"'Ahem!' says Marm Drivvle, and she began to clear her throat for action; she slumped down her knittin', and clawed off her spectacles, and looked right straight at me, so as to take good aim. I seed a regular nor'wester a-brewin', I knew it would bust somewhere sartin, and make all smoke agin, so I cleared out and left old Drivvle to stand the squall. I conceit he must have had a tempestical time of it, for she had get her Ebenezer up, and looked like a proper sneezer. Make her Johnny a farmer, eh! I guess that was too much for the like o' her to stomach.
"Pride, squire," continued the Clockmaker (with such an air of concern, that, I verily believe, the man feels an interest in the welfare of a Province, in which he has spent so long a time), "Pride, Squire, and a false pride, too, is the ruin of this country, I hope I may be skinned if it ain't."
No. XXVII
The White Nigger.
One of the most amiable, and at the same time most amusing traits, in the Clockmaker's character, was the attachment and kindness with which he regarded his horse. He considered "Old Clay" as far above a Provincial horse, as he did one of his "free and enlightened citizens" superior to a Bluenose. He treated him as a travelling companion, and when conversation flagged between us, would often soliloquize to him, a habit contracted from pursuing his journeys alone. "Well now," he would say, "Old Clay, I guess you took your time a-goin' up that 'ere hill—'spose we progress now. Go along, you old sculpin, and turn out your toes. I reckon you are as deff as a shad, do you hear there? Go ahead! Old Clay. There now," he'd say, "Squire ain't that dreadful pretty? There's action. That looks about right: legs all under him—gathers all up snug—no bobbin' of his head—no rollin' of his shoulders—no wabblin' of his hind parts, but steady as a pump bolt, and the motion all underneath. When he fairly lays himself to it, he trots like all vengeance. Then look at his ear—jist like rabbit's; none o' your flop-ears like them Amherst beasts, half horses, half pigs, but strait up and p'inted, and not too near at the tips; for that 'ere, I consait, always shows a horse ain't true to draw. There are only two things, Squire, worth lookin' at in a horse, action and soundness; for I never saw a critter that had good action that was a bad beast. Old Clay puts me in mind of one of our free and enlightened—"
"Excuse me," said I, "Mr. Slick, but really you appropriate that word 'free' to your countrymen, as if you thought no other people in the world were entitled to it but yourselves."
"Neither be they," said he. "We first sot the example. Look at our declaration of independence. It was writ by Jefferson, and he was the first man of the age; perhaps the world never seed his ditto. It's a beautiful piece of penmanship that, he gave the British the butt eend of his mind there. I calculate you couldn't falt it in no particular, it's generally allowed to be his cap shief. In the first page of it, second section, and first varse, are these words: 'We hold this truth to be self-evident, that all men are created equal.' I guess King George turned his quid when he read that. It was somethin' to chaw on, he hadn't been used to the flavour of, I reckon."
"Jefferson forgot to insert one little word," said I; "he should have said, 'all white men;' for as it now stands, it is a practical untruth, in a country which tolerates domestic slavery in its worst and most forbidding form. It is a declaration of SHAME, and not of INDEPENDENCE. It is as perfect a misnomer as ever I knew."
"Well," said he, "I must admit there is a screw loose somewhere thereabouts, and I wish it would convene to Congress, to do somethin' or another about our niggers, but I am not quite certified how that is to be sot to rights; I consait that you don't understand us. But," said he, evading the subject with his usual dexterity, "we deal only in niggers—and those thick-skulled, crooked-shanked, flat-footed, long-heeled, wooly-headed gentlemen, don't seem fit for much else but slavery, I do suppose. They ain't fit to contrive for themselves. They are jist like grasshoppers; they dance and sing all summer, and when winter comes they have nothin' provided for it, and lay down and die. They require some one to see arter them. Now, we deal in black niggers only, but the Bluenoses sell their own species—they trade in white slaves."
"Thank God," said I, "slavery does not exist in any part of his Majesty's dominions now, we have at last wiped off that national stain."
"Not quite, I guess," said he, with an air of triumph, "it ain't done with in Nova Scotia, for I have seed these human cattle sales with my own eyes; I was availed of the truth of it up here to old Furlong's last November. I'll tell you the story," said he; and as this story of the Clockmaker's contained some extraordinary statements, which I had never heard of before, I noted it in my journal, for the purpose of ascertaining their truth; and, if founded on fact, of laying them before the proper authorities.
"Last fall," said he, "I was on my way to Partridge Island, to ship off some truck and produce I had taken in, in the way of trade; and as I neared old Furlong's house, I seed an amazin' crowd of folks about the door; I said to myself, says I, who's dead, and what's to pay now? What on airth is the meanin' of all this? Is it a vandew, or a weddin', or a rollin' frolic, or a religious stir, or what is it? Thinks I, I'll see, so I hitches Old Clay to the fence, and walks in. It was some time afore I was able to swiggle my way through the crowd, and get into the house. And when I did, who should I see but deacon Westfall, a smooth faced, slick haired, meechin' lookin' chap as you'd see in a hundred, a-standin' on a stool, with an auctioneer's hammer in his hand; and afore him was one Jerry Oaks and his wife, and two little orphan children, the prettiest little toads I ever beheld in all my born days. 'Gentlemen,' said he, 'I will begin the sale by putting up Jerry Oaks, of Apple River, he's a considerable of a smart man yet, and can do many little chores besides feedin' the children and pigs, I guess he's near about worth his keep.' 'Will you warrant him sound, wind and limb?' says a tall ragged lookin' countryman, 'for he looks to me as if he was foundered in both feet, and had a string halt into the bargain.' 'When you are as old as I be,' says Jerry, 'mayhap you may be foundered too, young man; I have seen the day when you wouldn't dare to pass that joke on me, big as you be.' 'Will any gentleman bid for him,' says the deacon, 'he's cheap at 7s. 6d.' 'Why deacon,' said Jerry, 'why surely your honour isn't a-goin' for to sell me separate from my poor old wife, are you? Fifty years have we lived together as man and wife, and a good wife has she been to me, through all my troubles and trials, and God knows I have had enough of 'em. No one knows my ways and my ailments but her, and who can tend me so kind, or who will bear with the complaints of a poor old man but his wife? Do, deacon, and Heaven bless you for it, and yours, do sell us together. We have but a few days to live now, death will divide us soon enough. Leave her to close my old eyes, when the struggle comes, and when it comes to you, deacon, as come it must to us all, may this good deed rise up for you, as a memorial before God. I wish it had pleased him to have taken us afore it came to this, but his will be done;' and he hung his head, as if he felt he had drained the cup of degradation to its dregs. 'Can't afford it, Jerry—can't afford it, old man,' said the deacon, with such a smile as a November sun gives, a-passin' atween clouds. 'Last year they took oats for rates, now nothin' but wheat will go down, and that's as good as cash; and you'll hang on, as most of you do, yet these many years. There's old Joe Crowe, I believe in my conscience he will live for ever.' The biddin' then went on, and he was sold for six shillings a week. Well, the poor critter gave one long, loud, deep groan, and then folded his arms over his breast, so tight that he seemed tryin' to keep in his heart from bustin'. I pitied the misfortinate wretch from my soul; I don't know as I ever felt so streaked afore. Not so his wife, she was all tongue. She begged and prayed, and cryed, and scolded, and talked at the very tip eend of her voice, till she became, poor critter, exhausted, and went off in a faintin' fit, and they ketched her up and carried her out to the air, and she was sold in that condition.
"Well I couldn't make head or tail of all this, I could hardly believe my eyes and ears; so, says I, to John Porter—him that has that catamount of a wife, that I had such a touss with—'John Porter,' says I, 'who ever seed or heerd tell of the like of this, what under the sun does it all mean? What has that 'ere critter done that he should be sold arter that fashion?' 'Done?' said he, 'why nothin', and that's the reason they sell him. This is town meetin' day, and we always sell the poor for the year, to the lowest bidder. Them that will keep them for the lowest sum, gets them.' 'Why,' says I, 'that feller that bought him is a pauper himself, to my sartin knowledge. If you were to take him up by the heels and shake him for a week, you couldn't shake sixpence out of him. How can he keep him? It appears to me the poor buy the poor here, and that they all starve together.' Says I, 'there was a very good man once lived to Liverpool, so good, he said he hadn't sinned for seven years; well he put a mill-dam across the river, and stopped all the fish from goin' up, and the court fined him fifty pounds for it, and this good man was so wrathy, he thought he should feel better to swear a little, but conscience told him it was wicked. So he compounded with conscience, and cheated the devil, by callin' it a "dam fine business." Now, friend Porter, if this is your poor law, it is a damn poor law, I tell you, and no good can come of such hard-hearted doin's. It's no wonder your country don't prosper, for who ever heerd of a blessin' on such carryins on as this?' Says I, 'Did you ever hear tell of a sartin rich man, that had a beggar called Lazarus laid at his gate, and how the dogs had more compassion than he had, and came and licked his sores? 'cause if you have, look at that forehanded and 'sponsible man there, deacon Westfall, and you see the rich man. And then look at that 'ere pauper, dragged away in that ox-cart from his wife for ever, like a feller to States' Prison, and you see Lazarus. Recollect what follered, John Porter, and have neither art nor part in it, as you are a Christian man.'
"It fairly made me sick all day. John Porter follered me out of the house, and as I was a-turnin' Old Clay, said he, 'Mr. Slick,' says he, 'I never seed it in that 'ere light afore, for it's our custom, and custom you know will reconcile one to most anything. I must say, it does appear, as you lay it out, an unfeelin' way of providin' for the poor; but, as touchin' the matter of dividin' man and wife, why' (and he peered all round to see that no one was within hearin'), 'why I don't know, but if it was my allotment to be sold, I'd as lives they'd sell me separate from Jane as not, for it appears to me it's about the best part of it.'
"Now, what I have told you Squire," said the Clockmaker, "is the truth; and if members, instead of their everlastin' politics, would only look into these matters a little, I guess it would be far better for the country. So, as for our declaration of independence, I guess you needn't twitt me with our slave-sales, for we deal only in blacks; but Bluenose approbates no distinction in colours, and when reduced to poverty, is reduced to slavery, and is sold—a White Nigger."
No. XXVIII
Fire in the Dairy.
As we approached within fifteen or twenty miles of Parrsboro', a sudden turn of the road brought us directly in front of a large wooden house, consisting of two stories and an immense roof, the height of which edifice was much increased by a stone foundation, rising several feet above ground.
"Now, did you ever see," said Mr. Slick, "such a catamaran as that? There's a proper goney for you, for to go and raise such a buildin' as that 'ere, and he as much use for it, I do suppose, as my old wagon here has for a fifth wheel. Bluenose always takes keer to have a big house, 'cause it shows a big man, and one that's considerable forehanded, and pretty well to do in the world. These Nova Scotians turn up their blue noses, as a bottle nose porpoise turns up his snout, and puff and snort exactly like him at a small house. If neighbour Carrit has a two story house, all filled with winders, like Sandy Hook light house, neighbour Parsnip must add jist two feet more on to the post of his'n, and about as much more to the rafter, to go ahead of him; so all these long sarce gentlemen strive who can get the furdest in the sky, away from their farms. In New England our maxim is a small house, and a most an everlastin' almighty big barn; but these critters revarse it, they have little hovels for their cattle, about the bigness of a good sizeable bear-trap, and a house for the humans as grand as Noah's Ark. Well, jist look at it and see what a figur' it does cut. An old hat stuffed into one pane of glass, and an old flannel petticoat, as yaller as jaundice, in another, finish off the front; an old pair of breeches, and the pad of a bran' new cart-saddle worn out, titivate the eend, while the backside is all closed up on account of the wind. When it rains, if there ain't a pretty how-do-you-do, it's a pity—beds toated out of this room, and tubs set in t'other to catch soft water to wash; while the clapboards, loose at the eends, go clap, clap, clap, like gals a-hacklin' flax, and the winders and doors keep a-dancin' to the music. The only dry place in the house is in the chimbley corner, where the folks all huddle up, as an old hen and her chickens do under a cart of a wet day. 'I wish I had the matter of half a dozen pound of nails,' you'll hear the old gentleman in the grand house say, 'I'll be darned if I don't, for if I had, I'd fix them 'ere clapboards; I guess they'll go for it some o' these days.' 'I wish you had,' his wife would say, 'for they do make a most particular unhansum clatter, that's a fact;' and so they let it be till the next tempestical time comes, and then they wish agin. Now, this grand house has only two rooms downstairs, that are altogether slicked up and finished off complete; the other is jist petitioned off rough like, one half great dark entries, and t'other half places that look a plaguy sight more like packin' boxes than rooms. Well, all upstairs is a great onfarnished place, filled with every sort of good-for-nothin' trumpery in natur'—barrels without eends; corn-cobs half husked; cast off clothes and bits of old harness; sheep skins, hides, and wool; apples, one half rotten, and t'other half squashed; a thousand or two of shingles that have bust their withes, and broke loose all over the floor; hay rakes, forks and sickles, without handles or teeth; rusty scythes, and odds and eends without number. When anything is wanted, then there is a general overhaul of the whole cargo, and away they get shifted forrard, one by one, all handled over and chucked into a heap together till the lost one is found; and the next time, away they get pitched to the starn agin, higglety pigglety, heels over head, like sheep takin' a split for it over a wall; only they increase in number each move, 'cause some on 'em are sure to get broke into more pieces than they was afore. Whenever I see one of these grand houses, and a hat lookin' out o' the winder, with nary head in it, think I, I'll be darned if that's a place for a wooden clock—nothin' short of a London touch would go down with them folks, so I calculate I won't alight.
"Whenever you come to such a grand place as this, Squire, depend on't the farm is all of a piece—great crops of thistles, and an everlastin' yield of weeds, and cattle the best fed of any in the country, for they are always in the grain fields or mowin' lands, and the pigs a-rootin' in the potato patches. A spic and span new gig at the door, shinin' like the mud banks of Windsor, when the sun's on 'em, and an old wrack of a hay wagon, with its tongue onhitched, and stickin' out behind, like a pig's tail, all indicate a big man. He's above thinkin' of farmin' tools, he sees to the bran' new gig, and the hired helps look arter the carts. Catch him with his go-to-meetin' clothes on, a-rubbin' agin their nasty greasy axles, like a tarry nigger; not he, indeed, he'd stick you up with it.
"The last time I came by here, it was a little bit arter daylight down, rainin' cats and dogs, and as dark as Egypt; so, thinks I, I'll jist turn in here for shelter to Squire Bill Blake's. Well, I knocks away at the front door, till I thought I'd a-split it in; but arter a-rappin' awhile to no purpose, and findin' no one come, I gropes my way round to the back door, and opens it, and feelin' all along the partition for the latch of the keepin' room, without finding it, I knocks agin, when some one from inside calls out 'Walk!' Thinks I, I don't cleverly know whether that indicates 'walk in,' or 'walk out,' it's plaguy short metre, that's a fact; but I'll see anyhow. Well, arter gropin' about awhile, at last I got hold of the string and lifted the latch and walked in, and there sot old Marm Blake, close into one corner of the chimbley fireplace, a-see-sawin' in a rockin' chair, and a half grown black house-help, half asleep in t'other corner, a-scroudgin' up over the embers. 'Who be you?' said Marm Blake, 'for I can't see you.' 'A stranger,' said I. 'Beck!' says she, speakin' to the black heifer in the corner, 'Beck!' says she agin, raisin' her voice, 'I believe you are as deff as a post, get up this minit and stir the coals, till I see the man.' Arter the coals were stirred into a blaze, the old lady surveyed me from head to foot, then she axed me my name, and where I came from, where I was a-goin', and what my business was. 'I guess,' said she, 'you must be reasonable wet; sit to the fire and dry yourself, or mayhap your health may be endamnified p'r'aps.'
"So I sot down, and we soon got pretty considerably well acquainted, and quite sociable like, and her tongue when it fairly waked up, began to run like a mill-race when the gate's up. I hadn't been talkin' long, 'fore I well nigh lost sight of her altogether agin, for little Beck began to flourish about her broom, right and left in great style, a-clearin' up, and she did raise such an auful thick cloud o' dust, I didn't know if I should ever see or breathe either agin. Well, when all was sot to rights and the fire made up, the old lady began to apologize for havin' no candles; she said she'd had a grand tea-party the night afore, and used them all up, and a whole sight of vittals too; the old man hadn't been well since, and had gone to bed airly. 'But,' says she, 'I do wish with all my heart you had a come last night, for we had a most a special supper—punkin pies and doughnuts, and apple sarce, and a roast goose stuffed with indian puddin', and a pig's harslet stewed in molasses and onions, and I don't know what all, and the fore part of today folks called to finish. I actilly have nothin' left to set afore you; for it was none o' your skim-milk parties, but superfine uppercrust, real jam, and we made clean work of it. But I'll make some tea, anyhow, for you, and perhaps, arter that,' said she, alterin' of her tone, 'perhaps you'll expound the Scriptures, for it's one while since I've heerd them laid open powerfully. I hain't been fairly lifted up since that good man Judas Oglethorp travelled this road,' and then she gave a groan and hung down her head, and looked corner-ways, to see how the land lay thereabouts. The tea-kettle was accordingly put on, and some lard fried into oil, and poured into a tumbler; which, with the aid of an inch of cotton wick, served as a make shift for a candle.
"Well, arter tea we sot and chatted awhile about fashions, and markets, and sarmons, and scandal, and all sorts o' things; and, in the midst of it, in runs the nigger wench, screemin' out at the tip eend of her voice, 'Oh Missus! Missus! there's fire in the dairy, fire in the dairy!' 'I'll give it to you for that,' said the old lady, 'I'll give it you for that, you good-for-nothin' hussy; that's all your carelessness; go and put it out this minit; how on airth did it get there? My night's milk gone, I dare say; run this minit and put it out, and save the milk.' I am dreadful afeard of fire, I always was from a boy, and seein' the poor foolish critter seize a broom in her fright, I ups with the tea-kettle and follows her; and away we clipt through the entry, she callin' out 'Mind the cellar door on the right!' 'Take kear of the close horse on the left!' and so on, but as I couldn't see nothin', I kept right straight ahead. At last my foot kotched in somethin' or another, that pitched me somewhat less than a rod or so, right agin the poor black critter, and away we went, heels over head. I heerd a splash and a groan, and I smelt somethin' plaguy sour, but I couldn't see nothin'; at last I got hold of her and lifted her up, for she didn't scream, but made a strange kind of chokin' noise, and by this time up came Marm Blake with a light. If poor Beck didn't let go then in airnest, and sing out for dear life, it's a pity, for she had gone head first into the swill tub, and the tea-kettle had scalded her feet. She kept a-dancin' right up and down, like one ravin' distracted mad, and boo-hoo'd like anything, clawin' away at her head the whole time, to clear away the stuff that stuck to her wool.
"I held in as long as I could, till I thought I should have busted, for no soul could help a-larfin', and at last I haw-hawed right out. 'You good-for-nothin' stupid slut you,' said the old lady to poor Beck, 'it sarves you right, you had no business to leave it there—I'll pay you.' 'But,' said I, interferin' for the unfortunate critter, 'good gracious, marm! you forget the fire.' 'No I don't,' said she, 'I see him,' and seizin' the broom that had fallen from the nigger's hand, she exclaimed, 'I see him, the nasty varmint,' and began to belabour most onmarcifully a poor half-starved cur that the noise had attracted to the entry. 'I'll teach you,' said she, 'to drink milk; I'll larn you to steal into the dairy; and the besot critter joined chorus with Beck, and they both yelled together, till they fairly made the house ring agin. Presently old Squire Blake popped his head out of a door, and rubbin' his eyes, half asleep and half awake, said, 'What the devil's to pay now, wife?' 'Why nothin',' says she, 'only FIRE'S IN THE DAIRY, and Beck's in the swill tub, that's all.' 'Well, don't make such a touss, then,' said he, 'if that's all,' and he shot tu the door and went to bed agin. When we returned to the keepin' room, the old lady told me that they always had had a dog called 'Fire,' ever since her grandfather, Major Donald Fraser's time, 'and what was very odd,' says she, 'every one on 'em would drink milk if he had a chance.'
"By this time the shower was over, and the moon shinin' so bright and clear that I thought I'd better be up and stirrin', and arter slippin' a few cents into the poor nigger wench's hand, I took leave of the grand folks in the big house. Now, Squire, among these middlin'-sized farmers you may lay this down as a rule: THE BIGGER THE HOUSE, THE BIGGER THE FOOLS BE THAT'S IN IT.
"But, howsomever, I never call to mind that 'ere go in the big house, up to the right, that I don't snicker when I think of 'FIRE IN THE DAIRY.'"
No. XXIX
A Body without a Head.
"I allot you had ought to visit our great country Squire," said the Clockmaker, "afore you quit for good and all. I calculate you don't understand us. The most splendid location atween the Poles is the United States, and the first man alive is Gineral Jackson, the hero of the age, him that skeered the British out of their seven senses. Then there's the great Danel Webster, it's generally allowed, he's the greatest orator on the face of the airth, by a long chalk; and Mr. Van Buren, and Mr. Clay, and Amos Kindle, and Judge White, and a whole raft of statesmen, up to everything and all manner of politics; there ain't the beat of 'em to be found anywhere. If you was to hear 'em, I consait you'd hear genuine pure English for once, anyhow; for it's generally allowed we speak English better than the British. They all know me to be an American citizen here, by my talk, for we speak it complete in New England.
"Yes, if you want to see a free people—them that makes their own laws, accordin' to their own notions—go to the States. Indeed, if you can falt them at all, they are a little grain too free. Our folks have their head a trifle too much, sometimes, particularly in elections, both in freedom of speech and freedom of press. One hadn't ought to blart right out always all that comes uppermost. A horse that's too free frets himself and his rider too, and both on 'em lose flesh in the long run. I'd e'enamost as lives use the whip sometimes, as to be for everlastinly a-pullin' at the rein. One's arm gets plaguy tired, that's a fact. I often think of a lesson I larnt Jehiel Quirk once, for lettin' his tongue outrun his good manners.
"I was down to Rhode Island one summer to larn gildin' and bronzin', so as to give the finishin' touch to my clocks. Well, the folks elected me a hog-reave, jist to poke fun at me, and Mr. Jehiel, a bean pole of a lawyer, was at the bottom of it. So one day, up to Town Hall, where there was an oration to be delivered on our Independence, jist afore the orator commenced, in runs Jehiel in a most all-fired hurry; and, says he, 'I wonder,' says he, 'if there's ary a hog-reave here? because if there be I require a turn of his office.' And then, said he, a-lookin' up to me and callin' out at the tip eend of his voice, 'Mr. Hog-reave Slick,' says he, 'here's a job out here for you.' Folks snickered a good deal, and I felt my spunk a-risin' like half flood, that's a fact; but I bit in my breath, and spoke quite cool. 'Possible?' says I; 'well, duty, I do suppose, must be done, though it ain't the most agreeable in the world. I've been a-thinkin',' says I, 'that I would be liable to a fine of fifty cents for sufferin' a hog to run at large, and as you are the biggest one, I presume, in all Rhode Island, I'll jist begin by ringin' your nose, to prevent you for the futur' from pokin' your snout where you hadn't ought to;' and I seized him by the nose and nearly wrung it off. Well, you never heerd sich a shoutin' and clappin' of hands, and cheerin', in your life; they haw-hawed like thunder. Says I, 'Jehiel Quirk, that was a superb joke of your'n; how you made the folks larf, didn't you? You are e'enamost the wittiest critter I ever seed. I guess you'll mind your parts o' speech, and study the ACCIDENCE agin afore you let your clapper run arter that fashion, won't you?'"
"I thought," said I, "that among you republicans, there were no gradations of rank or office, and that all were equal, the hog-reave and the governor, the judge and the crier, the master and his servant; and although, from the natur' of things, more power might be entrusted to one than the other, yet that the rank of all was precisely the same."
"Well," said he, "it is so in theory, but not always in practice; and when we do pracTISE it, it seems to go a little agin the grain, as if it warn't quite right neither. When I was last to Baltimore there was a court there, and Chief Justice Marshall was detailed there for duty. Well, with us in New England, the sheriff attends the judge to court and, says I to the sheriff, 'Why don't you escort that 'ere venerable old judge to the State House? He's a credit to our nation that man, he's actilly the first pot hook on the crane; the whole weight is on him; if it warn't for him the fat would be in the fire in no time. I wonder you don't show him that respect—it wouldn't hurt you one morsel, I guess.' Says he, quite miffy like, 'Don't he know the way to court as well as I do? If I thought he didn't, I'd send one of my niggers to show him the road. I wonder who was his lackey last year, that he wants me to be his'n this time. It don't convene to one of our free and enlightened citizens, to tag arter any man, that's a fact; it's too English and too foreign for our glorious institutions. He's bound by law to be there at ten o'clock, and so be I, and we both know the way there I reckon.'
"I told the story to our minister, Mr. Hopewell (and he has some odd notions about him, that man, though he don't always let out what he thinks). Says he, 'Sam, that was in bad taste' (a great phrase of the old gentleman's that), 'in bad taste, Sam. That 'ere sheriff was a goney; don't cut your cloth arter his pattern, or your garment won't become you, I tell you. We are too enlightened to worship our fellow citizens as the ancients did, but we ought to pay great respect to vartue and exalted talents in this life; and, arter their death, there should be statues of eminent men placed in our national temples, for the veneration of arter ages, and public ceremonies performed annually to their honour. Arter all, Sam,' said he (and he made a considerable of a long pause, as if he was dubersome whether he ought to speak out or not), 'arter all, Sam,' said he, 'atween ourselves (but you must not let on I said so, for the fullness of time hain't yet come), half a yard of blue ribbon is a plaguy cheap way of rewardin' merit, as the English do; and, although we larf at 'em (for folks always will larf at what they hain't got, and never can get), yet titles ain't bad things as objects of ambition, are they?' Then, tappin' me on the shoulder, and lookin' up and smilin', as he always did when he was pleased with an idee, 'Sir Samuel Slick would not sound bad, I guess, would it Sam?'
"'When I look at the English House of Lords,' said he, 'and see so much larning, piety, talent, honour, vartue, and refinement collected together, I ax myself this here question: can a system which produces and sustains such a body of men, as the world never saw before and never will see agin, be defective? Well, I answer myself, perhaps it is, for all human institutions are so, but I guess it's e'enabout the best arter all. It wouldn't do here now, Sam, nor perhaps for a century to come, but it will come sooner or later with some variations. Now the Newtown pippin, when transplanted to England, don't produce such fruit as it does in Long Island, and English fruits don't preserve their flavour here, neither; allowance must be made for difference of soil and climate (Oh Lord! thinks I, if he turns in to his orchard, I'm done for; I'll have to give him the dodge somehow or another, through some hole in the fence, that's a fact; but he passed on that time). 'So it is,' said he, 'with constitutions; our'n will gradually approximate to their'n, and their'n to our'n. As they lose their strength of executive, they will varge to republicanism, and as we invigorate the form of government (as we must do, or go to the old boy), we shall tend towards a monarchy. If this comes on gradually, like the changes in the human body, by the slow approach of old age, so much the better; but I fear we shall have fevers, and convulsion-fits, and cholics, and an everlastin' gripin' of the intestines first; you and I won't live to see it Sam, but our posteriors will, you may depend.'
"I don't go the whole figur' with minister," said the Clockmaker, "but I do opinionate with him in part. In our business relations we belie our political principles; we say every man is equal in the Union, and should have an equal vote and voice in the Government; but in our banks, railroad companies, factory corporations, and so on, every man's vote is regilated by his share and proportion of stock; and if it warn't so, no man would take hold on these things at all.
"Natur' ordained it so—a father of a family is head, and rules supreme in his household; his eldest son and darter are like first leftenants under him, and then there is an overseer over the niggers; it would not do for all to be equal there. So it is in the univarse, it is ruled by one Superior Power; if all the angels had a voice in the government I guess—" Here I fell fast asleep; I had been nodding for some time, not in approbation of what he said, but in heaviness of slumber, for I had never before heard him so prosy since I first overtook him on the Colchester road. I hate politics as a subject of conversation; it is too wide a field for chit-chat, and too often ends in angry discussion. How long he continued this train of speculation I do not know, but, judging by the different aspect of the country, I must have slept an hour.
I was at length aroused by the report of his rifle, which he had discharged from the wagon. The last I recollected of his conversation was, I think, about American angels having no voice in the government, an assertion that struck my drowsy faculties as not strictly true; as I had often heard that the American ladies talked frequently and warmly on the subject of politics, and knew that one of them had very recently the credit of breaking up General Jackson's cabinet. When I awoke, the first I heard was "Well! I declare, if that ain't an amazin' fine shot, too, Considerin' how the critter was a-runnin' the whole blessed time; if I hain't cut her head off with a ball, jist below the throat, that's a fact. There's no mistake in a good Kentucky rifle! I tell you."
"Whose head?" said I, in great alarm, "whose head, Mr. Slick? For heaven's sake what have you done?" (for I had been dreaming of those angelic politicians, the American ladies.)
"Why that 'ere hen-partridge's head, to be sure," said he; "don't you see how special wonderful wise it looks, a-flutterin' about arter its head?"
"True," said I, rubbing my eyes, and opening them in time to see the last muscular spasms of the decapitated body; "true, Mr. Slick, it is a happy illustration of our previous conversation—A BODY WITHOUT A HEAD."
No. XXX
A Tale of Bunker's Hill.
Mr. Slick, like all his countrymen whom I have seen, felt that his own existence was involved in that of the Constitution of the United States, and that it was his duty to uphold it upon all occasions. He affected to consider its government and its institutions as perfect, and if any doubt was suggested as to the stability or character of either, would make the common reply of all Americans, "I guess you don't understand us," or else enter into a laboured defence. When left, however, to the free expression of his own thoughts, he would often give utterance to those apprehensions which most men feel in the event of an experiment not yet fairly tried, and which has in many parts evidently disappointed the sanguine hopes of its friends. But, even on these occasions, when his vigilance seemed to slumber, he would generally cover them, by giving them as the remarks of others, or concealing them in a tale. It was this habit that gave his discourse rather the appearance of "thinking aloud," than a connected conversation.
"We are a great nation, Squire," he said, "that's sartain; but I'm afeard we didn't altogether start right. It's in politics as in racin', everything depends upon a fair start. If you are off too quick, you have to pull up and turn back agin, and your beast gets out of wind and is baffled, and if you lose in the start you hain't got a fair chance arterwards, and are plaguy apt to be jockied in the course. When we set up house-keepin', as it were for ourselves, we hated our stepmother, Old England, so dreadful bad, we wouldn't foller any of her ways of managin' at all, but made new receipts for ourselves. Well, we missed it in many things most consumedly, somehow or another. Did you ever see," said he, "a congregation split right in two by a quarrel, and one part go off and set up for themselves?"
"I am sorry to say," said I, "that I have seen some melancholy instances of the kind."
"Well, they shoot ahead, or drop astern, as the case may be, but they soon get on another tack, and leave the old ship clean out of sight. When folks once take to emigratin' in religion in this way, they never know where to bide. First they try one location, and then they try another; some settle here and some improve there, but they don't hitch their horses together long. Some times they complain they HAVE TOO LITTLE WATER, at other times that they HAVE TOO MUCH; they are never satisfied, and, wherever these separatists go, they onsettle others as bad as themselves. I NEVER LOOK ON A DESARTER AS ANY GREAT SHAKES.
"My poor father used to say, 'Sam, mind what I tell you, if a man don't agree in all particulars with his church, and can't go the whole hog with 'em, he ain't justified on that account, no how, to separate from them, for Sam, SCHISM IS A SIN IN THE EYE OF GOD. The whole Christian world,' he would say, 'is divided into two great families, the Catholic and Protestant. Well, the Catholic is a united family, a happy family, and a strong family, all governed by one head; and Sam, as sure as eggs is eggs, that 'ere family will grub out t'other one, stalk, branch and root; it won't so much as leave the seed of it in the ground, to grow by chance as a nateral curiosity. Now the Protestant family is like a bundle of refuse shingles, when withed up together (which it never was and never will be to all etarnity), no great of a bundle arter all; you might take it up under one arm, and walk off with it without winkin'. But, when all lyin' loose as it always is, jist look at it, and see what a sight it is, all blowin' about by every wind of doctrine, some away up e'enamost out of sight, others rollin' over and over in the dirt, some split to pieces, and others so warped by the weather and cracked by the sun—no two of 'em will lie so as to make a close j'int. They are all divided into sects, railin', quarrellin', separatin', and agreein' in nothin', but hatin' each other. It is awful to think on. T'other family will some day or other gather them all up, put them into a bundle and bind them up tight, and condemn 'em as fit for nothin' under the sun, but the fire. Now he who splits one of these here sects by schism, or he who preaches schism, commits a grievous sin; and Sam, if you vally your own peace of mind, have nothin' to do with such folks.
"'It's pretty much the same in Politics. I ain't quite clear in my conscience, Sam, about our glorious revolution. If that 'ere blood was shed justly in the rebellion, then it was the Lord's doin', but if unlawfully, how am I to answer for my share in it? I was at Bunker's Hill (the most splendid battle it's generally allowed that ever was fought); what effect my shots had, I can't tell, and I am glad I can't, all except one, Sam, and that shot—' Here the old gentleman became dreadful agitated, he shook like an ague fit, and he walked up and down the room, and wrung his hands, and groaned bitterly. 'I have wrastled with the Lord, Sam, and have prayed to him to enlighten me on that p'int, and to wash out the stain of that 'ere blood from my hands. I never told you that 'ere story, nor your mother neither, for she could not stand it, poor critter, she's kinder narvous.
"'Well, Doctor Warren (the first soldier of his age, though he never fought afore) commanded us all to resarve our fire till the British came within p'int-blank shot, and we could cleverly see the whites of their eyes, and we did so; and we mowed them down like grass, and we repeated our fire with awful effect. I was among the last that remained behind the breast-work, for most on 'em, arter the second shot, cut and run full split. The British were close to us; and an officer, with his sword drawn, was leading on his men, and encouragin' them to the charge. I could see his features; he was a real handsum man, I can see him now with his white breeches and black gaiters, and red coat, and three-cornered cocked hat, as plain as if it was yesterday, instead of the year '75. Well, I took a steady aim at him and fired. He didn't move for a space, and I thought I had missed him, when all of a sudden, he sprung right straight up an eend, his sword slipped through his hands up to the p'int, and then he fell flat on his face atop of the blade, and it came straight out through his back. He was fairly skivered. I never seed anything so awful since I was raised; I actilly screamed out with horror; and I threw away my gun, and joined them that were retreatin' over the neck to Charlestown. Sam, that 'ere British officer, if our rebellion was onjust or onlawful, was murdered, that's a fact; and the idee, now I am growin' old, haunts me day and night. Sometimes I begin with the Stamp Act, and I go over all our grievances, one by one, and say ain't they a sufficient justification? Well, it makes a long list, and I get kinder satisfied, and it appears as clear as anything. But sometimes there come doubts in my mind, jist like a guest that's not invited or not expected, and takes you at a short like, and I say, warn't the Stamp Act repealed, and concessions made, and warn't offers sent to settle all fairly? and I get troubled and oneasy agin. And then I say to myself, says I, oh yes, but them offers came too late. I do nothin' now, when I am alone, but argue it over and over agin. I actilly dream on that man in my sleep sometimes, and then I see him as plain as if he was afore me, and I go over it all agin till I come to that 'ere shot, and then I leap right up in bed and scream like all vengeance, and your mother, poor old critter, says, "Sam," says she, "what on airth ails you to make you act so like Old Scratch in your sleep? I do believe there's somethin' or another on your conscience." And I say, "Polly dear, I guess we're a-goin' to have rain, for that plaguy cute rheumatis has seized my foot and it does antagonize me so I have no peace. It always does so when it's like for a change." "Dear heart," she says (the poor simple critter), "then I guess I had better rub it, hadn't I, Sam?" and she crawls out of bed and gets her red flannel petticoat, and rubs away at my foot ever so long. Oh, Sam, if she could rub it out of my heart as easy as she thinks she rubs it out of my foot, I should be in peace, that's a fact.
"'What's done, Sam, can't be helped, there is no use in cryin' over spilt milk, but still one can't help a-thinkin' on it. But I don't love schisms and I don't love rebellion.
"'Our revolution has made us grow faster and grow richer; but Sam, when we were younger and poorer, we were more pious and more happy. We have nothin' fixed either in religion or politics. What connection there ought to be atween Church and State, I am not availed, but some there ought to be as sure as the Lord made Moses. Religion when left to itself, as with us, grows too rank and luxuriant. Suckers and sprouts, and intersecting shoots, and superfluous wood, make a nice shady tree to look at, but where's the fruit, Sam? That's the question—where's the fruit? No; the pride of human wisdom, and the presumption it breeds will ruinate us. Jefferson was an infidel, and avowed it, and gloried in it, and called it the enlightenment of the age. Cambridge College is Unitarian, 'cause it looks wise to doubt, and every drumstick of a boy ridicules the belief of his forefathers. If our country is to be darkened by infidelity, our Government defied by every State, and every State ruled by mobs—then, Sam, the blood we shed in our revolution will be atoned for in the blood and suffering of our fellow citizens. The murders of that civil war will be expiated by a political suicide of the State.'
"I am somewhat of father's opinion," said the Clockmaker, "though I don't go the whole figur' with him, but he needn't have made such an everlastin' touss about fixin' that 'ere British officer's flint for him, for he'd a died of himself by this time, I do suppose, if he had a missed his shot at him. P'r'aps we might have done a little better, and p'r'aps we mightn't, by stickin' a little closer to the old constitution. But one thing I will say, I think arter all, your Colony Government is about as happy and as a good a one as I know on. A man's life and property are well protected here at little cost, and he can go where he likes and do what he likes provided he don't trespass on his neighbour.
"I guess that's enough for any on us, now ain't it?"
No. XXXI
Gulling a Bluenose.
"I allot," said Mr. Slick, "that the Bluenoses are the most gullible folks on the face of the airth—rigular soft horns, that's a fact. Politics and such stuff set 'em a-gapin', like children in a chimbley corner listenin' to tales of ghosts, Salem witches, and Nova Scotia snowstorms; and while they stand starin' and yawpin' all eyes and mouth, they get their pockets picked of every cent that's in 'em. One candidate chap says 'Feller citizens, this country is goin' to the dogs hand over hand; look at your rivers, you have no bridges; at your wild lands, you have no roads; at your treasury, you hain't got a cent in it; at your markets, things don't fetch nothin'; at your fish, the Yankees ketch 'em all. There's nothin' behind you but sufferin', around you but poverty, afore you but slavery and death. What's the cause of this unheerd of awful state of things, ay, what's the cause? Why judges, and banks, and lawyers, and great folks, have swallered all the money. They've got you down, and they'll keep you down to all etarnity, you and your posteriors arter you. Rise up like men, arouse yourselves like freemen, and elect me to the legislatur', and I'll lead on the small but patriotic band, I'll put the big wigs through their facins, I'll make 'em shake in their shoes, I'll knock off your chains and make you free.' Well, the goneys fall tu and elect him, and he desarts right away, with balls, rifle, powder, horn and all. HE PROMISED TOO MUCH.
"Then comes a real good man, and an everlastin' fine preacher, a most a special spiritual man; renounces the world, the flesh, and the devil, preaches and prays day and night, so kind to the poor, and so humble, he has no more pride than a babe, and so short-handed he's no butter to his bread—all self denial, mortifyin' the flesh. Well, as soon as he can work it, he marries the richest gal in all his flock, and then his bread is buttered on both sides. HE PROMISED TOO MUCH.
"Then comes a doctor, and a prime article he is too, 'I've got,' says he, 'a screw auger emetic and hot crop, and if I can't cure all sorts o' things in natur' my name ain't Quack.' Well, he turns stomach and pocket, both inside out, and leaves poor Bluenose—a dead man. HE PROMISED TOO MUCH.
"Then comes a lawyer, an honest lawyer too, a real wonder under the sun, as straight as a shingle in all his dealin's. He's so honest he can't bear to hear tell of other lawyers; he writes agin 'em, raves agin 'em, votes agin 'em, they are all rogues but him. He's jist the man to take a case in hand, 'cause HE will see justice done. Well, he wins his case, and fobs all for costs, 'cause he's sworn to see justice done to—himself. HE PROMISED TOO MUCH.
"Then comes a Yankee Clockmaker" (and here Mr. Slick looked up and smiled), "with his 'soft sawder,' and 'human natur',' and he sells clocks warranted to run from July to Etarnity, stoppages included, and I must say they do run as long as—as long as wooden clocks commonly do, that's a fact. But I'll show you presently how I put the leak into 'em, for here's a feller a little bit ahead on us, whose flint I've made up my mind to fix this while past." Here we were nearly thrown out of the wagon by the breaking down of one of those small wooden bridges, which prove so annoying and so dangerous to travellers. "Did you hear that 'ere snap?" said he; "well, as sure as fate, I'll break my clocks over them 'ere etarnal log bridges, if Old Clay clips over them arter that fashion. Them 'ere poles are plaguy treacherous, they are jist like old Marm Patience Doesgood's teeth, that keeps the great United Independent Democratic Hotel, at Squaw Neck Creek, in Massachusetts—one half gone, and t'other half rotten eends."
"I thought you had disposed of your last clock," said I, "atColchester, to Deacon Flint."
"So I did," he replied, "the last one I had to sell to HIM, but I got a few left for other folks yet. Now there is a man on this road, one Zeb Allen, a real genuINE skinflint, a proper close-fisted customer as you'll a'most see anywhere, and one that's not altogether the straight thing in his dealin' neither. He don't want no one to live but himself; and he's mighty handsum to me, sayin' my clocks are all a cheat, and that we ruinate the country, a-drainin' every drop of money out of it, a-callin' me a Yankee broom and what not. But it ain't all jist Gospel that he says. Now I'll put a clock on him afore he knows it, I'll go right into him as slick as a whistle, and play him to the eend of my line like a trout. I'll have a hook in his gills, while he's a-thinkin' he's only smellin' at the bait. There he is now, I'll be darned if he ain't, standin' afore his shop door, lookin' as strong as high proof Jamaiky; I guess I'll whip it out o' the bung while he's a-lookin' arter the spicket, and p'r'aps he'll be none o' the wiser till he finds it out, neither."
"Well, Squire, how do you do," said he, "how's all at home?"
"Reasonable well, I give you thanks, won't you alight?"
"Can't today," said Mr. Slick, "I'm in a considerable of a hurry to katch the packet, have you any commands for Sou'west? I'm goin' to the Island, and across the Bay to Windsor. Any word that way?"
"No," says Mr. Allen, "none that I can think on, unless it be to enquire how butter's goin'; they tell me cheese is down, and proDUCE of all kind particular dull this fall."
"Well, I'm glad I can tell you that question," said Slick, "for I don't calculate to return to these parts; butter is risin' a cent or two; I put mine off mind at tenpence."
"Don't return! possible? why, how you talk. Have you done with the clock trade?"
"I guess I have, it ain't worth follerin' now."
"Most time," said the other, laughing, "for by all accounts the clocks warn't worth havin', and most infarnal dear too, folks begin to get their eyes open."
"It warn't needed in your case," said Mr. Slick, with that peculiarly composed manner, that indicates suppressed feeling, "for you were always wide awake; if all the folks had cut their eye-teeth as airly as you did, their'd be plaguy few clocks sold in these parts, I reckon; but you are right, Squire, you may say that, they actilly were NOT worth havin', and that's the truth. The fact is," said he, throwing down his reins, and affecting a most confidential tone, "I felt almost ashamed of them myself; I tell you. The long and short of the matter is jist this: they don't make no good ones nowadays, no more, for they calculate 'em for shippin' and not for home use. I was all struck up of a heap when I seed the last lot I got from the States; I was properly bit by them, you may depend—they didn't pay cost, for I couldn't recommend them with a clear conscience, and I must say I do like a fair deal, for I'm strait up and down, and love to go right ahead, that's a fact. Did you ever see them I fetched when I first came, them I sold over the Bay?"
"No," said Mr. Allen, "I can't say I did."
"Well," continued he, "they WERE a prime article, I tell you, no mistake there, fit for any market, it's generally allowed there ain't the beat of them to be found anywhere. If you want a clock, and can lay your hands on one of them, I advise you not to let go the chance; you'll know 'em by the 'Lowell' mark, for they were all made at Judge Beler's factory, Squire Shepody, down to Five Islands, axed me to get him one, and a special job I had of it, near about more sarch arter it than it was worth; but I did get him one, and a particular handsome one it is, copal'd and gilt superior. I guess it's worth ary half dozen in these parts, let t'others be where they may. If I could a got supplied with the like o' them, I could a made a grand spec out of them, for they took at once, and went off quick."
"Have you got it with you?" said Mr. Allen, "I should like to see it."
"Yes, I have it here, all done up in tow, as snug as a bird's egg, to keep it from jarrin', for it hurts 'em consumedly to jolt 'em over them 'ere etarnal wooden bridges. But it's no use to take it out, it ain't for sale; it's bespoke, and I wouldn't take the same trouble to get another for twenty dollars. The only one that I know of that there's any chance of gettin', is one that Increase Crane has up to Wilmot, they say he's a-sellin' off."
After a good deal of persuasion, Mr. Slick unpacked the clock, but protested against his asking for it, for it was not for sale. It was then exhibited, every part explained and praised, as new in invention and perfect in workmanship. Now Mr. Allen had a very exalted opinion of Squire Shepody's taste, judgment, and saving knowledge; and, as it was the last and only chance of getting a clock of such superior quality, he offered to take it at the price the Squire was to have it, at seven pounds ten shillings. But Mr. Slick vowed he couldn't part with it at no rate, he didn't know where he could get the like agin (for he warn't quite sure about Increase Crane's), and the Squire would be confounded disappointed; he couldn't think of it. In proportion to the difficulties, rose the ardour of Mr. Allen; his offers advanced to eight pounds, to eight pounds ten shillings, to nine pounds.
"I vow," said Mr. Slick, "I wish I hadn't let on that I had it at all. I don't like to refuse you, but where am I to get the like?" After much discussion of a similar nature, he consented to part with the clock, though with great apparent reluctance, and pocketed the money with a protest that, cost what it would, he should have to procure another, for he couldn't think of putting the Squire's pipe out arter that fashion, for he was a very clever man, and as fair as a boot jack.
"Now," said Mr. Slick, as we proceeded on our way, "that 'ere feller is properly sarved, he got the most inferior article I had, and I jist doubled the price on him. It's a pity he should be a-tellin' of lies of the Yankees all the time; this will help him now to a little grain of truth." Then mimicking his voice and manner, he repeated Allen's words with a strong nasal twang, "'Most time for you to give over the clock trade, I guess, for by all accounts they ain't worth havin', and most infarnel dear too; folks begin to get their eyes open.' Better for you, if you'd a had your'n open, I reckon; a joke is a joke, but I consait you'll find that no joke. The next time you tell stories about Yankee peddlers, put the wooden clock in with the wooden punkin seeds, and hickory hams, will you? The Bluenoses, Squire, are all like Zeb Allen; they think they know everything, but they get gulled from year's eend to year's eend. They expect too much from others, and do too little for themselves. They actilly expect the sun to shine, and the rain to fall, through their little House of Assembly. 'What have you done for us?' they keep axin' their members. 'Who did you spunk up to last Session?' jist as if all legislation consisted in attackin' some half dozen puss proud folks at Halifax, who are jist as big noodles as they be themselves. You hear nothin' but politics, politics, politics, one everlastin' sound of give, give, give. If I was Governor I'd give 'em the butt eend of my mind on the subject, I'd crack their pates till I let some light in 'em, if it was me, I know. I'd say to the members, don't come down here to Halifax with your long lockrums about politics, makin', a great touss about nothin'; but open the country, foster agricultur', encourage trade, incorporate companies, make bridges, facilitate conveyance, and above all things make a railroad from Windsor to Halifax; and mind what I tell you now—write it down for fear you should forget it, for it's a fact; and if you don't believe me, I'll lick you till you do, for there ain't a word of a lie in it, by gum—ONE SUCH WORK AS THE WINDSOR BRIDGE IS WORTH ALL YOUR LAWS, VOTES, SPEECHES AND RESOLUTIONS, FOR THE LAST TEN YEARS, IF TIED UP AND PUT INTO A MEAL BAG TOGETHER. IF IT AIN'T, I HOPE I MAY BE SHOT!"
No. XXXII
Too many Irons in the Fire.
We had a pleasant sail of three hours from Parrsboro' to Windsor. The arrivals and departures by water, are regulated at this place by the tide, and it was sunset before we reached Mrs. Wilcox's comfortable inn. Here, as at other places, Mr. Slick seemed to be perfectly at home; and he pointed to a wooden clock, as a proof of his successful and extended trade, and of the universal influence of "soft sawder," and a knowledge of "human natur'." Taking out a pen knife, he cut off a splinter from a stick of firewood, and balancing himself on one leg of his chair, by the aid of his right foot, commenced his favourite amusement of whitling, which he generally pursued in silence. Indeed it appeared to have become with him an indispensible accompaniment of reflection.
He sat in this abstracted manner, until he had manufactured into delicate shavings the whole of his raw materiel, when he very deliberately resumed a position of more ease and security, by resting his chair on two legs instead of one, and putting both his feet on the mantel piece. Then, lighting his cigar, he said in his usual quiet manner—
"There's a plaguy sight of truth in them 'ere old proverbs. They are distilled facts steamed down to an essence. They are like portable soup, an amazin' deal of matter in a small compass. They are what I vally most, experience. Father used to say, 'I'd as lives have an old homespun, self-taught doctor as ary a Professor in the college at Philadelphia or New York to attend me; for what they do know, they know by experience, and not by books; and experience is everything, it's hearin' and seein' and tryin', and arter that a feller must be a born fool if he don't know. That's the beauty of old proverbs; they are as true as a plum line, and as short and sweet as sugar candy. Now when you come to see all about this country you'll find the truth of that 'ere one—'A MAN THAT HAS TOO MANY IRONS IN THE FIRE, IS PLAGUY APT TO GET SOME ON 'EM BURNT.'
"Do you recollect that 'ere tree I show'd you to Parrsboro', it was all covered with black knobs, like a wart rubbed with caustic. Well, the plum trees had the same disease a few years ago, and they all died, and the cherry trees I consait will go for it too. The farms here are all covered with the same 'black knobs,' and they do look like Old Scratch. If you see a place all gone to wrack and ruin, its mortgaged you may depend. The 'black knob' is on it. My plan, you know, is to ax leave to put a clock in a house, and let it be till I return. I never say a word about sellin' it, for I know when I come back, they won't let it go arter they are once used to it. Well, when I first came, I knowed no one, and I was forced to enquire whether a man was good for it, afore I left it with him; so I made a p'int of axin' all about every man's place that lived on the road. 'Who lives up there in the big house?' says I, 'it's a nice location that, pretty considerable improvements them.' 'Why sir, that's A. B.'s; he was well to do in the world once, carried a stiff upper lip and keerd for no one; he was one of our grand aristocrats, wore a long tailed coat, and a ruffled shirt, but he must take to ship buildin', and has gone to the dogs.' 'Oh,' said I, 'too many irons in the fire. Well, the next farm, where the pigs are in the potato field, whose is that?' 'Oh, sir, that's C. D's; he was a considerable fore-handed farmer, as any in our place, but he sot up for an Assembly-man, and opened a store, and things went agin him somehow; he had no luck arterwards. I hear his place is mortgaged, and they've got him cited in chancery.' 'The black knob' is on him, said I. 'The black what, sir?' says Bluenose. 'Nothin',' says I. 'But the next, who improves that house?' 'Why that's E. F.'s; he was the greatest farmer in these parts, another of the aristocracy; had a most a noble stock o' cattle, and the matter of some hundreds out in j'int notes. Well, he took the contract for beef with the troops; and he fell astarn, so I guess it's a gone goose with him. He's heavy mortgaged.' 'Too many irons agin,' said I. 'Who lives to the left there? That man has a most a special fine interval, and a grand orchard too; he must be a good mark, that.' 'Well he was once, sir, a few years ago; but he built a fullin' mill, and a cardin' mill, and put up a lumber establishment, and speculated in the West Indy line; but the dam was carried away by the freshets, the lumber fell, and faith he fell too; he's shot up, he hain't been seed these two years, his farm is a common, and fairly run out.' 'Oh,' said I, 'I understand now, my man; these folks had too many irons in the fire you see, and some on 'em have got burnt.' 'I never heerd tell of it,' says Bluenose; 'they might, but not to my knowledge;' and he scratched his head, and looked as if he would ask the meanin' of it, but didn't like too. Arter that I axed no more questions; I knew a mortgaged farm as far as I could see it. There was a strong family likeness in 'em all—the same ugly features, the same cast o' countenance. The "black knob" was discernible, there was no mistake: barn doors broken off, fences burnt up, glass out of windows; more white crops than green, and both lookin' poor and weedy; no wood pile, no sarse garden, no compost, no stock; moss in the mowin lands, thistles in the ploughed lands, and neglect every where; skinnin' had commenced—takin' all out and puttin' nothin' in—gittin' ready for a move, SO AS TO HAVE NOTHIN' BEHIND. Flittin' time had come. Foregatherin', for foreclosin'. Preparin' to curse and quit. That beautiful river we came up today, What superfine farms it has on both sides of it, hain't it? it's a sight to behold. Our folks have no notion of such a country so far down east, beyond creation most, as Nova Scotia is. If I was to draw up an account of it for the Slickville Gazette, I guess few would accept it as a bona fide draft, without some 'sponsible man to indorse it, that warn't given to flammin'. They'd say there was a land speculation to the bottom of it, or water privilege to put into the market, or a plaister rock to get off, or some such scheme. They would, I snore. But I hope I may never see daylight agin, if there's sich a country in all our great nation, as the VI-cinity of Windsor.
"Now it's jist as like as not, some goney of a Bluenose, that seed us from his fields, sailin' up full split, with a fair wind on the packet, went right off home and said to his wife, 'Now do for gracious' sake, mother, jist look here, and see how slick them folks go along; and that captain has nothin' to do all day, but sit straddle legs across his tiller, and order about his sailors, or talk like a gentleman to his passengers; he's got most as easy a time of it as Ami Cuttle has, since he took up the fur trade, a-snarin' rabbits. I guess I'll buy a vessel, and leave the lads to do the ploughin' and little chores; they've growed up now to be considerable lumps of boys.' Well, away he'll go, hot foot (for I know the critters better nor they know themselves), and he'll go and buy some old wrack of a vessel, to carry plaister, and mortgage his farm to pay for her. The vessel will jam him up tight for repairs and new riggin', and the sheriff will soon pay him a visit (and he's a most particular troublesome visitor that; if he once only gets a slight how-d'ye-do acquaintance, he becomes so amazin' intimate arterwards, a-comin' in without knockin', and a-runnin' in and out at all hours, and makin' so plaguy free and easy, it's about as much as a bargain if you can get clear of him afterwards). Benipt by the tide, and benipt by the sheriff, the vessel makes short work with him. Well, the upshot is, the farm gets neglected while Captain Cuddy is to sea a-drogin' of plaister. The thistles run over his grain fields, his cattle run over his hay land, the interest runs over its time, the mortgage runs over all, and at last he jist runs over to the lines to Eastport, himself. And when he finds himself there, a-standin' in the street, near Major Pine's tavern, with his hands in his trouser pockets, a-chasin' of a stray shillin' from one eend of 'em to another, afore he can catch it to swap for a dinner, won't he look like a ravin' distracted fool, that's all? He'll feel about as streaked as I did once, a-ridin' down the St. John river. It was the fore part of March—I'd been up to Fredericton a-speculatin' in a small matter of lumber, and was returnin' to the city, a-gallopin' along on one of old Buntin's horses, on the ice, and all at one I missed my horse, he went right slap in and slid under the ice out of sight as quick as wink, and there I was a-standin' all alone. Well, says I, what the dogs has become of my horse and port mantle? they have given me a proper dodge, that's a fact. That is a narrer squeak, it fairly bangs all. Well, I guess he'll feel near about as ugly, when he finds himself brought up all standin' that way; and it will come so sudden on him, he'll say, why, it ain't possible I've lost farm and vessel both, in tu tu's that way, but I don't see neither on 'em. Eastport is near about all made up of folks who have had to cut and run for it.
"I was down there last fall, and who should I see but Thomas Rigby, of Windsor. He knew me the minit he laid eyes upon me, for I had sold him a clock the summer afore. (I got paid for it, though, for I seed he had too many irons in the fire not to get some on 'em burnt; and besides, I knew every fall and spring the wind set in for the lines from Windsor very strong—a regular trade wind—a sort of monshune, that blows all one way, for a long time without shiftin'.) Well, I felt proper sorry for him, for he was a very clever man, and looked cut up dreadfully, and amazin' down in the mouth. 'Why,' says I, 'possible? is that you, Mr. Rigby? why, as I am alive! if that ain't my old friend—why, how do you do?' 'Hearty, I thank you,' said he, 'how be you?' 'Reasonable well, I give you thanks,' says I; 'but what on airth brought you here?' 'Why,' says he, 'Mr. Slick, I couldn't well avoid it; times are uncommon dull over the bay; there's nothin' stirrin' there this year, and never will I'm thinkin'. No mortal soul CAN live in Nova Scotia. I do believe that our country was made of a Sunday night, arter all the rest of the univarse was finished. One half of it has got all the ballast of Noah's ark thrown out there; and the other half is eat up by bankers, lawyers, and other great folks. All our money goes to pay salaries, and a poor man has no chance at all.' 'Well,' says I, 'are you done up stock and fluke—a total wrack?' 'No,' says he, 'I have two hundred pounds left yet to the good, but my farm, stock and utensils, them young blood horses, and the bran' new vessel I was a-buildin', are all gone to pot, swept as clean as a thrashin' floor, that's a fact; Shark and Co. took all.' 'Well,' says I, 'do you know the reason of all that misfortin'?' 'Oh,' says he, 'any fool can tell that; bad times to be sure—everything has turned agin the country, the banks have it all their own way, and much good may it do 'em.' 'Well,' says I, 'what's the reason the banks don't eat us up too, for I guess they are as hungry as your'n be, and no way particular about their food neither; considerable sharp set—cut like razors, you may depend. I'll tell you,' says I, 'how you get that 'ere slide, that sent you heels over head—YOU HAD TOO MANY IRONS IN THE FIRE. You hadn't ought to have taken hold of ship buildin' at all; you knowed nothin' about it. You should have stuck to your farm, and your farm would have stuck to you. Now go back, afore you spend your money, go up to Douglas, and you'll buy as good a farm for two hundred pounds as what you lost, and see to that, and to that only, and you'll grow rich. As for banks, they can't hurt a country no great, I guess, except by breakin', and I conceit there's no fear of your'n breakin'; and as for lawyers, and them kind o' heavy coaches, give 'em half the road, and if they run agin you, take the law of 'em. Undivided, unremittin' attention paid to one thing, in ninety-nine cases out of a hundred, will ensure success; but you know the old sayin' about "TOO MANY IRONS."
"'Now,' says I, 'Mr. Rigby, what o'clock is it?' 'Why,' says he, 'the moon is up a piece, I guess it's seven o'clock or thereabouts. I suppose it's time to be a-movin'.' 'Stop,' says I, 'jist come with me, I got a real nateral curiosity to show you—such a thing as you never laid your eyes on in Nova Scotia, I know.' So we walked along towards the beach. 'Now,' says I, 'look at that 'ere man, old Lunar, and his son, a-sawin' plank by moonlight, for that 'ere vessel on the stocks there; come agin tomorrow mornin', afore you can cleverly discarn objects the matter of a yard or so afore you, and you'll find 'em at it agin. I guess that vessel won't ruinate those folks. They know their business and stick to it.' Well, away went Rigby, considerably sulky (for he had no notion that it was his own fault, he laid all the blame on the folks to Halifax), but I guess he was a little grain posed, for back he went, and bought to Sowack, where I hear he has a better farm than he had afore.
"I mind once we had an Irish gal as a dairy help; well, we had a wicked devil of a cow, and she kicked over the milk pail, and in ran Dora, and swore the Bogle did it. Jist so poor Rigby, he wouldn't allow it was nateral causes, but laid it all to politics. Talkin' of Dora, puts me in mind of the gals, for she warn't a bad-lookin' heifer that. My! what an eye she had, and I consaited she had a particular small foot and ankle too, when I helped her up once into the hay mow, to sarch for eggs; but I can't exactly say, for when she brought 'em in, mother shook her head and said it was dangerous; she said she might fall through and hurt herself, and always sent old Snow afterwards. She was a considerable of a long-headed woman, was mother; she could see as far ahead as most folks. She warn't born yesterday, I guess. But that 'ere proverb is true as respects the gals too. Whenever you see one on 'em with a whole lot of sweethearts, it's an even chance if she gets married to any on 'em. One cools off, and another cools off, and before she brings any one on 'em to the right weldin' heat, the coal is gone and the fire is out. Then she may blow and blow till she's tired; she may blow up a dust, but the deuce of a flame can she blow up agin, to save her soul alive. I never see a clever lookin' gal in danger of that, I don't long to whisper in her ear, You dear little critter, you, take care! you have too many irons in the fire; some on 'em will get stone cold, and t'other ones will get burnt so, they'll never be no good in natur'."
No. XXXIII
Windsor and the Far West.
The next morning the Clockmaker proposed to take a drive round the neighbourhood. "You hadn't ought," says he, "to be in a hurry; you should see the VIcinity of this location; there ain't the beat of it to be found anywhere."
While the servants were harnessing Old Clay, we went to see a new bridge, which had recently been erected over the Avon River. "That," said he, "is a splendid thing. A New Yorker built it, and the folks in St. John paid for it."
"You mean of Halifax," said I; "St. John is in the other province."
"I mean what I say," he replied, "and it is a credit to New Brunswick. No, sir, the Halifax folks neither know nor keer much about the country—they wouldn't take hold on it, and if they had a waited for them, it would have been one while afore they got a bridge, I tell you. They've no spirit, and plaguy little sympathy with the country, and I'll tell you the reason on it. There are a good many people there from other parts, and always have been, who come to make money and nothin' else, who don't call it home, and don't feel to home, and who intend to up killoch and off, as soon as they have made their ned out of the Bluenoses. They have got about as much regard for the country as a peddler has, who trudges along with a pack on his back. He WALKS, 'cause he intends to RIDE at last; TRUSTS, 'cause he intends to SUE at last; SMILES, 'cause he intends to CHEAT at last; SAVES ALL, 'cause he intends to MOVE ALL at last. It's actilly overrun with transient paupers, and transient speculators, and these last grumble and growl like a bear with a sore head, the whole blessed time, at everything; and can hardly keep a civil tongue in their head, while they're fobbin' your money hand over hand. These critters feel no interest in anything but cent per cent; they deaden public spirit; they hain't got none themselves, and they larf at it in others; and when you add their numbers to the timid ones, the stingy ones, the ignorant ones, and the poor ones that are to be found in every place, why the few smart-spirited ones that's left are too few to do anything, and so nothin' is done. It appears to me if I was a Bluenose I'd—but thank fortin' I ain't, so I says nothin'; but there is somethin' that ain't altogether jist right is this country, that's a fact.
"But what a country this Bay country is, isn't it? Look at that medder, bean't it lovely? The prayer-eyes of Illanoy are the top of the ladder with us, but these dykes take the shine off them by a long chalk, that's sartin. The land in our far west, it is generally allowed, can't be no better; what you plant is sure to grow and yield well, and food is so cheap you can live there for half nothin'. But it don't agree with us New England folks; we don't enjoy good health there; and what in the world is the use of food, if you have such an etarnal dyspepsy you can't digest it? A man can hardly live there till next grass afore he is in the yaller leaf. Just like one of our bran' new vessels built down in Maine, of best hackmatack, or what's better still, of our real American live oak (and that's allowed to be about the best in the world); send her off to the West Indies, and let her lie there awhile, and the worms will riddle her bottom all full of holes like a tin cullender, or a board with a grist of duck shot through it, you wouldn't believe what a BORE they be. Well, that's jist the case with the western climate. The heat takes the solder out of the knees and elbows, weakens the joints and makes the frame ricketty.
"Besides, we like the smell of the salt water; it seems kinder nateral to us New Englanders. We can make more a-ploughin' of the seas, than ploughin' of a prayer-eye. It would take a bottom near about as long as Connecticut river, to raise wheat enough to buy the cargo of a Nantucket whaler, or a Salem tea ship. And then to leave one's folks, and naTIVE place where one was raised, halter broke, and trained to go in gear, and exchange all the comforts of the Old States for them are new ones, don't seem to go down well at all. Why the very sight of the Yankee gals is good for sore eyes, the dear little critters! They do look so scrumptious, I tell you, with their cheeks bloomin' like a red rose budded on a white one, and their eyes like Mrs. Adams's diamonds (that folks say shine as well in the dark as in the light), neck like a swan, lips chock full of kisses—lick! It fairly makes one's mouth water to think on 'em. But it's no use talkin', they are just made critters that's a fact, full of health and life and beauty. Now, to change them 'ere splendid white water-lillies of Connecticut and Rhode Island for the yaller crocusses of Illanoy, is what we don't like. It goes most confoundedly agin the grain, I tell you. Poor critters, when they get away back there, they grow as thin as a sawed lath; their little peepers are as dull as a boiled codfish; their skin looks like yaller fever, and they seem all mouth like a crocodile. And that's not the worst of it neither, for when a woman begins to grow saller it's all over with her; she's up a tree then you may depend, there's no mistake. You can no more bring back her bloom than you can the colour to a leaf the frost has touched in the fall. It's gone goose with her, that's a fact. And that's not all, for the temper is plaguy apt to change with the cheek too. When the freshness of youth is on the move, the sweetness of temper is amazin' apt to start along with it. A bilious cheek and a sour temper are like the Siamese twins, there's a nateral cord of union atween them. The one is a sign board, with the name of the firm written on it in big letters. He that don't know this, can't read, I guess. It's no use to cry over spilt milk, we all know, but it's easier said than done, that. Women kind, and especially single folks, will take on dreadful at the fadin' of their roses, and their frettin' only seems to make the thorns look sharper. Our minister used to say to sister Sall (and when she was young she was a real witch, a'most an everlastin' sweet girl), 'Sally,' he used to say, 'now's the time to larn when you are young; store your mind well, dear, and the fragrance will remain long arter the rose has shed its leaves. The otter of roses is stronger than the rose, and a plaguy sight more valuable.' Sall wrote it down; she said it warn't a bad idee that; but father larfed, he said he guessed minister's courtin' days warn't over, when he made such pretty speeches as that 'ere to the gals. Now, who would go to expose his wife or his darters, or himself, to the dangers of such a climate for the sake of thirty bushels of wheat to the acre instead of fifteen? There seems a kinder somethin' in us that rises in our throat when we think on it, and won't let us. We don't like it. Give me the shore, and let them that like the Far West go there, I say.