“Distilled sweet fragrance through the air,”
“Distilled sweet fragrance through the air,”
“Distilled sweet fragrance through the air,”
“Distilled sweet fragrance through the air,”
“Distilled sweet fragrance through the air,”
and when all nature reflected the smiles of God’s benevolence, Arthur Bloomfield was seated with his family in the shady alcove, recounting the dangers to which he had been exposed, and from which Providence had rescued him.
“Come,” said he, “let us bow ourselves before God, where we are, and return him thanks that we are all again together.” And they fell upon their knees on the green grass, while the father breathed forth his gratitude to his Maker, in a slow, touching, solemn prayer. Tears stood in the eyes of Alice, but she wiped them away with her soft hand, and the mother presented her infant boy before the throne of Heaven, for a blessing before she arose.
A sudden report of fire-arms threw a shock on the frames of the two females, and caused a deadly paleness to overspread the countenance of Arthur.
“Mercy!” shrieked Mrs. Bloomfield, clinging to her husband. “What can it be?”
“Be composed, dear,” returned the man; “this arm shall defend you!” And taking the child in his arms, he led the way quickly to the house, where, securing themselves within doors, they awaited the final issue. Mr. Bloomfield armed himself with a sword, and planted his stand at the open window, where he could overlook the foreground, and detect approaching danger.
The moon shone brightly, lighting up the landscape with her mellow beams, and shedding rays of grandeur on the world. There he stood, the only earthly protector of his wife and son and sister-in-law, hardly daring to hope success, in the event of an attack from a nightly assassin; while the fear-stricken females breathed heavily and tremulously near his back.
That night of blood and death passed away, and the first beams of the morning sun penetrated the dismal room where lay the bleeding bodies of three mortal beings—a husband—a wife—and youthful maiden!—The infant son was not there: the murderers had borne him away, and no traces of them could ever be found!
When the spring flowers again sent forth their fragrance, and the twittering birds began to build their nests, and when the ice and snow of winter had melted, and bud and blossom made the forest green; and the winds blew softly and pleasantly; and when every thing told that the cold season was gone, and sweet spring had come, busy preparations were going on throughout all the village for a wedding. Every little house, and tree, and fence had been newly whitewashed. The church steeple looked whiter than when first built, and every face beamed with a brighter smile, and every cheek glowed with purer health than ever. And whose wedding was it? Rumor abroad said it was one Mr. Dobbs, a schoolmaster, who was about to espouse the pretty Miss Brigs. But all the villagersknewthat the parties to be joined in wedlock were Mr. Timothy Bloomfield (formerly Dobbs) and his sweet cousin, Miss Nanny Brigs, daughter of Allen Brigs, Esq. Miss Betty Lachevers, on hearing the degree of relationship between the “itinerant pedagogue” and Miss Nanny, had become perfectly reconciled to everybody, and to Miss Nanny in particular, and the day previous to the wedding it was generally understood that Miss Betty Lachevers was to be “chief cook and bottle-washer.”
The morning of the 15th of May, seventeen hundred and—no matter what—was clear and beautiful. The church-bell began to ring, and the villagers began to pour forth by two-and-two, dressed in their best, and each bearing a bouquet of richest flowers. They all proceeded to the house of God, where before earth and heaven, the pious minister united two pious hearts, between which there existed an attachment “sweeter than life and stronger than death.”
“Zooks!” said old Brigs, on this happy occasion, “I always thought well of the boy, but I’ll eat my hat if ever I thought hewasmy nephew, andwas to bemy son. Well! well! well!” And Mr. Brigs looked as pleasing as he knew how. Mrs. Brigs looked pleasing too. Solomon looked saucy at his sister, and she blushed and looked saucy at Solomon. Timothy felt as happy as ever man felt: and all was joy and life and gayety.
A few weeks more, and a petition was presented to the Legislature of one of the New England States, signed by one hundred and fifty inhabitants of the village, praying for an act incorporating the “Classical Seminary of S.” and within a few more weeks the “Classical Seminary of S.” was filled with pupils; and Mr. Brigslivedto see his prophecy fulfilled; anddiedto be mourned by all who had ever known him.
SPEAK OUT.
———
BY S. D. ANDERSON.
———
Men who battle for the right,’Mid the darkness of the night,Looking ever for the light—Speak out!Fear ye nothing but the wrong.Rulers at the helm of state,Seek ye for the narrow gate,Through which pass the truly great?—Speak out!Fear ye nothing but the wrong.Ye who preach, and ye who pray,Smother not in mist and sprayThoughts that straggle for the day—Speak out!Fear ye nothing but the wrong.Dreamer, up! strike, for the hourBrings the man, as does the showerFrom the budding bring the flower—Speak out!Fear ye nothing but the wrong.Young men, linger not behind,With the dead in will and mind,Let the blind be ever blind—Speak out!Fear ye nothing but the wrong.Teachers, ye who plant the seed,Nurse it in its hour of need,With the sunlight of thy deed—Speak out!Fear ye nothing but the wrong.Old men, fathers, would ye seeFootprints of the DeityRound the homes of infancy?—Speak out!Fear ye nothing but the wrong.Searchers after truth and right,From the vessel’s topmost heightSee ye glimpses pure and bright—Speak out!Fear ye nothing but the wrong.Poet, if thy mission beTo uplift humanity,Let the world thy spirit see—Speak out!Fear ye nothing but the wrong.Brother, bend ye at a shrine,Differing far from me and mine,If ye think that light divine—Speak out!Fear ye nothing but the wrong.Stranger, with thy little band,From a distant father-land,Yearn’st thou for a kindly hand?—Speak out!Fear ye nothing but the wrong.Men, of every creed and clime,Hear ye not the tones sublimeSwelling on the march of Time?Speak out!Fear ye nothing but the wrong.
Men who battle for the right,’Mid the darkness of the night,Looking ever for the light—Speak out!Fear ye nothing but the wrong.Rulers at the helm of state,Seek ye for the narrow gate,Through which pass the truly great?—Speak out!Fear ye nothing but the wrong.Ye who preach, and ye who pray,Smother not in mist and sprayThoughts that straggle for the day—Speak out!Fear ye nothing but the wrong.Dreamer, up! strike, for the hourBrings the man, as does the showerFrom the budding bring the flower—Speak out!Fear ye nothing but the wrong.Young men, linger not behind,With the dead in will and mind,Let the blind be ever blind—Speak out!Fear ye nothing but the wrong.Teachers, ye who plant the seed,Nurse it in its hour of need,With the sunlight of thy deed—Speak out!Fear ye nothing but the wrong.Old men, fathers, would ye seeFootprints of the DeityRound the homes of infancy?—Speak out!Fear ye nothing but the wrong.Searchers after truth and right,From the vessel’s topmost heightSee ye glimpses pure and bright—Speak out!Fear ye nothing but the wrong.Poet, if thy mission beTo uplift humanity,Let the world thy spirit see—Speak out!Fear ye nothing but the wrong.Brother, bend ye at a shrine,Differing far from me and mine,If ye think that light divine—Speak out!Fear ye nothing but the wrong.Stranger, with thy little band,From a distant father-land,Yearn’st thou for a kindly hand?—Speak out!Fear ye nothing but the wrong.Men, of every creed and clime,Hear ye not the tones sublimeSwelling on the march of Time?Speak out!Fear ye nothing but the wrong.
Men who battle for the right,’Mid the darkness of the night,Looking ever for the light—Speak out!Fear ye nothing but the wrong.
Men who battle for the right,
’Mid the darkness of the night,
Looking ever for the light—
Speak out!
Fear ye nothing but the wrong.
Rulers at the helm of state,Seek ye for the narrow gate,Through which pass the truly great?—Speak out!Fear ye nothing but the wrong.
Rulers at the helm of state,
Seek ye for the narrow gate,
Through which pass the truly great?—
Speak out!
Fear ye nothing but the wrong.
Ye who preach, and ye who pray,Smother not in mist and sprayThoughts that straggle for the day—Speak out!Fear ye nothing but the wrong.
Ye who preach, and ye who pray,
Smother not in mist and spray
Thoughts that straggle for the day—
Speak out!
Fear ye nothing but the wrong.
Dreamer, up! strike, for the hourBrings the man, as does the showerFrom the budding bring the flower—Speak out!Fear ye nothing but the wrong.
Dreamer, up! strike, for the hour
Brings the man, as does the shower
From the budding bring the flower—
Speak out!
Fear ye nothing but the wrong.
Young men, linger not behind,With the dead in will and mind,Let the blind be ever blind—Speak out!Fear ye nothing but the wrong.
Young men, linger not behind,
With the dead in will and mind,
Let the blind be ever blind—
Speak out!
Fear ye nothing but the wrong.
Teachers, ye who plant the seed,Nurse it in its hour of need,With the sunlight of thy deed—Speak out!Fear ye nothing but the wrong.
Teachers, ye who plant the seed,
Nurse it in its hour of need,
With the sunlight of thy deed—
Speak out!
Fear ye nothing but the wrong.
Old men, fathers, would ye seeFootprints of the DeityRound the homes of infancy?—Speak out!Fear ye nothing but the wrong.
Old men, fathers, would ye see
Footprints of the Deity
Round the homes of infancy?—
Speak out!
Fear ye nothing but the wrong.
Searchers after truth and right,From the vessel’s topmost heightSee ye glimpses pure and bright—Speak out!Fear ye nothing but the wrong.
Searchers after truth and right,
From the vessel’s topmost height
See ye glimpses pure and bright—
Speak out!
Fear ye nothing but the wrong.
Poet, if thy mission beTo uplift humanity,Let the world thy spirit see—Speak out!Fear ye nothing but the wrong.
Poet, if thy mission be
To uplift humanity,
Let the world thy spirit see—
Speak out!
Fear ye nothing but the wrong.
Brother, bend ye at a shrine,Differing far from me and mine,If ye think that light divine—Speak out!Fear ye nothing but the wrong.
Brother, bend ye at a shrine,
Differing far from me and mine,
If ye think that light divine—
Speak out!
Fear ye nothing but the wrong.
Stranger, with thy little band,From a distant father-land,Yearn’st thou for a kindly hand?—Speak out!Fear ye nothing but the wrong.
Stranger, with thy little band,
From a distant father-land,
Yearn’st thou for a kindly hand?—
Speak out!
Fear ye nothing but the wrong.
Men, of every creed and clime,Hear ye not the tones sublimeSwelling on the march of Time?Speak out!Fear ye nothing but the wrong.
Men, of every creed and clime,
Hear ye not the tones sublime
Swelling on the march of Time?
Speak out!
Fear ye nothing but the wrong.
AN ADVENTURE OF JASPER C——:
OR HOW TO SELL A CLOCK.
(FOUNDED ON FACT.)
“Madam, can I sell you a clock to-day?” inquired a pedler, as he was met at the door by the woman of the house at which he had stopped.
“No,” replied the woman, civilly, yet decidedly, “we want no such article.”
“I have several fine clocks, madam,” said the pedler.
“Very likely,” said the woman, “but we want none”—at the same time retreating a few paces from the door.
“May I ask,” inquired the pedler, advancing within the door a little, but cautiously and civilly, as the woman retreated—“may I ask, madam, whether you have a clock?”
The woman cast I will not say an indignant look at the clock-man—but a look certainly not kind; at the same time saying with some spirit—“we want none of your clocks, sir.”
The pedler took a seat.
The scene which we have thus briefly described occurred, some years since, in the “Old Dominion;” but in what particular section we are not at liberty to say. The house at which it occurred was a well-looking habitation; old, indeed, but kept in clever repair. It was owned and occupied by a farmer of some consideration in those parts, but singular and very set in his way. Like some others, in other quarters, he had imbibed strong antipathies against Yankeedom and all its inhabitants. He fairly hated the sight of a pedler; and, although disposed to treat his species with civility, he had not at all times been so fortunate as to do so. In several instances, indeed, he had dismissed with some severity these itinerant merchants, who had offered their commodities for sale within his precincts. Even his dog seemed to know when one drove up, and snarled and growled with more than ordinary spirit, to the evident satisfaction of the master. As to purchasing an article of any of the detestable fraternity—that he would never do—no not he, whatever were his necessities. And he was true to his word. For more than once, it had happened that articles had been offered just at a time when he needed them, and which could not be obtained in the retired situation in which he lived—but he would not even look at them. The corn might remain unhoed, and the house never be swept, before he would purchase a hoe or a broom of a pedler.
The sentiments of Mr. M——, moreover, had obtained no small notoriety among the pedling fraternity. They all understood the matter—those we mean who conducted this sort of trade in those parts; and although several, prompted by a more than ordinary share of confidence in their selling powers, had made a visit to the place, determined not to leave the game
Till they had run it down,
Till they had run it down,
Till they had run it down,
Till they had run it down,
Till they had run it down,
they had all to a man been foiled. The Virginia farmer was proof against their strategy. In general, he was civil—but he could be stormy and tempestuous, especially if urged by a traveling merchant to purchase, when he had peremptorily refused. And so set had he become, that on more occasions than one, he had urged his wife never, in his absence, to purchase any article, especially not a clock. I am not certain that in terms he had forbidden her. But she knew his wishes; and being a good woman, she intended to act accordingly.
The day we are speaking of Mr. M—— had gone to a neighboring town, a few miles distant, to transact some business; expecting, however, to return the same evening.
Shortly after his departure, which was early, the pedler of whom we have already made mention drove up, with the hope of disposing of a clock. Whether he was apprised of the absence of the lord of the manor has not transpired; but he was not ignorant of the task before him. He had received ample information from several of the profession of the unlucky star that presided, when they made the experiment; and, moreover, they had predicted his similar ill success.
“Never mind,” said he—“I’ll try my hand, and if Jasper C. fails it will be the very first time.”
And Jasper C. was in truth no ordinary specimen of a Yankee. Whether from New Hampshire, Massachusetts, or Vermont, he scarcely knew himself, as in all those States his parents had lived—but in the limits of which one they happened to be, at the precise time he first opened his eyes on this mundane sphere, he never could quite ascertain. He had all the tact and shrewdness of the Codfish State, and all the hardness and impenetrability of the Granite State—and I may add, all the determination of a Green Mountain boy. If there was only a nook or angle where these States could unite, that would be the precise spot—the very sharpest point I mean—where Jasper C. had his beginning. But however these matters may be, he was a Yankee—and one of the “straightest sect”—a keen, sharp-sighted, ready-witted man, of some two or three and twenty. He was a great tactician at selling—no matter what was the article or commodity, he could always sell; and he delighted in nothing more than to follow hard upon a brother pedler, and to compare notes with him at the end of their common tour. Generally, Jasper could show more dollars taken in a given time than any brother pedler who traveled in the “Old Dominion.” He had some confidence, therefore, and he had a right to it. And, besides, his personal appearance was in his favor; but what was of more consequence, he was well-mannered. He was seldom put off his guard, and seldom betrayed into language which he had occasion to recall.
Such was Jasper C——, the pedler, who made hisappearance at the house of Mr. M——, at the time and under the circumstances already named.
He had made known his errand, and had received a denial. Most pedlers would have retired.Hetook a seat. There was a seeming rudeness in so doing, especially as the woman had given no such invitation; but the manner of his doing it divested it of all impropriety. It was taken hesitatingly and with an appearance of weariness; and still more in his favor, he did that which is not always done by pedlers, he civilly removed his hat.
Minutes passed—or they seemed minutes to the pedler—during which he sat in silence pondering upon the course most likely to ensure success—the woman, meanwhile, employing herself in brushing the hearth, adjusting the chairs, with other operations indicated by that very expressive household term—“putting things to rights.” At length Jasper C—— ventured to say, “Madam, with your leave, I’ll show you one of my clocks.”
“You may show as many as you please,” said the woman, “but we want none—havn’t I already told you?”
She had, indeed, so told him; but, nevertheless, the pedler had done better than he feared. He had gained one point, and what his experience had taught him was an important point—he had permission to show his clocks. In a short time, therefore, he was again entering the door, bearing in his hands a handsome-looking clock—brass wheels, mahogany case, gilded at various points, and withal a pretty landscape, painted on a glass in front, below the face. In short, it was a fair specimen of Jerome’s best Bristol made. Fortunately—so the pedler thought—the mantle happened to be unoccupied, and there, in the centre, the clock was duly installed. It was wound up, and soon began its duty—click, click, click.
The pedler resumed his seat.
I said he had gained something. So he thought; but despite of all that he had done, the woman seemed as unmoved as a marble statue—she took not the slightest notice of him, or his clock. This was strange. The pedler thought so. He had encountered adverse circumstances before—had doubled many a point of difficulty and perplexity, and forewarned and forearmed had expected to meet on this occasion, perhaps refusal; but he didn’t well know how to manage such sheer indifference. He would have tasked his wits—and he did task them; but somehow they seemed to forsake him at the precise moment, when he singularly needed their assistance. Moreover, in the very midst of his perplexity, the woman, who had taken a seat with her back turned toward him and his clock—a position which, under ordinary circumstances she would have avoided as a breach of civility—rose of a sudden, and taking some needle-work which she had in her hand, wended her way through an adjoining door into some other part of the house. It seemed as if she intended to carry her plan and purpose of marked indifference to thene plus ultra; and the pedler would have given up all hope of success but for one circumstance—quite a trivial one—and yet it left a hook to hang a hope on. As the door closed, the pedler noticed that the woman more than half turned round, and did—he was quite sure of it—she did cast a momentary glance at the clock. And that look was voluntary. It cost her effort—it betrayed curiosity—the pedler didn’t quite despair.
But his hopes were ere long again on the ebb. The woman seemed to have no disposition to return; at least she didn’t make her appearance; and with a good deal of reason the pedler thought that she did not intend to return. Whether this was her resolution I cannot say—quite probably she supposed that he had departed. Be this, however, as it may, the pedler was giving up, and had actually risen, and was in progress toward the clock, with a view to deport it once more to his wagon, when the door creaked, and the woman again entered.
She seemed inclined to pause—and, perhaps, did pause—but, what was more to the pedler’s purpose, he fancied that she was about to hazard some remark—he hoped a commendation of the clock—at least a word as to its good appearance. But he mistook. She did, indeed, speak—a word or two only, however; but for the life of him, the pedler couldn’t decide whether the drift was for or against him. “I wish Mr. M. was at home,” said the woman, “he—” she paused.
What was she going to add? The pedler would have given almost the price of a clock to have had his doubts resolved. “He”—did she mean that her husband could decide for himself? So the pedler wished to believe, while his better opinion, judging from her manner, was, that she meant to intimate that her husband would be even more summary—more indifferent he could not appear—more set and determined was impossible. But putting the construction upon her words most favorable to his present interests, he ventured to supply what she had failed to say, “Yes, indeed,” said he, “if Mr. M. were at home, I dare say he wouldn’t lose such a bargain as I would give him.”
“Bargain!” the pedler had unconsciously used a word of talismanic power the world over. “Bargain!” that word seemed to arrest the woman’s attention—and for the first time she raised her eyes and fairly looked at the clock. And so it happened, that, at this critical moment in the history of that clock, and in the proceedings of the pedler in relation to a sale of it, it struck one, two, three, up to eleven. Its tones were soft, musical, attractive. It ceased—and for a moment there was silence, but it was soon interrupted by the woman’s adding, “It certainly strikes prettily!”
The ecstasy of the pedler was near being betrayed; but it was for his interest to conceal his pleasure, and so rising, he moved toward the clock, saying, “Its strikingisgood—better, I think myself, than is common;” at the same time opening the door and pulling the striking wire, upon which its musical tones filled the room.
“It does sound well,” said the woman.
“Good!” whispered the pedler to himself.
“Havn’t there recently been some improvements in clock-making?” asked the woman.
“Better and better,” thought the pedler—“Madam,”said he, rousing from his transient reverie, and responding to her question, “you asked me about improvements? O yes, divers improvements—clocks are made now-a-days in great perfection, and very cheap—but—I was about making a proposition in reference to that clock—” but he was cut short in the very sentence—
“I can save you all trouble of that sort,” said the woman, “I may take none of your clocks.”
“There again,” thought the pedler, “all aback!” and now, how to retrieve lost ground, he was quite at a loss. But a second thought came to his aid. The language of the woman was peculiar—“Imaytake none.”
“Madam!” the pedler resumed, and with some little more assurance, “I was going to put this clock to you on such terms as thatyoumay, or any other woman in the wide world might take it.”
The woman listened. She raised her hand to her forehead—she hesitated—she seemed inclined to ask a question, and at length she did inquire—
“How do you sell your clocks?”
Had the pedler ventured to raise his eyes, they would have resembled stars of the first magnitude; but he was too politic to betray his sense of the vantage he was gaining, and therefore rather coolly remarked, “You seem so reluctant, madam, to purchase a clock, that I’m at a loss how to reply. But if you will take one, I’ll put it pretty much at your own price.”
“You will?” said she, her countenance relaxing into a sort of smile, mingled with a spice of incredulity. “That’s not a common way with you pedlers.”
“O no,” said he, “we live by our trade, and must make a trifle at least now and then; but we must sell, if we don’t make much.”
While the pedler was thus remarking, the woman had approached near the clock, and for the purpose, it would seem, of examining it—the pedler hoped with reference to a purchase. And by way of helping on this decision, he opened the clock—displayed its machinery—and cautiously recommended it, by saying, “it’s a handsome piece of furniture, you see—useful—and, with your leave, it occupies just the place for it.”
“It looks well,” rejoined the woman, “but—” she paused, “I—” shebegan, and again stopped. At length, however, she added, “I may not purchase it.”
She had laid a more than ordinary emphasis, perhaps unconsciously, on the wordpurchase. “What!” thought the pedler, “does she expect me togiveher a clock?” No, he could not give the clock. That would deprive him of an anticipated and now much desired triumph. But matters now stood in such a position as to demand prompt and decisive action. The pedler, therefore, met the emergency like a tactician. “Madam,” said he, “I ask no money for the clock. I am willing to take such articles in payment as you have to spare, and at your own price.”
The woman fairly stared. The matter wore a new phase.
“I mean just as I say, madam,” said the pedler, observing her apparent surprise. “Just what you have to spare, and at your own price.”
“But what do you ask for the clock?”
“Fifteen dollars—the small sum of fifteen dollars.”
The woman took a seat. For a few minutes she seemed to be abstracted and lost. But at length returning to the subject, she said, “On the terms you propose, I will take the clock.”
That was the decision which the pedler had been looking for with all imaginable desire, and now no time was to be lost—and none, indeed, was lost.
“Follow me,” said the woman, rising and leading the way to an outer room, where was standing a cask with about a bushel of flaxseed, which she said had been there time out of mind. Her husband had often wished it away, and now the pedler might take it.
“All right,” said the pedler, “and at what price?”
“Three dollars,” replied the woman—it was double the price of clean fresh seed.
“Agreed,” said the pedler, his mind running over the loss he must sustain on this basis; but loss or no loss, he was glad to sell a clock.
“What next, madam?” inquired the pedler.
“Well,” said the woman, beginning fairly to exult at the good bargain she was making, and even luxuriating in the thought, as how her husband would himself be pleased at her skill in bargain-making, “we’ve got a calf you may take.”
“A what?” asked the pedler, a cold shudder following hard on the annunciation.
“A calf, sir,” repeated the woman, “you said you would take any thing we had to spare.”
“Right, right,” said the pedler, recovering himself as well as he could, “a calf—O yes, all the same, that is, nothing amiss by way of trade in this world; turn it to account, I dare say.”
By this time the woman had conducted our hero to a small pen, with a southern exposure, adjoining the barn, and there lay a—skeleton!
“This is the calf,” said the woman.
The pedler started back involuntarily; he bit his lips, and for a moment was on the point of demurring. What on earth was such a sickly-looking creature worth? What could he do with it? How could he carry it? These, and half a score of kindred questions flitted across his mind. The pedler was perplexed; he was out-generaled; but re-installing his waning confidence with the thought, that as a dernier resort he could deposit the sorry-looking brute under some hedge by the wayside, like a veteran soldier in the “battles of life,” he marched up to the emergency, and with commendable good humor, said,
“Yes, yes—a calf, truly—but is it alive?” at the same time half spurning it with his foot. “Yes, and alive ’tis, surely. I thought it was dead; here, you young ox, rouse up.”
The calf yawned.
“Well, it does breathe, upon my soul,” said the pedler; “yonder old cart can’t yawn.”
“Indeed,” said the woman, her countenance relaxing into a veritable smile, “indeed, I thought myself, at the instant, that the creature was dead. It has been ailing for more than a week, and my husband said only yesterday, that he believed it would die; and he didn’t much care how soon it did die. It looks a little better, I think.”
Better! the pedler could have cracked a marble. But there was no escaping from his dilemma. So with as good a grace as was possible, he inquired, “What price do you put upon the calf?”
“Only ten dollars,” replied the woman.
The pedler started. “Ten dollars!” he fairly exclaimed with surprise. “Ten dollars! who ever heard of such a price for a calf just gasping.”
“You are committed,” dryly observed the woman.
“I see I am—committed—out-generaled, madam.”
“Isn’t it fair?” asked the woman.
“Fair!” repealed the pedler, “fair as the day itself; right—all right; ten dollars—never mind, turn it to account, I dare say.”
This half-way controversy about the calf was thus summarily settled, and a few other matters added, the clock was paid for. But the pedler did not feel to boast, as they say. He was vanquished, and yet the victor. He had made abona fidesale of a clock where all hitherto had failed; and though for the present he couldn’t show the shiners for his bargain, he hoped in some way to bring up arrearages, and return to tell a fair story to his compeers.
The blood freshened his cheeks a good deal more than usual, it must be confessed, as he helped the helpless “young ox” to mount. It was quite a lug, as they say; and, to tell the truth, he was right glad when his wagon, with its added contents of dying stock, and dead stock, was fairly outside of the yard in the public highway.
On emerging from the premises of farmer M. he turned south toward V——n Court House, situated some few miles distant. He had now time to lay his plans. In the interval there were few dwellings, and even if there had been, he was in no mood for any new adventure just in that region. As we have already intimated, however, the pedler was a man of large experience; and more than this, he had profited by it—he had acquired tact—he was well fitted to extricate himself from difficulty, and that of the most perplexing kind.
From an occasional inquiry of a passing traveler, he ascertained that the court was in session at V——n Court House; and his plan of operations was predicated upon this welcome intelligence. He thought that if it proved so, he might make a demonstration to some profit.
On reaching the ample green, on which the Court House stood, he was satisfied that the court was in session. Accordingly, he drew up at some little distance from the front door, unhitched his horses, and made ready. Shortly after, the court adjourned. The throng, in goodly numbers, issued from the building; and it so happened that they were in great good humor—a cause having just been decided the right way to please the populace; and of this sort of people there was an abundance, with a commendable sprinkling of a somewhat higher grade. At this critical moment the pedler stepped upon his cart, and in quite a civil way, begged to announce to the gentlemen, that he had some few articles on sale, which he would be happy to show them.
The crowd gathered round, and the inquiry rose thicker and faster, “What you got?” “What you got?”
Responding to the already clamorous demand, the pedler, with a calm and composed front, said that if the gentlemen pleased, he would take the liberty to exhibit a specimen offlaxseed. He had paid a large price for it, and not having a great quantity, he would sell only a spoonful of it to an individual. In this way he could give them all a chance; but mark it, gentlemen, if you please, said he, “I sell only one spoonful to an individual; one spoonful—not a thimbleful more.”
“Price?” inquired a farmer, who thought much of choice seeds.
“One dollar, gentlemen, per spoonful,” said the pedler. “I know it’s high—butsuchflaxseed, gentlemen, you don’t see every day.”
“A dollar for a spoonful of flaxseed!” exclaimed a man—one of the old settlers, with a long pendent queue to his back—“I have been a long time in these parts, but I never heard such a price for a spoonful of flaxseed.”
“A fair price, I dare say,” said a man standing by, “a fair price, if it’s the genuine—the genuine—there, now, I can’t think of the kind—it’s the new sort. I’d give five dollars, if I couldn’t get a spoonful without. Only for seed, sir—for seed.”
“Pray, Mr. Pedler,” said another, “is this seed imported?”
“Why I rather think it was. Iimported it.”
“From what country did it come?” asked another.
“Well, that’s more than I can say, whether from Flanders, or Ireland, or New Holland.”
But these names were enough; and as the last seemed to linger longest on some one’s mind, he immediately exclaimed, “New Holland! yes, I dare say—a grand country for flax,” and presently the multitude had improved upon these hints—in part facts, and in part surmises—and round it went, that there was flaxseed of a choice kind, just in from New Holland; and one man, who seemed to know something of geography, and whose logic was about equal to what he knew of the face of the earth, declared that as it had come some thousands of miles, it was,therefore, probably a very long or tall kind.
“Gentlemen!” said the pedler, who had watched the increasing enthusiasm with the most solid satisfaction, and who thought it quite time to make a strike, “gentlemen, one dollar per spoonful for this flaxseed—your only chance, don’t expect ever to offer flaxseed here again; last chance, gentlemen—who’ll—”
He was cut short by the advance of a clever, and even staid looking man, who said, “I’ll take a spoonful.”
“And I”—“and I”—“and I,” said half a dozen voices all together.
“One at a time, gentlemen,” said the pedler, “serve you all, and just as fast as I can—the sooner I get through the better.”
And so he went on, parceling out the flaxseed, and pocketing the dollars, till at last he had the pleasure—and a profound pleasure it was—to stow away in his money-wallet the 75th dollar for the 75th spoonful of flaxseed taken from an old cask in the out-room of Mr. M., in the “Old Dominion,” in part pay for a clock,but which some of the purchasers would have it had come direct from New Holland.
“Seventy-five dollars for the flaxseed,” said the pedler, “seventy-five dollars—seventy-five—that will do.”
And now the pedler’s voice was again heard, and on a somewhat higher key. “Gentlemen,” said he, “I’ve a still more remarkable article to dispose of—only one, and only one can have it; and the question is, who will be the fortunate purchaser. Gentle—men, thiscalfis for sale.”
The welkin rung. “A calf for sale!” said half a dozen. “Come, walk up—who’ll buy? Who wants a calf?”
“You’d better sell yourself,” said a roughish-looking stripling, addressing the pedler.
“Quite likely, my man,” responded the pedler. “I lately felt a good deal more like a calf than I do just now. But I’ll sell the calf first, and then think about selling myself. This calf for sale. Who bids?”
“Price?” said one.
“Twenty-five dollars,” replied the pedler.
“What breed?” asked another.
“Well, you all see, as for that matter, that he’sshort horns.”
“Very plain matter of fact, that,” said a good-natured, jolly sort of a fellow. “Is he Durham, or what is he?”
“That’s more than I know—he’sshort horns, but whether Durham or Dedham—how can I tell?”
“Durham!” exclaimed a prompt, rosy-cheeked fellow, stepping up; “why, you simpleton, don’t you know the value of the creature you are selling—even a bigger simpleton might see with half an eye that he’s Durham; look at his white spots—he’s handsome as a picture.”
“Handsome!” retorted another, “I wonder where you see beauty.”
“Well,” said another, “never mind for beauty—what’s his name, Mr. Pedler?”
“Well,” said the pedler, “I don’t know exactly what to call him. I guess we’ll call him Dromeo.”
“Romeo, you fool,” said a voice in the crowd.
“Oh, yes, what a mistake—funny enough,” said the pedler. “Romeo, gentlemen, Romeo—who’ll bid?”
And now, as in case of the flaxseed, the praises of Romeo went the rounds, till there was even a controversy who should have him.
Suffice it to say, a square-built man was the purchaser. The money was paid, even before Romeo was let down on to terra firma. But that operation was now gone through with, and the first result was that the calf fell like a flounder.
“O, aint you ashamed of yourself, Romeo,” said the pedler; “come, stand up in the presence of these gentlemen.”
Romeo, however, couldn’t find his legs, as they say; and the pedler had to explain and apologize for his want of manners. “He had been a little ailing,” he believed, “but the person of whomI purchased him, said he looked better.”
“No wonder if he does ail a little,” said a man who was helping him to stand up, “it’s a long voyage he’s come, and cattles are quite likely to get sick on a voyage.”
“That, indeed,” said another, “he looks like as if he’d been very sea-sick—I dare say he was.”
“He needs something to eat,” said the pedler, “it’s a good while that he’s been fasting.”
“Well,” said the purchaser, with some assurance, and well satisfied with his bargain, “plenty of milk hard by—come, boys, give him a lift into the wagon, and I’ll import him a little further.”
Accordingly, some half a dozen hands were soon occupied in raising Romeo into the farmer’s wagon.
Meanwhile, the pedler rolled up the bills, and safely deposited them in his pocket-book, which, on returning to its usual place, he said, “One hundred dollars! one hundred dollars for a clock!—a clock sold to Mr. M., of ——! One hundred dollars—that will do!”
No time was now lost by the pedler in re-hitching his horses, which done, he left for head-quarters, there to tell and exult over the success of his experiment in selling a clock. The multitude, which had been some time thinning, now left the Court House and itsprecincts to their solitude.
Our story summons us once more, but briefly, to the farm-house of Mr. M.
At about half past seven that same evening, the farmer having returned, was quietly seated with his wife at the supper-table. He seemed, though wearied, in excellent spirits. Several circumstances had occurred during the day to put him in good humor. And for some reason his wife looked, he thought, more than ordinarily interesting; she was dressed with more taste. The room was neat and tidy; the light shone more brilliantly, and the table had a better bill of fare; in short, Mrs. M. had exerted herself to give her husband as kind and welcome a reception as she well could. And she had evidently succeeded. He seemed pleased, while she herself was unusually cheerful and sociable.
She had just turned out a third or fourth cup of tea for Mr. M., and was in the very act of handing it to him across the table, when from an adjoining room was heard the clock striking one, two, three, four.
Mr. M. had taken the cup, but it fell as suddenly as if at that instant a paralysis had seized his arm—the cup broke, and the tea flooded the table; at the same time the glance of a kindled eye shot across at his wife.
“Caroline!” said he, in a sharp and inquisitive tone.
“Husband!” at the same time exclaimed Mrs. M. “My dear husband, will you hear me?”
“No,” said the exasperated man, “hear what? What is the meaning of all this? No, I don’t want to hear any explanation. You have violated—”
“My dear husband,” interrupted Mrs. M., “only hear me—one instant—one brief explanation.”
“None,” said he, rising from his chair. At the same time his wife rose, and approaching him, gently laid her hand upon his shoulder, and supplicated his calm and kind attention to her explanation.
“Have you purchased that clock?” he inquired.
“Husband! may be I’ve done wrong,” she replied, “but how can you judge till you hear?”
Mr. M. was a man of impulse, as the reader will readily perceive—and yet he was kind in his nature; and when reason was permitted to speak, he was disposed to listen and judge with candor.
At his wife’s request he resumed his seat. She drew her chair to his side. She explained. First she spoke of the calf, and of the ten dollars allowed her for it.
“You recollect, husband,” said she, “that only yesterday you wished it dead.”
“Ah! that, indeed,” said Mr. M., his choler beginning again to wax hot, “but I had rather lost twenty calves than patronize one of those detestable pedlers. You knew my wishes.”
“I did, my husband; and but for the opportunity of getting rid of articles absolutely valueless to us, I should never have presumed to have made such a purchase.”
“Well, let that pass,” said the husband, his own good sense confessing that she got a large price for what he had wished off his premises—only he didn’t wish to be thought patronizing a pedler.
“You got a large price,” he added.
“Well,” replied Mrs. M., “the clock-man,” she avoided the mention of the word pedler, “allowed me to name my own price, and I aimed in the whole to please you.”
“To please me!” said Mr. M.,petulantly.
“Not to excite your displeasure rather, I should have said.”
“Well, and what next?”
“You place me in trying circumstances.”
“You placed yourself there,” interrupted her husband.
“Yes, according to your view of the case,” said Mrs M., “and you make me regret that I could suffer myself to be tempted to take a clock; but I see no way but to proceed and tell you the whole.”
“Certainly,” said Mr. M.
“Well, then, husband, you recollect that cask of old flaxseed out in—”
“Flaxseed!” he exclaimed, his voice absolutely sounding over the whole house, at the same time the blood rushing to his face, “flaxseed!—did you sell that flaxseed? Is it, then, possible?”
“Pray,” said Mrs. M., “what is the meaning of your unwonted excitement? What have I done to raise this awful storm?”
“Done?” said he, “done? That flaxseed!—was it, then, that?” he paused. “And pray what did you get for it?”
“There was nearly a bushel of it,” replied Mrs. M., “and I was allowed three dollars for it.”
“Three dollars a bushel!” he exclaimed. “Yes, it must be that—it must be.”
The whole truth was now before him. He understood the length and breadth of the matter. His wife was the dupe of a keen and practiced pedler; but she was less a dupe than himself. Slowly putting his hand into his pocket, he took thence a paper, which he handed to his wife, and bid her open it. She did so; and in it was a spoonful of what was onceflaxseed.
Judge her surprise!
“Husband!” said she, “what does this mean?”
“Mean?” said he, “why it means that I am more of a fool than yourself. You sold a bushel of flaxseed for three dollars, and I paid one dollar for a spoonful of it. That is what it means.”
“How so?” asked Mrs. M.
The story was soon told. He was one of the seventy-five who had that day purchased the flaxseed. He had left the ground before the selling was through, and hence was ignorant as to the fate of the calf. But now the whole was unraveled. And while husband and wife both experienced some mortification of feeling, the joke was too good to allow any protracted disturbance of their composure.
Mrs. M. procured another cup, as her husband declared that the matter of the clock shouldn’t deprive him of his usual allowance of tea, especially after a day of such fatigue.
The meal was at length finished; but before that, both had recovered their equanimity, and even smiled at the strange events of the day. The pedler didn’t escape some little malediction for the part he had acted; but Mr. M. declared that a man deserved some credit who could carry his purposes despite of such obstacles; but after all, he thought his wife the better salesman, who could dispose of a bushel of old flaxseed for three dollars, and a calf as good as dead for ten dollars.