub me four dollars, dey did—dey is great friends to +niggar, and great mancipationists, all ob dem; and I would hab got two +dollars more, I do raily conclude, if I hadn’t a called ’em my bredren. +Dat was a slip ob de lockjaw.” + +“I must inquire into this,” said Cutler, “it’s the most indecent thing +I ever beard of. It is downright profanity; it is shocking.” + +“Very,” said I, “but the sermon warn’t a bad one; I never heerd a +niggar reason before; I knew they could talk, and so can Lord +Tandemberry; but as for reasoning, I never heerd either one or the +other attempt it before. There is an approach to logic in that.” + +“There is a very good hit at the hypocrisy of abolitionists in it,” +said the doctor; “that appeal about my bredren is capital, and the +passing round of the hat is quite evangelical.” + +“Oigh,” said Peter, “she have crossed the great sea and the great +prairies, and she haven’t heerd many sarmons, for Sunday don’t come but +once a month there, but dat is the pest she ever heerd, it is so +short.” + +“Slick,” said Cutler, “I am astonished at you. Give way there, my men; +ease the bow oar.” + +“Exactly,” sais I, “Cutler—give way there, my man; ease the bow +oar—that’s my maxim too—how the devil can you learn if you don’t hear?” +sais I. + +“How can you learn good,” said he, “if you listen to evil?” + +“Let’s split the difference,” said I, laughing, “as I say in swapping; +let’s split the difference. If you don’t study mankind how can you know +the world at all? But if you want to preach—” + +“Come, behave yourself,” said he, laughing; “lower down the _man ropes_ +there.” + +“To help up the _women_,” said I. + +“Slick,” said he, “it’s no use talking; you are incorrigible.” + +The breakfast was like other breakfasts of the same kind; and, as the +wind was fair, we could not venture to offer any amusements to our +guests. So in due time we parted, the doctor alone, of the whole party, +remaining on board. Cutler made the first move by ascending the +companion-ladder, and I shook hands with Peter as a hint for him to +follow. Jessie, her sister, Ovey, and I, remained a few minutes longer +in the cabin. The former was much agitated. + +“Good bye,” said she, “Mr Slick! Next to him,” pointing to the Bachelor +Beaver, “you have been the kindest and best friend I ever had. You have +made me feel what it is to be happy;” and woman-like, to prove her +happiness, burst out a crying, and threw her arms round my neck and +kissed me. “Oh! Mr Slick! do we part for ever?” + +“For ever!” sais I, trying to cheer her up; “for ever is a most +thundering long word. No, not for ever, nor for long either. I expect +you and the doctor will come and visit _us_ to Slickville this fall;” +and I laid an emphasis on that word “_us_,” because it referred to what +I had told her of Sophy. + +“Oh!” said she, “how kind that is!” + +“Well,” sais I, “now I will do a kinder thing. Jane and I will go on +deck, and leave you and the doctor to bid each other good-bye.” As I +reached the door, I turned and said: “Jessie, teach him Gaelic the way +Flora taught me—_do bhileau boidheach_ (with your pretty lips).” + +As the boat drew alongside, Peter bid me again a most affectionate, if +not a most complimentary farewell. + +“She has never seen many Yankees herself,” said Peter, “but prayin’ +Joe, the horse-stealer—tarn him—and a few New England pedlars, who +asked three hundred per shent for their coots, but Mr Slick is a +shentleman, every inch of him, and the pest of them she ever saw, and +she will pe glad to see her again whenever she comes this way.” + +When they were all seated in the boat, Peter played a doleful ditty, +which I have no doubt expressed the grief of his heart. But I am sorry +to say it was not much appreciated on board of the “Black Hawk.” By the +time they reached the shore, the anchor was up, the sails trimmed, and +we were fairly out of Ship Harbour. + + + + +CHAPTER XIII. +A FOGGY NIGHT. + + +The wind, what there was of it, was off shore; it was a light +north-wester, but after we made an offing of about ten miles, it failed +us, being evidently nothing but a land breeze, and we were soon +becalmed. After tossing about for an hour or two, a light cat’s-paw +gave notice that a fresh one was springing up, but it was from the +east, and directly ahead. + +“We shall make poor work of this,” said the pilot, “and I am afraid it +will bring up a fog with it, which is a dangerous thing on this coast, +I would advise therefore returning to Ship Harbour,” but the captain +said, “Business must be attended to, and as there was nothing more of +the kind to be done there, we must only have patience and beat up for +Port Liscomb, which is a great resort for fishermen.” I proposed we +should take the wind as we found it, and run for Chesencook, a French +settlement, a short distance to the westward of us, and effect our +object there, which I thought very probable, as no American vessels put +in there if they can avoid it. This proposition met the approval of all +parties, so we put the “Black Hawk” before the wind, and by sunset were +safely and securely anchored. The sails were scarcely furled before the +fog set in, or rather rose up, for it seemed not so much to come from +the sea as to ascend from it, as steam rises from heated water. + +It seemed the work of magic, its appearance was so sudden. A moment +before there was a glorious sunset, now we had impenetrable darkness. +We were enveloped as it were in a cloud, the more dense perhaps because +its progress was arrested by the spruce hills, back of the village, and +it had receded upon itself. The little French settlement (for the +inhabitants were all descended from the ancient Acadians) was no longer +discernible, and heavy drops of water fell from the rigging on the +deck. The men put on their “sow-wester” hats and yellow oiled cotton +jackets. Their hair looked grey, as if there had been sleet falling. +There was a great change in the temperature—the weather appeared to +have suddenly retrograded to April, not that it was so cold, but that +it was raw and uncomfortable. We shut the companion-door to keep it +from descending there, and paced the deck and discoursed upon this +disagreeable vapour bath, its cause, its effects on the constitution, +and so on. + +“It does not penetrate far into the country,” said the doctor, “and is +by no means unhealthy—as it is of a different character altogether from +the land fog. As an illustration however of its density, and of the +short distance it rises from the water, I will tell you a circumstance +to which I was an eyewitness. I was on the citadel hill at Halifax +once, and saw the points of the masts of a mail-steamer above the fog, +as she was proceeding up the harbour, and I waited there to ascertain +if she could possibly escape George’s Island, which lay directly in her +track, but which it was manifest her pilot could not discern from the +deck. In a few moments she was stationary. All this I could plainly +perceive, although the hull of the vessel was invisible. Some idea may +be formed of the obscurity occasioned by the fog, from the absurd +stories that were waggishly put abroad at the time of the accident. It +was gravely asserted that the first notice the sentinel had of her +approach, was a poke in the side from her jibboom, which knocked him +over into the moat and broke two of his ribs, and it was also +maintained with equal truth that when she came to the wharf it was +found she had brought away a small brass gun on her bowsprit, into +which she had thrust it like the long trunk of an elephant.” + +“Well,” sais I, “let Halifax alone for hoaxes. There are some droll +coves in that place, that’s a fact. Many a laugh have I had there, I +tell _you._ But, Doctor,” sais I, “just listen to the noises on shore +here at Chesencook. It’s a curious thing to hear the shout of the +anxious mother to her vagrant boy to return, before night makes it too +dark to find his way home, ain’t it? and to listen to the noisy gambols +of invisible children, the man in the cloud bawling to his ox, as if +the fog had affected their hearing instead of their sight, the sharp +ring of the axe at the wood pile, and the barking of the dogs as they +defy or salute each other. One I fancy is a grumbling bark, as much as +to say, ‘No sleep for us, old boy, to-night, some of these coasters +will be making love to our sheep as they did last week, if we don’t +keep a bright look out. If you hear a fellow speak English, pitch right +into the heretic, and bite like a snapping turtle. I always do so in +the dark, for they can’t swear to you when they don’t see you. If they +don’t give me my soup soon (how like a French dog that, ain’t it?) I’ll +have a cod-fish for my supper to-night, off of old Jodry’s flakes at +the other end of the harbour, for our masters bark so loud they never +bite, so let them accuse little Paul Longille of theft.’ I wonder if +dogs do talk, Doctor?” said I. + +“There is no doubt of it,” he replied. “I believe both animals and +birds have some means of communicating to each other all that is +necessary for them—I don’t go further.” + +“Well, that’s reasonable,” sais I; “I go that figure, too, but not a +cent higher. Now there is a nigger,” sais I; and I would have given him +a wink if I could, and made a jupe of my head towards Cutler, to show +him I was a goin’ to get the captain’s dander up for fun; but what’s +the use of a wink in a fog? In the first place, it ain’t easy to make +one; your lids are so everlastin’ heavy; and who the plague can see you +if you do? and if he did notice it, he would only think you were tryin’ +to protect your peepers, that’s all. Well, a wink is no better nor a +nod to a blind horse; so I gave him a nudge instead. “Now, there is the +nigger, Doctor,” sais I, “do you think he has a soul?1 It’s a question +I always wanted to ask Brother Eldad, for I never see him a dissectin’ +of a darky. If I had, I should have known; for nature has a place for +everything, and everything in it’s place.” + +1 This very singular and inconsequential rhodomontade of Mr Slick is +one of those startling pieces of levity that a stranger often hears +from a person of his class in his travels on this side of the water. +The odd mixture of strong religious feeling and repulsive looseness of +conversation on serious subjects, which may here and there be found in +his Diary, naturally results from a free association with persons of +all or no creeds. It is the most objectionable trait in his +character—to reject it altogether would be to vary the portrait he has +given us of himself—to admit it, lowers the estimate we might otherwise +be disposed to form of him; but, as he has often observed, what is the +use of a sketch if it be not faithful? + + +“_Mr_ Slick,” said Cutler.—he never called me Mr before, and it showed +he was mad.—“do you doubt it?” + +“No,” sais I, “I don’t; my only doubt is whether they have three?” + +“What in the world do you mean?” said he. + +“Well,” sais I, “two souls we know they have—their great fat splaw feet +show that, and as hard as jackasses’ they are too; out the third is my +difficulty; if they have a spiritual soul, where is it? We ain’t jest +satisfied about its locality in ourselves. Is it in the heart, or the +brain, or where does it hang out? We know geese have souls, and we know +where to find them.” + +“Oh, oh!” said Cutler. + +“Cut off the legs and wings and breast of the goose,” sais I, “and +split him down lengthways, and right agin the back-bone is small cells, +and there is the goose’s soul, it’s black meat, pretty much nigger +colour. Oh, it’s grand! It’s the most delicate part of the bird. It’s +what I always ask for myself, when folks say, ‘Mr Slick, what part +shall I help you to—a slice of the breast, a wing, a side-bone, or the +deacon’s nose, or what?’ Everybody laughs at that last word, especially +if there is a deacon at table, for it sounds unctious, as he calls it, +and he can excuse a joke on it. So he laughs himself, in token of +approbation of the tid-bits being reserved for him. ‘Give me the soul,’ +sais I; and this I will say, a most delicious thing it is, too. Now, +don’t groan, Cutler—keep that for the tooth-ache, or a campmeetin’; +it’s a waste of breath; for as we don’t exactly know where our own +souls reside, what harm is there to pursue such an interesting +investigation as to our black brethren. My private opinion is, if a +nigger has one, it is located in his heel.” + +“Oh, _Mr_ Slick!” said he, “oh!” and he held up both hands. + +“Well,” sais I, “Cutler, just listen to reason now, just hear me; you +have been all round the world, but never in it; now, I have been a +great deal in it, but don’t care for goin’ round it. It don’t pay. Did +you ever see a nigger who had the gout? for they feed on the best, and +drink of the best, when they are household servants down south, and +often have the gout. If you have, did you ever hear one say, ‘Get off +my toes?’ No, never, nor any other created critter. They always say, +‘Get off my heel.’ They are all like Lucy Long, ‘when her foot was in +the market-house, her heel was in Main-street.’ It is the pride and +boast of a darky. His head is as thick as a ram’s, but his heel is very +sensi_tive._ Now, does the soul reside there? Did you ever study a dead +nigger’s heel, as we do a horse’s frog. All the feeling of a horse is +there. Wound that, and he never recovers; he is foundered—his heart is +broke. Now, if a nigger has a soul, and it ain’t in his gizzard, and +can’t in natur be in his skull, why, it stands to reason it must be in +his heel.” + +“Oh, Mr Slick,” said Cutler, “I never thought I should have heard this +from you. It’s downright profanity.” + +“It’s no such thing,” sais I, “it’s merely a philosophical +investigation. Mr Cutler,” sais I, “let us understand each other. I +have been brought up by a minister as well as you, and I believe your +father, the clergyman at Barnstaple, was as good a man as ever lived; +but Barnstaple is a small place. My dear old master, Mr Hopewell, was +an old man who had seen a great deal in his time, and knew a great +deal, for he had ‘gone through the mill.’” + +“What is that?” said he. + +“Why,” sais I, “when he was a boy, he was intended, like Washington, +for a land-surveyor, and studied that branch of business, and was to go +to the woods to lay out lots. Well, a day or two arter he was +diplomatised as a surveyor, he went to bathe in a mill-pond, and the +mill was a goin’ like all statiee, and sucked him into the flume, and +he went through into the race below, and came out t’other side with +both his legs broke. It was a dreadful accident, and gave him serious +reflections, for as he lay in bed, he thought he might just as easily +have broke his neck. Well, in our country about Slickville, any man +arter that who was wise and had experience of life, was said to have +‘gone through the mill.’ Do you take?” + +But he didn’t answer. + +“Well, your father and my good old friend brought us both up +religiously, and I hope taught us what was right. But, _Mr_ Cutler—” + +“Don’t call me _Mr_,” said he. + +“Well, Cutler, then, I have been ‘through the mill,’ in that sense. I +have acquired a knowledge of the world; if I havn’t, the kicks I have +taken must have fallen on barren ground. I know the chalk line in life +won’t do always to travel by. If you go straight a-head, a bottomless +quag or a precipice will bring you up all standing as sure as fate. +Well, they don’t stop me, for I give them the go-by, and make a level +line without a tunnel, or tubular bridge, or any other scientific +folly; I get to the end my own way—and it ain’t a slow one neither. Let +me be, and put this in your pipe. I have set many a man straight before +now, but I never put one on the wrong road since I was raised. I dare +say you have heard I cheated in clocks—I never did. I have sold a +fellow one for five pounds that cost me one; skill did that. Let him +send to London, and get one of Barraud’s, as father did, for +twenty-five pounds sterling. Will it keep better time? I guess not. Is +that a case of sell? Well, my knowledge of horse-flesh ain’t to be +sneezed at. I buy one for fifty dollars and sell him for two hundred; +that’s skill again—it ain’t a cheat. A merchant, thinking a Russian war +inevitable, buys flour at four dollars a barrel, and sells it in a +month at sixteen. Is that a fraud? _There is roguery in all trades but +our own._ Let me alone therefore. There is wisdom sometimes in a fool’s +answer; the learned are simple, the ignorant wise; hear them both; +above all, hear them out; and if they don’t talk with a looseness, draw +them out. If Newman had talked as well as studied, he never would have +quitted his church. He didn’t convince himself he was wrong; he +bothered himself, so he didn’t at last know right from wrong. If other +folks had talked freely, they would have met him on the road, and told +him, ‘You have lost your way, old boy; there is a river a-head of you, +and a very civil ferryman there; he will take you over free gratis for +nothing; but the deuce a bit will he bring you back, there is an +embargo that side of the water.’ Now let me alone; I don’t talk +nonsense for nothing, and when you tack this way and that way, and beat +the ‘Black Hawk’ up agen the wind, I won’t tell you you don’t steer +right on end on a bee line, and go as straight as a loon’s leg. Do you +take?” + +“I understand you,” he said, “but still I don’t see the use of saying +what you don’t mean. Perhaps it’s my ignorance or prejudice, or +whatever you choose to call it; but I dare say you know what you are +about.” + +“Cutler,” sais I, “I warn’t born yesterday. The truth is, so much +nonsense is talked about niggers, I feel riled when I think of it. It +actilly makes me feel spotty on the back.1 When I was to London last, I +was asked to attend a meetin’ for foundin’ a college for our coloured +brethren. Uncle Tom had set some folks half crazy, and others half mad, +and what he couldn’t do Aunt Harriet did. ‘Well,’ sais I to myself, ‘is +this bunkum, or what in natur is it? If I go, I shall be set down as a +spooney abolitionist; if I don’t go, I shall be set down as an overseer +or nigger driver, and not a clockmaker. I can’t please nobody any way, +and, what is wus, I don’t believe I shall please Mr Slick, no how I can +fix it. Howsoever, I will go and see which way the mule kicks.’ + +1 This extraordinary effect of anger and fear on animals was observed +centuries before America was discovered. Statius, a writer who fully +equals Mr Slick both in his affectation and bombast, thus alludes to +it:— + + +“Qualis ubi audito venantum murmure tigris, +Horruit in maculas.” + + +“As when the tigress hears the hunter’s din, +Dark angry spots distain her glossy skin.” + + +“Well, Lord Blotherumskite jumps up, and makes a speech; and what do +you think he set about proving? Why, that darkies had immortal souls—as +if any created critter ever doubted it! and he pitched into us Yankees +and the poor colonists like a thousand of bricks. The fact is, the way +he painted us both out, one would think he doubted whether _we_ had any +souls. The pious galls turned up the whites of their eyes like ducks in +thunder, as if they expected drakes to fall from the skies, and the low +church folks called out, ‘Hear, hear,’ as if he had discovered the +passage at the North Pole, which I do think might be made of some use +if it warn’t blocked up with ice for everlastingly. And he talked of +that great big he-nigger, Uncle Tom Lavender, who was as large as a +bull buffalo. He said he only wished he was in the House of Peers, for +he would have astonished their lordships. Well, so far he was correct, +for if he had been in their hot room, I think Master Lavender would +have astonished their weak nerves so, not many would have waited to be +counted. There would soon have been a _dispersion_, but there never +would have been a _division_.” + +“Well, what did you do?” said Cutler. + +“Kept my word,” sais I, “as I always do. I seconded the motion, but I +gave them a dose of common sense, as a foundation to build upon. I told +them niggers must be prepared for liberty, and when they were +sufficiently instructed to receive and appreciate the blessing, they +must have elementary knowledge, furst in religion, and then in the +useful arts, before a college should be attempted, and so on, and then +took up my hat and walked out. Well, they almost hissed me, and the +sour virgins who bottled up all their humanity to pour out on the +niggers, actilly pointed at me, and called me a Yankee Pussyite. I had +some capital stories to excite ’em with, but I didn’t think they were +worth the powder and shot. It takes a great many strange people, +Cutler,” sais I, “to make a world. I used to like to put the leak into +folks wunst, but I have given it up in disgust now.” + +“Why?” sais he. + +“Because,” sais I, “if you put a leak into a cask that hain’t got much +in it, the grounds and settlin’s won’t pay for the trouble. Our people +talk a great deal of nonsense about emancipation, but they know it’s +all bunkum, and it serves to palmeteer on, and makes a pretty party +catch-word. But in England, it appears to me, they always like what +they don’t understand, as niggers do Latin and Greek quotations in +sermons. But here is Sorrow. I suppose tea is ready, as the old ladies +say. Come, old boy,” sais I to Cutler, “shake hands; we have the same +object in view, but sometimes we travel by different trains, that’s +all. Come, let us go below. Ah, Sorrow,” sais I, “something smells good +here; is it a moose steak? Take off that dish-cover.” + +“Ah, Massa,” said he, as he removed it, “dat are is lubbly, dat are a +fac.” + +When I looked at it, I said very gravely— + +“Take it away, Sorrow, I can’t eat it; you have put the salt and pepper +on it before you broiled it, and drawn out all the juice. It’s as dry +as leather. Take it away.” + +“Does you tink it would be a little more better if it was a little more +doner, Sar? People of ‘finement, like you and me, sometime differ in +tastes. But, Massa, as to de salt, now how you talks! does you railly +tink dis here niggar hab no more sense den one ob dees stupid white +fishermen has? No, Massa; dis child knows his work, and is de boy to do +it, too. When de steak is een amost done, he score him lengthway—dis +way,” passing a finger of his right hand over the palm of the left, +“and fill up de crack wid salt an pepper, den gub him one turn more, +and dat resolve it all beautiful. Oh no, Massa, moose meat is naterally +werry dry, like Yankee preacher when he got no baccy. So I makes graby +for him. Oh, here is some lubbly graby! Try dis, Massa. My old missus +in Varginy was werry ticular about her graby. She usen to say, ‘Sorrow, +it tante fine clothes makes de gentleman, but a delicate taste for +soups, and grabys, and currys. Barbacues, roast pigs, salt meat, and +such coarse tings, is only fit for Congress men.’ I kirsait my graby, +Massa, is done to de turn ob a hair, for dis child is a rambitious +niggar. Fust, Massa, I puts in a lump ob butter bout size ob peace ob +chalk, and a glass ob water, and den prinkle in flour to make it look +like milk, den put him on fire, and when he hiss, stir him wid spoon to +make him hush; den I adds inion, dat is fust biled to take off de trong +taste, eetle made mustard, and a pinch ob most elegant super-superor +yellow snuff.” + +“Snuff, you rascal!” said I, “how dare you? Take it away—throw it +overboard! Oh, Lord! to think of eating snuff! Was there ever anything +half so horrid since the world began? Sorrow, I thought you had better +broughtens up.” + +“Well, now, Massa,” said he, “does you tink dis niggar hab no soul?” +and he went to the locker, and brought out a small square pint bottle, +and said, “Smell dat, Massa; dat are oliriferous, dat are a fac.” + +“Why, that’s curry-powder,” I said; “why don’t you call things by their +right name?” + +“Massa,” said he, with a knowing wink, “_dere it more snuff den is made +of baccy, dat are an undoubtable fac_. De scent ob dat is so good, I +can smell it ashore amost. Den, Massa, when graby is all ready, and +distrained beautiful, dis child warms him up by de fire and stirs him; +but,” and he put his finger on his nose, and looked me full in the +face, and paused, “but, Massa, it must be stir all de one way, or it +iles up, and de debbil hisself won’t put him right no more.” + +“Sorrow,” sais I, “you don’t know nothin’ about your business. Suppose +it did get iled up, any fool could set it right in a minute.” + +“Yes, yes, Massa,” he said, “I know. I ab done it myself often—drink it +all up, and make it ober again, until all right wunst more; sometimes I +drink him up de matter ob two or tree times before he get quite right.” + +“No,” sais I, “take it off the fire, add two spoonsful of cold water, +heat it again, and stir it the right way, and it is as straight as a +boot-jack.” + +“Well, Massa,” said he, and showed an unusual quantity of white in his +eyes, “well, Massa, you is actilly right. My ole missus taught me dat +secret herself, and I did actilly tink no libbin’ soul but me and she +in de whole univarsal United States did know dat are, for I take my oat +on my last will and testament, I nebber tole nobody. But, Massa,” said +he, “I ab twenty different ways—ay, fifty different ways, to make +graby; but, at sea, one must do de best he can with nottin’ to do with, +and when nottin’ is simmered a week in nottin’ by de fire, it ain’t +nottin’ of a job to sarve him up. Massa, if you will scuze me, I will +tell you what dis here niggar tinks on de subject ob his perfession. +Some grand folks, like missus, and de Queen ob England and de Emperor +ob Roosia, may be fust chop cooks, and I won’t deny de fac; and no +tanks to ’em, for dere saucepans is all silber and gold; but I have +‘skivered dey don’t know nuffin’ about de right way to eat tings after +dey has gone done ’em. Me and Miss Phillesy Anne, de two confdential +sarvants, allers had de dinner sent into our room when missus done gone +feedin’. Missus was werry kind to us, and we nebber stinted her in +nuffin’. I allers gib her one bottle wine and ‘no-he-no’ (noyeau) more +den was possible for her and her company to want, and in course good +conduct is allers rewarded, cause we had what was left. Well, me and +Miss Phillis used to dress up hansum for dinner to set good sample to +niggars, and two ob de coloured waiters tended on us. + +“So one day, said Miss Phillis to me: ‘What shall I ab de honor to help +yaw to, Mr Sorrow?’ + +“‘Aunt Phillis,’ sais I, ‘skuse me one minit, I ab made a grand +‘skivery.’ + +“‘What is dat, uncle,’ sais she, ‘you is so clebber! I clare you is +wort your weight in gold. What in natur would our dear missus do widout +you and me? for it was me ‘skivered how to cure de pip in chickens, and +make de eggs all hatch out, roosters or hens; and how to souse young +turkeys like young children in cold water to prevent staggers, but what +is your wention, Mr Sorrow?’ + +“‘Why,’ sais I, ‘aunty, skuse me one half second. What does you see out +ob dat winder, Sambo? you imperent rascal.’ + +“‘Nuffin’, Sar.’ + +“‘Well, you black niggar, if you stare bout dat way, you will see +yourself flogged next time. If you ab no manners, I must teach you for +de credit ob de plantation; hold a plate to Miss Phillis right away. +Why, aunty,’ sais I, ‘dis is de ‘skivery; _a house must have solid +foundation, but a dinner a soft one_—on count ob disgestion; so I +begins wid custard and jelly (dey tastes werry well together, and are +light on de stomac), den I takes a glass ob whisky to keep ’em from +turnin’ sour; dat is de first step. Sambo, pour me out some. Second one +is presarves, ices, fruits—strawberry and cream, or mustache churnings +(pistachio cream) and if dey is skilful stowed, den de cargo don’t +shift under de hatches—arter dat comes punkin pie, pineapple tarts, and +raspberry Charlotte.’ + +“‘Mr Sorrow,’ sais aunty, ‘I is actilly ashamed ob you to name a dish +arter a yaller gall dat way, and call it Charlotte; it’s ondecent, +specially afore dese niggars.’ + +“‘Law sakes,’ sais I, ‘Miss Phillis, does you tink I ab no sense; I +hate a yaller gall as I do pyson.’ + +“‘So does I,’ said she, ‘dey is neither chalk nor cheese; dey is a +disgrace to de plantation dey is on; but raspberry Charlotte is a name +I nebber heard tell ob for a dish.” + +“‘Why, how you talks,’ sais I. ‘Well, den is de time for fish, such as +stewed rocks.’ + +“‘Now you is a funnin’,’ sais aunty, ‘isn’t you? how on airth do you +stew rocks? yah! yah! yah!’ + +“‘Easy as kiss my hand to you,’ sais I, ‘and if dere be no fish (and +dat white Yankee oberseer is so cussed lazy bout catchin’ of dem, I +must struct missus to discharge him). Den dere is two nice little +genteel dishes, ‘birds in de grobe,’ and ‘plover on de shore,’ and den +top off wid soup; and I ain’t particular about dat, so long as I ab de +best; and dat, Miss Phillis, makes a grand soft bed, you see, for +stantials like beef or mutton, or ham, or venson, to lay down easy on.’ + +“‘Well, you is a wonderful man, Mr Sorrow,’ sais Miss Phillis, ‘I do +really tink dat stands to reason and experience. When I married my fiff +husband—no, it warn’t my fiff, it was my sixth—I had lubly baby tree +month old, and my old man killed it maken speriments. He would give it +soup and minced veal to make it trong. Sais I, ‘Mr Caesar, dat ain’t +natur; fust you know it must ab milk, den pap, and so on in order.’ +Sais he, ‘I allus feeds master’s young bull-dogs on raw meat.’ Well, +Caesar died dat same identical night child did (and she gub me a wink); +‘sunthen disagreed wid him also that _he_ eat.’ (‘Oh Massa,’ he +continued, ‘_bears dat ab cubs and women dat ab childern is +dangerous_.) ‘Mr Sorrow,’ said she, ‘dat is a great ‘skivery of yourn; +you’d best tell missus.’ + +“‘I is most afeard she is too much a slave to fashion,’ sais I. + +“‘Uncle,’ said she, ‘you mustn’t say dat ob dear Miss Lunn, or I must +decline de onor to dine wid you. It ain’t spectful. Mr Sorrow, my +missus ain’t de slave ob fashion—she sets it, by golly!’ and she stood +up quite dignant. + +“‘Sambo, clar out ob dis dinin’ room quick stick,’ sais I to de waiter; +‘you is so fond ob lookin’ out on de field, you shall go work dere, you +lazy hound; walk out ob de room dis minit; when I has finished my +dinner, I will make you jine de labor gang. Miss Phillis, do resume +your seat agin, you is right as you allus is; shall I ab de honour to +take glass ob wine wid you?’ + +“Now, Massa, try dat ‘skivery; you will be able to eat tree times as +much as you do now. Arter dat invention, I used to enjoy my sleep +grand. I went into de hottest place in de sun, laid up my face to him, +and sleep like a cedar stump, but den I allus put my veil on.” + +“To keep the flies off?” said I. + +“Lordy gracious! no, master, dey nebber trouble me; dey is afraid in de +dark, and when dey see me, dey tink it is night, and cut off.” + +“What is the use of it, then?” + +“To save my complexion, Massa; I is afraid it will fade white. Yah, +yah, yah!” + +While we were engaged in eating our steak, he put some glasses on the +table and handed me a black bottle, about two-thirds full, and said, +“Massa, dis here fog ab got down my troat, and up into my head, and +most kill me, I can’t tell wedder dat is wine or rum, I is almost clean +gwine distracted. Will Massa please to tell me?” + +I knew what he was at, so sais I, “If you can’t smell it, taste it.” +Well, he poured a glass so full, nobody but a nigger could have reached +his mouth with it without spilling. When he had swallowed it he looked +still more puzzled. + +“Peers to me,” he said, “dat is wine, he is so mild, and den it peers +to me it’s rum, for when it gets down to de stomach he feel so good. +But dis child ab lost his taste, his smell, and his finement, +altogedder.” + +He then poured out another bumper, and as soon as he had tossed it off, +said, “Dat is de clear grit; dat is oleriferous—wake de dead amost, it +is de genuine piticular old Jamaicky, and no mistake. I must put dat +bottle back and give you todder one, dat must be wine for sartain, for +it is chock full, but rum vaporates bery fast when de cork is drawn. +Missus used to say, ‘Sorrow, meat, when kept, comes bery _high_, but +rum gets bery _low_.’” + +“Happy fellow and lucky fellow too, for what white man in your +situation would be treated so kindly and familiarly as you are? The +fact is, Doctor, the negroes of America, as a class, whether slaves or +free men, experience more real consideration, and are more comfortable, +than the peasants of almost any country in Europe. Their notions of the +origin of white men are very droll, when the things are removed I will +make him give you his idea on the subject. + +“Sorrow,” said I, “what colour was Adam and Eve?” + +“Oh, Massa,” said he, “don’t go for to ask dis child what you knows +yourself better nor what he does. I will tell you some oder time, I is +bery poorly just now, dis uncountable fog ab got into my bones. Dis is +shocking bad country for niggars; oh, dere is nuffin’ like de lubbly +sout; it’s a nateral home for blackies. + +‘In Souf Carolina de niggars grow +If de white man will only plant his toe, +Den dey water de ground wid baccy smoke, +And out ob de soil dere heads will poke. + Ring de hoop, blow de horn, + I nebber see de like since I was born, + Way down in de counte-ree, + Four or five mile from de ole Peedee.’ + + +“Oh, Massa, dis coast is only fit for seals, porpoises, and dog-fish, +but not for gentleman, nor niggars, nor ladies. Oh, I berry bad,” and +he pressed both hands on his stomach as if he was in great pain. + +“Perhaps another glass of old Jamaica would set you right,” I said. + +“Massa, what a most a grand doctor you would ab made,” he said. “Yah, +yah, yah—you know de wery identical medicine for de wery identical +disease, don’t you? dat is just what natur was callin’ for eber so +bad.” + +“Natur,” sais I, “what’s that, spell it.” + +“R-u-m,” said he, “dat is human natur, and whiskey is soft sawder, it +tickle de troat so nice and go down so slick. Dem is de names my old +missus used to gib ’em. Oh, how she would a lubb’d you, if you had +spunked up to her and tied up to our plantation; she didn’t fection +Yankees much, for dem and dead niggars is too cold to sleep with, and +cunnuchs (Canadians) she hated like pison, cause they ‘ticed off +niggars; but she’d a took to you naterally, you is such a good cook. I +always tink, Massa, when folks take to eatin’ same breakfast, same +lunch, same dinner, same tea, same supper, drinkin’ same soup, lubbin’ +same graby, and fectioning same preserves and pickles, and cakes and +pies, and wine, and cordials, and ice-creams, den dey plaguy soon begin +to rambition one anodder, and when dey do dat, dey is sure to say, +‘Sorrow, does you know how to make weddin’ cake, and frost him, and set +him off partikelar jam, wid wices of all kinds, little koopids, and +cocks and hens, and bales of cotton, figs of baccy, and ears of corn, +and all sorts of pretty things done in clarfied sugar. It do seem +nateral to me, for when our young niggars go sparkin’ and spendin’ +evenings, dey most commonly marries. It stand to reason. But, Massa, I +is bery bad indeed wid dis dreadful pain in my infernal parts—I is +indeed. Oh,” said he, smackin’ his lips, and drainin’ his glass, “dat +is def to a white man, but life to a niggar; dat is sublime. What a +pity it is though dey make de glasses so almighty tunderin’ small; de +man dat inwented dem couldn’t a had no remaginable nose at all, dat are +a fac.” + +“But the colour of Adam?” said I. + +“Oh, Massa,” he said, “you knows bery well he was a black gentleman, +and Missus Eve a most splendid Swanga black lady. Oh yes, Massa, dey +were made black to enjoy de grand warm sun. Well, Cain was a wicked +man, cause he killed his brudder. So de Lord say to him one day, ‘Cain, +where is your brudder?’ ‘I don’t know, Massa,’ said he, ‘I didn’t see +him nowhere.’ Well, de next time he asked him de sef-same question, and +he answered quite sarcy, ‘How in de world does I know,’ sais he, ‘I +ain’t my brudder’s keeper.’ Well, afore he know’d where he was, de Lord +said to him, in a voice of tunder, ‘You murdered him, you villain!’ And +Cain, he was so scared, he turned white dat very instant. He nebber +could stand heat, nor enjoy summer no more again, nor none ob his +childer arter him, but Abel’s children remain black to dis day. Fac, +Massa, fac, I does assure you. When you like supper, Massa?” + +“At ten o’clock,” sais I. + +“Well, den, I will go and get sunthen nice for you. Oh! my ole missus +was a lubbly cook; I don’t believe in my heart de Queen ob England +could hold a candle to her! she knowed twenty-two and a half ways to +cook Indian corn, and ten or twelve ob ’em she inwented herself dat was +de stonishment ob ebbery one.” + +“Half a way,” I said, “what do you mean by that?” + +“Why, Massa, de common slommachy way people ab ob boiling it on de cob; +dat she said was only half a way. Oh, Lordy gracious, one way she +wented, de corn was as white as snow, as light as puff, and so delicate +it disgested itself in de mout.” + +“You can go,” said Cutler. + +“Tankee, Massa,” said Sorrow, with a mingled air of submission and fun, +as much as to say, “I guess I don’t want leave for that, anyhow, but I +thank you all the same as if I did,” and making a scrape of his +hind-leg, he retired. + +“Slick,” said Cutler, “it isn’t right to allow that nigger to swallow +so much rum! How can one wonder at their degradation, when a man like +you permits them to drink in that manner?” + +“Exactly,” sais I, “you think and talk like all abolitionists, as my +old friend Colonel Crockett used to say, the Yankees always do. He +said, ‘When they sent them to pick their cherries, they made them +whistle all the time, so that they couldn’t eat any.’ I understand +blacks better than you do. Lock up your liquor and they will steal it, +for their moral perceptions are weak. Trust them, and teach them to +use, and not abuse it. Do that, and they will be grateful, and prove +themselves trustworthy. That fellow’s drinking is more for the fun of +the thing than the love of liquor. Negroes are not drunkards. They are +droll boys; but, Cutler, long before thrashing machines were invented, +there was a command, ‘not to muzzle the ox that treadeth out the corn.’ +Put that in your pipe, my boy, the next time you prepare your +Kinnikennic for smoking, will you?” + +“‘Kinnikennic,’” said the doctor, “what under the sun is that?” + +“A composition,” sais I, “of dry leaves of certain aromatic plants and +barks of various kinds of trees, an excellent substitute for tobacco, +but when mixed with it, something super-superior. If we can get into +the woods, I will show you how to prepare it; but, Doctor,” sais I, “I +build no theories on the subject of the Africans; I leave their +construction to other and wiser men than myself. Here is a sample of +the raw material, can it be manufactured into civilization of a high +order? Q stands for query, don’t it? Well, all I shall do is to put a Q +to it, and let politicians answer it; but I can’t help thinking there +is some truth in the old saw, ‘_Where ignorance is bliss, ’tis folly to +be wise_.’” + + + + +CHAPTER XIV. +FEMALE COLLEGES. + + +After Sorrow had retired, we lighted our cigars, and turned to for a +chat, if chat it can be called one, where I did most of the talking +myself. + +“Doctor,” said I, “I wish I had had more time to have examined your +collection of minerals. I had no idea Nova Scotia could boast of such +an infinite variety of them. You could have taught me more in +conversation in five minutes than I could have learned by books in a +month. You are a mineralogist, and I am sorry to say I ain’t, though +every boarding-school miss now-a-days in our country consaits she is. +They are up to _trap_ at any rate, if nothing else, you may depend,” +and I gave him a wink. + +“Now don’t, Slick,” said he, “now don’t set me off, that’s a good +fellow.” + +“‘Mr Slick,’ said a young lady of about twelve years of age to me +wunst, ‘do you know what gray wackey is? for I do.’ + +“‘Don’t I,’ sais I; ‘I know it to my cost. Lord! how my old master used +to lay it on!’ + +“‘Lay it on!’ she said, ‘I thought it reposed on a primitive bed.’ + +“‘No it don’t,’ said I. ‘And if anybody knows what gray wackey is, I +ought; but I don’t find it so easy to repose after it as you may. +_Gray_ means the gray birch rod, dear, and _wackey_ means layin’ it on. +We always called it gray whackey in school, when a feller was catching +particular Moses.’ + +“‘Why, how ignorant you are!’ said she. ‘Do you know what them mining +tarms, _clinch, parting,_ and _black bat_ means?’ + +“‘Why, in course I do!’ sais I; ‘clinch is _marrying,_ parting is +getting _divorced,_ and black bat is where a fellow _beats_ his wife +black and blue.” + +“‘Pooh!’ said she, ‘you don’t know nothing.’ + +“‘Well,’ sais I, ‘what do you know?’ + +“‘Why,’ said she, ‘I know Spanish and mathematics, ichthiology and +conchology, astronomy and dancing, mineralogy and animal magnetism, and +German and chemistry, and French and botany. Yes, and the use of the +globes too. Can you tell me what attraction and repulsion is?’ + +“‘To be sure I can,’ said I, and I drew her on my knee and kissed her. +‘That’s attraction, dear.’ And when she kicked and screamed as cross as +two cats, ‘that, my pretty one,’ I said, ‘is repulsion. Now I know a +great many things you don’t. Can you hem a pocket-handkerchief?’ + +“‘No.’ + +“‘Nor make a pudding?’ + +“‘No.’ + +“‘Nor make Kentucky batter?’ + +“‘No.’ + +“‘Well, do you know any useful thing in life?’ + +“‘Yes, I do; I can sing, and play on the piano, and write valentines,’ +sais she, ‘so get out.’ And she walked away, quite dignified, muttering +to herself, ‘Make a pudding, eh! well, I _want to know!’_ + +“Thinks I to myself, my pretty little may-flower, in this everlastin’ +progressive nation of ourn, where the wheel of fortune never stops +turning day or night, and them that’s at the top one minute are down in +the dirt the next, you may say, “‘I _want_ to know’ before you die, and +be very glad to change your tune, and say, ‘Thank heaven I _do_ know!’” + +“Is that a joke of yours,” said the doctor, “about the young girl’s +geology, or is it really a fact?” + +“Fact, I assure you,” said I. “And to prove it I’ll tell you a story +about a Female College that will show you what pains we take to spoil +our young ladies to home. Miss Liddy Adams, who was proprietor and +‘dentess (presidentess) of a Female College to Onionville, was a +relation of mother’s, and I knew her when she was quite a young shoat +of a thing to Slickville. I shall never forget a flight into Egypt I +caused once in her establishment. When I returned from the embassy, I +stopped a day in Onionville, near her university—for that was the name +she gave hern; and thinks I, I will just call and look in on Lid for +old acquaintance’ sake, and see how she is figuring it out in life. +Well, I raps away with the knocker as loud as possible, as much as to +say, Make haste, for there is somebody here, when a tall spare gall +with a vinegar face opened the door just wide enough to show her +profile, and hide her back gear, and stood to hear what I had to say. I +never see so spare a gall since I was raised. Pharaoh’s lean kine +warn’t the smallest part of a circumstance to her. She was so thin, she +actilly seemed as if she would have to lean agin the wall to support +herself when she scolded, and I had to look twice at her before I could +see her at all, for I warn’t sure _she warn’t her own shadow_.” + +“Good gracious!” said the doctor, “what a description! but go on.” + +“‘Is the mistress to home?’ said I. + +“‘I have no mistress,’ said she. + +“‘I didn’t say you had,’ sais I, ‘for I knew you hadn’t afore you +spoke.’ + +“‘How did you know that?’ said she. + +“‘Because,’ sais I, ‘seein’ so handsome a lady as you, I thought you +was one of the professors; and then I thought you must be the mistress +herself, and was a thinking how likely she had grow’d since I seed her +last. Are you one of the class-teachers?’ + +“It bothered her; she didn’t know whether it was impudence or +admiration; _but when a woman arbitrates on a case she is interested +in, she always gives an award in her own favour._ + +“‘Walk in, Sir,’ said she, ‘and I will see,’ and she backed and backed +before me, not out of deference to me, but to the onfastened hooks of +her gown, and threw a door open. On the opposite side was a large room +filled with galls, peeping and looking over each other’s shoulders at +me, for it was intermission. + +“‘Are these your pupils?’ sais I; and before she could speak, I went +right past into the midst of ’em. Oh, what a scuddin’ and screamin’ +there was among them! A rocket explodin’ there couldn’t a done more +mischief. They tumbled over chairs, upsot tables, and went head and +heels over each other like anything, shouting out, ‘A man! a man!’ + +“‘Where—where?’ sais I, a chasin’ of them, ‘show him to me, and I’ll +soon clear him out. What is he a doing of?’ + +“It was the greatest fun you ever see. Out they flew through the door +at the other eend of the room, some up and some down-stairs, singing +out, ‘A man! a man!’ till I thought they would have hallooed their +daylights out. Away I flew after them, calling out, ‘Where is he? show +him to me, and I’ll soon pitch into him!’ when who should I see but +Miss Liddy in the entry, as stiff and as starch as a stand-up shirt +collar of a frosty day. She looked like a large pale icicle, standing +up on its broad end, and cold enough to give you the ague to look at +her. + +“‘Mr Slick,’ said she, ‘may I ask what is the meaning of all this +unseemly behaviour in the presence of young ladies of the first +families in the State?’ + +“Says I, ‘_Miss_ Adam,’ for as she used the word _Mr_ as a handle to +me, I thought I’de take a pull at the _Miss_,’ some robber or +housebreaker has got in, I rather think, and scared the young +femi_nine_ gender students, for they seemed to be running after +somebody, and I thought I would assist them.’ + +“‘May I ask, Sir,’ a drawin’ of herself up to her full height, as +straight and as prim as a Lombardy poplar, or rather, a bull-rush, for +that’s all one size. ‘May I ask, Sir, what is the object of your visit +here—at a place where no gentlemen are received but the parents or +guardians of some of the children.’ + +“I was as mad as a hatter; I felt a little bit vain of the embassy to +London, and my Paris dress, particularly my boots and gloves, and all +that, and I will admit, there is no use talkin’, I rather kinder sorter +thought she would be proud of the connection. I am a good-natured man +in a general way when I am pleased, but it ain’t safe to ryle me, I +tell you. When I am spotty on the back, I am dangerous. I bit in my +breath, and tried to look cool, for I was determined to take revenge +out of her. + +“‘Allow me to say, Sir,’ said she, a perkin’ up her mouth like the end +of a silk purse, ‘that I think your intrusion is as unwelcome as it is +unpardonable. May I ask the favour of you to withdraw? if not, I must +introduce you to the watchman.’ + +“‘I came,’ sais I, ‘Miss Adam, having heard of your distinguished +college in the saloons of Paris and London, to make a proposal to you; +but, like a bull—’ + +“‘Oh dear!’ said she, ‘to think I should have lived to hear such a +horrid word, in this abode of learning!’ + +“‘But,’ I went on without stopping, ‘like a bull in a chiny-shop, I see +I have got into the wrong pew; so nothin’ remains for me but to beg +pardon, keep my proposal for where it will be civilly received, at +least, and back out.’ + +“She was as puzzled as the maid. But women ain’t throwed off their +guard easily. If they are in a dark place, they can feel their way out, +if they can’t see it. So says she, dubious like: + +“‘About a child, I suppose?’ + +“‘It is customary in Europe,’ sais I, ‘I believe, to talk about the +marriage first, isn’t it? but I have been so much abroad, I am not +certified as to usages here.’ + +“Oh, warn’t she brought to a hack! She had a great mind to order me +out, but then that word ‘proposal’ was one she had only seen in a +dictionary—she had never heard it; and it is such a pretty one, and +sounded so nice to the ear; and then that word ‘marriage’ was used +also, so it carried the day. + +“‘This is not a place, Mr Slick, for foundlings, I’de have you to +know,’ she said, with an air of disgust, ‘but children whose parents +are of the first class of society. If,’ and she paused and looked at me +scrutinisin’, ‘if your proposals are of _that_ nature, walk in here, +Sir, if you please, where our conversation will not be over-heard. Pray +be seated. May I ask, what is the nature of the proposition with which +you design to honour me?’ and she gave me a smile that would pass for +one of graciousness and sweet temper, or of encouragement. It hadn’t a +decided character, and was a non-committal one. She was doin’ quite the +lady, but I consaited her ear was itching to hear what I had to say, +for she put a finger up, with a beautiful diamond ring on it, and +brushed a fly off with it; but, after all, perhaps it was only to show +her lily-white hand, which merely wanted a run at grass on the +after-feed to fatten it up, and make it look quite beautiful. + +“‘Certainly,’ sais I, ‘you may ask any question of the kind you like.’ + +“It took her aback, for she requested leave to ask, and I granted it; +but she meant it different. + +“Thinks I, ‘My pretty grammarian, there is a little grain of difference +between, ‘May I ask,’ and, ‘I must ask.’ Try it again.’ + +“She didn’t speak for a minute; so to relieve her, sais I: + +“‘When I look round here, and see how charmingly you are located, and +what your occupation is, I hardly think you would feel disposed to +leave it; so perhaps I may as well forbear the proposal, as it isn’t +pleasant to be refused.’ + +“‘It depends,’ she said, ‘upon what the nature of those proposals are, +Mr Slick, and who makes them,’ and this time she did give a look of +great complacency and kindness. ‘Do put down your hat, Sir. I have read +your Clockmaker,’ she continued; ‘I really feel quite proud of the +relationship; but I hope you will excuse me for asking, Why did you put +your own name to it, and call it ‘Sam Slick the Clockmaker,’ now that +you are a distinguished diplomatist, and a member of our embassy at the +court of Victoria the First? It’s not an elegant appellation that, of +Clockmaker,’ sais she, ‘is it?’ (She had found her tongue now.) ‘Sam +Slick the Clockmaker, a factorist of wooden clocks especially, sounds +trady, and will impede the rise of a colossal reputation, which has +already one foot in the St Lawrence, and the other in the Mississippi.’ + +“‘And sneezes in the Chesapeake,’ sais I. + +“‘Oh,’ said she, in the blandest manner, ‘how like you, Mr Slick! you +don’t spare a joke even on yourself. You see fun in everything.’ + +“‘Better,’ sais I, ‘than seeing harm in everything, as them galls—’ + +“‘Young ladies,’ said she. + +“‘Well, young ladies, who saw harm in me because I was a man. What harm +is there in their seeing a man? You ain’t frightened at one, are you, +Liddy?’ + +“She evaded that with a smile, as much as to say, ‘Well, I ain’t much +skeered, that’s a fact.’ + +“‘Mr Slick, it is a subject not worth while pursuing,’ she replied. +‘You know the sensi_tive_ness, nervous delicacy, and scrupulous +innocence of the fair sex in this country, and I may speak plainly to +you as a man of the world. You must perceive how destructive of all +modesty in their juvenile minds, when impressions are so easily made, +it would be to familiarise their youthful eyes to the larger limbs of +gentlemen enveloped in pantaloons. To speak plainly, I am sure I +needn’t tell you it ain’t decent.’ + +“‘Well,’ sais I, ‘it wouldn’t be decent if they wern’t enveloped in +them.’ + +“She looked down to blush, but it didn’t come natural, so she looked up +and smiled (as much as to say, do get out you impudent critter. I know +its bunkum as well as you do, but don’t bother me. I have a part to +play.) Then she rose and looked at her watch, and said the lecture hour +for botany has come. + +“‘Well,’ sais I, a taking up my hat, ‘that’s a charming study, the +loves of the plants, for young ladies, ain’t it? they begin with natur, +you see, and—(well, she couldn’t help laughing). ‘But I see you are +engaged.’ + +“‘Me,’ said she, ‘I assure you, Sir, I know people used to say so, +afore General Peleg Smith went to Texas.’ + +“‘What that scallawag,’ said I. ‘Why, that fellow ought to be kicked +out of all refined society. How could you associate with a man who had +no more decency than to expect folks to call him by name!’ + +“‘How?’ said she. + +“‘Why,’ sais I, ‘what delicate-minded woman could ever bring herself to +say Pe-_leg._ If he had called himself Hujacious Smith, or Larger-limb +Smith, or something of that kind, it would have done, but Pe_leg_ is +downright ondecent. I had to leave Boston wunst a whole winter, for +making a mistake of that kind. I met Miss Sperm one day from Nantucket, +and says I, ‘Did you see me yesterday, with those two elegant galls +from Albany?’ + +“‘No,’ said she, ‘I didn’t.’ + +“‘Strange, too,’ said I, ‘for I was most sure I caught a glimpse of +you, on the other side of the street, and I wanted to introduce you to +them, but warn’t quite sartain it was you. My,’ sais I, ‘didn’t you see +a very _unfashionable_ dressed man’ (and I looked down at my Paris +boots, as if I was doing modest), ‘with two angeliferous females? Why, +I had a _leg_ on each arm.’ + +“She fairly screamed out at that expression, rushed into a milliner’s +shop, and cried like a gardner’s watering-pot. The names she called me +ain’t no matter. They were the two Miss Legges of Albany, and cut a +tall swarth, I tell you, for they say they are descended from a govenor +of Nova Scotia, when good men, according to their tell, could be found +for govenors, and that their relations in England are some pumpkins, +too. I was as innocent as a child, Letty.’ + +“‘Well,’ said she, ‘you are the most difficult man to understand I ever +see—there is no telling whether you are in fun or in earnest. But as I +was a saying, there was some such talk afore General Smith went to +Texas; but that story was raised by the Pawtaxet College folks, to +injure this institution. They did all they could to tear my reputation +to chitlins. Me engaged, I should like to see the man that—’ + +“‘Well, you seemed plaguey scared at one just now,’ sais I. ‘I am sure +it was a strange way to show you would like to see a man.’ + +“‘I didn’t say that,’ she replied, ‘but you take one up so quick.’ + +“‘It’s a way I have,’ said I, ‘and always had, since you and I was to +singing-school together, and larnt sharps, flats, and naturals. It was +a crotchet of mine,’ and I just whipped my arm round her waist, took +her up and kissed her afore she knowed where she was. Oh Lordy! Out +came her comb, and down fell her hair to her waist, like a mill-dam +broke loose; and two false curls and a braid fell on the floor, and her +frill took to dancin’ round, and got wrong side afore, and one of her +shoes slipt off, and she really looked as if she had been in an +indgian-scrimmage and was ready for scalpin’. + +“‘Then you ain’t engaged, Liddy,’ sais I; ‘how glad I am to hear that, +it makes my heart jump, and cherries is ripe now, and I will help you +up into the tree, as I used to did when you and I was boy and gall +together. It does seem so nateral, Liddy, to have a game of romps with +you again; it makes me feel as young as a two-year-old. How beautiful +you do look, too! My, what a pity you is shut up here, with these young +galls all day, talking by the yard about the corrallas, calyxes, and +staminas of flowers, while you + +“‘Are doom’d to blush unseen, +And waste your sweetness on the desert air.’ + + +“‘Oh,’ said she, ‘Sam, I must cut and run, and ‘blush unseen,’ that’s a +fact, or I’m ruinated,’ and she up curls, comb, braid, and shoe, and +off like a shot into a bed-room that adjoined the parlour, and bolted +the door, and double-locked it, as if she was afraid an attachment was +to be levied on her and her chattels, by the sheriff, and I was a +bum-bailiff. + +“Thinks I, old gall, I’ll pay you off for treating me the way you did +just now, as sure as the world. ‘May I ask, Mr Slick, what is the +object of this visit?’ A pretty way to receive a cousin that you +haven’t seen so long, ain’t it? and though I say it that shouldn’t say +it, that cousin, too, Sam Slick, the attaché to our embassy to the +Court of Victoria, Buckingham Palace. You couldn’t a treated me wuss if +I had been one of the liveried, powdered, bedizened, be-bloated footmen +from ‘t’other big house there of Aunt Harriette’s.’ I’ll make you come +down from your stilts, and walk naterel, I know, see if I don’t. + +“Presently she returned, all set to rights, and a little righter, too, +for she had put a touch of rouge on to make the blush stick better, and +her hair was slicked up snugger than before, and looked as if it had +growed like anything. She had also slipped a handsome habit-shirt on, +and she looked, take her altogether, as if, though she warn’t engaged, +she ought to have been afore the last five hot summers came, and the +general thaw had commenced in the spring, and she had got thin, and out +of condition. She put her hand on her heart, and said, ‘I am so skared, +Sam, I feel all over of a twitteration. The way you act is horrid.’ + +“‘So do I,’ sais I, ‘Liddy, it’s so long since you and I used to—’ + +“‘You ain’t altered a bit, Sam,’ said she, for the starch was coming +out, ‘from what you was, only you are more forrider. Our young men, +when they go abroad, come back and talk so free and easy, and take such +liberties, and say it’s the fashion in Paris, it’s quite scandalous. +Now, if you dare to do the like again, I’ll never speak to you the +longest day I ever live, I’ll go right off and leave, see if I don’t.’ + +“‘Oh, I see, I have offended you,’ sais I, ‘you are not in a humour to +consent now, so I will call again some other time.’ + +“‘This lecture on botany must now be postponed,’ she said, ‘for the +hour is out some time ago. If you will be seated, I will set the young +students at embroidery instead, and return for a short time, for it +does seem so nateral to see you, Sam, you saucy boy,’ and she pinched +my ear, ‘it reminds one, don’t it, of bygones?’ and she hung her head a +one side, and looked sentimental. + +“‘Of by-gone larks,’ said I. + +“‘Hush, Sam,’ she said, ‘don’t talk so loud, that’s a dear soul. Oh, if +anybody had come in just then, and caught us.’ + +(“_Us_,” thinks I to myself, “I thought you had no objection to it, and +only struggled enough for modesty-like; and I did think you would have +said, caught _you_.”) + +“‘I would have been ruinated for ever and ever, and amen, and the +college broke up, and my position in the literary, scientific, and +intellectual world scorched, withered, and blasted for ever. Ain’t my +cheek all burning, Sam? it feels as if it was all a-fire;’ and she put +it near enough for me to see, and feel tempted beyond my strength. +‘Don’t it look horrid inflamed, dear?’ And she danced out of the room, +as if she was skipping a rope. + +“Well, well,” sais I, when she took herself off. “What a world this is! +This is evangelical learning; girls are taught in one room to faint or +scream if they see a man, as if he was an incarnation of sin; and yet +they are all educated and trained to think the sole object of life is +to win, not convert, but win one of these sinners. In the next room +propriety, dignity, and decorum, romp with a man in a way to make even +his sallow face blush. Teach a child there is harm in everything, +however innocent, and so soon as it discovers the cheat, it won’t see +no sin in anything. That’s the reason deacons’ sons seldom turn out +well, and preachers’ daughters are married through a window. Innocence +is the sweetest thing in the world, and there is more of it than folks +generally imagine. If you want some to transplant, don’t seek it in the +enclosures of cant, for it has only counterfeit ones, but go to the +gardens of truth and of sense. Coërced innocence is like an imprisoned +lark, open the door and it’s off for ever. The bird that roams through +the sky and the groves unrestrained knows how to dodge the hawk and +protect itself, but the caged one, the moment it leaves its bars and +bolts behind, is pounced upon by the fowler or the vulture. + +“Puritans, whether in or out of the church (for there is a whole squad +of ’em in it, like rats in a house who eat up its bread and undermine +its walls), make more sinners than they save by a long chalk. They +ain’t content with real sin, the pattern ain’t sufficient for a cloak, +so they sew on several breadths of artificial offences, and that makes +one big enough to wrap round them, and cover their own deformity. It +enlarges the margin, and the book, and gives more texts. + +“Their eyes are like the great magnifier at the Polytechnic, that shows +you many-headed, many-armed, many-footed, and many-tailed awful +monsters in a drop of water, which were never intended for us to see, +or Providence would have made our eyes like Lord Rosse’s telescope +(which discloses the secrets of the moon), and given us springs that +had none of these canables in ’em. Water is our drink, and it was made +for us to take when we were dry, and be thankful. After I first saw one +of these drops, like an old cheese chock full of livin’ things, I +couldn’t drink nothing but pure gin or brandy for a week. I was scared +to death. I consaited when I went to bed I could audibly feel these +critters fightin’ like Turks and minin’ my inerds, and I got narvous +lest my stomach like a citadel might be blowed up and the works +destroyed. It was frightful. + +“At last I sot up and said, Sam, where is all your common sense gone? +You used to have a considerable sized phial of it, I hope you ain’t +lost the cork and let it all run out. So I put myself in the +witness-stand, and asked myself a few questions. + +“‘Water was made to drink, warn’t it?’ + +“‘That’s a fact.’ + +“‘You can’t see them critters in it with your naked eye?’ + +“‘I can’t see them at all, neither naked or dressed.’ + +“‘Then it warn’t intended you should?’ + +“‘Seems as if it wasn’t,’ sais I. + +“‘Then drink, and don’t be skeered.’ + +“‘I’ll be darned if I don’t, for who knows them wee-monstrosities don’t +help digestion, or feed on human pyson. They warn’t put into Adam’s ale +for nothin’, that’s a fact.’ + +“It seems as if they warn’t,’ sais I. ‘So now I’ll go to sleep.’ + +“Well, puritans’ eyes are like them magnifiers; they see the devil in +everything but themselves, where he is plaguy apt to be found by them +that want him; for he feels at home in their company. One time they vow +he is a dancin’ master, and moves his feet so quick folks can’t see +they are cloven, another time a music master, and teaches children to +open their mouths and not their nostrils in singing. Now he is a tailor +or milliner, and makes fashionable garments; and then a manager of a +theatre, which is the most awful place in the world; it is a reflex of +life, and the reflection is always worse than the original, as a man’s +shadow is more dangerous than he is. But worst of all, they solemnly +affirm, for they don’t swear, he comes sometimes in lawn sleeves, and +looks like a bishop, which is popery, or in the garb of high churchmen, +who are all Jesuits. Is it any wonder these cantin’ fellows pervert the +understanding, sap the principles, corrupt the heart, and destroy the +happiness of so many? Poor dear old Minister used to say, ‘Sam, you +must instruct your conscience; for an ignorant or superstitious +conscience is a snare to the unwary. If you think a thing is wrong that +is not, and do it, then you sin, because you are doing what you believe +in your heart to be wicked. It is the intention that constitutes the +crime.’ Those sour crouts therefore, by creating artificial and +imitation sin in such abundance, make real sin of no sort of +consequence, and the world is so chock full of it, a fellow gets +careless at last and won’t get out of its way, it’s so much trouble to +pick his steps. + +“Well, I was off in a brown study so deep about artificial sins, I +didn’t hear Liddy come in, she shut the door so softly and trod on +tiptoes so light on the carpet. The first thing I knew was I felt her +hands on my head, as she stood behind me, a dividin’ of my hair with +her fingers. + +“‘Why, Sam,’ said she, ‘as I’m a livin’ sinner if you ain’t got some +white hairs in your head, and there is a little bald patch here right +on the crown. How strange it is! It only seems like yesterday you was a +curly-headed boy.’ + +“‘Yes,’ sais I, and I hove a sigh so loud it made the window jar; ‘but +I have seen a great deal of trouble since then. I lost two wives in +Europe.’ + +“‘Now do tell,’ said she. ‘Why you don’t!—oh, jimminy criminy! two +wives! How was it, poor Sam?’ and she kissed the bald spot on my pate, +and took a rockin’-chair and sat opposite to me, and began rockin’ +backwards and forwards like a fellow sawin’ wood. ‘How was it, Sam, +dear?’ + +“‘Why,’ sais I, ‘first and foremost, Liddy, I married a fashionable +lady to London. Well, bein’ out night arter night at balls and operas, +and what not, she got kinder used up and beat out, and unbeknownst to +me used to take opium. Well, one night she took too much, and in the +morning she was as dead as a herring.’ + +“‘Did she make a pretty corpse?’ said Lid, lookin’ very sanctimonious. +‘Did she lay out handsum? They say prussic acid makes lovely corpses; +it keeps the eyes from fallin’ in. Next to dyin’ happy, the greatest +thing is to die pretty. Ugly corpses frighten sinners, but elegant ones +win them.’ + +“‘The most lovely subject you ever beheld,’ said I. ‘She looked as if +she was only asleep; she didn’t stiffen at all, but was as limber as +ever you see. Her hair fell over her neck and shoulders in beautiful +curls just like yourn; and she had on her fingers the splendid diamond +rings I gave her; she was too fatigued to take ’em off when she retired +the night afore. I felt proud of her even in death, I do assure you. +She was handsome enough to eat. I went to ambassador’s to consult him +about the funeral, whether it should be a state affair, with all the +whole diplomatic corps of the court to attend it, or a private one. But +he advised a private one; he said it best comported with our dignified +simplicity as republicans, and, although cost was no object, still it +was satisfactory to know it was far less expense. When I came back she +was gone.’ + +“‘Gone!’ said Liddy, ‘gone where?’ + +“‘Gone to the devil, dear, I suppose.’ + +“‘Oh my!’ said she. ‘Well, I never in all my born days! Oh, Sam, is +that the way to talk of the dead!’ + +“‘In the dusk of the evening,’ sais I, ‘a carriage, they said, drove to +the door, and a coffin was carried up-stairs; but the undertaker said +it wouldn’t fit, and it was taken back again for a larger one. Just +afore I went to bed, I went to the room to have another look at her, +and she was gone, and there was a letter on the table for me; it +contained a few words only.—‘Dear Sam, my first husband is come to +life, and so have I. Goodbye, love.” + +“‘Well, what did you do?’ + +“‘Gave it out,’ said I, ‘she died of the cholera, and had to be buried +quick and private, and no one never knew to the contrary.’ + +“‘Didn’t it almost break your heart, Sammy?’ + +“‘No,’ sais I. ‘In her hurry, she took my dressing-case instead of her +own, in which was all her own jewels, besides those I gave her, and all +our ready money. So I tried to resign myself to my loss, for it might +have been worse, you know,’ and I looked as good as pie. + +“‘Well, if that don’t beat all, I declare!’ said she. + +“‘Liddy,’ sais I, with a mock solemcoly air, ‘every bane has its +antidote, and every misfortin its peculiar consolation.’ + +“‘Oh, Sam, that showed the want of a high moral intellectual education, +didn’t it?’ said she. ‘And yet you had the courage to marry again?’ + +“‘Well, I married,’ sais I, ‘next year in France a lady who had refused +one of Louis Philip’s sons. Oh, what a splendid gall she was, Liddy! +she was the star of Paris. Poor thing! I lost her in six weeks.’ + +“‘Six weeks! Oh, Solomon!’ said she, ‘in six weeks.’ + +“‘Yes,’ sais I, ‘in six short weeks.’ + +“‘How was it, Sam? do tell me all about it; it’s quite romantic. I vow, +it’s like the Arabian Nights’ Entertainment. You are so unlucky, I swow +I should be skeered—’ + +“‘At what?’ sais I. + +“‘Why, at—’ + +“She was caught there; she was a goin’ to say, ‘at marryin’ you,’ but +as she was a leadin’ of me on, that wouldn’t do. Doctor, you may catch +a gall sometimes, but if she has a mind to, she can escape if she +chooses, for they are as slippery as eels. So she pretended to hesitate +on, till I asked her again. + +“‘Why,’ sais she, a looking down, ‘at sleeping alone tonight, after +hearing of these dreadful catastrophes.’ + +“‘Oh,’ sais I, ‘is that all?’ + +“‘But how did you lose her?’ said she. + +“‘Why, she raced off,’ said I, ‘with the Turkish ambassador, and if I +had a got hold of him, I’de a lammed him wuss than the devil beatin’ +tan-bark, I know. I’de a had his melt, if there was a bowie-knife out +of Kentucky.’ + +“‘Did you go after her?’ + +“‘Yes; but she cotched it afore I cotched her.’ + +“‘How was that, Sam?’ + +“‘Why, she wanted to sarve him the same way, with an officer of the +Russian Guards, and Mahomet caught her, sewed her up in a sack, and +throwed her neck and crop into the Bosphorus, to fatten eels for the +Greek ladies to keep Lent with.’ + +“‘Why, how could you be so unfortunate?’ said she. + +“‘That’s a question I have often axed myself, Liddy,’ sais I; ‘but I +have come to this conclusion: London and Paris ain’t no place for galls +to be trained in.’ + +“‘So I have always said, and always will maintain to my dying day,’ she +said, rising with great animation and pride. ‘What do they teach there +but music, dancing, and drawing? The deuce a thing else; but here is +Spanish, French, German, Italian, botany, geology, mineralogy, +icthiology, conchology, theology—’ + +“‘Do you teach angeolology and doxyology?’ sais I. + +“‘Yes, angeolology and doxyology,’ she said, not knowing what she was a +talking about. + +“‘And occult sciences?’ sais I. + +“‘Yes, all the sciences. London and Paris, eh! Ask a lady from either +place if she knows the electric battery from the magnetic—’ + +“‘Or a _needle_ from a _pole_,’ sais I. + +“‘Yes,’ sais she, without listening, ‘or any such question, and see if +she can answer it.” + +“She resumed her seat. + +“‘Forgive my enthusiasm,’ she said, ‘Sam, you know I always had a great +deal of that.’ + +“‘I know,’ said I, ‘you had the smallest foot and ankle of anybody in +our country. My! what fine-spun glass heels you had! Where in the world +have you stowed them to?’ pretendin’ to look down for them. + +“‘Kept them to kick you with,’ she said, ‘if you are sassy.’ + +“Thinks I to myself, what next? as the woman said to the man who kissed +her in the tunnel, you are coming out, Liddy. + +“‘Kick,’ said I, ‘oh, you wouldn’t try that, I am sure, let me do what +I would.’ + +“‘Why not?’ said she. + +“‘Why,’ sais I, ‘if you did you would have to kick so high, you would +expose one of the larger limbs.’ + +“‘Mr Slick,’ said she, ‘I trust you will not so far forget what is due +to a lady, as to talk of showing her larger limbs, it’s not decent.’ + +“‘Well, I know it ain’t decent,’ said I, ‘but you said you would do it, +and I just remonstrated a little, that’s all.’ + +“‘You was saying about London and Paris,’ said she, ‘being no place for +educating young ladies in.’ + +“‘Yes,’ sais I, ‘that painful story of my two poor dear wives (which is +‘all in my eye,’ as plain as it was then), illustrates my theory of +education in those two capitals. In London, females, who are a great +deal in society in the season, like a man who drinks, can’t stop, they +are at it all the time, and like him, sometimes forget the way home +again. In Paris, galls are kept so much at home before marriage, when +they once get out, they don’t want to enter the cage again. They are +the two extremes. If ever I marry, I’ll tell you how I will lay down +the law. Pleasure shall be the recreation and not the business of life +with her. Home the rule—parties the exception. Duty first, amusement +second. Her head-quarters shall always be in her own house, but the +outposts will never be neglected.’ + +“‘Nothin’ like an American woman for an American man, is there?’ said +she, and she drew nearer, lookin’ up in my face to read the answer, and +didn’t rock so hard. + +“‘It depends upon how they are brought up,’ said I, looking wise. ‘But, +Liddy,’ sais I, ‘without joking, what an amazin’ small foot that is of +yours. It always was, and wunst when it slipt through a branch of the +cherry-tree, do you recollect my saying, Well I vow that calf was +suckled by two cows? now don’t you, Liddy?’ + +“‘No, Sir,’ said she, ‘I don’t, though children may say many things +that when they grow up they are ashamed to repeat; but I recollect now, +wunst when you and I went through the long grass to the cherry-tree, +your mother said, ‘Liddy, beware you are not bit by a garter-snake, and +I never knew her meanin’ till now;’ and she rose up and said, ‘Mr +Slick, I must bid you good morning.’ + +“‘Liddy,’ sais I, ‘don’t be so pesky starch, I’ll be dod fetched if I +meant any harm, but you beat me all holler. I only spoke of the calf, +and you went a streak higher and talked of the garter.’ + +“‘Sam,’ said she, ‘you was always the most impedent, forredest, and +pertest boy that ever was, and travellin’ hain’t improved you one mite +or morsel.’ + +“‘I am sorry I have offended you, Liddy,’ sais I, ‘but really now, how +do you manage to teach all them things with hard names, for we never +even heard of them at Slickville? Have you any masters?’ + +“‘Masters,’ said she, ‘the first one that entered this college would +ruin it for ever. What, a man in this college! where the juvenile +pupils belong to the first families—I guess not. I hire a young lady to +teach rudiments.’ + +“‘So I should think,’ sais I, ‘from the specimen I saw at your door, +she was rude enough in all conscience.’ + +“‘Pooh,’ said she, ‘well, I have a Swiss lady that teaches French, +German, Spanish, and Italian, and an English one that instructs in +music and drawing, and I teach history, geography, botany, and the +sciences, and so on.’ + +“‘How on earth did you learn them all?’ said I, ‘for it puzzles me.’ + +“‘Between you and me, Sam,’ said she, ‘for you know my broughtens up, +and it’s no use to pretend—primary books does it all, there is question +and answer. I read the question, and they learn the answer. It’s the +easiest thing in the world to teach now-a-days.’ + +“‘But suppose you get beyond the rudiments?’ + +“‘Oh, they never remain long enough to do that. They are brought out +before then. They go to Saratoga first in summer, and then to +Washington in winter, and are married right off after that. The +domestic, seclusive, and exclusive system, is found most conducive to a +high state of refinement and delicacy. I am doing well, Sam,’ said she, +drawing nearer, and looking confidential in my face. ‘I own all this +college, and all the lands about, and have laid up forty thousand +dollars besides;’ and she nodded her head at me, and looked earnest, as +much as to say, ‘That is a fact, ain’t it grand?’ + +“‘The devil you have,’ said I, as if I had taken the bait. ‘I had a +proposal to make.’ + +“‘Oh,’ said she, and she coloured up all over, and got up and said, +‘Sam, won’t you have a glass of wine, dear?’ She intended it to give me +courage to speak out, and she went to a closet, and brought out a tray +with a decanter, and two or three glasses on it, and some frosted +plum-cake. ‘Try that cake, dear,’ she said, ‘I made it myself, and your +dear old mother taught me how to do it;’ and then she laid back her +head, and larfed like anything. ‘Sam,’ said she, ‘what a memory you +have; I had forgot all about the cherry-tree, I don’t recollect a word +of it.’ + +“‘And the calf?’ said I. + +“‘Get along,’ said she, ‘do get out;’ and she took up some crumbs of +the cake, and made ’em into a ball as big as a cherry, and fired it at +me, and struck me in the eye with it, and nearly put it out. She jumped +up in a minit: ‘Did she hurt her own poor cossy’s eye?’ she said, ‘and +put it een amost out,’ and she kissed it. ‘It didn’t hurt his little +peeper much, did it?’ + +“Hullo, sais I to myself, she’s coming it too _pee_owerful strong +altogether. The sooner I dig out the better for my wholesomes. However, +let her went, she is wrathy. ‘I came to propose to you—’ + +“‘Dear me,’ said she, ‘I feel dreadful, I warn’t prepared for this; +it’s very onexpected. What is it, Sam? I am all over of a twiteration.’ + +“‘I know you will refuse me,’ sais I, ‘when I look round and see how +comfortable and how happy you are, even if you ain’t engaged.’ + +“‘Sam, I told you I weren’t engaged,’ she said: ‘that story of General +Smith is all a fabrication, therefore don’t mention that again.’ + +“‘I feel,’ said I, ‘it’s no use. I know what you will say, you can’t +quit.’ + +“‘You have a strange way,’ said she, rather tart, ‘for you ask +questions, and then answer them yourself. What _do_ you mean?’ + +“‘Well,’ sais I, ‘I’ll tell you, Liddy.’ + +“‘Do, dear,’ said she, and she put her hand over her _eyes,_ as if to +stop her from _hearing_ distinctly. ‘I came to propose to you—’ + +“‘Oh, Sam,’ said she, ‘to think of that!’ + +“‘To take a seat in my buggy,’ sais I, ‘and come and spend a month with +sister Sally and me, at the old location.’ + +“Poor thing, I pitied her; she had one knee over the other, and, as I +said, one hand over her eyes, and there she sot, and the way the upper +foot went bobbin’ up and down was like the palsy, only a little +quicker. She never said another word, nor sighed, nor groaned, nor +anything, only her head hung lower. Well, I felt streaked, Doctor, I +tell _you_. I felt like a man who had stabbed another, and knew he +ought to be hanged for it; and I looked at her as such a critter would, +if he had to look on, and see his enemy bleed to death. I knew I had +done wrong—I had acted spider-like to her—got her into the web—tied her +hand and foot, and tantalized her. I am given to brag, I know, Doctor, +when I am in the saddle, and up in the stirrups, and leavin’ all others +behind; but when a beast is choaked and down in the dirt, no man ever +heard me brag I had rode the critter to death. + +“No, I did wrong, she was a woman, and I was a man, and if she did act +a part, why, I ought to have known the game she had to play, and made +allowances for it. I dropt the trump card under the table that time, +and though I got the odd trick, she had the honours. It warn’t manly in +me, that’s a fact; but confound her, why the plague did she call me +‘Mr,’ and act formal, and give me the bag to hold, when she knew me of +old, and minded the cherry-tree, and all that? Still she was a woman, +and a defenceless one too, and I did’nt do the pretty. But if she was a +woman, doctor, she had more clear grit than most men have. After a +while she took her hand off her eyes and rubbed them, and she opened +her mouth and yawned so, you could see down to her garters amost. + +“‘Dear me!’ said she, trying to smile; but, oh me! how she looked! Her +eyes had no more expression than a China-aster, and her face was so +deadly pale, it made the rouge she had put on look like the hectic of a +dying consumption. Her ugly was out in full bloom, I tell _you_. ‘Dear +cousin Sam,’ said she, ‘I am so fatigued with my labours as +presidentess of this institution, that I can hardly keep my peepers +open. I think, if I recollect—for I am ashamed to say I was a +noddin’—that you _proposed_ (that word lit her eyes up) that I should +go with you to visit dear Sally. Oh, Sam!’ said she (how she bit in her +temper that hitch, didn’t she?) ‘you see, and you saw it at first, I +can’t leave on so short a notice; but if my sweet Sally would come and +visit me, how delighted I should be! Sam, I must join my class now. How +happy it has made me to see you again after so many years! Kiss me, +dear; good bye—God bless you!’ and she yawned again till she nearly +dislocated her jaw. ‘Go on and write books, Sam, for no man is better +skilled in human natur and _spares it less_ than yourself.’ What a +reproachful look she gave me then! ‘Good bye, dear!’ + +“Well, when I closed the door, and was opening of the outer one, I +heard a crash. I paused a moment, for I knew what it was. She had +fainted and fell into a conniption fit. + +“‘Sam,’ sais I to myself, ‘shall I go back?’ + +“‘No,’ sais I, ‘if you return there will be a scene; and if you don’t, +if she can’t account naterally for it, the devil can’t, that’s all.’ + +“Doctor, I felt guilty, I tell you. I had taken a great many rises out +of folks in my time, but that’s the only one I repent of. Tell you +what, Doctor, folks may talk about their southern gentlemen, their New +York prince-merchants, and so on, but the clear grit, bottom and game, +is New England (Yankee-doodle-dum). Male or female, young or old, I’ll +back ’em agin all creation.” + +Squire, show this chapter to Lord Tandembery, if you know him; and if +you don’t, Uncle Tom Lavender will give you a letter of introduction to +him; and then ask him if ever he has suffered half so much as Sam Slick +has in the cause of edication. + + + + +CHAPTER XV. +GIPSEYING. + + +We tried the deck again, but the fog was too disagreeable to remain +there, for the water fell from the ropes in such large drops, and the +planks were so wet and slippery, we soon adjourned again to the cabin. + +“I have to thank you, Doctor,” said I, “for a most charming day at the +Beaver-Dam. That was indeed a day in the woods, and I believe every one +there knew how to enjoy it. How different it is from people in a town +here, who go out to the country for a pic-nic! A citizen thinks the +pleasure of gipseying, as they call it in England, consists solely in +the abundance and variety of the viands, the quality and quantity of +the wines, and as near an approach to a city dinner as it is possible +to have, where there are neither tables, chairs, sideboards, nor +removes. He selects his place for the encampment in the first opening +adjoining the clearing, as it commands a noble view of the harbour, and +there is grass enough to recline upon. The woods are gloomy, the +footing is slippery, and there is nothing to be seen in a forest but +trees, windfalls which are difficult to climb, and boggy ground that +wets your feet, and makes you feel uncomfortable. The limbs are +eternally knocking your hat off, and the spruce gum ruins your clothes, +while ladies, like sheep, are for ever leaving fragments of their dress +on every bush. He chooses the skirts of the forest therefore, the +background is a glorious wood, and the foreground is diversified by the +shipping. The o-heave-o of the sailors, as it rises and falls in the +distance, is music to his ears, and suggestive of agreeable +reflections, or profitable conversation peculiarly appropriate to the +place and the occasion. The price of fish in the West Indies, or of +deals in Liverpool, or the probable rise of flour in the market, amuse +the vacant mind of himself and his partner, not his wife, for she is +only his _sleeping_ partner, but the wide-awake partner of the firm, +one of those who are embraced in the comprehensive term the ‘Co.’ He is +the depository of his secrets, the other of his complaints. + +“His wife is equally happy, she enjoys it uncommonly, for she knows it +will spite those horrid Mudges. She is determined not to invite them, +for they make too much noise, it gives her the headache, and their +flirting is too bad. Mrs White called them garrison hacks. And besides +(for women always put the real reason last—they live in a postscript) +they don’t deserve it, for they left her girls out when they had the +lobster-spearing party by torch-light, with the officers of the +flag-ship, though that was no loss, for by all accounts it was a very +romping party, knocking off the men’s hats, and then exchanging their +bonnets for them. And how any mother could allow her daughter to be +held round the waist by the flag-lieutenant, while she leaned over the +boat to spear the fish, is a mystery to her. The polka is bad enough, +but, to her mind, that is not decent, and then she has something to +whisper about it, that she says is too bad (this is a secret though, +and she must whisper it, for walls have ears, and who knows but trees +have, and besides, the _good_ things are never repeated, but the _too +bad_ always is), and Mrs Black lifts up both her hands, and the whites +of both eyes in perfect horror. + +“‘Now did you ever! Oh, is that true? Why, you don’t!’ + +“‘Lucy Green saw him with her own eyes,’ and she opens her own as big +as saucers. + +“‘And what did Miss Mudge say?’ + +“‘Well, upon my word,’ said she, ‘I wonder what you will do next,’ and +laughed so they nearly fell overboard. + +“‘Oh, what carryings on, ain’t it, dear? But I wonder where Sarah +Matilda is? I don’t see her and Captain De la Cour. I am afraid she +will get lost in the woods, and that would make people talk as they did +about Miss Mudge and Doctor Vincent, who couldn’t find their way out +once till nine o’clock at night.’ + +“‘They’ll soon get back, dear,’ sais the other, ‘let them be; it looks +like watching them, and _you_ know,’ laying an emphasis on _you_, ‘you +and I were young _once_ ourselves, and so they will come back when they +want to, for though the woods have no straight paths in them, they have +short cuts enough for them that’s in a hurry. Cupid has no _watch_, +dear; his _fob_ is for a _purse_,’ and she smiles wicked on the mother +of the heiress. + +“Well, then, who can say this is not a pleasant day to both parties? +The old gentlemen have their nice snug business chat, and the old +ladies have their nice snug gossip chat, and the third estate (as the +head of the firm calls it, who was lately elected member for Grumble +Town, and begins to talk parliamentary), the third estate, the young +folks, the people of progression, who are not behind but rather ahead +of the age they live in, don’t they enjoy themselves? It is very hard +if youth, beauty, health, good spirits, and a desire to please (because +if people havn’t that they had better stay to home), can’t or won’t +make people happy. I don’t mean for to go for to say that will insure +it, because nothin’ is certain, and I have known many a gall that +resembled a bottle of beautiful wine. You will find one sometimes as +enticin’ to appearance as ever was, but hold it up and there is grounds +there for all that, settled, but still there, and enough too to spile +all, so you can’t put it to your lips any how you can fix it. What a +pity it is sweet things turn sour, ain’t it? + +“But in a general way these things will make folks happy. There are +some sword-knots there, and they do look very like woodsmen, that’s a +fact. If you never saw a forrester, you would swear to them as perfect. +A wide-awake hat, with a little short pipe stuck in it, a pair of +whiskers that will be grand when they are a few years older—a coarse +check or red flannel shirt, a loose neck-handkerchief, tied with a +sailor’s knot—a cut-away jacket, with lots of pockets—a belt, but +little or no waistcoat—homespun trowsers and thick buskins—a rough +glove and a delicate white hand, the real, easy, and natural gait of +the woodman (only it’s apt to be a little, just a little too stiff, on +account of the ramrod they have to keep in their throats while on +parade), when combined, actilly beat natur, for they are too nateral. +Oh, these amateur woodsmen enact their part so well, you think you +almost see the identical thing itself. And then they have had the +advantage of Woolwich or Sandhurst, or Chobham, and are dabs at a +bivouac, grand hands with an axe—cut a hop-pole down in half a day +amost, and in the other half stick it into the ground. I don’t make no +doubt in three or four days they could build a wigwam to sleep in, and +one night out of four under cover is a great deal for an amateur +hunter, though it ain’t the smallest part of a circumstance to the +Crimea. As, it is, if a stick ain’t too big for a fire, say not larger +than your finger, they can break it over their knee, sooner than you +could cut it with a hatchet for your life, and see how soon it’s in a +blaze. Take them altogether, they are a killing party of coons them, +never miss a moose if they shoot out of an Indian’s gun, and use a +silver bullet. + +“Well, then, the young ladies are equipped so nicely—they have uglies +to their bonnets, the only thing ugly about them, for at a distance +they look like huge green spectacles. They are very useful in the +forest, for there is a great glare of the sun generally under trees; or +else they have green bonnets, that look like eagle’s skins; thin +dresses, strong ones are too heavy, and they don’t display the beauty +of nature enough, they are so high, and the whole object of the party +is to admire that. Their walking shoes are light and thin, they don’t +fatigue you like coarse ones, and India-rubbers are hideous, they make +your feet look as if they had the gout; and they have such pretty, dear +little aprons, how rural it looks altogether—they act a day in the +woods to admiration. Three of the officers have nicknames, a very nice +thing to induce good fellowship, especially as it has no tendency +whatever to promote quarrels. There is Lauder, of the _Rifles,_ he is +so short, they call him _Pistol;_ he has a year to grow yet, and may +become a great _gun_ some of these days. Russel takes a joke +good-humouredly, and therefore is so fortunate as to get more than his +share of them, accordingly he goes by the name of Target, as every one +takes a shot at him. Duke is so bad a shot, he has twice nearly pinked +the marksman, so he is called Trigger. He always lays the blame of his +want of skill on that unfortunate appendage of the gun, as it is either +too hard or too quick on the finger. Then there is young Bulger, and as +everybody pronounces it as if it had two ‘g’s’ in it, he corrects them +and says, ‘g’ soft, my dear fellow, if you please; so he goes by the +name of ‘G’ soft. Oh, the conversation of the third estate is so +pretty, I could listen to it for ever. + +“‘Aunt,’ sais Miss Diantha, ‘do you know what +gyp—gypsy—gypsymum—gypsymuming is? Did you ever hear how I stutter +to-day? I can’t get a word out hardly. Ain’t it provoking?’ + +“Well, stammering is provoking; but a pretty little accidental +impediment of speech like that, accompanied with a little graceful bob +of the head, is very taking, ain’t it? + +“‘Gypsuming,’ sais the wise matron, ‘is the plaster of Paris trade, +dear. They carry it on at Windsor, your father says.’ + +“Pistol gives Target a wink, for they are honouring the party by their +company, though the mother of one keeps a lodging-house at Bath, and +the father of the other makes real genuine East India curry in London. +They look down on the whole of the townspeople. It is natural; pot +always calls kettle an ugly name. + +“‘No, Ma,’ sais Di—all the girls address her as Di; ain’t it a pretty +abbreviation for a die-away young lady? But she is not a die-away lass; +she is more of a Di Vernon. ‘No, Ma,’ sais Di, ‘gipsey—ing, what a hard +word it is! Mr Russel says it’s what they call these parties in +England. It is so like the gipsy life.’ + +“‘There is one point,’ sais Pistol, ‘in which they differ.’ + +“‘What’s that?’ sais Di. + +“‘Do you give it up?’ + +“‘Yes.’ + +“‘There the gipsy girls steal poultry; and here they steal hearts,’ and +he puts his left hand by mistake on his breast, not knowing that the +pulsation there indicates that his lungs, and not his gizzard is +affected, and that he is broken-_winded,_ and not broken-_hearted._ + +“‘Very good,’ every one sais; but still every one hasn’t heard it, so +it has to be repeated; and what is worse, as the habits of the gipsies +are not known to all, the point has to be explained. + +“Target sais, ‘He will send it to the paper, and put Trigger’s name to +it,’ and Pistol says, ‘That is capital, for if he calls you out, he +can’t hit you,’ and there is a joyous laugh. Oh dear, but a day in the +woods is a pleasant thing. For my own part, I must say I quite agree +with the hosier, who, when he first went to New Orleens, and saw such a +swad of people there, said, he ‘didn’t onderstand how on earth it was +that folks liked to live in a heap that way, altogether, where there +was no corn to plant, and no bears to kill.’ + +“‘My, oh my!’ sais Miss Letitia, or Letkissyou, as Pistol used to call +her. People ought to be careful what names they give their children, so +as folks can’t fasten nicknames on ’em. Before others the girls called +her Letty, and that’s well enough; but sometimes they would call her +Let, which is the devil. If a man can’t give a pretty fortune to his +child, he can give it a pretty name at any rate. + +“There was a very large family of Cards wunst to Slickville. They were +mostly in the stage-coach and livery-stable line, and careless, +reckless sort of people. So one day, Squire Zenas Card had a +christenin’ at his house. + +“‘Sais the Minister, ‘what shall I call the child?’ + +“‘Pontius Pilate,’ said he. + +“‘I can’t,’ said the Minister, ‘and I won’t. No soul ever heerd of such +a name for a Christian since baptism came in fashion.’ + +“‘I am sorry for that,’ said the Squire, ‘for it’s a mighty pretty +name. I heard it once in church, and I thought if ever I had a son I’de +call him after him; but if I can’t have that—and it’s a dreadful +pity—call him Trump;’ and he was christenened Trump Card. + +“‘Oh my!’ sais Miss Letitia, lispin’, ‘Captain De la Cour has smashed +my bonnet, see, he is setting upon it. Did you ever?’ + +“‘Never,’ said Di, ‘he has converted your _cottage_ bonnet into a +_country seat,_ I do declare!’ + +“Everybody exclaimed, ‘That is excellent,’ and Russel said, ‘Capital, +by Jove.’ + +“‘That kind of thing,’ said De la Cour, ‘is more honoured in the +_breach_ than the _observance_;’ and winked to Target. + +“Miss Di is an inveterate punster, so she returns to the charge. + +“‘Letty, what fish is that, the name of which would express all you +said about your bonnet?—do you give it up? A bon-net-o!’ (Boneto). + +“‘Well, I can’t _fathom_ that,’ sais De la Cour. + +“‘I don’t wonder at that,’ sais the invincible Di; ‘it is beyond your +_depth,_ for it is an out-of-_soundings_ fish.’ + +“Poor De la Cour, you had better let her alone, she is too many guns +for you. Scratch your head, for your curls and your name are all that +you have to be proud of. Let her alone, she is wicked, and she is +meditating a name for you and Pistol that will stick to you as long as +you live, she has it on the tip of her tongue—‘The babes in the wood.’ + +“Now for the baskets—now for the spread. The old gentlemen break up +their Lloyds’ meeting—the old ladies break up their scandal club—the +young ladies and their beaux are busy in arrangements, and though the +cork-screws are nowhere to be found, Pistol has his in one of the many +pockets of his woodsman’s coat, he never goes without it (like one of +his mother’s waiters), which he calls his _young man’s best companion_; +and which another, who was a year in an attorney’s office, while +waiting for his commission, calls _the crown circuit assistant;_ and a +third, who has just arrived in a steamer, designates as _the screw +propeller._ It was a sensible provision, and Miss Di said, ‘a +_corkscrew_ and a _pocket-pistol_ were better suited to him than a +rifle,’ and every one said it was a capital joke that—for everybody +likes a shot that don’t hit themselves. + +“‘How tough the goose is!’ sais G soft. ‘I can’t carve it.’ + +“‘Ah!’ sais Di, ‘when Greek meets Greek, then comes the tug of war.’ + +“Eating and talking lasts a good while, but they don’t last for ever. +The ladies leave the gentlemen to commence their smoking and finish +their drinking, and presently there is a loud laugh; it’s more than a +laugh, it’s a roar; and the ladies turn round and wonder. + +“Letty sais, ‘When the wine is in, the wit is out.’ + +“‘True,” sais Di, ‘the wine is there, but when you left them the wit +went out.’ + +“‘Rather severe,’ said Letty. + +“‘Not at all,’ sais Di, ‘for I was with you.’ + +“It is the last shot of poor Di. She won’t take the trouble to talk +well for ladies, and those horrid Mudges have a party on purpose to +take away all the pleasant men. She never passed so stupid a day. She +hates pic-nics, and will never go to one again. De la Cour is a fool, +and is as full of airs as a night-hawk is of feathers. Pistol is a +bore; Target is both poor and stingy; Trigger thinks more of himself +than anybody else; and as for G soft, he is a goose. She will never +speak to Pippen again for not coming. They are a poor set of devils in +the garrison; she is glad they are to have a new regiment. + +“Letty hasn’t enjoyed herself either, she has been devoured by black +flies and musquitoes, and has got her feet wet, and is so tired she +can’t go to the ball. The sleeping partner of the head of the firm is +out of sorts, too. Her crony-gossip gave her a sly poke early in the +day, to show her she recollected when she was young (not that she is so +old now either, for she knows the grave gentleman who visits at her +house is said to like the mother better than the daughter), but before +she was married, and friends who have such wonderful memories are not +very pleasant companions, though it don’t do to have them for enemies. +But then, poor thing, and she consoles herself with the idea the poor +thing has daughters herself, and they are as ugly as sin, and not half +so agreeable. But it isn’t that altogether. Sarah Matilda should not +have gone wandering out of hearing with the captain, and she must give +her a piece of her mind about it, for there is a good deal of truth in +the old saying, ‘If the girls won’t run after the men, the men will run +after them;’ so she calls out loudly, ‘Sarah Matilda, my love, come +here, dear,’ and Sarah Matilda knows when the honey is produced, physic +is to be taken, but she knows she is under observation, and so she +flies to her dear mamma, with the feet and face of an angel, and they +gradually withdraw. + +“‘Dear ma, how tired you look.’ + +“‘I am not tired, dear.’ + +“‘Well, you don’t look well; is anything the matter with you?’ + +“‘I didn’t say I wasn’t well, and it’s very rude to remark on one’s +looks that way.’ + +“‘Something seems to have put you out of sorts, ma, I will run and call +pa. Dear me, I feel frightened. Shall I ask Mrs Bawdon for her salts?’ + +“‘You know very well what’s the matter; it’s Captain De la Cour.’ + +“‘Well, now, how strange,’ said Sarah Matilda. ‘I told him he had +better go and walk with you; I wanted him to do it; I told him you +liked attention. Yes, I knew you would be angry, but it isn’t my fault. +It ain’t, indeed.’ + +“‘Well, I am astonished,’ replies the horrified mother. ‘I never in all +my life. So you told him I liked attention. I, your mother, your +father’s wife, with my position in _so_cie_tee_; and pray what answer +did he make to this strange conduct?’ + +“‘He said, No wonder, you were the handsomest woman in town, and so +agreeable; the only one fit to talk to.’ + +“‘And you have the face to admit you listened to such stuff?’ + +“‘I could listen all day to it, ma, for I knew it was true. I never saw +you look so lovely, the new bishop has improved your appearance +amazingly.’ + +“‘Who?’ said the mother, with an hysterical scream; ‘what do you mean?’ + +“‘The new bustler, ma.’ + +“‘Oh,’ said she, quite relieved, ‘oh, do you think so?’ + +“‘But what did you want of me, ma?’ + +“‘To fasten my gown, dear, there is a hook come undone.’ + +“‘Coming,’ she said, in a loud voice. + +“There was nobody calling, but somebody ought to have called; so she +fastens the hook, and flies back as fast as she came. + +“Sarah Matilda, you were not born yesterday; first you put your mother +on the defensive, and then you stroked her down with the grain, and +made her feel good all over, while you escaped from a scolding you know +you deserved. A jealous mother makes an artful daughter. But, Sarah +Matilda, one word in your ear. Art ain’t cleverness, and cunning ain’t +understanding. Semblance only answers once; the second time the door +ain’t opened to it. + +“Henrietta is all adrift, too; she is an old maid, and Di nicknamed her +‘the old hen.’ She has been shamefully neglected today. The young men +have been flirting about with those forward young girls—children—mere +children, and have not had the civility to exchange a word with her. +The old ladies have been whispering gossip all day, and the old +gentlemen busy talking about freights, the Fall-catch of mackarel, and +ship-building. Nor could their talk have been solely confined to these +subjects, for once when she approached them, she heard the head of the +firm say: + +“‘The ‘lovely lass’ must be thrown down and scraped, for she is so +foul, and her knees are all gone.’ + +“And so she turned away in disgust. Catch her at a pic-nic again! No, +never! It appears the world is changed; girls in her day were never +allowed to romp that way, and men used to have some manners. Things +have come to a pretty pass! + +“‘Alida, is that you, dear? You look dull.’ + +“‘Oh, Henrietta! I have torn my beautiful thread-lace mantilla all to +rags; it’s ruined for ever. And do _you_ know—oh, _I_ don’t know how I +shall ever dare to face ma again! I have lost her beautiful little +enamelled watch. Some of these horrid branches have pulled it off the +chain.’ And Alida cries and is consoled by Henrietta, who is a +good-natured creature after all. She tells her for her comfort that +nobody should ever think of wearing a delicate and expensive lace +mantilla in the woods; she could not expect anything else than to have +it destroyed; and as for exposing a beautiful gold watch outside of her +dress, nobody in her senses would have thought of such a thing. Of +course she was greatly comforted: kind words and a kind manner will +console any one. + +“It is time now to re-assemble, and the party are gathered once more; +and the ladies have found their smiles again, and Alida has found her +watch; and there are to be some toasts and some songs before parting. +All is jollity once more, and the head of the firm and his vigilant +partner and the officers have all a drop in their eye, and Henrietta is +addressed by the junior partner, who is a bachelor of about her own +age, and who assures her he never saw her look better; and she looks +delighted, and is delighted, and thinks a pic-nic not so bad a thing +after all. + +“But there is a retributive justice in this world. Even pic-nic parties +have their moral, and folly itself affords an example from which a wise +saw may be extracted. Captain de Courlay addresses her, and after all, +he has the manners and appearance of a gentleman, though it is +whispered he is fond of practical jokes, pulls ‘colt ensigns’ out of +bed, makes them go through their sword exercise standing shirtless in +their tubs, and so on. There is one redeeming thing in the story, if it +be true, he never was known to do it to a young nobleman; he is too +well bred for that. He talks to her of society as it was before +good-breeding was reformed out of the colonies. She is delighted; but, +oh! was it stupidity, or was it insolence, or was it cruelty? he asked +her if she recollected the Duke of Kent. To be sure it is only +fifty-two years since he was here; but to have recollected him! How old +did he suppose she was? She bears it well and meekly. It is not the +first time she has been painfully reminded she was not young. She says +her grandmother often spoke of him as a good officer and a handsome +man; and she laughs, though her heart aches the while, as if it was a +good joke to ask _her._ He backs out as soon as he can. He meant well, +though he had expressed himself awkwardly; but to back out shows you +are in the wrong stall, a place you have no business in, and being out, +he thinks it as well to jog on to another place. + +“Ah, Henrietta! you were unkind to Alida about her lace mantilla and +her gold watch, and it has come home to you. You ain’t made of glass, +and nothing else will hold vinegar long without being corroded itself. + +“Well, the toasts are drunk, and the men are not far from being drunk +too, and feats of agility are proposed, and they jump up and catch a +springing bow, and turn a somerset on it, or over it, and they are +cheered and applauded when De Courlay pauses in mid-air for a moment, +as if uncertain what to do. Has the bough given way, or was that the +sound of cloth rent in twain? Something has gone wrong, for he is +greeted with uproarious cheers by the men, and he drops on his feet, +and retires from the company as from the presence of royalty, by +backing out and bowing as he goes, repeatedly stumbling, and once or +twice falling in his retrograde motion. + +“Ladies never lose their tact—they ask no questions because they see +something is amiss, and though it is hard to subdue curiosity, +propriety sometimes restrains it. They join in the general laugh +however, for it can be nothing serious where his friends make merry +with it. When he retires from view, his health is drank with three +times three. Di, who seemed to take pleasure in annoying the spinster, +said she had a great mind not to join in that toast, for he was a +_loose_ fellow, otherwise he would have rent his _heart_ and not his +_garments._ It is a pity a clever girl like her will let her tongue run +that way, for it leads them to say things they ought not. Wit in a +woman is a dangerous thing, like a doctor’s lancet, it is apt to be +employed about matters that offend our delicacy, or hurt our feelings.” + +“‘What the devil is that?’ said the head, of the firm, looking up, as a +few drops of rain fell. ‘Why, here is a thunder-shower coming on us as +sure as the world. Come, let us pack up and be off.’ + +“And the servants are urged to be expeditious, and the sword-knots +tumble the glasses into the baskets, and the cold hams atop of them, +and break the decanters, to make them stow better, and the head of the +firm swears, and the sleeping partner says she will faint, she could +never abide thunder; and Di tells her if she does not want to abide all +night, she had better move, and a vivid flash of lightning gives notice +to quit, and tears and screams attest the notice is received, and the +retreat is commenced; but alas, the carriages are a mile and a half +off, and the tempest rages, and the rain falls in torrents, and the +thunder stuns them, and the lightning blinds them. + +“‘What’s the use of hurrying?’ says Di, ‘we are now wet through, and +our clothes are spoiled, and I think we might take it leisurely. +Pistol, take my arm, I am not afraid of you now.’ + +“‘Why?’ + +“‘Your powder is wet, and you can’t go off. You are quite harmless. +Target, you had better run.’ + +“‘Why?’ + +“‘You will be sure to be hit if you don’t—won’t he, Trigger?’ + +“But Pistol, and Target, and Trigger are alike silent. G _soft_ has +lost his _softness,_ and lets fall some _hard_ terms. Every one holds +down his head, why, I can’t understand, because being soaked, that +attitude can’t dry them. + +“‘Uncle,’ says Di, to the head of the firm, ‘you appear to enjoy it, +you are buttoning up your coat as if you wanted to keep the rain in.’ + +“‘I wish you would keep your tongue in,’ he said, gruffly. + +“‘I came for a party of pleasure,’ said the unconquerable girl, ‘and I +think there is great fun in this. Hen, I feel sorry for you, you can’t +stand the wet as those darling ducks can. Aunt will shake herself +directly, and be as dry as an India rubber model.’ + +“Aunt is angry, but can’t answer—every clap of thunder makes her +scream. Sarah Matilda has lost her shoe, and the water has closed over +it, and she can’t find it. ‘Pistol, where is your corkscrew? draw it +out.’ + +“‘It’s all your fault,’ sais the sleeping partner to the head of the +firm, ‘I told you to bring the umbrellas.’ + +“‘It’s all yours,’ retorts the afflicted husband, ‘I told you these +things were all nonsense, and more trouble than they were worth.’ + +“‘It’s all Hen’s fault,’ said Di, ‘for we came on purpose to bring her +out; she has never been at a pic-nic before, and it’s holidays now. Oh! +the brook has risen, and the planks are gone, we shall have to wade; +Hen, ask those men to go before, I don’t like them to see above my +ancles.’ + +“‘Catch me at a pic-nic again,’ said the terrified spinster. + +“‘You had better get home from this first, before you talk of another,’ +sais Di. + +“‘Oh, Di, Di,’ said Henrietta, ‘how can you act so?’ + +“‘You may say Di, Di, if you please, dear,’ said the tormentor; ‘but I +never say die—and never will while there is life in me. Letty, will you +go to the ball to-night? we shall catch cold if we don’t; for we have +two miles more of the rain to endure in the open carriages before we +reach the steamer, and we shall be chilled when we cease walking.’ + +“But Letty can do nothing but cry, as if she wasn’t wet enough already. + +“‘Good gracious!’ sais the head of the house, ‘the horses have +overturned the carriage, broke the pole, and run away.’ + +“‘What’s the _upset_ price of it, I wonder?’ sais Di, ‘the horses will +make ‘their _election_ sure;’ they are at the ‘head of _the pole,_ they +are returned and they have left no _trace_ behind.’ I wish they had +taken the _rain_ with them also.’ + +“‘It’s a pity you wouldn’t _rein_ your tongue in also,’ said the +fractious uncle. + +“‘Well, I will, Nunky, if you will restrain your _choler._ De Courcy, +the horses are off at a ‘_smashing_ pace;’ G soft, it’s all _dickey_ +with us now, ain’t it? But that _milk-sop,_ Russel, is making a noise +in his boots, as if he was ‘_churning_ butter.’ Well, I never enjoyed +anything so much as this in my life; I do wish the Mudges had been +here, it is the only thing wanting to make this pic-nic perfect. What +do you say, Target?’ + +“But Target don’t answer, he only mutters between his teeth something +that sounds like, ‘what a devil that girl is!’ Nobody minds teasing +now; their tempers are subdued, and they are dull, weary, and +silent—dissatisfied with themselves, with each other, and the day of +pleasure. + +“How could it be otherwise? It is a thing they didn’t understand, and +had no taste for. They took a deal of trouble to get away from the main +road as far as possible; they never penetrated farther into the forest +than to obtain a shade, and there eat an uncomfortable cold dinner, +sitting on the ground, had an ill-assorted party, provided no +amusements, were thoroughly bored, and drenched to the skin—and this +some people call a day in the bush. + +“There is an old proverb, that has a hidden meaning in it, that is +applicable to this sort of thing—‘_As a man calleth in the woods, so it +shall be answered to him_.’” + + + + +CHAPTER XVI. +THE WORLD BEFORE THE FLOOD. + + +We made another attempt at walking on the deck—the moon was trying to +struggle through the fog, which was now of a bright copper colour. + +“Doctor,” said I, “have you ever seen a yellow fog before?” + +“Yes,” he said, “I have seen a white, black, red, and yellow fog,” and +went off into a disquisition about optics, mediums, reflections, +refractions, and all sorts of scientific terms. + +Well, I don’t like hard words; when you crack them, which is plaguy +tough work, you have to pick the kernel out with a cambric needle, and +unless it’s soaked in wine, like the heart of a hickory nut is, it +don’t taste nice, and don’t pay you for the trouble. So to change the +subject, “Doctor,” sais I, “how long is this everlasting mullatto +lookin’ fog a goin’ to last, for it ain’t white, and it ain’t black, +but kind of betwixt and between.” + +Sais he, and he stopped and listened a moment, “It will be gone by +twelve o’clock to-night.” + +“What makes you think so?” said I. + +“Do you hear that?” said he. + +“Yes,” sais I, “I do; it’s children a playin’ and a chatterin’ in +French. Now it’s nateral they should talk French, seein’ their parents +do. They call it their mother-tongue, for old wives are like old +hosses, they are all tongue, and when their teeth is gone, that unruly +member grows thicker and bigger, for it has a larger bed to stretch out +in,—not that it ever sleeps much, but it has a larger sphere of +action,—do you take? I don’t know whether you have had this feeling of +surprise, Doctor, but I have, hearing those little imps talk French, +when, to save my soul, I can’t jabber it that way myself. In course of +nature they must talk that lingo, for they are quilted in French—kissed +in French—fed in French—and put to bed in French,—and told to pray to +the Virgin in French, for that’s the language she loves best. She knows +a great many languages, but she can’t speak English since Henry the +Eighth’s time, when she said to him, ‘You be fiddled,’ which meant, the +Scotch should come with their fiddles and rule England. + +“Still somehow I feel strange when these little critters address me in +it, or when women use it to me (tho’ I don’t mind that so much, for +there are certain freemason signs the fair sex understand all over the +world), but the men puzzle me like Old Scratch, and I often say to +myself, What a pity it is the critters can’t speak English. I never +pity myself for not being able to jabber French, but I blush for their +ignorance. However, all this is neither here nor there. Now, Doctor, +how can you tell this fog is booked for the twelve o’clock train? Is +there a Bradshaw for weather?” + +“Yes,” said he, “there is, do you hear that?” + +“I don’t hear nothing,” sais I, “but two Frenchmen ashore a jawing like +mad. One darsen’t, and t’other is afraid to fight, so they are taking +it out in gab—they ain’t worth listening to. How do they tell you the +weather?” + +“Oh,” said he, “it ain’t them. Do you hear the falls at my lake? the +west wind brings that to us. When I am there and the rote is on the +beach, it tells me it is the voice of the south wind giving notice of +rain. All nature warns me. The swallow, the pig, the goose, the fire on +the hearth, the soot in the flue, the smoke of the chimney, the rising +and setting sun, the white frost, the stars—all, all tell me.” + +“Yes,” sais I, “when I am to home I know all them signs.” + +“The spider too is my guide, and the ant also. But the little +pimpernel, the poor man’s weather-glass, and the convolvulus are truer +than any barometer, and a glass of water never lies.” + +“Ah, Doctor,” said I, “you and I read and study the same book. I don’t +mean to assert we are, as Sorrow says, nateral children, but we are +both children of nature, and honour our parents. I agree with you about +the fog, but I wanted to see if you could answer signals with me. I am +so glad you have come on board. You want amusement, I want instruction. +I will swap stories with you for bits of your wisdom, and as you won’t +take boot, I shall be a great gainer.” + +After a good deal of such conversation, we went below, and in due +season turned in, in a place where true comfort consists in oblivion. +The morning, as the doctor predicted, was clear, the fog was gone, and +the little French village lay before us in all the beauty of ugliness. +The houses were small, unpainted, and uninviting. Fish-flakes were +spread on the beach, and the women were busy in turning the cod upon +them. Boats were leaving the shore for the fishing-ground. Each of +these was manned by two or three or four hands, who made as much noise +as if they were getting a vessel under weigh, and were severally giving +orders to each other with a rapidity of utterance that no people but +Frenchmen are capable of. + +“Every nation,” said the doctor, “has its peculiarity, but the French +Acadians excel all others in their adherence to their own ways; and in +this particular, the Chesencookers surpass even their own countrymen. +The men all dress alike, and the women all dress alike, as you will +presently see, and always have done so within the memory of man. A +round, short jacket which scarcely covers the waistcoat, trowsers that +seldom reach below the ankle-joint, and yarn stockings, all four being +blue, and manufactured at home, and apparently dyed in the same tub, +with moccasins for the feet, and a round fur or cloth cap to cover the +head, constitute the uniform and unvaried dress of the men. The attire +of the women is equally simple. The short gown which reaches to the +hip, and the petticoat which serves for a skirt, both made of coarse +domestic cloth, having perpendicular blue and white stripes, constitute +the difference of dress that marks the distinction of the sexes, if we +except a handkerchief thrown over the head, and tied under the chin, +for the blue stockings and the moccasins are common to both, males and +females. + +“There has been no innovation for a century in these particulars, +unless it be that a hat has found its way into Chesencook, not that +such a stove-pipe looking thing as that has any beauty in it; but the +boys of Halifax are not to be despised, if a hat is, and even an +ourang-outang, if he ventured to walk about the streets, would have to +submit to wear one. But the case is different with women, especially +modest, discreet, unobtrusive ones, like those of the ‘long-shore +French.’ They are stared at because they dress like those in the world +before the Flood, but it’s an even chance if the antediluvian damsels +were half so handsome; and what pretty girl can find it in her heart to +be very angry at attracting attention? Yes, their simple manners, their +innocence, and their sex are their protection. But no cap, bonnet, or +ribbon, velvet, muslin, or lace, was ever seen at Chesencook. Whether +this neglect of finery (the love of which is so natural to their +countrywomen in Europe) arises from a deep-rooted veneration for the +ways of their predecessors, or from the sage counsel of their spiritual +instructors, who desire to keep them from the contamination of the +heretical world around them, or from the conviction that + +‘The adorning thee with so much art + Is but a barbarous skill, +’Tis like the barbing of a dart, + Too apt before to kill,’ + + +I know not. Such however is the fact nevertheless, and you ought to +record it, as an instance in which they have shown their superiority to +this universal weakness. Still, both men and women are decently and +comfortably clad. There is no such thing as a ragged Acadian, and I +never yet saw one begging his bread. Some people are distinguished for +their industry, others for their idleness; some for their ingenuity, +and others for their patience; but the great characteristic of an +Acadian is talk, and his talk is, from its novelty, amusing and +instructive, even in its nonsense. + +“These people live close to the banks where cod are found, and but +little time is required in proceeding to the scene of their labour, +therefore there is no necessity for being in a hurry, and there is lots +of time for palaver. Every boat has an oracle in it, who speaks with an +air of authority. He is a great talker, and a great smoker, and he +chats so skilfully, that he enjoys his pipe at the same time, and +manages it so as not to interrupt his jabbering. He can smoke, talk, +and row at once. He don’t smoke fast, for that puts his pipe out by +consuming his tobacco; nor row fast, for it fatigues him.” + +“Exactly,” sais I, “but the tongue, I suppose, having, like a clock, a +locomotive power of its own, goes like one of my wooden ones for +twenty-four hours without ceasing, and like one of them also when it’s +e’en amost worn-out and up in years, goes at the rate of one hundred +minutes to the hour, strikes without counting the number, and gives +good measure, banging away often twenty tunes at one o’clock.” + +Every boat now steered for the “Black Hawk,” and the oracle stopped +talking French to practise English. “How you do, Sare? how you do your +wife?” said Lewis Le Blanc, addressing me. + +“I have no wife.” + +“No wife, ton pee? Who turn your fish for you, den?” + +“Whereat they all laugh, and all talk French again. And oracle says, +‘He takes his own eggs to market, den.’ He don’t laugh at that, for +wits never laugh at their own jokes; but the rest snicker till they +actilly scream. + +“What wind are we going to have, Lewis?” + +Oracle stands up, carefully surveys the sky, and notices all the signs, +and then looks wise, and answers in a way that there can be no mistake. +“Now you see, Sare, if de wind blow off de shore, den it will be west +wind; if it blow from de sea, den it will be east wind; and if it blow +down coast,” pointing to each quarter with his hand like a +weather-cock, “den it will sartain be sout; and up de coast, den you +will be sartain it will come from de nort. I never knew dat sign fail.” +And he takes his pipe from his mouth, knocks some ashes out of it, and +spits in the water, as much as to say, Now I am ready to swear to that. +And well he may, for it amounts to this, that the wind will blow from +any quarter it comes from. The other three all regard him with as much +respect as if he was clerk of the weather. + +“Interesting people these, Doctor,” said I, “ain’t they? It’s the world +before the Flood. I wonder if they know how to trade? Barter was the +primitive traffick. Corn was given for oil, and fish for honey, and +sheep and goats for oxen and horses, and so on. There is a good deal of +trickery in barter, too, for necessity has no laws. The value of money +we know, and a thing is worth what it will fetch in cash; but swapping +is a different matter. It’s a horse of a different colour.” + +“You will find,” said the doctor, “the men (I except the other sex +always) are as acute as you are at a bargain. You are more like to be +bitten than to bite if you try that game with them.” + +“Bet you a dollar,” sais I, “I sell that old coon as easy as a clock. +What, a Chesencooker a match for a Yankee! Come, I like that; that is +good. Here goes for a trial, at any rate. + +“Mounsheer,” sais I, “have you any wood to sell?” + +We didn’t need no wood, but it don’t do to begin to ask for what you +want, or you can’t do nothin’. + +“Yes,” said he. + +“What’s the price,” said I, “cash down on the nail?” for I knew the +critter would see “the _point_” of coming down with the _blunt._ + +“It’s ten dollars and a half,” said he, “a cord at Halifax, and it +don’t cost me nothin’ to carry it there, for I have my own shallop—but +I will sell it for ten dollars to oblige you.” That was just seven +dollars more than it was worth. + +“Well,” sais I, “that’s not high, only cash is scarce. If you will take +mackarel in pay, at six dollars a barrel (which was two dollars more +than its value), p’raps we might trade. Could you sell me twenty cord?” + +“Yes, may be twenty-five.” + +“And the mackarel?” said I. + +“Oh,” said he, “mackarel is only worth three dollars and a half at +Halifax. I can’t sell mine even at that. I have sixty barrels, number +one, for sale.” + +“If you will promise me to let me have all the wood I want, more or +less,” sais I, “even if it is ever so little; or as much as thirty +cords, at ten dollars a cord, real rock maple, and yellow birch, then I +will take all your mackarel at three and a half dollars, money down.” + +“Say four,” said he. + +“No,” sais I, “you say you can’t git but three and a half at Halifax, +and I won’t beat you down, nor advance one cent myself. But mind, if I +oblige you by buying all your mackarel, you must oblige me by letting +me have all the wood _I want_.” + +“Done,” said he; so we warped into the wharf, took the fish on board, +and I paid him the money, and cleared fifteen pounds by the operation. + +“Now,” says I, “where is the wood?” + +“All this is mine,” said he, pointing to a pile, containing about fifty +cords. + +“Can I have it all,” said I, “if I want it?” + +He took off his cap and scratched his head; scratching helps a man to +think amazingly. He thought he had better ask a little more than ten +dollars, as I appeared to be so ready to buy at any price. So he said, + +“Yes, you may have it all at ten and a half dollars.” + +“I thought you said I might have what I wanted at ten.” + +“Well, I have changed my mind,” said he, “it is too low.” + +“And so have I,” sais I, “I won’t trade with a man that acts that way,” +and I went on board, and the men cast off and began to warp the vessel +again up to her anchor. + +Lewis took off his cap and began scratching his head again, he had +over-reached himself. Expecting an immense profit on his wood, he had +sold his fish very low; he saw I was in earnest, and jumped on board. + +“Capitaine, you will have him at ten, so much as you want of him.” + +“Well, measure me off half a cord.” + +“What!” said he, opening both eyes to their full extent. + +“Measure me off half a cord.” + +“Didn’t you say you wanted twenty or thirty cord?” + +“No,” sais I, “I said I must have that much if I wanted it, but I don’t +want it, it is only worth three dollars, and you have had the modesty +to ask ten, and then ten and a half, but I will take half a cord to +please you, so measure it off.” + +He stormed, and raved, and swore, and threw his cap down on the deck +and jumped on it, and stretched out his arm as if he was going to +fight, and stretched out his wizzened face, as if it made halloing +easier, and foamed at the mouth like a hoss that has eat lobelia in his +hay. + +“Be gar,” he said, “I shall sue you before the common scoundrels +(council) at Halifax, I shall take it before the _sperm_ (supreme) +court, and _try_ it out.” + +“How much _ile_ will you get,” sais I, “by _tryin’ me_ out, do you +think? + +“Never mind,” said I, in a loud voice, and looking over him at the +mate, and pretending to answer him. “Never mind if he won’t go on +shore, he is welcome to stay, and we will land him on the Isle of +Sable, and catch a wild hoss for him to swim home on.” + +The hint was electrical; he picked up his cap and ran aft, and with one +desperate leap reached the wharf in safety, when he turned and danced +as before with rage, and his last audible words were, “Be gar, I shall +go to the _sperm_ court and _try_ it out.” + +“In the world before the Flood, you see, Doctor,” said I, “they knew +how to cheat as well as the present race do; the only improvement this +fellow has made on the antediluvian race is, he can take himself in, as +well as others.” + +“I have often thought,” said the doctor, “that in our dealings in life, +and particularly in trading, a difficult question must often arise +whether a thing, notwithstanding the world sanctions it, is lawful and +right. Now what is your idea of smuggling?” + +“I never smuggled,” said I: “I have sometimes imported goods and didn’t +pay the duties; not that I wanted to smuggle, but because I hadn’t time +to go to the office. It’s a good deal of trouble to go to a +custom-house. When you get there you are sure to be delayed, and half +the time to git sarce. It costs a good deal; no one thanks you, and +nobody defrays cab-hire, and makes up for lost time, temper, and +patience to you—it don’t pay in a general way; sometimes it will; for +instance, when I left the embassy, I made thirty thousand pounds of +your money by one operation. Lead was scarce in our market, and very +high, and the duty was one-third of the prime cost, as a protection to +the na_tive_ article. So what does I do, but go to old Galena, one of +the greatest dealers in the lead trade in Great Britain, and +ascertained the wholesale price. + +“Sais I, ‘I want five hundred thousand dollars worth of lead.’ + +“‘That is an immense order,’ said he, ‘Mr Slick. There is no market in +the world that can absorb so much at once.’ + +“‘The loss will be mine,’ said I. ‘What deductions will you make if I +take it all from your house?’ + +“Well, he came down handsome, and did the thing genteel. + +“‘Now,’ sais I, ‘will you let one of your people go to my cab, and +bring a mould I have there.’ + +“Well, it was done. + +“‘There,’ said I, ‘is a large bust of Washington. Every citizen of the +United States ought to have one, if he has a dust of patriotism in him. +I must have the lead cast into rough busts like that.’ + +“‘Hollow,’ said he, ‘of course.’ + +“‘No, no,’ sais I, ‘by no manner of means, the heavier and solider the +better.’ + +“‘But,’ said Galena, ‘Mr Slick, excuse me, though it is against my own +interest, I cannot but suggest you might find a cheaper material, and +one more suitable to your very laudable object.’ + +“‘Not at all,’ said I, ‘lead is the very identical thing. If a man +don’t like the statue and its price, and it’s like as not he wont, he +will like the lead. There is no duty on statuary, but there is more +than thirty per cent. on lead. The duty alone is a fortune of not less +than thirty thousand pounds, after all expenses are paid.’ + +“‘Well now,’ said he, throwing back his head and laughing, ‘that is the +most ingenious device to evade duties I ever heard of.’ + +“I immediately gave orders to my agents at Liverpool to send so many +tons to Washington and every port and place on the seaboard of the +United States except New York, but not too many to any one town; and +then I took passage in a steamer, and ordered all my agents to close +the consignment immediately, and let the lead hero change hands. It was +generally allowed to be the handsomest operation ever performed in our +country. Connecticut offered to send me to Congress for it, the folks +felt so proud of me. + +“But I don’t call that smugglin’. It is a skilful reading of a revenue +law. My idea of smugglin’ is, there is the duty, and there is the +penalty; pay one and escape the other if you like, if not, run your +chance of the penalty. If the state wants revenue, let it collect its +dues. If I want my debts got in, I attend to drummin’ them up together +myself; let government do the same. There isn’t a bit of harm in +smugglin’. I don’t like a law restraining liberty. Let them that impose +shackles look to the bolts; that’s my idea.” + +“That argument won’t hold water, Slick,” said the doctor. + +“Why?” + +“Because it is as full of holes as a cullender.’ + +“How?” + +“The obligation between a government and a people is reciprocal. To +protect on the one hand, and to support on the other. Taxes are +imposed, first, for the maintenance of the government, and secondly, +for such other objects as are deemed necessary or expedient. The moment +goods are imported, which are subject to such exactions, the amount of +the tax is a debt due to the state, the evasion or denial of which is a +fraud. The penalty is not an alternative at your option; it is a +punishment, and that always presupposes an offence. There is no +difference between defrauding the state or an individual. Corporeality, +or incorporeality, has nothing to do with the matter.” + +“Well,” sais I, “Domine Doctor, that doctrine of implicit obedience to +the government won’t hold water neither, otherwise, if you had lived in +Cromwell’s time, you would have to have assisted in cutting the king’s +head off, or fight in an unjust war, or a thousand other wicked but +legal things. I believe every tub must stand on its own bottom; general +rules won’t do. Take each separate, and judge of it by itself.” + +“Exactly,” sais the doctor; “try that in law and see how it would work. +No two cases would be decided alike; you’d be adrift at once, and a +drifting ship soon touches bottom. No, that won’t hold water. Stick to +general principles, and if a thing is an exception to the rule, put it +in Schedule A or B, and you know where to look for it. General rules +are fixed principles. But you are only talking for talk sake; I know +you are. Do you think now that merchant did right to aid you in evading +the duty on your leaden Washingtons?” + +“What the plague had he to do with our revenue laws? They don’t bind +him,” sais I. + +“No,” said the doctor, “but there is a higher law than the statutes of +the States or of England either, and that is the moral law. In aiding +you, he made the greatest sale of lead ever effected at once in +England; the profit on that was his share of the smuggling. But you are +only drawing me out to see what I am made of. You are an awful man for +a bam. There goes old Lewis in his fishing boat,” sais he. “Look at him +shaking his fist at you. Do you hear him jabbering away about _trying_ +it out in the ‘_sperm_ court?’” + +“I’ll make him draw his fist in, I know,” sais I. So I seized my rifle, +and stepped behind the mast, so that he could not see me; and as a +large grey gull was passing over his boat high up in the air, I fired, +and down it fell on the old coon’s head so heavily and so suddenly, he +thought he was shot; and he and the others set up a yell of fright and +terror that made everybody on board of the little fleet of coasters +that were anchored round us, combine in three of the heartiest, +merriest, and loudest cheers I ever heard. + +“_Try_ that out in the _sperm_ court, you old bull-frog,” sais I. “I +guess there is more ile to be found in that fishy gentleman than in me. +Well,” sais I, “Doctor, to get back to what we was a talking of. It’s a +tight squeeze sometimes to scrouge between a lie and a truth in +business, ain’t it? The passage is so narrow, if you don’t take care it +will rip your trowser buttons off in spite of you. Fortunately I am +thin, and can do it like an eel, squirmey fashion; but a stout, awkward +fellow is most sure to be catched. + +“I shall never forget a rise I once took out of a set of jockeys at +Albany. I had an everlastin’ fast Naraganset pacer once to Slickville, +one that I purchased in Mandarin’s place. I was considerable proud of +him, I do assure you, for he took the rag off the bush in great style. +Well, our stable-help, Pat Monaghan (him I used to call Mr Monaghan), +would stuff him with fresh clover without me knowing it, and as sure as +rates, I broke his wind in driving him too fast. It gave him the +heaves, that is, it made his flanks heave like a blacksmith’s bellows. +We call it ‘heaves,’ Britishers call it ‘broken wind.’ Well, there is +no cure for it, though some folks tell you a hornet’s nest cut up fine +and put in their meal will do it, and others say sift the oats clean +and give them juniper berries in it, and that will do it, or ground +ginger, or tar, or what not; but these are all quackeries. You can’t +cure it, for it’s a ruption of an air vessel, and you can’t get at it +to sew it up. But you can fix it up by diet and care, and proper usage, +so that you can deceive even an old hand, providin’ you don’t let him +ride or drive the beast too fast. + +“Well, I doctored and worked with him so, the most that could be +perceived was a slight cold, nothin’ to mind, much less frighten you. +And when I got him up to the notch, I advertised him for sale, as +belonging to a person going down east, who only parted with him because +he thought him too heav_ey_ for a man who never travelled less than a +mile in two minutes and twenty seconds. Well, he was sold at auction, +and knocked down to Rip Van Dam, the Attorney-General, for five hundred +dollars; and the owner put a saddle and bridle on him, and took a bet +of two hundred dollars with me, he could do a mile in two minutes, +fifty seconds. He didn’t know me from Adam parsonally, at the time, but +he had heard of me, and bought the horse because it was said Sam Slick +owned him. + +“Well, he started off, and lost his bet; for when he got near the +winnin’-post the horse choked, fell, and pitched the rider off half-way +to Troy, and nearly died himself. The umpire handed me the money, and I +dug out for the steam-boat intendin’ to pull foot for home. Just as I +reached the wharf, I heard my name called out, but I didn’t let on I +noticed it, and walked a-head. Presently, Van Dam seized me by the +shoulder, quite out of breath, puffin’ and blowin’ like a porpoise. + +“‘Mr Slick?’ said he. + +“‘Yes,’ sais I, ‘what’s left of me; but good gracious,’ sais I, ‘you +have got the ‘heaves.’ I hope it ain’t catchin’.’ + +“‘No I haven’t,’ said he, ‘but your cussed hoss has, and nearly broke +my neck. You are like all the Connecticut men I ever see, a nasty, +mean, long-necked, long-legged, narrow-chested, slab-sided, +narrow-souled, lantern-jawed, Yankee cheat.’ + +“‘Well,’ sais I, ‘that’s a considerable of a long name to write on the +back of a letter, ain’t it? It ain’t good to use such a swad of words, +it’s no wonder you have the heaves; but I’ll cure you; I warn’t brought +up to wranglin’; I hain’t time to fight you, and besides,’ said I, ‘you +are broken-winded; but I’ll chuck you over the wharf into the river to +cool you, boots and all, by gravy.’ + +“‘Didn’t you advertise,’ said he, ‘that the only reason you had to part +with that horse was, that he was too heavy for a man who never +travelled slower than a mile in two minutes and twenty seconds?’ + +“‘Never!’ sais I, ‘I never said such a word. What will you bet I did?’ + +“‘Fifty dollars,’ said he. + +“‘Done,’ said I. ‘And, Vanderbelt—(he was just going on board the +steamer at the time)—Vanderbelt,’ sais I, ‘hold these stakes. Friend,’ +sais I, ‘I won’t say you lie, but you talk uncommonly like the way I do +when I lie. Now prove it.’ + +“And he pulled out one of my printed advertisements, and said, ‘Read +that.’ + +“Well, I read it. ‘It ain’t there,’ said I. + +“‘Ain’t it?’ said he. ‘I leave it to Vanderbelt.’ + +“‘Mr Slick,’ said he, ‘you have lost—it is here.’ + +“‘Will _you_ bet fifty dollars,’ said I, ‘though you have seen it, that +it’s there?’ + +“‘Yes,’ said he, ‘I will.’ + +“‘Done,’ said I. ‘Now how do you spell heavy?’ + +“‘H-e-a-v-y,’ said he. + +“‘Exactly,’ sais I; ‘so do I. But this is spelt _heav-ey._ I did it on +purpose. I scorn to take a man in about a horse, so I published his +defect to all the world. I said he was too _heavey_ for harness, and so +he is. He ain’t worth fifty dollars—I wouldn’t take him as a gift—he +ain’t worth _von dam_?’ + +“‘Well, I did see that,’ said he, ‘but I thought it was an error of the +press, or that the owner couldn’t spell.’ + +“‘Oh!’ sais I, ‘don’t take me for one of your Dutch boors, I beg of +you. I can spell, but you can’t read, that’s all. You remind me,’ sais +I, ‘of a feller in Slickville when the six-cent letter stamps came in +fashion. He licked the stamp so hard, he took all the gum off, and it +wouldn’t stay on, no how he could fix it, so what does he do but put a +pin through it, and writes on the letter, “Paid, if the darned thing +will only stick.” Now, if you go and lick the stamp etarnally that way, +folks will put a pin through it, and the story will stick to you for +ever and ever. But come on board, and let’s liquor, and I will stand +treat.’ + +“I felt sorry for the poor critter, and I told him how to feed the +horse, and advised him to take him to Saratoga, advertise him, and sell +him the same way; and he did, and got rid of him. The rise raised his +character as a lawyer amazing. He was elected governor next year; a +sell like that is the making of a lawyer. + +“Now I don’t call the lead Washingtons nor the _heavey_ horse either on +’em a case of cheat; but I do think a man ought to know how to read a +law and how to read an advertisement, don’t you? But come, let us go +ashore, and see how the galls look, for you have raised my curiosity.” + +We accordingly had the boat lowered; and taking Sorrow with us to see +if he could do anything in the catering line, the doctor, Cutler, and +myself landed on the beach, and walked round the settlement. + +The shore was covered with fish flakes, which sent up an aroma not the +most agreeable in the world except to those who lived there, and they, +I do suppose, snuff up the breeze as if it was loaded with wealth and +smelt of the Gold Coast. But this was nothing (although I don’t think I +can ever eat dum fish again as long as I live) to the effluvia arising +from decomposed heaps of sea-wood, which had been gathered for manure, +and was in the act of removal to the fields. No words can describe +this, and I leave it to your imagination, Squire, to form an idea of a +new perfume in nastiness that has never yet been appreciated but by an +Irishman. + +I heard a Paddy once, at Halifax, describe the wreck of a carriage +which had been dashed to pieces. He said there was not “a smell of it +left.” Poor fellow, he must have landed at Chesencook, and removed one +of those oloriferous heaps, as Sorrow called them, and borrowed the +metaphor from it, that there was not “a smell of it left.” On the beach +between the “flakes” and the water, were smaller heaps of the garbage +of the cod-fish and mackarel, on which the grey and white gulls fought, +screamed, and gorged themselves, while on the bar were the remains of +several enormous black fish, half the size of whales, which had been +driven on shore, and hauled up out of the reach of the waves by strong +ox teams. The heads and livers of these huge monsters had been “_tried_ +out in the _Sperm_ court” for ile, and the putrid remains of the +carcass were disputed for by pigs and crows. The discordant noises of +these hungry birds and beasts were perfectly deafening. + +On the right-hand side of the harbour, boys and girls waded out on the +flats to dig clams, and were assailed on all sides by the screams of +wild fowl who resented the invasion of their territory, and were +replied to in tones no less shrill and unintelligible. On the left was +the wreck of a large ship, which had perished on the coast, and left +its ribs and skeleton to bleach on the shore, as if it had failed in +the vain attempt to reach the forest from which it had sprung, and to +repose in death in its native valley. From one of its masts, a long, +loose, solitary shroud was pendant, having at its end a large double +block attached to it, on which a boy was seated, and swung backward and +forward. He was a little saucy urchin, of about twelve years of age, +dressed in striped homespun, and had on his head a red yarn clackmutch, +that resembled a cap of liberty. He seemed quite happy, and sung a +verse of a French song with an air of conscious pride and defiance as +his mother, stick in hand, stood before him, and at the top of her +voice now threatened him with the rod, his father, and the priest—and +then treacherously coaxed him with a promise to take him to Halifax, +where he should see the great chapel, hear the big bell, and look at +the bishop. A group of little girls stared in amazement at his courage, +but trembled when they heard his mother predict a broken +neck—purgatory—and the devil as his portion. The dog was as excited as +the boy—he didn’t bark, but he whimpered as he gazed upon him, as if he +would like to jump up and be with him, or to assure him he would catch +him if he fell, if he had but the power to do so. + +What a picture it was—the huge wreck of that that once “walked the +waters as a thing of life”—the merry boy—the anxious mother—the +trembling sisters—the affectionate dog; what bits of church-yard scenes +were here combined—children playing on the tombs—the young and the +old—the merry and the aching heart—the living among the dead. Far +beyond this were tall figures wading in the water, and seeking their +food in the shallows; cranes, who felt the impunity that the +superstition of the simple _habitans_ had extended to them, and sought +their daily meal in peace. + +Above the beach and parallel with it, ran a main road, on the upper +side of which were the houses, and on a swelling mound behind them rose +the spire of the chapel visible far off in the Atlantic, a sacred +signal-post for the guidance of the poor coaster. As soon as you reach +this street or road and look around you, you feel at once you are in a +foreign country and a land of strangers. The people, their dress, and +their language, the houses, their form and appearance, the implements +of husbandry, their shape and construction—all that you hear and see is +unlike anything else. It is neither above, beyond, or behind the age. +It is the world before the Flood. I have sketched it for you, and I +think without bragging I may say I can take things off to the life. +Once I drawed a mutton chop so nateral, my dog broke his teeth in +tearing the panel to pieces to get at it; and at another time I painted +a shingle so like stone, when I threw it into the water, it sunk right +kerlash to the bottom. + +“Oh, Mr Slick,” said the doctor, “let me get away from here. I can’t +bear the sight of the sea-coast, and above all, of this offensive +place. Let us get into the woods where we can enjoy ourselves. You have +never witnessed what I have lately, and I trust in God you never will. +I have seen within this month two hundred dead bodies on a beach in +every possible shape of disfiguration and decomposition—mangled, +mutilated, and dismembered corpses; male and female, old and young, the +prey of fishes, birds, beasts, and, what is worse, of human beings. The +wrecker had been there—whether he was of your country or mine I know +not, but I fervently hope he belonged to neither. Oh, I have never +slept sound since. The screams of the birds terrify me, and yet what do +they do but follow the instincts of their nature? They batten on the +dead, and if they do feed on the living, God has given them animated +beings for their sustenance, as, he has the fowls of the air, the +fishes of the sea, and the beasts of the field to us, but they feed not +on each other. Man, man alone is a cannibal. What an awful word that +is!” + +“Exactly,” sais I, “for he is then below the canine species—‘dog won’t +eat dog.’1 The wrecker lives not on those who die, but on those whom he +slays. The pirate has courage at least to boast of, he risks his life +to rob the ship, but the other attacks the helpless and unarmed, and +spares neither age nor sex in his thirst for plunder. I don’t mean to +say we are worse on this side of the Atlantic than the other, God +forbid. I believe we are better, for the American people are a kind, a +feeling, and a humane race. But avarice hardens the heart, and +distress, when it comes in a mass, overpowers pity for the individual, +while inability to aid a multitude induces a carelessness to assist +any. A whole community will rush to the rescue of a drowning man, not +because his purse can enrich them all (that is too dark a view of human +nature), but because he is the sole object of interest. When there are +hundreds struggling for life, few of whom can be saved, and when some +wretches are solely bent on booty, the rest, regardless of duty, rush +in for their share also, and the ship and her cargo attract all. When +the wreck is plundered, the transition to rifling the dying and the +dead is not difficult, and cupidity, when once sharpened by success, +brooks no resistance, for the remonstrance of conscience is easily +silenced where supplication is not even heard. Avarice benumbs the +feelings, and when the heart is hardened, man becomes a mere beast of +prey. Oh this scene afflicts me—let us move on. These poor people have +never yet been suspected of such atrocities, and surely they were not +perpetrated _in the world before the Flood_.” + +1 This homely adage is far more expressive than the Latin one:— + + +“Parcit +Cognates maculis, similis fera.”—Juv. + + + + +CHAPTER XVII. +LOST AT SEA. + + +“I believe, Doctor,” sais I, “we have seen all that is worth notice +here, let us go into one of their houses and ascertain if there is +anything for Sorrow’s larder; but, Doctor,” sais I, “let us first find +out if they speak English, for if they do we must be careful what we +say before them. Very few of the old people I guess know anything but +French, but the younger ones who frequent the Halifax market know more +than they pretend to if they are like some other _habitans_ I saw at +New Orleans. They are as cunning as foxes.” + +Proceeding to one of the largest cottages, we immediately gained +admission. The door, unlike those of Nova Scotian houses, opened +outwards, the fastening being a simple wooden latch. The room into +which we entered was a large, dark, dingy, dirty apartment. In the +centre of it was a tub containing some goslins, resembling yellow balls +of corn-meal, rather than birds. Two females were all that were at +home, one a little wrinkled woman, whose age it would puzzle a +physiognomist to pronounce on, the other a girl about twenty-five years +old. They sat on opposite sides of the fire-place, and both were +clothed alike, in blue striped homespun, as previously described. + +“Look at their moccasins,” said the doctor. “They know much more about +deer-skins than half the English settlers do. Do you observe, they are +made of carriboo, and not moose hide. The former contracts with wet and +the other distends and gets out of shape. Simple as that little thing +is, few people have ever noticed it.” + +The girl, had she been differently trained and dressed, would have been +handsome, but spare diet, exposure to the sun and wind, and +field-labour, had bronzed her face, so that it was difficult to say +what her real complexion was. Her hair was jet black and very +luxuriant, but the handkerchief which served for bonnet and head-dress +by day, and for a cap by night, hid all but the ample folds in front. +Her teeth were as white as ivory, and contrasted strangely with the +gipsy colour of her cheeks. Her eyes were black, soft, and liquid, and +the lashes remarkably long, but the expression of her face, which was +naturally good, indicated, though not very accurately, the absence of +either thought or curiosity. + +After a while objects became more distinct in the room, as we gradually +became accustomed to the dim light of the small windows. The walls were +hung round with large hanks of yarn, principally blue and white. An +open cupboard displayed some plain coarse cups and saucers, and the +furniture consisted of two rough tables, a large bunk,1 one or two +sea-chests, and a few chairs of simple workmanship. A large +old-fashioned spinning-wheel and a barrel-churn stood in one corner, +and in the other a shoemaker’s bench, while carpenter’s tools were +suspended on nails in such places as were not occupied by yarn. There +was no ceiling or plastering visible anywhere, the floor of the attic +alone separated that portion of the house from the lower room, and the +joice on which it was laid were thus exposed to view, and supported on +wooden cleets, leather, oars, rudders, together with some half-dressed +pieces of ash, snow-shoes, and such other things as necessity might +require. The wood-work, wherever visible, was begrimed with smoke, and +the floor, though doubtless sometimes swept, appeared as if it had the +hydrophobia hidden in its cracks, so carefully were soap and water kept +from it. Hams and bacon were nowhere visible. It is probable, if they +had any, they were kept elsewhere, but still more probable that they +had found their way to market, and been transmuted into money, for +these people are remarkably frugal and abstemious, and there can be no +doubt, the doctor says, that there is not a house in the settlement in +which there is not a supply of ready money, though the appearance of +the buildings and their inmates would by no means justify a stranger in +supposing so. They are neither poor nor destitute, but far better off +than those who live more comfortably and inhabit better houses. + +1 Bunk is a word in common use, and means a box that makes a seat by +day and serves for a bedstead by night. + + +The only article of food that I saw was a barrel of eggs, most probably +accumulated for the Halifax market, and a few small fish on rods, +undergoing the process of smoking in the chimney corner. + +The old woman was knitting and enjoying her pipe, and the girl was +dressing wool, and handling a pair of cards with a rapidity and ease +that would have surprised a Lancashire weaver. The moment she rose to +sweep up the hearth I saw she was an heiress. When an Acadian girl has +but her outer and under garment on, it is a clear sign, if she marries, +there will be a heavy demand on the fleeces of her husband’s sheep; but +if she wears four or more thick woollen petticoats, it is equally +certain her portion of worldly goods is not very small. + +“Doctor,” sais I, “it tante every darnin’ needle would reach her +through them petticoats, is it?” + +“Oh!” said he, “Mr Slick—oh!” and he rose as usual, stooped forward, +pressed his hands on his ribs, and ran round the room, if not at the +imminent risk of his life, certainly to the great danger of the +spinning wheel and the goslings. Both the females regarded him with +great surprise, and not without some alarm. + +“He has the stomach-ache,” sais I, in French, “he is subject to it.” + +“Oh! oh!” said he, when he heard that, “oh, Mr Slick, you will be the +death of me.” + +“Have you got any peppermint?” sais I. + +“No,” said she, talking in her own _patois;_ and she scraped a spoonful +of soot from the chimney, and putting it into a cup, was about pouring +hot water on it for an emetic, when he could stand it no longer, but +rushing out of the door, put to flight a flock of geese that were +awaiting their usual meal, and stumbling over a pig, fell at full +length on the ground, nearly crushing the dog, who went off yelling as +if another such blow would be the death of him, and hid himself under +the barn. The idea of the soot-emetic relieved the old lady, though it +nearly fixed the doctor’s flint for him. She extolled its virtues to +the skies; she saved her daughter’s life, she said, with it once, who +had been to Halifax, and was taken by an officer into a pastrycook’s +shop and treated. He told her if she would eat as much as she could at +once, he would pay for it all. + +Well, she did her best. She eat one loaf of plumcake, three trays of +jellies, a whole counter of little tarts, figs, raisins, and oranges, +and all sorts of things without number. Oh! it was a grand chance, she +said, and the way she eat was a caution to a cormorant; but at last she +gave out she couldn’t do no more. The foolish officer, the old lady +observed, if he had let her fetch all them things home, you know we +could have helped her to eat them, and if we couldn’t have eat ’em all +in one day, surely we could in one week; but he didn’t think of that I +suppose. But her daughter liked to have died; too much of a good thing +is good for nothing. Well, the soot-emetic cured her, and then she told +me all its effects; and it’s very surprising, it didn’t sound bad in +French, but it don’t do to write it in English at all; it’s the same +thing, but it tells better in French. It must be a very nice language +that for a doctor, when it makes emetics sound so pretty; you might +hear of ’em while you was at dinner and not disturb you. + +You may depend it made the old lady wake snakes and walk chalks talking +of physic. She told me if a man was dying or a child was born in all +that settlement, she was always sent for, and related to me some +capital stories; but somehow no English or Yankee woman could tell them +to a man, and a man can’t tell them in English. How is this, Squire, do +you know? Ah! here is the doctor, I will ask him by and by. + +Women, I believe, are born with certain natural tastes. Sally was death +on lace, and old Aunt Thankful goes the whole figure for furs; either +on ’em could tell real thread or genuine sable clear across the church. +Mother was born with a tidy devil, and had an eye for cobwebs and +blue-bottle flies. She waged eternal war on ’em; while Phoebe Hopewell +beat all natur for bigotry and virtue as she called them _(bijouterie_ +and _virtu)._ But most Yankee women when they grow old, specially if +they are spinsters, are grand at compoundin’ medicines and presarves. +They begin by nursin’ babies and end by nursin’ broughten up folks. Old +Mother Boudrot, now, was great on herbs, most of which were as simple +and as harmless as herself. Some of them was new to me, though I think +I know better ones than she has; but what made her onfallible was she +had faith. She took a key out of her pocket, big enough for a +jail-door, and unlocking a huge sailor’s chest, selected a box made by +the Indians of birch bark, worked with porcupine quills, which enclosed +another a size smaller, and that a littler one that would just fit into +it, and so on till she came to one about the size of an old-fashioned +coffee-cup. They are called a nest of boxes. The inner one contained a +little horn thing that looked like a pill-box, and that had a charm in +it. + +It was a portion of the nail of St Francis’s big toe, which never +failed to work a cure on them who believed in it. She said she bought +it from a French prisoner, who had deserted from Melville Island, at +Halifax, during the last war. She gave him a suit of clothes, two +shirts, six pair of stockings, and eight dollars for it. The box was +only a bit of bone, and not worthy of the sacred relic, but she +couldn’t afford to get a gold one for it. + +“Poor St Croix,” she said, “I shall never see him again. He had great +larning; he could both read and write. When he sold me that holy thing, +he said: + +“‘Madam, I am afraid something dreadful will happen to me before long +for selling that relic. When danger and trouble come, where will be my +charm then?’ + +“Well, sure enough, two nights after (it was a very dark night) the +dogs barked dreadful, and in the morning Peter La Roue, when he got up, +saw his father’s head on the gate-post, grinnin’ at him, and his +daughter Annie’s handkerchief tied over his crown and down under his +chin. And St Croix was gone, and Annie was in a trance, and the +priest’s desk was gone, with two hundred pounds of money in it; and old +Jodrie’s ram had a saddle and bridle on, and was tied to a gate of the +widow of Justine Robisheau, that was drowned in a well at Halifax; and +Simon Como’s boat put off to sea of itself, and was no more heard of. +Oh, it was a terrible night, and poor St Croix, people felt very sorry +for him, and for Annie La Roue, who slept two whole days and nights +before she woke up. She had all her father’s money in her room that +night; but they searched day after day and never found it.” + +Well, I didn’t undeceive her. What’s the use? Master St Croix was an +old privateers-man. He had drugged La Roue’s daughter to rob her of her +money; had stolen two hundred pounds from the priest, and Como’s boat, +and sold the old lady a piece of his toe-nail for eight or ten pounds’ +worth in all. _I never shake the faith of an ignorant person. Suppose +they do believe too much, it is safer than believing too little. You +may make them give up their creed, but they ain’t always quite so +willing to take your’s. It is easier to make an infidel than a +convert._ So I just let folks be, and suffer them to skin their own +eels. + +After that she took to paying me compliments on my French, and I +complimented her on her good looks, and she confessed she was very +handsome when she was young, and all the men were in love with her, and +so on. Well, when I was about startin’, I inquired what she had to sell +in the eatin’ line. + +“Eggs and fish,” she said, “were all she had in the house.” + +On examining the barrel containing the former, I found a white-lookin’, +tasteless powder among them. + +“What’s that?” said I. + +Well, she told me what it was (pulverised gypsum), and said, “It would +keep them sweet and fresh for three months at least, and she didn’t +know but more.” + +So I put my hand away down into the barrel and pulled out two, and that +layer she said was three months old. I held them to the light, and they +were as clear as if laid yesterday. + +“Boil them,” sais I, and she did so; and I must say it was a wrinkle I +didn’t expect to pick up at such a place as that, for nothing could be +fresher. + +“Here is a dollar,” said I, “for that receipt, for it’s worth knowing, +I can tell you.” + +“Now,” thinks I, as I took my seat again, “I will try and see if this +French gall can talk English.” I asked her, but she shook her head. + +So to prove her, sais I, “Doctor, ain’t she a beauty, that? See what +lovely eyes she has, and magnificent hair! Oh, if she was well got up, +and fashionably dressed, wouldn’t she be a sneezer? What beautiful +little hands and feet she has! I wonder if she would marry me, seein’ I +am an orthodox man.” + +Well, she never moved a muscle; she kept her eyes fixed on her work, +and there wasn’t the leastest mite of a smile on her face. I kinder +sorter thought her head was rather more stationary, if anything, as if +she was listening, and her eyes more fixed, as if she was all +attention; but she had dropped a stitch in her knitting, and was taking +of it up, so perhaps I might be mistaken. Thinks I, I will try you on +t’other tack. + +“Doctor, how would you like to kiss her, eh? Ripe-looking lips them, +ain’t they? Well, I wouldn’t kiss her for the world,” said I; “I would +just as soon think of kissing a ham that is covered with creosote. +There is so much ile and smoke on ’em, I should have the taste in my +mouth for a week. Phew! I think I taste it now!” + +She coloured a little at that, and pretty soon got up and went out of +the room; and presently I heard her washing her hands and face like +anything, + +Thinks I, “You sly fox! you know English well enough to kiss in it +anyhow, if you can’t talk in it easy. I thought I’de find you out; for +a gall that won’t laugh when you tickle her, can’t help screamin’ a +little when you pinch her; that’s a fact.” She returned in a few +minutes quite a different lookin’ person, and resumed her usual +employment, but still persisted that she did not know English. In the +midst of our conversation, the master of the house, Jerome Boudrot, +came in. Like most of the natives of Chesencook, he was short in +stature, but very active, and like all the rest a great talker. + +“Ah, gentlemen,” he said, “you follow de sea, eh?” + +“No,” sais I, “the sea often follows us, especially when the wind is +fair.” + +“True, true,” he said; “I forget dat. It followed me one time. Oh, I +was wunst lost at sea; and it’s an awful feelin’. I was out of sight of +land one whole day, all night, and eetle piece of next day. Oh, I was +proper frightened. It was all sea and sky, and big wave, and no land, +and none of us knew our way back.” And he opened his eyes as if the +very recollection of his danger alarmed him. “At last big ship came by, +and hailed her, and ask: + +“‘My name is Jerry Boudrot; where am I?’ + +“‘Aboard of your own vessel,’ said they; and they laughed like +anything, and left us. + +“Well, towards night we were overtaken by Yankee vessel, and I say, ‘My +name is Jerry Boudrot; where am I?’ + +“‘_Thar_,’ said the sarcy Yankee captain, ‘and if you get this far, you +will be _here_;’ and they laughed at me, and I swore at them, and +called ’em all manner of names. + +“Well, then I was proper frightened, and I gave myself up for lost, and +I was so sorry I hadn’t put my deed of my land on recor, and that I +never got pay for half a cord of wood I sold a woman, who nevare return +agin, last time I was to Halifax; and Esadore Terrio owe me two +shillings and sixpence, and I got no note of hand for it, and I lend my +ox-cart for one day to Martell Baban, and he will keep it for a week, +and wear it out, and my wife marry again as sure as de world. Oh, I was +very scare and propare sorry, you may depend, when presently great big +English ship come by, and I hail her. + +“‘My name is Jerry Boudrot,’ sais I, ‘when did you see land last?’ + +“‘Thirty days ago,’ said the captain. + +“‘Where am I?’ sais I. + +“‘In 44° 40′ north,’ said he, ‘and 63° 40′ west,’ as near as I could +hear him. + +“‘And what country is dat are?’ said I. ‘My name is Jerry Boudrot.’ + +“‘Where are you bound?’ said he. + +“‘Home,’1 said I. + +1 All colonists call England “home.” + + +“‘Well,’ said he, ‘at this season of the year you shall make de run in +twenty-five day. A pleasant passage to you!’ and away he went. + +“Oh, I was plague scared; for it is a dreadful thing to be lost at sea. + +“‘Twenty-five days,’ said I, ‘afore we get home! Oh, mon Dieu! oh dear! +we shall all starve to death; and what is worse, die first. What +provision have we, boys?’ + +“‘Well,’ sais they, ‘we counted, and we have two figs of tobacco, and +six loaf baker’s bread (for the priest), two feet of wood, three +matches, and five gallons of water, and one pipe among us all.’ Three +matches and five gallons of water! Oh, I was so sorry to lose my life, +and what was wus, I had my best clothes on bord. + +“‘Oh, boys, we are out of sight of land now,’ sais I, ‘and what is wus, +may be we go so far we get out sight of de sun too, where is dark like +down cellar. Oh, it’s a shocking ting to be lost at sea. Oh, people +lose deir way dere so bad, sometimes dey nevare return no more. People +that’s lost in de wood dey come back if dey live, but them that’s lost +at sea nevare. Oh, I was damn scared. Oh, mon Dieu! what is 44° 40′ +north and 63° 40′ west? Is dat de conetry were people who are lost at +sea go to? Boys, is there any rum on board?’ and they said there was a +bottle for the old lady’s rheumatis. ‘Well, hand it up,’ sais I, ‘and +if ever you get back tell her it was lost at sea, and has gone to 44° +40′ north and 63° 40′ west. Oh, dear, dis all comes from going out of +sight of land.’ + +“Oh, I was vary dry you may depend; I was so scared at being lost at +sea that way, my lips stuck together like the sole and upper-leather of +a shoe. And when I took down the bottle to draw breath, the boys took +it away, as it was all we had. Oh, it set my mouth afire, it was made +to warm outside and not inside. Dere was brimstone, and camphor, and +eetle red pepper, and turpentene in it. Vary hot, vary nasty, and vary +trong, and it made me sea-sick, and I gave up my dinner, for I could +not hole him no longer, he jump so in de stomach, and what was wus, I +had so little for anoder meal. Fust I lose my way, den I lose my sense, +den I lose my dinner, and what is wus I lose myself to sea. Oh, I +repent vary mush of my sin in going out of sight of land. Well, I +lights my pipe and walks up and down, and presently the sun comes out +quite bright. + +“‘Well, dat sun,’ sais I, ‘boys, sets every night behind my barn in the +big swamp, somewhere about the Hemlock Grove. Well, dat is 63° 40′ west +I suppose. And it rises a few miles to the eastward of that barn, +sometimes out of a fog bank, and sometimes out o’ the water; well that +is 44° 40′ north, which is all but east I suppose. Now, if we steer +west we will see our barn, but steering east is being lost at sea, for +in time you would be behind de sun.’ + +“Well, we didn’t sleep much dat night, you may depend, but we prayed a +great deal, and we talked a great deal, and I was so cussed scared I +did not know what to do. Well, morning came and still no land, and I +began to get diablement feared again. Every two or tree minutes I run +up de riggin’ and look out, but couldn’t see notin’. At last I went +down to my trunk, for I had bottle there for my rheumatics too, only no +nasty stuff in it, that the boys didn’t know of, and I took very long +draught, I was so scared; and then I went on deck and up de riggin’ +again. + +“‘Boys,’ sais I, ‘there’s the barn. That’s 63° 40′ west. I tole you +so.’ Well, when I came down I went on my knees, and I vowed as long as +I lived I would hug as tight and close as ever I could.” + +“Your wife?” sais I. + +“Pooh, no,” said he, turning round contemptuously towards her; “hug +her, eh! why, she has got the rheumatiz, and her tongue is in mourning +for her teeth. No, hug the shore, man, hug it so close as posseeble, +and nevare lose sight of land for fear of being lost at sea.” + +The old woman perceiving that Jerry had been making some joke at her +expense, asked the girl the meaning of it, when she rose, and seizing +his cap and boxing his ears with it, right and left, asked what he +meant by wearing it before gentlemen, and then poured out a torrent of +abuse on him, with such volubility I was unable to follow it. + +Jerry sneaked off, and set in the corner near his daughter, afraid to +speak, and the old woman took her chair again, unable to do so. There +was a truce and a calm, so to change the conversation, sais I: + +“Sorrow, take the rifle and go and see if there is a Jesuit-priest +about here, and if there is shoot him, and take him on board and cook +him.” + +“Oh, Massa Sam,” said he, and he opened his eyes and goggled like an +owl awfully frightened. “Goody gracious me, now you is joking, isn’t +you? I is sure you is. You wouldn’t now, Massa, you wouldn’t make dis +child do murder, would you? Oh, Massa!! kill de poor priest who nebber +did no harm in all his born days, and him hab no wife and child to +follow him to—” + +“The pot,” sais I, “oh, yes, if they ask me arter him I will say he is +gone to pot.” + +“Oh, Massa, now you is funnin, ain’t you?” and he tried to force a +laugh. “How in de world under de canopy ob hebbin must de priest be +cooked?” + +“Cut his head and feet off,” sais I, “break his thighs short, close up +to the stumps, bend ’em up his side, ram him into the pot and stew him +with ham and vegetables. Lick! a Jesuit-priest is delicious done that +way.” + +The girl dropped her cards on her knees and looked at me with intense +anxiety. She seemed quite handsome, I do actilly believe if she was put +into a tub and washed, laid out on the grass a few nights with her face +up to bleach it, her great yarn petticoats hauled off and proper ones +put on, and her head and feet dressed right, she’d beat the Blue-nose +galls for beauty out and out; but that is neither here nor there, those +that want white faces must wash them, and those that want white floors +must scrub them, it’s enough for me that they are white, without my +making them so. Well, she looked all eyes and ears. Jerry’s under-jaw +dropped, Cutler was flabbergasted, and the doctor looked as if he +thought, “Well, what are you at now?” while the old woman appeared +anxious enough to give her whole barrel of eggs to know what was going +on. + +“Oh, Massa,” said Sorrow, “dis here child can’t have no hand in it. De +priest will pyson you, to a dead sartainty. If he was baked he mout do. +In Africa dey is hannibals and eat dere prisoners, but den dey bake or +roast ’em, but stew him, Massa! by golly he will pyson you, as sure as +‘postles. My dear ole missus died from only eaten hogs wid dere heads +on.” + +“Hogs!” said I. + +“Yes, Massa, in course, hogs wid dere heads on. Oh, she was a most a +beautiful cook, but she was fizzled out by bad cookery at de last.” + +“You black villain,” said I, “do you mean to say your mistress ever eat +whole hogs?” + +“Yes, Massa, in course I do, but it was abbin’ dere heads on fixed her +flint for her.” + +“What an awful liar you are, Sorrow!” + +“‘Pon my sacred word and honour, Massa,” he said, “I stake my testament +oat on it; does you tink dis here child now would swear to a lie? true +as preachin’, Sar.” + +“Go on,” said I, “I like to see a fellow go the whole animal while he +is about it. How many did it take to kill her?” + +“Well, Massa, she told me herself, on her def bed, she didn’t eat no +more nor ten or a dozen hogs, but she didn’t blame dem, it was havin’ +dere heads on did all the mischief. I was away when dey was cooked, or +it wouldn’t a happened. I was down to Charleston Bank to draw six +hundred dollars for her, and when I came back she sent for me. +‘Sorrow,’ sais she, ‘Plutarch has poisoned me.’ + +“‘Oh, de black villain’, sais I, ‘Missus, I will tye him to a tree and +burn him.’ + +“‘No, no,’ she said, ‘I will return good for ebil. Send for Rev. Mr +Hominy, and Mr Succatash, de Yankee oberseer, and tell my poor granny +Chloe her ole missus is dyin’, and to come back, hot foot, and bring +Plutarch, for my disgestion is all gone.’ Well, when Plutarch came she +said, ‘Plue, my child, you have killed your missus by cooking de hogs +wid dere heads on, but I won’t punish you, I is intendin’ to extinguish +you by kindness among de plantation niggers. I will heap coals of fire +on your head.’ + +“‘Dat’s right, Missus,’ sais I, ‘burn the villain up, but burn him with +green wood so as to make slow fire, dat’s de ticket, Missus, it sarves +him right.’ + +“Oh, if you eber heard yellin’, Massa, you’d a heard it den. Plue he +trowed himself down on de ground, and he rolled and he kicked and he +screamed like mad. + +“‘Don’t make a noise, Plutarch,’ said she, ‘I can’t stand it. I isn’t a +goin’ to put you to def. You shall lib. I will gib you a wife.’ + +“‘Oh, tankee, Missus,’ said he, ‘oh, I will pray for you night and day, +when I ain’t at work or asleep, for eber and eber. Amen.’ + +“‘You shall ab Cloe for a wife.’ + +“Cloe, Massa, was seventy-five, if she was one blessed second old. She +was crippled with rheumatis, and walked on crutches, and hadn’t a tooth +in her head. She was just doubled up like a tall nigger in a short bed. + +“‘Oh, Lord, Missus,’ said Plutarch, ‘hab mercy on dis sinner, O dear +Missus, O lubly Missus, oh hab mercy on dis child.’ + +“‘Tankee, Missus,’ said Cloe. ‘God bless you, Missus, I is quite appy +now. I is a leetle too young for dat spark, for I is cuttin’ a new set +o’ teeth now, and ab suffered from teethin’ most amazin’, but I will +make him a lubin’ wife. Don’t be shy, Mr Plue,’ said she, and she up +wid one ob her crutches and gub him a poke in de ribs dat made him +grunt like a pig. ‘Come, tand up,’ said she, ‘till de parson tie de +knot round your neck.’ + +“‘Oh! Lord, Missus,’ said he, ‘ab massy!’ But de parson married ’em, +and said, ‘Slute your bride!’ but he didn’t move. + +“‘He is so bashful,’ said Cloe, takin’ him round de neck and kissin’ ob +him. ‘Oh, Missus!’ she said, ‘I is so proud ob my bridegroom—he do look +so genteel wid ole massa’s frill shirt on, don’t he?’ + +“When dey went out o’ de room into de entry, Cloe fotched him a crack +ober his pate with her crutch that sounded like a cocoa-nut, it was so +hollow. + +“‘Take dat,’ said she, ‘for not slutin’ ob your bride, you +good-for-nottin’ onmanerly scallawag you.’ + +“Poor dear missus! she died dat identical night.” + +“Come here, Sorrow,” said I; “come and look me in the face.” + +The moment he advanced, Jerry slipt across the room, and tried to hide +behind the tongues near his wife. He was terrified to death. “Do you +mean to say,” said I, “she died of going the whole hog? Was it a +hog—tell me the truth?” + +“Well, Massa,” said he, “I don’t know to a zact sartainty, for I was +not dere when she was tooked ill,—I was at de bank at de time,—but I +will take my davy it was hogs or dogs. I wont just zackly sartify +which, because she was ‘mazin’ fond of both; but I will swear it was +one or toder, and dat dey was cooked wid dere heads on—dat I will +stificate to till I die!” + +“Hogs or dogs,” said I, “whole, with their heads on—do you mean that?” + +“Yes, Massa, dis here child do, of a sartainty.” + +“Hogs like the pig, and dogs like the Newfoundlander at the door?” + +“Oh, no, Massa, in course it don’t stand to argument ob reason it was. +Oh, no, it was quadogs and quahogs—clams, you know. We calls ’em down +South, for shortness, hogs and dogs. Oh, Massa, in course you knows +dat—I is sure you does—you is only intendin’ on puppose to make game of +dis here nigger, isn’t you?” + +“You villain,” said I, “you took a rise out of me that time, at any +rate. It ain’t often any feller does that, so I think you deserve a +glass of the old Jamaiky for it when we go on board. Now go and shoot a +Jesuit-priest if you see one.” + +The gall explained the order to her mother. + +“Shoot the priest?” said she, in French. + +“Shoot the priest,” said Jerry; “shoot me!” And he popped down behind +his wife, as if he had no objection to her receiving the ball first. + +She ran to her chest, and got out the little horn box with the nail of +St Francis, and looked determined to die at her post. Sorrow deposited +the gun in the corner, hung down his head, and said: + +“Dis here child, Massa Slick, can’t do no murder.” + +“Then I must do it myself,” said I, rising and proceeding to get my +rifle. + +“Slick,” said the doctor, “what the devil do you mean?” + +“Why,” says I, a settin’ down again, “I’ll tell you. Jesuit-priests +were first seen in Spain and Portugal, where they are very fond of +them. I have often eaten them there.” + +“First seen in Spain and Portugal!” he replied. “You are out there—but +go on.” + +“There is a man,” said I, “in Yorkshire, who says his ancestor brought +the first over from America, when he accompanied Cabot in his voyages, +and he has one as a crest. But that is all bunkum. Cabot never saw +one.” + +“What in the world do you call a Jesuit-priest?” + +“Why a turkey to be sure,” said I; “that’s what they call them at +Madrid and Lisbon, after the Jesuits who first introduced them into +Europe.” + +“My goody gracious!” said Sorrow, “if that ain’t fun alive it’s a pity, +that’s all.” + +“We’ll,” said Jerry, “I was lost at sea that time; I was out of sight +of land. It puzzled me like 44° north, and 63° 40′ west.” + +“Hogs, dogs, and Jesuit-priests!” said the doctor, and off he set +again, with his hands on his sides, rushing round the room in +convulsions of laughter. + +“The priest,” said I to the old woman, “has given him a pain in his +stomach,” when she ran to the dresser again, and got the cup of soot +for him which had not yet been emptied. + +“Oh dear!” said he, “I can’t stand that; oh, Slick, you will be the +death of me yet,” and he bolted out of the house. + +Having purchased a bushel of clams from the old lady, and bid her and +her daughter good-bye, we _vamosed the ranche_.1 At the door I saw a +noble gobbler. + +1 One of the numerous corruptions of Spanish words introduced into the +States since the Mexican war, and signifies to quit the house or +shanty. Rancho designates a hut, covered with branches, where herdsmen +temporarily reside. + + +“What will you take for that Jesuit-priest,” said I, “Jerry?” + +“Seven and sixpence,” said he. + +“Done,” said I, and his head was perforated with a ball in an instant. + +The dog unused to such a sound from his master’s house, and +recollecting the damage he received from the fall of the doctor, set +off with the most piteous howls that ever were heard, and fled for +safety—the pigs squealed as if they had each been wounded—and the geese +joined in the general uproar—while old Madam Boudrot and her daughter +rushed screaming to the door to ascertain what these dreadful men were +about, who talked of shooting priests, and eating hogs and dogs entire +with their heads on. It was some time before order was restored, and +when Jerry went into the house to light his pipe and deposit his money, +I called Cutler’s attention to the action and style of a horse in the +pasture whom my gun had alarmed. + +“That animal,” said I, “must have dropped from the clouds. If he is +young and sound, and he moves as if he were both, he is worth six +hundred dollars. I must have him; can you give him a passage till we +meet one of our large coal ships coming from Pictou?” + +“Certainly,” said he. + +“Jerry,” sais I, when he returned, “what in the world do you keep such +a fly-away devil as that for? why don’t you sell him and buy cattle? +Can’t you sell him at Halifax?” + +“Oh”, said he, “I can’t go there now no more, Mr Slick. The boys call +after me and say: Jerry, when did you see land last? My name is Jerry +Boudrot, where am I? Jerry, I thought you was lost at sea! Jerry, has +your colt got any slippares on yet (shoes)? Jerry, what does 44—40 +mean? Oh! I can’t stand it!” + +“Why don’t you send him by a neighbour?” + +“Oh! none o’ my neighbours can ride him. We can’t break him. We are +fishermen, not horsemen.” + +“Where did he come from?” + +“The priest brought a mare from Canada with him, and this is her colt. +He gave it to me when I returned from being lost at sea, he was so glad +to see me. I wish you would buy him, Mr Slick; you will have him cheap; +I can’t do noting with him, and no fence shall stop him.” + +“What the plague,” sais I, “do you suppose I want of a horse on board +of a ship? do you want me to be lost at sea too? and besides, if I did +try to oblige you,” said I, “and offered you five pounds for that devil +nobody can ride, and no fence stop, you’d ask seven pound ten right +off. Now, that turkey was not worth a dollar here, and you asked at +once seven and sixpence. Nobody can trade with you, you are so +everlasting sharp. If you was lost at sea, you know your way by land, +at all events.” + +“Well,” sais he, “say seven pounds ten, and you will have him.” + +“Oh! of course,” said I, “there is capital pasture on board of a +vessel, ain’t there? Where am I to get hay till I send him home?” + +“I will give you tree hundredweight into the bargain.” + +“Well,” sais I, “let’s look at him; can you catch him?” + +He went into the house, and bringing out a pan of oats, and calling +him, the horse followed him into the stable, where he was secured. I +soon ascertained he was perfectly sound, and that he was an uncommonly +fine animal. I sent Sorrow on board for my saddle and bridle, whip and +spurs, and desired that the vessel might be warped into the wharf. When +the negro returned, I repeated the terms of the bargain to Jerry, which +being assented to, the animal was brought out into the centre of the +field, and while his owner was talking to him, I vaulted into the +saddle. At first he seemed very much alarmed, snorting, and blowing +violently; he then bounded forward and lashed out with his hind feet +most furiously, which was succeeded by alternate rearing, kicking, and +backing. I don’t think I ever see a critter splurge so badly; at last +he ran the whole length of the field, occasionally throwing up his +heels very high in the air, and returned unwillingly, stopping every +few minutes and plunging outrageously. On the second trial he again +ran, and for the first time I gave him both whip and spur, and made him +take the fence, and in returning I pushed him in the same manner, +making him take the leap as before. Though awkward and ignorant of the +meaning of the rein, the animal knew he was in the hands of a power +superior to his own, and submitted far more easily than I expected. + +When we arrived at the wharf, I removed the saddle, and placing a +strong rope round his neck, had it attached to the windlass, not to +drag him on board, but to make him feel if he refused to advance that +he was powerless to resist, an indispensable precaution in breaking +horses. Once and once only he attempted escape; he reared and threw +himself, but finding the strain irresistible, he yielded and went on +board quietly. Jerry was as delighted to get rid of him as I was to +purchase him, and though I knew that seven pounds ten was as much as he +could ever realize out of him, I felt I ought to pay him for the hay, +and also that I could well afford to give him a little conciliation +present; so I gave him two barrels of flour in addition, to enable him +to make his peace with his wife, whom he had so grossly insulted by +asserting that his vow to heaven was to hug the shore hereafter, and +had no reference to her. If I ain’t mistaken, Jerry Boudrot, for so I +have named the animal after him, will astonish the folks to Slickville; +for of all the horses on this continent, to my mind, the real genuine +Canadian is the best by all odds. + +“Ah! my friend,” said Jerry, addressing the horse, “you shall soon be +out of sight of land, like your master; but unlike him, I hope you +shall never be lost at sea.” + + + + +CHAPTER XVIII. +HOLDING UP THE MIRROR. + + +From Halifax to Cumberland, Squire, the eastern coast of Nova Scotia +presents more harbours fit for the entrance of men-of-war than the +whole Atlantic coast of our country from Maine to Mexico. No part of +the world I am acquainted with is so well supplied and so little +frequented. They are “thar,” as we say, but where are the large ships? +growing in the forest I guess. And the large towns? all got to be built +I reckon. And the mines? why wanting to be worked. And the fisheries? +Well, I’ll tell you, if you will promise not to let on about it. We are +going to have them by treaty, as we now have them by trespass. Fact is, +we treat with the British and the Indians in the same way. Bully them +if we can, and when that won’t do, get the most valuable things they +have in exchange for trash, like glass beads and wooden clocks. Still, +Squire, there is a vast improvement here, though I won’t say there +ain’t room for more; but there is such a change come over the people, +as is quite astonishing. The Blue-nose of 1834 is no longer the +Blue-nose of 1854. He is more active, more industrious, and more +enterprising. Intelligent the critter always was, but unfortunately he +was lazy. He was asleep then, now he is wide awake, and up and doing. +He never had no occasion to be ashamed to show himself, for he is a +good-looking feller, but he needn’t now be no longer skeered to answer +to his name, when the muster is come and his’n is called out in the +roll, and say, “Here am I, _Sirree_.” A new generation has sprung up, +some of the drones are still about the hive, but there is a young +vigorous race coming on who will keep pace with the age. + +It’s a great thing to have a good glass to look in now and then and see +yourself. They have had the mirror held up to them. + +Lord, I shall never forget when I was up to Rawdon here once, a +countryman came to the inn where I was, to pay me for a clock I had put +off on him, and as I was a passin’ through the entry I saw the critter +standin’ before the glass, awfully horrified. + +“My good gracious,” said he, a talking to himself, “my good gracious, +is this you, John Smiler? I havn’t seen you before now going on twenty +years. Oh, how shockingly you are altered, I shouldn’t a known you, I +declare.” + +Now, I have held the mirror to these fellows to see themselves in, and +it has scared them so they have shaved slick up, and made themselves +look decent. I won’t say I made all the changes myself, for Providence +scourged them into activity, by sending the weavel into their +wheat-fields, the rot into their potatoes, and the drought into their +hay crops. It made them scratch round, I tell you, so as to earn their +grub, and the exertion did them good. Well, the blisters I have put on +their vanity stung ’em so, they jumped high enough to see the right +road, and the way they travel ahead now is a caution to snails. + +Now, if it was you who had done your country this sarvice, you would +have spoke as mealy-mouthed of it as if butter wouldn’t melt in it. “I +flatter myself,” you would have said, “I had some little small share in +it.” “I have lent my feeble aid.” “I have contributed my poor mite,” +and so on, and looked as meek and felt as proud as a Pharisee. Now, +that’s not my way. I hold up the mirror, whether when folks see +themselves in it they see me there or not. The value of a glass is its +truth. And where colonists have suffered is from false reports, +ignorance, and misrepresentation. There is not a word said of them that +can be depended on. Missionary returns of all kinds are coloured and +doctored to suit English subscribing palates, and it’s a pity they +should stand at the head of the list. British travellers distort things +the same way. They land at Halifax, where they see the first contrast +between Europe and America, and that contrast ain’t favourable, for the +town is dingy lookin’ and wants paint, and the land round it is poor +and stony. But that is enough, so they set down and abuse the whole +country, stock and fluke, and write as wise about it as if they had +seen it all instead of overlooking one mile from the deck of a steamer. +The military enjoy it beyond anything, and are far more comfortable +than in soldiering in England; but it don’t do to say so, for it counts +for foreign service, and like the witnesses at the court-marshall at +Windsor, every feller sais, _Non mi ricordo._ Governors who now-a-days +have nothing to do, have plenty of leisure to write, and their +sufferings are such, their pens are inadequate to the task. They are +very much to be pitied. + +Well, colonists on the other hand seldom get their noses out of it. But +if provincials do now and then come up on the other side of the big +pond, like deep sea-fish rising to the surface, they spout and blow +like porpoises, and try to look as large as whales, and people only +laugh at them. Navy officers extol the harbour and the market, and the +kindness and hospitality of the Haligonians, but that is all they know, +and as far as that goes they speak the truth. It wants an impartial +friend like me to hold up the mirror, both for their sakes and the +Downing Street officials too. Is it any wonder then that the English +don’t know what they are talking about? Did you ever hear of the +devil’s advocate? a nickname I gave to one of the understrappers of the +Colonial office, an ear mark that will stick to the feller for ever! +Well, when they go to make a saint at Rome, and canonize some one who +has been dead so long he is in danger of being forgot, the cardinals +hold a sort of court-martial on him, and a man is appointed to rake and +scrape all he can agin him, and they listen very patiently to all he +has to say, so as not to do things in a hurry. He is called “the +devil’s advocate,” but he never gained a cause yet. The same form used +to be gone through at Downing Street, by an underling, but he always +gained his point. The nickname of the “devil’s advocate” that I gave +him did his business for him, he is no longer there now. + +The British cabinet wants the mirror held up to them, to show them how +they look to others. Now, when an order is transmitted by a minister of +the crown, as was done last war, to send all Yankee prisoners to the +fortress of Louisburg for safe keeping, when that fortress more than +sixty years before had been effectually razed from the face of the +earth by engineer officers sent from England for the purpose, why it is +natural a colonist should laugh, and say Capital! only it is a little +too good; and when another minister says, he can’t find good men to be +governors, in order to defend appointments that his own party say are +too _bad,_ what language is strong enough to express his indignation? +Had he said openly and manly, We are so situated, and so bound by +parliamentary obligations, _we not only have to pass over the whole +body of provincials themselves, who have the most interest and are best +informed in colonial matters,_ but we have to appoint some people like +those to whom you object, who are forced upon us by hollerin’ their +daylights out for us at elections, when we would gladly select others, +who are wholly unexceptionable, and their name is legion; why, he would +have pitied his condition, and admired his manliness. If this sweeping +charge be true, what an encomium it is upon the Dalhousies, the +Gosfords, the Durhams, Sydenhams, Metcalfs, and Elgins, that they were +chosen because suitable men could not be found if not supported by +party. All that can be said for a minister who talks such stuff, is +that a man who knows so little of London as to be unable to find the +shortest way home, may easily lose himself in the wilds of Canada. + +Now we licked the British when we had only three millions of people +including niggers, who are about as much use in a war as crows that +feed on the slain, but don’t help to kill ’em. We have “run up” an +empire, as we say of a “wooden house,” or as the gall who was asked +where she was raised, said “She warn’t raised, she growed up.” We have +shot up into manhood afore our beards grew, and have made a nation that +ain’t afeard of all creation. Where will you find a nation like ours? +Answer me that question, but don’t reply as an Irishman does by +repeating it,—“Is it where I will find one, your Honour?” + +Minister used to talk of some old chap, that killed a dragon and +planted his teeth, and armed men sprung up. As soon as we whipped the +British we sowed their teeth, and full-grown coons growed right out of +the earth. Lord bless you, we have fellows like Crocket, that would +sneeze a man-of-war right out of the water. + +We have a right to brag, in fact it ain’t braggin’, its talking +history, and cramming statistics down a fellow’s throat, and if he +wants tables to set down to, and study them, there’s the old chairs of +the governors of the thirteen united universal worlds of the old +States, besides the rough ones of the new States to sit on, and +canvas-back ducks, blue-point oysters, and, as Sorrow says, “hogs and +dogs,” for soup and pies, for refreshment from labour, as Freemasons +say. Brag is a good dog, and Holdfast is a better one, but what do you +say to a cross of the two?—and that’s just what we are. An English +statesman actually thinks nobody knows anything but himself. And his +conduct puts folks both on the defensive and offensive. He eyes even an +American all over as much as to say, Where the plague did you +originate, what field of cotton or tobacco was you took from? and if a +Canadian goes to Downing Street, the secretary starts as much as to +say, I hope you han’t got one o’ them rotten eggs in your hand you +pelted Elgin with. Upon my soul, it wern’t my fault, his indemnifyin’ +rebels, we never encourage traitors except in Spain, Sicily, Hungary, +and places we have nothin’ to do with. He brags of purity as much as a +dirty piece of paper does, that it was originally clean. + +“We appreciate your loyalty most fully, I assure you,” he says. “When +the militia put down the rebellion, without efficient aid from the +military, parliament would have passed a vote of thanks to you for your +devotion to _our_ cause, but really we were so busy just then we forgot +it. Put that egg in your pocket, that’s a good fellow, but don’t set +down on it, or it might stain the chair, and folks might think you was +frightened at seeing so big a man as me;” and then he would turn round +to the window and laugh. + +Whoever brags over me gets the worst of it, that’s a fact. Lord, I +shall never forget a rise I once took out of one of these magnetized +officials, who know all about the colonies, tho’ he never saw one. I +don’t want any man to call me coward, and say I won’t take it parsonal. +There was a complaint made by some of our folks against the people of +the Lower provinces seizing our coasters under pretence they were +intrudin’ on the fisheries. Our embassador was laid up at the time with +rheumatism, which he called gout, because it sounded diplomatic. So +says he, “Slick, take this letter and deliver it to the minister, and +give him some verbal explanations.” + +Well, down I goes, was announced and ushered in, and when he saw me, he +looked me all over as a tailor does a man before he takes his measure. +It made me hoppin’ mad I tell you, for in a general way I don’t allow +any man to turn up his nose at me without having a shot at it. So when +I sat down I spit into the fire, in a way to put it out amost, and he +drew back and made a face, a leettle, just a leettle uglier than his +natural one was. + +“Bad habit,” sais I, “that’of spittin’, ain’t it?” lookin’ up at him as +innocent as you please, and makin’ a face exactly like his. + +“Very,” said he, and he gave a shudder. + +Sais I, “I don’t know whether you are aware of it or not, but most bad +habits are catching.” + +“I should hope not,” said he, and he drew a little further off. + +“Fact,” sais I; “now if you look long and often at a man that winks, it +sets you a winkin’. If you see a fellow with a twitch in his face, you +feel your cheek doin’ the same, and stammerin’ is catching too. Now I +caught that habit at court, since I came to Europe. I dined wunst with +the King of Prussia, when I was with our embassador on a visit at +Berlin, and the King beats all natur in spittin’, and the noise he +makes aforehand is like clearin’ a grate out with a poker, it’s horrid. +Well, that’s not the worst of it, he uses that ugly German word for it, +that vulgarians translate ‘spitting.’ Now some of our western people +are compelled to chew a little tobacco, but like a broker tasting +cheese, when testing wine, it is only done to be able to judge of the +quality of the article, but even them unsophisticated, free, and +enlightened citizens have an innate refinement about them. They never +use that nasty word ‘spitting,’ but call it ‘expressing the ambia.’ +Well, whenever his Majesty crosses my mind, I do the same out of clear +sheer disgust. Some o’ them sort of uppercrust people, I call them big +bugs, think they can do as they like, and use the privilege of +indulging those evil habits. When folks like the king do it, I call +them ‘High, low, jack, and the game.’” + +Well, the stare he gave me would have made you die a larfin’. I never +saw a man in my life look so skeywonaky. He knew it was true that the +king had that custom, and it dumb-foundered him. He looked at me as +much as to say, “Well, that is capital; the idea of a Yankee, who spits +like a garden-engine, swearing it’s a bad habit he larned in Europe, +and a trick he got from dining with a king, is the richest thing I ever +heard in my life. I must tell that to Palmerston.” + +But I didn’t let him off so easy. In the course of talk, sais he: + +“Mr Slick, is it true that in South Carolina, if a free nigger, on +board of one of our vessels, lands there, he is put into jail until the +ship sails?” and he looked good, as much as to say, “Thank heaven I +ain’t like that republican.” + +“It is,” said I. “We consider a free nigger and a free Englishman on a +parr; we imprison a free black, lest he should corrupt _our_ slaves. +The Duke of Tuscany imprisons a free Englishman, if he has a Bible in +his possession, lest he should corrupt _his_ slaves. It’s upon the +principle, that what is sauce for the goose is sauce for the gander.” + +He didn’t pursue the subject. + +That’s what I call brag for brag. We never allow any created critter, +male or female, to go a-head of us in anything. I heard a lady say to +embassador’s wife once, in answer to her question, “how she was?” + +“Oh, I am in such _rude_ health, I have grown quite _indecently_ +stout.” + +Embassadress never heard them slang words before (for even high life +has its slang), but she wouldn’t be beat. + +“Oh,” said she, “all that will yield to exercise. Before I was married +I was the _rudest_ and _most indecent gall_ in all Connecticut.” + +Well, an Irishman, with his elbow through his coat, and his shirt, if +he has one, playing diggy-diggy-doubt from his trowsers, flourishes his +shillalah over his head, and brags of the “Imirald Isle,” and the most +splindid pisantry in the world; a Scotchman boasts, that next to the +devil and the royal owner of Etna, he is the richest proprietor of +sulphur that ever was heard of; while a Frenchman, whose vanity exceeds +both, has the modesty to call the English a nation of shopkeepers, the +Yankees, _canaille,_ and all the rest of the world beasts. Even John +Chinaman swaggers about with his three tails, and calls foreigners +“Barbarians.” If we go a-head and speak out, do you do so, too. You +have a right to do so. Hold the mirror to them, and your countrymen, +too. It won’t lie, that’s a fact. They require it, I assure you. The +way the just expectations of provincials have been disappointed, the +loyal portion depressed, the turbulent petted, and the manner the +feelings of all disregarded, the contempt that has accompanied +concessions, the neglect that has followed devotion and self-sacrifice, +and the extraordinary manner the just claims of the meritorious +postponed to parliamentary support, has worked a change in the feelings +of the people that the Downing Street officials cannot understand, or +surely they would pursue a different course. They want to have the +mirror held up to them. + +I know they feel sore here about the picture my mirror gives them, and +it’s natural they should, especially comin’ from a Yankee; and they +call me a great bragger. But that’s nothin’ new; doctors do the same +when a feller cures a poor wretch they have squeezed like a sponge, +ruinated, and given up as past hope. They sing out Quack. But I don’t +care; I have a right to brag nationally and individually, and I’d be no +good if I didn’t take my own part. Now, though I say it that shouldn’t +say it, for I ain’t afraid to speak out, the sketches I send you are +from life; I paint things as you will find them and know them to be. +I’ll take a bet of a hundred dollars, ten people out of twelve in this +country will recognise Jerry Boudrot’s house who have never entered it, +but who have seen others exactly like it, and will say, “I know who is +meant by Jerry and his daughter and wife; I have often been there; it +is at Clare or Arichat or Pumnico, or some such place or another.” + +Is that braggin’? Not a bit; it’s only the naked fact. To my mind there +is no vally in a sketch if it ain’t true to nature. We needn’t go +searching about for strange people or strange things; life is full of +them. There is queerer things happening every day than an author can +imagine for the life of him. It takes a great many odd people to make a +world, that’s a fact. Now, if I describe a house that has an old hat in +one window, and a pair of trousers in another, I don’t stop to turn +glazier, take ’em out and put whole glass in, nor make a garden where +there is none, and put a large tree in the foreground for effect; but I +take it as I find it, and I take people in the dress I find ’em in, and +if I set ’em a talkin’ I take their very words down. Nothing gives you +a right idea of a country and its people like that. + +There is always some interest in natur, where truly depicted. Minister +used to say that some author (I think he said it was old Dictionary +Johnson) remarked, that the life of any man, if wrote truly, would be +interesting. I think so too; for every man has a story of his own, +adventures of his own, and some things have happened to him that never +happened to anybody else. People here abuse me for all this, they say, +after all my boastin’ I don’t do ’em justice. But after you and I are +dead and gone, and things have been changed, as it is to be hoped they +will some day or another for the better, unless they are like their +Acadian French neighbours, and intend to remain just as they are for +two hundred and fifty years, then these sketches will be curious; and, +as they are as true to life as a Dutch picture, it will be interestin’ +to see what sort of folks were here in 1854, how they lived, and how +they employed themselves, and so on. + +Now it’s more than a hundred years ago since Smollett wrote, but his +men and women were taken from real life, his sailors from the navy, his +attorneys from the jails and criminal courts, and his fops and fine +ladies from the herd of such cattle that he daily met with. Well, they +are read now; I have ’em to home, and laugh till I cry over them. Why? +Because natur is the same always. Although we didn’t live a hundred +years ago, we can see how the folks of that age did; and, although +society is altered, and there are no Admiral Benbows, nor Hawser +Trunnions, and folks don’t travel in vans with canvas covers, or wear +swords, and frequent taverns, and all that as they used to did to +England; still it’s a pictur of the times, and instructin’ as well as +amusin’. I have learned more how folks dressed, talked, and lived, and +thought, and what sort of critters they were, and what the state of +society, high and low, was then, from his books and Fielding’s than any +I know of. They are true to life, and as long as natur remains the +same, which it always will, they will be read. That’s my idea at least. + +Some squeamish people turn up the whites of their peepers at both those +authors and say they are coarse. How can they be otherwise? society was +coarse. There are more veils worn now, but the devil still lurks in the +eye under the veil. Things ain’t talked of so openly, or done so +openly, in modern as in old times. There is more concealment; and +concealment is called delicacy. But where concealment is, the passions +are excited by the difficulties imposed by society. Barriers are +erected too high to scale, but every barrier has its wicket, its latch +key, and its private door. Natur is natur still, and there is as much +of that that is condemned in his books now, as there was then. There is +a horrid sight of hypocrisy now, more than there was one hundred years +ago; vice was audacious then, and scared folks. It ain’t so bold at +present as it used to did to be; but if it is forbid to enter the +drawing-room, the back staircase is still free. Where there is a will +there is a way, and always will be. I hate pretence, and, above all, +mock modesty; it’s a bad sign. + +I knew a clergyman to home a monstrous pious man, and so +delicate-minded, he altered a great many words and passages in the +Church Service, he said he couldn’t find it in his heart to read them +out in meetin’, and yet that fellow, to my sartain knowledge, was the +greatest scamp in private life I ever knew. Gracious knows, I don’t +approbate coarseness, it shocks me, but narvous sensibility makes me +sick. I like to call things by their right names, and I call a leg a +leg, and not a larger limb; a shirt a shirt, though it is next the +skin, and not a linen vestment; and a stocking a stocking, though it +does reach up the leg, and not a silk hose; and a garter a garter, +though it is above the calf, and not an elastic band or a hose +suspender. _A really modest woman was never squeamish. Fastidiousness +is the envelope of indelicacy. To see harm in ordinary words betrays a +knowledge, and not an ignorance of evil._ + +But that is neither here nor there, as I was sayin’, when you are dead +and gone these Journals of mine which you have edited, when mellowed by +time, will let the hereafter-to-be Blue-noses, see what the has-been +Nova Scotians here from ‘34 to ‘54 were. Now if something of the same +kind had been done when Halifax was first settled a hundred years ago, +what strange coons the old folks would seem to us. That state of +society has passed away, as well as the actors. For instance, when the +militia was embodied to do duty so late as the Duke of Kent’s time, +Ensign Lane’s name was called on parade. “Not here,” said Lieutenant +Grover, “he is mending Sargent Street’s breeches.” + +Many a queer thing occurred then that would make a queer book, I assure +you. There is much that is characteristic both to be seen and heard in +every harbour in this province, the right way is to jot all down. Every +place has its standing topic. At Windsor it is the gypsum trade, the St +John’s steamer, the Halifax coach, and a new house that is building. In +King’s County it is export of potatoes, bullocks, and horses. At +Annapolis, cord, wood, oars, staves, shingles, and agricultural produce +of all kinds. At Digby, smoked herrings, fish weirs, and St John +markets. At Yarmouth, foreign freights, berthing, rails, cat-heads, +lower cheeks, wooden bolsters, and the crown, palm, and shank of +anchors. At Shelburne, it is divided between fish, lumber, and the +price of vessels. At Liverpool, ship-building, deals, and timber, +knees, transums, and futtucks, pintles, keelsons, and moose lines. At +Lunenburg, Jeddore, and Chesencook, the state of the market at the +capital. At the other harbours further to the eastward, the coal trade +and the fisheries engross most of the conversation. You hear +continually of the fall _run_ and the spring _catch_ of mackerel that +_set_ in but don’t stop to _bait._ The remarkable discovery of the +French coasters, that was made fifty years ago, and still is as new and +as fresh as ever, that when fish are plenty there is no salt, and when +salt is abundant there are no fish, continually startles you with its +novelty and importance. While you are both amused and instructed by +learning the meaning of coal cakes, Albion tops, and what a +Chesencooker delights in, “slack;” you also find out that a hundred +tons of coal at Sydney means when it reaches Halifax one hundred and +fifteen, and that West India, Mediterranean, and Brazilian fish are +actually _made_ on these shores. These local topics are greatly +diversified by politics, which, like crowfoot and white-weed, abound +everywhere. + +Halifax has all sorts of talk. Now if you was writin’ and not me, you +would have to call it, to please the people, that flourishing great +capital of the greatest colony of Great Britain, the town with the +harbour, as you say of a feller who has a large handle to his face, the +man with the nose, that place that is destined to be the London of +America, which is a fact if it ever fulfils its destiny. The little +scrubby dwarf spruces on the coast are destined not to be lofty pines, +because that can’t be in the natur of things, although some folks talk +as if they expected it; but they are destined to be enormous trees, and +although they havn’t grown an inch the last fifty years, who can tell +but they may exceed the expectations that has been formed of them? Yes, +you would have to give it a shove, it wants it bad enough, and lay it +on thick too, so as it will stick for one season. + +It reminds me of a Yankee I met at New York wunst, he was disposin’ of +a new hydraulic cement he had invented. Now cements, either to resist +fire or water, or to mend the most delicate china, or to stop a crack +in a stove, is a thing I rather pride myself on. I make my own cement +always, it is so much better than any I can buy. + +Sais I, “What are your ingredients?” + +“Yes,” sais he, “tell you my secrets, let the cat out of the bag for +you to catch by the tail. No, no,” sais he, “excuse me, if you please.” + +It ryled me that, so I just steps up to him, as savage as a meat-axe, +intendin’ to throw him down-stairs, when the feller turned as pale as a +rabbit’s belly, I vow I could hardly help laughin’, so I didn’t touch +him at all. + +“But,” sais I, “you and the cat in the bag may run to Old Nick and see +which will get to him first, and say tag—I don’t want the secret, for I +don’t believe you know it yourself. If I was to see a bit of the +cement, and break it up myself, I’d tell you in a moment whether it was +good for anything.” + +“Well,” sais he, “I’ll tell you;” and he gave me all the particulars. + +Sais I, “It’s no good, two important ingredients are wantin’, and you +haven’t tempered it right, and it won’t stick.” + +Sais he, “I guess it will stick till I leave the city, and that will +answer me and my eends.” + +“No,” sais I, “it won’t, it will ruin you for ever, and injure the +reputation of Connecticut among the nations of the airth. Come to me +when I return to Slickville, and I will show you the proper thing in +use, tested by experience, in tanks, in brick and stone walls, and in a +small furnace. Give me two thousand dollars for the receipt, take out a +patent, and your fortune is made.” + +“Well,” sais he, “I will if it’s all you say, for there is a great +demand for the article, if it’s only the true Jeremiah.” + +“Don’t mind what I say,” said I, “ask it what it says, there it is, go +look at it.” + +Well, you would have to give these Haligonians a coat of white-wash +that would stick till you leave the town. But that’s your affair, and +not mine. I hold the mirror truly, and don’t flatter. Now, Halifax is a +sizable place, and covers a good deal of ground, it is most as large as +a piece of chalk, which will give a stranger a very good notion of it. +It is the seat of government, and there are some very important +officers there, judging by their titles. There are a receiver-general, +an accountant-general, an attorney-general, a solicitor-general, a +commissary-general, an assistant commissary-general, the general in +command, the quartermaster-general, the adjutant-general, the +vicar-general, surrogate-general, and postmaster-general. His +Excellency the governor, and his Excellency the admiral. The master of +the Rolls, their lordships the judges, the lord bishop, and the +archbishop, archdeacon, secretary for the Home department, and a host +of great men, with the handle of honourable to their names. Mayors, +colonels, and captains, whether of the regulars or the militia, they +don’t count more than fore-cabin passengers. It ain’t considered +genteel for them to come abaft the paddle-wheel. Indeed, the +quarter-deck wouldn’t accommodate so many. Now, there is the same +marvel about this small town that there was about the scholar’s head— + +“And still the wonder grew, +How one small head could carry all he knew.” + + +Well, it is a wonder so many great men can be warm-clothed, +bedded-down, and well stalled there, ain’t it? But they are, and very +comfortably, too. This is the upper crust; now the under crust consists +of lawyers, doctors, merchants, army and navy folks, small officials, +articled clerks, and so on. Well, in course such a town, I beg pardon, +it is a city (which is more than Liverpool in England is), and has two +cathedral churches, with so many grades, trades, blades, and pretty +maids in it, the talk must be various. The military talk is +professional, with tender reminiscences of home, and some little +boasting, that they are suffering in their country’s cause by being so +long on foreign service at Halifax. The young swordknots that have just +joined are brim full of ardour, and swear by Jove (the young heathens) +it is too bad to be shut up in this vile hole (youngsters, take my +advice, and don’t let the town’s-people hear that, or they will lynch +you), instead of going to Constantinople. + +“I say, Lennox, wouldn’t that be jolly work?” + +“Great work,” says Lennox, “rum coves those Turks must be in the field, +eh? The colonel is up to a thing or two; if he was knocked on the head, +there would be such promotion, no one would lament him, but his dear +wife and five lovely daughters, and they would be _really distressed_ +to lose him.” + +He don’t check the youthful ardour, on the contrary, chimes in, and is +in hopes he can make interest at the Horse-guards for the regiment to +go yet, and then he gives a wink to the doctor, who was in the corps +when he was a boy, as much as to say, “Old fellow, you and I have seen +enough of the pleasures of campaigning in our day, eh! Doctor, that is +good wine; but it’s getting confounded dear lately; I don’t mind it +myself, but it makes the expense of the mess fall heavy upon the +youngsters.” The jolly subs look across the table and wink, for they +know that’s all bunkum. + +“Doctor,” sais a new hand, “do you know if Cargill has sold his orses. +His leada is a cleverwish saut of thing, but the wheela is a riglar +bute. That’s a goodish orse the Admewall wides; I wonder if he is going +to take him ome with him.” + +“Haven’t heard—can’t say. Jones, what’s that thing that wont burn, do +you know? Confound the thing, I have got it on the tip of my tongue +too.” + +“Asphalt,” sais Jones. + +“No! that’s not it; that’s what wide-awakes are made of.” + +“Perhaps so,” sais Gage, “_ass’felt_ is very appropriate for a _fool’s_ +cap.” + +At which there is a great roar. + +“No; but really what is it?” + +“Is it arbutus?” sais Simpkins, “I think they make it at Killarney—” + +“No, no; oh! I have it, asbestos; well, that’s what I believe the +cigars here are made of—they won’t go.” + +“There are a good many things here that are no go,” sais Gage, “like +Perry’s bills on Coutts; but, Smith, where did you get that flash +waistcoat I saw last night?” + +“Oh! that was worked by a poor despairing girl at Bath, during a fit of +the _scarlet_ fever.” + +“It was a _memento mori_ then, I suppose,” replies the other. + +But all the talk is not quite so frivolous. Opposite to that large +stone edifice, is an old cannon standing on end at the corner of the +street, to keep carriages from trespassing on the pavement, and the +non-military assemble round it; they are civic great guns. They are +discussing the great event of the season—the vote of want of confidence +of last night, the resignation of the provincial ministry this morning, +and the startling fact that the head upholsterer has been sent for to +furnish a new cabinet, that won’t warp with the heat and fly apart. It +is very important news; it has been telegraphed to Washington, and was +considered so alarming, the President was waked up to be informed of +it. He rubbed his eyes and said: + +“Well, I acknowledge the coin, you may take my hat. I hope I may be +cow-hided if I knew they had a ministry. I thought they only had a +governor, and a regiment for a constitution. Will it affect the stocks? +How it will scare the Emperor of Rooshia, won’t it?” and he roared so +loud he nearly choked. That just shows (everybody regards the speaker +with silence, for he is an oracle), says Omniscient Pitt. + +That just shows how little the Yankees know and how little the English +care about us. “If we want to be indepindent and respictable,” sais an +Hibernian magnate, “we must repale the Union.” But what is this? here +is a fellow tied hand and foot on a truck, which is conveying him to +the police court, swearing and screaming horribly. What is the meaning +of all that? + +A little cynical old man, commonly called the major, looks knowing, +puts on a quizzical expression, and touching his nose with the tip of +his finger, says, “One of the new magistrates qualifying as he goes +down to be sworn into office.” + +It makes the politicians smile, restores their equanimity, and they +make room for another committee of safety. A little lower down the +street, a mail-coach is starting for Windsor, and ten or fifteen men +are assembled doing their utmost, and twenty or thirty boys helping +them, to look at the passengers, but are unexpectedly relieved from +their arduous duty by a military band at the head of a marching +regiment. + +Give me the bar though. I don’t mean the bar-room, though there are +some capital songs sung, and good stories told, and first-rate rises +taken out of green ones, in that bar-room at the big hotel, but I mean +the lawyers. They are the merriest and best fellows everywhere. They +fight like prize-boxers in public and before all the world, and shake +hands when they set to and after it’s over. Preachers, on the contrary, +write anonymous letters in newspapers, or let fly pamphlets at each +other, and call ugly names. While doctors go from house to house +insinuating, undermining, shrugging shoulders, turning up noses, and +looking as amazed as when they was fust born into the world, at each +other’s prescriptions. Well, politicians are dirty birds too, they get +up all sorts of lies against each other, and if any one lays an egg, +t’other swears it was stole out of his nest. But lawyers are above all +these tricks. As soon as court is ended, off they go arm-in-arm, as if +they had both been fighting on one side. “I say, Blowem, that was a +capital hit of yours, making old Gurdy swear he was king of the +mountains.” + +“Not half as good as yours, Monk, telling the witness he couldn’t be a +partner, for the plaintiff had put in all the ‘stock in hand,’ and he +had only put in his ‘stock in feet.’” + +They are full of stories, too, tragic as well as comic, picked up in +the circuits. + +“Jones, do you know Mc Farlane of Barney’s River, a Presbyterian +clergyman? He told me he was once in a remote district there where no +minister had ever been, and visiting the house of a settler of Scotch +descent, he began to examine the children. + +“‘Well, my man,’ said he, patting on the shoulder a stout junk of a boy +of about sixteen years of age, ‘can you tell me what is the chief end +of man?’ + +“‘Yes, Sir,’ said he. ‘To pile and burn brush.’1 + +1 In clearing woodland, after the trees are chopped down and cut into +convenient sizes for handling, they are piled into heaps and burned. + + +“‘No it ain’t,’ said his sister. + +“‘Oh, but it is though,’ replied the boy, ‘for father told me so +himself.’ + +“‘No, no,’ said the minister, ‘it’s not that; but perhaps, my dear,’ +addressing the girl, ‘you can tell me what it is?’ + +“‘Oh, yes, Sir,’ said she, ‘I can tell you, and so could John, but he +never will think before he speaks.’ + +“‘Well, what is it, dear?’ + +“‘Why, the chief end of man, Sir, is his head and shoulders.’ + +“‘Oh,’ said a little lassie that was listening to the conversation, ‘if +you know all these things, Sir, can you tell me if Noah had any +butterflies in the ark? I wonder how in the world he ever got hold of +them! Many and many a beauty have I chased all day, and I never could +catch one yet.’” + +“I can tell you a better one than that,” says Larry Hilliard. “Do you +recollect old Hardwood, our under-sheriff? He has a very beautiful +daughter, and she was married last week at St Paul’s Church, to a +lieutenant in the navy. There was such an immense crowd present (for +they were considered the handsomest couple ever married there), that +she got so confused she could hardly get through the responses. When +the archdeacon said, ‘Will you have this man to be your wedded +husband?’ + +“‘Yes,’ she said, and made a slight pause; and then became bewildered, +and got into her catechism. ‘Yes,’ she said, ‘by God’s grace I will, +and I humbly thank my Heavenly Father for having brought me to this +state of salvation.’ + +“It was lucky she spoke low, and that the people didn’t distinctly hear +her, but it nearly choaked the parson.” + +“Talking of church anecdotes,” says Lawyer Martin, “reminds me of old +Parson Byles, of St John’s, New Brunswick. Before the American +rebellion he was rector at Boston, and he had a curate who always +preached against the Roman Catholics. It tickled the Puritans, but +didn’t injure the Papists, for there were none there at that time. For +three successive Sundays he expounded the text, ‘And Peter’s wife’s +mother lay ill of a fever.’ + +“From which he inferred priests ought to marry. Shortly after that the +bell was tolling one day, and somebody asked Dr Byles who was dead. + +“Says he, and he looked solemcoly, shut one eye and winked with the +other, as if he was trying to shut that also—‘I rather think it is +Peter’s wife’s mother, for she has been ill of a fever for three +weeks.’” + +There are charms in these little “home scenes,” these little detached +sketches, which are wholly lost in a large landscape. + +There is one very redeeming property about the people. Although they +differ widely in politics, I infer that they live in the greatest +possible harmony together, from the fact that they speak of each other +like members of the same family. The word Mr is laid aside as too cold +and formal, and the whole Christian name as too ceremonious. Their most +distinguished men speak of each other, and the public follow their +example, as Joe A, or Jim B, or Bill C, or Tom D, or Fitz this, or Dick +that. It sounds odd to strangers no doubt, but the inference that may +be drawn from it is one of great amiability. + +Still, in holding up the mirror, hold it up fairly, and take in all the +groups, and not merely those that excite ridicule. Halifax has more +real substantial wealth about it than any place of its size in America; +wealth not amassed by reckless speculation, but by judicious +enterprise, persevering industry, and consistent economy. In like +manner there is better society in it than in any similar American or +colonial town. A man must know the people to appreciate them. He must +not merely judge by those whom he is accustomed to meet at the social +board, for they are not always the best specimens anywhere, but by +those also who prefer retirement, and a narrower circle, and rather +avoid general society, as not suited to their tastes. The character of +its mercantile men stands very high, and those that are engaged in +professional pursuits are distinguished for their ability and +integrity. In short, as a colonist, Squire, you may at least be +satisfied to hear from a stranger like me, that they contrast so +favourably with those who are sent officially among them from England, +that they need not be ashamed to see themselves grouped with the best +of them in the same mirror. + +Yes, yes, Squire, every place has its queer people, queer talk, and +queer grouping. I draw what is before me, and I can’t go wrong. Now, if +the sketcher introduces his own person into his foregrounds, and I +guess I figure in all mine as large as life (for like a respectable man +I never forget myself), he must take care he has a good likeness of his +skuldiferous head, as well as a flattering one. Now, you may call it +crackin’ and braggin’, and all that sort of a thing, if you please, but +I must say, I allot that I look, sit, walk, stand, eat, drink, smoke, +think, and talk, aye, and brag too, like a Yankee clockmaker, don’t +you? Yes, there is a decided and manifest improvement in the appearance +of this province. When I say the province, I don’t refer to Halifax +alone, though there are folks there that think it stands for and +represents the whole colony. I mean what I say in using that +expression, which extends to the country at large—and I am glad to see +this change, for I like it. And there is a still more decided and +manifest improvement in the people, and I am glad of that too, for I +like them also. Now, I’ll tell you one great reason of this alteration. +Blue-nose has seen himself as other folks see him, he has had “_the +mirror held up to him_.” + + + + +CHAPTER XIX. +THE BUNDLE OF STICKS. + + +I had hardly entered these remarks in my Journal, and ascended the +companion-ladder, when the doctor joined me in my quarter-deck walk, +and said, “Mr Slick, what is your opinion of the state of these North +American colonies?” + +What a curious thing these coincidences are, Squire, ain’t they? How +often when you are speaking of a man, he unexpectedly makes his +appearance, don’t he? or if you are thinking of a subject, the person +who is with you starts the same topic, or if you are a going to say a +thing, he takes, as we say, the very words out of your mouth. It is +something more than accident that, but what is it? Is it animal +magnetism, or what is it? Well, I leave you to answer that question, +for I can’t. + +“Their growth beats all. The way they are going ahead is a caution to +them that live in Sleepy Hollow, a quiet little place the English call +Downing Street. It astonishes them as a young turkey does a hen that +has hatched it, thinking it was a chicken of her own. She don’t know +what in the world to make of the great long-legged, long-bodied +critter, that is six times as large as herself, that has cheeks as red +as if it drank brandy, an imperial as large as a Russian dragoon, eats +all the food of the poultry-yard, takes a shocking sight of nursing +when it is young, and gets as sarcy as the devil when it grows up.” + +“Yes,” said he, “I am aware of its growth; but what do you suppose is +the destiny of British North America?” + +“Oh,” sais I, “I could tell you if I was Colonial minister, because I +should then have the power to guide that destiny. I know full well what +ought to be done, and the importance of doing it soon, but I am not in +the position to give them the right direction. No English statesmen +have the information, the time, or the inclination to meddle with the +subject. To get rid of the bother of them, they have given up all +control and said to them, ‘There is responsible government for you, now +tortle off hum, and manage your own affairs.’ Yes, yes, so far so +good—they can manage their own _domestic_ matters, but who is to manage +their foreign affairs, as I said wunst to a member of parliament. They +have outgrown colonial dependance; their minority is ended; their +clerkship is out; they are of age now: they never did well in your +house; they were put out to nurse at a distance; they had their +schooling; they learnt figures early; they can add and multiply faster +than you can to save your soul; and now they are uneasy. They have your +name, for they are your children, but they are younger sons. The estate +and all the honours go to the eldest, who resides at home. They know +but little about their parents, further than that their bills have been +liberally paid, but they have no personal acquaintance with you. You +are tired of maintaining them, and they have too much pride and too +much energy to continue to be a burden to you. They can and they will +do for themselves. + +“Have you ever thought of setting them up in business on their own +account, or of taking them into partnership with yourself? In the +course of nature they must form some connection soon. Shall they seek +it with you or the States, or intermarry among themselves, and begin +the world on their own hook? These are important questions, and they +must be answered soon. Have you acquired their confidence and +affection? What has been your manner to them? Do you treat them like +your other younger children that remain at home? Them you put into your +army and navy, place a sword in their hands and say, Distinguish +yourselves, and the highest rewards are open to you; or you send them +to the church or the bar, and say, A mitre or a coronet shall be the +prize to contend for. If you prefer diplomacy, you shall be attaché to +your elder brother. I will place the ladder before you; ascend it. If +you like politics, I will place you in parliament, and if you have not +talents sufficient for the House of Commons, you shall go out as +governor of one of _our_ colonies. _Those appointments belong of right +to them, but they can’t help themselves at present._ Get one while you +can. + +“Have you done this, or anything like it, for your children abroad? If +you have, perhaps you will be kind enough to furnish me with some +names, that I may mention them when I hear you accused of neglect. You +are very hospitable and very considerate to strangers. The +representative of any little insignificant German state, of the size of +a Canadian township, has a place assigned him on state occasions. Do +you ever show the same attention to the delegate of a colony, of +infinitely more extent and value than Ireland? There can’t be a doubt +you have, though I have never heard of it. Such little trifles are +matters of course, but still, as great interests are at stake, perhaps +it would be as well to notice such things occasionally in the Gazette, +for distant and humble relations are always touchy. + +“Ah, Doctor,” said I, “_things can’t and won’t remain long as they +are._ England has three things among which to choose for her North +American colonies:—First: Incorporation with herself, and +representation in Parliament. Secondly: Independence. Thirdly: +Annexation with the States. Instead of deliberating and selecting what +will be most conducive to the interest of herself and her dependencies, +she is allowing things to take their chance. Now, this is all very well +in matters over which we have no control, because Providence directs +things better than we can; but if one of these three alternatives is +infinitely better than the other, and it is in our power to adopt it, +it is the height of folly not to do so. I know it is said, for I have +often heard it myself, Why, we can but lose the colonies at last. +Pardon me, you can do more than that, for you can lose their affections +also. If the partnership is to be dissolved, it had better be done by +mutual consent, and it would be for the interest of both that you +should part friends. You didn’t shake hands with, but fists at, us when +we separated. We had a stand-up fight, and you got licked, and wounds +were given that the best part of a century hasn’t healed, and wounds +that will leave tender spots for ever; so don’t talk nonsense. + +“Now, Doctor, mark my words. I say again, things won’t remain long as +they are. I am glad I have you to talk to instead of the Squire, for he +always says, I am chockfull of crotchets, and brimfull of brag. Now, it +is easy, we all know, to prophesy a thing after it has happened, but if +I foretell a thing and it comes out true, if I haven’t a right to brag +of my skill, I have a right to boast that I guessed right at all +events. Now, when I set on foot a scheme for carrying the Atlantic mail +in steamers, and calculated all the distances and chances, and showed +them Bristol folks (for I went to that place on purpose) that it was +shorter by thirty-six miles to come to Halifax, and then go to New +York, than to go to New York direct, they just laughed at me, and so +did the English Government. They said it couldn’t be shorter in the +nature of things. There was a captain in the navy to London too, who +said, ‘Mr Slick, you are wrong, and I think I ought to know something +about it,’ giving a toss of his head. ‘Well,’ sais I, with another toss +of mine, ‘I think you ought too, and I am sorry you don’t, that’s all.’ + +“Then the Squire said:—‘Why, how you talk, Mr Slick! Recollect, if you +please, that Doctor Lardner says that steam won’t do to cross the +Atlantic, and he is a great gun.” + +“‘Well,’ sais I, ‘I don’t care a fig for what Lardner says, or any +other locomotive lecturer under the light of the living sun. If a +steamer can go agin a stream, and a plaguy strong one too, two thousand +five hundred miles up the Mississippi, why in natur can’t it be fixed +so as to go across the Atlantic?’ + +“Well, some time after that, my second Clockmaker came out in London, +and, sais I, I’ll stand or fall by my opinion, right or wrong, and I +just put it body and breeches all down in figures in that book. Well, +that set inquiries on foot, folks began to calculate—a tender was made +and accepted, and now steam across the Atlantic is a fixed fact, and an +old story. Our folks warn’t over pleased about it, they consaited I +should have told them first, so they might have taken the lead in it, +as they like to go ahead of the British in all things, and I wish to +goodness I had, for thanks are better nor jeers at any time. + +“Well, I was right there, you see. So on this subject I have told +Squire, and them who ought to know something of the colonies they rule, +over and over again, and warned government that something was wanting +to place these provinces on a proper permanent footing; that I knew the +temper of colony folks better than they did, and you will find in my +Journals the subject often mentioned. But no, a debate on a beer bill, +or a metropolitan bridge, or a constabulary act, is so pressing, there +is no time. Well, sure enough that’s all come true. First, the Canadian +league started up, it was a feverish symptom, and it subsided by good +treatment, without letting blood. Last winter it was debated in the +Legislature here, and the best and ablest speeches made on it ever +heard in British America, and infinitely superior to the great majority +of those uttered in the House of Commons.1 Do you suppose for a moment +that proud-spirited, independent, able men like those members, will +long endure the control of a Colonial minister, who, they feel, is as +much below them in talent, as by accident he may be above them in rank? +No, Sir, the day is past. The form of provincial government is changed, +and with it provincial dependence also. _When we become men, we must +put away childish thing’s._ + +1 All these speeches are well worth reading, especially those of Mr +Howe, Mr Johnston, and Mr M. Wilkins. That of the former gentleman is +incomparably superior to any one delivered during the last session of +the Imperial Parliament. + + +“There is a sense of soreness that is uncomfortably felt by a colonist +now when he surveys our condition, and that of Englishmen, and compares +his own with it. He can hardly tell you what he wants, he has yet no +definite plan: but he desires something that will place him on a +perfect equality with either. When I was in Europe lately, I spent a +day at Richmond, with one of them I had known out in America. He was a +Tory, too, and a pretty staunch one, I tell you. + +“Thinks I to myself, ‘I’ll put you through your paces a little, my +young sucking Washington, for fear you will get out of practice when +you get back.’ + +“So, sais I, ‘how do you get on now? I suppose responsible government +has put an end to all complaints, hain’t it?’ + +“Sais he, ‘Mr Slick,’ and I saw he felt sore, for he looked like it, +and talked like it; ‘Mr Slick,’ said he, ‘kinder niblin’ at the +question, I have no remonstrance to make. There is something very +repulsive in a complaint. I can’t bear the sound of it myself. It +should never be pronounced but in the ear of a doctor, or a police +magistrate. Your man with a grievance is everywhere voted a bore. If he +goes to the Colonial Office with one, that stout gentleman at the door, +the porter, who has the keys of that realm of knowledge and bliss, and +knows as much and has as many airs as his master, soon receives an +order not to admit him. + +“‘Worn out with fatigue and disappointment, the unfortunate suitor +finds at last his original grievance merged in the greater one, that he +can obtain no hearing and no redress, and he returns to his own +province, like Franklin, or the Australian delegate, with thoughts of +deep revenge, and visions of a glorious revolution that shall set his +countrymen free from foreign dominion. He goes a humble suppliant, he +returns an implacable rebel. The restless Pole, who would rather play +the part of a freebooting officer than an honest farmer, and who +prefers even begging to labour, wanders over Europe and America, +uttering execrations against all monarchs in general, and his own in +particular, and, when you shake your head at his oft-told tale of +fictitious patriotism, as he replaces his stereotyped memorial in his +pocket, exhibits the handle of a stiletto, with a savage smile of +unmistakeable scoundrelism.’ + +“‘_Poles_ loom large,’ sais I, ‘in the fogs of London, but they dwindle +into poor _sticks_ with us.’ + +“He was in no temper however to laugh. It was evident he felt deeply, +but he was unwilling to exhibit the tender spot. ‘The world, Sir,’ he +said, ‘is full of grievances. Papineau’s parliament mustered ninety-two +of them at one time, and a Falmouth packet-ship actually foundered with +its shifting cargo. What a pity it is that their worthlessness and +lightness alone caused them to float! The English, who reverse every +wholesome maxim, in this instance pursued their usual course. The sage +advice, _parcere subjectis, et debilare superbos,_ was disregarded. The +loyalists suffered, the arrogant and turbulent triumphed. Every house, +Sir, in the kingdom is infested with grievances. Fathers grieve over +the extravagances of their sons, the giddiness of their daughters, and +the ceaseless murmurs of their wives, while they in their turn unite in +complaining of parental parsimony and meanness. Social intercourse I +have long since given up, for I am tired of tedious narratives of the +delinquencies of servants and the degeneracy of the times. I prefer +large parties, where, although you know the smile hides the peevish +temper, the aching heart, the jealous fear, and the wounded pride; yet +it is such a great satisfaction to know there is a truce to complaints, +that I prefer its many falsehoods to unceasing wailings over the sad +realities of life.’ + +“This was no answer, but something to bluff me off. I saw he was +unwilling to speak out, and that it was a mere effort to button up and +evade the subject. So to draw him out, I said, + +“‘Well, there is one thing you _can_ boast. Canada is the most valuable +and beautiful appendage of the British Crown.’ + +“‘England may boast of it as such,’ he said, ‘but I have no right to do +so. I prefer being one of the pariahs of the empire, a mere colonist, +having neither grade nor caste, without a country of my own, and +without nationality. I am a humble man, and when I am asked where I +come from, readily answer, the Chaudiere River. Where is that? Out of +the world? _Extra flammantia limina mundi_. What is the name of your +country? It is not a country, it is only a place. It is better to have +no flag than a borrowed one. If I had one I should have to defend it. +If it were wrested from me I should be disgraced, while my victorious +enemy would be thanked by the Imperial Legislature, and rewarded by his +sovereign. If I were triumphant, the affair would be deemed too small +to merit a notice in the Gazette. He who called out the militia, and +quelled amid a shower of _balls_ the late rebellion, was knighted. He +who assented amid a shower of _eggs_ to a bill to indemnify the rebels, +was created an earl. Now to pelt a governor-general with eggs is an +overt act of treason, for it is an attempt to throw off the _yoke._ If +therefore he was advanced in the peerage for remunerating traitors for +their losses, he ought now to assent to another act for reimbursing the +expenses of the exhausted stores of the poultry yards, and be made a +marquis, unless the British see a difference between a rebel mob and an +indignant crowd, between those whose life has been spent in hatching +mischief, and those who desired to scare the foul birds from their +nests. + +“‘If that man had been a colonist, the dispatch marked ‘private’ would +have said, ‘It sarved you right,’ whereas it announced to him, ‘You are +one of us,’ and to mark our approbation of your conduct, you may add +one of these savoury missiles to your coat of arms, that others may be +_egged_ on to do their duty. Indeed, we couldn’t well have a flag of +our own. The Americans have a very appropriate and elegant one, +containing stripes emblematical of their slaves, and stars to represent +their free states, while a Connecticut goose typifies the good cheer of +thanksgiving day. It is true we have the honour of fighting under that +of England; but there is, as we have seen, this hard condition annexed +to it, we must consent to be taxed, to reimburse the losses of those +whom by our gallantry we subdue. If we take Sebastopol, we must pay for +the damage we have done. We are not entitled to a separate flag, and I +am afraid if we had one we should be subject to ridicule. A pure white +ground would prefigure our snow drifts; a gull with outspread wings, +our credulous qualities; and a few discoloured eggs, portray our +celebrated missiles. But what sort of a flag would that be? No, Sir, +these provinces should be united, and they would from their territorial +extent, their commercial enterprise, their mineral wealth, their +wonderful agricultural productions, and, above all, their intelligent, +industrious, and still loyal population, in time form a nation second +to none on earth, until then I prefer to be a citizen of the world. + +“‘I once asked an Indian where he lived, I meant of course where his +camp was, but the question was too broad, and puzzled him. Stretching +out his arm and describing a circle with his heel, he said, ‘I live in +all these woods!’ Like him, I live in all this world. Those who, like +the English and Americans, have appropriated so large a portion of it +to themselves, may severally boast, if they think proper, of their +respective governments and territories. My boast, Sir, is a peculiar +one, that I have nothing to boast of.’ + +“‘If such are your views,’ I said, ‘I must say, I do not understand +that absurd act of firing your parliament house. It is, I assure you, +reprobated everywhere. Our folks say your party commenced as old +_Hunkers_1 and ended as _Barnburners_.’ + +1 “We have been requested to give a definition of this term, ‘Old +Hunkers.’ Party nicknames are not often logically justified; and we can +only say that that section of the late dominant party in this State +(the democratic) which claims to be the more radical, progressive, +reformatory, &c., bestowed the appellation of ‘Old Hunker’ on the other +section, to indicate that it was distinguished by opposite qualities +from those claimed for itself. We believe the title was also intended +to indicate that those on whom it was conferred had an appetite for a +large ‘hunk’ of the spoils, though we never could discover that they +were peculiar in that. On the other hand, the opposite school was +termed ‘Barnburners,’ in allusion to the story of an old Dutchman, who +relieved himself of rats by burning his barns, which they infested—just +like exterminating all banks and corporations to root out the abuses +connected therewith. The fitness or unfitness of these family terms of +endearment is none of our business.”—NEW YORK TRIBUNE. + + +“That remark threw him off his guard; he rose up greatly agitated; his +eyes flashed fire, and he extended out his arm as if he intended by +gesticulation to give full force to what he was about to say. He stood +in this attitude for a moment without uttering a word, when by a sudden +effort he mastered himself, and took up his hat to walk out on the +terrace and recover his composure. + +“As he reached the door, he turned, and said: + +“‘The assenting to that infamous indemnity act, Mr Slick, and the still +more disreputable manner in which it received the gubernational +sanction, has produced an impression in Canada that no loyal man—’ but +he again checked himself, and left the sentence unfinished. + +“I was sorry I had pushed him so hard, but the way he tried to evade +the subject at first, the bitterness of his tone, and the excitement +into which the allusion threw him, convinced me that the English +neither know who their real friends in Canada are, nor how to retain +their affections. + +“When he returned, I said to him, ‘I was only jesting about your having +no grievances in Canada, and I regret having agitated you. I agree with +you however that it is of no use to remonstrate with the English +public. They won’t listen to you. If you want to be heard, attract +their attention, in the first instance, by talking of their own +immediate concerns, and while they are regarding you with intense +interest and anxiety, by a sleight of hand shift the dissolving view, +and substitute a sketch of your own. For instance, says you, ‘How is it +the army in the Crimea had no tents in the autumn, and no huts in the +winter—the hospitals no fittings, and the doctors no nurses or +medicines? How is it disease and neglect have killed more men than the +enemy? Why is England the laughing-stock of Russia, and the butt of +French and Yankee ridicule? and how does it happen this country is +filled with grief and humiliation from one end of it to the other? I +will tell you. These affairs were managed _by a branch of the Colonial +Office._ The minister for that department said to the army, as he did +to the distant provinces, ‘Manage your own affairs, and don’t bother +us.’ Then pause and say, slowly and emphatically, ‘_You now have a +taste of what we have endured in the colonies. The same incompetency +has ruled over both_.’” + +“‘Good heavens,’ said he, ‘Mr Slick. I wish you was one of us.’ + +“‘Thank you for the compliment.’ sais I. ‘I feel flattered, I assure +you; but, excuse me. I have no such ambition. I am content to be a +humble Yankee clockmaker. _A Colonial Office, in which there is not a +single man that ever saw a colony, is not exactly the government to +suit me. The moment I found my master knew less than I did, I quit his +school and set up for myself.’_ + +‘Yes, my friend, the English want to have the mirror held up to them; +but that is your business and not mine. It would be out of place for +me. I am a Yankee, and politics are not my line; I have no turn for +them, and I don’t think I have the requisite knowledge of the subject +for discussing it; but you have both, and I wonder you don’t. + +“Now, Doctor, you may judge from that conversation, and the deep +feeling it exhibits, that men’s thoughts are wandering in new channels. +The great thing for a statesman is to direct them to the right one. I +have said there were three courses to be considered; first, +incorporation with England; secondly, independence; thirdly, +annexation. The subject is too large for a quarter-deck walk, so I will +only say a few words more. Let’s begin with annexation first. The +thinking, reflecting people among us don’t want these provinces. We +guess we are big enough already, and nothing but our great rivers, +canals, railroads, and telegraphs (which, like skewers in a round of +beef, fasten the unwieldy mass together) could possibly keep us united. +Without them we should fall to pieces in no time. It’s as much as they +can keep all tight and snug now; but them skewers nor no others can tie +a greater bulk than we have. Well, I don’t think colonists want to be +swamped in our vast republic either. So there ain’t no great danger +from that, unless the devil gits into us both, which, if a favourable +chance offered, he is not onlikely to do. So let that pass. Secondly, +as to incorporation. That is a grand idea, but it is almost too grand +for John Bull’s head, and a little grain too large for his pride. There +are difficulties, and serious ones, in the way. It would require +participation in the legislature, which would involve knocking off some +of the Irish brigade to make room for your members; and there would be +a hurrush at that, as O’Connell used to say, that would bang Banaghar. +It would also involve an invasion of the upper house, for colonists +won’t take half a loaf now, I tell you; which would make some o’ those +gouty old lords fly round and scream like Mother Cary’s chickens in a +gale of wind; and then there would be the story of the national debt, +and a participation in imperial taxes to adjust, and so on; but none of +these difficulties are insuperable. + +“A statesman with a clever head, a sound judgment, and a good heart, +could adjust a scheme that would satisfy all; at least it would satisfy +colonists by its justice, and reconcile the peers and the people of +England by its expediency, for the day Great Britain parts with these +colonies, depend upon it, she descends in the scale of nations most +rapidly. India she may lose any day, for it is a government of opinion +only. Australia will emancipate itself ere long, but these provinces +she may and ought to retain. + +“Thirdly, independence. This is better for her than annexation by a +long chalk, and better for the colonies too, if I was allowed to spend +my opinion on it; but if that is decided upon, something must be done +soon. The way ought to be prepared for it by an immediate federative +and legislative union of them all. It is of no use to consult their +governors, they don’t and they can’t know anything of the country but +its roads, lakes, rivers, and towns; but of the people they know +nothing whatever. You might as well ask the steeple of a wooden church +whether the sill that rests on the stone foundation is sound. They are +too big according to their own absurd notions, too small in the eyes of +colonists, and too far removed and unbending to know anything about it. +What can a man learn in five years except the painful fact, that he +knew nothing when he came, and knows as little when he leaves? He can +form a better estimate of himself than when he landed, and returns a +humbler, but not a wiser man; but that’s all his schoolin’ ends in. No, +_Sirree,_ it’s only men like you and me who know the ins and outs of +the people here.” + +“Don’t say me,” said the doctor, “for goodness’ sake, for I know +nothing about the inhabitants of these woods and waters, but the birds, +the fish, and the beasts.” + +“Don’t you include politicians,” said I, “of all shades and colours, +under the last genus? because I do, they are regular beasts of prey.” + +Well, he laughed; he said he didn’t know nothing about them. + +“Well,” sais I, “I ain’t so modest, I can tell you, for I _do_ know. I +am a clockmaker, and understand machinery. I know all about the wheels, +pulleys, pendulum, balances, and so on, the length of the chain, and +what is best of all, the way to wind ’em up, set ’em a going, and make +’em keep time. Now, Doctor, I’ll tell you what neither the English nor +the Yankees, nor the colonists themselves, know anything of, and that +is about the extent and importance of these North American provinces +under British rule. Take your pencil now, and write down a few facts I +will give you, and when you are alone meditating, just chew on ’em. + +“First—there are four millions of square miles of territory in them, +whereas all Europe has but three millions some odd hundred thousands, +and our almighty, everlastin’ United States still less than that again. +Canada alone is equal in size to Great Britain, France, and Prussia. +The maritime provinces themselves cover a space as large as Holland, +Belgium, Greece, Portugal, and Switzerland, all put together. The +imports for 1853 were between ten and eleven millions, and the exports +(ships sold included) between nine and ten millions. At the +commencement of the American Revolution, when we first dared the +English to fight us, we had but two and a half, these provinces now +contain nearly three, and in half a century will reach the enormous +amount of eighteen millions of inhabitants. The increase of population +in the States is thirty-three per cent., in Canada sixty-eight. The +united revenue is nearly a million and a half, and their shipping +amounts to four hundred and fifty thousand tons. + +“Now, take these facts and see what an empire is here, surely the best +in climate, soil, mineral, and other productions in the world, and +peopled by such a race as no other country under heaven can produce. +No, Sir, here are _the bundle of sticks_, all they want is to be well +united. How absurd it seems to us Yankees that England is both so +ignorant and so blind to her own interests, as not to give her +attention to this interesting portion of the empire, that in natural +and commercial wealth is of infinitely more importance than half a +dozen Wallachias and Moldavias, and in loyalty, intelligence, and +enterprise, as far superior to turbulent Ireland as it is possible for +one country to surpass another. However, Doctor, it’s no affair of +mine. I hate politics, and I hate talking figures. Sposin’ we try a +cigar, and _some white satin_.” + + + + +CHAPTER XX. +TOWN AND COUNTRY. + + +“Doctor,” sais I, as we ascended the deck the following morning, “I +can’t tell you how I have enjoyed these incidental runs on shore I have +had during my cruise in the ‘Black Hawk.’ I am amazin’ fond of the +country, and bein’ an early riser, I manage to lose none of its charms. +I like to see the early streak in the east, and look on the glorious +sky when the sun rises. I like everything about the country, and the +people that live in it. The town is artificial, the country is natural. +Whoever sees the peep of the morning in the city but a drowsy watchman, +who waits for it to go to his bed? a nurse, that is counting the heavy +hours, and longs to put out the unsnuffed candles, and take a cup of +strong tea to keep her peepers open; or some houseless wretch, that is +woke up from his nap on a door-step, by a punch in the ribs from the +staff of a policeman, who begrudges the misfortunate critter a luxury +he is deprived of himself, and asks him what he is a doin’ of there, as +if he didn’t know he had nothin’ to do nowhere, and tells him to mizzle +off home, as if he took pleasure in reminding him he had none. Duty +petrifies these critters’ hearts harder than the grand marble porch +stone that served for a couch, or the doorstep that was used for a +pillow. Even the dogs turn in then, for they don’t think it’s necessary +to mount guard any longer. Blinds and curtains are all down, and every +livin’ critter is asleep, breathing the nasty, hot, confined, +unwholesome air of their bed-rooms, instead of inhaling the cool dewy +breeze of heaven. + +“Is it any wonder that the galls are thin, and pale, and delicate, and +are so languid, they look as if they were givin’ themselves airs, when +all they want is air? or that the men complain of dyspepsy, and look +hollow and unhealthy, having neither cheeks, stomach, nor thighs, and +have to take bitters to get an appetite for their food, and pickles and +red pepper to digest it? The sun is up, and has performed the first +stage of his journey before the maid turns out, opens the front door, +and takes a look up and down street, to see who is a stirrin’. Early +risin’ must be cheerfulsome, for she is very chipper, and throws some +orange-peel at the shopman of their next neighbour, as a hint if he was +to chase her, he would catch her behind the hall-door, as he did +yesterday, after which she would show him into the supper-room, where +the liquors and cakes are still standing as they were left last night. + +“Yes, she is right to hide, for it is decent, if it ain’t modest, +seein’ the way she has jumped into her clothes, and the danger there is +of jumping out of them again. How can it be otherwise, when she has to +get up so horrid early? It’s all the fault of the vile milkman, who +will come for fear his milk will get sour; and that beast, the iceman, +who won’t wait, for fear his ice will melt; and that stupid nigger who +will brush the shoes then, he has so many to clean elsewhere. + +“As she stands there, a woman ascends the step, and produces a basket +from under her cloak, into which she looks carefully, examines its +contents (some lace frills, tippets, and collars of her mistress, which +she wore a few nights ago at a ball), and returns with something heavy +in it, for the arm is extended in carrying it, and the stranger +disappears. She still lingers, she is expecting some one. It is the +postman, he gives her three or four letters, one of which is for +herself. She reads it approvingly, and then carefully puts it into her +bosom, but that won’t retain it no how she can fix it, so she shifts it +to her pocket. It is manifest Posty carries a verbal answer, for she +talks very earnestly to him, and shakes hands with him at parting most +cordially. + +“It must be her turn for a ball to-night I reckon, for a carriage +drives very rapidly to within three or four hundred yards of the house, +and then crawls to the door so as not to disturb the family. A very +fashionably-dressed maid is there (her mistress must be very kind to +lend her such expensive head-gear, splendid jewelry, and costly and +elegant toggery), and her beau is there with such a handsome moustache +and becoming beard, and an exquisitely-worked chain that winds six or +seven times round him, and hangs loose over his waistcoat, like a coil +of golden cord. At a given signal, from the boss of the hack, who +stands door in hand, the young lady gathers her clothes well up her +drumsticks, and would you believe, two steps or springs only, like +those of a kangaroo, take her into the house? It’s a streak of light, +and nothing more. It’s lucky she is thin, for fat tames every critter +that is foolish enough to wear it, and spoils agility. + +“The beau takes it more leisurely. There are two epochs in a critter’s +life of intense happiness, first when he doffs the petticoats, +pantellets, the hermaphrodite rig of a child, and mounts the jacket and +trowsers of a boy; and the other is when that gives way to a ‘long tail +blue,’ and a beard. He is then a man. + +“The beau has reached this enviable age, and as he is full of +admiration of himself, is generous enough to allow time to others to +feast their eyes on him. So he takes it leisurely, his character, like +that charming girl’s, won’t suffer if it is known they return with the +cats in the morning; on the contrary, women, as they always do, the +little fools, will think more of him. They make no allowance for one of +their own sex, but they are very indulgent, indeed they are both blind +and deaf, to the errors of the other. The fact is, if I didn’t know it +was only vindicating the honour of their sex, I vow I should think it +was all envy of the gall who was so lucky, as to be unlucky; but I know +better than that. If the owner of the house should be foolish enough to +be up so early, or entirely take leave of his senses, and ask him why +he was mousing about there, he flatters himself he is just the child to +kick him. Indeed he feels inclined to flap his wings and crow. He is +very proud. Celestina is in love with him, and tells him (but he knew +that before) he is very handsome. He is a man, he has a beard as black +as the ace of spades, is full dressed, and the world is before him. He +thrashed a watchman last night, and now he has a drop in his eye, would +fight the devil. He has succeeded in deceiving that gall, he has no +more idea of marrying her than I have. It shows his power. He would +give a dollar to crow, but suffers himself to be gently pushed out of +the hall, and the door fastened behind him, amid such endearing +expressions, that they would turn a fellow’s head, even after his hair +had grown gray. He then lights a cigar, gets up with the driver, and +looks round with an air of triumph, as much as to say—‘What would you +give to be admired and as successful as I am?’ and when he turns the +next corner, he does actilly crow. + +“Yes, yes, when the cat’s away, the mice will play. Things ain’t in a +mess, and that house a hurrah’s nest, is it? Time wears on, and the +alternate gall must be a movin’ now, for the other who was at the ball +has gone to bed, and intends to have her by-daily head-ache if inquired +for. To-night it will be her turn to dance, and to-morrow to sleep, so +she cuts round considerable smart. Poor thing, the time is not far off +when you will go to bed and not sleep, but it’s only the child that +burns its fingers that dreads the fire. In the mean time, set things to +rights. + +“The curtains are looped up, and the shutters folded back into the +wall, and the rooms are sprinkled with tea-leaves, which are lightly +swept up, and the dust left behind, where it ought to be, on the +carpet,—that’s all the use there is of a carpet, except you have got +corns. And then the Venetians are let down to darken the rooms, and the +windows are kept closed to keep out the flies, the dust, and the heat, +and the flowers brought in and placed in the stands. And there is a +beautiful temperature in the parlour, for it is the same air that was +there a fortnight before. It is so hot, when the young ladies come down +to breakfast, they can’t eat, so they take nothing but a plate of +buck-wheat cakes, and another of hot buttered rolls, a dozen of +oysters, a pot of preserves, a cup of honey, and a few ears of Indian +corn. They can’t abide meat, it’s too solid and heavy. It’s so horrid +warm it’s impossible they can have an appetite, and even that little +trifle makes them feel dyspeptic. They’ll starve soon; what can be the +matter? A glass of cool ginger pop, with ice, would be refreshing, and +soda water is still better, it is too early for wine, and at any rate +it’s heating, besides being unscriptural. + +“Well, the men look at their watches, and say they are in a hurry, and +must be off for their counting-houses like wink, so they bolt. What a +wonder it is the English common people call the stomach a bread-basket, +for it has no meanin’ there. They should have called it a meat-tray, +for they are the boys for beef and mutton. But with us it’s the +identical thing. They clear the table in no time, it’s a grand thing, +for it saves the servants trouble. And a steak, and a dish of chops, +added to what the ladies had, is grand. The best way to make a pie is +to make it in the stomach. But flour fixins piping hot is the best, and +as their disgestion ain’t good, it is better to try a little of +everything on table to see which best agrees with them. So down goes +the Johnny cakes, Indian flappers, Lucy Neals, Hoe cakes—with toast, +fine cookies, rice batter, Indian batter, Kentucky batter, flannel +cakes, and clam fritters. Super-superior fine flour is the wholesomest +thing in the world, and you can’t have too much of it. It’s grand for +pastry, and that is as light and as flakey as snow when well made. How +can it make paste inside of you and be wholesome? If you would believe +some Yankee doctors you’d think it would make the stomach a regular +glue pot. They pretend to tell you pap made of it will kill a baby as +dead as a herring. But doctors must have some hidden thing to lay the +blame of their ignorance on. Once when they didn’t know what was the +matter of a child, they said it was water in the brain, and now when it +dies—oh, they say, the poor thing was killed by that pastry flour. But +they be hanged. How can the best of anything that is good be bad? The +only thing is to be sure a thing is best, and then go a-head with it. + +“Well, when the men get to their offices, they are half roasted alive, +and have to take ices to cool them, and then for fear the cold will +heat them, they have to take brandy cock-tail to counteract it. So they +keep up a sort of artificial fever and ague all day. The ice gives the +one, and brandy the other, like shuttlecock and battledore. If they had +walked down as they had ought to have done, in the cool of the morning, +they would have avoided all this. + +“How different it is now in the country, ain’t it? What a glorious +thing the sun-rise is! How beautiful the dew-spangled bushes, and the +pearly drops they shed, are! How sweet and cool is the morning air, and +how refreshing and bracing the light breeze is to the nerves that have +been relaxed in warm repose! The new-ploughed earth, the snowy-headed +clover, the wild flowers, the blooming trees, and the balsamic spruce, +all exhale their fragrance to invite you forth. While the birds offer +up their morning hymn, as if to proclaim that all things praise the +Lord. The lowing herd remind you that they have kept their appointed +time; and the freshening breezes, as they swell in the forest and +awaken the sleeping leaves, seem to whisper, ‘We too come with healing +on our wings;’ and the babbling brook, that it also has its mission to +minister to your wants. Oh, morning in the country is a glorious thing, +and it is impossible when one rises and walks forth and surveys the +scene not to exclaim, ‘God is good.’ + +“Oh, that early hour has health, vigour, and cheerfulness in it. How +natural it seems to me, how familiar I am with everything it indicates! +The dew tells me there will be no showers, the white frost warns me of +its approach; and if that does not arrive in time, the sun instructs me +to notice and remember, that if it rises bright and clear and soon +disappears in a cloud, I must prepare for heavy rain. The birds and the +animals all, all say, ‘We too are cared for, and we have our +foreknowledge, which we disclose by our conduct to you.” The brooks too +have meaning in their voices, and the southern sentinel proclaims +aloud, ‘Prepare.’ And the western, ‘All is well.’” + +Oh, how well I know the face of nature! What pleasure I take as I +commence my journey at this hour, to witness the rising of the mist in +the autumn from the low grounds, and its pausing on the hill-tops, as +if regretting the scene it was about to leave! And how I admire the +little insect webs, that are spangled over the field at that time; and +the partridge warming itself in the first gleam of sunshine it can +discover on the road! The alder, as I descend into the glen, gives me +notice that the first frost has visited him, as it always does, before +others, to warn him that it has arrived to claim every leaf of the +forest as its own. Oh, the country is the place for peace, health, +beauty, and innocence. I love it, I was born in it. I lived the greater +part of my life there, and I look forward to die in it. + +“How different from town life is that of the country! There are duties +to be performed in-door and out-door, and the inmates assemble round +their breakfast-table, refreshed by sleep and invigorated by the cool +air, partake of their simple, plain, and substantial meal, with the +relish of health, cheerfulness, and appetite. The open window admits +the fresh breeze, in happy ignorance of dust, noise, or fashionable +darkness. The verandah defies rain or noon-day sun, and employment +affords no room for complaint that the day is hot, the weather +oppressive, the nerves weak, or the digestion enfeebled. There can be +no happiness where there is an alternation of listlessness and +excitement. They are the two extremes between which it resides, and +that locality to my mind is the country. Care, disease, sorrow, and +disappointment are common to both. They are the lot of humanity; but +the children of mammon, and of God, bear them differently. + +“I didn’t intend to turn preacher, Doctor, but I do positively believe, +if I hadn’t a been a clockmaker, dear old Minister would have made me +one. I don’t allot, though, I would have taken in Slickville, for I +actilly think I couldn’t help waltzing with the galls, which would have +put our folks into fits, or kept old Clay, clergymen like, to leave +sinners behind me. I can’t make out these puritan fellows, or +evangelical boys, at all. To my mind, religion is a cheerful thing, +intended to make us happy, not miserable; and that our faces, like that +of nature, should be smiling, and that like birds we should sing and +carol, and like lilies, we should be well arrayed, and not that our +countenances should make folks believe we were chosen vessels, +containing, not the milk of human kindness, but horrid sour vinegar and +acid mothery grounds. Why, the very swamp behind our house is full of a +plant called ‘a gall’s side-saddle.’1 + +1 This is the common name for the Sarracenia. + + +“Plague take them old Independents; I can’t and never could understand +them. I believe, if Bishop Laud had allowed them to sing through their +noses, pray without gowns, and build chapels without steeples, they +would have died out like Quakers, by being let alone. They wanted to +make the state believe they were of consequence. If the state had +treated them as if they were of no importance, they would have felt +that too very soon. Opposition made them obstinate. They won’t stick at +nothing to carry their own ends. + +“They made a law once in Connecticut that no man should ride or drive +on a Sunday except to a conventicle. Well, an old Dutch governor of New +York, when that was called New Amsterdam and belonged to Holland, once +rode into the colony on horseback on a Sabbath day, pretty hard job it +was too, for he was a very stout man, and a poor horseman. There were +no wheel carriages in those days, and he had been used to home to +travel in canal boats, and smoke at his ease; but he had to make the +journey, and he did it, and he arrived just as the puritans were coming +out of meeting, and going home, slowly, stately, and solemnly, to their +cold dinner cooked the day before (for they didn’t think it no harm to +make servants work double tides on Saturday), their rule being to do +_anything_ of a week day, but _nothing_ on the Sabbath. + +“Well, it was an awful scandal this, and a dreadful violation of the +blue laws of the young nation. Connecticut and New Amsterdam (New York) +were nothing then but colonies; but the puritans owed no obedience to +princes, and set up for themselves. The elders and ministry and learned +men met on Monday to consider of this dreadful profanity of the Dutch +governor. On the one hand it was argued, if he entered their state (for +so they called it then) he was amenable to their laws, and ought to be +cited, condemned, and put into the stocks, as an example to evil-doers. +On the other hand, they got hold of a Dutch book on the Law of Nations, +to cite agin him; but it was written in Latin, and although it +contained all about it, they couldn’t find the place, for their +minister said there was no index to it. Well, it was said, if we are +independent, so is he, and whoever heard of a king or a prince being +put in the stocks? It bothered them, so they sent their Yankee governor +to him to bully and threaten him, and see how he would take it, as we +now do, at the present day, to Spain about Cuba, and England about your +fisheries. + +“Well, the governor made a long speech to him, read him a chapter in +the Bible, and then expounded it, and told him they must put him in the +stocks. All this time the Dutchman went on smoking, and blowing out +great long puffs of tobacco. At last he paused, and said: + +“‘You be tamned. Stockum me—stockum teivel.’ And he laid down his pipe, +and with one hand took hold of their governor by the fore-top, and with +the other drew a line across his forehead and said, ‘Den I declare war, +and Gooten Himmel! I shall scalp you all.’ + +“After delivering himself of that long speech, he poured out two +glasses of Schiedam, drunk one himself, and offered the Yankee governor +the other, who objected to the word Schiedam, as it terminated in a +profane oath, with which, he said, the Dutch language was greatly +defiled; but seeing it was also called Geneva, he would swallow it. +Well, his high mightiness didn’t understand him, but he opened his eyes +like an owl and stared, and said, ‘Dat is tam coot,’ and the conference +broke up. + +“Well, it was the first visit of the Dutch governor, and they hoped it +would be the last, so they passed it over. But his business was +important, and it occupied him the whole week to settle it, and he took +his leave on Saturday evening, and was to set out for home on Sunday +again. Well, this was considered as adding insult to injury. What was +to be done? Now it’s very easy and very proper for us to sit down and +condemn the Duke of Tuscany, who encourages pilgrims to go to shrines +where marble statues weep blood, and cataliptic galls let flies walk +over their eyes without winking, and yet imprisons an English lady for +giving away the ‘Pilgrim’s Progress.’ It’s very wrong, no doubt, but it +ain’t very new after all. Ignorant and bigoted people always have +persecuted, and always will to the end of the chapter. But what was to +be done with his high mightiness, the Dutch governor? Well, they +decided that it was not lawful to put him into the stocks; but that it +was lawful to deprive him of the means of sinning. So one of the elders +swapped horses with him, and when he started on the Sabbath, the +critter was so lame after he went a mile, he had to return and wait +till Monday. + +“No, I don’t understand these puritan folks; and I suppose if I had +been a preacher they wouldn’t have understood me. But I must get back +to where I left off. I was a talkin’ about the difference of life in +town and in the country, and how in the world I got away, off from the +subject, to the Dutch governor and them puritans, I don’t know. When I +say I love the country, I mean it in its fullest extent, not merely old +settlements and rural districts, but the great unbroken forest. This is +a taste, I believe, a man must have in early life. I don’t think it can +be acquired in middle age, any more than playin’ marbles can, though +old Elgin tried that game and made money at it. A man must know how to +take care of himself, forage for himself, shelter himself, and cook for +himself. It’s no place for an epicure, because he can’t carry his cook, +and his spices, and sauces, and all that, with him. Still a man ought +to know a goose from a gridiron; and if he wants to enjoy the sports of +the flood and the forest, he should be able to help himself; and what +he does he ought to do well. Fingers were made afore knives and forks; +flat stones before bake-pans; crotched sticks before jacks; bark before +tin; and chips before plates; and it’s worth knowing how to use them or +form them. + +“It takes two or three years to build and finish a good house. A wigwam +is knocked up in an hour; and as you have to be your own architect, +carpenter, mason, and labourer, it’s just as well to be handy as not. A +critter that can’t do that, hante the gumption of a bear who makes a +den, a fox who makes a hole, or a bird that makes a nest, let alone a +beaver, who is a dab at house building. No man can enjoy the woods that +ain’t up to these things. If he ain’t, he had better stay to his hotel, +where there is one servant to clean his shoes, another to brush his +coat, a third to make his bed, a fourth to shave him, a fifth to cook +for him, a sixth to wait on him, a seventh to wash for him, and half a +dozen more for him to scold and bless all day. That’s a place where he +can go to bed, and get no sleep—go to dinner, and have no appetite—go +to the window, and get no fresh air, but snuff up the perfume of +drains, bar-rooms, and cooking ranges—suffer from heat, because he +can’t wear his coat, or from politeness, because he can’t take it +off—or go to the beach, where the sea breeze won’t come, it’s so far up +the country, where the white sand will dazzle, and where there is no +shade, because trees won’t grow—or stand and throw stones into the +water, and then jump in arter ’em in despair, and forget the way out. +He’d better do anything than go to the woods. + +“But if he can help himself like a man, oh, it’s a glorious place. The +ways of the forest are easy to learn, its nature is simple, and the +cooking plain, while the fare is abundant. Fish for the catching, deer +for the shooting, cool springs for the drinking, wood for the cutting, +appetite for eating, and sleep that waits no wooing. It comes with the +first star, and tarries till it fades into morning. For the time you +are monarch of all you survey. No claimant forbids you; no bailiff +haunts you; no thieves molest you; no fops annoy you. If the tempest +rages without, you are secure in your lowly tent. Though it humbles in +its fury the lofty pine, and uproots the stubborn oak, it passes +harmlessly over you, and you feel for once you are a free and +independent man. You realize a term which is a fiction in our +constitution. Nor pride nor envy, hatred nor malice, rivalry nor strife +is there. You are at peace with all the world, and the world is at +peace with you. You own not its authority. You can worship God after +your own fashion, and dread not the name of bigot, idolater, heretic, +or schismatic. The forest is his temple—he is ever present, and the +still small voice of your short and simple prayer seems more audible +amid the silence that reigns around you. You feel that you are in the +presence of your Creator, before whom you humble yourself, and not of +man, before whom you clothe yourself with pride. Your very solitude +seems to impress you with the belief that, though hidden from the +world, you are more distinctly visible, and more individually an object +of Divine protection, than any worthless atom like yourself ever could +be in the midst of a multitude—a mere unit of millions. Yes, you are +free to come, to go, to stay; your home is co-extensive with the wild +woods. Perhaps it is better for a solitary retreat than a permanent +home; still it forms a part of what I call the country. + +“At Country Harbour we had a sample of the simple, plain, natural, +unpretending way in which neighbours meet of an evening in the rural +districts. But look at that house in the town, where we saw the family +assembled at breakfast this morning, and see what is going on there +to-night. It is the last party of the season. The family leave the city +in a week for the country. What a delightful change from the heated air +of a town-house, to the quiet retreat of an hotel at a watering-place, +where there are _only_ six hundred people collected. It is positively +the very last party, and would have been given weeks ago, but everybody +was engaged for so long a time a-head, there was no getting the +fashionable folks to come. It is a charming ball. The old ladies are +_fully_ dressed, only they are so squeezed against the walls, their +diamonds and pearls are hid. And the young ladies are so _lightly_ +dressed, they look lovely. And the old gentlemen seem so happy as they +walk round the room, and smile on all the acquaintances of their early +days; and tell every one they look so well, and their daughters are so +handsome. It ain’t possible they are bored, and they try not even to +look so. And the room is so well lighted, and so well filled, perhaps a +little too much so to leave space for the dancers; but yet not more so +than is fashionable. And then the young gentlemen talk so enchantingly +about Paris, and London, and Rome, and so disparagingly of home, it is +quite refreshing to hear them. And they have been in such high society +abroad, they ought to be well bred, for they know John _Manners,_ and +all the _Manners_ family, and well informed in politics; for they know +John Russell, who never says I’ll be hanged if I do this or that, but I +will be beheaded if I do; in allusion to one of his great ancestors who +was as _innocent_ of trying to subvert the _constitution_ as he is. And +they have often seen ‘Albert, Albert, Prince of Wales, and all the +royal family,’ as they say in England for shortness. They have +travelled with their eyes open, ears open, mouths open, and pockets +open. They have heard, seen, tasted, and bought everything worth +having. They are capital judges of wine, and that reminds them there is +lots of the best in the next room; but they soon discover they can’t +have it in perfection in America. It has been nourished for the voyage, +it has been fed with brandy. It is heady, for when they return to their +fair friends, their hands are not quite steady, they are apt to spill +things over the ladies dresses (but _they_ are so good-natured, they +only laugh; for they never wear a dress but wunst). And their eyes +sparkle like jewels, and they look at their partners as if they would +eat ’em up. And I guess they tell them so, for they start sometimes, +and say: + +“‘Oh, well now, that’s too bad! Why how you talk! Well, travellin’ +hasn’t improved you?’ + +“But it must be a charming thing to be eat up, for they look delighted +at the very idea of it; and their mammas seem pleased that they are so +much to the _taste_ of these travelled gentlemen. + +“Well then, dancing is voted a bore by the handsomest couple in the +room, and they sit apart, and the uninitiated think they are making +love. And they talk so confidentially, and look so amused; they seem +delighted with each other. But they are only criticising. + +“‘Who is pink skirt?’ + +“‘Blue-nose Mary.’ + +“‘What in the world do they call her Blue-nose for?’ + +“‘It is a nickname for the Nova Scotians. Her father is one; he made +his fortune by a diving-_bell_.’ + +“‘Did he? Well, it’s quite right then it should go with a _belle_.’ + +“‘How very good! May I repeat that? You do say such clever things! And +who is that pale girl that reminds you of brown holland, bleached +white? She looks quite scriptural; she has a proud look and a high +stomach.’ + +“‘That’s Rachael Scott, one of my very best friends. She is as good a +girl as ever lived. My! I wish I was as rich as she is. I have only +three hundred thousand dollars, but she will have four at her father’s +death if he don’t bust and fail. But, dear me! how severe you are! I am +quite afraid of you. I wonder what you will say of me when my back is +turned!’ + +“‘Shall I tell you?’ + +“‘Yes, if it isn’t too savage.’ + +“The hint about the money is not lost, for he is looking for a fortune, +it saves the trouble of making one; and he whispers something in her +ear that pleases her uncommonly, for she sais, + +“‘Ah now, the severest thing you can do is to flatter me that way.’ + +“They don’t discourse of the company anymore; they have too much to say +to each other of themselves now. + +“‘My! what a smash! what in the world is that?’ + +“‘Nothing but a large mirror. It is lucky it is broken, for if the host +saw himself in it, he might see the face of a fool.’ + +“‘How uproariously those young men talk, and how loud the music is, and +how confounded hot the room is! I must go home. But I must wait a +moment till that noisy, tipsy boy is dragged down-stairs, and shoved +into a hack.’ + +“And this is upstart life, is it? Yes, but there are changing scenes in +life. Look at these rooms next morning. The chandelier is broken; the +centre table upset, the curtains are ruined, the carpets are covered +with ice-creams, jellies, blancmanges, and broken glass. And the +elegant album, souvenirs, and autograph books, are all in the midst of +this nasty mess.1 The couches are greasy, the _silk_ ottoman shows it +has been _sat in_ since it met with an accident which was only a +_trifle,_ and there has been the devil to pay everywhere. A doctor is +seen going into the house, and soon after a coffin is seen coming out. +An unbidden guest, a disgusting levelling democrat came to that ball, +how or when no one knew; but there he is and there he will remain for +the rest of the summer. He has victimized one poor girl already, and is +now strangling another. The yellow fever is there. Nature has sent her +avenging angel. There is no safety but in flight. + +1 Whoever thinks this description over-drawn, is referred to a +remarkably clever work which lately appeared in New York, entitled “The +Potiphar Papers.” Mr Slick has evidently spared this class of society. + + +“Good gracious! if people will ape their superiors, why won’t they +imitate their elegance as well as their extravagance, and learn that it +is the refinement alone, of the higher orders which in all countries +distinguishes them from the rest of mankind? _The decencies of life, +when polished, become its brightest ornaments._ Gold is a means, and +not an end. It can do a great deal, still it can’t do everything; and +among others I guess it can’t make a gentleman, or else California +would be chock full of ’em. No, give me the country, and the folks that +live in it, I say.” + + + + +CHAPTER XXI. +THE HONEYMOON. + + +After having given vent to the foregoing lockrum, I took Jehosophat +Bean’s illustrated “Biography of the Eleven Hundred and Seven +Illustrious American Heroes,” and turned in to read a spell; but arter +a while I lost sight of the heroes and their exploits, and I got into a +wide spekilation on all sorts of subjects, and among the rest my mind +wandered off to Jordan river, the Collingwood girls in particular, and +Jessie and the doctor, and the Beaver-dam, and its inmates in general. +I shall set down my musings as if I was thinking aloud. + +I wonder, sais I to myself, whether Sophy and I shall be happy +together, sposin’ always, that she is willing to put her head into the +yoke, for that’s by no means sartain yet. I’ll know better when I can +study her more at leisure. Still matrimony is always a risk, where you +don’t know what sort of breaking a critter has had when young. Women in +a general way don’t look like the same critters when they are spliced, +that they do before; matrimony, like sugar and water, has a nateral +affinity for and tendency to acidity. The clear, beautiful, bright +sunshine of the wedding morning is too apt to cloud over at twelve +o’clock, and the afternoon to be cold, raw, and uncomfortable, or else +the heat generates storms that fairly make the house shake, and the +happy pair tremble again. Everybody knows the real, solid grounds which +can alone make married life perfect. I should only prose if I was to +state them, but I have an idea as cheerfulness is a great ingredient, a +good climate has a vast deal to do with it, for who can be chirp in a +bad one? Wedlock was first instituted in Paradise. Well, there must +have been a charming climate there. It could not have been too hot, for +Eve never used a parasol, or even a “kiss-me-quick,” and Adam never +complained, though he wore no clothes, that the sun blistered his skin. +It couldn’t have been wet, or they would have coughed all the time, +like consumptive sheep, and it would have spoiled their garden, let +alone giving them the chilblains and the snuffles. They didn’t require +umbrellas, uglies, fans, or India-rubber shoes. There was no such a +thing as a stroke of the sun or a snow-drift there. The temperature +must have been perfect, and connubial bliss, I allot, was rael jam up. +The only thing that seemed wanting there, was for some one to drop in +to tea now and then for Eve to have a good chat with, while Adam was a +studyin’ astronomy, or tryin’ to invent a kettle that would stand fire; +for women do like talking, that’s a fact, and there are many little +things they have to say to each other that no man has any right to +hear, and if he did, he couldn’t understand. + +It’s like a dodge Sally and I had to blind mother. Sally was for +everlastingly leaving the keys about, and every time there was an +inquiry about them, or a hunt for them, the old lady would read her a +proper lecture. So at last she altered the name, and said, “Sam, wo is +shlizel?” instead of Where is the key, and she tried all she could to +find it out, but she couldn’t for the life of her. + +Yes, what can be expected of such a climate as Nova Scotia or England? +Though the first can ripen Indian corn and the other can’t, and that is +a great test, I can tell you. It is hard to tell which of them is wuss, +for both are bad enough, gracious knows, and yet the fools that live in +them brag that their own beats all natur. If it is the former, well +then thunder don’t clear the weather as it does to the South, and the +sun don’t come out bright again at wunst and all natur look clear and +tranquil and refreshed; and the flowers and roses don’t hang their +heads down coily for the breeze to brush the drops from their +newly-painted leaves, and then hold up and look more lovely than ever; +nor does the voice of song and merriment arise from every tree; nor +fragrance and perfume fill the air, till you are tempted to say, Now +did you ever see anything so charming as this? nor do you stroll out +arm-in-arm (that is, sposin’ you ain’t in a nasty dirty horrid town), +and feel pleased with the dear married gall and yourself, and all you +see and hear, while you drink in pleasure with every sense—oh, it don’t +do that. Thunder unsettles everything for most a week, there seems no +end to the gloom during these three or four days. You shiver if you +don’t make a fire, and if you do you are fairly roasted alive. It’s all +grumblin’ and growlin’ within, and all mud, slush, and slop outside. +You are bored to death everywhere. And if it’s English climate it is +wuss still, because in Nova Scotia there is an end to all this at last, +for the west wind blows towards the end of the week soft and cool and +bracing, and sweeps away the clouds, and lays the dust and dries all +up, and makes everything smile again. But if it is English it’s +unsettled and uncertain all the time. You can’t depend on it for an +hour. Now it rains, then it clears, after that the sun shines; but it +rains too, both together, like hystericks, laughing and crying at the +same time. The trees are loaded with water, and hold it like a sponge; +touch a bough of one with your hat, and you are drowned in a +shower-bath. There is no hope, for there is no end visible, and when +there does seem a little glimpse of light, so as to make you think it +is a going to relent, it wraps itself up in a foggy, drizzly mist, and +sulks like anything. + +In this country they have a warm summer, a magnificent autumn, a clear, +cold, healthy winter, but no sort of spring at all. In England they +have no summer and no winter.1 Now, in my opinion, that makes the +difference in temper between the two races. The clear sky and bracing +air here, when they do come, give the folks good spirits; but the +extremes of heat and cold limit the time, and decrease the inclination +for exercise. Still the people are good-natured, merry fellows. In +England, the perpetual gloom of the sky affects the disposition of the +men. America knows no such temper as exists in Britain. People here +can’t even form an idea of it. Folks often cut off their children there +in their wills for half nothing, won’t be reconciled to them on any +terms, if they once displease them, and both they and their sons die +game, and when death sends cards of invitation for the last assemblage +of a family, they write declensions. There can’t be much real love +where there is no tenderness. A gloomy sky, stately houses, and a cold, +formal people, make Cupid, like a bird of passage, spread his wings, +and take flight to a more congenial climate. + +1 I wonder what Mr Slick would say now, in 1855? + + +Castles have show-apartments, and the vulgar gaze with stupid wonder, +and envy the owners. But there are rooms in them all, not exhibited. In +them the imprisoned bird may occasionally be seen, as in the olden +time, to flutter against the casement and pine in the gloom of its +noble cage. There are chambers too in which grief, anger, jealousy, +wounded pride, and disappointed ambition, pour out their sighs, their +groans, and imprecations, unseen and unheard. The halls resound with +mirth and revelry, and the eye grows dim with its glittering splendour; +but amid all this ostentatious brilliancy, poor human nature refuses to +be comforted with diamonds and pearls, or to acknowledge that happiness +consists in gilded galleries, gay equipages, or fashionable parties. +They are cold and artificial. The heart longs to discard this joyless +pageantry, to surround itself with human affections, and only asks to +love and be loved. + +Still England is not wholly composed of castles and cottages, and there +are very many happy homes in it, and thousands upon thousands of happy +people in them, in spite of the melancholy climate, the destitution of +the poor, and the luxury of the rich. God is good. He is not only +merciful, but a just judge. He equalizes the condition of all. The +industrious poor man is content, for he relies on Providence and his +own exertions for his daily bread. He earns his food, and his labour +gives him a zest for it. Ambition craves, and is never satisfied, one +is poor amid his prodigal wealth, the other rich in his frugal poverty. +_No man is rich whose expenditure exceeds his means; and no one is poor +whose incomings exceeds his outgoings._ Barring such things as climate, +over which we have no control, happiness, in my idea, consists in the +mind, and not in the purse. These are plain common truths, and +everybody will tell you there is nothing new in them, just as if there +was anything new under the sun but my wooden clocks, and yet they only +say so because they can’t deny them, for who acts as if he ever heard +of them before. Now, if they do know them, why the plague don’t they +regulate their timepieces by them? If they did, matrimony wouldn’t make +such an everlastin’ transmogrification of folks as it does, would it? + +The way cupidists scratch their head and open their eyes and stare +after they are married, reminds me of Felix Culpepper. He was a judge +at Saint Lewis, on the Mississippi, and the lawyers used to talk +gibberish to him, yougerry, eyegerry, iggery, ogerry, and tell him it +was Littleton’s Norman French and Law Latin. It fairly onfakilised him. +Wedlock works just such changes on folks sometimes. It makes me laugh, +and then it fairly scares me. + +Sophy, dear, how will you and I get on, eh? The Lord only knows, but +you are an uncommon sensible gall, and people tell me till I begin to +believe it myself, that I have some common sense, so we must try to +learn the chart of life, so as to avoid those sunk rocks so many people +make shipwreck on. I have often asked myself the reason of all this +onsartainty. Let us jist see how folks talk and think, and decide on +this subject. First and foremost they have got a great many cant terms, +and you can judge a good deal from them. There is the honeymoon, now, +was there ever such a silly word as that? Minister said the Dutch at +New Amsterdam, as they used to call New York, brought out the word to +America, for all the friends of the new married couple, in Holland, did +nothing for a whole month but smoke, drink metheglin (a tipple made of +honey and gin), and they called that bender the honeymoon; since then +the word has remained, though metheglin is forgot for something better. + +Well, when a couple is married now, they give up a whole month to each +other, what an everlastin’ sacrifice, ain’t it, out of a man’s short +life? The reason is, they say, the metheglin gets sour after that, and +ain’t palatable no more, and what is left of it is used for picklin’ +cucumbers, peppers, and nastertions, and what not. Now, as Brother +Eldad, the doctor, says, let us dissect this phrase, and find out what +one whole moon means, and then we shall understand what this wonderful +thing is. The new moon now, as a body might say, ain’t nothing. It’s +just two small lines of a semicircle, like half a wheel, with a little +strip of white in it, about as big as a cart tire, and it sets a little +after sundown; and as it gives no light, you must either use a candle +or go to bed in the dark: now that’s the first week, and it’s no great +shakes to brag on, is it? Well, then there is the first quarter, and +calling that the first which ought to be second, unless the moon has +only three quarters, which sounds odd, shows that the new moon counts +for nothin’. Well, the first quarter is something like the thing, +though not the real genuine article either. It’s better than the other, +but its light don’t quite satisfy us neither. Well, then comes the full +moon, and that is all there is, as one may say. Now, neither the moon +nor nothin’ else can be more than full, and when you have got all, +there is nothing more to expect. But a man must be a blockhead, indeed, +to expect the moon to remain one minute after it is full, as every +night clips a little bit off, till there is a considerable junk gone by +the time the week is out, and what is worse, every night there is more +and more darkness afore it rises. It comes reluctant, and when it does +arrive it hante long to stay, for the last quarter takes its turn at +the lantern. That only rises a little afore the sun, as if it was +ashamed to be caught napping at that hour—that quarter therefore is +nearly as dark as ink. So you see the new and last quarter go for +nothing; that everybody will admit. The first ain’t much better, but +the last half of that quarter and the first of the full, make a very +decent respectable week. + +Well, then, what’s all this when it’s fried? Why, it amounts to this, +that if there is any resemblance between a lunar and a lunatic month, +that the honeymoon lasts only one good week. + +Don’t be skeared, Sophy, when you read this, because we must look +things in the face and call them by their right name. + +Well, then, let us call it the honey-week. Now if it takes a whole +month to make one honey-week, it must cut to waste terribly, mustn’t +it? But then you know a man can’t wive and thrive the same year. Now +wastin’ so much of that precious month is terrible, ain’t it? But oh +me, bad as it is, it ain’t the worst of it. There is no insurance +office for happiness, there is no policy to be had to cover losses—you +must bear them all yourself. Now suppose, just suppose for one moment, +and positively such things have happened before now, they have indeed; +I have known them occur more than once or twice myself among my own +friends, fact, I assure you. Suppose now that week is cold, cloudy, or +uncomfortable, where is the honeymoon then? Recollect there is only one +of them, there ain’t two. You can’t say it rained cats and dogs this +week, let us try the next; you can’t do that, it’s over and gone for +ever. Well, if you begin life with disappointment, it is apt to end in +despair. + +Now, Sophy, dear, as I said before, don’t get skittish at seeing this, +and start and race off and vow you won’t ever let the halter be put on +you, for I kinder sorter guess that, with your sweet temper, good +sense, and lovin’ heart, and with the light-hand I have for a rein, our +honeymoon will last through life. We will give up that silly word, that +foolish boys and girls use without knowing its meanin’, and we will +count by years and not by months, and we won’t expect, what neither +marriage nor any other earthly thing can give, perfect happiness. It +tante in the nature of things, and don’t stand to reason, that earth is +Heaven, Slickville paradise, or you and me angels; we ain’t no such a +thing. If you was, most likely the first eastwardly wind (and though it +is a painful thing to confess it, I must candidly admit there is an +eastwardly wind sometimes to my place to home), why you would just up +wings and off to the sky like wink, and say you didn’t like the land of +the puritans, it was just like themselves, cold, hard, uncongenial, and +repulsive; and what should I do? Why most likely remain behind, for +there is no marrying or giving in marriage up there. + +No, no, dear, if you are an angel, and positively you are amazingly +like one, why the first time I catch you asleep I will clip your wings +and keep you here with me, until we are both ready to start together. +We won’t hope for too much, nor fret for trifles, will we? These two +things are the greatest maxims in life I know of. When I was a boy I +used to call them commandments, but I got such a lecture for that, and +felt so sorry for it afterwards, I never did again, nor will as long as +I live. Oh, dear, I shall never forget the lesson poor dear old +Minister taught me on that occasion. + +There was a thanksgiving ball wunst to Slickville, and I wanted to go, +but I had no clothes suitable for such an occasion as that, and father +said it would cost more than it was worth to rig me out for it, so I +had to stop at home. Sais Mr Hopewell to me, + +“Sam,” said he, “don’t fret about it, you will find it ‘all the same a +year hence.’ As that holds good in most things, don’t it show us the +folly now of those trifles we set our hearts on, when in one short year +they will be disregarded or forgotten?” + +“Never fear,” said I, “I am not a going to break the twelfth +commandment.” + +“Twelfth commandment,” said he, repeatin’ the words slowly, laying down +his book, taking off his spectacles, and lookin’ hard at me, almost +onfakilised. “Twelfth commandment, did I hear right, Sam,” said he, +“did you say that?” + +Well, I saw there was a squall rising to windward, but boy like, +instead of shortening sail, and taking down royals and topgallant +masts, and making all snug, I just braved it out, and prepared to meet +the blast with every inch of canvas set. “Yes, Sir,” said I, “the +twelfth.” + +“Dear me,” said he, “poor boy, that is my fault. I really thought you +knew there were only ten, and had them by heart years ago. They were +among the first things I taught you. How on earth could you have +forgotten them so soon? Repeat them to me.” + +Well, I went through them all, down to “anything that is his,” to +ampersand without making a single stop. + +“Sam,” said he, “don’t do it again, that’s a good soul, for it +frightens me. I thought I must have neglected you.” + +“Well,” sais I, “there are two more, Sir.” + +“Two more,” he said, “why what under the sun do you mean? what are +they?” + +“Why,” sais I, “the eleventh is, ‘Expect nothin’, and you shall not be +disappointed,’ and the twelfth is, ‘Fret not thy gizzard.’” + +“And pray, Sir,” said he, lookin’ thunder-squalls at me, “where did you +learn them?” + +“From Major Zeb Vidito,” said I. + +“Major Zeb Vidito,” he replied, “is the greatest reprobate in the army. +He is the wretch who boasts that he fears neither God, man, nor devil. +Go, my son, gather up your books, and go home. You can return to your +father. My poor house has no room in it for Major Zeb Vidito, or his +pupil, Sam Slick, or any such profane wicked people, and may the Lord +have mercy on you.” + +Well, to make a long story short, it brought me to my bearings that. I +had to heave to, lower a boat, send a white flag to him, beg pardon, +and so on, and we knocked up a treaty of peace, and made friends again. + +“I won’t say no more about it, Sam,” said he, “but mind my words, and +apply your experience to it afterwards in life, and see if I ain’t +right. _Crime has but two travelling companions. It commences its +journey with the scoffer, and ends it with the blasphemer:_ not that +talking irreverently ain’t very improper in itself, but it destroys the +sense of right and wrong, and prepares the way for sin.” + +Now, I won’t call these commandments, for the old man was right, it’s +no way to talk, I’ll call them maxims. Now, we won’t expect too much, +nor fret over trifles, will we, Sophy? It takes a great deal to make +happiness, for everything must be in tune like a piano; but it takes +very little to spoil it. Fancy a bride now having a tooth-ache, or a +swelled face during the honeymoon—in courtship she won’t show, but in +marriage she can’t help it,—or a felon on her finger (it is to be hoped +she hain’t given her hand to one); or fancy now; just fancy, a +hooping-cough caught in the cold church, that causes her to make a +noise like drowning, a great gurgling in-draught, and a great +out-blowing, like a young sporting porpoise, and instead of being all +alone with her own dear husband, to have to admit the horrid doctor, +and take draughts that make her breath as hot as steam, and submit to +have nauseous garlic and brandy rubbed on her breast, spine, palms of +her hands, and soles of her feet, that makes the bridegroom, every time +he comes near her to ask her how she is, sneeze, as if he was catching +it himself. He don’t say to himself in an under-tone damn it, how +unlucky this is. Of course not; he is too happy to swear, if he ain’t +too good, as he ought to be; and she don’t say, eigh—augh, like a +donkey, for they have the hooping-cough all the year round; “dear love, +eigh—augh, how wretched this is, ain’t it? eigh—augh,” of course not; +how can she be wretched? Ain’t it her honeymoon? and ain’t she as happy +as a bride can be, though she does eigh—augh her slippers up amost. But +it won’t last long, she feels sure it won’t, she is better now, the +doctor says it will be soon over; yes, but the honeymoon will be over +too, and it don’t come like Christmas, once a-year. When it expires, +like a dying swan, it sings its own funeral hymn. + +Well, then fancy, just fancy, when she gets well, and looks as chipper +as a canary-bird, though not quite so yaller from the effects of the +cold, that the bridegroom has his turn, and is taken down with the +acute rheumatism, and can’t move, tack nor sheet, and has camphor, +turpentine, and hot embrocations of all sorts and kinds applied to him, +till his room has the identical perfume of a druggist’s shop, while he +screams if he ain’t moved, and yells if he is, and his temper peeps +out. It don’t break out of course, for he is a happy man; but it just +peeps out as a masculine he-angel’s would if he was tortured. + +The fact is, lookin’ at life, with its false notions, false hopes, and +false promises, my wonder is, not that married folks don’t get on +better, but that they get on as well as they do. If they regard +matrimony as a lottery, is it any wonder more blanks than prizes turn +up on the wheel? Now, my idea of mating a man is, that it is the same +as matching a horse; the mate ought to have the same spirit, the same +action, the same temper, and the same training. Each should do his +part, or else one soon becomes strained, sprained, and spavined, or +broken-winded, and that one is about the best in a general way that +suffers the most. + +Don’t be shocked at the comparison; but to my mind a splendiferous +woman and a first chop horse is the noblest works of creation. They +take the rag off the bush quite; a woman “that will come” and a horse +that “will go” ought to make any man happy. Give me a gall that all I +have to say to is, “_Quick, pick up chips and call your father to +dinner_,” and a horse that enables you to say, “_I am thar_.” That’s +all I ask. Now just look at the different sorts of love-making in this +world. First, there is boy and gall love; they are practising the +gamut, and a great bore it is to hear and see them; but poor little +things, their whole heart and soul is in it, as they were the year +before on a doll or a top. They don’t know a heart from a gizzard, and +if you ask them what a soul is, they will say it is the dear sweet soul +they love. It begins when they enter the dancing-school, and ends when +they go out into the world; but after all, I believe it is the only +real romance in life. + +Then there is young maturity love, and what is that half the time based +on? vanity, vanity, and the deuce a thing else. The young lady is +handsome, no, that’s not the word, she is beautiful, and is a belle, +and all the young fellows are in her train. To win the prize is an +object of ambition. The gentleman rides well, hunts and shoots well, +and does everything well, and moreover he is a fancy man, and all the +girls admire him. It is a great thing to conquer the hero, ain’t it? +and distance all her companions; and it is a proud thing for him to win +the prize from higher, richer, and more distinguished men than himself. +It is the triumph of the two sexes. They are allowed to be the +handsomest couple ever married in that church. What an elegant man, +what a lovely woman, what a splendid bride! they seem made for each +other! how happy they both are, eyes can’t show—words can’t express it; +they are the admiration of all. + +If it is in England, they have two courses of pleasure before them—to +retire to a country-house or to travel. The latter is a great bore, it +exposes people, it is very annoying to be stared at. Solitude is the +thing. They are all the world to each other, what do they desire beyond +it—what more can they ask? They are quite happy. How long does it last? +for they have no resources beyond excitement. Why, it lasts till the +first juicy day comes, and that comes soon in England, and the +bridegroom don’t get up and look out of the window, on the cloudy sky, +the falling rain, and the inundated meadows, and think to himself, +“Well, this is too much bush, ain’t it? I wonder what de Courcy and de +Lacy and de Devilcourt are about to-day?” and then turn round with a +yawn that nearly dislocates his jaw. Not a bit of it. He is the most +happy man in England, and his wife is an angel, and he don’t throw +himself down on a sofa and wish they were back in town. It ain’t +natural he should; and she don’t say, “Charles, you look dull, dear,” +nor he reply, “Well, to tell you the truth, it is devilish dull here, +that’s a fact,” nor she say, “Why, you are very complimentary,” nor he +rejoin, “No, I don’t mean it as a compliment, but to state it as a +fact, what that Yankee, what is his name? Sam Slick, or Jim Crow, or +Uncle Tom, or somebody or another calls an established fact!” Her eyes +don’t fill with tears at that, nor does she retire to her room and pout +and have a good cry; why should she? she is so happy, and when the +honied honeymoon is over, they will return to town, and all will be +sunshine once more. + +But there is one little thing both of them forget, which they find out +when they do return. They have rather just a little overlooked or +undervalued means, and they can’t keep such an establishment as they +desire, or equal to their former friends. They are both no longer +single. He is not asked so often where he used to be, nor courted and +flattered as he lately was; and she is a married woman now, and the +beaus no longer cluster around her. Each one thinks the other the cause +of this dreadful change. It was the imprudent and unfortunate match did +it. Affection was sacrificed to pride, and that deity can’t and won’t +help them, but takes pleasure in tormenting them. First comes coldness, +and then estrangement; after that words ensue, that don’t sound like +the voice of true love, and they fish on their own hook, seek their own +remedy, take their own road, and one or the other, perhaps both, find +that road leads to the devil. + +Then, there is the “ring-fence match,” which happens everywhere. Two +estates, or plantations, or farms adjoin, and there is an only son in +one, and an only daughter in the other; and the world, and fathers, and +mothers, think what a suitable match it would be, and what a grand +thing a ring-fence is, and they cook it up in the most fashionable +style, and the parties most concerned take no interest in it, and, +having nothing particular to object to, marry. Well, strange to say, +half the time it don’t turn out bad, for as they don’t expect much, +they can’t be much disappointed. They get after a while to love each +other from habit; and finding qualities they didn’t look for, end by +getting amazin’ fond of each other. + +Next is a cash match. Well, that’s a cheat. It begins in dissimulation, +and ends in detection and punishment. I don’t pity the parties; it +serves them right. They meet without pleasure, and part without pain. +The first time I went to Nova Scotia to vend clocks, I fell in with a +German officer, who married a woman with a large fortune; she had as +much as three hundred pounds. He could never speak of it without +getting up, walking round the room, rubbing his hands, and smacking his +lips. The greatest man he ever saw, his own prince, had only five +hundred a-year, and his daughters had to select and buy the chickens, +wipe the glasses, starch their own muslins, and see the fine soap made. +One half of them were Protestants, and the other half Catholics, so as +to bait the hooks for royal fish of either creed. They were poor and +proud, but he hadn’t a morsel of pride in him, for he had condescended +to marry the daughter of a staff surgeon; and she warn’t poor, for she +had three hundred pounds. He couldn’t think of nothin’ but his fortune. +He spent the most of his time in building castles, not in Germany, but +in the air, for they cost nothing. He used to delight to go marooning1 +for a day or two in Maitland settlement, where old soldiers are +located, and measured every man he met by the gauge of his purse. “Dat +poor teevil,” he would say, “is wort twenty pounds, well, I am good for +tree hundred, in gold and silver, and provinch notes, and de mortgage +on Burkit Crowse’s farm for twenty-five pounds ten shillings and eleven +pence halfpenny—fifteen times as much as he is, pesides ten pounds +interest.” If he rode a horse, he calculated now many he could +purchase; and he found they would make an everlastin’ cahoot.2 If he +sailed in a boat, he counted the flotilla he could buy; and at last he +used to think, “Vell now, if my vrow would go to de depot (graveyard) +vat is near to de church, Goten Himmel, mid my fortune I could marry +any pody I liked, who had shtock of cattle, shtock of clothes, and +shtock in de Bank, pesides farms and foresht lands, and dyke lands, and +meadow lands, and vind-mill and vater-mill; but dere is no chanse she +shall die, for I was dirty (thirty) when I married her, and she was +dirty-too (thirty-two). Tree hundred pounds! Vell, it’s a great shum; +but vat shall I do mid it? If I leave him mid a lawyer, he say, Mr Von +Sheik, you gub it to me. If I put him into de pank, den de ting shall +break, and my forten go smash, squash—vot dey call von shilling in de +pound. If I lock him up, den soldier steal and desert away, and conetry +people shall hide him, and I will not find him no more. I shall +mortgage it on a farm. I feel vary goot, vary pig, and vary rich. If I +would not lose my bay and commission, I would kick de colonel, kiss his +vife, and put my cane thro’ his vinder. I don’t care von damn for +nopoty no more.” + +1 Marooning differs from pic-nicing in this—the former continues +several days, the other lasts but one. + + +2 Cahoot is one of the new coinage, and in Mexico, means a band or +cavalcade. + + +Well, his wife soon after that took a day and died; and he followed her +to the grave. It was the first time he ever gave her precedence, for he +was a disciplinarian; he knew the difference of “rank and file,” and +liked to give the word of command, “Rear rank, take open order—march!” +Well, I condoled with him about his loss. Sais he: “Mr Shlick, I did’nt +lose much by her: the soldier carry her per order, de pand play for +noting, and de crape on de arm came from her ponnet.” + +“But the loss of your wife?” said I. + +Well, that excited him, and he began to talk Hessian. “_Jubes renovare +dolorem_,” said he. + +“I don’t understand High Dutch,” sais I, “when it’s spoke so almighty +fast.” + +“It’s a ted language,” said he. + +I was a goin’ to tell him I didn’t know the dead had any language, but +I bit in my breath. + +“Mr Shlick,” said he, “de vife is gone” (and clapping his waistcoat +pocket with his hand, and grinning like a chissy cat), he added, “but +_de monish remain_.” + +Yes, such fellows as Von Sheik don’t call this ecclesiastical and civil +contract, wedlock. They use a word that expresses their meaning +better—matri-_money_. Well, even money ain’t all gold, for there are +two hundred and forty nasty, dirty, mulatto-looking copper pennies in a +sovereign; and they have the affectation to call the filthy +incrustation, if they happen to be ancient coin, verd-antique. Well, +fine words are like fine dresses; one often covers ideas that ain’t +nice, and the other sometimes conceals garments that are a little the +worse for wear. Ambition is just as poor a motive. It can only be +gratified at the expense of a journey over a rough road, and he is a +fool who travels it by a borrowed light, and generally finds he takes a +_rise_ out of himself. + +Then there is a class like Von Sheik, “who feel so pig and so +hugeaciously grandiferous,” they look on a wife’s fortune with +contempt. The independent man scorns connection, station, and money. He +has got all three, and more of each than is sufficient for a dozen men. +He regards with utter indifference the opinion of the world, and its +false notions of life. He can afford to please himself; he does not +stoop if he marries beneath his own rank; for he is able to elevate any +wife to his. He is a great admirer of beauty, which is confined to no +circle and no region. The world is before him, and he will select a +woman to gratify himself and not another. He has the right and ability +to do so, and he fulfils his intention. Now an independent man is an +immoveable one until he is proved, and a soldier is brave until the day +of trial comes. He however is independent and brave enough to set the +opinion of the world at defiance, and he marries. Until then society is +passive, but when defied and disobeyed, it is active, bitter, and +relentless. + +The conflict is only commenced—marrying is merely firing the first gun. +The battle has yet to be fought. If he can do without the world, the +world can do without him, but, if he enters it again bride in hand, he +must fight his way inch by inch, and step by step. She is slighted and +he is stung to the quick. She is ridiculed and he is mortified to +death. He is able to meet open resistance, but he is for ever in dread +of an ambuscade. He sees a sneer in every smile, he fears an insult in +every whisper. The unmeaning jest must have a hidden point for him. +Politeness seems cold, even good-nature looks like the insolence of +condescension. If his wife is addressed, it is manifestly to draw her +out. If her society is not sought, it is equally plain there is a +conspiracy to place her in Coventry. To defend her properly, and to put +her on her guard, it is necessary he should know her weak points +himself. + +But, alas, in this painful investigation, his ears are wounded by false +accents, his eyes by false motions and vulgar attitudes, he finds +ignorance where ignorance is absurd, and knowledge where knowledge is +shame, and what is worse, this distressing criticism has been forced +upon him, and he has arrived at the conclusion that beauty without +intelligence is the most valueless attribute of a woman. Alas, the +world is an argus-eyed, many-headed, sleepless, heartless monster. The +independent man, if he would retain his independence, must retire with +his wife to his own home, and it would be a pity if in thinking of his +defeat he was to ask himself, Was my pretty doll worth this terrible +struggle after all? wouldn’t it? Well, I pity that man, for at most he +has only done a foolish thing, and he has not passed through life +without being a public benefactor. _He has held a reversed lamp. While +he has walked in the dark himself, he has shed light on the path of +others._ + +Ah, Sophy, when you read this, and I know you will, you’ll say, What a +dreadful picture you have drawn! it ain’t like you—you are too +good-natured, I can’t believe you ever wrote so spiteful an article as +this, and, woman like, make more complimentary remarks than I deserve. +Well, it ain’t like me, that’s a fact, but it is like the world for all +that. Well, then you will puzzle your little head whether after all +there is any happiness in married life, won’t you? + +Well, I will answer that question. I believe there may be and are many, +very many happy marriages; but then people must be as near as possible +in the same station of life, their tempers compatible, their religious +views the same, their notions of the world similar, and their union +based on mutual affection, entire mutual confidence, and what is of the +utmost consequence, the greatest possible mutual respect. Can you feel +this towards me, Sophy, can you, dear? Then be quick—“pick up chips and +call your father to dinner.” + + + + +CHAPTER XXII. +A DISH OF CLAMS. + + +Eating is the chief occupation at sea. It’s the great topic as well as +the great business of the day, especially in small sailing vessels like +the “Black Hawk;” although anything is good enough for me when I can’t +get nothin’ better, which is the true philosophy of life. If there is a +good dish and a bad one set before me, I am something of a rat, I +always choose the best. + +There are few animals, as there are few men, that we can’t learn +something from. Now a rat, although I hate him like pyson, is a +travelling gentleman, and accommodates himself to circumstances. He +likes to visit people that are well off, and has a free and easy way +about him, and don’t require an introduction. He does not wait to be +pressed to eat, but helps himself, and does justice to his host and his +viands. When hungry, he will walk into the larder and take a lunch or a +supper without requiring any waiting on. He is abstemious, or rather +temperate in his drinking. Molasses and syrup he prefers to strong +liquors, and he is a connoisseur in all things pertaining to the +dessert. He is fond of ripe fruit, and dry or liquid preserves, the +latter of which he eats with cream, for which purpose he forms a +passage to the dairy. He prides himself on his knowledge of cheese, and +will tell you in the twinkling of an eye which is the best in point of +flavour or richness. Still he is not proud—he visits the poor when +there is no gentlemen in the neighbourhood, and can accommodate himself +to coarse fare and poor cookery. To see him in one of these hovels, you +would think he never knew anything better, for he has a capital +appetite, and can content himself with mere bread and water. He is a +wise traveller, too. He is up to the ways of the world, and is aware of +the disposition there is everywhere to entrap strangers. He knows now +to take care of himself. If he is ever deceived, it is by treachery. He +is seized sometimes at the hospitable board, and assassinated, or +perhaps cruelly poisoned. But what skill can ensure safety, where +confidence is so shamefully abused? He is a capital sailor, even +bilge-water don’t make him squeamish, and he is so good a judge of the +sea-worthiness of a ship, that he leaves her at the first port if he +finds she is leaky or weak. Few architects, on the other hand, have +such a knowledge of the stability of a house as he has. He examines its +foundations thoroughly, and if he perceives any, the slightest chance +of its falling, he retreats in season, and leaves it to its fate. In +short, he is a model traveller, and much may be learned from him. + +But, then, who is perfect? He has some serious faults, from which we +may also take instructive lessons, so as to avoid them. He runs all +over a house, sits up late at night, and makes a devil of a noise. He +is a nasty, cross-grained critter, and treacherous even to those who +feed him best. He is very dirty in his habits, and spoils as much food +as he eats. If a door ain’t left open for him, he cuts right through +it, and if by accident he is locked in, he won’t wait to be let out, +but hacks a passage ship through the floor. Not content with being +entertained himself, he brings a whole retinue with him, and actilly +eats a feller out of house and home, and gets as sassy as a free +nigger. He gets into the servant-gall’s bed-room sometimes at night, +and nearly scares her to death under pretence he wants her candle; and +sometimes jumps right on to the bed, and says she is handsome enough to +eat, gives her a nip on the nose, sneezes on her with great contempt, +and tells her she takes snuff. The fact is, he is hated everywhere he +travels for his ugly behaviour as much as an Englishman, and that is a +great deal more than sin is by half the world. + +Now, being fond of natur, I try to take lessons from all created +critters. I copy the rat’s travelling knowledge and good points as near +as possible, and strive to avoid the bad. I confine myself to the +company apartments, and them that’s allotted to me! Havin’ no family, I +take nobody with me a-visitin’, keep good hours, and give as little +trouble as possible; and as for goin’ to the servant-gall’s room, under +pretence of wanting a candle, I’d scorn such an action. Now, as there +is lots of good things in this vessel, rat like, I intend to have a +good dinner. + +“Sorrow, what have you got for us to-day?” + +“There is the moose-meat, Massa.” + +“Let that hang over the stern, we shall get tired of it.” + +“Den, Massa, dar is de Jesuit-priest; by golly, Massa, dat is a funny +name. Yah, yah, yah! dis here niggar was took in dat time. Dat ar a +fac.” + +“Well, the turkey had better hang over too.” + +“Sposin’ I git you fish dinner to-day, Massa?” + +“What have you got?” + +“Some tobacco-pipes, Massa, and some miller’s thumbs.” The rascal +expected to take a rise out of me, but I was too wide awake for him. +Cutler and the doctor, strange to say, fell into the trap, and required +an explanation, which delighted Sorrow amazingly. Cutler, though an old +fisherman on the coast, didn’t know these fish at all. And the doctor +had some difficulty in recognising them, under names he had never heard +of before. + +“Let us have them.” + +“Well, there is a fresh salmon, Massa?” + +“Let us have steaks off of it. Do them as I told you, and take care the +paper don’t catch fire, and don’t let the coals smoke ’em. Serve some +lobster sauce with them, but use no butter, it spoils salmon. Let us +have some hoss-radish with it.” + +“Hoss-radish! yah, yah, yah! Why, Massa, whar under the sun does you +suppose now I could git hoss-radish, on board ob dis ‘Black Hawk?’ De +sea broke into my garden de oder night, and kill ebery created ting in +it. Lord a massy, Massa, you know dis is notin’ but a fishin’-craft, +salt pork and taters one day, and salt beef and taters next day, den +twice laid for third day, and den begin agin. Why, dere neber has been +no cooking on board of dis here fore-and-after till you yourself comed +on board. Dey don’t know nuffin’. Dey is as stupid and ignorant as +coots.” + +Here his eye rested on the captain, when with the greatest coolness he +gave me a wink, and went on without stopping. + +“Scept massa captain,” said he, “and he do know what is good, dat ar a +fact, but he don’t like to be ticular, so he takes same fare as men, +and dey isn’t jealous. ‘Sorrow,’ sais he, ‘make no stinction for me. I +is used to better tings, but I’ll put up wid same fare as men.’” + +“Sorrow,” said the captain, “how can you tell such a barefaced +falsehood. What an impudent liar you are, to talk so before my face. I +never said anything of the kind to you.” + +“Why, Massa, now,” said Sorrow, “dis here child is wide awake, that are +a fac, and no mistake, and it’s onpossible he is a dreamin’. What is it +you did say den, when you ordered dinner?” + +“I gave my orders and said nothing more.” + +“Exactly, Massa, I knowed I was right; dat is de identical ting I said. +You was used to better tings; you made no stinctions, and ordered all +the same for boaf of you. Hoss-radish, Massa Slick,” said he, “I wish I +had some, or could get some ashore for you, but hoss-radish ain’t +French, and dese folks nebber hear tell ob him.” + +“Make some.” + +“Oh, Massa, now you is makin’ fun ob dis poor niggar.” + +“I am not. Take a turnip, scrape it the same as the radish, into fine +shaving, mix it with fresh mustard, and a little pepper and vinegar, +and you can’t tell it from t’other.” + +“By golly, Massa, but dat are a wrinkle. Oh, how missus would a lubbed +you. It was loud all down sout dere was a great deal ob ’finement in +her. Nobody was good nuff for her dere; dey had no taste for cookin’. +She was mighty high ‘mong de ladies, in de instep, but not a mossel of +pride to de niggars. Oh, you would a walked right into de cockles ob +her heart. If you had tredded up to her, she would a married you, and +gub you her tree plantations, and eight hundred niggar, and ebery ting, +and order dinner for you herself. Oh, wouldn’t she been done, gone +stracted, when you showed her how she had shot her grandmother?1 +wouldn’t she? I’ll be dad fetched if she wouldn’t.” + +1 Shooting one’s granny, or grandmother, means fancying you have +discovered what was well known before. + + +“Have you any other fish?” I said. + +“Oh yes, Massa; some grand fresh clams.” + +“Do you know how to cook them?” + +“Massa,” said he, putting his hands under his white apron, and, +sailor-like, giving a hitch up to his trousers, preparatory to +stretching himself straight; “Massa, dis here niggar is a rambitious +niggar, and he kersaits he can take de shine out ob any niggar that +ever played de juice harp in cookin’ clams. Missus structed me husself. +Massa, I shall nebber forget dat time, de longest day I live. She sent +for me, she did, and I went in, and she was lyin’ on de sofa, lookin’ +pale as de inside of parsimmon seed, for de wedder was brilin’ hot. + +“‘Sorrow,’ said she. + +“‘Yes, Missus,’ said I. + +“‘Put the pillar under my head. Dat is right,’ said she; ‘tank you, +Sorrow.’ + +“Oh, Massa, how different she was from abulitinists to Boston. She +always said Tankee, for ebery ting. Now ablutinists say, ‘Hand me dat +piller, you darned rascal, and den make yourself skase, you is as black +as de debbil’s hind leg.’ And den she say— + +“‘Trow dat scarf over my ankles, to keep de bominable flies off. +Tankee, Sorrow; you is far more handier dan Aunt Dolly is. Dat are +niggar is so rumbustious, she jerks my close so, sometimes I tink in my +soul she will pull ’em off.’ Den she shut her eye, and she gabe a cold +shiver all ober. + +“‘Sorrow,’ sais she, ‘I am goin’ to take a long, bery long journey, to +de far off counteree.’ + +“‘Oh dear me! Missus,’ says I; ‘Oh Lord; Missus, you ain’t a goin’ to +die, is you?’ and I fell down on my knees, and kissed her hand, and +said, ‘Oh, Missus; don’t die, please Missus. What will become oh dis +niggar if you do? If de Lord in his goodness take you away, let me go +wid you, Missus;’ and I was so sorry I boohooed right out, and groaned +and wipy eye like courtin’ amost. + +“‘Why, Uncle Sorrow,’ said she, ‘I isn’t a goin’ to die; what makes you +tink dat? Stand up: I do railly believe you do lub your missus. Go to +dat closet, and pour yourself out a glass of whiskey;’ and I goes to de +closet—just dis way—and dere stood de bottle and a glass, as dis here +one do, and I helpt myself dis fashen. + +“‘What made you tink I was a goin’ for to die?’ said she, ‘do I look so +ill?’ + +“‘No, Missus; but dat is de way de Boston preacher dat staid here last +week spoke to me,—de long-legged, sour face, Yankee villain. He is +uglier and yallerer dan Aunt Phillissy Anne’s crooked-necked squashes. +I don’t want to see no more ob such fellers pysonin’ de minds ob de +niggars here.’ + +“Says he, ‘My man.’ + +“‘I isn’t a man,’ sais I, ‘I is only a niggar.’ + +“‘Poor, ignorant wretch,’ said he. + +“‘Massa,’ sais I, ‘you has waked up de wrong passenger dis present +time. I isn’t poor, I ab plenty to eat, and plenty to drink, and two +great trong wenches to help me cook, and plenty of fine frill shirt, +longin’ to my old massa, and bran new hat, and when I wants money I +asks missus, and she gives it to me, and I ab white oberseer to shoot +game for me. When I wants wild ducks or wenson, all I got to do is to +say to dat Yankee oberseer, ‘Missus and I want some deer or some +canvasback, I spect you had better go look for some, Massa Buccra.’ No, +no, Massa, I ain’t so ignorant as to let any man come over me to make +seed-corn out of me. If you want to see wretches, go to James Town, and +see de poor white critters dat ab to do all dere own work deyselves, +cause dey is so poor, dey ab no niggars to do it for ’em.’ + +“Sais he, ‘Hab you ebber tort ob dat long journey dat is afore you? to +dat far off counteree where you will be mancipated and free, where de +weary hab no rest, and de wicked hab no labor?’ + +“‘Down to Boston I spose, Massa,’ sais I, ‘mong dem pententionists and +ablutionists, Massa; ablution is a mean, nasty, dirty ting, and don’t +suit niggars what hab good missus like me, and I won’t take dat +journey, and I hate dat cold counteree, and I want nottin’ to do wid +mansipationists.’ + +“‘It ain’t dat, said he, ‘it’s up above.’ + +“‘What,’ sais I, ‘up dere in de mountains? What onder de sun should I +go dere for to be froze to defth, or to be voured by wild beasts? +Massa, I won’t go nowhere widout dear missus goes.’ + +“‘I mean Heaben,’ he said, ‘where all are free and all equal; where +_joy_ is, and _sorrow_ enters not.’ + +“‘What,’ sais I, ‘Joy in Heaben? I don’t believe one word of it. Joy +was de greatest tief on all dese tree plantations of missus; he stole +more chicken, and corn, and backey, dan his great bull neck was worth, +and when he ran off, missus wouldn’t let no one look for him. Joy in +Heaben, eh; and Sorrow nebber go dere! Well, I clare now! Yah, yah, +yah, Massa, you is foolin’ dis here niggar now, I know you is when you +say Joy is dead, and gone to Heaben, and dis child is shot out for +ebber. Massa,’ sais I, ‘me and missus don’t low ablution talk here, on +no account whatsomever, de only larnin’ we lows of is whippin’ fellows +who tice niggars to rections, and de slaves of dis plantation will larn +you as sure as you is bawn, for dey lub missus dearly. You had better +kummence de long journey usself. Sallust, bring out dis gentleman hoss; +and Plutarch, go fetch de saddle-bag down.’ + +“I led his hoss by where de dogs was, and, sais I, ‘Massa, I can’t help +larfin’ no how I can fix it, at dat ar story you told me about dat +young rascal Joy. Dat story do smell rader tall, dat are a fac; yah, +yah, yah,’ and I fell down and rolled ober and ober on de grass, and +it’s lucky I did, for as I dodged he fetched a back-handed blow at me +wid his huntin’ whip, that would a cut my head off if it had tooked me +round my neck. + +“My missus larfed right out like any ting, tho’ it was so hot, and when +missus larf I always know she is good-natured. + +“‘Sorrow,’ said missus, ‘I am afraid you is more rogue dan fool.’ + +“‘Missus,’ sais I, ‘I nebber stole the vally of a pin’s head off ob dis +plantation, I scorn to do such a nasty, dirty, mean action, and you so +kind as to gib me more nor I want, and you knows dat, Missus; you knows +it, oderwise you wouldn’t send me to de bank, instead ob white +oberseer, Mr Succatash, for six, seben, or eight hundred dollars at a +time. But, dere is too much stealin’ going on here, and you and I, +Missus, must be more ticklar. You is too dulgent altogether.’ + +“‘I didn’t mean that, Sorrow,’ she said, ‘I don’t mean stealin’. + +“‘Well, Missus, I’s glad to hear dat, if you will let me ab permission +den, I will drink you good helf.’ + +“‘Why didn’t you do it half an hour ago?’ she said. + +“‘Missus,’ sais I, ‘I was so busy talkin’, and so scared about your +helf, and dere was no hurry,’ and I stept near to her side, where she +could see me, and I turned de bottle up, and advanced dis way, for it +hadn’t no more dan what old Cloe’s thimble would hold, jist like dis +bottle. + +“‘Why,’ said she (and she smiled, and I knowed she was good-natured), +‘dere is nottin’ dere, see if dere isn’t some in de oder bottle,’ and I +went back and set it down, and took it up to her, and poured it out dis +way.” + +“Slick,” said Cutler, “I am astonished at you, you are encouraging that +black rascal in drinking, and allowing him to make a beast of himself,” +and he went on deck to attend to his duty, saying as he shut the door, +“That fellow will prate all day if you allow him.” Sorrow followed him +with a very peculiar expression of eye as he retired. + +“Massa Captain,” said he, “as sure as de world, is an ablutionist, dat +is just de way dey talk. Dey call us coloured breddren when they tice +us off from home, and den dey call us black rascals and beasts. I wish +I was to home agin, Yankees treat dere coloured breddren like dogs, dat +is a fact; but he is excellent man, Massa Captain, bery good man, and +though I don’t believe it’s a possible ting Joy is in heaben, I is +certain de captain, when de Lord be good nuff to take him, will go +dere.” + +“The captain is right,” said I, “Sorrow, put down that bottle; you have +had more than enough already—put it down;” but he had no idea of +obeying, and held on to it. + +“If you don’t put that down, Sorrow,” I said, “I will break it over +your head.” + +“Oh! Massa,” said he, “dat would be a sin to waste dis oloriferous rum +dat way; just let me drink it first, and den I will stand, and you may +break de bottle on my head; it can’t hurt niggar’s head, only cut a +little wool.” + +“Come, no more of this nonsense,” I said, “put it down;” and seeing me +in earnest, he did so. + +“Now,” sais I, “tell us how you are going to cook the clams.” + +“Oh! Massa,” said he, “do let me finish de story about de way I larned +it. + +“‘Sorrow,’ said missus, ‘I am going to take a long journey all de way +to Boston, and de wedder is so cold, and what is wus, de people is so +cold, it makes me shudder,’ and she shivered like cold ague fit, and I +was afraid she would unjoint de sofa. + +“‘Don’t lay too close to them, Missus,’ sais I. + +“‘What,’ said she, and she raised herself up off ob de pillar, and she +larfed, and rolled ober and ober, and tosticated about almost in a +conniption fit, ‘you old goose,’ said she, ‘you onaccountable fool,’ +and den she larfed and rolled ober agin, I tought she would a tumbled +off on de floor, ‘do go way; you is too foolish to talk to, but turn my +pillar again. Sorrow,’ said she, ‘is I showin’ of my ankles,’ said she, +‘rollin’ about so like mad?’ + +“‘Little bit,’ sais I, ‘Missus.’ + +“‘Den put dat scarf ober my feet agin. What on earth does you mean, +Sorrow, bout not sleepin’ too close to de Yankees?’ + +“‘Missus,’ sais I, ‘does you recollect de day when Zeno was drownded +off de raft? Well, dat day Plutarch was lowed to visit next plantation, +and dey bring him home mazin’ drunk—stupid as owl, his mout open and he +couldn’t speak, and his eye open and he couldn’t see. Well, as you +don’t low niggar to be flogged, Aunt Phillissy Ann and I lay our heads +together, and we tought we’d punish him; so we ondressed him, and put +him into same bed wid poor Zeno, and when he woke up in de mornin’ he +was most frighten to def, and had de cold chills on him, and his eye +stared out ob his head, and his teeth chattered like monkeys. He was so +frighten, we had to burn lights for a week—he tought after dat he saw +Zeno in bed wid him all de time. It’s werry dangerous, Missus, to sleep +near cold people like Yankees and dead niggars.’ + +“‘Sorrow, you is a knave I believe,’ she said. + +“‘Knave, knave, Missus,’ I sais, ‘I don’t know dat word.’ + +“‘Sorrow,’ said she, ‘I is a goin’ to take you wid me.’ + +“‘Tank you, Missus,’ said I, ‘oh! bless your heart, Missus.’” + +“Sorrow,” said I, sternly, “do you ever intend to tell us how you are +going to cook them clams, or do you mean to chat all day?” + +“Jist in one minute, Massa, I is jist comin’ to it,” said he. + +“‘Now,’ sais missus, ‘Sorrow, it’s werry genteel to travel wid one’s +own cook; but it is werry ongenteel when de cook can’t do nuffin’ +super-superior; for bad cooks is plenty eberywhere widout travellin’ +wid ’em. It brings disgrace.’ + +“‘Exactly, Missus,’ sais I, ‘when you and me was up to de president’s +plantation, his cook was makin’ plum pudden, he was. Now how in natur +does you rimagine he did it? why, Missus, he actilly made it wid flour, +de stupid tick-headed fool, instead ob de crumbs ob a six cent stale +loaf, he did; and he nebber ‘pared de gredients de day afore, as he had +aughten to do. It was nuffin’ but stick jaw—jist fit to feed turkeys +and little niggeroons wid. Did you ebber hear de likes ob dat in all +your bawn days, Missus; but den, Marm, de general was a berry poor cook +hisself you know, and it stand to argument ob reason, where massa or +missus don’t know nuffin’, de sarvant can’t neither. Dat is what all de +gentlemen and ladies says dat wisit here, Marm: ‘What a lubly beautiful +woman Miss Lunn is,’ dey say, ‘dere is so much ‘finement in her, and +her table is de best in all Meriky.’ + +“‘What a fool you is, Uncle Sorrow,’ she say, and den she larf again; +and when missus larf den I know she was pleased. ‘Well,’ sais she, ‘now +mind you keep all your secrets to yourself when travellin’, and keep +your eyes open wide, and see eberyting and say nuffin’.’ + +“‘Missus,’ sais I, ‘I will be wide awake; you may pend on me—eyes as +big as two dog-wood blossoms, and ears open like mackarel.’ + +“‘What you got for dinner to-day?’ she say—jist as you say, Massa. +Well, I tell her all ober, as I tells you, numeratin’ all I had. Den +she picked out what she wanted, and mong dem I recklect was clams.’” + +“Now tell us how you cooked the clams,” I said; “what’s the use of +standing chattering all day there like a monkey?” + +“Dat, Massa, now is jist what I is goin’ to do dis blessid minit. +‘Missus,’ sais I, ‘talkin’ of clams, minds me of chickens.’ + +“‘What on airth do you mean,’ sais she, ‘you blockhead; it might as +well mind you of tunder.’ + +“‘Well, Missus,’ sais I, ‘now sometimes one ting does mind me of anoder +ting dat way; I nebber sees you, Missus, but what you mind me ob de +beautiful white lily, and dat agin ob de white rose dat hab de lubly +color on his cheek.’ + +“‘Do go away, and don’t talk nonsense,’ she said, larfing; and when she +larfed den I know she was pleased. + +“‘So clams mind me of chickens.’ + +“‘And whiskey,’ she said. + +“‘Well, it do, Missus; dat are a fac;’ and I helped myself agin dis +way.” + +“Sorrow,” said I, “this is too bad; go forward now and cut this foolery +short. You will be too drunk to cook the dinner if you go on that way.” + +“Massa,” said he, “dis child nebber was drunk in his life; but he is +frose most to deaf wid de wretched fogs (dat give people here ‘blue +noses’), an de field ice, and raw winds: I is as cold as if I slept wid +a dead niggar or a Yankee. Yah, yah, yah. + +“‘Well, Missus,’ sais I, ‘dem clams do mind me ob chickens. Now, +Missus, will you skuse me if I git you the receipt Miss Phillis and I +ab cyphered out, how to presarve chickens?’ + +“‘Yes,’ she said, ‘I will. Let me hear it. Dat is sumthen new.’ + +“‘Well, Missus, you know how you and I is robbed by our niggars like so +many minks. Now, Missus, sposin’ you and I pass a law dat all fat +poultry is to be brought to me to buy, and den we keep our fat poultry +locked up; and if dey steal de lean fowls, and we buy ’em, we saves de +fattenin’ of ’em, and gibs no more arter all dan de vally of food and +tendin’, which is all dey gits now, for dere fowls is always de best +fed in course; and when we ab more nor we wants for you and me, den I +take ’em to market and sell ’em; and if dey will steal ’em arter dat, +Missus, we must try ticklin’; dere is nuffin’ like it. It makes de down +fly like a feather-bed. It makes niggars wery sarcy to see white tief +punished tree times as much as dey is; dat are a fac, Missus. A poor +white man can’t work, and in course he steal. Well, his time bein’ no +airthly use, dey gib him six month pensiontary; and niggar, who can +airn a dollar or may be 100 cents a day, only one month. I spise a poor +white man as I do a skunk. Dey is a cuss to de country; and it’s berry +hard for you and me to pay rates to support ’em: our rates last year +was bominable. Let us pass dis law, Missus, and fowl stealin’ is +done—de ting is dead.’ + +“‘Well, you may try it for six months,’ she say, ‘only no whippin’. We +must find some oder punishment,’ she said. + +“‘I ab it,’ sais I, ‘Missus! Oh Lord a massy, Missus! oh dear missus! I +got an inwention as bright as bran new pewter button. I’ll shave de +head of a tief close and smooth. Dat will keep his head warm in de sun, +and cool at night; do him good. He can’t go courtin’ den, when he ab +‘no wool whar de wool ought to grow,’ and spile his ‘frolicken, and all +de niggaroons make game ob him. It do more good praps to tickle fancy +ob niggars dan to tickle dere hide. I make him go to church reglar den +to show hisself and his bald pate. Yah, yah, yah!’” + +“Come, Sorrow,” I said, “I am tired of all this foolery; either tell me +how you propose to cook the clams, or substitute something else in +their place.” + +“Well, Massa,” he said, “I will; but railly now when I gits talkin’ +bout my dear ole missus, pears to me as if my tongue would run for +ebber. Dis is de last voyage I ebber make in a fishin’ craft. I is used +to de first society, and always moved round wid ladies and gentlemen +what had ‘finement in ’em. Well, Massa, now I comes to de clams. First +of all, you must dig de clams. Now dere is great art in diggin’ clams. + +“Where you see little hole like worm hole dere is de clam. He breathe +up tru dat, and suck in his drink like sherry-cobbler through a straw. +Whar dere is no little air holes, dere is no clam, dat are a fac. Now, +Massa, can you tell who is de most knowin’ clam-digger in de worl? De +gull is, Massa; and he eat his clam raw, as some folks who don’t know +nuffin’ bout cookin’ eat oysters. He take up de clam ebber so far in de +air, and let him fall right on de rock, which break shell for him, and +down he goes and pounces on him like a duck on a June bug. Sometimes +clam catch him by de toe though, and hold on like grim death to a dead +niggar, and away goes bird screamin’ and yellin’, and clam sticking to +him like burr to a hosses tail. Oh, geehillikin, what fun it is. And +all de oder gulls larf at him like any ting; dat comes o’ seezin’ him +by de mout instead ob de scruff ob de neck. + +“Well, when you git clam nuff, den you must wash ’em, and dat is more +trouble dan dey is worth; for dey is werry gritty naturally, like +buckwheat dat is trashed in de field—takes two or tree waters, and salt +is better dan fresh, cause you see fresh water make him sick. Well, +now, Massa, de question is, what will you ab; clam soup, clam +sweetbread, clam pie, clam fritter, or bake clam?” + +“Which do you tink best, Sorrow?” sais I. + +“Well, Massa, dey is all good in dere way; missus used to fection baked +clams mighty well, but we can’t do dem so tip-top at sea; clam +sweetbread, she said, was better den what is made ob oyster; and as to +clam soup, dat pends on de cook. Now, Massa, when missus and me went to +wisit de president’s plantation, I see his cook, Mr Sallust, didn’t +know nuffin’ bout parin’ de soup. What you tink he did, Massa? stead ob +poundin’ de clams in a mortar fust, he jist cut ’em in quarters and +puts ’em in dat way. I nebber see such ignorance since I was raised. He +made de soup ob water, and actilly put some salt in it; when it was +sarved up—it was rediculous disgraceful—he left dem pieces in de +tureen, and dey was like leather. Missus said to me: + +“‘Sorrow,’ sais she, ‘I shall starve here; dem military men know +nuffin’ but bout hosses, dogs, and wine; but dey ain’t delicate no way +in dere tastes, and yet to hear ’em talk you’d be most afeered to offer +’em anyting, you’d tink dey was de debbel and all.’” + +“Did she use those words, Sorrow?” + +“Well, not zactly,” he said, scratching his head, “dey was dicksionary +words and werry fine, for she had great ‘finement bout her; but dat was +de meanin’ ob ’em. + +“‘Now, Sorrow,’ she said, ‘tell me de trut, wasn’t dat soup now made of +water?’ + +“‘Yes, Missus, it was,’ said I, ‘I seed it wid my own eyes.’ + +“‘I taut so,’ she said, ‘why dat cook ain’t fit to tend a bear trap, +and bait it wid sheep’s innerds.’” + +“Did she use those words?” + +“Why laws a massy, Massa! I can’t swear to de identical words; how can +I? but as I was a sayin’, dere was ‘finement in ’em, werry long, werry +crooked, and werry pretty, but dat was all de sense ob ’em. + +“‘Now, Sorrow,’ said she, ‘he ought to ab used milk; all fish soups +ought to be made o’ milk, and den tickened wid flour.’ + +“‘Why in course, Missus,’ sais I, ‘dat is de way you and me always +likes it.’ + +“‘It has made me quite ill,’ said she. + +“‘So it ab nearly killed me, Missus,’ sais I, puttin’ my hand on my +stomach, ‘I ab such a pain down here, I tink sometimes I shall die.’ + +“‘Well, you look ill, Uncle Sorrow,’ she said, and she went to her +dressin’-case, and took a little small bottle (covered ober wid printed +words), ‘Take some o’ dis,’ said she, and she poured me out bout dis +much (filling his glass again), ‘take dat, it will do you good.’ + +“‘Is it berry bad to swaller,’ sais I, ‘Missus? I is most afeard it +will spile the ‘finement of my taste.’ + +“‘Try it,’ sais she, and I shut to my eyes, and made awful long face, +and swallowed it jist dis way. + +“‘By golly,’ sais I, ‘Missus, but dat is grand. What is dat?’ + +“‘Clove, water,’ said she. + +“‘Oh, Missus,’ sais I, ‘dat is plaguy trong water, dat are a fac, and +bery nice flavoured. I wish in my heart we had a nice spring ob it to +home. Wouldn’t it be grand, for dis is a bery thirsty niggar, dat are a +fac. Clam pie, Massa, is first chop, my missus ambitioned it some +punkins.’ + +“Well, how do you make it?” + +“Dere is seberal ways, Massa. Sometime we used one way and sometime +anoder. I do believe missus could do it fifty ways.” + +“Fifty ways!” said I, “now Sorrow, how can you lie that way? I shall +begin to think at last you never had a mistress at all.” + +“Fifty ways! Well, Massa, goodness gracious me! You isn’t goin’ to tie +me down to swear to figures now, any more nor identical words, is you? +I ab no manner o’ doubt she could fifty ways, but she only used eight +or ten ways which she said was de best. First dere is de clam bake.” + +“Well, I know that,” sais I, “go on to the clam pie.” + +“What is it?” said the doctor, “for I should like to know how they are +prepared.” + +“This,” said I, “is the most approved mode. A cavity is dug in the +earth, about eighteen inches deep, which is lined with round stones. On +this a fire is made; and when the stones are sufficiently heated, a +bushel or more of clams (according to the number of persons who are to +partake of the feast) is thrown upon them. On this is put a layer of +rock-weed, gathered from the beach, and over this a second layer of +sea-weed. This prevents the escape of the steam, and preserves the +sweetness of the fish. Clams baked in this manner are preferred to +those cooked in the usual way in the kitchen. On one occasion, that of +a grand political mass-meeting in favour of General Harrison on the 4th +of July, 1840, nearly 10,000 persons assembled in Rhode Island, for +whom a clambake and chowder was prepared. This was probably the +greatest feast of the kind that ever took place in New England.” + +“Zactly,” said Sorrow, “den dere is anoder way.” + +“I won’t hear it,” said I, “stiver now, make the pie any way you like.” + +“Massa,” said he, “eber since poor missus died from eaten hogs wid dere +heads on, I feel kinder faint when I sees clams, I hab neber swallowed +one since, and neber will. De parfume gits into my stomach, as it did +when de General’s cook used water instead of milk, in his soup. I don’t +spose you ab any clove-water, but if you will let me take jist a +tumblerfull ob dis, I tink it would make me survive a little,” and +without waiting for leave he helped himself to a bumper. “Now, Massa,” +he said, “I show you what cookin’ is, I know,” and making a scrape of +his leg, he left the cabin. + +“Doctor,” said I, “I am glad you have seen this specimen of a southern +negro. He is a fair sample of a servant in the houses of our great +planters. Cheerful, grateful, and contented, they are better off and +happier than any portion of the same race I have met with in any part +of the world. They have a quick perception of humour, a sort of +instinctive knowledge of character, and great cunning, but their +reasoning powers are very limited. Their appetites are gross, and their +constitutional indolence such that they prefer enduring any suffering +and privation to regular habits of industry. + +“Slavery in the abstract is a thing that nobody approves of, or +attempts to justify. We all consider it an evil—but unhappily it was +entailed upon us by our forefathers, and has now grown to be one of +such magnitude that it is difficult to know now to deal with it—and +this difficulty is much increased by the irritation which has grown out +of the unskilful and unjustifiable conduct of abolitionists. The +grossest exaggerations have been circulated as to the conduct and +treatment of our slaves, by persons who either did not know what they +were talking about, or who have wilfully perverted facts. The devil we +have painted black, and the negro received the same colour from the +hand of his Maker. It only remained to represent the planter as of a +deeper dye than either. This picture however wanted effect, and +latterly lights and shades have been judiciously introduced, by +mingling with these groups eastern abolitionists, white overseers, and +English noblemen, and ladies of rank. It made a clever caricature—had a +great run—has been superseded by other follies and extravagancies, and +is now nearly forgotten. The social evil still remains, and ever will, +while ignorant zeal, blind bigotry, hypocrisy, and politics, demand to +have the exclusive treatment of it. The planter has rights as well as +the slave, and the claims of both must be well weighed and considered +before any dispassionate judgment can be formed. + +“In the mean time invective and misrepresentation, by irritating the +public, disqualify it for the deliberate exercise of its functions. If +the slaves have to mourn over the want of freedom, the planters may +lament the want of truth in their opponents; and it must be admitted +that they have submitted to the atrocious calumnies that have been so +liberally heaped upon them of late years, with a contempt that is the +best refutation of falsehood, or a meekness and forbearance that +contrast very favourably with the violence and fury of their +adversaries.” + +My object however, Squire, is not to write a lecture on emancipation, +but to give you a receipt for cooking “a dish of clams.” + + + + +CHAPTER XXIII. +THE DEVIL’S HOLE; OR, FISH AND FLESH. + + +“Sorrow,” said the doctor, “seems to me to consider women, from the way +he flatters his mistress, as if she was not unlike the grupers at +Bermuda. There is a natural fish-pond there near Flats Village, in +which there is a great lot of these critters, which are about the size +of the cod. They will rise to the surface, and approach the bank for +you to tickle their sides, which seems to afford them particular +delight.” + +“It is what you would call, I suppose, practical soft sawdering.” + +“But it is an operation of which the rest are exceedingly jealous, and +while you are thus amusing one of them, you must take care others do +not feel offended, and make a dash at your fingers. With true feminine +jealousy too they change colour when excited, for envy seems to pervade +all animate nature.” + +“It’s called the Devil’s Hole where they are, ain’t it?” sais I. + +“Yes,” said he, “it is, and it is situated not far from Moore’s +favourite tree, under whose shade he used to recline while writing his +poetry, at a time when his deputy was equally idle, and instead of +keeping his accounts, kept his money. Bermuda is a fatal place to +poets. Moore lost his purse there, and Waller his favourite ring; the +latter has been recently found, the former was never recovered. In one +thing these two celebrated authors greatly resembled each other, they +both fawned and flattered on the great.” + +“Yes,” said Cutler, “and both have met their reward. Everybody regrets +that anything was known of either, but his poetry—” + +“Well,” sais I, “I am glad I am not an Englishman, or as true as the +world, a chap like Lord John Russell would ruin me for ever. I am not a +poet, and can’t write poetry, but I am a Clockmaker, and write common +sense. Now a biographer like that man, that knows as little of one as +he does of the other, would ruin me for everlastingly. It ain’t +pleasant to have such a burr as that stick on to your tail, especially +if you have no comb to get it off, is it? A politician is like a bee; +he travels a zig-zag course every way, turnin’ first to the right and +then to the left, now makin’ a dive at the wild honeysuckle, and then +at the sweet briar; now at the buck-wheat blossom, and then at the +rose; he is here and there and everywhere; you don’t know where the +plague to find him; he courts all and is constant to none. But when his +point is gained and he has wooed and deceived all, attained his object, +and his bag is filled, he then shows plain enough what he was after all +the time. He returns as straight as a chalk line, or as we say, as the +crow flies to his home, and neither looks to the right or to the left, +or knows or cares for any of them who contributed to his success. His +object is to enrich himself and make a family name. A politician +therefore is the last man in the world to write a biography. Having a +kind of sneakin’ regard for a winding, wavy way himself, he sees more +beauty in the in and out line of a Varginny fence, than the stiff +straight formal post and rail one of New England. As long as a partizan +critter is a thorn in the flesh of the adverse party, he don’t care +whether he is Jew or Gentile. He overlooks little peccadilloes, as he +calls the worst stories, and thinks everybody else will be just as +indulgent as himself. He uses romanists, dissenters, republicans, and +evangelicals at his own great log-rolling1 frollicks, and rolls for +them in return. + +1 Log-rolling.—In the lumber regions of Maine, it is customary for men +of different logging camps to appoint days for helping each other in +rolling the logs to the river after they are felled and trimmed, this +rolling being about the hardest work incident to the business. Thus the +men of three or four different camps will unite, say on Monday, to roll +for camp No. 1, on Tuesday, for camp No. 2, on Wednesday, for camp No. +3, and so on through the whole number of camps within convenient +distance of each other. The term has been adopted in legislation to +signify a little system of mutual co-operation. For instance, a member +from St Lawrence has a pet bill for a plank-road which he wants pushed +through. He accordingly makes a bargain with a member from Onondaga, +who is coaxing along a charter for a bank, by which St Lawrence agrees +to vote for Onondaga’s bank if Onondaga will vote St Lawrence’s +plank-road. This is legislative log-rolling, and there is abundance of +it carried on at Albany every winter. Generally speaking, the subject +of the log-rolling is some merely local project, interesting only to +the people of a certain district; but sometimes there is party +log-rolling, where the Whigs, for instance, will come to an +understanding with the Democrats that the former shall not oppose a +certain democratic measure merely on party grounds, provided the +Democrats will be equally tender to some Whig measure in return.—J. +INMAN. + + +“Who the plague hain’t done something, said something, or thought +something he is sorry for, and prays may be forgot and forgiven; big +brag as I am, I know I can’t say I haven’t over and over again +offended. Well, if it’s the part of a friend to go and rake all these +things up, and expose ’em to the public, and if it’s agreeable to my +wife, sposin’ I had one, to have ’em published because the stained +paper will sell, all I can sais is, I wish he had shown his regard for +me by running away with my wife and letting me alone. It’s astonishing +how many friends Moore’s disloyalty made him. A seditious song or a +treasonable speech finds more favour with some people in the old +country than building a church, that’s a fact. Howsomever, I think I am +safe from him, for first, I am a Yankee, secondly, I ain’t married, +thirdly, I am a Clockmaker, and fourthly, my biography is written by +myself in my book, fifthly, I write no letters I can help, and never +answer one except on business.” + +“This is a hint father gave me: ‘Sam,’ said he, ‘never talk to a woman, +for others may hear you; only whisper to her, and never write to her, +or your own letters may rise up in judgment against you some day or +another. Many a man afore now has had reason to wish he had never seen +a pen in his life;’ so I ain’t afeard therefore that he can write +himself up or me down, and make me look skuywoniky, no how he can fix +it. If he does, we will declare war again England, and blow the little +darned thing out of the map of Europe; for it ain’t much bigger than +the little island Cronstadt is built on after all, is it? It’s just a +little dot and nothin’ more, dad fetch my buttons if it is. + +“But to go back to the grupers and the devil’s hole; I have been there +myself and seen it, Doctor,” sais I, “but there is other fish besides +these in it; there is the parrot-fish, and they are like the feminine +gender too; if the grupers are fond of being tickled, parrots are fond +of hearing their own voices. Then there is the angel-fish, they have +fins like wings of a pale blue colour; but they must be fallen angels +to be in such a place as that hole too, musn’t they? and yet they are +handsome even now. Gracious! what must they have been before the fall! +and how many humans has beauty caused to fall, Doctor, hasn’t it? and +how many there are that the sound of that old song, ‘My face is my +fortune, Sir, she said,’ would make their hearts swell till they would +almost burst. + +“Well, then there is another fish there, and those Mudians sartainly +must have a good deal of fun in them, to make such a capital and +comical assortment of queer ones for that pond. There is the +lawyer-fish—can anything under the sun be more appropriate than the +devil’s hole for a lawyer? What a nice place for him to hang out his +shingle in, ain’t it? it’s no wonder his old friend the landlord finds +him an office in it—rent free, is it? What mischief he must brood +there; bringing actions of slander against the foolish parrot-fish that +will let their tongues run, ticklin’ the grupers, and while they are +smirking and smiling, devour their food, and prosecute the fallen +angels for violating the Maine law and disturbing the peace. The +devil’s hole, like Westminster Hall, is a dangerous place for a fellow +of substance to get into, I can tell you; the way they fleece him is a +caution to sinners. + +“My dog fell into that fish-pond, and they nearly fixed his flint +before I got him out, I tell you; his coat was almost stripped off when +I rescued him.” + +“Why, Mr Slick,” said the doctor, “what in the world took you to +Bermuda?” + +“Why,” sais I, “I had heard a great deal about it. It is a beautiful +spot and very healthy. It is all that has ever been said or sung of it, +and more too, and that’s sayin’ a great deal, for most celebrated +places disappoint you; you expect too much, and few crack parts of the +world come up to the idea you form of them beforehand. Well, I went +down there to see if there was anything to be done in the way of +business, but it was too small a field for me, although I made a spec +that paid me very well too. There is a passage through the reefs there, +and it’s not every pilot knows it, but there was a manuscript chart of +it made by a captain of a tradin’ vessel. When he died his widow +offered it to the government, but they hummed and hawed about the +price, and was for gitting it for half nothing, as they always do. So +what does I do, but just steps in and buys it, for in war time it is of +the greatest importance to know this passage, and I sold it to our +navy-board, and I think if ever we are at loggerheads with the British, +we shall astonish the weak nerves of the folks at the summer islands +some fine day. + +“I had a charming visit. There are some magnificent caves there, and in +that climate they are grand places, I do assure you. I never saw +anything so beautiful. The ceiling is covered with splendiferous +spary-like icicles, or chandelier drops. What do you call that word, +Doctor?” + +“Stalactites.” + +“Exactly, that’s it, glorious stalactites reaching to the bottom and +forming fluted pillars. In one of those caves where the water runs, the +admiral floored over the bottom and gave a ball in it, and it was the +most Arabian Night’s entertainment kind of thing that I ever saw. It +looked like a diamond hall, and didn’t it show off the Mudian galls to +advantage, lick! I guess it did, for they are the handsomest Creoles in +all creation. There is more substance in ’em than in the tropical +ladies. I don’t mean worldly (though that ain’t to be sneered at, +neither, by them that ain’t got none themselves). When the people used +to build small clippers there for the West Indian trade, cedar was very +valuable, and a gall’s fortune was reckoned, not by pounds, but by so +many cedars. Now it is banana trees. But dear me, somehow or another we +have drifted away down to Bermuda, we must stretch back again to the +Nova Scotian coast east of Chesencook, or, like Jerry Boudrot, we shall +be out of sight of land, and lost at sea.” + +On going up on the deck, my attention was naturally attracted to my new +purchase, the Canadian horse. + +“To my mind,” said the doctor, “Jerry’s knee action does not merit the +extravagant praise you bestowed upon it. It is not high enough to +please me.” + +“There you are wrong,” sais I, “that’s the mistake most people make. It +is not the height of the action, but the nature of it, that is to be +regarded. A high-stepping horse pleases the eye more than the judgment. +He seems to go faster than he does. There is not only power wasted in +it, but it injures the foot. My idea is this; you may compare a man to +a man, and a woman to a woman, for the two, including young and old, +make the world. You see more of them and know more about ’em than +horses, for you have your own structure to examine and compare them by, +and can talk to them, and if they are of the feminine gender, hear +their own account of themselves. They can speak, for they were not +behind the door when tongues were given out, I can tell you. The range +of your experience is larger, for you are always with them, but how few +hosses does a man own in his life. How few he examines, and how little +he knows about other folk’s beasts. They don’t live with you, you only +see them when you mount, drive, or visit the stable. They have separate +houses of their own, and pretty buildings they are too in general, +containin’ about as much space for sleepin’ as a berth on board a ship, +and about as much ventilation too, and the poor critters get about as +little exercise as passengers, and are just about worth as much as they +are when they land for a day’s hard tramp. Poor critters, they have to +be on their taps most all the time.1 The Arab and the Canadian have the +best horses, not only because they have the best breed, but because one +has no stalls, and t’other has no stable treatment. + +1 On their feet. + + +“Now in judging of a horse’s action, I compare him not with other +horses, but with animals of a different species. Did you ever know a +fox stumble, or a cat make a false step? I guess not; but haven’t you +seen a bear when chased and tired go head over heels? A dog in a +general way is a sure-footed critter, but he trips now and then, and if +he was as big as a horse, would throw his rider sometimes. Now then I +look to these animals, and I find there are two actions to be combined, +the knee and the foot action. The fox and the cat bend the knee easy +and supply, but don’t arch ’em, and though they go near the ground, +they don’t trip. I take that then as a sort of standard. I like my +beast, especially if he is for the saddle, to be said to trot like a +fox. Now, if he lifts too high, you see, he describes half a circle, +and don’t go ahead as he ought, and then he pounds his frog into a sort +of mortar at every step, for the horny shell of a foot is just like +one. Well then, if he sends his fore leg away out in front, and his +hind leg away out behind like a hen scratchin’ gravel, he moves more +like an ox than anything else, and hainte sufficient power to fetch +them home quick enough for fast movement. Then the foot action is a +great point, I looked at this critter’s tracks on the pasture and asked +myself, Does he cut turf, or squash it flat? If he cuts it as a +gardener does weeds with his spade, then good bye, Mr Jerry, you won’t +suit me, it’s very well to dance on your toes, but it don’t convene to +_travel on ’em,_ or you’re apt to make somersets. + +“Now, a neck is a valuable thing. We have two legs, two eyes, two +hands, two ears, two nostrils, and so on, but we have only one neck, +which makes it so easy to hang a fellow, or to break it by a chuck from +your saddle; and besides, we can’t mend it, as we do a leg or an arm. +When it’s broken it’s done for; and what use is it if it’s insured? The +money don’t go to you, but to your heirs, and half the time they +wouldn’t cry, except for decency sake, if you did break it. Indeed, I +knew a great man once, who got his neck broke, and all his friends +said, for his own reputation, it was a pity he hadn’t broke it ten +years sooner. The Lord save me from such friends, I say. Fact is, a +broken neck is only a nine days’ wonder after all, and is soon +forgotten. + +“Now, the fox has the right knee action, and the leg is ‘thar.’ In the +real knee movement, there is a peculiar spring, that must be seen to be +known and valued, words don’t give you the idea of it. It’s like the +wire end of a pair of galluses—oh, it’s charming. It’s down and off in +a jiffy, like a gall’s finger on a piano when she is doin’ chromatic +runs. Fact is, if I am walking out, and see a critter with it, I have +to stop and stare; and, Doctor, I will tell you a queer thing. Halt and +look at a splendid movin’ hoss, and the rider is pleased; he thinks +half the admiration is for him, as rider and owner, and t’other half +for his trotter. The gony’s delighted, chirups his beast, gives him a +sly touch up with the off heel, and shows him off to advantage. But +stop and look at a woman, and she is as mad as a hatter. She don’t care +how much you look at her, as long as you don’t stand still or turn your +head round. She wouldn’t mind slackin’ her pace if you only attended to +that. + +“Now the fox has that special springy movement I speak of, and he puts +his foot down flat, he bends the grass rather to him, than from him, if +anything, but most commonly crumples it flat; but you never see it +inclinin’ in the line of the course he is runnin’—never. Fact is, they +never get a hoist, and that is a very curious word, it has a very +different meanin’ at sea from what it has on land. In one case it means +to haul up, in the other to fall down. The term ‘look out’ is just the +same. + +“A canal boat was once passing through a narrow lock on the Erie line, +and the captain hailed the passengers and said, ‘Look out.’ Well, a +Frenchman thinking something strange was to be seen, popt his head out, +and it was cut off in a minute. ‘Oh, mon Dieu!’ said his comrade, ‘dat +is a very _striking_ lesson in English. On land, look out means, open +de window and see what you will see. On board canal boat it means, haul +your head in, and don’t look at nothin’.’ + +“Well, the worst hoist that I ever had was from a very high-actioned +mare, the down foot slipped, and t’other was too high to be back in +time for her to recover, and over both of us went kerlash in the mud. I +was skeered more about her than myself, lest she should git the skin of +her knee cut, for to a knowing one’s eye that’s an awful blemish. It’s +a long story to tell how such a blemish warn’t the hoss’s fault, for +I’d rather praise than apologize for a critter any time. And there is +one thing few-people knows. _Let the cut come which way it will, the +animal is never so safe afterwards. Nature’s bandage, the skin, is +severed, and that leg is the weakest._ + +“Well, as I was a sayin’, Doctor, there is the knee action and the foot +action, and then there is a third thing. The leg must be just _thar_.” + +“Where?” said the doctor. + +“_Thar_,” said I, “there is only one place for that, and that is +‘thar,’ well forward at the shoulder-point, and not where it most +commonly is, too much under the body—for if it’s too far back he +stumbles, or too forward he can’t ‘pick chips quick stick.’ Doctor, I +am a borin’ of you, but the fact is, when I get a goin’ ‘talkin’ hoss,’ +I never know where to stop. How much better tempered they are than half +the women in the world, ain’t they? and I don’t mean to undervally the +dear critters neither by no manner of means, and how much more sense +they have than half the men either, after all their cracking and +bragging! How grateful they are for kindness, how attached to you they +get. How willin’ they are to race like dry dust in a thunder squall, +till they die for you! I do love them, that is a fact, and when I see a +feller a ill-usin’ of one of ’em, it makes me feel as cross as two +crooked gate-posts, I tell you. + +“Indeed, a man that don’t love a hoss is no man at all. I don’t think +he can be religious. A hoss makes a man humane and tender-hearted, +teaches him to feel for others, to share his food, and be unselfish; to +anticipate wants and supply them; to be gentle and patient. Then the +hoss improves him otherwise. He makes him rise early, attend to meal +hours, and to be cleanly. He softens and improves the heart. Who is +there that ever went into a stable of a morning, and his critter +whinnered to him and played his ears back and forward, and turned his +head affectionately to him, and lifted his fore-feet short and moved +his tail, and tried all he could to express his delight, and say, +‘Morning to you, master,’ or when he went up to the manger and patted +his neck, and the lovin’ critter rubbed his head agin him in return, +that didn’t think within himself, well, after all, the hoss is a noble +critter? I do love him. Is it nothin’ to make a man love at all? How +many fellers get more kicks than coppers in their life—have no home, +nobody to love them and nobody to love, in whose breast all the +affections are pent up, until they get unwholesome and want +ventilation. Is it nothin’ to such an unfortunate critter to be made a +stable help? Why, it elevates him in the scale of humanity. He +discovers at last he has a head to think and a heart to feel. He is a +new man. Hosses warn’t given to us, Doctor, to ride steeple-chases, or +run races, or brutify a man, but to add new powers and lend new speed +to him. He was destined for nobler uses. + +“Is it any wonder that a man that has owned old Clay likes to talk +hoss? I guess not. If I was a gall I wouldn’t have nothin’ to say to a +man that didn’t love a hoss and know all about him. I wouldn’t touch +him with a pair of tongs. I’d scorn him as I would a nigger. Sportsmen +breed pheasants to kill, and amature huntsmen shoot dear for the +pleasure of the slaughter. The angler hooks salmon for the cruel +delight he has in witnessing the strength of their dying struggles. The +black-leg gentleman runs his hoss agin time, and wins the race, and +kills his noble steed, and sometimes loses both money and hoss, I wish +to gracious he always did; but the rail hossman, Doctor, is a rail +_man,_ every inch of him, stock, lock, and barrel.” + +“Massa,” said Sorrow, who stood listenin’ to me as I was warmin’ on the +subject. “Massa, dis hoss will be no manner of remaginable use under de +blessed light ob de sun.” + +“Why, Sorrow?” + +“Cause, Massa, he don’t understand one word of English, and de French +he knows no libbin’ soul can understand but a Cheesencooker, yah, yah, +yah! Dey called him a ‘_shovel_,’ and his tail a ‘_queue_.’ “ + +“What a goose you are, Sorrow,” sais I. + +“Fac, Massa,” he said, “fac I do ressure you, and dey called de little +piggy doctor fell over, ‘_a coach_.’ Dod drat my hide if they didn’t +yah, yah, yah!” + +“The English ought to import, Doctor,” sais I, “some of these into +their country, for as to ridin’ and drivin’ there is nothin’ like them. +But catch Britishers admitting there is anything good in Canada, but +the office of Governor-General, the military commands, and other pieces +of patronage, which they keep to themselves, and then say they have +nothing left. Ah me! times is altered, as Elgin knows. The pillory and +the peerage have changed places. Once, a man who did wrong was first +elevated, and then pelted. A peer is now assailed with eggs, and then +exalted.” + +“_Palmam qui meruit ferat_,” said the doctor. + +“Is that the Latin for how many hands high the horse is?” sais I. +“Well, on an average, say fifteen, perhaps oftener less than more. It’s +the old Norman horse of two centuries ago, a compound of the Flemish +stock and the Barb, introduced into the Low Countries by the Spaniards. +Havin’ been transported to Canada at that early period, it has remained +unchanged, and now may be called a distinct breed, differing widely in +many respects from those found at the present day in the locations from +which they originally came. But look at the amazin’ strength of his +hip, look at the lines, and anatomical formation (as you would say) of +his frame, which fit him for both a saddle and a gig hoss. Look at his +chest, not too wide to make him paddle in his gait, nor too narrow to +limit his wind. Observe all the points of strength. Do you see the bone +below the knee and the freedom of the cord there. Do you mark the eye +and head of the Barb. Twig the shoulder, the identical medium for a +hoss of all work, and the enormous power to shove him ahead. This +fellow is a picture, and I am glad they have not mutilated or broken +him. He is just the hoss I have been looking for, for our folks go in +to the handle for fast trotters, and drive so much and ride so little, +it ain’t easy to get the right saddle beast in our State. The Cape +Breton pony is of the same breed, though poor feed, exposure to the +weather, and rough usage has caused him to dwindle in size; but they +are the toughest, hardiest, strongest, and most serviceable of their +inches, I know anywhere.” + +I always feel scared when I git on the subject of hosses for fear I +should ear-wig people, so I stopt short; “And,” sais I, “Doctor, I +think I have done pretty well with the talking tacks, spose you give me +some of your experience in the trapping line, you must have had some +strange adventures in your time.” + +“Well, I have,” said he, “but I have listened with pleasure to you, for +although I am not experienced in horses, performing most of my journeys +on foot, I see you know what you are talking about, for I am familiar +with the anatomy of the horse. My road is the trackless forest, and I +am more at home there than in a city. Like you I am fond of nature, but +unlike you I know little of human nature, and I would rather listen to +your experience than undergo the labour of acquiring it. Man is an +artificial animal, but all the inhabitants of the forest are natural. +The study of their habits, propensities, and instincts is very +interesting, and in this country the only one that is formidable is the +bear, for he is not only strong and courageous, but he has the power to +climb trees, which no other animal will attempt in pursuit of man in +Nova Scotia. The bear therefore is an ugly customer, particularly the +female when she has her cubs about her, and a man requires to have his +wits about him when she turns the table on him and hunts him. But you +know these things as well as I do, and to tell you the truth there is +little or nothing that is new to be said on the subject; one bear hunt +is like another. The interest of these things is not so much in their +incidents or accidents, as in the mode of telling them.” + +“That’s a fact,” sais I, “Doctor. But what do you suppose was the +object Providence had in view in filling the world with beasts of prey? +The east has its lions, tigers, and boa-constrictors; the south its +panthers and catamounts; the north its bears and wolves; and the west +its crocodiles and rattle-snakes. We read that dominion was given over +the birds of the air, the fish of the sea, and the beast of the forest, +and yet no man in a state of nature scarcely is a match for any one of +these creatures; they don’t minister to his wants, and he can’t tame +them to his uses.” + +“I have often asked myself, Slick,” said he, “the same question, for +nothing is made in vain, but it is a query not easy to answer. My own +opinion is, they were designed to enforce civilisation. Without these +terrors attending a sojourn in the wilderness, man would have wandered +off as they do, and lived alone; he would have made no home, dwelt with +no wife, and nurtured no children. His descendants would have done the +same. When he encountered another male, he would have given him battle, +perhaps killed and eat him. His very language would have perished, if +ever he had any, and he would have been no better than an +ourang-outang. The option was not given him. He was so constructed and +so situated, he could not live alone. Individual strength was +insufficient for independent existence. To preserve life he had to herd +with his kind. Thus tribes were first formed, and to preserve one tribe +from the violence of another, they again united and formed nations. +This combination laid the foundation of civilisation, and as that +extended, these beasts of prey retired to the confines of the country, +enforcing while they still remain the observance of that law of nature +which assigned to them this outpost duty. + +“Where there is nothing revealed to us on the subject, all is left to +conjecture. Whatever the cause was, we know it was a wise and a +necessary one; and this appears to me to be the most plausible reason I +can assign. Perhaps we may also trace a further purpose in their +creation, in compelling by the terror they inspire the inferior animals +to submit themselves to man, who is alone able to protect them against +their formidable enemies, or to congregate, so that he may easily find +them when he requires food; and may we not further infer that man also +may by a similar sense of weakness be led to invoke in like manner the +aid of Him who made all things and governs all things? Whatever is, is +right,” and then he quoted two Latin lines. + +I hate to have a feller do that, it’s like throwin’ an apple into the +water before a boy. He either has to lose it and go off disappointed, +wonderin’ what its flavour is, or else wade out for it, and like as not +get out of his depth afore he knows where he is. So I generally make +him first translate it, and then write it down for me. He ain’t likely +after that to do it a second time. Here are the words: + +“Siquid novisti rectius istis +Candidas imperti, si non his utere mecum.” + + + + +CHAPTER XXIV. +THE CUCUMBER LAKE. + + +“Here is a place under the lee bow,” said the pilot, “in which there +are sure to be some coasters, among whom the mate may find a market for +his wares, and make a good exchange for his mackarel.” + +So we accordingly entered and cast anchor among a fleet of +fore-and-afters in one of those magnificent ports with which the +eastern coast is so liberally supplied. + +“There is some good salmon-fishing in the stream that falls into the +harbour,” said the doctor, “suppose we try our rods;” and while Cutler +and his people were occupied in traffic, we rowed up the river beyond +the little settlement, which had nothing attractive in it, and landed +at the last habitation we could see. Some thirty or forty acres had +been cleared of the wood, the fields were well fenced, and a small +stock of horned cattle, principally young ones, and a few sheep, were +grazing in the pasture. A substantial rough log hut and barn were the +only buildings. With the exception of two little children playing about +the door, there were none of the family to be seen. + +On entering the house, we found a young woman, who appeared to be its +sole occupant. She was about twenty-five years of age; tall, well +formed, strong, and apparently in the enjoyment of good health and +spirits. She had a fine open countenance, an artless and prepossessing +manner, and was plainly but comfortably clad in the ordinary homespun +of the country, and not only looked neat herself, but everything around +her was beautifully clean. It was manifest she had been brought up in +one of the older townships of the province, for there was an ease and +air about her somewhat superior to the log hut in which we found her. +The furniture was simple and of rude manufacture, but sufficient for +the wants of a small family, though here and there was an article of a +different kind and old-fashioned shape, that looked as if it had once +graced a substantial farm-house, probably a present from the inmates of +the old homestead. + +We soon found from her that she and her husband were as she said new +beginners, who, like most persons in the wilderness, had had many +difficulties to contend with, which from accidental causes had during +the past year been greatly increased. The weavil had destroyed their +grain crop and the rot their potatoes, their main dependence, and they +had felt the pressure of hard times. She had good hopes however she +said for the present season, for they had sowed the golden straw wheat, +which they heard was exempt from the ravages of insects, and their +potatoes had been planted early on burnt land without barn manure, and +she was confident they would thereby be rescued from the disease. Her +husband, she informed us, in order to earn some money to make up for +their losses, had entered on board of an American fishing vessel, and +she was in daily expectation of his arrival, to remain at home until +the captain should call for him again, after he had landed his cargo at +Portland. All this was told in a simple and unaffected manner, but +there was a total absence of complaint or despondency, which often +accompany the recital of such severe trials. + +Having sent Sorrow back in the boat with an injunction to watch our +signal of recall, we proceeded further up the river, and commenced +fishing. In a short time we killed two beautiful salmon, but the black +flies and musquitoes were so intolerably troublesome, we were compelled +to return to the log hut. I asked permission of our cheerful, tidy +young hostess to broil a piece of the salmon by her fire, more for the +purpose of leaving the fish with her than anything else, when she +immediately offered to perform that friendly office for us herself. + +“I believe,” she said, “I have a drawing of tea left,” and taking from +the shelf a small mahogany caddy, emptied it of its contents. It was +all she had. The flour-barrel was also examined and enough was +gathered, as she said by great good luck, to make a few cakes. Her old +man, she remarked, for so she termed her young husband, would be back +in a day or two and bring a fresh supply. To relieve her of our +presence, while she was busied in those preparations, we strolled to +the bank of the river, where the breeze in the open ground swept away +our tormentors, the venomous and ravenous flies, and by the time our +meal was ready, returned almost loaded with trout. I do not know that I +ever enjoyed anything more than this unexpected meal. The cloth was +snowy white, the butter delicious, and the eggs fresh laid. In addition +to this, and what rendered it so acceptable, it was a free offering of +the heart. + +In the course of conversation I learned from her, that the first year +they had been settled there they had been burnt out, and lost nearly +all they had, but she didn’t mind that she said, for, thank God, she +had saved her children, and she believed they had originally put up +their building in the wrong place. The neighbours had been very kind to +them, helped them to erect a new and larger house, near the beautiful +spring we saw in the green; and besides, she and her husband were both +young, and she really believed they were better off than they were +before the accident. + +Poor thing, she didn’t need words of comfort, her reliance on +Providence and their own exertions was so great, she seemed to have no +doubt as to their ultimate success. Still, though she did not require +encouragement, confirmation of her hopes, I knew, would be grateful to +her, and I told her to tell her husband on no account to think of +parting with or removing from the place, for I observed there was an +extensive intervale of capital quality, an excellent mill privilege on +the stream where I caught the salmon, and as he had the advantage of +water carriage, that the wood on the place, which was of a quality to +suit the Halifax market, would soon place him in independent +circumstances. + +“He will be glad to hear you think so, Sir,” she replied, “for he has +often said the very same thing himself; but the folks at the settlement +laugh at him when he talks that way, and say he is too sanguine. But I +am sure he ain’t, for it is very much like my poor father’s place in +Colchester, only it has the privilege of a harbour which he had not, +and that is a great thing.” + +The signal for Sorrow having been hung out for some time, we rose to +take leave, and wishing to find an excuse for leaving some money behind +me, and recollecting having seen some cows in the field, I asked her if +she could sell me some of her excellent butter for the use of the +cabin. She said she could not do so, for the cows all had calves, and +she made but little; but she had five or six small prints, if I would +accept them, and she could fill me a bottle or two with cream. + +I felt much hurt—I didn’t know what to do. She had given me her last +ounce of tea, baked her last cake, and presented me with all the butter +she had in the house. “Could or would you have done that?” said I to +myself, “come, Sam, speak the truth now.” Well, Squire, I only brag +when I have a right to boast, though you do say I am always brim full +of it, and I won’t go for to deceive you or myself either, I know I +couldn’t, that’s a fact. I have mixed too much with the world, my +feelings have got blunted, and my heart ain’t no longer as soft as it +used to did to be. I can give, and give liberally, because I am able, +but I give what I don’t want and what I don’t miss; but to give as this +poor woman did all she had of these two indispensable articles, tea and +flour, is a thing, there is no two ways about it, I could not. + +I must say I was in a fix; if I was to offer to pay her, I knew I +should only wound her feelings. She derived pleasure from her +hospitality, why should I deprive her of that gratification? If she +delighted to give, why should I not in a like feeling be pleased to +accept, when a grateful reception was all that was desired—must I be +outdone in all things? must she teach me how to give freely and accept +gracefully? + +She shall have her way this hitch, and so will I have mine bime by, or +the deuce is in the die. I didn’t surely come to Liscombe Harbour to be +taught those things. + +“Tell your husband,” sais I, “I think very highly of his location, and +if hard times continue to pinch him, or he needs a helping hand, I am +both able and willing to assist him, and will have great pleasure in +doing so for her sake who has so kindly entertained us in his absence. +Here is my card and address, if he wants a friend let him come to me, +and if he can’t do that, write to me, and he will find I am on hand. +Any man in Boston will tell him where Sam Slick lives.” + +“Who?” said she. + +“Sam Slick,” sais I. + +“My goodness,” said she, “are you _the_ Mr Slick who used to sell—” She +paused and coloured slightly, thinking perhaps, as many people do, I +would be ashamed to be reminded of pedling. + +“Wooden clocks,” sais I, helping her to the word. “Yes,” sais I, “I am +Sam Slick the Clockmaker, at least what is left of me.” + +“Goodness gracious, Sir,” said she, advancing and shaking hands +cordially with me, “how glad I am to see you! You don’t recollect me of +course, I have grown so since we met, and I don’t recollect your +features, for it is so long ago, but I mind seeing you at my father’s +old house, Deacon Flint’s, as well as if it was yesterday. We bought a +clock from you; you asked mother’s leave to let you put it up, and +leave it in the room till you called for it. You said you trusted to +‘soft sawder’ to get it into the house, and to ‘human natur’ that it +should never come out of it. How often our folks have laughed over that +story. Dear, dear, only to think we should have ever met again,” and +going to a trunk she took out of a bark-box a silver sixpence with a +hole in it, by which it was suspended on a black ribbon. + +“See, Sir, do you recollect that, you gave that to me for a keepsake? +you said it was ‘luck-money.’” + +“Well,” sais I, “_if that_ don’t pass, don’t it? Oh, dear, how glad I +am to see you, and yet how sad it makes me too! I am delighted at +meetin’ you so onexpected, and yet it makes me feel so old it scares +me. It only seems as if it was the other day when I was at your +father’s house, and since then yon have growd up from a little girl +into a tall handsome woman, got married, been settled, and are the +mother of two children. Dear me, it’s one o’ the slaps old Father Time +gives me in the face sometimes, as much as to hint, ‘I say, Slick, you +are gettin’ too old now to talk so much nonsense as you do.’ Well,” +sais I, “my words have come true about that silver sixpence.” + +“Come here, my little man,” sais I to her pretty curly-headed little +boy; “come here to me,” and I resumed my seat. “Now,” sais I, “my old +friend, I will show you how that prophecy is fulfilled to this child. +That clock I sold to Deacon Flint only cost me five dollars, and five +dollars more would pay duty, freight, and carriage, and all expenses, +which left five pounds clear profit, but that warn’t the least share of +the gain. It introduced my wares all round and through the country, and +it would have paid me well if I had given him a dozen clocks for his +patronage. I always thought I would return him that profit if I could +see him, and as I can’t do that I will give it to this little boy,” so +I took out my pocket-book and gave her twenty dollars for him. + +“Come,” sais I, “my friend, that relieves my conscience now of a debt +of gratitude, for that is what I always intended to do if I got a +chance.” + +Well, she took it, said it was very kind, and would be a great help to +them; but that she didn’t see what occasion there was to return the +money, for it was nothing but the fair profit of a trade, and the clock +was a most excellent one, kept capital time, and was still standing in +the old house. + +Thinks I to myself, “You have taught me two things, my pretty friend; +first, how to give, and second, how to receive.” + +Well, we bid her good-bye, and after we had proceeded a short distance +I returned. + +Sais I, “Mrs Steele, there is one thing I wish you would do for me; is +there any cranberries in this neighbourhood?” + +“Plenty, Sir,” she said; “at the head of this river there is an immense +bog, chock full of them.” + +“Well,” sais I, “there is nothin’ in natur I am so fond of as them; I +would give anything in the world for a few bushel. Tell your husband to +employ some people to pick me this fall a barrel of them, and send them +to me by one of our vessels, directed to me to Slickville, and when I +go on board I will send you a barrel of flour to pay for it. + +“Dear me, Sir,” said she, “that’s a great deal more than their value; +why they ain’t worth more than two dollars. We will pick them for you +with great pleasure. We don’t want pay.” + +“Ain’t they worth that?” said I, “so much the better. Well, then, he +can send me another barrel the next year. Why, they are as cheap as +bull beef at a cent a pound. Good bye; tell him to be sure to come and +see me the first time he goes to the States. Adieu.” + +“What do you think of that, Doctor?” said I, as we proceeded to the +boat; “ain’t that a nice woman? how cheerful and uncomplaining she is; +how full of hope and confidence in the future. Her heart is in the +right place, ain’t it? My old mother had that same sort of contentment +about her, only, perhaps, her resignation was stronger than her hope. +When anything ever went wrong about our place to home to Slickville, +she’d always say, ‘Well, Sam, it might have been worse;’ or, ‘Sam, the +darkest hour is always just afore day,’ and so on. But Minister used to +amuse me beyond anything, poor old soul. Once the congregation met and +raised his wages from three to four hundred dollars a-year. Well, it +nearly set him crazy; it bothered him so he could hardly sleep. So +after church was over the next Sunday, he sais, ‘My dear brethren, I +hear you have raised my salary to four hundred dollars. I am greatly +obliged to you for your kindness, but I can’t think of taking it on no +account. First, you can’t afford it no how you can fix it, and I know +it; secondly, I ain’t worth it, and you know it; and thirdly, I am +nearly tired to death collecting my present income; if I have to dun +the same way for that, it will kill me. I can’t stand it; I shall die. +No, no; pay me what you allow me more punctually, and it is all I ask, +or will ever receive.’ + +“But this poor woman is a fair sample of her class in this country; I +do believe the only true friendship and hospitality is to be found +among them. They ain’t rich enough for ostentation, and are too equal +in condition and circumstances for the action of jealousy or rivalry; I +believe they are the happiest people in the world, but I know they are +the kindest. Their feelings are not chilled by poverty or corrupted by +plenty; their occupations preclude the hope of wealth and forbid the +fear of distress. Dependent on each other for mutual assistance, in +those things that are beyond individual exertion, they interchange +friendly offices, which commencing in necessity, grow into habit, and +soon become the ‘labour of love.’ They are poor, but not destitute, a +region in my opinion in which the heart is more fully developed than in +any other. Those who are situated like Steele and his wife, and +commence a settlement in the woods, with the previous training they +have received in the rural districts, begin at the right end; but they +are the only people who are fit to be pioneers in the forest. How many +there are who begin at the wrong end; perhaps there is no one subject +on which men form such false notions as the mode of settling in the +country, whether they are citizens of a colonial town, or strangers, +from Great Britain. + +“Look at that officer at Halifax: he is the best dressed man in the +garrison; he is well got up always; he looks the gentleman every inch +of him; how well his horses are groomed; how perfect his turn-out +looks; how well appointed it is, as he calls it. He and his servant and +his cattle are a little bit of fashion imported from the park, and +astonish the natives. Look at his wife, ain’t she a beautiful creature? +they are proud of, and were just made for each other. This is not +merely all external appearance either: they are accomplished people; +they sing, they play, they sketch, they paint, they speak several +languages, they are well read, they have many resources. Soldiering is +dull, and, in time of peace, only a police service. It has disagreeable +duties; it involves repeated removals, and the alternation of bad +climates—from Hudson’s Bay to Calcutta’s Black Hole. The juniors of the +regimental officers are mere boys, the seniors great empty +cartouch-boxes, and the women have cabals,—there is a sameness even in +its variety; but worse than all, it has no home—in short, the whole +thing is a bore. It is better to sell out and settle in the province; +land is cheap; their means are ample, and more than sufficient for the +requirements of the colony; country society is stupid; there are no +people fit to visit. It is best to be out of the reach of their morning +calls and their gossip. A few miles back in the woods there is a +splendid stream with a beautiful cascade on it; there is a magnificent +lake communicating with several others that form a chain of many miles +in extent. That swelling knoll that slopes so gently to the water would +be such a pretty site for a cottage-_orné_, and the back-ground of +hanging wood has an indescribable beauty in it, especially in the +autumn, when the trees are one complete mass of variegated hues. He +warms on the theme as he dilates on it, and sings as he turns to his +pretty wife: + +‘I knew by the smoke that so gracefully curled + Above the green elms that a cottage was near; +And I said, if there’s peace to be found in the world, + The heart that is humble might hope for it here.’ + + +“How sweet to plan, how pleasant to execute. How exciting to see it +grow under one’s own eye, the work of one’s own hand, the creation of +one’s own taste. It is decided on; Dechamps retires, the papers go in, +the hero goes out—what a relief! no inspection of soldiers’ dirty +kits—no parade by day—no guards nor rounds by night—no fatigue parties +of men who never fatigue themselves—no stupid court-martial—no horrid +punishments—no reviews to please a colonel who never is pleased, or a +general who will swear—no marching through streets, to be stared at by +housemaids from upper windows, and by dirty boys in the side paths—no +procession to follow brass instruments, like the train of a circus—no +bearded band-master with his gold cane to lead on his musicians, and no +bearded white goat to march at the head of the regiment. All, all are +gone. + +“He is out of livery, he has played at soldiering long enough, he is +tired of the game, he sells out, the man of business is called in, +_his_ lawyer, as he terms him, as if every gentleman kept a lawyer as +he does a footman. He is in a hurry to have the purchase completed with +as little delay as possible. But delays will occur, he is no longer a +centurion and a man of authority, who has nothing to do but to say to +this one, Come, and he cometh; and another, Go, and he goeth; Do this, +and it is done. He can’t put a lawyer under arrest, he is a man of +arrests himself. He never heard of an attachment for contempt, and if +he had, he couldn’t understand it; for, when the devil was an attorney, +he invented the term, as the softest and kindest name for the hardest +and most unkind process there is. _Attachment_ for _contempt,_ what a +mockery of Christian forgiveness! + +“A conveyancer is a slow coach, he must proceed cautiously, he has a +long journey to take, he has to travel back to a grant from the crown, +through all the ‘mesne’ conveyances. He don’t want a _mean_ conveyance, +he will pay liberally if it is only done quickly; and is informed +‘mesne’ in law signifies intermediate. It is hard to say what the +language of law does mean. Then there are searches to be made in the +record offices, and the—damn the searches, for he is in a hurry and +loses his patience—search at the bankers, and all will be found right. +Then there are releases and assignments and discharges. He can stand it +no longer, he releases his lawyer, discharges him, and assigns another, +who hints, insinuates, he don’t charge; but gives him to understand his +predecessor was idle. He will lose no time, indeed he has no time to +lose, he is so busy with other clients’ affairs, and is as slow as the +first man was. + +“But at last it is done; the titles are completed. He is presented with +a huge pile of foolscap paper, very neatly folded, beautifully +engrossed and endorsed in black letters, and nicely tied up with red +tape, which, with sundry plans, surveys, and grants, are secured in a +large despatch box, on which are inscribed in gold letters the +‘_Epaigwit estate_.’ It is a pretty Indian word that, it means the +‘home on the wave.’ It is the original name of that gem of the western +ocean which the vulgar inhabitants have christened Prince Edward’s +Island. + +“But what can you expect of a people whose governor calls the gentry +‘the upper crust of society,’ and who in their turn see an affinity +between a Scotch and a Roman fiddle, and denounce him as a Nero? But +then who looks, as he says, for taste in a colony? it is only us +Englishmen who have any. Yes, he calls this place ‘Epaigwit.’ It has a +_distingué_ appearance on his letters. It has now a name, the next +thing is ‘a local habitation.’ Well, we won’t stop to describe it, but +it has an elegant drawing-room, if there was only company to collect in +it, a spacious dining-room, and though only two plates are on the table +there is room for twenty, and a charming study, only awaiting his +leisure to enjoy it, and so on. + +“It is done and the design carried out, though not completed; prudence +forbids a further expenditure just now. It has cost five times as much +as was contemplated, and is not worth a tenth part of the outlay, still +it is very beautiful. Strangers go to see it, and every one pronounces +it the prettiest thing in the Lower provinces. There have been some +little drawbacks, but they are to be expected in a colony, and among +the Goths and Vandals who live there. The contractors have repudiated +their agreement on account of the extensive alterations made in the +design and the nature of the work, and he has found there is law in the +country if not justice. The servants find it too lonely, they have no +taste for the beauties of nature, and remain without work, or quit +without notice. If he refuses to pay he is sued, if he pays he is +cheated. The house leaks, for the materials are green; the chimneys +smoke, for the drafts are in the wrong place. The children are +tormented by black flies and musquitoes, and their eyes are so swelled +they can’t see. The bears make love to his sheep, and the minks and +foxes devour his poultry. The Indians who come to beg are supposed to +come to murder, and the negroes who come to sell wild berries are +suspected of coming to steal. He has no neighbours, he did not desire +any, and if a heavy weight has to be lifted, it is a little, but not +much, inconvenience to send to the town for assistance; and the people +go cheerfully, for they have only five miles to come, and five to +return, and they are not detained more than five minutes, for he never +asks them into his house. The butcher won’t come so far to carry his +meat, nor the baker his bread, nor the postman to deliver his letters. + +“The church is too far off, and there is no school. But the clergyman +is not fit to be heard, he is such a drone in the pulpit; and it is a +sweet employment to train one’s own children, who thus avoid +contamination by not associating with vulgar companions. + +“These are trifling vexations, and what is there in this life that has +not some little drawback? But there is something very charming in +perfect independence, in living for each other, and in residing in one +of the most delightful spots in America, surrounded by the most +exquisite scenery that was ever beheld. There is one thing however that +is annoying. The country people will not use or adopt that pretty word +Epaigwit, ‘the home of the wave,’ which rivals in beauty of conception +an eastern expression. The place was originally granted to a fellow of +the name of Umber, who was called after the celebrated navigator Cook. +These two words when united soon became corrupted, and the magnificent +sheet of water was designated ‘the Cucumber Lake,’ while its splendid +cataract, known in ancient days by the Indians as the ‘Pan-ook,’ or +‘the River’s Leap,’ is perversely called by way of variation ‘the +Cowcumber Falls;’ can anything be conceived more vulgar or more +vexatious, unless it be their awkward attempt at pronunciation, which +converts Epaigwit into ‘a pig’s wit,’ and Pan-ook into ‘Pond-hook?’ + +“But then, what can you expect of such boors, and who cares, or what +does it matter? for after all, if you come to that, the ‘Cumberland +Lakes’ is not very euphonious, as he calls it, whatever that means. He +is right in saying it is a beautiful place, and, as he often observes, +what an immense sum of money it would be worth if it were only in +England! but the day is not far distant, now that the Atlantic is +bridged by steamers, when ‘bag-men’ will give place to tourists, and +‘Epaigwit’ will be the ‘Killarney’ of America. He is quite right, that +day will come, and so will the millennium, but it is a good way off +yet; and dear old Minister used to say there was no dependable +authority that it ever would come at all. + +“Now and then a brother officer visits him. Elliott is there now, not +the last of the Elliotts, for there is no end of them, and though only +a hundred of them have been heard of in the world, there are a thousand +well known to the Treasury. But he is the last chum from his regiment +he will ever see. As they sit after dinner he hands the olives to his +friend, and suddenly checks himself, saying, I forgot, you never touch +the ‘_after-feed_.’ Then he throws up both eyes and hands, and affects +to look aghast at the mistake. ‘Really,’ he says, ‘I shall soon become +us much of a boor as the people of this country. I hear nothing now but +mowing, browsing, and ‘after-feed,’ until at last I find myself using +the latter word for ‘dessert.’ He says it prettily and acts it well, +and although his wife has often listened to the same joke, she looks as +if it would bear repetition, and her face expresses great pleasure. +Poor Dechamps, if your place is worth nothing, she at least is a +treasure above all price. + +“Presently Elliott sais, ‘By-the-by, Dechamps, have you heard we are +ordered to Corfu, and embark immediately?’ + +“Dear me, what magic there is in a word. Sometimes it discloses in +painful distinctness the past, at others it reveals a prophetic page of +the future; who would ever suppose there was anything in that little +insignificant word to occasion a thought, unless it was whether it is +pronounced Corfoo or Corfew, and it’s so little consequence which, I +always give it the go by and say Ionian Isles. + +“But it startled Dechamps. He had hoped before he left the army to have +been ordered there, and from thence to have visited the classic coasts +of Greece. Alas, that vision has gone, and there is a slight sigh of +regret, for possession seldom equals expectation, and always cloys. He +can never more see his regiment, they have parted for ever. Time and +distance have softened some of the rougher features of military life. +He thinks of the joyous days of youth, the varied scenes of life, his +profession exposed to his view, and the friends he has left behind him. +The service he thinks not so intolerable after all, and though +regimental society is certainly not what he should choose, especially +as a married man, yet, except in a rollicking corps, it may at least +negatively be said to be ‘not bad.’ + +“From this review of the past he turns to the prospect before him. But +he discerns something that he does not like to contemplate, a slight +shadow passes over his face, and he asks Elliott to pass the wine. His +wife, with the quickness of perception so natural to a woman, sees at +once what is passing in his mind; for similar, but deeper, far deeper +thoughts, like unbidden guests, have occupied hers many an anxious +hour. Poor thing, she at once perceives her duty and resolves to fulfil +it. She will be more cheerful. She at least will never murmur. After +all, Doctor, it’s no great exaggeration to call a woman that has a good +head and kind heart, and the right shape, build, and bearings, an +angel, is it? But let us mark their progress, for we shall be better +able to judge then. + +“Let us visit Epaigwit again in a few years. Who is that man near the +gate that looks unlike a servant, unlike a farmer, unlike a gentleman, +unlike a sportsman, and yet has a touch of all four characters about +him? He has a shocking bad hat on but what’s the use of a good hat in +the woods, as poor Jackson said, where there is no one to see it. He +has not been shaved since last sheep-shearing, and has a short black +pipe in his mouth, and the tobacco smells like nigger-head or pig-tail. +He wears a coarse check shirt without a collar, a black silk neck-cloth +frayed at the edge, that looks like a rope of old ribbons. His coat +appears as if it had once been new, but had been on its travels, until +at last it had got pawned to a Jew at Rag-alley. His waistcoat was +formerly buff, but now resembles yellow flannel, and the buttons, +though complete in number are of different sorts. The trowsers are +homespun, much worn, and his boots coarse enough to swap with a +fisherman for mackarel. His air and look betokens pride rendered sour +by poverty. + +“But there is something worse than all this, something one never sees +without disgust or pain, because it is the sure precursor of a diseased +body, a shattered intellect, and voluntary degradation. There is a +bright red colour that extends over the whole face, and reaches behind +the ears. The whiskers are prematurely tipt with white, as if the +heated skin refused to nourish them any longer. The lips are slightly +swelled, and the inflamed skin indicates inward fever, while the eyes +are bloodshot, the under lids distended, and incline to shrink from +contact with the heated orbs they were destined to protect. He is a +dram-drinker; and the poison that he imbibes with New England rum is as +fatal, and nearly as rapid in its destruction, as strikline. + +“Who is he; can you guess? do you give it up? He is that handsome +officer, the Laird of Epaigwit as the Scotch would say, the general as +we should call him, for we are liberal of titles, and the man that +lives at Cowcumber Falls, as they say here. Poor fellow, he has made +the same discovery Sergeant Jackson did, that there is no use of good +things in the woods where there is no one to see them. He is about to +order you off his premises, but it occurs to him that would be absurd, +for he has nothing now worth seeing. He scrutinises you however to +ascertain if he has ever seen you before. He fears recognition, for he +dreads both your pity and your ridicule; so he strolls leisurely back +to the house with a certain bull-dog air of defiance. + +“Let us follow him thither; but before we enter, observe there is some +glass out of the window, and its place supplied by shingles. The +stanhope is in the coach-house, but the by-road was so full of stumps +and cradle-hills, it was impossible to drive in it, and the moths have +eaten the lining out. The carriage has been broken so often it is not +worth repairing, and the double harness has been cut up to patch the +tacklin’ of the horse-team. The shrubbery has been browsed away by the +cattle, and the rank grass has choked all the rose bushes and pretty +little flowers. What is the use of these things in the woods? That +remark was on a level with the old dragoon’s intellect; but I am +surprised that this intelligent officer; this man of the world, this +martinet, didn’t also discover, that he who neglects himself soon +becomes so careless as to neglect his other duties, and that to lose +sight of them is to create and invite certain ruin. But let us look at +the interior. + +“There are some pictures on the walls, and there are yellow stains +where others hung. Where are they? for I think I heard a man say he +bought them on account of their handsome frames, from that +crack-brained officer at Cucumber Lake; and he shut his eye, and looked +knowing and whispered, ‘Something wrong there, had to sell out of the +army; some queer story about another wife still living; don’t know +particulars.’ Poor Dechamps, you are guiltless of that charge at any +rate, to my certain knowledge; _but how often does slander bequeath to +folly that which of right belongs to crime!_ The nick-knacks, the +antique china, the Apostles’ spoons, the queer little old-fashioned +silver ornaments, the French clock, the illustrated works, and all that +sort of thing,—all, all are gone. The housemaids broke some, the +children destroyed others, and the rest were sent to auction, merely to +_secure their preservation._ The paper is stained in some places, in +others has peeled off; but where under the sun have all the +accomplishments gone to? + +“The piano got out of tune, and there was nobody to put it in order: it +was no use; the strings were taken out, and the case was converted into +a cupboard. The machinery of the harp became rusty, and the cords were +wanted for something else. But what is the use of these things in the +woods where there is nobody to see them? But here is Mrs Dechamps. Is +it possible! My goody gracious as I am a living sinner! Well I never in +all my born days! what a dreadful wreck! you know how handsome she was. +Well, I won’t describe her now, I pity her too much. You know I said +they were counterparts, just made for each other, and so they were; but +they are of different sexes, made of different stuff, and trouble has +had a different effect on them. He has neglected himself, and she is +negligent of her dress too, but not in the same way. She is still neat, +but utterly regardless of what her attire is; but let it be what it +may, and let her put on what she will, still she looks like a lady. But +her health is gone, and her spirits too; and in their place a little, +delicate hectic spot has settled in her cheek, beautiful to look at, +but painful to think of. This faint blush is kindly sent to conceal +consumption, and the faint smile is assumed to hide the broken heart. +If it didn’t sound unfeelin’, I should say she was booked for an early +train; but I think so if I don’t say so. The hour is fixed, the +departure certain; she is glad to leave Epaigwit. + +“Somehow though I must say I am a little disappointed in her. She was a +soldier’s wife; I thought she was made of better stuff, and if she had +died would have at least died game. Suppose they have been unfortunate +in pitching their tent ‘on the home of the wave,’ and got aground, and +their effects have been thrown overboard; what is that, after all? +Thousands hare done the same; there is still hope for them. They are +more than a match for these casualties; how is it she has given up so +soon? Well, don’t allude to it, but there is a sad tragical story +connected with that lake. Do you recollect that beautiful curly-headed +child, her eldest daughter, that she used to walk with at Halifax? +Well, she grew up into a magnificent girl; she was full of health and +spirits, and as fleet and as wild as a hare. She lived in the woods and +on the lake. She didn’t shoot, and she didn’t fish, but she accompanied +those who did. The beautiful but dangerous bark canoe was her delight; +she never was happy but when she was in it. Tom Hodges, the orphan boy +they had brought with them from the regiment, who alone of all their +servants had remained faithful in their voluntary exile, was the only +one permitted to accompany her; for he was so careful, so expert, and +so good a swimmer. Alas! one night the canoe returned not. What a long, +eager, anxious night was that! but towards noon the next day the +upturned bark drifted by the shore, and then it was but too evident +that that sad event which the anxious mother had so often dreaded and +predicted had come to pass. They had met a watery grave. Often and +often were the whole chain of lakes explored, but their bodies were +never found. Entangled in the long grass and sunken driftwood that +covered the bottom of these basins, it was not likely they would ever +rise to the surface. + +“It was impossible to contemplate that fearful lake without a shudder. +They must leave the place soon and for ever. Oh, had Emily’s life been +spared, she could have endured any and everything for her sake. Poor +thing! how little she knew what she was a talking about, as she broke +the seal of a letter in a well-known hand. Her life was spared; it +never was endangered. She had eloped with Tom Hodges—she had reached +Boston—she was very happy—Tom was all kindness to her. She hoped they +would forgive her and write to her, for they were going to California, +where they proposed to be married as soon as they arrived. Who ever +appealed to a mother for forgiveness in vain? Everything appeared in a +new light. The child had been neglected; she ought not to have been +suffered to spend so much of her time with that boy; both her parents +had strangely forgotten that they had grown up, and—it was no use to +say more. Her father had locked her out of his heart, and thrown away +the key for ever. He wished she had been drowned, for in that case she +would have died innocent; and he poured out such a torrent of +imprecations, that the poor mother was terrified lest, as the Persians +say, these curses, like fowls, might return home to roost, or like +prayers, might be heard, and procure more than was asked. + +“You may grieve over the conduct of a child, and lament its untimely +death, and trust in God for his mercy; but no human being can reverse +the order of things, and first mourn the decease of a child, and then +grieve for its disgraceful life; for there is a grave again to be dug, +and who knoweth whether the end shall be peace? We can endure much, but +there is a load that crusheth. Poor thing! you were right, and your +husband wrong. Woman-like, your judgment was correct, your impulses +good, and your heart in the right place. The child was not to be +blamed, but its parents. You could, if you thought proper, give up +society and live for each other; you had proved it, and knew how hollow +and false it was; but your children could not resign what they never +had, nor ignore feelings which God had implanted within them. Nature +has laws which must and will be obeyed. The swallow selects its mate, +builds its nest, and occupies itself in nurturing its young. The heart +must have something to love, and if it is restricted in its choice, it +will bestow its affections not on what it would approve and select, but +upon what it may chance to find; you are not singular in your domestic +affliction; it is the natural consequence of your isolation, and I have +known it happen over and over again. + +“Now, Doctor, let us return, after the lapse of a few years, as I did, +to Epaigwit. I shall never forget the impression it made upon me. It +was about this season of the year I went there to fish, intending to +spend the night in a camp, so as to be ready for the morning sport: +‘Why, where am I?’ sais I to myself, when I reached the place. ‘Why, +surely this ain’t Cucumber Lake! where is that beautiful hanging wood, +the temptation in the wilderness that ruined poor Dechamps? gone, not +cleared, but destroyed; not subdued to cultivation, but reduced to +desolation.’ Tall gaunt black trees stretch out their withered arms on +either side, as if balancing themselves against a fall, while huge +trunks lie scattered over the ground, where they fell in their fierce +conflict with the devouring fire that overthrew them. The ground is +thickly covered with ashes, and large white glistening granite rocks, +which had formerly been concealed by moss, the creeping evergreen, and +the smiling, blushing may-flower, now rear their cold snowy heads that +contrast so strangely with the funereal pall that envelopes all around +them. No living thing is seen there, nor bird, nor animal, nor insect, +nor verdant plant; even the hardy fire-weed has not yet ventured to +intrude on this scene of desolation, and the woodpecker, afraid of the +atmosphere which charcoal has deprived of vitality, shrinks back in +terror when he approaches it. Poor Dechamps, had you remained to +witness this awful conflagration, you would have observed in those +impenetrable boulders of granite a type of the hard, cold, unfeeling +world around you, and in that withered and blackened forest, a fitting +emblem of your blighted and blasted prospects. + +“But if the trees had disappeared from that side of the lake, they had +been reproduced on the other. The fields, the lawn, and the garden were +over-run with a second growth of wood that had nearly concealed the +house from view. It was with some difficulty I forced my way through +the chaparel (thicket), which was rendered almost impenetrable by +thorns, Virginia creepers, honeysuckles, and sweet-briars, that had +spread in the wildest profusion. The windows, doors, mantle-pieces, +bannisters, and every portable thing had been removed from the house by +the blacks, who had squatted in the neighbourhood; even the chimneys +had been taken down for the bricks. The swallows were the sole tenants; +the barn had fallen a prey to decay and storms, and the roof lay +comparatively uninjured at some distance on the ground. A pair of +glistening eyes, peeping through a broken board at the end, showed me +that the foxes had appropriated it to their own use. The horse-stable, +coach-house, and other buildings were in a similar state of +dilapidation. + +“I returned to the camp, and learned that Mrs Dechamps was reposing in +peace in the village church-yard, the children had been sent to England +to their relatives, and the captain was residing in California with his +daughter and Tom Hodges, who were the richest people in St Francisco.” + +“What a sad picture!” said the doctor. + +“Well, it’s true though,” said I, “ain’t it?” + +“I never was at Cucumber Lake,” said he, smiling, “but I have known +several similar failures. The truth is, Mr Slick, though I needn’t tell +you, for you know better than I do, our friend Steele began at the +right and Dechamps at the wrong end. The poor native ought always to go +to the woods, the emigrant or gentleman never; the one is a rough and +ready man; he is at home with an axe, and is conversant as well with +the privations and requirements as with the expedients and shifts of +forest life; his condition is ameliorated every year, and in his latter +days he can afford to rest from his labours; whereas, if he buys what +is called a half-improved farm, and is unable to pay for it at the time +of the purchase, the mortgage is almost sure to ruin him at last. Now a +man of means who retires to the country is wholly unfit for a pioneer, +and should never attempt to become one; he should purchase a farm ready +made to his hands, and then he has nothing to do but to cultivate and +adorn it. It takes two generations, at least, to make such a place as +he requires. The native, again is one of a class, and the most +necessary one too in the country; the people sympathise with him, aid +and encourage him. The emigrant-gentleman belongs to no class, and wins +no affection; he is kindly received and judiciously advised by people +of his own standing in life, but he affects to consider their counsel +obtrusive and their society a bore; he is therefore suffered to proceed +his own way, which they all well know, as it has been so often +travelled before, leads to ruin. They pity, but they can’t assist him. +Yes, yes, your sketch of ‘Epaigwit’ is so close to nature, I shouldn’t +wonder if many a man who reads it should think he sees the history of +his own place under the name of ‘the Cucumber Lake.’” + + + + +CHAPTER XXV. +THE RECALL. + + +In compiling this Journal, Squire, my object has been less to give you +the details of my cruise, than to furnish you with my remarks on men +and things in general. Climate, locality, and occupation form or vary +character, but man is the same sort of critter everywhere. To know him +thoroughly, he must be studied in his various aspects. When I learned +drawing, I had an India-rubber figure, with springs in it, and I used +to put it into all sorts of attitudes. Sometimes it had its arms up, +and sometimes down, now a-kimbo, and then in a boxing posture. I stuck +out its legs or made it stand bolt upright, and put its head every way +I could think of, and so on. It taught me to draw, and showed me the +effect of light and shade. So in sketching human character, feelings, +prejudices, and motives of action, I have considered man at one time as +a politician, a preacher, or a trader, and at another as a countryman +or a citizen, as ignorant or wise, and so on. In this way I soon +learned to take his gauge as you do a cask of spirits, and prove his +strength or weakness by the bead I could raise on him. + +If I know anything of these matters, and you seem to consait I do, why +I won’t act “Peter Funk”1 to myself, but this I will say, “Human natur +is my weakness.” Now I think it best to send you only such portions of +my Journal as will interest you, for a mere diary of a cruise is a mere +nothing. So I skip over my sojourn at Canzeau, and a trip the doctor +and I took to Prince Edward’s Island, as containing nothing but a sort +of ship’s log, and will proceed to tell you about our sayings and +doings at that celebrated place Louisburg, in Cape Breton, which was +twice besieged and taken, first by our colony-forefathers from Boston, +and then by General Wolfe, the Quebec hero, and of which nothing now +remains but its name, which you will find in history, and its harbour, +which you will find in the map. The French thought building a fortress +was colonization, and the English that blowing it up was the right way +to settle the country. The world is wiser now. + +1 At petty auctions in the States, a person is employed to bid up +articles, in order to raise their price. Such a person is called a +_Peter Funk,_ probably from that name having frequently been given when +things were bought in. In short, it is now used as a +“puffer.”—BARTLETT. + + +As we approached the place the Doctor said, “You see, Mr Slick, the +entrance to Louisburg is pointed out to voyagers coming from the +eastward, by the ruins of an old French lighthouse, and the lantern of +a new one, on the rocky wall of the north shore, a few minutes after +approaching which the mariner shoots from a fretful sea into the smooth +and capacious port. The ancient ruins display even yet the most +attractive object to the eye. The outline of these neglected mounds, +you observe, is boldly marked against the sky, and induces a visit to +the spot where the fortress once stood. Louisburg is everywhere covered +with a mantle of turf, and without the assistance of a native it is not +easy to discover even the foundations of the public buildings. Two or +three casemates still remain, appearing like the mouths of huge ovens, +surmounted by a great mass of earth and stone. These caverns, +originally the safeguards of powder and other combustible munitions of +war, now serve to shelter the flocks of sheep that graze upon the grass +that conceals them. The floors are rendered nearly impassable by the +ordure of these animals, but the vaulted ceilings are adorned by +dependent stalactites, like icicles in shape, but not in purity of +colour, being of a material somewhat similar to oyster shells. The mass +of stone1 and brick that composed the buildings, and which is now swept +so completely from its site, has been distributed along the shores of +America, as far as Halifax and Boston, having been successively carried +away for the erections in those places and the intermediate coast, +which contains many a chimney bearing the memorials of Louisburg. The +remains of the different batteries on the island and round the harbour +are still shown by the inhabitants, as well as of the wharves, +stockade, and sunken ships of war. On gaining the walls above the town, +they are found to consist of a range of earthen fortifications with +projecting angles, and extending as already mentioned from the harbour +to the sea, interrupted at intervals by large pits, said to have been +produced by the efforts of the captors to blow up the walls. From these +heights, the glacis slopes away to the edge of the bog outside, forming +a beautiful level walk, though now only enjoyed by the sheep, being, +like the walls, carpeted by short turf. At the termination of this line +of fortification on the sea-shore, is a huge and uncouth black rock, +which appears to have been formerly quarried for building stone, large +quantities ready hewn being still scattered round it, and gathered in +masses as if prepared for that use. + +1 See Haliburton’s “History of Nova Scotia.” + + +“The prospect from the brow of the dilapidated ramparts is one of the +most impressive that the place affords. Looking to the south-west over +the former city, the eye wanders upon the interminable ocean, its blue +rolling waves occupying three-fourths of the scene, and beyond them, on +the verge of the horizon, a dense bank of fog sweeps along with the +prevailing S.W. wind, precluding all hopes of discerning any vista +beyond that curtain. Turning landwards towards the south-west, over the +spacious bog that lies at the foot of the walls, the sight is met by a +range of low wood in the direction of Gabarus, and can penetrate no +further. The harbour is the only prospect to the northward, and +immediately in its rear the land rises so as to prevent anymore distant +view, and even the harbour appears dwindled to a miniature of itself, +being seen in the same picture with the mighty ocean that nearly +surrounds the beholder. The character of the whole scene is melancholy, +presenting the memorials of former life and population, contrasted with +its present apparent isolation from the natives of the earth. The +impression is not weakened by the sight of the few miserable huts +scattered along the shores of the port, and the little fishing vessels, +scarcely perceptible in the mountain-swell of the ocean; they serve but +to recall painfully the images of elegant edifices that once graced the +foreground, and of proud flags that waved upon the face of that heaving +deep. + +“It is not easy to give a reason for the continued desolation of +Louisburg. A harbour opening directly upon the sea, whence egress is +unobstructed and expeditious, and return equally convenient at all +seasons; excellent fishing grounds at the very entrance; space on shore +for all the operations of curing the fish; every advantage for trade +and the fisheries is offered in vain. The place would appear to be +shunned by tacit consent. The shallops come from Arichet and St Peter’s +Bay to fish at its very mouth, but no one sets up his establishment +there. The merchants resort to every station in its vicinity, to +Main-a-Dieu, the Bras d’Or, St Anne, Inganish, nay, even Cape North, +places holding out no advantage to compare with those of Louisburg, yet +no one ventures there. The fatality that hangs over places of fallen +celebrity seems to press heavily on this once valued spot.” + +“Massa Doctor,” said Sorrow, when he heard this description, “peers to +me, dem English did gib de French goss widout sweetenin’, most +particular jess dat are a nateral fac. By golly, but dey was strange +folks boff on ’em. Ki dey must been gwine stracted, sure as you born, +when dey was decomposed (angry) wid each other, to come all de way out +here to fight. Lordy gracious, peers to me crossin’ de sea might a +cooled them, sposin’ dar hair was rumpled.” + +“You are right, Sorrow,” said I; “and, Doctor, niggers and women often +come to a right conclusion, though they cannot give the right reasons +for it, don’t they?” + +“Oh, oh, Mr Slick,” said he, “pray don’t class ladies and niggers +together. Oh, I thought you had more gallantry about you than that.” + +“Exactly,” sais I, “there is where the shoe pinches. You are a so far +and no further emancipationist. You will break up the social system of +the south, deprive the planter of his slave, and set the nigger free; +but you will not admit him to your family circle, associate with him, +or permit him to intermarry with your daughter. Ah, Doctor, you can +emancipate him, but you can’t emancipate yourself. You are willing to +give him the liberty of a dog; he may sleep in your stable, exercise +himself in the coachyard, and may stand or run behind your carriage, +but he must not enter the house, for he is offensive, nor eat at your +table, for the way he devours his food is wolfish; you unchain him, and +that is all. But before the collar was unfastened he was well and +regularly fed, now he has to forage for it; and if he can’t pay for his +grub, he can and will steal it. Abolition has done great things for +him. He was once a life-labourer on a plantation in the south, he is +now a prisoner for life in a penitentiary in the north, or an idle +vagrant, and a shameless, houseless beggar. The fruit of cant is indeed +bitter. The Yankees emancipated their niggers because it didn’t pay to +keep slaves. They now want the southern planters to liberate theirs for +conscience sake. But here we are on the beach; let us land.” + +After taking a survey of the scene from the sight of the old town, we +sat down on one of the eastern mounds, and the doctor continued his +account of the place. “It took the French twenty-fire years to erect +Louisburg,” he said, “and though not completed according to the +original design, it cost not less than thirty millions of livres. It +was environed, two miles and a half in circumference, with a stone wall +from thirty to thirty-six feet high, and a ditch eighty feet wide. +There was, as you will see, six bastions and eight batteries, with +embrasures for 148 cannon. On the island at the entrance of the +harbour, which we just passed, was a battery of thirty twenty-eight +pounders, and at the bottom of the port another mounting thirty-eight +heavy guns. In 1745, a plan for taking it was conceived by a +colonial-lawyer, a Governor of Massachusetts, and executed by a body of +New England volunteers, led on by a country trader. History can hardly +furnish such another instance of courage and conduct in an +undisciplined body, laying siege to a regular constructed fortress like +this. Commodore Warren, when first applied to for assistance, declined +to afford it, as well because he had no orders as that he thought the +enterprise a rash one. He was however at last instructed from home to +co-operate with the Yankee troops, and arrived in season to witness the +progress of the siege, and receive the whole of the honour which was so +exclusively due to the Provincials. This act of insolence and injustice +on the part of the British was never forgotten by your countrymen, but +the memory of favours is short-lived, and a similar distribution of +rewards has lately surprised and annoyed the Canadians. The colonist +who raised the militia and saved Canada, as you have justly remarked +elsewhere, was knighted, while he who did no more than his duty as an +officer in the army, was compensated for two or three little affairs in +which the soldiers were engaged by a coronet and a pension.” + +“Exactly,” sais I, “what’s sauce for the goose ought to be sauce for +the gander; but it seems English geese are all swans.” + +“Well, in 1758, it was again taken by the English, who attacked it with +an immense and overpowering armament, consisting of 151 sail, and +14,000 men. Profiting by the experience of the Provincials, they soon +reduced the place, which it is astonishing could have made any +resistance at all against such an overwhelming force. Still, this +attack was mostly an English one; and though it dwindles into utter +insignificance when compared with the previous capture by the +colonists, occasioned a great outbreak of national pride. The French +colours were carried in pompous parade, escorted by detachments of +horse and foot-guards, with kettle-drums and trumpets, from the palace +of Kensington to St Paul’s Cathedral, where they were deposited as +trophies, under a discharge of cannon, and other noisy expressions of +triumph and exultation. Indeed, the public rejoicings for the conquest +of Louisburg were diffused through every part of the British dominions; +and addresses of congratulation were presented to the king by a great +number of flourishing towns and corporations.” + +“Twenty-five years afterwards the colonists, who were denied the credit +of their gallant enterprise, made good their claim to it by conquering +those who boasted that they were the conquerors themselves.” + +“I am glad to hear you say so, Doctor,” said I, “for I concur in it +all. The English are liberal, but half the time they ain’t just. +Spendin’ money in colonies is one thing, but givin’ them fair play is +another. The army complains that all commendation and promotion is +reserved for the staff. Provincials complain of similar injustice, but +there is this wide difference, the one has the ‘Times’ for its +advocate, the other is unheard or unheeded. An _honest_ statesman will +not refuse to do justice—a _willy_ poilitician will concede with grace +what he knows he must soon yield to compulsion. The old Tory was a man +after all, every inch of him.” + +“Now,” sais the doctor, “that remark reminds me of what I have long +intended to ask you if I got a chance. How is it, Mr Slick, that you, +who are a republican, whenever you speak of England are so +conservative? It always seemed to me as if it warn’t quite natural. If +I didn’t know you, I should say your books were written by a colonist +who had used your name for a medium for giving his own ideas.” + +“Well,” sais I, “Doctor, I am glad you asked me, for I have thought +myself it wasn’t unlikely some folks would fall into that mistake. I’ll +tell you how this comes, though I wouldn’t take the trouble to +enlighten others, for it kinder amuses me to see a fellow find a mare’s +nest with a tee-hee’s egg in it. First, I believe that a republic is +the only form of government suited to us, or practicable in North +America. A limited monarchy could not exist in the States, for royalty +and aristocracy never had an original root there. A military or +despotic one could be introduced, because a standing army can do +anything, but it couldn’t last long. Liberty is too deeply seated, and +too highly prized, to be suppressed for any length of time. + +“Now, I like a republic, but I hate a democracy. The wit of man never +could have devised anything more beautiful, better balanced, and more +skilfully checked, than our constitution is, or rather was; but every +change we make is for the worse. I am therefore a conservative at home. +On the other hand, the English constitution is equally well suited to +the British. It is admirably adapted to the genius, traditions, tastes, +and feelings of the people. They are not fitted for a republic. They +tried it once, and it failed; and if they were to try it again it would +not succeed. Every change _they_ make is also for the worse. In talking +therefore as I do, I only act and talk consistently, when I say I am a +conservative abroad also. + +“Conservatism, both in the States and in Great Britain, when rightly +understood, has a fixed principle of action, which is to conserve the +constitution of the country, and not subvert it. Now, liberalism +everywhere is distinguished by having no principle. In England it longs +for office, and sacrifices everything to it. It does nothing but +pander. It says religion is a matter of taste, leave it to itself and +it will take care of itself; now that maxim was forced on us by +necessity, for at the Revolution we scarcely had an Episcopal church, +it was so small as hardly to deserve the name. But in England it is an +unconstitutional, irrational, and monstrous maxim. Still it suits the +views of Romanists (although they hold no such doctrine themselves), +for it is likely to hand over the church revenues in Ireland to them. +It also suits Dissenters, for it will relieve them of church rates; and +it meets the wishes of the republican party, because they know no +church and no bishop will soon lead to no monarch. Again, it says, +enlarge the franchise, so as to give an increase of voters; that +doctrine suits all those sections also, for it weakens both monarchy +and aristocracy. Then again, it advocates free-trade, for that weakens +the landed interest, and knocks from under nobility one of its best +pillars. To lower the influence of the church pleases all political +Come-outers, some for one, and some for another reason. Their views are +not identical, but it is for their interest to unite. One advocates it +because it destroys Protestantism as a principle of the constitution, +another because the materials of this fortress, like those of +Louisburg, may be useful for erecting others, and among them +conventicles. + +“Then there is no truth in liberalism. When Irish emancipation was +discussed, it was said, Pass that and you will hear no more grievances, +it will tend to consolidate the church and pacify the people. It was no +sooner granted, than ten bishopricks were suppressed, and monster +meetings paraded through and terrified the land. One cardinal came in +place of ten Protestant prelates, and so on. So liberalism said Pass +the Reform Bill, and all England will be satisfied; well, though it has +not worked well for the kingdom, it has done wonders for the radical +party, and now another and more extensive one is promised. The British +Lion has been fed with living raw meat, and now roars for more victims. +It ain’t easy to onseat liberals, I tell you, for they know how to +pander. If you promise power to those who have none, you must have the +masses with you. I could point you out some fellows that are sure to +win the dead1 heads, the dough2 boys, the numerous body that is on the +fence,3 and political come-outers.4 There is at this time a postponed +Reform Bill. The proposer actually cried when it was deferred to +another session. It nearly broke his heart. He couldn’t bear that the +public should have it to say, ‘They had seen the elephant.’” + +1 Dead heads may perhaps be best explained by substituting the words +“the unproductive class of operatives,” such as spend their time in +ale-houses; demagogues, the men who, with free tickets, travel in +steam-boats, frequent theatres, tavern-keepers, &c. + + +2 Pliable politicians, men who are accessible to personal influences or +considerations. + + +3 A man is said _to be on a fence_ who is ready to join the strongest +party because he who sits on a fence is in a position to jump down, +with equal facility, on either side of it. + + +4 “Political come-outers” are the loose fish of all parties. Dissenters +from their own side.—See Bartlett’s definitions. + + +“Seeing the elephant,” said the doctor, “was he so large a man as +that?” + +“Lord bless you,” sais I, “no, he is a man that thinks he pulls the +wires, like one of Punch’s small figures, but the wires pull him and +set him in motion. It is a cant term we have, and signifies ‘going out +for wool and coming back shorn.’ Yes, he actually shed tears, like a +cook peelin’ onions. He reminded me of a poor fellow at Slickville, who +had a family of twelve small children. His wife took a day, and died +one fine morning, leaving another youngster to complete the baker’s +dozen, and next week that dear little innocent died too. He took on +dreadfully about it. He boo-hooed right out, which is more than the +politicioner did over his chloroformed bill. + +“‘Why,’ sais I, ‘Jeddediah, you ought to be more of a man than to take +on that way. With no means to support your family of poor helpless +little children, with no wife to look after them, and no airthly way to +pay a woman to dry-nurse and starve the unfortunate baby, it’s a mercy +it did die, and was taken out of this wicked world.’ + +“‘I know it and feel it, Mr Sam,’ said he, lookin’ up in a way that +nobody but him could look, ‘but—’ + +“‘But what?’ sais I. + +“‘Why,’ says he, ‘but it don’t do to say so, you know.’ + +“Jist then some of the neighbours came in, when he burst out wuss than +before, and groaned like a thousand sinners at a camp-meetin’. + +“Most likely the radical father of the strangled Reform Bill comforted +himself with the same reflection, only he thought _it wouldn’t do to +say so._ Crocodiles can cry when they are _hungry,_ but when they do +it’s time to vamose the poke-loken,1 that’s a fact. Yes, yes, they +understand these things to England as well as we do, you may depend. +They warn’t born yesterday. But I won’t follow it out. Liberalism is +playing the devil both with us and the British. Change is going on with +railroad haste in America, but in England, though it travels not so +fast, it never stops, and like a steam-packet that has no freight, it +daily increases its rate of speed as it advances towards the end of the +voyage. Now you have my explanation, Doctor, why I am a conservative on +principle, both at home and abroad.” + +1 Poke-loken, a marshy place, or stagnant pool, connected with a river. + + +“Well,” said the doctor,” that is true enough as far as England is +concerned, but still I don’t quite understand how it is, as a +republican, you are so much of a conservative at home, for your reasons +appear to me to be more applicable to Britain than to the United +States.” + +“Why,” sais I, “my good friend, liberalism is the same thing in both +countries, though its work and tactics may be different. It is +destructive but not creative. It tampers with the checks and balances +of our constitution. It flatters the people by removing the restraints +they so wisely placed on themselves to curb their own impetuosity. It +has shaken the stability of the judiciary by making the experiment of +electing the judges. It has abolished equity, in name, but infused it +so strongly in the administration of the law, that the distinctive +boundaries are destroyed, and the will of the court is now substituted +for both. In proportion as the independence of these high officers is +diminished, their integrity may be doubted. Elected, and subsequently +sustained by a faction, they become its tools, and decide upon party +and not legal grounds. In like manner, wherever the franchise was +limited, the limit is attempted to be removed. We are, in fact, fast +merging into a mere pure democracy,1 for the first blow on the point of +the wedge that secures the franchise, weakens it so that it is sure to +come out at last. Our liberals know this as well your British +Gerrymanderers do.” + +1 De Tocqueville, who has written incomparably the best work that has +ever appeared on the United States, makes the following judicious +remarks on this subject: “Where a nation modifies the elective +qualification, it may easily be foreseen, that sooner or later that +qualification will be abolished. There is no more invariable rule in +the history of society. The further electoral rights are extended, the +more is felt the need of extending them; for after each concession, the +strength of the democracy increases, and its demands increase with its +strength. The ambition of those who are below the appointed rate is +irritated, in exact proportion of the number of those who are above it. +The exception at last becomes the rule, concession follows concession, +and no step can be made, short of universal suffrage.” + + +“Genymanderers,”1 he said, “who in the world are they? I never heard of +them before.” + +1 This term came into use in the year 1811, in Massachusetts, where, +for several years previous, the federal and democratic parties stood +nearly equal. In that year, the democratic party, having a majority in +the Legislature, determined so to district the State anew, that those +sections which gave a large number of federal votes might be brought +into one district. The result was, that the democratic party carried +everything before them at the following election, and filled every +office in the State, although it appeared by the votes returned, that +nearly two-thirds of the votes were Federalists. Elridge Gerry, a +distinguished politician at that period, was the inventor of that plan, +which was called Gerrymandering, after him.—Glossary of Americanisms. + + +“Why,” sais I, “skilful politicians, who so arrange the electoral +districts of a State, that in an election one party may obtain an +advantage over its opponent, even though the latter may possess a +majority of the votes in the State; the truth is, it would be a long +story to go through, but we are corrupted by our liberals with our own +money, that’s a fact. Would you believe it now, that so long ago as six +years, and that is a great while in our history seein’ we are growing +at such a rate, there were sixty thousand offices in the gift of the +general government, and patronage to the extent of more than forty +million of dollars, besides official pickings and parquisites, which +are nearly as much more in the aggregate? Since then it has grown with +our growth. Or would you believe that a larger sum is assessed in the +city of _New York,_ than would cover the expenses of the general +government at _Washington?_ Constructive mileage may be considered as +the principle of the party, and literally runs through everything.” + +“What strange terms you have, Mr Slick,” said he; “do pray tell me what +that is.” + +“Snooping and stool-pidgeoning,” sais I. + +“Constructive mileage, snooping and stool-pidgeoning!” said he, and he +put his hands on his ribs, and running round in a circle, laughed until +he nearly fell on the ground fairly tuckered out, “what _do_ you mean?” + +“Constructive mileage,” says I, “is the same allowance for journeys +_supposed_ to be performed as for those that are _actually_ made, to +and from the seat of government. When a new president comes into +office, Congress adjourns of course on the third of March, and his +inauguration is made on the fourth; the senate is immediately convened +to act on his nominations, and though not a man of them leaves +Washington, each is _supposed_ to go home and return again in the +course of the ten or twelve hours that intervene between the +adjournment and their reassembling. For this ideal journey the senators +are allowed their mileages, as if the journey was actually made. In the +case of those who come from a distance, the sum often amounts, +individually, to one thousand or fifteen hundred dollars.” + +“Why, Mr Slick,” said he, “that ain’t honest.” + +“Honest,” said I, “who the plague ever said it was? but what can you +expect from _red_ republicans? Well, snooping means taking things on +the sly after a good rumage; and stool-pidgeoning means plundering +under cover of law; for instance, if a judge takes a bribe, or a fellow +is seized by a constable, and the stolen property found on him is given +up, the merciful officer seizes the goods and lets him run, and that is +all that ever is heard of it—that is stool-pidgeoning. But now,” sais +I, “sposin’ we take a survey of the place here, for in a general way I +don’t affection politics, and as for party leaders, whether English +reformers or American democrats, critters that are dyed in the wool, I +hate the whole caboodle of them. Now, having donated you with my +reasons for being a conservative, sposin’ you have a row yourself. What +do you consider best worth seeing here, if you can be said to see a +place when it don’t exist? for the English did sartainly deacon the +calf1 here, that’s a fact. They made them smell cotton, and gave them +partikilar Moses, and no mistake.” + +1 To deacon a calf, is to knock a thing on the head as soon as born or +finished. + + +“Of the doings of the dead,” he said, “all that is around us has a +melancholy interest; but of the living there is a most extraordinary +old fellow that dwells in that white house on the opposite side of the +harbour. He can tell us all the particulars of the two sieges, and show +us the site of most of the public buildings; he is filled with +anecdotes of all the principal actors in the sad tragedies that have +been enacted here; but he labours under a most singular monomania. +Having told these stories so often he now believes that he was present +at the first capture of the fortress, under Colonel Pepperal and the +New England militia in 1745, and at the second in 1754, when it was +taken by Generals Amherst and Wolfe. I suppose he may be ninety years +of age; the first event must have happened therefore nineteen and the +other six years before he was born; in everything else his accuracy of +dates and details is perfectly astonishing.” + +“Massa,” said Sorrow, “I don’t believe he is nuffin’ but a +reeblushionary suspensioner (a revolutionary pensioner), but it peers +to me dem folks do libb for ebber. My poor old missus used to call ’em +King George’s hard bargains, yah, yah, yah. But who comma dere, Massa?” +said he, pointing to a boat that was rapidly approaching the spot where +we stood. + +The steersman, who appeared to be the skipper of a vessel, inquired for +Cutler, and gave him a letter, who said as soon as he had read it, +“Slick, our cruise has come to a sudden termination. Blowhard has +purchased and fitted out his whaler, and only awaits my return to take +charge of her and proceed to the Pacific. With his usual generosity, he +has entered my name as the owner of one half of the ship, her tackle +and outfit. I must go on board the ‘Black Hawk’ immediately, and +prepare for departing this evening.” + +It was agreed that he should land the doctor at Ship Harbour, who was +anxious to see Jessie, which made him as happy as a clam at high-water, +and put me ashore at Jordan, where I was no less in a hurry to see a +fair friend whose name is of no consequence now, for I hope to induce +her to change it for one that is far shorter, easier to write and +remember, and, though I say it that shouldn’t say it, one that I +consait she needn’t be ashamed of neither. + +On our way back, sais the doctor to me: + +“Mr Slick, will you allow me to ask you another question?” + +“A hundred,” sais I, “if you like.” + +“Well,” sais he, “I have inquired of you what you think of state +affairs; will you tell me what you think about the Church? I see you +belong to what we call the Establishment, and what you denominate the +American Episcopal Church, which is very nearly the same thing. What is +your opinion, now, of the Evangelical and Puseyite parties? Which is +right and which is wrong?” + +“Well,” sais I, “coming to me about theology is like going to a goat’s +house for wool. It is out of my line. My views on all subjects are +practical, and not theoretical. But first and foremost, I must tell +you, I hate all nick-names. In general, they are all a critter knows of +his own side, or the other either. As you have asked me my opinion, +though, I will give it. I think both parties are wrong, because both go +to extremes, and therefore are to be equally avoided. Our Articles, as +dear old Minister used to say, are very wisely so worded as to admit of +some considerable latitude of opinion; but that very latitude naturally +excludes anything ultra. The Puritanical section, and the Newmanites +(for Pusey, so far, is stedfast), are not, in fact, real churchmen, and +ought to leave us. One are Dissenters and the other Romanists. The +ground they severally stand on is slippery. A false step takes one to +the conventicle and the other to the chapel. If I was an Evangelical, +as an honest man, I would quit the Establishment as Baptist Noel did, +and so I would if I were a Newmanite. It’s only rats that consume the +food and undermine the foundations of the house that shelters them. A +traitor within the camp is more to be dreaded than an open enemy +without. Of the two, the extreme low-churchmen are the most dangerous, +for they furnish the greatest number of recruits of schism, and, +strange to say, for popery too. Search the list of those who have gone +over to Rome, from Ahab Meldrum to Wilberforce, and you will find the +majority were originally Puritans or infidels—men who were restless, +and ambitious of notoriety, who had learning and talent, but wanted +common sense. They set out to astonish the world, and ended by +astonishing themselves. They went forth in pursuit of a name, and lost +the only one they were known by. Who can recognise Newman in Father +Ignatius, who, while searching for truth, embraced error? or Baptist +Noel in the strolling preacher, who uses a horse-pond instead of a +font, baptizes adults instead of infants, and, unlike his Master, ‘will +not suffer little children to come unto him?’ Ah, Doctor, there are +texts neither of these men know the meaning of, ‘Vanity of vanities, +all is vanity.’ One of them has yet to learn that pictures, vestments, +music, processions, candlesticks, and confessionals are not religion, +and the other that it does not consist in oratory, excitement, +camp-meetings, rant, or novelties. There are many, very many, +unobtrusive, noiseless, laborious, practical duties which clergymen +have to perform; what a pity it is they won’t occupy themselves in +discharging them, instead of entangling themselves in controversies on +subjects not necessary to salvation! But, alas! the Evangelical divine, +instead of combating the devil, occupies himself in fighting his +bishop, and the Newmanite, instead of striving to save sinners, prefers +to ‘curse and quit’ his church. Don’t ask me therefore which is +_right;_ I tell you, they are both _wrong_.” + +“Exactly,” sais he. + +“In medio tutissimus ibis.” + + +“Doctor,” sais I, “there are five languages spoke on the Nova Scotia +coast already: English, Yankee, Gaelic, French, and Indian; for +goodness gracious sake don’t fly off the handle that way now and add +Latin to them! But, my friend, as I have said, you have waked up the +wrong passenger, if you think I am an ecclesiastical Bradshaw. I know +my own track. It is a broad gauge, and a straight line, and I never +travel by another, for fear of being put on a wrong one. Do you take? +But here is the boat alongside;” and I shook him by the hand, and +obtained his promise at parting that he and Jessie would visit me at +Slickville in the autumn. + +And now, Squire, I must write finis to the cruise of the “Black Hawk,” +and close my remarks on “Nature and Human Nature,” or, “Men and +Things,” for I have brought it to a termination, though it is a hard +thing to do, I assure you, for I seem as if I couldn’t say Farewell. It +is a word that don’t come handy, no how I can fix it. It’s like Sam’s +hat-band which goes nineteen times round, and won’t tie at last. I +don’t like to bid good-bye to my Journal, and I don’t like to bid +good-bye to you, for one is like a child and the other a brother. The +first I shall see again, when Hurst has a launch in the spring, but +shall you and I ever meet again, Squire? that is the question, for it +is dark to me. If it ever does come to pass, there must be a +considerable slip of time first. Well, what can’t be cured must be +endured. So here goes. Here is the last fatal word, I shut my eyes when +I write it, for I can’t bear to see it. Here it is— + +_Ampersand._ + +THE END. + + + + +*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK NATURE AND HUMAN NATURE *** + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will +be renamed. + +Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright +law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, +so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the +United States without permission and without paying copyright +royalties. Special rules, set forth in the General Terms of Use part +of this license, apply to copying and distributing Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic works to protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm +concept and trademark. 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