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a2x

NATURE AND HUMAN NATURE.

VOL. I.

(

NATURE AND HUMAN NATURE.

BY IHI-: AUTHOR OF

"SAM SLICK, THE CLOCKMAKER,'

&C. Sir

Hominem, pagina nostra sapit.— Mart.

Kyc nature's walks, shoot folly as it flies,

And catch the manners living as they rise. -Popb.

IN TWO VOLUMES.
VOL. L

LONDON:

HUilST AND BLACKETT, PUBLISHERS,

SUCCESSORS TO HENRY COLBURN,

13, GREAT MARLBOROUGH STREET.
]855.

LONDON:

Printed by Schulze and Co., 13, Poland Street.

•i^.

EDMUND HOPKINSON, ESQ.

op EDOKWOUTH MANOll, OI.OUCKSTERSHIRH.

THE FOLLOWING SKETCHES AKE

BEDICATKD

RY HIS OLD FRIEND

THE AUTHOR.

CONTENTS

Till': iVlKST VOLUME.

A Surprise

CHAPTER I.

CHAPTER II.

Clipj)ers and Steamers .

CHAPTER III.

tJnlocking a Woman's Heart .

CHAPTER V.

A New Way to Learn Gaelic

CHAPTER VI.

Tlie Wounds of the Heart

CHAPTER VII.

Fiddling, and Dancing, and Serving the Devil .

PAOK
]

. 61

CHAPTER IV.

A Critter with a Tliousand Virtues and but one Vice . 89

. 164

201

VIU

CONTENTS.

Stitchiug u Buttou-hole

CHAPTER IX.

'I'he Plural ot MooHe

CllAPTEU X.
A Day ou the Luke. — Part I. .

CHAPTER XI.
A Day ou the Lake. — Part H.

CHAPTER Xll.
The Betrothal . . . .

I>AUK

. 231

. 264

. 301

. 334

. 357

NATURE AND HUMAN NATURE.

CHAPTER I.

A SURPRISE.

Thinks I to myself, as J overheard a person
inquire of the servant at the door, in an unmis-
takeable voice and tone, "is the Squire to
home r that can be no one else than my old
friend Sam Sli^k the Clockmaker. But it
could admit of no doubt when he proceeded,
" If he is, tell him / am here."
"Who shall I say. Sir?"
The stranger paused a moment, and then
said, "it's such an everlastin' long name, I
don't think you can carry it all to wunst, and

VOL. J. 3

t (

2 A SURPRISE.

I don't want it broke in two. Tell him it's a
gentleman that calculates to hold a protracted
meeten here to nijiht. Come, don't stand
starin' there in the track, you might get run over.
Don't you hear the engine coming ? Shunt off

now.

" Ah, my old friend," said I, advancing, and
shaking him by the hand, " how are you ?"

" As hearty as a buck," he replied, " though I
can't jist jump quite so high now."

" I knew you," I said, " the moment I heard
your voice, and if T had not recognised that, I
should have known your ilk."

"That's because I ai a Yankee, Sir," he
said, " no two of us look aj ce, or talk alike ; but
being free and enlightened jitizens, we jist talk
as we please."

" Ah, my good friend, ou always please when
you talk, and that is more than can be said of
most men."

" And so will you," he replied, " if you use
soft sawder that way. Oh, dear me ! it seems
but the other day, that you laughed so at my
theory of soft sawder and human natur*, don't
it ? They were pleasant days warn't they ?
T often think of them, and think of them

A SURPRISE.

[n't

with pleasure too. As I was passing Halifax
harbour, on my way home in the * Black
Hawk,' the wind fortunately came ahead, and
thinks I to myself, I will put in there, and pull
foot"* for Windsor and see the Squire, give him
my journal, and spend an hour or two with him
once more. So here I am, at least what is left
of me, and dreadful glad I am to see you too ;
but as it is about your dinner hour, I will go
and titivate up a bit, and then we will have a
dish of chat for desert, and cigars to remind us
of by-gones, as we stroll through your shady
walks here."

My old friend had worn well ; he was still a
wiry athletic man, and his step as elastic and
springy as ever. The constant exercise he had
been in the habit of taking, had preserved his
health and condition, and these in their turn had
enabled him to maintain his cheerfulness and
humour. The lines in his face were somewhat

* The Americans are not entitled to the credit or
ridicule, whichever people may be disposed to bestow
upon them, for the extraordinary phrases with which
their conversation is occasionally embellished. Some of
them have good classical authority. That of " pull-foot "
may be traced to Euripides.

" dvalpoiv €K dafiarav 7ro8a

B 2

A SURPRISE.

deeper, and a few straggling grey hairs were
the only traces of the hand of time. His man-
ner was much improved by his intercourse with
the great world ; but his phraseology, in which
he appeared to take both pride and pleasure, was
much the same as when I first knew him. So
little, indeed, was he changed, that I could
scarcely believe so many years had elapsed since
we made our first tour together.

It was a most unexpected and agreeable
visit. He enlivened the conversation at dinner
with anecdotes that were often too much for
the gravity of my servant, who once or tw4ce
left the room to avoid explosive outbreaks of
laughter. Among others, he told me the fol-
lowing whimsical story.

" When the * Black Hawk ' was at Causeau, we
happened to have a queer original sort of man,
a Nova Scotia doctor on board, who joined our
party at Ship Harbour, for the purpose of
taking a cruise with us. Not having anything
above particular to do, we left the vessel and
took passage in a coaster for Prince Edward's
Island, as my commission required me to spend
a day or two there, and inquire about the
fisheries. Well although I don't trade now, I

A SURPRISE.

le
I

spokelate sometimes when I see a right smart
chance, and especially if there is fun in the
transaction. So, sais I, ' Doctor, I will play
possum* with these folks, and take a rise out of
them, that will astonish their weak nerves, /
know, while I put several hundred dollars in my
pocket at the same time.' So I advertised that
I would give four pounds ten shillings for the
largest Hackmetack knee in the island, four
pounds for the second, three pounds ten
shillings for the third, and three pounds for the
fourth higgest one. I suppose, Squire, you
know what a ship's knee is, don't you ? It is
a crooked piece of timher, exactly the shape of
a man's leg when kneeling. It forms two
sides of a square, and makes a grand fastening
for the side and deck beams of a vessel.

" ' What in the world do you want of only
four of those knees ?' said the Doctor.

" ' Nothing,' said I, ' but to raise a laugh on
these critters, and make them pay real hand-
some for the joke.'

" Well every bushwhacker and forest ranger
in the island thought he knew where to find

* The opossum, when chased by dogs, will often
pretend to be dead, and thus deceives liis pursuers.

A SURPRISE.

four enormous ones, and that he would go and
get them, and say nothing to nohody, and all
that morning fixed for the delivery, they kept
coming into the shipping place with them.
People couldn't think what under the light of
the living sun was going on, for it seemed as
if every team in the province was at work, and all
the countrymen were running mad on junipers.
Perhaps no livin' soul ever see such a beautiful
collection of ship-timber afore, and I am sure
never will again in a crow's age. The way these
' old oysters,' (a nick-name I gave the islanders,
on account of their everlastin' beds of this shell
fish,) opened their mugs and gaped, was a caution
to dying calves.

" At the time appointed, there were eight
hundred sticks on the ground, the very best in
the colony. Well, I went very gravely round
and selected the four largest, and paid for them
cash down on the nail, according to contract.
The goneys seed their fix, but did'nt know how
they got into it. They didn't think hard of me,
for I advertised for four sticks only, and I gave
a very high price for them ; but they did think
little mean of themselves, that's a fact, for each,
man had but four pieces, and they were too

A SURPRISE. 7

ridiculous large for the thunderin' small vessels
built on the island. They scratched their lieads
m a way that was harrowing, even in a stubble
field.

"'My gracious,' sais I, * hackmetacks, it
seems to me, is as thick in this country as
blackberries in the Fall, after the robins have
left to go to sleep for the winter. Who on
earth would have thought there was so many
here? Oh, children of Israel! What a lot
there is, aint there ? Why, the father of this
island couldn't hold them all.'

Father of this island,' sais thev, ' who is
he?'

"'Why,' sais I, 'aint this Prince Ed-
ward's ?'

" ' Why, yes,' sais they, looking still more
puzzled.

" ' Well,' sais I, ' in the middle of Halifax
harbour is King George's Island, and that
must be the father of this.'

"Well if they could see any wit in that
speech, it is more than I could, to save my soul
alive ; but it is the easiest thing in the world to
set a crowd off a tee-heeing. They can't help
it, for it is electrical. Go to the circus now, and

A SURPRISE.

you will hear a stupid joke of the clown ; well,
you are determined you won't laugh, but some-
how you can't help it no how you can fix it,
although you are mad with yourself for doing so,
and you just roar out and are as big a fool as all
the rest.

"Well it made them laugh, and that was
enough for me.

" Sais I, * the wurst of it is, gentlemen, they
are all so shocking large, and as there is no
small ones among them, they can't be divided
into lots, still, as you seem to be disappointed, I
will make you an offer for them, cash down,
all hard gold.' So I gave them a bid at a very low
figure, say half nothing, ' and ' sais 1, ' I advise
you not to take it, they are worth much more,
if a man onlv knows what to do with them.
Some of your traders,! make no manner of doubt,
will give you twice as much if you will only
take your pay in goods, at four times their value,
and perhaps they mightent like your selling
them to a stranger, for they are all responsible
government-men, and act accordin' * to the well
understood wishes of the people.' I shall sail
in two hours, and you can let me know ; but
mind, I can only buy all or none, for I shall

A SURPRISE.

have to hire a vessel to carry them. After all,'
sais I, ' perhaps we had better not trade, for,'
taking out a handful of sovereigns from my
pocket, and jingling them, ' there is no two
ways about it ; these little fellows are easier to
carry by a long chalk than them great lum-
mokin' hackmetacks. Good bye, gentlemen.'

"Well, one of the critters, who was as
awkward as a wrong boot, soon calls out,
' whough,' to me, so I turns and sais ' well, " old
boss," w^hat do vou want ?' At whicli thev
laughed louder than before.

" Sais he, ' we have concluded to take your
offer.'

" ' Well,' sais I, ' there is no back out in
me, here is your money, the knees is mine.'
So I shipped them, and had the satisfaction to
oblige them, and put tw^o hundred and fifty
pounds in my pocket. There are tlu'ce things.
Squire, I like in a spekelation : — First. A fair
shake. Second. A fair profit ; and Third, a fair
share of fun."

In the course of the afternoon, he said,
" Squire, I have brought you my journal, for 1
thought when I was a startin' off, as there were
some things I should like to point out to my

B 3

A SURPRISE.

old friend, it would be as well to deliver it
myself and mention them, for what in natur' is
the good of letter writing? In business there
is nothing like a good talk face to face. Now,
Squire, I am really what I assume to be — I am,
in fact, Sam Slick the Clockmaker, and
nobody else. It is of no consequence, however,
to the world whether this is really my name or
an assumed one. If it is the first, it is a matter
of some impoitance to take care of it, and
defend it ; if it is a fictitious one, it is equally so
to preserve my incognito. I may not choose to
give my card, and may not desire to be known.
A satirist, like an Irishman, finds it convenient
sometimes to shoot from behind a shelter.
Like him, too, he may occasionally miss his
shot, and firing with intent to do bodily harm
is almost as badly punished as if death had
ensued. And besides an anonymous book has a
mystery about it. Moreover, what more right
has a man to say to you, ' stand and deliver your
name,' than to say, ' stand and fork out your
purse* — I can't see the difference for the life of
me. Hesitation betrays guilt. If a person
inquires if you are to home, the servant is di-
rected to say, no, if you don't want to be seen,

A SURPRISE.

ir
ir
lof
)n
li-

and choose to be among the missing. Well, if a
feller asks if I am the Mr. Slick, I have just
as good a right to say, ' ask about and find
out.'

"People sometimes I actilly believe, take
you for me. If they do, all I have to say is
they arc fools not to know better, for we
neither act alike, talk alike, nor look alike,
though perhaps we may think alike on some sub-
jects. You was bred and born here in Nova
Scotia, and not in Connecticut, and if they iisk
you where I was raised, tell them I warn't
raised at all, but was found one fine morning
pinned across a clothes line, after a heavy
washing to home. It is easy to distinguish an
editor from the author, if a reader has half an
eye, and if he haint got that, it's no use to offer
him spectacles, that's a fact. Now, by trade I
am a clockmaker, and by birth I have the
honour to be a Yankee. I use the word honor,
Squire, a purpose, because I know what I am
talking about, which I am sorry to say is not
quite so common a thing in the world as people
suppose. The English call aU us Americans,
Yankees, because they don't know what they
are talking about, and are not aware that it is

A SURPRISE.

only the inhabitants of New England, who can
boast of that appellation.*

" The southerners, who are both as proud
and as sarcy as the British, call us Eastern
folk Yankees, as a term of reproach, because
liaving no slaves, we are obliged to be our own

* Brother Jonathan is the general term for all. It
originated thus. When General Washington, after
being appointed commander of the army of the Revo-
lutionary War, came to Massachusetts to organize it,
and make preparations for the defence of the country,
he found a great want of ammunition and other means
necessary to meet the powerful foe he had to contend
with, and great difficulty to obtain then). If attacked
in such condition, the cause at once might be hopeless.
On one occasion at that anxious period, a, consultation
of the officers and others was had, when it seemed no
way could be devised to make such preparations as was
necessary. His Excellency Jonathan Trumbull, the
elder, was then Governor of the State of Connecticut,
on whose judgment and aid the General placed the
greatest reliance, and remarked, " We must consult
* Brother Jonathan ' on the subject." The General
did so, and the Governor was successful in supplying
many of the wants of the army. When difficulties
arose, and the army was spread over the country, it
became a by-word, *' We must consult Brother Jona-
than." The term Yankee is still applied to a portion,
but ** Brother Jonathan " has now become a designa-
tion of the whole country, as John Bull is for England.
— Bartlett's Americanisms.

A SURPRISE.

niggers, and do our own vvorU, which is'nt
coiisidcred very genteel, and as we are intelli-
gent, enterprising, and skilful, and therefore too
often creditors of our more luxurious eountry-
nicn, they do no', like us the better for that, and
not being Puritans themselves, are apt to style
us scornfullv, those d — d Yankees.

" Now, all this comes of their not knowing
what they are talking about. Even the New
Englanders themselves, cute as they be, often
use the word foolishly ; for, Squire, would you
believe it, none of them, though they answer to
and acknowledge the appellation of Yankee
with pride, can tell you its origin. I repeat,
therefore, I have the honor to be a Yankee. I
don't mean to say that word is ' all same,' as
the Indians say, as perfection ; far from it, for
we have some peculiarities common to us all.
Cracking and boasting is one of these. Now
braggin' comes as natural to me as scratchin' to
a Scotchman. I am as fond of rubbing
myself agin the statue of George the Third, as
he is of se-sawing his shoulders on the mile-
stones of the Duke of Argyle. Each in their
way were great benefactors, the one by teaching
the Yankees to respect themselves, and the

A SURPRISE.

other by putting his countrymen in an upright
posture of happiness. So I can join hands
with the North Briton, and bless them
both.

" With this national and natcral infirmity,
therefore, is it to be wondered at, if, as my
' Sayings and Doings' have become more popular
than you or I ever expected, that I should crack
and boast of them ? I think not. If 1 have
a claim, my rule is to go ahead with it. Now
don't leave out my braggin'. Squire, because you
are afraid people will think it is you speaking,
and not me, or because you think it is bad taste
as you call it. I know what I am at, and don't
go it — blind. My journal contains much for
my own countrymen as well as the English, for
we expect every American abroad to sus-
tain the reputation in himself of our great
nation.

" Now IngersoU, our Minister to Victoria's
Court, when he made his brag speech to the
great agricultural dinner at Gloucester last year,
didn't intend that for the British, but for us.
So in Congress no man in either house can
speak or read an oration more than an houi-
long, but he can send the whole lockrum, in-

A SURPIIISE.

cludin* what he didnU say, to the piiprrs. Om^
has to brag before foreign assemblii-s, the other
|)cfore a Congress, but both have an eye to the
feelings of the Americans at large, and their
own constituents in particular. Now that is
a trick others know as well as we do. The
Irish member from Kilniany, and him from
KWmore, when he brags there never was a
murder in either, don't* expect the English to
believe it, for he is availed they know better, but
the brag pleases the patriots to home, on ac-
count of its impudence.

" So the little man, Lord Bunkum, when he
opens Oxford to Jew and Gentile, and offers to
make Rothschild Chancellor instead of Lord
Derby, and tcUs them old dons, the heads of
colleges as polite as a stage-driver, that he does
it out of pure regard to them, and only to
improve the University, don't expect them to
believe it ; for he gives them a sly wink when he
says so, as much as to say, how are you off for
Hebrew, my old septuagenarians ? Droll boy
is Rothey, for though he comes from the land of
Ham, he don't eat pork. But it pleases the sar-
cumsised Jew, and the unsarcumsised tag-rag and
bobtail that are to be admitted, and who verily

A SURPRISE.

do believe (for their bump of conceit is largely
developed) that they can improve the Colleges
by granting educational excursion tickets.

" So Paddy O'Shonnosey the member for
Blarney, when he votes for smashing in the
porter's lodges of that Protestant institution, and
talks of Toleration and Equal Rights, and
calls the Duke of Tuscany a broth of a boy,
and a light to illumine heretical darkness, don't
talk this nonsense to please the outs or ins, for
he don't care a snap of his finger for either of
them, nor because he thinks it right, for it's
plain he don't, seeing that he would fight till he'd
run away before Maynooth should be sarved
arter that fashion; but he does it, because
he knows it will please him, or them, that sent
him there.

" There are two kinds of boastin,' Squire,
active and passive. The former belongs ex-
clusively to my countrymen, and the latter to
the British. A Yankee openly asserts and
loudly proclaims his superiority. John Bull
feels and looks it. He don't give utterance to
this conviction. He takes it for granted all the
world knows and admits it, and he is so thorougly
persuaded of it himself, that, to use his own

A SURPRISE.

favourite phrase, he don't care a % if folks
don't admit it. His vanity, therefore, has a sub-
limity in it. He thinks, as the Italians say,
* that when nature formed him, she broke the
mould.' There never was, never can, and
never will be, another like him. His boastin',
therefore, is passive. He shows it and acts it ;
but he don't proclaim it. He condescends and
is gracious, patronizes and talks down to you.
Let my boastin' alone, therefore, Squire, if you
please. You know what it means, what bottom
it has, and whether the plaster sticks on the
right spot or not.

" So there is the first division of my subject.
Now for the second. But don't go off at half-
cock, narvous like. I am not like the black
preacher that had forty-eleven divisions. I have
only a few more remarks to make. Well, I have
observed that in editin' my last journal, you
struck out some scores I made under certain
passages and maxims, because you thought they
were not needed, or looked vain. I know it
looks consaited as well as you do, but I know
their use also. I have my own views of things.
Let them also be as I have made them. They
warn't put there for nothin.' I have a case in

A SURPRISE.

pint that runs on all fours with it, as brother
Josiah the lawyer used to say, and if there
was anythin' wantin' to prove that lawyers were
not strait up and down in their dealings, that
expression would shew it.

" 1 was to court wunst to Slickville, when
he was addressin' of the jury. The main points,
of his argument he went over and over again
till I got so tired, I took up my hat and walked
out. Sais I to him, arter court was prorogued
and members gone home.

*' ' Sy,' sais I, 'why on airth did you repeat
them arguments so often? It was everlastin'
yarny.*

" ' Sam,' sais he, and he gave his head a jupe,
and pressed his lips close, like a lemon-squeezer,
the way lawyers always do when they want to
look wise, ' when I can't drive a nail ivith one
blow, I hammer away till I do git it in. Some
folks' heads is as hard as hackmetacks — vou
have to bore a hole in it first, to put the nail
in to keep it from bendin', and then it is as
much as a bargain, if you can send it home and
clinch it '

" Now maxims and saws are the sumtotalisa-
tion of a thing. Folks won't always add up the

A SURPRISE.

columns to see if they are footed right, but
show 'em the amount and result, and that they
arc able to remember, and carrv away with them.
No — no, put them Italics in, as I have always
done. They shew there is truth at the bottom.
I like it, for it's what I call sense on the short-
cards — do you take ? Recollect always, you are
not Sam Slick, and I am not you. The greatest
compliment a Britisher would think he could
pay you, would be to say, ' I should have taken
you for an Englishman.' Now the greatest
compliment he can pay me is to take me for a
Connecticut Clockmaker, who hoed his way up
to the Embassy to London, and preserved bo
much of his nationality, after being so long
among foreigners. Let the Italics be— you
aint answerable for them, nor my boastin'
neither. When you write a l)ook of your
own, leave out both, if vou like, but as vou
only edit my Journal, if you leave them out,
just go one step further, and leave out Sam
Slick also.

" There is another thing, Squire, upon which
I must make a remark, if you will bear with
me. In my last work you made rae speak
purer English than you found in my Journal,

A SURPRISE.

and altered my phraseology, or rather my
dialect. Now, my dear Nippent — "

" Nippent !" said I, " what is that ?

"The most endearing word in the Indian
language for friend," he said, " only it's
more comprehensive, including ally, foster-
brother, life-preserver, shaft-horse, and every-
thing that has a human tie in it."

" Ah, Slick," I said, " how skilled you are
in soft sawder ! You laid that trap for me on
purpose, so that I might ask the question,
to enable you to throw the lavender to

me.

" Dod drot that word soft sawder," said he,
" I wish 1 had never invented it. I can't say
a civil thing to anybody now, but he looks arch,
as if he had found a mare's nest, and says, ' Ah,
Slick ! none of your soft sawder now.' But,
my dear nippent, by that means you destroy
my individuality. I cease to be the genuine
itinerant Yankee Clockmaker, and merge into
a very bad imitation. You know I am
a natural character, and alwavs was and act
and talk naturally, and as far as I can
judge, the little alteration my sojourn in
London with the American embassy has made

A SURPRISE.

in my pronunciation and provincialism, is by no
means an improvement to my Journal. The
moment you take away my native dialect, I
become the representative of another class, and
cease to be your old friend, 'Sam Slick, the
Clockmaker.' Bear with me this once. Squire,
and don't tear your shirt, I beseech you, for in
aU probability it will be the last time it will be
in your power to subject me to the ordeal of
criticism, and I should like, I confess, to remain
true to myself, and to Nature to the last.

" On the other hand. Squire, you will find
passages in this Journal, that have neither
Yankee words, nor Yankee brag in them.
Now pray don't go as you did in the last, and
alter them by insarten here and there what you
call * Americanisms,' so as to make it more in
character, and uniform ; that is going to t'other
extreme, for I can write as pure English, if I
can't speak it, as anybody can.* My education

* The reader will perceive from a perusal of this
Journal, that Mr. Slick, who is always so ready to
detect absurdity in others, has in this instance exhibited
a species of vanity by no means uncommon in this
world. He prides himself more on compr sition to which
he has but small pretensions, than on those things
for which the public is willing enough to give him full

•/

A SURPRISE.

warnt a college one, like my brothers, Eldfid's
and Josiah's, the doctor and lawyer ; but it was
not neglected for all that. Dear old Minister
was a scholar, every inch of him, and took great
pains with me in my themes, letters and com-
position. * Sam,' he used to say, ' there are
four things needed to write well : first, master
the language grammatically ; second, muster your
subject ; third, write naturally ; fourth, let your
heart as well as your hand guide the pen.'
It aint out of keeping, therefore, for me to
express myself decently in composition if I
choose. It warnt out of character with
Franklin, and he was a poor printer boy, nor
Washington, and he was only a land-surveyor,
and they growed to be ' some punkins' too.

" An American clockmaker aint like a
European one. He may not be as good a
workman as t'other one, but he can do some-
thin' else besides makin' wheels and pulleys.
One always looks forward to rise in the world.

credit. Had he, however, received a classical educa-
tion, it may well be doubted whether he would have
been as useful or successful a man as President of
Yale College, as he has been as an itinerant practical
Clockmaker.

A SURPRISE.

the other to attain excellence in his line. 1
am, as I have expressed it in some part of this
Journal, not ashamed of having been a trades-
man—! glory in it ; but I should indeed have
been ashamed, if, with the instruction I received
from dear old Minister, I had always remained
one. No, don't alter my Journal. I am just
what I am, and nothing more or less. You
can't measure me by English standards; you
must take an American one, and that will give
you my length, breadth, height and weight to
a hail*. If silly people take you for me, and
put my braggin' on your shoulders, why jist
say,, 'You might be mistakened for a worse
fellow than he is, that's all.' Yes, yes, let my
talk remain * down-east talk,'* and my writin'

* It must not be inferred from this expression that
Mr. Slick's talk is all *' pure down-east dialect.'* The
intermixture of Americans is now so great, in conse-
quence of their steamers and railroads, that there is but
little pure provincialism left. They have borrowed
from each other in dififerent sections most liberally, and
not only has the vocabulary of the south and west con-
tributed its phraseology to New England, but there is
recently an affectation, in consequence of the Mexican
war, to naturalise Spanish words, some of which Mr.
Slick, who delights in this sort of thing, has introduced
into this Journal. — Ed.

A SURPRISE.

remain clear of cant terms when

you

find it

so.

" I like Yankee words — I learned them when
young. Father and mother used them, and so
did all the old folks to Slickville. There is
both fun, sense and expression in 'em too,
and that is more than there is in Taffy's, Pat's,
or Sawney's brogue either. The one enriches
and enlarges the vocabulary, the other is
nothing but broken English, and so con-
foundedly broken too, you can't put ^,he pieces
together sometimes. Again, my writing
when I freeze down solid to it, is just as much
in character as the other. Recollect this
Every woman in our country who has a son,
knows that he may, and thinks that he will,
become President of the United States, and
that thought and that chance make that boy
superior to any of his class in Europe.

" And now, Squire," said he, " I believe
there has been enough said about myself and
my Journal. Sposen we drink success to the
'human nature,' or 'men and things,' or whatever
other name you select for this Journal, and then
we will talk of something else."

*' I will drink that toast," I said, " with all my

A SURPRISE.

heart, and now lot mo ask you how you have
succeeded in your mission about the fisheries ?"
"First rate," he replied; "we have them
now, and no mistake !"

" By the treaty ?" I inquired.
" No," he said, " I have discovered the
dodge, and we shall avail of it at once. By a
recent local law, foreigners can hold real estate in
this province now. And by a recent Act of Par-
liament our vessels can obtain British registers.
Between these two privileges, a man don't deserve
to be called an American who can't carry on the
fisheries in spite of all the cruisers, revenue
officers, and prohibitary laws under the sun.
It is a peaceable and quiet way of getting
possession, and far better than fighting for
them, while it comports more with the dignity
of our great and enlightened nation."

"What do you think," I said, " of the Elgin
treaty as a bargain ?"

After some hesitation, he looked up and
smiled.

" We can't complain," said he. " As usual

we have got hold of the right eend of the rope,

and got a vase deal more than we expected.

The truth is, the English are so fond of trade,

VOL. I. c

A suRnusi-:

and so afraid of war, if \vc will only give them
cotton and flour at a i'nir price, and take their

bully th

uito

nianutacturcs ni return, we can Dully tnem n
anythin' almost. It is a positive fact, there were
fiftv deserters from the Bi'itish armv talsen ofl'
of the wreck of the ' San Francisco,' and
caniid to England. John Bull pretended to
wink at it, hired a steamer, and sent them all
out again to us. Lord ! how our folks roared
when th(>y heard it ; and as for the President,
he laughed like a hyena over a dead nigger.
Law sakcs alive n^.ari ! Make a question between
our nation and England about fifty desarters,
and if the ministers of the day only dared to
talk of fiditins", the members of all the manu-
toren towns in England, the cottonocracy of
of Great Britain, would desert too !

"It's nateral, as an American, I should be
satisfied with the treaty ; but I'll tell you what
1 am L>orry for. I am. grieved we asked, or
your Governor-General granted, a right to us
to land on these shores and make our
fish. Lord EVin ouuht to have known
that every foot of the sea coast of Nova
Scotia has been granted, and is now private
])roperty.

A SURPRISE.

t( rV

Vo ronrndc a piivilofrc to land, with

proviso to ivsprct tlio rio-hts of the ow-

ner, IS

us comes ot not s(>nding a man

nonsense.

to negooiato who is chosen by the people, not
for his rank, but for his ability and knowledo-e
The fact is, I take blami' to myself about it
for I was puni])ed who would do best, and be
most acceptable to us Americans. I was afeared
they would send a Billingsgate contractor, who
is a ])luguy sight more posted up about fisheries
than any member of parliament, or a clever
colonist, (nota])arty man,) and^they know more
than both the others put together; and I
dreaded if th(»y sent eitluT, there would be
a quid pro quo, as Josiah says, to be given,
afoi-e w(! got the fisheries, if we ever got them
at all. ' So,' sais I, out of a bit of fun, for I
can't help taken a rise out of folks no how I
can fix it, ' send us a lord. We are mighty
fond of noblemen to Washington, and toady
them first-rate. It. will please such a man as
Pierce to show him so much respect as to send
a peer to him. He will get whatever he
asks.'

"Well, they fell into the trap beautiful.
They sent us one, and we rowed him up to

c 2

A SURIMUSE.

t\w. very head waters of Salt River in no time.*
lint 1 am sorry we asked the privilege to land
and eure fish. I didn't think anv created
critter would have granted that. Yes, I foresee
trouble arising out of this. Suppose ' Cayenne
Pepper,' as vvc call tlie captain that commanded
the ' Cayc.'nne' at Gn.'y Town, was to come to a
port in Nova Scotia, and pepper it for insultin'
our flag by apprehenden tresspassers (though
how a constable is to arrest a crew of twentv
men, unless, Irishman like, he surrounds them,
is a mystery to me.) ^Vllat would be done in
that case ? Neither you nor I can tell, Squire.
But depend upon it, there is a tempestical time

* To row up Salt River is a common plirnsc, used
generally to denote j)olitical defeat. The distance to
which a party is rowed up Salt River depends entirely
upon the magnitude of the majority against him. If
the defeat is overwhelming, the unsuccessful party is
said " to be rowed up to the very head waters of Salt
River." The jdirase has its origin in the fact that
there is a small stream of that name in Kentucky, the
passage of which is made difficult and laborious, as
well bv its tortuous course as bv numerous shallows and
bars. The real a})plication of the phrase is to the un-
happy wight who propels the boat, but politically, in
slang usage, it means the man rowed up, the passenger.

—I. In MAN.

A .SLUIMUSI':

cotnin', and it is as woll to he on the safe side
of the Wmcv- when tlicn; is a chance; of Kir-kin^'
goin^ on.

" Thn boml)ar(lmcnt of Grey T(>\vn was the
greatest and hravcst exploit of juodern times. We
silenced their guns at tlie first hroadsidc; and sluit
them up so sudden tliat envious folks like the
liritish, now swear thev had none, wjiih; we lost
onlyone man in the engagement, hut lu; was (hamk
and fell overboard. What is the cannonade of
Sebastopool to that? Why it sinks into insignifi-
cance."

He had hardly ceased speidving, when the
wheels of a carriage were lieard rapidly ap-
proaching the door. Taking out his watch,
and observing the hour, he said : " Squins it is
now eleven o'clock. I must be a movin'. Good
bye ! I am off to Halifax. I am goin' to make a
night flight of it. The wind is fair, and I must sail
by daylight to-morrow morning. Farewell !"

He then shook hands most cordially with
me, and said : " Squire, luiless you feel inclined
at some future day to make the tour of the
States with me, or somethin' turns up, I am
not availed of, I am afraid you have seen the last
journal of your old friend, ' Sam Slick.' "

CLIPPERS AND STEAMERS.

CHAPTER 11.

CLIPPERS AND STEAMERS.

Whoever has taken the trouble to read the
" Wise Saws" of Mr. Slick, will be prepared
to resume the thread of his narrative without
explanation, if, indeed, these unconnected selec-
tions deserve the appellation. But as this
work may fall into the hands of many people,
who never saw^ its predecessor, it may be
necessary to premise that our old friend Sam,
having received a commission from the Pre-
sident of the United States to visit the coast of
Nova Scotia, and report to him fully on the
state of the fisheries, their extent and value, the
manner in which they were prosecuted, and the
best mode of obtaining a participation in them, he
proceeded on his cruise in a trading vessel, called

CLIPPERS AND STEAMiiilS.

thc3 " Black Hawk," whereof Timothy Cutler, was
master, and Air. Eldad Nickersou the pilot. The
two preceding volumes contained his adventures
at sea, and in the liarbours of the province, to the
westward of Halifax. The present work is devoted
to his remarks on " nature [uid human nature."

While amusing himself tishing within thiw.
miles of the coast, otf La llaive, in contraven-
tion of the treaty, he narrowly escaped capture;
by the British cruiser, " Spitiire," commanded
by Captain Stoker. By a skilful manoeuvre,
he decoyed the man-of-war, in the eagerness of
the chase, on to a sand-bar when he dexterously
slipt through a narrow passage between two
islands, and keeping one of them in a line
between the " Black Hawk" and her pursuer, so
as to be out of the reach of her guns, he steered
for the eastern shore of Nova Scotia, and was soon
out of sight of the Islands behind which his enemy
lay embedded in the sand ; from this point the
narrative is resumed in Mr. Slick's own words.*

" I guess," said I, " Captain, the ' Spitfire'

* His remarks on the fisheries 1 have wholly omitted,
for they have now lost their interest. His observations on
" nature and human nature " arc alone retained, as they
may be said to have a universal application.— Ed.

CLIPPERS AND STEAMERS.

will have to put into Halifax to report herself,
and be surveyed, so we may pursue our course
in peace. But this * Black Hawk' is a doll,
ain't she ? don't she skim over the water like
a sea gull? The truth is, Cutler, when you
aint in a hurry, and want to enjoy yourself at
sea, as I always do, for I am a grand sailor,
give me a clipper. She is so light and buoyant,
and the motion so elastic, it actilly exilerates
your spirits. There is something like life in her
gait, and you have her in hand like a horse,
and you feel as if you were her master, and
directed her movements. I ain't sure you don't
seem as if you were part of her yourself. Then
there is room to show skill, and seamanship,
and if you don't in reality go as quick as a
steamer, you seem to go faster, if there is no
visible object to measure your speed by, and
that is something, for the white foam on the
leeward side rushes by you in rips, raps, and
rainbows like Canadian rapids.

" Then if she is an atry silly* like this, and
she is doing her prettiest, and actilly laughs

* The Atricilla, or laugliing sea-gull. Its note re-
sembles a coarse laugh. Hence its name. It is very
common in the Bahamas.

CLIPPERS AND STP:AMERS.

again, she is so pleasud, why you arc satisfied,
for you don't make the breeze, you take it as
you tind it, like ail other good gifts of Provi-
dence, and say, ' ain't she going like wink, how
she forges ahead, don't she?' Your attention
is kept alive, too, watchin' the wind, and
trimmin' sail to it accordingly, and the jolly
*0h, heave oh,' of the sailors is music one
loves to listen to, and if you wish to take a
stretch for it in your cloak on deck, on the
sunny or shady side of the companion-way,
the breeze whistles a nice soft lullaby for you,
and you are off in tiie land of Nod in no time."

" Dreaming of Sophy Collingwood," sais the
Captain, " and the \yiich of Eskisooney, eh ?"

" Yes, dreamin' of bright eves and smilin'
faces, or anythin' else that's near and dear,
for to my idea, the heart gives the sulijeet for
the head to think upon. In a fair wind, and a
charmin' day like this, I never coiled up on
the deck for a nap in my life, that I hadn't
pleasant dreams. You feel as if you were at
peace with all the v.orld in general, and yourself
in partikeler, and that it is very polite of
folks to stay to home ashore, and let vou and
your friends enjoy youi-seives without treadin'

CLIPPERS AND STEAMERS,

on your toes, and wakin' of you u}), if asleep
or a jostlin' of you in your turn on the quarter-
deck, or ovcr-hearin' your conversation.

" And ain't you always ready for your meals,
and don't you walk into them in rael right
down earnest? Oh, nothing ever tastes so
good to me as it does at sea. The appetite,
like a sharp knife, makes the meat seem tender,
and the sea air is a great f'.'iend of digestion,
and always keeps company with it. Then you
dont care to sit and drink after dinner as you
do at an hotel of an idle day, for you want to
go on deck, light your cigar, take a sweep
round the horizon with your glass, to see if
there is any sail in sight, glance at the sky to
ascertain if the breeze is hkely to hold, and
then bring yourself to anchor on a seat, and
have a dish of chat for a dessert with the
Captain, if he is a man of books like, you,
Cutler, or a man of reefs, rocks and sandbars,
fish, cordwood and smugglin', or collisions,
wracks and salvage, like the pilot.

" Then, if you have a decent sample or two
of passengers on board, you can discuss men
and things, and women and nothings, law,
physick and divinity, or that endless, tangled

CLIPPERS AxND STEAMERS.

ball otyai'ii, politicks, or vou can swap anecdoti^s,
and make your fortune in the trade. And bv
the same trail ot" thou'-lit we must o-ive one or
two of these Blue-Noses now and then a east on
board with us to draw them out. Well, if you
want to read, you can g-o and turn in and take
a book, and solitudinise to it, and there is no
one to disturb you. I actiliy learned French in
a voyage to Calcutta, and German on my way
home. I got enough for common use. It
warn't all pure gold ; but it was kind of
small ciiange, and answered every purpose of
trade or travel. Oh, it's no use a talkin' ;
where time ain't tlie main object, there's nothin'
like a sailin' vessel to a man who ain't sea-sick,
and such fellows ought to be cloriformed, put to
bed, and left there till the voyage is over. They
have no business to go to sea, if they are such
fools as not to know how to enjoy themselves.

" Then sailors are characters ; thev are men
of the world, there is great self-rehancc in them.
They have to fight their wav in life throujih
many trials and difficulties, and tlieir trust is
in God and their own strong arm. They are
so much in their own element, they seem as
if they were born on the sea, cradled on its

CLIPPERS AND STEAMERS.

billows, and like Mother Carey's chiekens, de-
lighted in its storms and mountain waves.
They walk, talk, and dress differently from
landsmen. They straddle as they paee the
deck, so as to brace the body, and keep their
trowsers up at the same time ; their gait is
loose, and their dress loose, and their limbs
loose ; indeed, they are raiher too fond of slack.
They climb like monkeys, and depend more on
tlieir paws than their legs. They tumble up,
but never down. They count, not by fingers,
it is tedious, but by hands ; they put a part for
the whole, and call themselves hands, for they
are paid for the use of them, and not their
heads.

" Though they are two-handed, they are not
close-fisted fellows. They despise science, but
are fond of practical knowledge. When the
sun is over the forevard, thev know the time of
day as well as the captain, and call for their
grog, and when they lay back their heads, and
turn up the bottom of the mug to the sky, they
call it in derision taking an observation. But
though they have many characteristics in common,
there is an individuality in each that distinguishes
him from the rest. He stands out in bold

CLllTERS AND STEAMERS.

relief— I by myself, I. He feels and appreeiates
his importance. He knows no plural. The
word ' our' belongs to landsmen ; ' my' is the
sailor's phrase — my ship, my captain, my mess-
mate, my watch on deck, ' my eyes !' ' you lubber,
don't you know that's me ?' I like to listen to
their yarns, and their jokes, and to hear them
sing their simple ditties. The odd mixture of
manliness and childishness — of boldness and
superstitious fears; of preposterous claims for
wages and thoughtless extravagance; of obe-
dience and discontent, all goes to make tiie
queer compound called * Jack.' How often have
J. laughed over the fun of the forecastle in these
small fore and aft packets of ourn ! and I
think I would back that place for wit ag;iinst
any bar-room in New^ York or New Orleans,
and I believe they take the rag off of all
creation.

"But the cook is my flivourite. He is a
scientific man, and so skilful in compounds, he
generally goes by the name of doctor. I like
the daily consultation with him about dinner,
not that I am an epicure ; but at sea, as the
business of life is eating, it is as well to be
master of one's calling. Indeed, it appears to

CLIPPERS AND STHAMERS.

be a law of nature, that those who h.avc mouths
should uruUistand what to put in them. It
gratirtt3s thi; doctor to confer with hiui, and who
does it not please to be considered a man of
importance ? He is, therefore, a member of
the Privv Council, and a more useful member
he is too, than many Right Hononrables I know
of — who have more acres than ideas. The
Board assendjles after breakfast, and a new
dish is a great item in the budget. It keeps
people in good humour the rest of the day, and
affords tu])ics for the table. To cat to support
existence is only tit for criminals. Bread and
water will do that ; but to support and gratify
nature, at the same time, is a noble effort of art,
and well deserves the thanks of mankind. The
cook too enlivens the consultation bv tellin};
marvellous stories about strange dishes he has
seen. Fie has eaten serpents with the Siamese
monkeys in the West Indies, crocodiles and
sloths in South x\merica, and cats, rats and
dogs with the Chinese ; and, of course, as
nobody can contradict him, says they are
delicious. Like a salmon^ you must give him
the line e\'en if it wearies you, before you bag
him ; but when you do d)riiig him to land,

.-»^^

CLIPPERS AND STEAMERS.

•n

[)

his dishes arc savoury. Thoy hav(; a rdish thai;
is peculiar t<3 the sea, for ivhcre there is no
garden, vegetables are always most prized.
The glorious onion is duly valued, for as there
is no mistress to be kissed, who will dare to
object to its aroma ?

" Then I like a Sunday at sea in a vessel like
this, and a day like this, when the men are all
clean and tidy, and the bell rings for prayers,
and all hands are assembled aft, to listen to the
captain as he reads the Church Service. It seems
like a family scene. It reminds me of dear old
Minister and days gone by, when he used to
call us round him, and repeated to us the pro-
mise ' that when two or three were gathered
together in God's name, he would grant their
request.' The only ditference is, sailors are
more attentive and devout than landsmen.
They seem more conscious that they are in the
Divine presence. They have little to look upon
but the heavens above and the boundless ocean
around them. Both seem made on purpose for
them — the sun to guide them by day, and the
stars by night, the sea to bear them on its
bosom, and the breeze to waft them on their
course. They feel how powerless they arc of

CLIPPERS AND STEAMERS.

thems(;lvTs ; how frail thoir bark ; how dc-
pi'ndcnt they are on the goodness and mcrcv of
their Crc.ttor, and that it is He alone who can
rule the tempest and control the stormy deep.
Their impressions arc few, but tluiy an^ strong.
It is the world that hardens the heart, and the
ocean seems apart from it.

" They are noble fellows, sailors, and I love
them ; but. Cutler, how are they used, especially
where they ought to be treated best, on board of
men-of-war? The moment a ship arrives in
j)ort, the anchor cast and the sails fui'led — what
dees the Captain do ? the popular Cjiptaln, too,
the idol of the men ; he who is so kind, and
so fond of them ? Why, he calls them aft, and
sa\ s, * Here, my lads, here is lots of cash for
you, now be off ashore and enjoy yourselves.'
And they give three cheers for their noble
commander — their good-hearted officer — the
sailor's friend — the jolly old blue jacket, and
thev bundle into the boats, and on to the beach,
like school-bovs. And where do thev o-o ?
Well, we W'On't follow them, for 1 never was in
them places where they do go, and so I can't
describe them, and one thing I must say, I never
yet found any place answer the picture drawn

CLIPPERS AND STEAMERS.

of it. But it* half only of the accounts arc
true that I have heerd of tlu-m, they must he
the devil's own seminaries of vice — that's a
fact. Every mite and morsel as had as the
harraek scenes that we read of lately.

" Well, at the end of a week, hack come the
sailors. They have had a glorious lark and
enjoyed themselves beyond anything in the
world, for they are pale, sick, sleepy, tired out,
cleaned out, and kicked out, with black eves,
broken heads, swelled cheeks, minus a few
teeth, half their clothes, and all their money.

" ' What,' says the Captain, ' what's the matter
with you, Tom Marlin, that you limp so like a
lame duck ?'

" ' Nothing, your honour,' says Tom, twitching
his forelock, and making a scrape with his hind
leg, ' nothing, your honour, but a scratch from
a bagganet.'

" ' What ! a fight with the soldiers, eh ?
The cowardly rascals to use their side
arms !'

" ' We cleared the house of them. Sir, in no
time.'

" ' That's right. Now go below, my lads, and
turn in, and get a good sleep. I like to see my

CLll'l'liRS AND STEAMERS.

lambs enjoy themselves. It (lo(\s my lieiiri

goo

And vet, Cutler, that man is said to he a

tatlier to his crew."

" Slick," said Cutler, " what a pitv it is vou
woukhi't always talk that way ! Now if there
is any created thin^j^- that makes me mad, it is
to have a lelkT look achniren at me, when I
utter a piece of plain common sense like that,
and turn u\) th(i whites of his eyes like a duck
in thunder, as much as to say, what a pity it is
you weren't hroughten up a preacher. It rylcs
me considerahle, I tell you."

" Cutler," said I, " did you ever sec a colt in
a pasture, how ho would race and chase round
the field, head, ears and tail up, and stop short,
snort as if he had seen the ghost of a hridle,
and off again hot foot ?"

" Yes," said he, " I have, but you are not a
colt, nor a boy either."

" Well, did you ever see a horse when un-
harnessed from a little light waggon, and turned
out to grass, do nearly the same identical
thing, and kick up his heels like mad, as much
as to say, I am a free nigger now ?"

" Well, I have," said he.

Cl.IlU'ERS AND STEAMERS.

" Stop," said I, a toucliin' of him on ImkS arm .
" what ill thi! world is that .'^" and I puiutcd
ovrr the tatiVail to the wcathcr-how.

'* Porpoise^," said he.

" What arc thcv a doin' of?"

" Sportiii' of themselves."

" Exactly," sais I, " and do you place man
below the beasts of the field, and the fishes of
the sea ? What in natur' was humour given to
us fi)r, but for our divarsion ? What sort of
a world would this be if e\ery fellow spoke
sermons and talked homilies, and what in that
case would parsons do ? I leave yt)U to cypher
that out, and then prove it by algebra ; but I'll
tell you what i\wy wouldn't do, I'll be hanged
if they'd strike for bibber wages, for fear they
should not get any at all."

" 1 knock under," said he ; " you may take
my bat ; now go on and finish the comparison
between Clippers and Steamers."

" Well," sais I, " as I was a sayin', Captain,
give me a craft like this, that spreads its wings
like a bird, and looks as if it was born, not made,
a whole-sail breeze, and a seaman (n'erv inch
of him like you on the deck, who looks you in
the face, in a way as if he'd like to say, only

i ^1

CLIPPERS AND STEAMERS.

bragging ain't genteel, ain't she a clipper now,
and ain't I the man to handle her? Now this
ain't the case in a steamer. They ain't vessels,
they arc more like floating factories ; you see the
steam machines and the enormous fires, and the
the clouds of smoke, but vou don't visit the
rooms where the looms are, that's all, Th^v
plough through the sea dead and heavy, like a
suhsoiler with its eight horse team ; there is no
life in 'em ; thev can't dance on the waters as if
they rejoiced in their course, but divide the
waves as a rock does in a river : thev seem to
move more in defiance of the sea, than as if they
were in an element of their own.

" They puff and blow like boasters braggin'
that they extract from the ocean the means to
make it help to subdue itself. It is a war of
the elements, fire and \vater contendin' for
victory. They are black, dingy, forbiddin'
looking sea monsters. It is no wonder the
superstitious Spaniard, when he first saw one,
said : ' A vessel that goes against the tide, and
against the wind, and without sails, goes against
God,' or that the simple negro thought it was
a sea devil. They are very well for carrying
freight, because they are beasts of burden, but

CLIPPERS AND STEAMERS.

not for carrying travellers, unless they are mere
birds of passage like our Yankee tourists, who
want to have it to sav I was " thar." I hate
them. 7he decks are dirtv ; vour skin and
clothes are dirty ; and your lungs become foul ;
smoke pervades everythin', and now and then
the condensation gives you a shower of sooty
water by way of variety, that scalds your face,
and dyes your coat into a sort of pepper-and-salt
colour.

" You miss the sailors, too. There are none
on board — you miss the nice light, tight-built,
lathy, wiry, active, neat jolly crew. In their
place you have nasty, dirty, horrid stokers :
some hoisting hot cinders, and throwing them
overboard, (not with the merry countenances of
niggers, or the cheerful sway-away-my-boys ex-
pression of the Jack Tar, but with sour, camc-
ronean-lookin' faces, that seem as if thev were
dreadfully disappointed they were not persecuted
any longer — had no churches and altars to
desecrate, and no bishops to anoint with the oil
of hill-side maledictions as of old) while others
are emerging from the fiery furnaces beneath
for fresh air, . and wipe a hot, dirty face with a
still dirtier shirt sleeve, and in return for the

; i

4fi

CLIPPERS AND STEAMERS.

nauseous exudation, lav on a fresh coat of
blacking, tall, gaunt wretches, who pant for
breath ;is thvy snufi' the fresh breeze, like
porpouses, and thcai dive again into the lower
regions. They are neither seamen nor lands-
men, good whips, noi decent shots, their hair
is not woolly enough for niggers, and their faces
are too black for white men. Thev ain't
amphibious animals, like marines, and otters.
They are Salamanders. But thit'.s a long
word, and now thev call tliem stokers for
shortness.

" Then steamers carry a mob, and I detest
mobs, especially such ones as they delight in — -
greasy Jews, hairy Germans, MuUatto-looking
Italians, squalling children, tl^at run between
your le^rs and throw vou down, or wipe the
butter off their bread 0:1 your clothes ; English-
men that will grumble, and Irishmen tb.ot will
fight ; priests that won't talk, and preachers
that will harangue ; women that will be carried
about, because they won't lie still and be quiet ;
silk men, cotten men, bonnet men, iron
men, trinket men, and every sort of shopmen,
who severally kiiow nothing in the world but
silk, cotten, bonnets, iron, trinkets, and so on.

CLIPPERS AND STEAMERS.

tie
h-
ill

iind can't talk of anvthin' else ; fellows who
walk up and down the deck, four or fi\'e ahreast
when there are four or five of the same craft
on board, and prevent any one else from prome-
nadiu', by sweepin' the whole space, while
every lurch the ship jrives, one of them tumbles
atop of you, or treads on your toes, and then,
instead of apoligisin', turns round and abuses
you like a pick-])<3eket for stickin' your feet out
and trippiu' people up. Thinkin' is out of the
(juestion, and as t'ov readin', you might as well
read your fortune in the stars.

" Just as vou be^rin, that lovelv-lookin', rosy-
cheeked, witked-eyed gidl, that came on board
i^<) full of health and spirits, but now looks
like a faded, striped ribbon, white, yeller, pink,
and brown — dappled all «A-er her face, but her
nose, which has a red spot on it — lifts up a pair
of lack-lustre peepers that look glazed like the
round, dull ground glass lights let into the
deck, suddenly wakes up squeamish, and says,
' Please, Sir, help me down ; T feel so ill.'
Well, you take her up in your arms, and for
the first time in your life, hold her head from
you, for fear she will reward you in a way that
ain't no matter, and she feels as soft as dough-,

CLIPPERS AND STEAMERS.

m I

and it s(;ems as if your fingers left dents in her
putty-like arms, and you carry her to the head
of the stairs, and call out for the stewardess,
and a waiter answers, " Stewardess is tight.
Sir.'

" ' I am glad of it, she is just the person 1
want. I wish all the other passengers were
tight also.'

" * Lord, Sir, that ain't it — she is mops and
hrooms.'

" ' Mops and brooms, I suppose she is, she
must have plenty use for them, I reckon, to
keep all snug and tidy down there.'

" ' Good gracious, Sir, don't you understand,
she is half seas over.'

" ' True, so we all are, the captain said so
to day at twelve o'clock, I wish we wei-e over
altogether. Send her up.'

" ' No, no, Sir, she is more than half
shaved.'

" ' The devil ! does she shave ? I don't
believe she is a woman at all. I see how it
is, you have been putting one of the sailors
into petticoats.' And the idea makes even the
invalid gall laugh.

" ' No, no, Sir, she is tipsy.'

(I
r

CLIPPERS AND STEAMERS.

m't
it
lors
the

" ' Then why the plague couldn't you say
so at once. 1 guess you kinder pride yourself
in your slang. H(!lp mo to assist this lady down
to her friends.*

" Well, when you return on deck, lo and
hehold, your seat is occupied, and you must
go and stand hy the rail till one is vacant,
when another gall that ain't ill, but incon-
veniently well, she is so full of chat, says,
' Look, look. Sir, dear mo, what is that. Sir ?
a porpoise. Why you don't, did you ever ! well,
I never see a porpoise afore in all my born
days ! are they good to eat, Sir ?'

" ' Excellent food for whales, Miss.'

*' ' Well I never ! do they swallow them right
down ?'

" ' I guess they do, tank, shank and flank,
at one gulp.'

" ' Why how in the world do they ever
get-T-' but she don't finish the sentence, for
the silk man, cotten man, iron man, or trinket
man, which ever is nearest, says, ' There is a
ship on the lee-bow.' He says that because it
sounds sailor-like, but it happens to be the
weather-bow, and you have seen her an hour
before.

VOL. L

CLIPPERS AND STEAMERS.

(( (

Can you make her out?' sais he, that's
another sea tarm he has picked up ; he will
talk like a horse-marine at last.

" ' Yes,' sais you, * she is a Quang-Tonger.'
** ' A Quang-Tonger ?' sais the gall, and

before the old coon

thi

(1 (

as disgested
natur is that ?'
Why, Miss, Quang-Tong is a province
of China, and Canton is the capital; all the
vessels at Canton are called Quang-Tongers,
but strangers call them Chinese Junks. Now,
Miss, you have seen two new things to-day, a
bottle-nosed porpoise and — '

" 'Was that a bottle-nosed porpoise. Sir? why
you don't say so ! why, how you talk, why do
they call them bottle-noses ?'

" * Because, Miss, they make what is called
velvet corks out of their snouts. They are
reckoned the best corks in the world, and then,
vou have seen a Chinese Junk ?'

" 'A Chinese Junk,' sais the astonished
trinket man, ' well I vow ! a Chinese Junk, do
tell !' and one gall caUs Jeremiah Dodge, and
the other her father and her sister, Mary Anne
Matilda Jane, to come and see the Chinese
Junk, and all the passengers rush to the

CLIPPERS AND STEAMERS.

that's
le will

iger/
1, and
i hard

rovince
all the

'ongers,

Now,

)-day, a

r? whv
whv do

called
ley are
I then,

other side, and say ; * whare whare,' and the two
discoverers say ; * there there * and you walk
across the deck and take one of the evacuated
seats you ha^'e heen longin' for; and as you
pass, you give a wink to the officer of the
watch, who puts his tongue in his cheek as a
token of approbation, and you begin to read
again, as you fancy, in peace.

" But, there is no peace in a steamer, it is
nothin' but a large calaboose,* chock full of
prisoners. As soon as you have fuund your
place in the book, and taken a fresh departure,
the bonnet man sais, ' Please, sir, a seat for a
lady,' and you have to get up and give it to his
wife's lady's-maid. His wife ain't a lady, but
having a lady's-maid, shews she intends to set
up for one when she gets to home. To be a
lady, she must lay in a lot of airs, and to brush
her own hair, and garter her own stockins, is vul-
gar ; if it was known in First Avenue, Spruce
Street, in Bounetville, it would ruin her as a
woman of fashion, for ever.

" Now, bonnet man wouldn't ask you to get
up and give your place to his wife's hired help,,

* Calaboose is a Southern name for jail.

D 2

CLIPPERS AND STEAMERS.

only ho knows you arc a Yankee, and \vc
Yankees, I must say, are regularly fooled with
women and preachers ; just as much as that
walking advertisement of a milliner is with her
ladv's-maid. All over America in rail carria<2:es
stage coaches, river steamers and public places
of all sorts, every critter that wears a white
choker, and looks like a minister, has the best
seat given him. He expects it, as a matter of
course, and as every female is a lady, every
woman has a right to ask you to quit, without
notice, for her accommodation. Now, it's all
very well, and very proper to be respectful to
preachers; and to be polite and courteous to
women, and more especially those that are un-
protected, but there is a limit, tother side of
which lies absurdity.

'" Now, if vou had seen as much of the world
as I have, and many other travelled Yankees,
when bonnet man asked you to give up your
seat to the maid, you would have pretended not
to understand English, and not to know what
he wanted, but would have answered him in
French and offered him the book, and said
certainly you would give it to him with
pleasure, and when he said he didn't speak

CLIPPERS AND STEAMERS.

French, but what he desired, was your plaec for
the lady, you would have addressed her in
German, and offered her the book, and when
they looked at each other, and laughed at their
blunder, in thus taking you for a Yankee,
perhaps the man next to you would have offered
his seat, and then when old bonnet man walked
off to look at the Chinese Junk, you would have
entered into conversation with the lady's maid,
and told her it was a rise you took out of the
old fellow to get her along side of you, and she
would enjoy the joke, and you would have
found her a thousand times more handsome,
and more conversational and agreeable than her
mistress.

" But this wouldn't last long, for the sick
gall would be carried up on deck agin, woman
like, though ill, very restless, and chock full of
curiosity to see the Chinese Junk also ; so you
are caught by your own bam, and have to move
again once more. The bell comes in aid, and
summons you to dinner. Ah, the scene in the
Tower of Babel is rehearsed ! what a confusion
of tongues ! what a clatter of knives and forks
and dishes ! the waiter that goes and won't
come back ; and he who sees, pities but can't

iiV

CLIPPERS AND STEAMERS.

help you ; and he who is so near siyhted, he can't
hear ; and he who is intercepted, and made
prisoner on his way.

" What a profusion of viands — but how little to
eat ! this is cold ; that underdone ; this is tough ;
that you never eat ; while all smell oily, oh, the
only dish you did fancy, you can't touch, for
that horrid German has put his hand into it.
But it is all told in one short sentence ; two
hundred and fifty passengers supply two hun-
dred and fifty reasons themselves, why I should
prefer a sailing vessel with a small party to a
crowded steamer. If you want to see them in
perfection go where I have been it on board the
California boats, and Mississippi river crafts. The
French, iVustrian and Italian boats are as bad.
The two great Ocean lines, American and Eng-
lish are as good as anything bad can be, but the
others are all abominable. They are small
worlds over-crowded, and while these small
worlds exist, the evil will remain ; for alas, their
passengers go backward and forward, they don't
emigrate — they migrate ; they go for the winter
and return for the spring, or go in the spring
and return in the fall.

" Come, Commodore, there is old Sorrow

ii 1.

CLll'PKRS AND STEAM K US.

The
bad.
Eng-
)ut the
small
small
their
don't
winter
pring

ringing his merry bell for us to go to dinner.
I have an idea we shall have ample room ; a
good appetite, and time enough to eat and
enjoy it ; come, Sir, let us, like true Americans,
never refuse to go where duty calls us."

After dinner, Cutler reverted to the conver-
sation we had had before we went below,
though I don't know that I should call it con-
versation, either ; for I believe I did as usual,
most of the talking myself.

" I agree with you," said he, *' in your com-
parative estimate of a sailing vessel and a
steamer, I like the former the best myself. It
is more agreeable for the reasons you have
stated to a passenger, but it is still more agree-
able to the officer in command of her on
another account. In a sailing vessel, all your
work is on deck, every thing is before you, and
everybody under your command. One glance
of a seaman's eye is sufficient to detect if any-
thing is amiss, and no one man is indispensible
to you. In a steamer the work is all below,
the machinery is out of your sight, com-
plicated, and one part dependant on another.
If it gets out of order you are brought up with
a round turn, all standing, and often in a

CLIPPERS AND STEAMERS.

critical situation, too. You can't re

pair

amairc

easily ; sometimes, can't repair at all.

" Whereas carrying away a sail, a spar, a
topmast, or anything of that kind impedes, but
don't stop you, and if it is anything very
serious there are a thousand ways of making a
temporary rig that will answer till you make a
port. But what I like best is, when my ship is
in the daldrums, I am equjd to the emerg(>ncy ;
there is no engineer to bother you by saying, this
can't be done, or that won't do, and to stand
jawing and arguing instead of obeying and
doing. Clippers of the right lines, size and build,
well found, manned and commanded, will make
nearly as good work, in ordinary times, as steam-
ers. Perhaps it is prejudice though, for I believe
we sailors are proverbial for that. But, Slick,
recollect it ain't all fair weather sailing like this
at sea. There are times when death stares you
wildly in the face."

" Exactly," sais I, " as if he would like to
know you the next time he came for you, so as
not to apprehend the wrong one. He often leaves
the rascal and seizes the honest man, my opinion
is, he don't see very well."

" What a droll fellow you are," said he ; " it

CLIPPERS AND STEAMERS.

" ,*

appears to ine as if you couldr.'t be serious tor
tivc minutes at a time. I can tell you, if you
were on a rocky loisshore, with the wind arid
waves urging you on, and you barely hohhng
your own, perliaps losing ground every tack,
you wouldn't talk quite so glibly of death. Was
you ever in a real heavy gale of wind ?"

" Warn't I," said I ; " the fust time I returned
from England it blew great guns all the voyage,
one gale after another, and the last always
wuss than the one before. It carried away our
sails as fast as we bent them."

" That's nothing unusual," said Cutler ; " there
are worse things than that at sea."

"Well, I'll tell you," sais I; *'what it
did ; and if that ain't an uncommon thing,
then my name aint Sam Slick. It blew all
the hair oft* my dog, except a little tuft atwcen
his ears. It did, upon my soul. I hope I may
never leave — "

" Don't swear to it. Slick," said he, " that's
a good fellow. It's impossible."

"Attestin' to it will make your hair stand
on eend too, I suppose," said I ; " but it's as true
as preachin' for all that. What will you bet it
didn't happen ?"

1 rfft

:i:

CLIPPERS AND STEAMERS.

" Tut, man, nonsense," said he, " I tell you
the thing is impossible."

" Ah !" said I, " that's because you have been
lucky, and never saw a riprorious hurricane in all
your life. I'll tell you how it was. I bought a
blood-hound from a man in Regent's Park, just
afore I sailed, and the bnite got sea-sick, and
then took the mange, and between that and
death starin' him in the face, his hair all came
off, and in course it blew away. Is that im-
possible ?"

" Well, well," said he, " you have the most
comical way with you of any man I ever see. I
am sure it aint in your nature to speak of death
in that careless manner, you only talked that
way to draw me out. I know you did. It's
not a subject, however, to treat lightly, and if
you are not inclined to be serious just now, tell
us a story."

" Serious," sais I, " I am disposed to be ; but
not sanctimonious, and you know that. But
here goes for a story, which has a nice little
moral in it, too.

" * Once on a time, when pigs were swine,
and turkeys chewed tobacco, and little birds
built their nests in old men's beards.'

CLIPPERS AND STEAMERS.

;cll you

ve been
le in all
iught a
rkjjust
;k, and
at and
11 came
lat im-

B most

see. I

' death

that

It's

and if

•w, tell

but

But

little

iwine,
birds

" Pooh !" said he, turning off huffy like,
as if I was a goin' to bluff him off. " I wonder
whether supper is ready ?"

" Cutler," sais I, " come back, that's a good
fellow, and I'll tell you the story. It's a short
one, and will just fill up the space between this
and tea-time. It is in illustration of what you
was a sayin', tliat it aint always fair weather
sailing in this world. There was a jack-tar once
to England who had been absent on a whal-
ing voyage for nearly three years, and he
had hardlv landed when he was ordered off to

ft-

sea again, before he had time to go home and
see his friends. He was a lamentin' this to a
shipmate of his, a serious-minded man, like
vou.

" Sais he, ' Bill, it breaketh my heart to
have to leave agin arter this fashion. I
havn't seen Polly now goin' on three years, nor
the little un either.* And he actilly piped his
eye.

•' ' It seemeth hard, Tom,' said Bill, tryin' to
comfort him ; ' it seemeth hard ; but I'm an
older man nor you be, Tom, the matter of
several years;' and he gave his trow^sers a
twitch. (You know they don't wear galluses,

!«fr<?r'**'

HBHW

I <

i ■

I] I

CLIPPERS AND STEAxMERS.

though a gallus holds them up sometimes,)
shifted his quid, gave his nor'wester a pull
over his forehead, and looked solemncholly,
' and my experience, Tom, is, that this life
uiiit all beer and skittles'

" Cutler, there is a great deal of philosophy
in that maxim : a preacher couldn't say as
much in a sermon an hour long, as there is in
that little story with that little moral reflection
at the eend of it.

" ' This life ain't all beer and skittles.' Many
a time since I heard that anecdote — and I
heard it in Kevv Gardens, of all places in the
world — when I am disappointed sadly I say that
saw over, and console myself with it. I can't
expect to go thro' the world. Cutler, as I have
done : stormy days, long and dark nights are
before me. As I grow old 1 shant be so full of
animal spirits as I have been. In the natur of
things I must have my share of aches, and
pains, and disappointment, as well as others ; and
when they come, nothing will better help me to
bear them than that little, simple reflection of
the sailor, which appeals so directly to the heart.
Sam, this life aint all beer and skittles, that's
a fact."

UNLOCKING A WOMAN's HEART. 61

CHAITER III.

U of

ir of

and

le to
of
art.

UNLOCKING A WOMAN S UpART.

As we approached the eastern coast, " Eldad,'^
sais I, to the pilot, " is there any liarbour about
here where our folks can do a little bit of trade,
and where 1 can see something of * Fishermen
at home.' "

" We must be careful now how we proceed,
for if the ' Spitfire' floats at the flood, Captain
Stoker will try perhaps to overhaul us."

" Don't we want to wood and water, and
aint there some repairs wanting,'' sais I, and I
gave him a wink. " If so we can put into
port ; but I don't think we will attempt to fish
again within the treaty limits, for it's dangerous
work."

"Yes," sais he, touching his nose with the point
of his finger, " all these things are needed,

Mii;..

i I'

UNLOCKING A WOMAN S HEART.

and when they are going on, tlic mate and I
can attend to the business of the owners." He
then looked cautiously round to see that the
Captain was not within hearing.

"Warn't it the 'Black Hawk' that was
chased ?" said he. " I think that was our name
then."

" Whv, to be sure it was," said I.

"Well," sais he, "this is the 'Sary Ann,' of
New Bedford, now," and proceeding aft he
turned a screw, and I could hear a hoard shift in
the stern. " Do you mind that," said he : " well,
you can't sec it where you stand just now, at
present ; but the ' Sary Ann' shows her name
there, now, and we have a set of papers to
correspond. I guess the Britisher can't seize
her, because the * Black Hawk' broke the
treaty ; can he ?" And he gave a knowing jupe
of his head, as much as to say, aint that grand ?

" Now, our new Captain is a strait-laced sort
of man, you see ; but the cantin fellow of a
master you had on board before, warn't above a
dodge of this kind. If it comes to the scratch,
you must take the command again, for Cutler
won't have art nor part in this game ; and we
maybe reformed out afore we know where we are."

)

UNLOCKING A WOMAN S HEART.

in/ of

ft he

bift in

' well,

)w, at

name

s to

seize

the

jupe

sort

of a

ve a

tch,

tier

ire."

" Well," sais I, " there is no occasion, I
guess ; put us somewhere a little out of sight,
and we won't break the treaty no more. I
reckon the * Spitfire,' after all, would just as soon
be ill port as looking after us. It's small pota-
toes fur a man-of-war to be hunting poor
game, like us little fore and afters."

" As you like," he said, " but we are prepared,
you see, for the mate and men understand the
whole thing. It aint the first time they have
escaped by changing their sign-board."

" Exactly," said I, " a ship aint like a dog ;
that can only answer to one name, and ' Sary
Ann' is as good as the ' Black Hawk,' every
mite and morsel. There is a good deal of fun
in altering sign-boards. I recollect wunst,
when 1 was a boy, there was a firm to Slickville
who had this sign over their shop :
* Gallop and More,
Taylors.'
Well, one Saturday-night, brother Josiah and
I got a paint-brush, and altered it this way :
' Gallop and 8 More
Taylors
Make a man.'
" Lord, what a commotion it made. Next

1i'

UNLOCKING A WOMAN S HEART.

■ii'

day was Sunday ; and as the folks were going
to church, they stood and laughed, and roared
like anything. It made a terrible huUa-bulloo.

" ' Sam,' said Minister to me, * what in natur
is all that ondecent noise about, so near the
church-door.'

" I told him. It was most too much for him,
but he bit in his breath, and tried to look grave ;
but I see a twinkle in his eve, and the corner of his
mouth twitch, the way your eyelid does some-
times, when a nerve gets a dancing involuntarily.

" ' A very foolish joke, Sam,' he said ; ' it
may get you into trouble.'

" ' Why, Minister,' said I, * I hope you don't
think that — '

"'No,' said he, 'I don't think at all, I
know it was you, for it's just like you. But it's
a foolish joke, for, Sam :

"' Houor aud worth iVom no condition rise — '

" ' Exactly,' sais I.

•* ' Stitch well your part, there all the honor lies.'

" ' Sam, Sam,' said he, ' you are a bad boy,'
and he put on a serious face, and went in and
got his gown ready for service.

I ik

UNLOCKING A WOMAN S HEART.

land

" TIio * Sary Ann,' for the * Black Hawk,' " sais
I to mvsclf, " well that aint bad either ; but there
are more chests of tea and kegs of brandy, and
such like, taken rl^ht bv the custom-house
door at Halifax in loads of hay and straw, then
comes by water, just because it is the onlikeliest
way in the world any man would do it. But
it is only soukj of the Bay of Fundy boys that
are up to that dodge. Smugglers in general
hayen't the courage to do that. Dear me !" sais
I to myself, " when was there eyer a law that
couldn't be eyaded ; a tax that couldn't be
shuffled oif like an old slipper ; a prohibition
that a smuggler couldn't row right straight
throu'di, or a treaty that hadn't more holes in
it than a dozen supplemental ones could patch
up ? IVs a high fence that can't he scaled,
and a strong one that can't be broke down.
When there are accomplices in the house, it is
easier to get the door unlocked than to force
it. Receivers make smugglers. Where there
are not informers, penalties are dead letters.
The people here like to see us, for it is their
interest, and we are safe, as long as they
are friendly. I don't want to smuggle, for I
scorn such a pettifogin' business, as Josiah would

.11

UNLOCKING A WOMAN S HEART.

L t

call it ; but I must and will see how the thing
works, so as to report it to the President."

" Well, Eldad," sais I, " 1 leave all this to you.
I want to avoid a scrape if 1 can, so put us in a
place of safety and be careful how you proceed."

" I understand," said he. " Now, Mr.
Slick, look yonder," pointing towards the
shore. "What is that?"

" A large ship under full sail," said I, " but
it is curious she has got the wind off shore, and
just dead on end to us."

" Are you sure," said he, " it is a ship, for if
we get foul of her we shall be sunk in a
moment, and every soul on board perish."

" Is it a cruiser ?" sais I ; " because if it is,
steer boldly for her, and I will go on board of
her, and shew my commission as an officer of
our everlastin' nation. Captain," said I, " what
is that stranger?"

He paused for a moment, shaded his eyes
with his hand, and examined her. " A large,
square-rigged vessel," he said, " under a heavy
press of canvas," and resumed his walk on
the deck. .

After a while the pilot said : " Look again,
Mr. Slick, can you make her out now ?"

UNLOCKING A WOMAN S HEART.

" Why," sais I, " she is only a brigantinc ;
hut ask the skipper."

Hi3 took his glass and scrutinised her
closely, and as he replaced it in the binnacle
said : " We are going to have southerly weather
I think ; she loomed very large vvh(>n I first
saw iier, and I took her for a ship ; but now
she seems to be an hermophrodite. It's of* no
consequence to us, however, what she is, and
we shall soon near her."

" Beyond that vessel," said the pilot, " there is
a splendid harbour, and as there has been a head
wind for some time, I have no doubt there are
many coasters in there, from the masters of
whom you can obtain much useful information
on the object of your visit, while we can drive
a profitable trade among them and the folks
ashore. How beautifully these harbours are
situated," he continued, "for carrying on the
fisheries, and Nova Scotian though I be, I must
say, I do think, in any other part of the world
there would be large towns here."

" I think so too, Eldad," sais I " but British
legislation is at the bottom of all your mis-
fortunes, after all, and though you are as lazy as
sloths, and as idle as that fellow old Blowhard

tfi

UNLOCKING A WOMAN S II 12 ART.

saw, who lay down on the grass all day to watch
the vessels passing, and ohserve the motion ot"
the crows, the English, hy hreaking up your
monopoly of intcr-coloniai and West India trad(.'
and throwing it open to us, not only without an
equivalent, but in the face of our prohibitory
duties, arc the cause of all your poverty and
stagnation. They are rich, and able to act like
fools if they like in their own affairs, hut it was
a cruel thing to sacrifice you, as they have done,
and deprive you of the only natural carrying
trade and markets you had. The more I
think of it, the less I blame you. It is a
wicked mockery to lock men up, and then taunt
them with want of enterprise, and tell them they
arc idle.*'

"Look at that vessel again, Sir," said Eldad ;
" she don't make much headway, does she ?"

Well, I took the glass again and examined her
minutely, and I never was so stumpt in my life.

" Pilot," said I, " is that the same vessel?"

" The identical," said he.

" I vow to man," sais I, " as I am a livin'
sinner, that is neither a ship, nor a bri-
gantine, nor a hermophrodite, but a topsail
schooner, that's a fact. What in natur' is the

UNLOCKING A WOMAN S HEART

uu'iinlir of nil this ? Perhaps the Captain,
knows," so I calli'd him auain.

" Cutler, that vessel is transmngrafied again,"
sais I ; "look at her."

" Pooh," said \u\ " that's not the same vessel
at all. The two first we saw are hehind that
island. That one is nothing hut a coaster.
You can't tidve me in, Slick. You are always
full of your fun, and taking a rise out of some
one or another, and I shall he glad when we land,
you will then have some one else to practise on."

In a short time the schooner vanished, and its
place was suj)pli('d hy a remarkahle white cliff,
which from the extraordinary optical delusion it
occasions gives its name to tlu; nohle port which is
now called Ship Harhour. I have since men-
tioned this suhject to a numher of mariners,
and have never yet heard of a person who was
not deceived in a similar manner. As we passed
through the narrows, wc entered a spacious and
magniticent hasin, so completely land-locked
that a fleet of vessels of the largest size may
lay there unmoved by any wind. There is no
haven in America to be compared with it.

" You are now safe," said the pilot ; " it is
only twelve leagues from Halifax, and nobody

UNLOCKINT. A WOMAN'S HEART.

. t'

would think of looking for you horo. The fact
is, the nearer you hide the aafer you be^

" Exactly

iXaciiv, sais 1 ; *' what vou seek vou can t
tind, but wlicn you jiint looking for a thing, you
are sure; to stumble on it."

" If you ever want to run goods. Sir," said
lie, " the closer you go to the port the better.
Smugglers aint all up to this, so they seldom
a])proach tlie lion's den, but go farther and fare
worse. Now we may learn lessons from dumb
animals. They know we reason on ])robabilities
and therefore always do what is improbable,
We think them to be fools, but they know that
we are. The fox sees we always look for him
about his hole, and therefore he carries on his
trade as far from it, and as near the poultry
yard as possible. If a dog kills sheep, and
them Newfoundlanders are most uncommon
fond of mutton, I must say, he never attacks
his neighbour's flock, for he knows he would be
suspected and had up for it, but sets off at
nightj and makes a foray like the old Scotch on
the distant borders.

" He washes himself, for marks of blood is a
bad sign, and returns afore day, and wags his
tail, and runs round his master, and looks up

UNLOCKING A WOMAN S HEART.

lis a
his
up

into his tacu as innutrnt as you |)li'ast', as much
as to say, ' Squiiv, hurc 1 havn hccn watclnn ot'
your projKTty all this live lon<^ niglit, it's dread-
ful lonily work, 1 do assure you, and oli, how
glad I am to see the shine of your face this

murnm^.

" And the old boss pats his hciid, fairly took in,
and says, 'that's a good dog, what a taithl'ul honest
fellow you be, you are worth your weight in gold.'

" Well, the next time he goes off on a spree
in the same quarter, what does he see hut a
border dog strung up by the neck, wIkj has been
seized and condemned as many an innocent
fellow has been before him on circumstantial
evidence, and he laughs and says to himself,
' what fools humans be, thev don't know iialf
as much as we dogs do.' So he thinks it would
be as well to shift his ground, where folks ain't
on the watch for sheep stealers, and he makes a
dash into a flock still further off.

"Them Newfoundlanders would puzzle the
London detective police, I believe they are the
most knowin' coons in all creation, don't you ?"
" Well, they are," sais I, " that's a fact, and
they have all the same passions and feelings we
have, only they are more grateful than man is,

.^ mrv- A -

UNLOCKING A WOMAN S HEART.

"!S

and you can bv kindness lay one of them under
an oblifjation he will never forg-et as Ion;]: as he
lives, whereas an obligation scares a man, for he
snorts and stares at you like a horse at an engine,
and is e'en most sure to up heels and let you
have it, like mad. The only thing about dogs is,
they can't bear rivals, they like to have all atten-
tion paid to themselves exclusively, I will tell
you a story T had from a liritish Colonel.

" lie v>'as stationed in Nova Scotia, with his
regiment, when I was a venden of clucks there.
I met him to Windsor, at the Wilcox Inn. He
was mightily taken with my old horse Clay, and
offered me a most an cverlastia' long piice for
him ; he said if I would sell him, lie wouldn't
stand for money, for he nevtT see such an
animal in all his born days, and so on. !>ut old
Clay was above all price, his ditto was never
made yet, and I don't think ever will be. I had
no notion to sell him, and I told him so, ])ut
seein' he was dreadful disappointed, for a rich
Englishman actually thinks money will do any-
thing and get anything, I told him if ever I
parted with him, he should have him on con-
dition he \yould keep him as long he lived, and
so on.

UNLOCKING A WOMAN S HEART.

lever
bud

but
I rich
finv-
rcr I
con-

and

" Well, it piicilicd him iihit, and to turn the
conversation, sais I, ' Colonel ' sais I, 'what a
most an almighty overlastin' super superior
Newfoundier that is,' a pointin to his dog ;
* creation sais 1, ' it" I had a regiment of such
fellows, I believe I wouldn't he afraid of the
devil. My,' sais I, ' what a dog ; would you part
with him ? I'de give ;mythiiig for him.'

" I said that a purpose to shov; him I had as
good a right to keep my horse as he had his
long haired gentleman.

" ' No,' sais he, with a sort of half smile at
my ignorance in pokin' such a question at him,
(for a 13ritisher abroad thinks he has pri\'ilegos
no one else has,) ' no, I don't want to part with
him. I want to take him to England with me.
See, Ik; has all the marks of the true breed;
look at his beautiful broad forehead, what an in-
tellectual one it is, ain't it ? then see his delicate
mouse-like ears, just large enough to cover the
orifice, and that's all.'

" ' Orifice,' said I, for I hate fine words, for
common use, they are like go to meetin' clothes
on week days, onconvenient, and look too all fired
jam up. Sais I, * what's that when it's fried. 1
don't know that word ?'

VOL. I. . E

^gfatamaimmMtm

UNLOCKING A WOMAN S HEART.

t
'I

! i

! I

" ' Why, car hole/ said he.

" ' Oh,' sais I, simple like, ' 1 take now.'

" He smiled and went on. ' Look at the
blaek roof of his mouth,' said he, ' and do you
see the dew claw, that is a great mark ? Then
feel that tail, that is his rudder to steer bv when
swimming. It's different from the tail of other
dogs, the strength of that joint is suqjrising ;
but his chest, Sir, his chest, see how that is
fonnetl on purpose for diving. It is shaped in-
ternally like a seal's, and then, obseiTe the
spread of that webbed foot, and the power of
them paddles ; there are two kinds of them, the
short and the long haired, but I think those
shaggy ones are the handsomest. They are very
dilRcult to be got now of the pure breed. I
sent to the Bay of Bulls for this one. To have
them in health you must make them stiiy out of
doors in all weather, and keep tliem cool, and
above all not feed them too high. Salt fish
seems the best food for them, they are so fond of
it. Singular that, ain't it ? but a dog is natural.
Sir, and a man ain't.

" ' Now, you never saw a codfish at the table
of a Newfoundland merchant in your life. He
thinks it smells too much of the shop. In fact,

)

*i.

UNLOCKING A WOMAN S HEART.

able
He
ct,

]

in my opinion the dog is the only gentleman
there. The onlv one now that the Indian
is extinet, who has breeding and blood in that
land of oil, blubber and icebergs.'

" Lord, I wish one of them had been there
to have heard him, wouldn't he a harpooned him ?
that's all ? He made a considerable of a long yarn
of it, and as it was a trxt he had often enlarged
on, I thought he never would have ended,
but like other ])reachers when he got heated,
spit on the slate, rul) it all out and cypher it
over again. Thinks I to myself, I'll play you a
bit, mv bov.

" ' Exactly,' sais I, * there is the same dif-
ference in dogs and horses as there is in men.
Some are noble by nature, and some vulgar ;
each is known bv his breed.'

to'

" * True,' said he, ' very true,' and he stood up a
little straighter as if it did him good to hear a re-
l)ubliean say that, for his father was an Earl. ' A
very just remark,' said he, and he eyed me all over,
as if he was rather surprised at my penetration.

" ' But the worst of it,* sais I, ' is that a high
bred dog or horse, and a high bred man are only
good for one thing. A pointer will point — a blood
hor.s^'; run — a setter will set — a bull dog fight —

E 2

ff*^

UNLOCKING A WOMAN S HEART.

and a Newfoundlnnder will swim ; but what else
arc tliev u'ood for ? Now a duke is a duke, and
the (k'vil a tiling else. All you expect of him is
to act ;nid look like one ; (and I could point out
sojiif that even don't oven do that.) If he writes a
book, and I believe a Scotch one, by the help of
his tutor, did onc(,' ; or makes a speech, you say
come now, that is verv well for a duke, and so
on. Well a marq\iis ain't quite so high bred,
and lie is a little bi'tter, and so on, downwards ;
when you get to an earl, why, he may be good
Tor more things than one. I ain't quite sure a
cross ain't desireable, and in that way that you
coukhi't improve the intelligence of both horses,
nobI( men and dogs — don't you think so, Sir?'
sais J.

" ' It is natural for you,' said he, not liking
the smack of democracv that I threw in for fun,
and looking uneasy. ' So,' sais he. (by way of
turning the conversation) ' the sagacity of dogs
is very wonderful. I will tell you an anecdote
of this one that has surprised every body to
whom I have relat(.'d it.

" * Last summer my duties led me to George's
Island. I take it for granted you know it. It
is a small island situated in the centre of the

1 1

UNLOCKING A WOMAN S HEART.

'?'

lote
to

re's

Ithc

;

harl)(>ur of H.'ilifax, has a powerful battery on it,
and barracks for the accommodation of troops.
There was a company of my reuiment statiorK'd
there at the time. I took this dog and a small
terrier, called Tilt, in the boat with me. The
latter was a very active little fellow that the Ge-
neral liad given me a few weeks b(ifore. He was
such an amusing creature, that he soon becamti a
univcisal favorite, and was sutVered to come into
the house, (a privilege which was never grunted
to this gentleman, who paid no regard to the
appearance of his coat, which was often \vet and
dirty,) and who was therefon; exi^hided.

" ' The consequence was, Thun(hr was jealms,
md would not associate with liim, and if ever
he took anv libertv, he turned on hitn and
punished iiim severely. This, however, hi::
nevir pr 'sumed to do in niy presence, as he
knew I wuuld not suffer it, and, therefore,
when they both accompanied mo in my walks,
the bi^: i\ou: contented himself with treathiti:
the other with perfect indifference and contempt.
Upon tliis occasion, Thunder lay down in the
boat, and composed himself to sk'cp, while the
little fellow, who was full of life and animation,
and appeared as if he did not know what it was

[

lii

UiVLOCKING A WOMAN S HEART.

to close his eyes, sat up, looked over the
gunwale, and seemed to enjoy the thing
uncommonly. He watched the motions of the
men, as if he understood what was required of
them, and was anxious they should acquit
themselves properly.'

" ' He knew,' said I, ' it was what sailors call
the dog watch.'

" ' Very good,' said he, but looking all the
time as if he thought the interruption very bad.

" *' After having made my inspection, I re-
turned to the boat, for the purpose of recrossing
to the town, when I missed the terrier.
Thunder was close at mv heels, and when I
whistled for the other, waLrGred his tail and
looked up in my face, as if he would say, never
mind that foolish dog, I am here, and that is
enough, or is there anything you want me
to do.

" * After calling in vain, I went back to the
barracks, and inquired of the men for Tilt, but
no one appeared to have seen him, or noticed
his motions.

" ' After perambulating the little island in
vain, I happened to ask the sentry if he knew
where h€ was.

,>,

UNLOCKING A WOMAN S HEART

" ' Yos, Sir,' said he, ' ho is buried in the
beach.'

" ' Buried in the beach/ said I, with crrcat
anger, ' who dared to kill him ? Tell me, Sir,
immediately.'

" ' That large dog did it, Sir. He enticed
him down to the shore, by playing with him,
pretending to crouch, and then run after him ;
and then retreating, and coaxing him to chase
him ; and when he got him near the beach,
he throttled him in an instant, and then scratched
a hole in the shinide and buried him, covcrino:
him up with the gravel. After that, he vent
into the water, and with his paws washed his
head and face, shook himself, and went up to
the barracks. You will find the terrier just
down there, Sir.'

" ' And sure enough there was the poor little
fellow, quite dead, and yet w;u'm.

" * In the meantime, Thunder, who had
watched our proceedings from a distance, as
soon as he saw the body exhumed, felt as if
there was a court-martial holding over him-
self, plunged into the harbour, and swam across
to the town, and hid liimself for several days,
until he th(jught the aifair had blown over;

!^;

: \

UNLOCK IN(J A WOMAN S HEART.

and then approacluxl me anxiously and cautiously,
lest he should he apjwhended, aiul con-
demned. As I was unwillini!: to lost; hoth of
my (logs, I vvus obliged to ovf-rlook it, and take
him hack to my coniidence. A strange story,
aint it, Mr. Slick.'

" ' Well, it is,' sais 1, ' hut dogs do certainly
beat !ill natur, that's a fact.*

But to get hack to the ' Black Hawk :' as
soon as we anchored, I j)ro|)osed to Cutler that
vvc shoukl go ashore and visit the ' natives.'
While he was engag(!(l giving his orders to the
mate, I took the opportunity of inquiring of
the Pilot about the iiiliahitants. This is always
a necessary precaution. If you require light-
houses, buoys, and sailing directions to enter a
port, you want similar guides when you land.
The navigation there is ditHeult also, and it's a
great thing to know who you are going to meet,
what sort of stuff i\ui\ arc made of, and which
way to steer, so as to avoid hidden shoals and
sand-bars, for every little community is as full of
them as their harbour. It don't do, you know,
to talk torv in the house of a radical, to name
a bishop to a puritan, to let out agin smugglin'
to a man who does a little bit of business that

UNLOCKING A WOMAN S IIKART.

^^l

way himself; or, as the Fronch say, * to talk
of a rope in a house where the s(|uatter has been
hanged.' W you want to please a guest, \<

lease a guesc, you
must luive some of his tavouriti; dishes at
dinner for him; and if you v.ant to talk agree-
ably to a man, you must select topics he has a
relish for.

" So," sais I, " where had wc better go, Pilot
when we land ?"

"Do you see that arc white, ono-storv house
there ?" said he. " That is a place, though not an
inn, where the owner, if h(; is at homt;, will 5-e-
ceivc the likes of you very hospitably. lie is a
capital fellow in his way, but as hot as pep])er.
His name is Peter McDonald, and he is con-
siderable well to do in the world. He is a High-
lander ; and when young went out to Canada
in the employment of the North-west Fur Com-
pany, vrhere he spent many years, and married,
broomstick fashion, I suppose, a sq\iaw. After
her death, he removed, with his two half-caste
daughters, to St. John's, New Brunswick ; hut
his girls, I don't think, were very well received,
on account of their colour, and he came d(jwn
here and settled at Ship Harbour, where some
of his countrymen are located. He is as proud

E 3

f!]

1.1

UNLOCKING A WOMAN S HEART.

as lucilLT, and so arc his galls. Whether it is
thnt they have heen slighted, and revenge it on
all the rest of the world, I don't know ; or
whether it is lligliland and Indian pride mixed,
J aint sartitied ; hut they carry their heads high,
and show a stiff upper lip, I tell you. I (hm't
think you will get much talk out of them, for
1 ni'ver could."

"Well, it don't follow," said I, 'M)y no
manner of means, Eldad, hecausc they woukhi't
chat to you, tluit they wouldn't open their
little mugs to me. First and foremost recol-
lect Mr. Nickerson, you are a married man, and
it's no use for a gall to talk it into you ; and
then, in the next place, you see you know a
))laguey sight more ahout the shape, make, and
build of a craft like this, than you do about the
figure-head, waist, and trim of a gall. You are
a seaman, and I am a landsman ; you know,
how to bait your hooks for fish, and I know the
sort of tackle women will jump at. Sec if 1
don't set their clappers a going, like those of a
saw-mill. Do they speak English ?"

" Yes," said he, " and they talk Gaelic and
French also ; the first two they learned from
their father, and the other in Canada."

UNLOCKING A UOMAN S HEAUT.

.^.

•d

" An; tluiv i)n'ttv ?"

"The cMt'st is beautiful," said lie; "and
there is somethinL^ in her manner you can't help
thinking she is a lady, You ntnxT saw such a
beautit\d Hgure as she is in your life.'*

Thinks 1 to myself, " that's all vou know
about it, old boy." IVit I didn't say so, for 1 as
thinkinjj; of Sophy at the time.

We then pushed olf, and steered for Peter
McDonald's, Indian Peter, as the Pilot said th.e
tishermen called him. As we approached the
house he came out to meet us ; he was a short,
strong-built, athletic m:ui, and his step was as
springy as a boy's. H»' had a jolly, open, Uiiuily
face, but a quick, restless eye, and the general
expression of his countenance indicated, at once,
good nature, und irascibility of temper.

" Coot tay, shentlemen," he said, " she is glad
to see you ; come, walk into her own h(ni<e."
He recognised and received Eldad kindlv, who
mentioned our names and introduced us, and
he welcomed us cordially. As soon as we were
seated, according to the custom of the north-
west tradeis, he insisted upon our taking some-
thing to drink, and calling to his daughter
Jes§ic in Gaelic, he desired her to bring whiskey

IMAGE EVALUATION
TEST TARGET (MT-S)

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11.25

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i^ 12.2

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1.4 11.6

6" —

Photographic

Sciences
Corporation

23 WEST MAIN STREET

WEBSTER, N.Y. 145S0

(716) S73-4S03

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UNLOCKING A WOMAN S HEART.

and brandy. As I knew this was a request,
that on such an occasion could not be declined
without otfence, I accepted his offer with thanks,
and no little praise on the virtues of whiskey,
the principal recommendation of which, I said,
" was that there was not a headache in a hogs-
head of it."

" She believes so herself," he said, "it is
pctter ash all de rum, prandy, shin, and other
Yanke pyson in the States ; ta Yankies are
cheatin smu;j:G:lin rascalls."

The entrance of Jessie fortunately gave a
turn to this complimentary remark; when she
set down the tray, I rose and extended my hand
to her, and said in Gaelic, " Cair mur tha thu
mo gradh, (how do you do my dear), tha mi'n
dochas gam hiel thu slan, (I hope you are quite
well)."

The girl was amazed, but no less pleased.
How sweet to the ?r.r are the accents of the
paternal language, or the mother tongue as we
call it) for it is women who teach us to talk. It
is a bond of union 1 ^Vhocver speaks it, when
wc are in a land of strangers, is regarded as a
relative. I shall never forget when I was in the
bazaar at Calcutta, how my heart leaped at

UNLOCKING A WOMAN's HEART.

hearing the voice of a Connecticut man as he
was addressing a native trader.

" Tell you what, stranger," said he " I feel as
mad as a meat axe, and I hope I may he darned
to all darnation, if I wouldn't chaw up your
ugly mummyised corpse, hair, hide, and hoof,
this hlessed minute, as quick as I would mother's
dough-nuts, if I w^arn't afraid you'd pyson me
with your atimy, I'll be dod drotted if I
wouldn't."

Oh, how them homespun words, coarse as
they were, cheered my drooping spirits, and the
real Connecticut nasal twang with which they
were uttered sounded like music to mv ears ; how
it brought up home and far-oflF friends to my
mind, and how it sent up a tear of mingled joy
and sadness to my eye.

Peter was delighted. He slapped me on the
back with a hearty good will, in a way nearly to
deprive me of my breath, welcomed me anew,
and invited us all to stay with him while the
vessel remained there. Jessie replied in Gaelic,
but so rapidly I could only follow her with
great difficulty, for I had but a smattering of
it, though I understood it better than I could
speak it, having acquired it in a very singular

^'!

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ii;

UNLOCKING A WOMAN S HEART.

manner, as I will tell you by and bye. Offering
her a chair, she took it and sat down ul'ter some
hesitation, as if it was not her usual habit to
associate with her father's visitors, and we were
soon on very sociable terms. I asked the name
of the trading post in the north-west where
they had resided, and delighted her by informing
her I had once been there mvself on business of
John Jacob Astor's New York Fur Company,
and staid with the Governor, who was the friend
and patron of her father's. This was sufficient
to establish us at once on something like the
footing of old friends. When she withdrew,
Peter followed her out, probably to give some
directions for our evening meal.

" Well, well," said the Pilot, " if you don't
beat all ! I never could get a word out of that
girl, and you have loosened her tongue in rale
right down earnest, that's a fact."

" Eldad," sais I, " there is two sorts of
pilotage, one that enables you to steer through
life, and another that carries you safely along
a coast, and there is this difference between
them : This universal globe is all alike in a general
way, and the knowledge that is sufficient for
one country will do for all the rest of it.

UNLOCKING A WOMAN S HEART.

with some sli^iht variations. Now, voii mav bt"
a very good pilot on this coast, but your know-
ledge is no use to you on the shores of Eng-
land. A land pilot is a fool if he makes
shipwreck wherever he is, but the best of coast
pilots when he gets on a strange shore is as help-
less as a child. Now a woman is a woman all over
the world, whether she speaks Gaelic, French,
Indian, or Chinese ; there are various entrances to
her heart, and if you have experience, you have
got a compass which will enable you to steer
through one or the other of them, into the inner
harbour of it. Now, Minister used to sav that Eve
in Hebrew meant talk, for providence gave her the
power of chattyfication on purpose to take charge
of that department. Clack then you see is na-
tural to them, talk therefore to them as they like,
and they will soon like to talk to you. If a woman
was to put a Bramah lock on her heart, a skilful
man would find his way into it if he wanted to,
I know. That contrivance is set to a particular
word ; find the letters that compose it, and it
opens at once. The moment I heard the Gaelic,
I knew I had discovered the cypher — I tried
it and succeeded. Tell you ivhat, Pilot, love
and skill laugh at locks, for them that can't be

V 'i

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UNLOCKING A WOMAN S HEART.

Ill

Opened can be picked. The mechanism of the
human heart, when you thoroughly understand
it, is, like all the other works of nature, very
beautiful, very vwnderful, but very simple.
When it does not work well, the fault is not in
the machinery, but in the management.''

A CRITTUR WITH A THOUSAND VIRTUES. 89

If.

f the
Hand
very
mple,
ot in

CHAPTER IV.

A CRITTUR WITH A THOUSAND VIRTUES AND

BUT ONE VICE.

Soon after McDonald had returned and
resumed his seat, a tall thin man, dressed in a
coarse suit of liomcspun, entered the room, and
addressing our host familiarly as Squire Peter,
deposited in the corner a fishing-rod, and pro-
ceeded to discncumher himself of a large salmon-
basket apparently well filled, and also two wallets,
one of which seemed to contain his clothes, and
the other, from the dull heavy sound it emitted
as he threw it on the floor, some tools. He was
about forty years of age. His head, which was
singularly well formed, was covered with a
luxuriant mass of bushy black curls. His eyes

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•i

90 A CRITTUR WITH A THOUSAND VIRTUES

were large, deep set and intelligent, his forehead
expansive and projecting, and his eyebrows
heavy and shaggy. When addressing Peter he
raised them up in a peculiar manner, nearly to
the centre of his forehead, and when he ceased
they suddenly dropped and partially concealed
his eyes.

It was impossible not to be attracted by a
face, that had two such remarkable expressions ;
one of animation, amialjility, and intelligence ;
and the other of total abstraction. He bent
forward, even after he relieved himself of his
load, and his attitude and gait suggested the
idea of an American land-surveyor, who had
been accustomed to carry heavy weights in the
forest. Without condescending to notice the
party, further than bestowing on us a cursory
glance to ascertain whether he knew any of us,
he drew up to the chimney corner, and placing
the soles of his boots perpendicularly to the fire,
(which soon indicated by the vapour arising
from them, that he had been wading in water), he
asked in a listless manner and without waiting
for replies, some unconnected questions of the
landlord : as, " Any news, Peter ? how does the
world use you ? how are the young ladies ? how

ng
he

AND BUT ONE VICE.

is fish this season ? macarcl plenty ? any wrecks
this year, Peter, eh? any vessels sinking, and
dead men floating ; silks, satins, ribbons, and gold
watches waiting to be picked up ? Glorious coast
this ! the harvest extends over the whole year,"
and then he drew his hand over his face as if
to suppress emotion, and immediately relapsed
into silence and stared moodily into the fire.

Peter seemed to understand that no answer
was required, and therefore made none, but
asked him where he had come from ?

" Where did he come from ?" said the
stranger, who evidently applied the question to
a fish in his basket, and not to himself, " origi-
nally from the lake, Peter, where it was spawned,
and whither it annually returns. You ought to
understand that, Mac, for you have a head on
vour shoulders, and that is more than ialf the
poor wretches that float ashore here ti ;m the
deep have. It's a hard life, my friend, going to
sea, and hard shores sailors knock against some-
times, and still harder hearts thev often find
there. A stone in the end of a stocking is a
sling for a giant, and soon puts an end to their
sufferings ; a punishment for wearing gold
watches, a penalty for pride. Jolly tars, eh?

iii

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92 A ClUTTUR WITH A TIIOUSAMJ VIRTUES

oh yes, very jolly ! it's a jolly sight, aint it, to
see two hundred half-naki'd, mangled, and dis-
figured bodies on the beach, as I did the other
day?" and he gave a shudder at the thought
that seemed to shake the very chair he sat on.
" It's lucky their friem^j don't see them, and
know their sad fate. They were lost at sea !
that is enough for mothers and wives to hear.
The cry for help, when there is none to save,
the shriek of despair, when no hope is bft,
the half-uttered prayer, the last groan, and the
last struggle of death, are all hushed in the
storm, and weeping ^fiends know not what thev
lament."

After a short pause, he continued :
" That sight has most crazed me. What was
it you asked ? Oh, I have it ! you asked where
he came from ? BVom the lake, Peter, where
he was spawned, and where he returned, you
see, to die. You were spawned on the shores of
one of the bays of the Highlands of Scotland.
Wouldn't you like to return and lay your bones
there, eh ? From earth you came, to earth you
shall return. Wouldn't you like to go back
and breathe the air of childhood once more
before you die ? Love of home, Peter, is strong ;

AND BUT ONE VICK.

it is an instinct of nature; but, alas! the
world is a Scotchman's home — anywhere that
he can make money. Don't the mountains
with theii" misty summits appear before you
sometimes in ycur sleep? Don't you dream of
tlieir dark siiiidows and sunny spots, their
heathy slop.is and deep deep glens? Do you see
the deir grazin<r tlieie, and hear the bees hum
merrily as they I'cturn laden with honey, or the
grouse rise startled, and whirr away to hide itself
in its distant covert ? Do the dead ever rise from
their a;raves and inhabit ao-ain the little cottau:e
that looks out on the stormy sea ? Do you be-
come a child once more, and hear your mother's
voice, as she sings the little simple air that lulls
you to sleep, or watch with aching eyes for the
returning boat that brings your father, with
tlie shadows of evening, to his humble home ?
And what is the language of your dreams ? not
English, French, or Indian, Peter, for they have
been learned for trade or for travel, but
Gaelic, for that was the language of love. Had
you left home early, Mac, and forgotten its

words or its sounds,

from our memory

would you have heard it, and known it, and

had all trace of it vanished
as if it had never been, still

' 1'

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94 A CUITTUR WITH A THOUSAND VIRTUES

talked it in your dn^ams. Peter, it is the
voice of nature, and that is th(! voice of God !"

" She'll tell her what she treams (jf some-
times," said McDonald, " she tr(;ams of ta
mountain dew — ta clear water of life."

" I will be bound you do," said the Doctor,
" and I do if you don't, so, Peter, my boy, give
mc a glass ; it will cheer my heart, for I have
been too much alone lately, and have seen such
horrid sights, I feel dull. "

While Peter (who w^as a good deal affected
with this reference to his native land), was pro-
ceeding to comply with his request, he relapsed
into his former state of abstraction, and when
the liquor was presented to him, appeared al-
together to have forgotten that he had asked for it.

" Come, Toctor," said the host, touching
him on the shoulder, " come, take a drop of
this, it will cheer you up ; you seem a peg too
low to-day. It's the genuine thing, it is some
the Governor, Sir Colin Campbell, gave "me."

"None the better for that, Peter, none the
better for that, for the rich give out of their
abundance, the poor from their last cup and
their last loaf; one is the gift of station, the
other the sift of the heart."

t '

AND BUT ONli VICK.

[eir
md

[hi.)

" Iii(U'('(l then, she is mistfikcncd, man. It
was the gift of as true-hearted a Highlander as
{>ver hved. I went to see him latch , ahoiit a
grant of land. He was engaged writing at the
time, and an ofHcher was standing hy him for
orders, and sais he to me, ' my good friend,
eoidd voii eall to-morrow ? for I am very busy
to-day, as you see.' Well, I answered, him in
Gaelic that the wind was fair, and I was
anxious to go home, but if he would be at
leisure next week I would return again. Oh,
1 wish you had seen him, Doctor, when he
heard his native tongue. He threw down his
pen, jumped up like a boy, and took me by
the hand, and shook it with all his might,
' Oh,' said he, ' I haven't heard that for years ;
the sound of it does my heart good. You
must come again and see me after the st'^amer
has left for England. What can I do for you f
So I told him in a few words I wanted a grant
of two hundred acres of land adjoining this
place. And he took a minute of my name,
and of Ship Harbour, and the number of my
lot, and wrote underneath an order for the
grant. 'Take that to the Surveyor-General/
said he, ' and the next time you come to Halifax

'f h '

96 A CRITTUR WITH A THOUSAND VIRTUES

the grant will be ready for you.' Then he rang
the bell, and when the servant came, he ordered
him to fill a hamper of whiskey and take it
down to my vessel."

*' Did you get the grant ?" said the stranger.

" Indeed she did," said Peter, " and when she
came to read it, it was for five instead of two
hundred acres."

" Good !" said the other. " Come, 1 like
that. Fill me another glass and I will drink
his health."

" Well done, old boy !" said I to myself, " you
know how to carry your sentimentality to
market anyhow. Doctor, doctor ! So you are a
doctor," sais I to myself, " are you ? Well,
there is something else in you than dough pills,
and salts and senna at any rate, and that is
more than most of your craft have, at all
events. I'll draw you out presently, for I never
saw a man with that vein of melancholy in him,
that didn't like fun, providin' his sadness warn't
the effect of disease. So here's at you; I'll
make the fun start or break a trace, I know."

Cutler and I had been talking horse when
he came in ; a sort of talk I rather like myself,
for I consait I know a considerable some about

Ihen
self,
out

AND BUT ONE VICE.

it, and aint above getting a wrinkle from others
when I can. " Well," sais I, " Capting, we was
a talking about horses when the Doctor came

" Captain," said the Doctor, turning round
to Cutler, " Captain, excuse me, Sir, how did
you reach the shore ?"

" In the boat," said Cutler.

" Ah !" said the other with animation, " was
all the crew saved ?"

" We were in no danger whatever. Sir ; my
vessel is at anchor in the harbour."

" Ah," replied the Doctor, " that's fortunate,
very fortunate ;" and turned again to the fire,
with an air, as I thought, of disappointment, as
if he had expected a tale of horror to excite
him.

" Well, Mr. Slick," said the Captain, " let us
hear your story about the horse that had a
thousand virtues and only one vice."

At the sound of my name, the stranger gave
a sudden start and gazed steadily at me, his
eyebrows raised in the extraordinary manner
that I have described, something like the
festoon of a curtain, and a smile playing on
his face as if expecting a joke and ready to

VOL. I. F

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■I

98 A CRITTtR WITH A THOUSAND VIRTUES

enter into it, and enjoy it. All this I observed
out of the corner of my eye, without appearing
to regard him, or notice his scrutiny.

Sais I, " when I had my tea-store in Boston,
I owned the fastest trotting horse in the United
States; he was a sneezer, I tell you. 1 called
him Mandarin — a very appropriate name you
see for my business. It was very important for
me to attract attention. Indeed, you must do
it, you know% in our great cities, or you are run
right over, and crushed by engines of more
power. Whose horse is that ? Mr. Slick's
the great tea-merchant. That's the great
Mandarin, the fastest beast in all creation —
refused five thousand dollai's for him, and so on.
Every wrapper I had for my tea had a print of
him on it. It was action and reaction, you see.
Well, this horse had a very serious fault that
diminished his value in my eyes down to a
hundred dollars, as far as use and comfort went.
Nothing in the world could ever induce him to
cross a bridge. He had fallen through one
when he was a colt, and got so all-fired frightened
he never forgot it afterw^ards. He would stop,
rear, run back, plunge, and finally kick if you
hunished him too hard, and smash your waggon

AND BUT ONE VICE.

»/ 1

to pieces, but cross he never would. Nobody
knew this but me, and of course I warn't such
a tool as to blow upon my own beast. At last
1 grew tired of him and determined to sell him ;
but as I am a man that always adheres to the
truth in my horse trades, the difficulty was,
how to sell him and not lose by him. Well, I
had to go to Charleston, South Carolina, on
business, and I took the chance to get rid of
Mr. Mandarin, and advertised him for sale. I
worded the notice this way :

" ' A gentleman, being desirous of quitting
Boston on urgent business for a time, will dis-
pose of a tirst-rate horse, that he is obliged to
leave behind him. None need apply but those
willing to give a long price. The animal may
be seen at Deacon Seth's hvery stables.'

" Well, it was soon known that Mandarin
was for sale, and several persons came to know
the lowest figure. " ' Four thousand dollars,'
said I, ' and if I didn't want to leave Boston
in a hurry, six would be the price.'

" At last young Mr. Parker, the banker's son
from Bethany, called and said he wouldn't stand
for the price, seeing that a hundred dollars was
no more than a cord of wood in his pocket.

F 2

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100 A CRITTUR WITH A THOUSAND VIRTUES

(Good gracious, how the Doctor laughed at that
phrase !) but would like to inquire a little
about the critter, confidential like.

" * I will answer any questions you ask,' I
said, candidly.

" ' Is he sound ?'

" ' Sound as a new hackmetack trenail. Drive it
all day, and you can't broom it one mite or morsel.'

" ' Good in harness ?'

" * Excellent.'

" ' Can he do his mile in two fifteen ?'

" * He has done it.'

" ' Now between man and man,' sais he,
* what is your reason for selling the horse,
Slick ? for you are not so soft as to be tempted
by price out of a first chop article like that.'

" ' Well, candidly,' sais I, * for I am like a
cow's tail, straight up and down in my dealins,
and ambition the clean thing.' "

" Straight up and down !" said the Doctor
aloud to himself; " straight up and down like
a cow's tail. Oh Jupiter ! what a simile ! and
yet it aint bad, for one end is sure to be in the
dirt. A man may be the straight thing, that
is right up and down like a cow's tail, but hang
me if he can be the clean thing anyhow he can

f
I

AND BUT ONE VICE.

101

)ctor
like
and

the
Ithat
lang

can

fix it." And he stretched out his feet to their
full length, put his hands in his trovvsers pocket,
held down his head, and clucked like a hen that
is calling her chickens. I vow I could hardly
help hustin' out a larfin myself, for it warn't a
slow remark of hisn, and showed fun ; in fact,
I was sure at first he was a droll boy.

" Well, as T was a say in," sais I to Mr.
Parker, ' candidly, now, my only reason for
partin' with that are horse is, that I want to
go away in a hurry out of Boston clear down
to Charleston, South Carolina, and as I can't
take him with me, I prefer to sell him.'

" ' Well,' sais he, ' the beast is mine, and
here is a cheque for your money.'

" ' Well,' sais I, ' Parker, take care of him
for you have got a fust rate critter. He is all
sorts of a horse, and one that is all I have
told you, and more too, and no mistake.'

" Every man, that buys a new horse in a
general way, is in a great hurry to try him.
There is sumthin' very takin' in a new thing.
A new watch, a new coat, no, I reckon it's
best to except a new spic and span coat (for
it's too glossy, and it don't set easy, till it's worn
awhile, and perhaps I might say a new saddle,

I;!

102 A CRITTUR WITH A THOUSAND VIRTUES

\ii

for it looks as if you warn't used to ridin',
except when you went to Meetin' of a Sabbaday,
and kept it covered all the week, as a gall does
her bonnet, to save it from the flies ;) but a new
waggon, a new sleigh, a new house, and above
all a new wife, has great attractions. Still you
get tired of them all in a short while ; you
soon guess the hour instead of puUin' out the
watch for everlastin'. The waggon loses its
novelty, and so does the sleigh, and the house
is surpassed next month by a larger and finer
one, and as you can't carry it al)out to show
folks, you soon find it is too expensive to
invite them to come and admire it. But the
wife ; oh, Lord ! In a general way, there ain't
more diiference between a gmb and a butterfly,
than between a sweetheart and wife. Yet the
grub and the butterfly is the same thing, only
diff'erently rigged out, and so is the sweetheart
and wife. Both critters crawl about the house,
and ain't very attractive to look at, and both
turn out so fine, and so painted when they go
abroad, you don't scarcely know them agin.
Both, too, when they get out of doors, seem to
have no other airthly object but to show them-
selves. They don't go straight there, and back

^ ^1

AND BUT ONE VICE.

103

again, as if there was an end in view, but they
first flaunt to the right, and then to the left,
and tlien everywhere in general, and yet no-
where in particular. To be seen and admired
is the object of both. They are all finery, and
that is so in their way they can neither sit,
walk nor stand conveniently in it. They are
never happy, but when on the wing."

" Oh, Lord !" said the Doctor to himself,
who seemed to think aloud ; " I wonder if that
is a picture or a caricature ?"

Thinks I, " old boy, you are sold. I said
that a purpose to find you out, for I am too fond
of feminine gender to make fun of them. You
are a single man. If you was married, I guess
you wouldn't ask that are question."

But I went on. " Now a horse is different,
you never get tired of a good one. He don't
fizzle ouf* like the rest. You like him better
and better every day. He seems a part of
yourself; he is your better half, your ' halter
hego' as I heard a cockney once call his fancy
gall.

" This bein' the case, as I was a sayin', as

* Fizzle out. To prove a failure.

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104 A CRITTUR WITH A THOUSAND VIRTUES

soon as a man gits a new one, he wants to try
him. So Parker puts Mandarin into harness,
and drives away like wink for Sulom, but when
he came to the bridge, the old coon stopt,
put forward his ears, snorted, champed his bit
and stamped his fore feet. First Parker coaxed
him, but that did no good, and then he gave
him the whip, and he reared straight up on ecnd,
and nearly fell over into his waggon. A man
that was crossing over at the time, took him
by the head to lead him, when he suddenly
wheeled half round, threw him in the mud, and
dragged him in the gutter, as he backed up
agin the side walk all standin'. Parker then
laid on the whip, hot and heavy ; he gave him
a most righteous lickin'. Mandarin returned
blow for blow, until he kicked the waggon all
to flinders.

" Well, I must say that for his new owner,
he was a plucky fellow, as well as Mandarin,
and warn't agoin' to cave in that way. So he
takes him back to the livery stables, and puts
him into another carriage, and off he starts
agin, and thinkin* that the horse had seen or
smelt sumthen at that bridge to scare him, he
tries another, when the same scene was acted

AND BUT ONE VICE.

105

,'ner,
•in,
he
[puts
Itarts
or
I, he
Icted

over again, only he was throwcd out, and had
his clothes nearly tore off. Well, that after-
noon, up comes Parker to me, choking with rage.

'' ' Slick,' said he, * that is the greatest devil
of a horse I ever see. He has dashed two
carriages all to shivereens, and nearly tuckard the
innerds out of me and another man. I don't
think you have acted honestly hy me.'

" ' Parker,' said I * don't you use words that
you don't know the meanin' of, and for good-
ness gracious sake don't come to me to teach
you manners, I beseech you, for I am a rough
schoolmaster, I tell you. I answered every
question you asked me, candidly, fair and square,
and above board.'

" * Didn't you know,' said he, ' that no living
man could git that horse across a bridge, let
him do his darndest ?'

" ' I did,' said I, ' know it to my cost, for he
nearly killed me in a fight we had at the
Salem Pike.'

*' * How could you then tell me, Sir, your
sole reason for parting with him was, that you
wanted to leave Boston and go to Charleston ?'

" ' Because, Sir,' I replied, ' it was the literal
truth. Boston, you know as well as I do, is

F 3

)

106 A CRITTUR WITH A THOUSAND VIRTUES

almost an island, and go which way you will,
you must cross a bridge to get out of it. I
said 1 wanted to quit the city, and was com-
pelled to leave my horse behind. How could
I ever quit the place with that tormented beast ?
And warn't I compelled to leave him when Old
Seratcth himself couldn't make him obey orders ?
If I had a waited to leave town, till he would
cross a bridge, I should have had to have
waited till doomsdav/

" He scratched his head and looked foolish.
' What a devil of a sell,' said he. ' That will
be a standing joke agin me as long as I live.'

*' ' I don't sec that,' said I, ' if you had been
deceived, you might have called it a sell, but
you bought him with your eyes and ears open,
and a full knowledge of the truth. And, after
all, where will you go to better yourself? for
the most that can be said is, you have got a
crittur with a thousand virtues and hut one
vice'

'' ' Oh, get out !' said he, * and let me alone.'
And he walked off, and looked as sheepish as
you please."

" Oh dear !" said the Doctor ; " oh dear."
And he placed his hands on his ribs, and walked

AND UUT ONE VICE.

107

Led

round the room in ii bont position, like a man
atie(,'ted witli colic, and laughed as if he was
iiystcrical, saying, " Oh dear ! Oh, Mr. Slick,
that's a capital story. Oh, you would make a
new man of me soon, I am sure you would, if I
was any time with you. I haven't laughed before
that way for many a long day. Oh, it does me
good. There is nothing like fun, is there ? I
haven't any myself, but I do hkc it in others.
Oh, wc need it. We need all the counter-
weights we can muster to balance the sad rela-
tions of life. God has made sunny spots in
the heart ; why should we exclude the light
from them .^"

*' Stick a pin in that, Doctor," sais I, " for it's
worth rememberin' as a wise saw."

He then took up his wallet, and retired to
his room to change his clothes, saying to him-
self, in an under tone : " Stick a pin in it. What
a queer phrase ; and yet it's expressive, too. It's
the way I preser/e my insects."

The foregoing conversation had scarcely ter-
minated, when Peter's daughters commenced
their preparations for the evening meal. And
I confess I was never more surprised, than at
the appearance of the elder one, Jessie. In

I ;

':!!

1 II

« I t

■i ;i

|ir

■

108 A CRlTTUll WITH A THOUSAND VIRTUES

form and beauty sho far exceeded the Pilot's
high encomiums. She was taller than American
women generally are ; but she was so achnirably
proportioned, and well developed, you were not
aware of her heighth, till you saw her standing
near her sister. Her motions were all quiet,
natural, and graceful, Jind there was an air about
her, that nothing but the native ease of a child of
the forest, or high-bred elegance of fashionable life
can ever impart. She had the delicate hands,
and small feet, peculiar to Indian women. Her
hair was of the darkest and deepest jet, but not
so coarse as that of the aborigines ; whilst her
large, black eyes were oval in shape, liquid,
shaded by long lashes, and over-arched by
delicately-pencilled brows. Her neck was long,
but full, and her shoulders would have been
the envv of a London ball-room. She was a
perfect model of a woman.

It is true she had had the advantage, when
young, of being the companion of the children
of the Governor of the Fort, and had been
petted, partially educated, and patronised by his
wife. But neither he nor his lady could have
imparted what it is probable neither possessed,
much polish of manner, or refinement of mind .

;ill.

•

AND BUT ONE VICE.

109

We hear of nature's noblemen, but that means
rather manly, p*nerous, hr.ivc fellows, than pol-
ished men. There art», liowever, splendid speei-
mens of men, arid l)eautiful looking women,
among the aborigines. Extremes meet ; and it
is certain that the ease and graee of liighly civi-
lised life, do not surpass those of untutored na-
ture, that neither concedes, nor claims a superi-
ority to others. She was altogether of a different
stamp from her sister, who was a common-look-
ing person, and resembled the ordinary females
to be found in savage life. Stout, strong, and
rather stolid, accustomed to drudge and to obey,
rather than to be petted and rule ; to receive,
and not to give orders, and to submit from habit
and choice. One seemed far above, and the other
as much below, the station of their father. Jessie,
though reserved, would converse if addressed ;
the other shunned conversation as much as
possible.

Both father and daughters seemed mutually
attached to each other, and their conversation
was carried on with equal facility in Indian,
French, Gaelic, and English, although Peter spoke
the last somewhat indifferently. In the evening
a young man, of the name of Eraser, with his

vS\

i t !

^:::

irii

Hii

110 A CRITTUR WITH A THOUSAND VIRTUES

two sisters, children of a Highland neighbour,
came in to vieit the McDonalds, and Peter pro-
ducing his violin, we danced jigs and reels,
in a manner, and with a spirit not often seen
but in Ireland or Scotland. The Doctor, unable
to withstand the general excitement, joined
in the dances, with as much animation as
any of us, and seemed to enjoy himself amaz-
ingly.

" Ah, Mr. Slick," said he, patting me on the
shoulder, " this is the true philosophy of life.
But how is it with your disposition for fun,
into which you enter with all your heart, that
you have such a store of 'wise saws.' How in
the world did you ever acquire them ? for your
time seems to have been spent more in the active
pursuits of life, than in meditation. Excuse
me, I neither undervalue your talent nor power
of observation, but the union does not seem
quite natural, it is so much out of the usual
course of things."

" Well," sais I, " Doctor, you have been
enough in the woods to know that a rock,
accidentally falling from a bank into a brook, or
a drift-log catching cross vvays of the stream,
will often change its ^Yhole course, and give it

i')

I ■'!■

AND BUT ONE VICE.

Ill

been
'ock,
<, or
earn,
ve it

a different direction ; haven't you? Don't you
know that the smallest, and most trivial event,
often contains colouring matter enough in it to
change the whole complexion of our life ? For
instance, one Saturday, not long before I left
school, and when 1 was a considerable junk of a
boy, father gave me leave to go and spend the
day with Eb Snell, the son of our neighbour old
Colonel Jephunny Snell. We amused ourselves
catching trout in the mill-pond, and shooting
king-fishcrs, about the hardest bird there is to
kill in all creation, and between one and the
other sport, you may depend we enjoyed oui'selves
first-rate. Towards evenin', I heard a most an
awful yell, and looked round, and there was Eb
shoutin' and screamin' at the tip eend of his
voice, and a jumpin' up and down, as if he had
been bit by a rattlesnake.

" ' What in natur is the matter of you, Eb ?'
sais I. ' What are you a makin' such an
everlastin' touss about ?' But the more I asked,
the more he wouldn't answer. At last, 1
thought I saw a splash in the water, as if some-
body was making a desperate splurging there,
and I pulled for it, and raced to where he was
in no time, and sure enough there was his little

;

ii!i

112 A CRITTUR WITH A THOUSAND VIRTUES

brother, Zeb, just a sinkin' out of sight. So I
makes a spring in after him in no time,
caught him by the hair of his head, just as he
was vamosing, and swam ashore witli him. The
bull-rushes and long water-grass was considerable
thick there, and once or twice I thought in my
soul I should have to let go my hold of the
child, and leave him to save my own life, my feet
got so tangled in it ; but I stuck to it like a good
feUow, and worked my passage out with the
youngster.

" Just then, down came the women folk and
all the family of the Snells, and the old woman
made right at me, as cross as a bear that has
cubs, she looked like a perfect fiiry.

" * You good-for-nothin' young scallowag,'
said she, ' is that the way you take care of that
poor dear little boy, to let him fall into the
pond, and get half drowned ?'

"And she up and boxed my cars right
and left, till sparks came out of my eyes
like a blacksmith's chimney, and my hat
which was all soft with water, got the crown
knocked in, in the scuffle, and was as flat as a
pancake.

" ' What's all this,' sais Colonel Jephunny,

AND BUT ONE VICE.

113

I '

ny,

who came runnin' out of the mill. ' Eb,' sais
he, ' what's all this ?'

" Well, the critter was so frightened he
couldn't do nothin,' but jump up and down, nor
say a word, but, ' Sam, Sam !'

" So the old man seijes a stick, and catchin'
one of my hands in his, turned to, and gave me
a most an awful hidin'. He cut me into
ribbons a'most.

" * I'll teach you,' he said, * you villain, to
throw a child into the water artcr that fashin.*
And he turned to, and at it agin, as hard as he
could lay on. I believe in my soul he would
have nearly killed me, if it hadn't a been for a
great big nigger wench he had, called Rose.
My ! what a slashin' large woman, that was ;
half horse, half alligator, with a cross of the
mammoth in her. She wore a man's hat and
jacket, and her petticoat had stuff enough in it
to make the mainsail of a boat. Her foot was
as long and as flat as a snow shoe, and her
hands looked as shapeless and as hard as two
large sponges froze solid. Her neck was as
thick as a bull's, and her scalp was large and
woolley enough for a door-mat. She was as
strong as a moose, and as ugly too ; and her

1 14 A CRITTUR WITH A THOUSAND VIRTUES

great white pointed teeth was a caution to a
shark.

" ' Hullo/ sais she, ' here's the devil to pay,
and no pitch hot. Are you a goin' to kill that
boy, massa ?' and she seized hold of me and
took me away from him, and caught me up in
her arms as easy as if I was a doll.

" ' Here's a pretty hurrahs nest,' sais she, ' let
me see one of you dare to lay hands on this brave
pickininny. He is more of a man than the whole
bilin' of you put together. My poor child,'
said she, * they have used you scandalous, ridicu-
lous,' and she held down her nasty oily shiny
face and kissed me, till she nearly smothered
me. Oh, Doctor, I shall never forget that scene
the longest day I ever live. She might a been
Rose by name, but she warnt one by nature, I
tell you. When niggers get their dander raised,
and their ebenezer fairly up, they ain't otter of
roses, that's a fact ; whatever Mrs. Stowe may
say. Oh, I kicked and yelled and coughed
like anything.

" ' Poor dear boy,' she said, * Rosy ain't a goin'
to hurt her own brave child,' not she, and she
kissed me again, and again, till I thought I should
have fainted. She actually took away my breath.

AND BUT ONE VICE.

115

tter of
may

gom
d she
lould
reath.

■J

(( (

Come,' said she, and she set mo down on

my feet. ' Come to the house, till I put some
dry clothes on you, and I'll make some lasses
candy for you, with my own hands !' But as
soon as I touched land, I streaked otf for home,
as hard as I could lay legs to the ground ; hut
the perfume of old Rose set me a sneezing so,
I fairly hlew up the dust in the road, as I went,
as if a hull had heen pawin of it, and left a great
wet streak hehind me as if a w'atering pot had
passed that way. Who should I meet when I
returned, hut mother a standin at the door.

" ' Why, Sam,' said she, * what under the sun
is the matter ? What a spot of work ? Where
in the world have you heen ?'

*' 'In the mill pond,' said I.

" ' In the mill pond,' said she, slowly ; ' and
ruinated that heautiful new coat, I made out of
your father's old one, and turned so nicely for you.
You are more trouble to me than all the rest of the
boys put together. Go right oif to your room
this blessed instant minite, and go to bed and
say your prayers, and render thanks for savin'
your clothes, if you did lose your life.'

" ' I wish I had lost my life,' said I.

" * Wish you had lost your life ?' said she.

116 A CRITTUR WITH A THOUSAND VIRTUES

;, ?

^ ' I

lit

•^i

1 '

i;i
i

1 i

' Why you miserable, onsarcumsised, onjustified,
graceless boy. Why do you wish you had lost
your life ?'

" ' Phew, phew,' said I, ' was you ever kissed
by a nigger ? because, if you was, I guess you
wouldn't have asked that are question,' and I
sneezed so hard I actually blew down the wire
cage, the door flew open, and the cat made a
spring like wink and killed the canary bird.

" * Sam, Sam,' said she, (' skat, skat, you
nasty devil, you — you have got the knary, I do
declare.) Sam ! Sam ! to think I should have
lived to hear you ask your mother if she had
ever been kissed by a nigger !' and she began
to boohoo right out. * I do believe in my soul
you are drunk, Sam,' said she.

" * I shouldn't wonder if I was,' said I, * for I
have drunk enough to day to serve a cow and a
calf for a week.

" * Go right off to bed ; my poor dear bird,' said
she. *And when your father comes in I will send
him to your cage. You shall be punished for this.'

" ' I don't care,' sais I, for I was desperate
and didn't mind what happened ' who you send,
providin' you don't send black Rose, the nigger
wench to me.'

AND BUT ONE VICE.

117

" Well, in about an hour or so, I heard
father come to the foot of the stairs and call
out * Sam.' I didn't answer at first, but
went and threw the winder open ready for a
jump.

" Thinks I, ' Sam, you arc in great luck to-
day. 1st. You got nearly drowned, savin' that
little brat Zeb Snell. 2nd. You lost a bran
new hat, and spoilt your go to meetin' clothes.
3rd. Mrs. Snell boxed your ears till your eyes
shot stars, like rockets. 4th. You got an all-
fired licking from old Colonel Jephunny, till he
made a mulatto of you, and you was half black
and half white. 5 th. You got kissed and
pysoned by that great big emancipated she-
nigger wench. 6th. You have killed your
mother's canary bird, and she has jawed you till
she went into hysterics. 7th. Here's the old
man a goin' to give you another walloping and
all for nothin. I'll cut and run, and dot drot
me if I don't, for it's tarnation all over.'

" * Sam,' sais father again a raisin' of his voice.

" * Father,' sais I, ' I beg your pardon, I am
very sorry for what I have done, and I think I
have been punished enough. If you will pro-
mise to let me off this time, I will take my

•

118 A CRITTUR WITH A THOUSAND VIRTUES

oath I will never save another person from
drowning again, the longest day I ever live.'

" ' Come down,' said he, * when I tell you, I
am goin' to reward you.'

" ' Thank you,' sais I, ' I have been rewarded
already more than I deserve.'

" Well, to make a long story short, we con-
cluded a treaty of peace, and down I went, and
there was Colonel Snell, who said he had drove
over to beg my pardon for the wrong he had
done to mo, and said he ' Sam, come to me at
ten o'clock on Monday, and I will put you in a
way to make your fortune, as a recompense for
saving my child's life.'

" Well, I kept the appointment, tho' I was
awful skared about old Rose kissin of me again ;
and sais he, * Sam, I want to show you my
establishment for making wooden clocks. One
o' them can be manufactured for two dollars,
scale of prices then. Come to me for three
months, and I will teach you the trade, only
you musn't carry it on in Connecticut, to
undermine me.' I did so, and thus accidentally
I became a clockmaker,

" To sell my wares I came to Nova Scotia.
By a similar accident I met the Squire in this

AND BUT ONE VICE.

119

my
One

hilars,
three
only
to
1 tally

province, and made his acquaintance. I
wrote a journal of our tour, and for want of a
title he put my name to it, and called it ' Sam
Slick, the Clockmaker.' That book introduced
me to General Jackson, and he a])pointed me
attache to our embassy to England, and that
again led to Mr. Polk making me Commis-
sioner of the Fisheries, which, in its turn, was
the means of my having the honour of your
acquaintance," and I made him a scrape of my
hind leg.

" Now," sais I, " all this came from the acci-
dent of my havin' saved a child's life, one day.
I owe my ' wise saws' to a similar accident. My
old master, and friend, that you have read of in
my books, Mr. Hopewell, was chock full of
them. He used to call them wisdom boiled
down to an essence, concretes, and I don't know
what all. He had a book full of English,
French, Spanish, Italian, German, and above all,
Bible ones. Well, he used to make me learn
them by heart for lessons, till I was fairly sick
and tired to death of 'em.

" ' Minister,' sais I, one day, * what under
the sun is the use of them old, musty, fusty
proverbs. A boy might as well wear his father's

k 1

120 A CRITTUR WITH A THOUSAND VIRTUES

boots, and ride in his long stirups, as talk in
maxims, it would only set other boys a laughin*
at him.'

(( (

now
gramm

Sam,' sais he, * you
and you don't

m't understand them
understand your Latin

[ir, tho' you can say them both off by
heart. But you will see the value of one when
you come to know the world, and the other,
when you come to know the language. The
latter will make you a good scholar, and the
former a wise man.'

" Minister was right, Doctor. As I camr.
to read the book of life, I soon began to
understand, appreciate, and apply my proverbs.
Maxims are deductions ready drawn^ and better
expressed than I could do th^m, t ) save my
soul alive. Now, I have larncd to make them
myself. I have acquired the habit, as my
brother, the lawyer, sais, * of extracting the
principle from cases.' Do you take? I am
not the accident of an accident ; for I believe
the bans of marriage were always duly published
in our family ; but I am the accident of an in-
cident."

"There is a great moral in that, too, Mr.
Slick," he said. " How important is conduct,

A CRITTUR WITH A THOUSAND VIRTUES. 121

when the merest trifle may carry in its train
the misery or happiness of your future life."

" Stick a pin in that also, Doctor," said I.

Here Cutler Jind the Pilot cut short our conver-
sation by going on board. But Peter wouldn't
hear of my leaving his house, and I accordingly
spent the night there, not a little amused with
my new acquaintances.

my
the
am
^lieve
bshed
In in-

Mr.
luct,

VOL. I.

122

A NEW WAY TO LEARN GAEMC.

CHAPTER V.

A NEW WAY TO LEARN GAELIC.

After the Captain and the Pilot liad retired
sais I, " Miss Jessie, sposin we young folks —
(ah, me, it is time to get a new word, I guess,
for that one has been used so long, it's e'en
amost worn out now) — sposin we young folks
leave the Doctor and your father to finish their
huntin' stories, and let us go to the other room,
and have a dish of chat about things in general,
and sweethearts in particular."

" Oh, we live too much alone here," said
she, " to know anything of such matters, but
we will go if you will promiso to tell us one of
your funny stories. They say you have written
a whole book full of them ; how I should like
to sec it."

)

A NKW WAY TO LKAHN GAELIC. 123

retired
folks-
guess,
t's e'en
,2 folks
&h their
[ room,
general,

," said
|rs, but

one of
Ivvritten
lid like

"Would you, Miss?" said I, "well, then,
you shall have one, for I have a copy on hoard
I ht'licve, and I shall hi' only too proud if you
will read it to rcnu nihcr nie hv. lUit niv best
storit'S ain't in nn l)0()ks. Somehow or another,
when I want them they won't come, and at
other times when I get a goin talkin, I can
string them together like onions, our after
the other, till the twine is out. I have a heap
of them, hut they are all mixed and confused
like in my mind, and it seems as if I never
could find the one I need. Do vou work in
worsted, Miss ?"

" Well, a little," sais she. " It is only town-
bred girls, who have nothing to attend to hut
their dress, and to go to balls, that have leisure
to amuse themselves that way ; but I can work
a little, though I could never do juiythin' fit to
be seen or examined."

" I shouldn't wonder," said I, and I j)aused,
and she looked as if she didn't over half like
my taking her at her word that way. " I
shouldn't w^onder," said I, " for I am sure your
eyes would fade the colour out of the worsted."

" Why, Mr. Slick," said she, drawing herself

G 2

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I'Ji

Ji,

I '1 M

I |i»il

124

A NEW WAY TO LEARN GAELIC.

up a bit, " what nonsense you do talk, what a
quiz you be."

" Fact," sais I, " Miss, 1 assure you, never
try it again, you will be sure to spoil it. But
as I was a savin. Miss, when you see a thread of
a particular colour, you know whether you have
any more like it or not, so when a man tells
me a story, I know whether I have one of the
same kind to match it or not, and if so, I know
where to lay my hand on it ; but I must have
a clue to my yarns."

Squire, there is something very curious about
memory, I don't think there is such a thing as
total forge tfulness. I used once to think there
was, but I don't now. It used to seem to me
that things rusted out, but now it appears as
if they were only misplaced, or overlaid, or
stowed away like where you can't find them ;
but depend on it, when once there, they remain
for ever. How often you are asked, " Don't you
recollect this or that ?" and you answer, " No,
I never heard, or saw it, or read it," as the case
may be. And when the time, and place, and
circumstances are told you, you say, " Stop a
bit, I do now mind something about it, vvarn't

1'
-If ■'

hat a

never
But

•ead of
11 have
n tells
of the
[ know
;t have

s ahout
^ing as
there
to me
lears as
laid, or
them ;
remain
|n't you
"No,
e case
le, and
Stop a
vvarn't

A NEW WAY TO LEARN GAELIC. 125

it so and so, or this way, or that way," and
tinally up it comes, all fresh to your recollection.
Well, until you get the clue given you, or the
key note is struck, you are ready to take your
oath you never heard of it afore. Memory has
many cells. Some of them ain't used much,
and dust and cobwebs get about the.m, and
you can't tell where the hinge is, or can't easily
discarn the secret spring; but open it once,
and whatever is stowed away there is as safe
and sound as ever. I have a good many
capital stories poked away in them cubby-holes,
that I can't just lay my hand on when I want
to ; but now and theii, when looking for some-
thing else, I stumble upon them by accident.
Tell you what, as for forgettin' a thing tee-
totally, I don't believe there is sich a thing in
natur. But to get back to my story.

" Miss," sais I, " I can't just at this present mo-
ment call to mind a story to please you. Some of
them are about bosses, or clocks, or rises taken out
of folks, or dreams, or courtships, or ghosts, or
what not ; but few of them will answer, for they
are either too short or too long."

*' Oh," says Catherine Fraser, " tell us a court-
ship ; I dare say you will make great fun of it."

126

A NEW WAY TO LEARN GAELIC.

f J

" No, no," says Jessie, " tell us a ghost story.
Oh ! I delight in them."

" Oh," said Janet, " tell us about a dream. I
know one myself which came out as correct
as provin' a sum."

" That's it, Miss Janet," said I ; "do you
tell me that story, please, and it's hard if I can't
find one that will please you in return for
it."

" Yes, do, dear," said Jessie ; " tell Mr.
Slick that storj", for it's a true one, and I should
like to hear what he thinks of it, or how he can
account for it."

" Well," said Janet, " you must excuse
me Mr. Slick, for any mistakes I make,
for I don't speak very good English, and I
can hardly tell a story all through in that
language.

" I have a brother that lives up one of the
branches of the Buctouche River in New Bruns-
wick. He bought a tract of land there four or five
years ago, on which there was a house and barn,
and about a hundred acres of cleared land. He
made extensive improvements on it and went
to a great expense in clearing up the stumps,
and buying stock and farming implements, and

A NEW WAY TO LEARN GAELIC.

127

story.

im. I

correct

do you
I can't
irn for

3II Mr.
. should
' he can

excuse
make,
and I
I in that

of the
Bruns-
\x or five
id barn,
Id. He
id went
jstumps,

its, and

what not. One season, between plantin' and
harvest, he run short of money for his common
daily use, and to pay some little debts he owed,
and he was very dull about it. He said he
knew he could come here and borrow it from
father, but he didn't like to be awav from home
so Ion":, and hardiv knew how the family was
to get on or to pay the wages till his return, su
it was afi'recd that I w^as to iro the next Monday
in a vessel bound for Halifax and bring him
what he wanted.

" At that time, he had a fu'ld back in the
woods he was cultivating. Between that and
the front on the river, was a poor sand dat
covered with spruce, birch and poplar, and not
worth the expense of bringing to for the plough.
The road to the back tield ran through this wood
land. He was very low-spirited about his situation,
for he said if he was to borrow the money of a
merchant, he would require a mortgage on his
place, and perhaps sell it before he knew where
he was. Well, that night he woke up his wife,
and said to her.

" ' Mary,' said he, * I have had a very curious
dream just now. I dreamed that as I was
going out to the back lot with the ox-cart, I

; I

128

A NEW WAY TO LEARN GAELIC.

I r-'

I J

! \v

found a large sum of money all in dollars in
the road there.'

" ' Well,' says Mary, ' I wish it was true,
John, but it is too good news for us. The
worriment we have had about money lately
has set you a dreaming. Janet sails on
Monday, she will soon be back, and then it will
all be right ; so go to sleep again, dear.'

" Well, in the morning, when he and his
wife got up, he never spoke or thought any
more about the dream, but as soon as breakfast
was over, he and his man yoked up the oxen,
put them to the cart, and lifted the harrow into
it, and started for the field. The servant drove
the team, and John walked behind with his
head down, a turning over in his mind whether
he couldn't sell something off the farm to keep
matters a-goin' till I should return, when, all
at once as they were passing through the wood,
he observed that there was a line of silver dollars
turned up by one of the wheels of the cart, and
continued for the space of sixty feet and then
ceased.

" The moment he saw the money, he thought
of his dream, and he was so overjoyed that he
was on the point of calling out to the man to

A NEW WAY TO LEARN GAELIC.

]-29

ars m

J true,

The

lately

lis on

, it will

,nd his
ht any
-eakfast
; oxen,
ow into
t drove
th his
hether
keep
len, all
wood,
dollars
irt, and
d then

houghfc
that he
tan to

stop, but he thought it was more prudent as
they were alone in the woods to say nothinjj^

d ioined th(

about it. So he walked on, ana jomeci nie
driver, and kept him in talk for a while. And
then, as if he had suddenly thouLiht of somi--
thing, said, ' Jube, do you proceed to the ivAd
and go to work till I eome. I sliall have to go
to th(; house for a short time.'

" Well, as soon as he got out of sight of
the cart, off he ran home as hard ;;s he could
lay legs to it, only stopping to take up a hand-
ful of the coins to make sure thev wore
real.

" ' Marv, Marv,' sais he, ' the d:'eam has
come true : I have found the money — see hci'e
is some of it ; there is no mistake ;' and he
threw a few pieces down on the hearth and
rung them. ' They are genuine Spanish crowns.
Do you and Janet bring the market-basket,
while I go for a couple of hoes, and let us
gather it all up.'

" Well, sure enough, when we came to the
place he mentioned, there was tlie wheel-tr;iek
full of dollars. He and I hoed each side of the
rut, which seemed to be in a sort of yellow
powder, like the dust of rotten wood, and got

; M

■i» — »w^ ^W J T^ ■■■W-

130

A NEW WAY TO LEARN GAELIC.

1 < J • ,

t' i

■i !:

ti'

'!i

out all wc could find. We afterwards tried
.under the opposite wheel, and behind and before
the rut, but could find no more, and when we
got home we counted it, and found we had
eighty-two pounds, five shillings.

" ' Well, this is a God send, Mary, aint it ?'
said brother; and she threw her arms round
his neck, and cried for joy as she kissed him."

" Which way," said I, " show me. Miss, how
she did it, only you may laugh instead of cry,
if you like."

"Not being a wife," said she, with great
quickness, " I cannot show you myself, but you
may imagine it; it will do just as well, or dream
it, and that will do better.

" Well, John was a scrupulous man, and he
was determined to restore the money, if he could
find an owner for it ; but he could hear of no
one who had lost any, nor any tradition in
that place that any one ever hi\.\ done so since
the first settlement of the c:)untrv. All that

•r'

he could disco^'cr was, that about forty vears
before, an old Frenchman had lived somewhere
thereabouts alone, in the midst of the woods.
Who he was, or what became of him, no-
body knew ; all he could hear was, that a party

■i

A NEW WAY TO LEARN GAELIC.

131

i tried
before -
len we
^e had

int it ?'

round

him."

ss, how

of cry,

1 great
but vou
r dream

aud he
[G could
lir of no
ition in
50 since
Jl that
tv vears
icwhere

woods.
|m, no-

a party

of lumbermiiu had, some years afterwards,
found his house amidst a second growth of
young vvoi)d, that wholly concealed it, and
that it contained his furniture, cooking utensils,
and trunks, as ho had left thcni. Some
supposed he had been devoured by bears or
wolves ; others, that h(; had been lost in the
woods ; and some, that he had died by his own
hands.

" On hearing this, John went to examine his
habitation, or the remains of it, and he found
that about four acres around it were covered
Vv'ith the seeond growth, as it is called, wliieli
was plainly to be distinguished from tlie forest,
as the trees were not only not so large, or so
old as the neighbouring ones, but, as is always
the case, were of a different descri[)tion of wood
altogether. On a careful inspection of the spot
where he found the money, it appeared that the
wheel bad passed lenghtways along an enormous
old decayed pine, in the hollow of which he
supposed the money must have been hid ; and
when the tree fell, the dollars had rolled aLnig
its centre fiftv feet or more, and remained there
until the w^ood was rotten, and had crumbled
into dust.

I ' <;i

I'-'-

132

A NEW WAY TO LEARN GAELIC.

" There, Sir, there is my story ; it is a true
one, I assure you, for I was present at the time.
What do you think of it ?"

" Well," sais I, " if he had never heard a
rumour, nor had any reason to suppose that the
money had heen hid there, why it was a
singular thing, and looks very much hkc a — "

" Like a what," said she.

" Like a supply that one couldn't count upon
a second time, that's all."

"It's a dream that was fulfilled, though,"
she said ; " and that don't often happen, does
it ?"*

" Unless," sais I, " a young lady was to
dream now, that she was a going to be married
to a certain person, and that does often come
true. Do you — "

" Oh, nonsense," said she. " Come, do
tell us your story now, you know you promised
me you would, if I related mii)e."

" Yes," said Miss Jessie ; *' come now, Mr.
Slick, that's a good man, do ?"

* The names of the ])crsons and river are alone
changed in this cxtraordiiiiu-y story. The actors are
still living, and are persons of undoubted veracity and
respectability.

A NEW WAY TO LEARN GAELIC. 133

a true
; time.

?ard a
lat the
svas a

t upon

ough,"
1, does

as to
larried
come

10, do
miscd

vv, Mr.

e alone
ors are
ity and

Sals I, " Miss, I will give you my book
instead, and that will tell vou a hundred of
them."

" Yes, hut when will you give it to me ?"
she replied.

" To-morrow," said I, " as soon as I go
on hoard. But mind, there is one condition."
And 1 said in Gaelic : ' Feumleth t/iu pog
tlioir dhomh cur a shon, (you must give me
a kiss for it.")

" Oh," siiid she, lookin' not over pleased, I
consaited ; but, ju-rhaps, it was because the other
uirls lauu'iied liked anvthinir, as if it was a
capital joke, " that's not fair, you said you would
give it, and now you want to sell it. If that's
the case 1 will pay the money for it."

"Oh, fie," sais I, " Miss Jessie."

" Well, I want to know !"

" No, indeed ; what I meant was to give
you that book to remember me by when I am
far away from here, and I wanted you to give
me a Uttle token, O do hhiiean hoidheach
(from your pre tty lips,) that T should remember
the longest dav I live."

" You mean that you would go away, laugh,
and forget right off. No, that won't do, but if

1^1

1 !

i! r
I

1- «

i* 111

h t"

f. ,
■

i,,!!

1'!

ii:

134

A NEW WAY TO LEARN GAELIC.

you must have a token I will look up some
litthi kocpsake to exchange for it. Oh, dear,
what a horrid idea," she said, quite scorney like,
" to trade for a kiss ; it's the way father buys his
fish, he gives salt for them, or tluur, or some
such barter, oh, Mr. Slick, I don't think much
of you. But for goodness gracious sake how
did you learn Gaelic '?"

" From lips, dear," said I, " and that's the
reason I shall never forget it."

" No, no," said she, " but how on earth did
you ever pick it up."

" I didn't pick it up, Miss," said I, " I kissed
it up, and as you want a story I might as well
tell you that as any other."

" It depends upon what sort of a story it
is," said she, colouring.

" Oh, yes," said the Campbell girls, who
didn't appear quite so skittish as she was, " do
tell us, no doubt you will make a funny one
out of it. Come, begin."

Squire, you are older than I be, and I
suppose you will think all this sort of thing is
clear sheer nonsense, but depend upon it a kiss
is a great mystery. There is many a thing we
know, that we can't explain, still w^e are sure it

A NEW WAY TO LEARN GAELIC.

135

md I

ing is
kiss

IS a fact for all tiiat. Why should there be a
sort of magic in shaking hands, which seems
only a mere form, and sometimes a painful one
too, for some folks wring your fingers off amost
and make you fairly dance with pain, they hurt
you so. It don't give much pleasure at any
time. What the magic of it is, wc can't tell,
but so it is for all that. It seems onlv a custom
like bowing and nothing else, still there is more
in it than meets the eye. But a kiss fairly elec-
trifies you, it warms your blood and sets your
heart a beatin' like a brass drum, and makes
vour eves twinkle like stars in a frostv ni";ht.

«r » ft O

It tante a thing ever to be forgot. No lan-
guage can express it, no letters will give the
sound. Then what in natur is equal to the
flavour of it ? What an aroma it has ! How
spiritual it is. It ain't gross, for you can't feed
on it, it don't cloy, for the palate ain't required
to test its taste. It is neither visible, nor tan-
gible, nor portable, nor transfcraljle. It is not
a substance, nor a liquid, nor a vapor. It has
neither colour nor form. Imagination can't con-
ceive it. It can't be imitated or forced. It is
confined to no clime or country, but is ubiquitous.
It is disembodied when completed, but is instantly

136 A NEW WAY TO LEARN GAKIJC.

m i;|

. I*.

reproduced and so is immortiil. It is as old as
the creation and yet is as young and tVesh as
ever. It pre-existed, still exists, and always
will exist. It pervades all natur. The lireeze as
it passes kisses the rose, and the pendant vine

isses
own

and hides with its t;n(h-ils its

stoops

blushes, as it kisses the limj)i(l stream that
waits in an eddy to meet it, and raises its tiny
waves, like anxious lips to receive it. Depend
upon it Ev(! learned it in Paradise, and was
taught its beauti(\s, virtues and varieties by an
angel, there is something so transcendent in it.
How it is adapted to all circumstane(!S !
There is the kiss of welcome and of parting, the
long-lingering, loving present one, the stolen
or the mutual one, the kiss of love, of joy,
and of sorrow, the seal of promise, and the re-
ceipt of fultilment. Is it strange therefore that
a woman is invincible whose armoury consists of
kisses, smiles, sighs, and tears ? Is it any
wonder that poor old Adam was first tempted,
and then ruined ? It is vei y easy for preachers
to get up with long laces, and tell us he ought
to have been more of a man. My opinion is,
if he had been less of a man, it would have
been better for him. But I am not agoin' to

■a

A NEW WAY TO LKARN (iAKLIC.

13'

U tlU!

stolen

K' re-
thiit
sts of
any
nptcd,
chers

preach ; so 1 will get buck to my story ; but,
Squire, I shall always maintain to my flying
day, that kissing is a sublime mystery.

"Well," sais I, "ladies, I was Ijronghten up
to home, on my father's farm, and mv edeca-
cation, what little 1 had of it, 1 got from the
Minister of Slickville, Mr. Joshua Hopewell,
who was a friend of my father's, and was one
of the best men, I believe, that ever lived. He
was all kindness, and all gentleness, and was,
at the same time, one of the most learned men
in the United States. He took a great fancy
to me, and spared no pains with my schooling,
and I owe everything T have in the world to
his instruction. I didn't mix much with other
boys, and, from living mostly with people older
than myself, acquired an old-fashioned way
that I have never been able to shake off yet ;
all the boys called mc * Old Slick.' In course,
1 didn't l(!arn much of life that way. All 1
knew about the world beyond our house and
hisin, was from books, and iVom hearing him
talk, and he convarsed better than any book I
ever set eyes on. Well, in course I grew up
unsophisticated like, and I think I may say I
was as innocent a young man as ever you see."

nM»^^M»i^w

i< 1

138 A NEW WAY TO LEARN GAELIC.

Oh, how they all laughed at that ! " You
ever innocent !" said they. " Come, that's
good ; we like that ; it's capital ! Sam Slick
an innocent boy ! Well, that must have been
before you were weaned, or talked in joining
hand, at any rate. How simple we are, ain't
we ?" and they laughed themselves into a hoop-
ing-cough amost.

" Fact, Miss Janet," said I, " I assure you,"
(fur she seemed the most tickled at the idea of
any of them,) " 1 was, indeed. I won't go for
to pretend to say, some of it didn't rub off
when it became dry, when I was fishing in the
world on my own hook ; but, at the time
I am speaking of, when I was twenty-one next
grass, I was so guileless, I couldn't see no
harm in any thing."

" So 1 should think," said she ; " it's so like

vou

))

" Well, at that time there was a fever, a
most horrid typhus fever, broke out in Slick-
ville, brought there by some shipwrecked emi-
grants There was a Highland family settled
in the town the year afore, consisting of old Mr.
Duncan Chisholm, his wife, and daughter Flora.
The old people were carried oflP by the disease.

A NEW WAY TO LEARN GAELIC.

139

"You

that's

■ -;

m Slick

ive been

■ i

joining

ire, ain't

a hoop-

re you,"

■

t^ idea of

t go for

rub off

g in the

he time

)ne next

■
i

see no

SO like

tever, a

Slick-
ed e mi-
settled
old Mr.
Flora,
Idisease,

and Flora was left without friends or means, and
the worst of it was, she could hardly speak a word
of intelHgible English. Well, Minister took
great pity on her, and spoke to father about
taking her in/^ his house, as sister Sally was
just married, and the old lady left without any
companion ; and they agreed to take her as one
of tliem, and she was, in return, to help mother
all she could. So, next day, she came, and
took up her quarters with us. Oh my, Miss
Janet, what a beautiful girl she was ! She was
as tall as you are, Jessie, and had the same
delicate little feet and hands."

I threw that in on purpose, for women, in a
general way, don't like to hear others spoken of
too extravagant, particularly if you praise them
for anything they hain't got ; but if you praise
them for anything they pride themselves on,
they are satisfied, because it shows you estimate
them also at the right valy, too. It took, for
she pushed her foot out a little, and rocked
it up and down slowly, as if she was rather
proud of it.

" Her hair was a rich auburn, not red (I
don't like that at all, for it is like a lucifer-
match, apt to go off into a flame spontaniously

140

A NEW WAY TO LEARN GAELIC.

■ h

sometimes), but a golden colour, and lots of it
too, just about as much as she could cleverly
manage ; eyes like diamonds ; complexion, red
and white roses ; and teeth, not quite so regular
as yours, Miss, but as white as them ; and lips
— lick ! — they reminded one of a curl of rich
rose-leaves, when the bud first begins to swell
and spread out with a sort of peachey bloom on
them, ripe, rich, and chock full of kisses."

" Oh, the poor ignorant boy !" said Janet,
" you didn't know nothing, did you ?"

" Well, I didn't," sais I, " I was as innocent
as a child ; but nobody is so ignorant as not to
know a splendiferous gall when he sees her,"
and 1 made a motion of my head to her, as
much as to say, " Put that cap on, for it just
fits you."

" Mv sakes, what a neck she had ! not too
long and thin, for that looks goosey ; nor too
short and thick, for that gives a clumsy appear-
ance to the figure ; but betwixt and between,
and perfection always lies there, just mid- way
between extremes. But her bust — oh ! the
like never was seen in Slickville, for the ladies
there, in a gineral way, have no — "

" Well, Wtll," said Jessie, a little snappish,

^•i

'!.!

A NEW WAY TO LEARN GAELIC.

141

5 of it
everlv
n, red
cgular
id lips
)f rich
I swell
om on

Janet,

nocent

not to

s her,"

ler, as

it just

lot too
lor too
ppear-
[tvveen,
id-way
! the
ladies

Ippish,

for praisin' one gall to another ain't the shortest
way to win their regard, " go on with your story
of Gaelic."

" And her waist, Jessie, was the most beau-
tiful thing, next to your'n, I ever see. It was
as round as an apple, and anything that is
round, you know, is larger than it looks, and I
wondered how much it would measure. I
never see such an innocent girl as she was.
Brought up to home, and in the country, like
me, she knew no more about the ways of the
world than I did. She was a mere child, as I
was ; she was only nineteen years old, and
neither of us knew anything of society rules.
One dav I asked her to let me measure her
waist with my arm, and I did, and then she
measured mine with her'n, and we had a great
dispute which was the largest, and we tried
several times, before we ascertained there w^as
only an inch difference between us. I never
was so glad in my life as when she came to stay
with us ; she was so good-natured, and so cheer-
ful, and so innocent, it was quite charming.

" Father took a wonderful shindy to her, for
even old men can't help liking beauty. But,
somehow, I don't think mother did ; and it

"ii

If «

11 i' '.'

1 I >.,■

142

A NEW WAY TO LEARN GAELIC.

^ IJ!

?K' m

appears to me now, in looking back upon it,
that she was afraid I should like her too much.
I consaiti.'d she watched us out of the corner of
her glasses, and had her cars open to hear what
we said ; but p'raps it was only my vanity, for
I don't know nothin' about the working of a
woman's heart even now. I am only a
])auhelor yet, and huw in the world should J
know anvthino: more about any lady than what
I knew about poor Flora ? In the ways of
women I am still as innocent as a child ; I do
believe that they could persuade me that the
moon is nothin' but an eight-day clock with an
illuminated face. I ain't vain, I assure you, and
never brag of what I don't know, and I must
say, I don't even pretend to understand them."

" Well, I never !" said Jessie.

" Nor I," said Janet.

" Did you ever, now !" said Catherine. " Oh,
dear, how soft you are, ain't you ?"

" Always was, ladies," said I, " and am still
as soft as dough. Father was very kind to her,
but he was old and impatient, and a little hard
of hearing, and he couldn't half the time under-
stand her. One day she came in with a mes-

sage from neighbour

le came m w
Dearborne, and

sais

she.

A NBW WAY TO LEARN GAELIC.

143

"Oh,

11 stiU

|;o her,

hard

inder-

mes-

she,

" ' Father—'

" ' Colonel, if you please, dear,' said mother,
' he is not your Dither ;' and the old lady
seemed as if she didn't half fancy any body
calling him that but her own children. Whether
that is icitural or not, ^liss Jessie," said I, "1
don't know, for how can I tell what women
thinks."

" Oh, of course not," said Jan e " you arc not
waywise and so artless ; vou don't know, of
course 1"

" Exactly," sais I ; " but I thought mother
spoke kinder cross to her, and it confused the
gall.

" Says Flora, ' Colonel Slick, Mr. Dearborne
says — says — ' Well, she couldn't get the rest
out ; she couldn't find the English. ' Mr.
Dearborne says — '

" ' Well, what the devil does he say ?' said
father, stampin' his foot, out of all patience
with her.

" It frightened Flora, and off she went out
of the room, crying like anything.

" * That girl talks worse and worse,' said
mother.

" * Well, I won't say that,' says father, a little

is
i

144 A NEW WAY TO LEARN GAELIC.

1 II'

'i
1

If I

I' '-A

'. MS

^r 1^'

mollified, ' for she can't talk at all, so there is
no worse about it. I am sorry though I scared
her. I wish somebody would teach her
English. '

" ' I will/ sais I, father, ' and she shall teach
me Gaelic in return.'

" ' Indeed you shan't,' sais mother ; * you have
got something better to do than larning her ;
and as for Gaelic I can't bear it. It's a horrid
outlandish language, and of no earthly use
whatever under the blessed sun. It's worse
than Indian.'

" * Do, Sam,' said father ; * it's an act of
kindness, and she is an orphan, and besides,
Gaelic may be of great use to you in life. I
like Gaelic myself ; we had some brave Jacobite
Highland soldiers in our army in the war that
did great service, but unfortunately nobody could
understand them. And as for orphans, when I
think how many fatherless children we made for
the British—'

" ' You might have been better employed,*
said mother, but he didn't hear her, and went
right on.

" ' I have a kindly feelin' towards them.
She is a beautiful girl that.'

A NEW WAY TO LEARN GAELIC. 145

ire IS

icared

her

teach

1 have
; her;
horrid
ly use
worse

act of

esides,

ife. I

cobite

r that

could

hen I

de for

[loyed/
went

them.

" ' If it warn't for her carrotty hair and freckled
face/ said mother, looking at me, ' she 'vouldn't
be so awful ugly after all, would she T

" ' Yes, Sam,' sais father, * teach her English
for heaven's sake ; but mind, she must give you
lessons in Gaelic. Languages is a great thing.'

" ' It's great nonsense,' said mother, raisin'
her voice.

" ' It's my orders,' said father, holding up
his head and standing erect. ' It's my orders,
marm, and they must be obeyed ;' and he walked
out of the room as stiff as a ramrod, and as
grand as a Turk.

'* * Sam,' sais mother, when we was alone,
' let the gall be ; the less she talks the more
she'll work. Do you understand, my dear T

" ' That's just my idea, mother,' sais I.

" ' Then you won't do no such nonsense, will
you, Sammy ?'

" ' Oh no !' sais I, * I'll just go through the
form now and then to please father, but that's
all. Who the plague wants Gaelic ? If all
the Highlands of Scotland were put into a heap,
and then multiplied by three, they wouldn't be
half as big as the White Mountains, would they,
marm ? They are just nothin' on the map,

VOL. L H

} J

It . ,'

146 A NEW WAY TO LEARN GAELIC.

. , ^ ■ *

and high hills, like high folks, are plaguy apt
to have barren heads.'

" ' Sam,' said she a pattin' of me on the
cheek, 'you have twice as much sense as your
father has after all. You take after me.'

" I was so simple, I didn't know what to do.
So I said yes to mother and yes to father ; for
I knew I must honour and obey my parents, so
I thought I would please both. I made up my
mind I wouldn't get books to learn Gaelic or
teach English, but do it by talking, and that I
wouldn't mind father scein' mo, but I'd keep a
bright look out for the old lady."

" Oh dear ! how innocent that was, warn't
it?" said they.

" Well, it was," said I ; " I didn't know no
better then, and I don't now ; and what's
more, I think I would do the same agin, if
it was to do over once more."

" I have no doubt you would," said Janet.

" Well, I took every opportunity, when
mother was not by to learn words. I would
touch her hand and say, 'What is tuat?' And
she would say, ' Lauch,^ and her arm, her head
and her cheek, and she would tell me the
names ; and her eves, her nose, and her chin,

A NEW WAY TO LEARN GAELIC. 147

aguy apt

! on the
■i as your

at to do.
ther ; for
arents, so
ie up my
Gaelic or
id that I
d keep a

s, warn't

know no

d what's

agin, if

Tanet.
I , when

I would
»' And
ter head
I me the

er chin,

and so on ; and then I would touch her lips,
and say, * What's them ?' And she'd say,
' Bhileau.' And then I'd kiss her, and say,
' What's that ?' And she'd say, ' Pog.' But
she was so artless, and so was I ; we
didn't know that's not usual unless people
are courtin ; for we hadn't seen anything of the
world then.

" Well, I used to go over that lesson every
time I got a chance, and soon got it all by heart
but that word Po(/ (kiss), which I never could
remember. She said I was very stnpid and I
must say it over and over again till I recollected
it. Well, it was astonishing how quick she
picked up English, and what progress I made
in Gaelic; and if it hadn't been for mother,
who hated the language like pyson, I do believe
I should soon have mastered it so as to speak it
as well as you do. But she took every oppor-
tunity she could to keep us apart, and whenever
I went into the room where Flora was spinning,
or ironing, she would either follow and take a
chair, and sit me out, or send me away of an
errand, or tell me to go and talk to father, who
was all alone in the parlour, and seemed kinder
dull. I never saw a person take such a dislike

H 2

148

A NEW WAY TO LEARiN GAELIC.

I. M

to the language as she did ; and she didn't seem
to like poor Flora either, for no other reason
as I could see under the light of the livin' sun,
but because she spoke it ; for it was impossible
not to love her — she was so beautiful, so artless,
and so interesting, and so innocent. But so it
was.

" Poor thing ! I pitied her. The old people
couldn't make out half she said, and mother
wouldn't allow me, who was the only person
she could talk to, to have any conversation with
her if she could help it. It is a bad thing to
distrust young people, it makes them artful at
last ; and I really believe it had that effect on
me to a certain extent. The unfortunate girl
often had to set up late ironing, or something
or another. And if you will believe it now,
mother never would let me sit up with her to
keep her company and talk to her ; but before
she went to bed herself, always saw me off to
my own room. Well, it's easy to make people
go to bed, but it aint just quite so easy to make
them stay there. So when I used to hear the
old lady get fairly into hers, for my room was
next to father's, though we went by different
stairs to them, I used to go down in my

A NEW WAY TO LEARN GAELIC.

149

Jn't seem
2V reason
iviii' sun,
Impossible
50 artless,
But so it

Id people

i mother

ly person

ition with

thing to

artful at

effect on

nate girl

mething

it now,

1 her to

ut before

e off to

e people

to make

ear the

om was

[different

in my

stoekini,' feet, and keep her company ; for I
pitied her from my heart. And then we would
sit in the corner of the fire-place and talk
Gaelic half the night, And you can't think
how pleasant it was. You laugh, Miss Janet,
but it really was delightful ; they were the
happiest hours I almost ever spent."

*' Oh, I don't doubt it," she said, " of course
they were."

" If you think so. Miss," said I, " p'raps you
would finish the lessons with me this evening,
if you have nothing particular to do."

"Thank you. Sir," she said, laughing like
anything. " I can speak Enghsh sufficient for
my purpose, and I agree with your mother,
Gaelic in this country is of no sort of use
whatever ; at least 1 am so artless and un-
sophisticated as to think so. But go on, Sir."

" Well, mother two or three times came as
near as possible catching me, for she was awful
afraid of lights and fires, she said, and couldn't
sleep sound if the coals weren't covered up with
ashes, the hearth swept, and the broom put into
a tul) of water, and she used to get up and pop
into the room very sudden ; and though she
warn't very light of foot, we used to be too

■!^

':'(

)■!

1 !

150 A NEW WAY TO LEARN GAELIC.

busy repeating words to keep watch as we
ought."

" What an artless couple," said Janet ; " well
I never ! how you can have the face to pretend
so, I don't know ! Well, you do beat all !"

" A suspicious parent," sais I, " Miss, as I said
before, makes an artful child. I never knew
what guile was before that. Well, one night ;
oh dear, it makes my heart ache to think of it, it
was the last we ever spent together. Flora was
starching muslins, mother had seen me off to
my room, and then went to hers, when down I
crept in my stockin feet as usual, puts a chair
into the chimney corner, and we sat down and
repeated our lessons. When we came to the word
Pog (kiss), I always used to forget it ; and it's
very odd, for it's the most beautiful one in the
language. We soon lost all caution, and it
sounded so loud and sharp it started mother ; and
before we knew where we were, we heard her enter
the parlour which was next to us. In an instant
I was off and behind the entry door, and Flora
was up and at work. Just then the old lady
came in as softly as possible, and stood
and surveyed the room all round. I could
see her through the crack of the door, she

;if

A NEW WAY TO LEARN GAELIC.

151

ti as we

^t ; " well

) pretend

t all !"

, as I said

vcr knew

le night ;

k of it, it

riora was

le off to

n down I

; a chair

own and

the word

and it's

e in the

and it

ler ; and

ler enter

n instant

id Flora

old lady

stood

I could

■oor, she

i-i

actuiilly seemed disappointed at not findinj^ me
there.

" • What noise was that I hoard Flora,' she
said, speakiii' as mild as if she was actilly afraid
to wake the cat up.

" Flora lifted the centre of the muslin, she
was starching, with one hand, and makin' a
hollow under it in the palm of the other, she
held it close up to the old woman's face, and
clapped it ; and it made the very identical sound
of the smack she had heard, and the dear child
repeated it in quick succession several times.
The old ludy jumped hack the matter of a foot
or a more, she positively looked skarcd, as if
the old gentleman would think some hody was
a kissin' of her.

" Oh dear, I thought I should have techeed
right vjut. She seemed utterly confounded, and
Flora looked, as she was, the dear critter, so
artless and innocent ! It dumhfoundered her
completely. Still she warn't quite satisfied.

" • What's this chair doing so far in the
chimbley corner ?' said she.

" How glad I was there warn't two there. The
fact is, we never used but one, we was quite
young, and it was always big enough for us both.

i\ *!

152

A NEW WAY TO LEARN GAELIC.

" Flora talked Gaelic as fast as hail, slipt off
her shoes, sat down on it, put her feet to the fire,
folded her arms across her hosom, laid her head
back and looked so sweet and so winnin' into
mother's face, and said, ' cha n'eil Beurl,^ (I
have no English) and then proceeded in Gaelic.

" ' If you hadn't sat in that place, yourself,
when you was young, I guess you wouldn't
be so awful scared at it, you old goose you.'

" I thought I never saw her look so lovely.
Mother was not quite persuaded, she was wrong
after all. She looked all round agin, as if she
was sure I was there, and then came towards
the door where I was, so I sloped up-stairs like
a shadow on the wall, and into bed in no time ;
but she followed up and came close to me, and
holdin the candle in my face, said :

" * Sam, are you asleep ?'

" W(ill, 1 didn't answer.

" ' Sam,' said she, * why don't you speak,'
and she shook me.

" ' Hullo,' sais I, pretendin' to wake up,
' what's the matter ! have I overslept myself ? is
it time to get up ?' and 1 put out my arm to rub
my eyes, and lo and behold T exposed my coat
sleeve.

,'!■

slipt oft'

the fire,

her head

iiin' into

hurl,' (I

Gaelic.

yourself,

wouldn't

you.'

so lovely.

as wrong

as if she

towards

airs like

time ;

me, and

speak,'

ike up,
[self? is
to rub
IV coat

A NEW WAY TO LEARN GAELIC. 1.33

" 'No, Sam,' said she, * you couldn't oversleep
yoursi'lf, for you haven't slept at all, you ain't
even ondressed.'

" ' Ain't I,' said I, ' are you sure "?'

" ' Why look here,' said she, throwin' down
the clothes and puUin' my coat over my hearl till
she nearly strangled me.

" ' Well, I shouldn't wonder if I hadn't strip-
ped,' sais I. ' When a feller is so peskilly sUiepy
as I be, I suppose he is glad to turn in any way.'

" She never spoke another word, but I saw a
storm was brewin, and I heard her mutter to
herself, ' Creation ! what a spot of work ! I'll
have no teaching of ' mother tongue ' here.' Next
morning she sent me to Boston of an errand,
and when 1 returned, two days after. Flora
was gone to live with sister Sally. I have
never forgiven myself for that folly ; but really
it all came of our being so artless and so
innocent. There was no craft in either of us.
She forirot to remove the chair from the
chimbley corner, poor simple-minded thing,
and I forgot to keep my coat sleeve covered.
Yes, yes, it all came of our being too innocent ;
but that's the wav, ladies, I learned Gaelic."

'ti

H 3

«i

154

THE WOUNDS OF THE HEART.

CHAPTER VI.

THE WOUNDS OF THE HEART.

When I took leave of the family I returned
to the room where I had left Peter and the
Doctor, but thev had both retired. And as
my chamber adjoined it, I sat by the fire, lighted
a cigar, and fell into one of my rambling
meditations.

Here, said I, to myself, is another phase
of life. Peter is at once a Highlander, a
Canadian, a trapper, a backwoodsman and a
coaster. His daughters are half Scotch and
half Indian, and have many of the peculiarities
of both races. There is even between these
sisters a wide difference in intellect, appearance,
and innate refinement. The Doctor has ap-
parently abandoned his profession, for the study

ill!

THE WOUNDS OF THE HEART.

155

returned
and the
And as
, lighted
rambling

er phase
inder, a
and a
tell and
uliarities
n these
earancc,
has ap-
e study

of nature, and quit the busy haunts of men,
for the solitude of the forest. He seems to
think and act differently from any one else in
the country. Here too we have had Cutler,
who is a scholar and a skilful navigator, filling
the berth of a master of a fishing craft. He
began life with nothing but good principles,
and good spirits, and is now about entering on
a career, which in a few years will lead to a
great fortune. He is as much out of place
where he is, as a salmon would be in a horse
pond. And here am I, Squire, your humble
servant, Sam Slick the Clockmaker, not an
eccentric man, I hope, for I detest them, they
are either mad, or wish to be thought so, bo-
cause madness, they suppose to be an evidence
of genius ; but a specimen of a class not un-
common in the States, though no other country
in the world but Yankeedoodledum produces
it.

This is a combination, these colonies often
exhibit, and what a fool a man must be when
character is written in such large print, if he
can't read it, even as he travels on horseback.

Of all the party assembled here to-night, the
Scotch lasses alone, who came in during the

• ii

156

THE WOUNDS OF THE HEART.

i \i

1 ; !

'J f

evening, aro what you call every day galls.
Tlioy are strong, hearty, intelligent and good-
natured, full of fun and industry, can milk,
churn, make butter and cheese ; card, spin and
weave, and will make capital wives for farmers
of their own station in life. As such, thev are
favourable representatives of their class, and to
my mind, far, far above those that look down
upon them, who ape, but can't copy, and have
the folly, because they sail in the wake of
larger craft to suppose they can be mistaken
for anything else than tenders. Putting three
masts into a coaster may mnke her an object of
ridicule, but can never give her the appearance
of a ship. They know this in England, they
have got to learn it yet in the Provinces.

Well, this miscellaneous collection of people
affcrls a wide field for speculation. Jessie is a
remarkable woman, I must ask the Debtor about
her history. I see there is depth of feeling
about her, a simplicity of character, a singular
sensitiveness, and a shade of mclancholv. Is
it constitutional, or does it arise from her pe-
culiar position ? I wonder how she reasons,
and what she thinks, and how she would talk,
if she would sav what she thinks. Has she

THE WOUNDS OF THE HEART.

157

,' galls,
i good-
n milk,
^in and
farmers
thev are
and to
k down
nd have
vake of
mistaken
ig three
object of
)earance
id, thev
es.

■ people
sie is a
)r about
feeling
singular
)lv. Is
her pe-
•easons,
d talk,
as she

ability to build up a theory of her own, or
does she, like half the women in the world,
only think of a thing as it occurs ? Docs she
live in instances or in generalities, I'll draw her
out and sec. Every order, where there are
orders, and every class, (and no place is without
them where women are) have a way of judging
in common with their order or class. What
is her station I wonder in her own opinion ?
What are her expectations ? What are her
notions of wedlock ? All girls regard marriage
as an enviable lot, or a necessary evil. If they
tell us they don't, it's because the right man
hante come. And therefore I never mind
what they say on this subject. I have no
doubt t'ley mean it; but they don't know
what they are a talking about.

You, Squire, may go into a ball-room, where
there are two hundred women. One hundred and
ninety-nine of them you will pass with as much
indifference as one-hundred and ninety-nine
pullets; but the two hundredth irresistably
draws vou to her. There are one hundred
handsomer, and ninety-nine cleverer ones
present; but she alone has the magnet that
attracts you. Now, what is that magnet ? Is

"■¥

') 1

158

THE WOUNDS OF THE HEART.

it her manner that charms ? is it her voice that
strikes on one of those thousand and one chords
of your nervous system, and makes it vibrate, as
sound does hollow glass ? Or do her eyes affect
your gizzard, so that you have no time to chew
the cud of reflection, and no opportunity for
your head to judge how you can digest the
notions they have put into it ? Or is it animal
magnetism, or what the plague is it ?

You are strangely affected ; nobody else in
the room is, and everybody wonders at you.
But so it is. It's an even chance if you don't
perpetrate matrimony. Well, that's a thing
that sharpens the eyesight, and will remove a
cateract quicker than an oculist can, to save his
soul alive. It metamorphoses an angel into a
woman, and it's plaguey lucky if the process
don't go on and change her into something else.

After I got so far in my meditations, I lit
another cigar, and took out my watch to look
at the time. " My eyes," sais I, " if it tante
past one o'clock at night. Howsomever, it aint
often I get a chance to be alone, and I will
finish this here weed, at any rate." Arter which
I turned in. The following morning I did not
rise as early as usual, for it's a great secret for a

.y
f

THE WOUNDS OF THE HEART.

159

man never to be in the way, especially in a house
like Peter's, where his daughters had, in course,
a good deal to see to themselves. So I thought
I'd turn over, and take another snoose; and
do you know, Squire, that is always a dreamy
one, and if your mind aint worried, or your di-
gestion askew, it's more nor probable you will
have pleasant ones.

When I went into the keeping-room, I
found Jessie and her sister there, the table set,
and everything prepared for me.

" Mr. Slick," said the elder one, " your break-
fast is ready."

" But where is your father ?" said I, " and
Doctor Ovey ?"

" Oh, they have gone to the next harbour,
Sir, to see a man who is very ill there. The
Doctor left a message for you, he said he wanted
to see you again very much, and hoped to find
you here on his return, which will be about four
o'clock in the afternoon. He desired me to say,
if you sailed before he got back, he hoped you
would leave word what port he would find you
in, as he would follow you."

" Oh," said I, " we shall not go before to-
morrow, at the earliest, so he will be in very

: ^i

160

THE WOUNDS OF THE HEART.

ll'- s

good time. But who in the world is Doctor
Ovey ? He is the most singular man I ever
met. He is very eccentric ; aint he ?"

*' I don't know who he is," she replied.
" Father agrees with you. He says he talks
sometimes as if he was daft, but that, 1 believe,
is onlv because he is so learned. He has a
house a way back in the forest, where he livi s
occasionally ; but the greater part of the year
he wanders about the woods, and camps out
like—."

She hesitated a moment, and then brought
out the reluctant word : " an Indian. He
knows the name of every plant and flower in
the country, and their uses ; and the nature of
every root, or bark, or leaf that ever was ; and
then he knows all the ores, and coal mines, and
everything of that kind. He is a great hand
for stufling birds and animals, and has some
of every kind there is in the province. As
for butterflies, beetles, and those sort of things,
he will chase them like a child all day. His

house is a regular . I don't recollect the

word in English ; in Gaelic it is " tigh neo-
nachais."

*' Museum ?" said I.

I I

THE WOUNDS OF THE HEART.

161

" Ah, that's it," said she.

" He can't have much practice," I said, " if
he goes racing and chasing over the country
that way, like a run-away engine."

" He don't want It, Sir," she replied, " he is
very well off. He says he is one of the richest
men in the country, for he don't spend half his
income, and that any man who does that is
wealthy. He says he ain't a doctor. Whether he
is or not, I don't know ; but he makes wonder-
ful cures. Nothing in the world makes him so
angry, as when anybody sends for him that can
afford a doctor, for he don't take pay. Now,
this morning he stormed, and raved, and
stamped, and foamed at the mouth, as if he was
mad ; he fairly swore, a thing I never heard
him do before ; and he seized the hammer
that he chips off stones with, and threatened
the man so, who come for him, that he stood
with the door in his hand, while he begged
him to go.

" * Oh, Sir,' said he, ' the Squire will die if
you don't go.*

" ' Let him die, then,' he replied, ' and be hang-
ed. What is it to me ? It serves him right. Why
didn't he send for Doctor Smith, and pay him ?

v» i'

162

THE WOUNDS OF THE HEART.

lit

Does he think I am a going to rob that man of
his living? Be off, Sir, off with you. Tell
him I can't come, and won't come, and do you
go for a magistrate to make his will.'

" As soon as the man quitted the house, his
fit left him.

" ' Well,' said he, * Peter, I suppose we
musn't let the man perish, after all; but I
wish he hadn't sent for me, especially just now,
for I want to have a long talk with Mr. Slick.'

"And he and father set off immediately
through the woods."

" Suppose we beat up his quarters," said I,
"Jessie. I should like to see his house, and
collection, amazingly."

" Oh," said she, " so should I, above all
things ; but I wouldn't ask him for the
world. He'll do it for you, I know he will;
for he says you are a man after his own heart.
You study nature so ; and I don't know what
all, he said of you."

" Well, well," sais I, " old trapper as he is,
see if I don't catch him. I know how to bail
the trap ; so he will walk right into it. And
then, if he has anything to eat there, I'll show
him how to cook it w^oodsman fashion. I'll

THE WOUNDS OF THE HEART.

163

teach him how to dress a salmon ; roast, boil,
or bake. How to make a bce-hurter's mess ; a
new way to do his potatoes camp fiishion ; and
how to dispense with kitchen-raniz^es, cabouses,
or cooking-stoves. If I could only knock over
some wild- ducks at the lake here, I'd show him
a simple way of preparing them, that would
make his mouth water, I know. Truth is a
man that lives in the country, ought to know a
little of everything, a'most, and he can't be com-
fortable if he don't. But dear me, I must be a
movin.'*

So I made her a bow, and she made me
one of her best courtseys. And I held out my
hand to her, but she didn't take it, though I see
a smile playin' over her face. The fact is, it
is just as well she didn't, for I intended to draw
her — . Well, it aint no matter what I intended
to do ; and, therefore, it aint no use to confess
what I didn't realise.

" Truth is," said I, lingering a bit, not to
look disappointed, " a farmer ought to know
what to raise, how to live, and where to save.
If two things are equally good, and one costs
money, and the other only a little trouble, the
choice aint difficult, is it ?"

164

THE WOUNDS OF THE HEART.

I vi

" Mr. Slick," sais she, " are yon a fai-miT ?"

" I was l)rc(l and born on a farm, dear," sais
I, " and on one, too, whore nothin' was ever
wasted, and no time ever lost ; where there was
a place for everythin<^, and everythini; was in its
place. Where ])eace and plenty reigned ; and
where then; was a shot in the locker for the
nninister, another for the poor."

" Yon don't mean to say that you considered
them game, did you ?" said she, looking archly.

" Thank vou," sais I. " But now vou are
making game of me, Miss ; that's not a bad hit
of yours though ; and a shot for the bank, at the
ecnd of the year. I know all about farm things,
from raisin' Indian corn down to managing a
pea-hen ; the most difficult thing to regulate
next to a wife, I ever see.'*

" Do you live on a farm now ?"

" Yes, when I am to home," sais I, " I have re-
fumed again to the old occupation and the old
place ; for, after all, what's bred in the bone,
you know, is hard to get out of the flesh, and
home is home, however homely. The stones,
and the trees, and the brooks, and the hills look
like old friends — don't you think so ?"

" I should think so," she said ; " but I have

THE WOUNDS OF THE nK\UT.

If) J

never returned to n\y hr)me or my ])oop1t', and
never shall." And the tears rose in her eyes,
and she [rot up and walked to the window, and
said, with iier hack towards me, as if she was
looking at the weather: "The Doctor has a
fine day tor his journey ; I hope he will return
soon. I think vou will like him."

And then she came back and took h(;r seat,
as composed as if I had never awakened those
sad thoughts. Poor thing ! I knew what was
passing in her mind, as well as if those ekjquent
tears hafl not touched my heart. Somehow or
another, it appears to mo, like a stumblin' horse,
I am always a-striking my foot agin some
stone, or stump, or root, that any fellow might
see with half an eye. She forced a smile, and
said :

" Are vou married, Sir ?"

" Married," sais I, " to be sure I am ; I
married Flora."

" You must think me as innocent as she was,
to believe that," she said, and laughed at the
idea. " How many children have you ^"

" Seven," sais I :

" Richard R., and Ira C,
Betsey Anne, and Jessie B.,

166

THE WOUNDS OF THE HEART.

; :ll.

Sary D., Eugeun — E,
And Ireii — ce."

" I have heard a great deal of you, Mr.
Slick," she said, " but you are the queerest man
1 ever see. You talk so seriuus, and yet you
are so full of fun."

"That's because I don't pretend to nothin'
dear ;" sais I, " I am just a nateral man. There is
a time for all tilings, and a way to do 'em too. If
I have to freeze down solid to a thing, why then,
ice is the word. If there is a thaw, then fun and
snow-ballin' is the ticket. I listen to a preacher,
and try to be the better for his arguf} ing, if he
has any sense, and will let me ; and I listen to
the violin, and dance to it, if it's in tune, and
played right. I like my pastime, and one day
in seven is all the Lord asks. Evangelical
people say he wants the other six. Let them
state day and date, and book and page for that,
for I won't take their word for it. So I won't
dance of a Sunday ; but show me a pretty gall,
and give nie good music, and see if I don't dance
any other day. I am not a droll man, dear, but
I say what I think, and do what I please, as long
as I know I ain't saving; or doins; wronir. And
if that ain't poetry, it's truth, that's all."

THE WOUNDS OF THE HEART.

167

" 1 wish you knew the Doctor," said she ; " I
don't understand these things, but you are the
only man I ever met that talked like him, only
he hantc the fun you have ; but he enjoys fun
beyond everything. I must say I rather like
him, though he is odd, and I am sure you
would, for you could comprehend many things
he says that I don't."

" It strikes nus" sais T to myself, for I
thought, puttiu' tliis and that together ; " her
rather likin' him, and her desire to see his
house, and her tryin' to flatter me that I talked
like him ; that perhaps, like her young Gaelic
friend's bi'other who dreamed of the silver dol-
lars, she might have had a th'eam of him."

So, sais I, " I have an idea, Jessie, that there
is a subject, if he talked to you upon, you could
understand."

" Oh, nonsense," said she, rising and laugh-
ing, " now do you go on board and get me
your book ; and I will go and see about dinner
for the Doc — for my father and you."

Well, I held out my hand, and said,

" Good-morning, Miss Jessie. Recollect,
when I bring you the book, that you must pay
the f u-feit."

y y

168

THE WOUNDS OF THE HEART.

i I

>i'

' ' ]l

li.

She dropt my hand in a nninute, stood up as
straight as a tragedy actress, and held her head
as high as the Queen of Slieby. She gave me
a look I shan't very easily forget, it was so full
of scorn and pride.

" And you too, Sir," said she, " I didn't ex-
pect thin of you," and then left the room.

" Hullo I" sais I, " who's halt-cracked now ;
you or the Doctor ? it appears to me it's six of
one and half-a-dozen of the other ;" and I took
my hat, and walked down to the beach and
hailed a boat.

About four, I returned to the house, and
brought with me, as T promised, the *' Clock-
maker." When 1 entered the room, I found
Jessie there, who received me with her usual
ease and composure. She was trimming a
work-bag, the sides of which were made of the
inner rind of the birch-tree, and beautifully
worked with porcupine quills and moose hair.

" Well," sais I, " that is the most delicate
thing I ever saw in all my born days. Crea-
tion, how that would be prized in Boston !
How on earth did you learn to do that?"
sais I.

" Why," said she, with an effort that evi-

THE WOUNDS OF THE HEART.

169

oocl up as
I hor head
e gave me
was so full

didn't ex-
3om.
•kcd now ;

it's six of
and I took
beach and

louse, and

e "Clock-

1, I found

her usual

imming a

lade of the

beautifully

bse hair.

>st delieate

^s. Crea-

Bi)ston !

Ido that?"

that evi-

dently cost her a struggle, " my people makt;
and barter them at the Fort at the north-west
for things of more use. Indians have no
money."

It was the first time I had heard so distinct
an avowal of her American origin, and as I
saw it brought the colour to her face, I thought
I had discovered a clue to her natural pride, or,
more properly, her sense of the injustice of the
world, which is too apt to look down upon this
mixed race with open or ill-concealed contempt.
The scurvey opens old sores, and makes them
bleed afresh, and an unfeeling fellow does the
same. Whatever else I mav he, I am not that
man, thank fortune. Indeed, I am rather a
dab at dressin' bodilv ones, and I won't turn
my hack in that line, with some simples I
know of, on any doctor that ever trod in shoe-
leather, with all his compounds, phials, and
stipties.

In a gineral way, they know just as much
about their business as a donkey does of music,
and yet both of them practice all day. Tliey
don't make no improvc^ments. Th'-y are like
the birds of the air, and the beasts of th<; forest.
Swallows build their nests year after Near, and

VOL. I. I

lil!^

170

THE WOUNDS OF THE HEART.

;J ' )

1 1'

v >

';.!,

generation after generation in the identical same
fashion, and moose winter after winter, and
century after century always follow each other's
tracks. They consider it safer, it ain't so labo-
rious, and the crust of the snow don't hurt their
shins. If a critter is such a fool as to strike
out a new path for himself, the rest of the herd
pass, and leave him to worry on, and he soon
hears the dogs in pursuit, and is mn down and
done for. Medical men act in the same man-
ner.

Brother Eldad, th » doctor, used to say to me
when riggin' him on the subject :

" Sam, you are the most conceited critter I
ever knew. You have picked up a few herbs
and roots, that have some virtue in them, but
not strength enough for us to give a place to in

the pharmacopoeia of medicine."

" Pharmaeopia ?" sais I, ' why, what in natur

is that ? What the plague does it mean ? Is

it bunkum ?"

" You had better not talk on the subject,"

said he, " if you don't know the tarms."

" You might as well tell me," sais I, " that I

had better not speak English if I can't talk

gibberish. But," sais 1, *' without joking, now,

THE WOUNDS OF THE HEART.

171

cal same
ter, and
h other's

so labo-
lurt their

to strike
the herd
I he soon
lown and
ime man-

iay to me

I critter I
few herbs
;hem, but
ilace to in

in natur
lean ? Is

subject,"

I, " that 1
:an't talk
ting, now,

when vou take the husk off that, and crack
the nut, what do you call the kernel ?"

" Why," sais he, " it's a dispensary ; a book
containin' rules for compoundin medicines."

" Well then, it's a receipt-book, and nothin'
else, arter all. Why the plague can't you call
it so at once, instead of usin' a word that would
break the jaw of a German ?"

" Sam," he replied, " the poet says with great

truth

" ' A little Icaniintr is a dangerous thing ;

Drink deep, or taste not the Pierian spring.' '*

" Dear, dear," said I, " there is another
strange sail hove in sight, as I am alive. What
flac: does ' Pierian' sail under ?"

" The miigpies," said he, with the air of a
man that's a goin' to hit you hard. " It is a
spring called Picrus after a gentleman of that
name, whose daughters, that were as conceited
as you be, were changed into magpies by the
Muses, for challenging them out to sing. All
pratin' fellows like you, who go about runnin'
down doctors, oucrht to be sarved in the same
way."

" A critter will never be iiin down," said I,
" who will just take the trouble to get out of the

I 2

I'ii

I mi

' \

172

THE WOUNDS OF THE HEART.

way, that's a fact. Why on ah*th couldn't the
poet have said Magpian Spring, then all the
world would understand him. No, the lines
would have had more sense if they had run
this way :

" * A little physic is a dangerous thing ;
Drink deep, or drink not of the doctor's spring.

» »»

Well, it made him awful mad, sais he, " You
talk of treating wounds as all unskilful men
do, who apply balsams and trash of that kind,
that half the time turns the wound into an
ulcer ; and then when it is too late the doctor
is sent for, and sometimes to get rid of the
sore, he has to amputate the limb. Now,
what does your receipt book say ?"

" It sais," sais I, " that natur alone makes
the cure, and all you got to do, is to stand by,
and aid her in her efforts."

" That's all very well," sais he, " if nature
would only tell you what to do, but nature
leaves you like a Yankee quack as you are,
to guess,"

"Well," sais I, "1 am a Yankee, and I
ain't above ownin' to it, and so are you, but
vou seem ashamed of your broughtens up, and

! i

THE WOUNDS OF THE HEART.

173

't the

il the

lines

i run

"You
I men

kind,
:ito an
doctor
of the

Now,

makes
iid by,

nature
nature
u are,

and I
I, but
), and

1 must say I don't think you are any great
credit to them. Natur, though you don't
know it, because you are all for art, does tell
vou what to do, in a voice so clear, vou can't
help hearing it, and in language so plain, you
can't help understandin' it. For it don't use
chain shot words hkc ' pharmacopciiia' and
* Pierian' and so on, that is neither Greek nor
Latin, nor good English, nor vulgar tongue.
And more than that, it shows you what to do ;
And tlie woods, and the springs, and the soil is
full of its medicines and potions. Book doc-
torin' is like book farmin', a beautiful thing in
theory, but ruination in practice."

" Well," said he, with a toss of his
head, " this is very good stump oratory,
and if you ever run agin a doctor at an
election, I shouldn't wonder if you won it,
for most people will join you in puUin' down
your superiors."

That word superiors grigged me, thinks I,
" My boy, I'll just take that expression, roll
it up into a ball, and shy it back at you, in a
way that will make you sing out, pen and ink,
I know. Well," sais I, quite mild, (1 am
always mild when I am mad, a keen razor is

I \

174

THE WOUNDS OF THE HEART.

• 'i

always smooth ;) " have you any other thing to
say about natur ?'*

" Yes," sais he, " do you know what healin'
by the first intention is, for that is a natcral
operation ? Answer me that, will you ?"

" You mean the second intention, don't
you ?" sa's I.

" No," he replied, " I mean what I say."

" Well, Eldad," sais I, " my brother, I will
answer both. First, about the election, and
then about the process of healin', and after
that we won't argue no more, for you get so
hot always, I am afraid you will hurt my feelins.
First," sais I, " I have no idea of runnin' agin
a doctor either at an election or elsewhere, so
make yourself quite easy on that score, for if
I did, as he is my superior, I should be sure to
get the worst of it."

" How," said he, Sam, lookin' quite pleased,
seein' me kinder knock under that way.

" Why dod drot it," sais I, " Eldad, if I was
such a born fool as to run agin a doctor, his
clothes would fill mine so chock full of asafoetida
and brimstone, I'd smell strong enough to
pysen a poll cat. Phew ! the very idea makes
me sick; don't come any nearer, or I shall

THE WOUNDS OF THE II K ART.

175

hing to

hcalin'
natcral

don't

, I will

m, and

id after

i get so

fcclins.

n' agin

ere, so

for if

sure to

leased,

I was
or, his
f(ctida
^h to
makes
shall

faint. Oh, no, I shall give my superiors a
wide herth, depend upon it. Tlien," sais I,
" secondly, as to healin* hy the first intention,
I have heard of it, hut never saw it practised
yet. A doctor's first intention is to make
money, and the second is to heal the wound.
You have hecn kind enough to treat me to a
hit of poetry, now I won't be in your debt, so
1 will just give you two lines in return. Arter
you went to Philadelj)hia to study, Minister
used to make me learn poetry twice a week.
All his books had pencil marks in the margin,
agin all the tid bits, and I had to learn more or
less of these at a time according to their length,
among others I remember two verses that just
suit you and me.

" 'To tongue or puddiiig thou liast no pretence,
Learning thy talent is, but mine is sense.' "

"Sam," said he, and he coloured up, and
looked choked with rage, " Sam."

"Dad," sais I, and it stopped him in a
minute. It was the last syllable of his name,
and when we was boys, I always called him
Dad, and as he was older than me, I sometimes
called him Daddy on that account. It touched

176

THE WOUNDS OF THE HEART.

him, 1 SCO it did. Sais I, " Dad, give me
your daddlc, fun is fun, and wo may carry our
fun too far," and we shook hands. " Daddy,"
sais I, " since I became an author, and honorary
corresponding member of the Siangvviianger
Society, your occupation and mine ain't much
unlike, is it ?"

" How ?" said he.

" Why, Dad," sais I, " you cut up the dead,
and 1 cut up the Hvin."

" Well," sais he, " I give less pain, at any
rate, and besides, I do more good, for 1 make
the patient leave a legacy to posterity, by fur-
nishing instruction in his own body."

" You don't need to wait for dissection for
the bequest," said I, ** for many a fellow after
amputation, has said to you, ' a-leg-Lsee.' But
why is sawing off a leg an unprofitable thing ?
Do you give it up? Because it's always
bootless."

"Well," said he, "why is an author the
laziest man in the world ? Do you give that
up ? Because he is most of his time in sheets"

" Well, that is better than being two sheets
m the wind," I replied. " But why is he the
greatest coward in creation in hot weather?

■ it

THE WOUNDS OF THE HEART.

177

dead,

Borausc he is afraid somebody will (juilt
him."

** Oh, nh," said he, ** that is an awful had oin'.
Oil, oh, that is like lead, it sinks to the hottoni,
boots, spurs and all. Oh, eomc, that will do,
you may take u\y hat. What a droll follow
you be. You are tlic old sixpence, and nothin'
will ever ehange you. 1 nc-ver see a feller have
such spirits in my life ; do you know what ])ain is ?"

" Oh," sais I, " Dad," and I put on a very
sad look, " Daddy," sais I, " my heart is most
broke, though I don't say anythin' about it.
There is no ont; 1 can confide in, and I can't
sleep ;it all. I was thinkin' of consultin' you,
for 1 know I can trust vou, and I am sure
your kind and affectionate lieart will feel for
me, and that your sound, excellent judgmtnt
will advise me what is best to be done under
the peculiar circumstances."

" Sam," said he, " my good fellow, you do
me no more than justice," and he took my
hand very kindly, and sat down beside me
" Sam, I am very sorry for you. Confide in
me ; I will he as secret as the grave. Have
vou consulted dear old Minister ?"

" Oh, no," said I, " Minister is a mere child."

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178

THE WOUNDS OF THE HEART.

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" True, true, my brother," said he, " he is a
good worthy man, but a mere child, as you say.
Is it an affair of the heart, Sam ?"

" Oh, no," sais I, " I wish it was, for 1 don't
think I shall ever die of a broken heart for
anyone, it don't pay."

" Is it a pecuniary affair ?"

" No, no, if it was it might be borne, an
artful dodge, a good spekelation, or a regular
burst would soon cure that."

" I hope it ain't an affair of law," said he,
lookin' frightened to death, as if I had done
something dreadful bad.

" No, I wish it was, for a misnomer, an
alibi, a nonjoinder, a demurrer, a nonsuit, a
freeaiason or a know-nothin' sign to a juror, a
temperance wink, or an orange nod to a partizan
judge, or some cussed quirk or quibble or another,
would carry me through it. No, it ain't that."

" What is it then ?"

" Why," sais I, a bustin' out a larfin, " I
am most dead sometimes with the jumpin'
oothache."

" Well, well," said he, " I never was sold so
before, I vow ; I cave in, I holler, and will stand
treat."

lA I

THE WOUNDS OF THE HEART.

179

That's the way we ended our controversy
about wounds.

Bat he may say what he likes, I consider
myself rather a dab at healing bodily ones. As
to those of the heart, I haven't had the ex-
perience, for I am not a father confessor to galls,
and of course aint consulted. But it appears
to me clergymen don't know much about the
right way to treat them. The heart is a great
word. In itself it's nothin' but a thing that
swells and contracts, and keeps the blood a
movin ; a sort of central post-office that com-
municates with all the great lines and has way
stations to all the remote parts. Like that,
there is no sleep in it day or night. Love, hope,
fear, despair, disappointment, ambition, pride,
supplication, craft, cant, fraud, piety, speculation,
secrets, tenderness, bitterness, duty, disobedience,
truth, falsehood, gratitude, humbug, and all sorts
of such things pass through it or wait till called
for ; they " are thar." All these are dispersed
by railways, expresses, fast and slow coaches and
carriers. By a figure of speech all these things are
sumtotalized, and if put on paper, the depository
is called the post-office, and the place where they
are conceived and hatched and matured, the heart.

180

THE WOUNDS OF THE HEART.

S-

Well, neither the one nor the other has any
feeling. They are merely the edifices respectively
designed for these operations. The thing and
its contents are in one case called the heart ; but
the contents only of the other are called the
mail. Literally, therefore, the heart is a muscle,
or some such an affair, and nothing more ; but
figuratively it is a general term that includes,
expresses, and stands for all these things to-
gether. We talk of it, therefore, as a living,
animated, responsible being that thinks for itself,
and acts through its agents. It is either our
spiritual part, or something spiritual within
us. Subordinate or independant of us —
guiding or obeying us — influencing or in-
fluenced by us. We speak of it, and others
treat it as separate, for they and we say our
heart. We give it a colour and a character ; it
may be a black heart or a base heart ; it may
be a brave or a cowardly one ; it may be a sound
or a weak heart also, and a true or a false one ;
generous or ungrateful; kind or malignant, and
so on.

It strikes me natur would have been a more
suitable word; but poets got hold of it, and
they bedevil everything they touch. Instead of

'lii

THE WOUNDS OF THE HEART.

181

r our

vithin

us —

in-

hers

our

; it

speaking of a critter's heart, therefore, it would
to my mind have been far better to have spoke
of the natur of the animal, for I go the whole
hog for human natur. But I suppose nobody
would understand me if I did, and would sav I
had no heart to say so. I'll take it therefore as
I find it — a thing having a body or substance
that can be hurt, and a spirit that can be
grieved.

Well as such, I don't somehow think ministers
in a general way know how to treat it. The
heart, in its common acceptation, is very sensitive
and must be handled gently ; if grid is there, it
must be soothed and consoled, and hope caUed
in to open views of better things. If dis-
appointment has left a sting, the right way is to
show a sufferer it might have been wuss, or
that if his wishes had been fulfilled, thev mig-ht
have led to something more disastrous. If
pride has been wounded, the patient must be
humoured by agreeing with him, in the first
instance, that he has been shamefullv used ;
(for that admits his right to feel hurt, which is
a great thing :) and then he may be convinced
he ought to be ashamed to acknowledge it, for
he is superior to his enemy, and in reality so far

^ t g awt ' LaA- T . ' - ' "^K

).\' )l

182

THE WOUNDS OF THE HEART.

I t'i

above him it would only gratify him to think
he was of consequence enough to be hated. If
he has met with a severe pecuniary loss in
business, he ought to be told it's the fortune of
trade ; how lucky he is he aint ruined, he can
afford and must expect losses occasionally. If
he frets over it, it will hurt his mercantile credit,
and after all, he will never miss it, except in a
figure in the bottom of his balance-sheet, and
besides, riches aint happiness, and how little a
man can get out of them at best ; and a minister
ought to be able to have a good story to tell
him, with some point in it, for there is a great
deal of sound philosophy in a good anecdote.

He might say, for instance : " Did you ever
hear of John Jacob Astor ?"

" No, never."

" What not of John Jacob Astor, the richest
man in all the unevarsal United States of
America ? The man that owns all the brown
and white bears, silver-gray and jet-black foxes,
sables, otters, stone martins, ground squirrels,
and every created critter that has a fur jacket,
away up about the North Pole, and lets them
wear them, for furs don't keep well, moths are
death on 'em, and too many at a time glut the

THE WOUNDS OF THE HEART. 183

market ; so he lets them run till he wants them,
and then sends and skins them alive in spring
when it ain't too eold, -and waits till it grows
again ?"

" No, never," sais the man with the loss.
" Well, if you had hcon stript stark naked
and turned loose that way, you might have com-
plained. Oh ! you are a lueky man, I can tell you."
" Well," sais old Minus, " how in the world
does he own all them animals ?"

" If he don't," sais preacher, " perhaps you
can tell me who does ; and if nohody else does,
I think his claim won't he disputed in no court
under heaven. Don't you know him ? Go
and see him. He will make your fortune as he
has done for many others. He is the richest
man you ever heard of. He owns the Astor
House Hotel to New York, which is bigger than
some whole towns on the Nova Scotia coast."
And he could say that with great truth, for 1
know a town that's on the chart, that has only
a court-house, a groggery, a jail, a blacksmith's
shop, and the wreck of a Quebec vessel on the
beach.

" Well, a man went to him lately, and sais
he : * Are ycu the great John Jacob ?'

lil

i !

I'.

184

THE WOUNDS OP THE HEART.

"'I am John Jacob/ said he, ' but I aint
great. The sun is so almighty hot here in New
York, no man is large ; he is roasted down like
a race-horse.'

" ' 1 don't mean that,' said the poor man
bowin' and beggin' pardon.

" ' Oh,' sais he, * you mean great-grand-
father,' laughing, * No, I hante come that
yet ; but Astoria Ann Oregon, my grand-
daughter, says I am to be about the fore part
of next June.'

" Well, the man see he was getting rigged,
so he came to the pint at once. Sais he, ' Do
you want a clerk ?'

" * I guess I do,' said he. * Ai'e you a good
accountant ?'

" ' Have been accountant-book-keeper and
agent for twenty-five years,' sais stranger.

" Well, John Jacob see the critter wouldn't
suit him, but he thought he would carry out
the joke. Sais he, ' How would you like to take
charge of my almighty everlastin' property ?'

" ' Delighted !' says the goney.

" ' Well,' said Mr. Astor, ' I am tired to death
looking after it ; if you will relieve me and do my
work, I'll give you what I get out of it myself.'

THE WOUNDS OF THE HEART. 185

" ' Done !' said the man, takin' off his hat,
and bowin' down to the ground. ' I am under
a great obligation to you ; depend upon it you
will get a good account of it.'

" ' I have no doubt of it,' said John Jacob.
' Do your part faithfully,' (' Never fear me,' said
the clerk.) * and honestly, and I will fulfil mine,
All I get out of it is my board and clothing,
and you shall have the same,'

" Ah ! my friend," the preacher might say,
"how much wisdom .there is in John Jacob
Astor's remark. What more has the Queen of
England, or the richest peer in the land, out of
all their riches than ' their board and clothing.'
So don't repine, my friend. Cheer up ! I will
come and fast on canvas-back duck with you to-
morrow, for it's Friday ; and whatever lives on
aquatic food is fishy— a duck is twice laid fish.
A few glasses of champaine at di-mer, and a
cool bottle or two of claret after \, • set you all
right again in a jiffy."

If a man's wife races off and leaves him,
which aint the highest compliment he can
receive, he should visit him; but it's most
prudent not to introduce the subject himself
If broken-heart talks of it, minister shouldn't

186

THE WOUNDS OF THE HEART.

mako light of it, for wounded \mdi) is mighty
tender, but say it's a dreadful thing to leave so
good, so kind, so indulgent, so liberal, so con-
fidin' a man as you, if the case will bear it, (in
a general way it's a man's own fault) ; and if it
won't bear it, why then there really is a guilty
man, on whom he can indulge himscilf, to ex-
pend a few flowers of speech. And arter
restin' here awhile, he should hint at the con-
solation that is always offered, " of the sea
having better fish than ever was pulled out of
it," and so on.

Well the whole catalogue offers similar topics,
and if a man will, while kindly, conscientiously
and strictly sticking to the truth, offer such
consolation as a good man may, taking care
to remember that manner is everything, and
all these arguments are not only no good, but
do harm if the misfortunate critter is rubbed
agin the grain; he will then prepare the
sufferer to receive the only true consolation he
has to oifeTJ- — the consolation of religion. At
least, that's my idea.

Now, instead of that, if he gets hold of a
sinner, he first offends his delicacy, and then
scares him to death. He tells him to confess

■i

^*!%»,^

TVl, WOUNDS OF THE HKART.

187

all the nasty particulars of the how, the where,
the when, and the who with. He can't do
nothing till his curiosity is satisfied, general
terms won't do. He must have all the dirty
details. And then he talks to him of tlie
devil, an unpronouneihlc place, fire and brim-
stone and endless punishment. And assures
him if ever he hopes to be happy hereafter, he
must be wretched for the rest of his life ; for
the evangelical rule is, that a man is never for-
given up to the last minute when it can't be
helped. Well, every man to his own trade.
Perhaps they are right, and I am wrong. But
my idea is you can coax, but can't bully folks.
You can win sinners, hut you can't force them.
The door of the heart must be opened softly,
and to do that you must He the hinge and the
lock.

Well, to get back to my story, and I
hardly know where I left off, I think the poor
gall was spcakin' of Indians in a way that in-
dicated she felt mortified at her descent, or that
somehow or somehow else, there was a sore spot
there. Well, having my own thoughts about
the wound !r of the heart and so on, as I have
st ited, I made up my mind I must get at the

188

THE WOUNDS OF THE HEART.

I ^

socnjt by degrees, and sec whether my theory
of treatment was right or not.

Sais 1, " Miss you say these sort of things are
bartered at the north-west, for others of more
use. There is one thing though I must re-
mark, they never were exchanged for anything
half so beautiful."

" I am glad you like it," she said, ** but look
here ;" and she took out of her basket a pair or
moccasins, the soles of which were of moose
leather, tanned and dressed like felt, and the
upper part black velvet, on which various
patterns were worked with beads. I think I
never saw anything of the kind so exquisite, for
those nick-nacks the Nova Scotia Indians make,
are rough in material, coarse in workmanship,
and ineligant in design.

*' Which do you prefer ?" said she.

"Well," sais I, "I ain't hardly able to
decide. The bark work is more delicate
and more tasteful; but it's more European
in appearance. The other is more like our own
country, and I ain't sure that it isn't quite as
handsome as the other. But I think I prize
the moccasins most. The name, the shape,
and the ornaments all tell of the prairie."

^■fe%J

THE WOUNDS OF THE HEART.

189

"Well, then," she said, " it shall he tlie mo-
cassins, you must have them, as the exchange
for the hook."

((

Oh," said I, taking out of my pocket the
first and second Cloekmakcrs, I had no other of
my hooks on hoard, and giving them to her, " I
am afraid. Miss, that I either said or did some-
thing to offend you this morning. I assure you
I did not mean to do so, and I am very sorry
for it."

" No, no," she said, " it was me ; hut my tem-
per has heen greatly tried since I came to this
country. I was very wrong, for you (and she
laid a stress on that word as if I was an ex-
ception,) have heen very kind to me."

" Well," sais I, " Miss, sometimes there are
things that try us and our feelings, that we
don't choose to talk ahout to strangers, and
sometimes people annoy us on these suhjects.
It wouldn't be right of me to pry into anyone's
secrets, but this I will say, any person that
would vex you, let him be who he will, can
be no man, he'd better not do it while I am
here, at any rate, or he'll have to look for his
jacket very quick, I know."

" Mr. Slick," she said, " I know I am half

190

THE WOUNDS OF THE HEART.

Indian, and some folks want to make me
feel it."

" And you took me for one o' them
cattle," said I, " but if you knew what was
passin' in my mind, you wouldn't a felt angry,
/ know."

" What was it ?" said she, " for I know you
won't say anything to me you oughtn't to.
What was it ?"

" Well," sais I, " there is, between you and
me, a young lady here to the southern part of
this province I have set my heart on, though
whether she is agoin' to give me hern, or give
me the mitten, I ain't quite sartified, but I
rather kinder sorter guess so, th m kinder sorter
not so." I just throwed that in, that she
mightn't misunderstand me. " Well, she is
the most splendiferous gall I ever sot eyes on,
since I was created ; and," sais I to myself,
" now, here is one of a different style of beautv,
which on 'em is, take her all in all, the hand-
somest ?"

Half Indian or half Gaelic, or whatever she
was, she was a woman, and she didn't flare up
this time, I tell you, but taking up the work-
bag she said :

THE WOUNDS OF THE HEART.

191

" Give this to her, as a present from me."

Thinks I, " My pretty brunette, if I don't
get the heart opened to me, and give you a
better opinion of yourself, and set you all
straight with mankind in general, and the
Doctor in particular, afore I leave Ship Harbour
I'll give over for ever, undervalyin' the skill
of ministers, that's a fact. That will do for
trial number one, by and bye, I'll make trial
number tw^o."

Taking up the " Clockmaker," and looking
at it, she said : "Is this book all true, Mr.
Slick ? Did you say and do all that's set dow'n
here?"

"Well," sais I, "I wouldn't just like to
swear to every word of it, but most of it is true,
though some things are embellished a little,
and some are fancy sketches. But they are
all true to nature."

" Oh, dear" said she, " what a pity ; how
shall 1 ever be able to tell what's true, and what
ain't ? Do you think I shall be able to under-
stand it, who know so little, and have seen so
little ?"

" You'll comprehend every word of it," sais I,
" I wrote it on purpose, so every person should

i ) '

I I

I A

I '1

i /'

I I

i I

HI I ^w\

192

THE WOUNDS OF THE HEART.

do SO. I have tried to stick to life as close as
I could, and there is nothin' like natur, it goes
home to the heart of us all."

" Do tell me, Mr. Slick," said she, « what
natur is, for I don't know."

Well, now that's a very simple question, ain't
it? and anyone that reads this book when you
publish it, will say, " Why, everybody knows
what natur is," and any schoolboy can answer
that question. But I'll take a bet of twenty
dollars, not one in a hundred will define that
tarm right off the reel, without stopping. It
fairly stumpt me, and I ain't easily brought to
a hack about common things. I could a told
her what natur was circumbendibuslv, and no
mistake, though that takes time. But to define
it briefly and quickly, as Minister used to say,
if it can be done at all, which I don't think
it can, all I can say is, as galls say to conun-
drums, " I -can't, so I give it up. What is
it?"

Perhaps it's my own fault, for dear old Mr.
Hopewell used to say, " Sam, your head ain't
like anyone elses. Most men's minds re-
sembles what appears on the water, when you
throw a stone in it. There is a centre, and

THE WOUNDS OF THE HEART.

193

lose as
it goes

((

what

n, ain't

icn yo^
knows
answer
' twenty
ine that
ing. It
pught to
a told
and no
o define
to say,
lit think
conun-
^hat is

Did Mr.
id ain't
ids re-
len you
re, and

circles form round it, each one a little larger
than the other, until the impelling power ceases
to act. Now you set off on the outer circle, and
go round and round ever so often, until you
arrive to the centre where you ought to have
started from at first; I never see the beat of

you

" It's natur," sais I, " Minister."

" Natur," sais he, " what the plague has
natur to do with it ?"

" Why," sais I, " can one man surround a
flock of sheep ?"

" Why, what nonsense," sais he ; " of course
he can't."

" Well, that's what this child can do," sais
1. "I make a good sizeable ring-fence, open
the bars, and put them in, for if it's too small,
they turn and out agin' like wink, and they will
never so much as look at it a second time.
Well, when I get them there, I narrow and
narrow the circle, till it's all solid wool and
mutton, and I have every mother's son of them.
It takes time, for I am all alone, and have no
one to help me; but they are thar' at last.
Now, suppose I went to the centre of the field,
and started off arter them, what would it end

VOL. I. K

194

THE WOUNDS OF THE HEART.

in ? Why, I'de run one down, and have him,
and that's the only one 1 could catch. But
while I was a chasin' of him, all the rest would
disperse like a congregation artcr ehurcli, and
cut off like wink, each on his own way, as if
he was afraid the minister was a-goin' to run
after 'em, head 'em, and fetch 'em hack and
pen 'em up again."

He squirmed his face a little at that part
about the congregation, I consaited, but didn't
say nothin', for he knew it was true.

" Now, my reason," sais I, " for goin' round
and round is, I like to gatticr up all that's in
the circle, carry it with me, and stack it in the
centre."

Lord ! what fun I have had pokin' that
are question of Jessie's sudden to fellows since
then ! Sais T, to Brother Eldad once.

" Dad, we often talk about natur' ; what is
it ?"

" Tut," sais he, " don't ask me ; every fool
knows what natur is."

" Exactly," sais I ; " that's the reason I came
to you."

He just up with a book, and came plaguy near
lettin' me have it right agin my head smash.

THE WOUNDS OF THE HEART.

195

! him,
But
would
ti, and
', us if
to run
:k iind

it piu't
; didn't

' round
pt's in
in the

' that
la since

/vhat is

ry fool

I came

ly near
lash.

" Don't do that," sais I, " Daddy ; I was only
joking ; but what is it ?"

Well, he paused a moment and looked puzzled
as a fellow does who is looking for his spectaeles,
and can't find them because he has shoved them
up on his forehead.

" Why," sais he, spreadin' out his arm,
" it's all that you see, and the law that
governs it."

Well, it warn't a bad shot that, for a first
trial, that's a fact. It hit the target, though
it didn't strike the ring.

" Oh," said I, " then there is none of it at
night, and things can't be nateral in the dark."

Well, he seed he had run off the track, so
he braved it out. " I didn't say it was necessary
to see them all the time," he said.

" Just so," said I, " natur is what you see and
what you don't see ; but then feelin' aint nateral
at all. It strikes me that it^ — "

" Didn't I say," said he, " the laws that
govern them ?"

" Well, where are them laws writ ?"

" In that are receipt-book o' yourn you're so
proud of," said he. " What do you call it, Mr.
Wiseacre ?"

K 2

196

THE WOUNDS OF THE HEART.

" Then, you admit," sais I, " any fool can't
answer that question ?"

" Perhaps you can," sais he.

" Oh, Dad !" sais I, " you picked up that
shot and throwed it back. When a feller does
that it shows he is short of ammunition. But,
I'll tell you what my opinion is. There is no
such a thing as natur."

" What !" said he.

" Why there is no such a thing as natur in
reality ; it is only a figure of speech. The
confounded poets got hold of the idea and
parsonified it as they have the word heart, and
talk about the voice of natur and its sensations,
and its laws and its simplicities, and all that
sort of thing. The noise water makes in
tumblin' over stones in a brook, a splut-
erin' like a toothless old woman, scoldin'
with a mouthfull of hot tea in her lantern
cheek is called the voice of natur speaking
in the stream. And when the wind blows
and scatters about all the blossoms from
your fruit trees, and you are a ponderin'
over the mischief, a gall comes along side
of you with a book of poetry in her hand
and sais :

THE WOUNDS OF THE HEART.

197

canH

a I

3 that

r does

But,

I is no

itur in
The
3a and
rt, and
ations,
,11 that
es in
splut-
icoldin'
lantern
leaking
blows
from
iderin'
side
hand

Hark ! do you hear the voice of natur
amid the trees ? Isn't it sweet ?'

" Well, it's so absurd you can't help laughin'
and saying, ' No,' but then I hear the voice of
natur closer still, and it says, aint she a sweet
critter ?

" Well, a cultivated field which is a work of
art, dressed wdth artificial manures, and tilled
with artificial tools, perhaps by steam, is called
the smiling face of nature. Here nature is
strong and there exhausted, now animated, and
then asleep. At the poles, the features of
nature are all frozen, and as stiff as a poker, and
in the West Indies burnt up to a cinder. What
a pack of stuif it is ! It is just a pretty word like
pharmacopoeia and pierian spring, and so forth.
I hate poets, stock, lock, and barrel ; the whole
seed, breed and generation of them. If you see
a she one, look at her stockings ; they are all
wrinkled about her ancles, and her shoes are
down to heel, and her hair is as tangled as the
mane of a two-year old colt. And if you see a
he one, you see a mooney sort of man, either
very sad or so wild-looking you think he is half-
mad ; he eats and sleeps on earth, and that's
all. The rest of the time he is sky-high,

198

THE WOUilDS OF THE HEART.

trying to find inspiration and sublimity like
Byron, in gin and water. I like folks that have
common-sense."

Well to get back to my story. Said Jessie
to me : " Mr. Slick, what is natur ?"

" Well," sais I, " Miss, it's not very easy to
explain it so as to make it intelligible ; but I
will try. This world and all that is in it, is the
work of God. When he made it, he gave it
laws or properties that govern it, and so to
every living or inanimate thing ; and these
properties or laws are called their nature.
Nature, therefore, is sometimes used for God
himself, and sometimes for the world and its
contents, and the secret laws of action imposed
upon them when created. There is one nature
to men ; (for though they don't all look alike,
the laws of their being are the same,) and another
to horses, dogs, fish, and so on. Each class has its
own nature. For instance, it is natural for fish to
inhabit water, birds the air, and so on. In general,
it therefore means the universal law that governs
everything. Do you understand it ?" says I

" Not just now," she said, " but I will when
I have time to think of it. Do you say there
is one nature to all men "

THE WOUNDS OF THE HEART.

199

r like
; have

Jessie

asy to
but I
is the
^ave it
so to
these
nature,
r God
id its
iposcd
nature
alike,
nother
las its
fish to
eneral,
overns
I

when
there

" Yes, the same nature to Indian as to white
men — all the same."

" Which is the best nature ?"

" It is the same."

" Indian and white are the both equal ?"

" Quite—"

" Do you think so ?"

"Every mite and morsel, every bit and
grain. Everybody don't think so? That's
natural; every race thinks it is better than
another, and every man thinks he is superior to
others : and so does every woman. They
think their children the best and handsomest.
A bear thinks her nasty, dirty, shapeless tailless
cubs the most beautiful things in all creation."

She laughed at that, but as suddenly relapsed
into a fixed gloom. " If red and white men are
both equal, and have the same nature," she; said,
" what becomes of those who are neither red
nor white, who have no country, no nation, no
tribe, scorned by each, and the tents and the
houses of both closed against them. Are they
equal ? what does nature say ?"

" There is no diiference," I said ; " in the eye
of God they are all alike."

" God may think and treat them so," she

200

THE WOUNDS OF THE HEART.

replied, rising with much emotion, " but man
does not."

I thought it was as well to change the con-
versation, and leave her to ponder over the idea
of the races which seemed so new to her. " So,"
sais I, " I wonder the Doctor hasn't arrived ;
it's past four. There he is, Jessie ; see, he is
on the beach ; he has returned by water. Come,
put on your bonnet and let you and I go and
meet him."

" Who, me !" she said, her face expressing
both surprise and pleasure.

" To be sure,'* said I. " You are not afraid
of me, Miss, I hope.**

" I warn't sure I heard you right," she said
and away she went for her bonnet.

Poor thing ! it was evident her position
was a very painful one to her, and that her
natural pride was deeply injured. Poor dear
old Minister ! if you was now alive and could
read this Journal, I know what you would say
as well as possible. " Sam," you would say,
" this is a fulfilment of Scripture. The sins of
the fathers are visited on the children, the
effects of ivhich are visible in the second and
third generation"

ill

FIDDLING AND DANCING.

201

man

con-
idea
So,"
ivcd ;
he is
'ome,
and

cssing

afraid

said

isition
It her
dear
Icould
|d say
say,
IS of
the
and

CHAPTER VII.

FIDDLING AND DANCING, AND SERVING THE DEVIL.

By the time we had reached the house, Cutler
joined us, and we dined off of the Doctor's
salmon, which was prepared in a way that I had
never seen before ; and as it was a touch above
common, and smacked of the wigwam, I must
get the receipt. The only way for a man who
travels and wants to get something better than
amusement out of it, is to notch down anything
new, for every place has something to teach you
in that hne. " The silent pig is the best feeder,"
but it remains a pig still, and hastens its death
by growing too fat. Now the talking traveller
feeds his mind as well as his body, and soon
finds the less he pampers his appetite the clearer
his head is and the better his spirits. The

K 3

202

FIDDLING AND DANCING,

itU:

grciit thing is to Yivv and learn, and learn to
livo.

Now I hate an epicure above all rreatod
things — worse than lawyers, doctors, politicians
and selfish fellows of all kinds. In a giniral
wav he is a miserable critter, ff)r nothin' is
good enough for hini or done right, and his
a])petite gives itself as many airs, and re(juircs
as much waitin' on as a crotchetty, fiuiciful,
peevish old lady of fashion. If a man's sen-
sibility is all in his palate, he can't in course
have much in his heart. Makin' oneself
miserable, fastin' in sackcloth and ashes aint a
bit more foolish than makin' oneself wretched
in the midst of plenty, because the sea, the
air and the earth won't give him the dainties
he wants, and Providence won't send the cook
to dress them. To spend one's life in eating,
drinking and sleeping, or like a bullock, in
ruminating on food, reduces a man to the level
of an ox or an ass. The stomach is the
kitchen, and a very small one too, in a general
way, and broiling, simmering, stewing, baking
and steaming, is a goin' on there night and day.
The atmosphere is none of the pleasantest neither,
and if a man chooses to withdraw into himself

. L

AND SKRVING TIIK DKVIL.

•2()n

iking
day.

^ther,
iself

aiul livi Hi(T(», whv I don't sec \vh;it rarlhlv
guod he is to gocioty, unli'ss In; wants to wind
up litV l)y writJFj' a cookcry-lxx^k. I liatc tluni
— that's ji'st the tanii, and [ like farms tliat
express what 1 mean.

I sliall never for-ii't when 1 was np to Mieheh-
maekinie. A thundciin' lonir word, aitit it?
We call it Maekinie now tor shortness;, lint
perhaps you woukln't '.inck'rstand it sprit tiiat
way, no more than 1 d'u\ whi'ii I was to I'jngland
tliat Jirighton means liriLdithehneston, or Si.^siter
Cireneester, for the Enulish take such lihei'ties
with words, they (!an't afturd to k't others do :he
same ; so I givi! it to you hoth ways. Well,
when I was there last, 1 dined with a village
doctor, th(; greatest epicure I think I ever
sec in all my horn d;iys. He thouuht and
talked of nothing else from morning till night
but eatin.

" Oh, Mr. Slick," said he, rubbin his hands,
" this is the tallest country in the world to live
in. What a variety of food there is here, tish,
flesh and fowl, wild, tame and mongeral, fruits,
vegetables, and spongy plants !"

" What's that ?" sais 1. J alwavs do that
when a fellow uses stranG:e words. " We call

I i

• ■!

11. {

;

> >r

•204

FIDDLING AND DANCING,

a man who drops in accidently on purpose
to dinner a sponging fellow, which means
if you give him the liquid he will soak it
up dry.

" Spongy plants," sais he, " means mush-
rooms and the like."

" Ah !" said I, " mushrooms are nateral to a
new soil like this. Upstarts we call them ; they
arise at night, and by next mornin' their house
is up and its white roof on."

" Very good," said he, but not lookin' pleased
at havin' his oratory cut short that way. " Oh,
Mr. Slick !" said he, " there is a poor man here
who richly deserves a pension both from your
government and mine. He has done more to
advance the culinary art than either Ude or
Soyer."

" Who on earth now were they ?" said I. I
knew well enough who they were, for when I was
to England they used to brag greatly of Soyer at
the Reform Club. For fear folks would call
their association house after their politics, " the
cheap and dirty" they built a very splash affair,
and to set an example to the state in their own
establishment, of economy and reform in the
public departments, hired Soyer, the best cook

AND sp:rving the devil.

•205

irpose
neans
lak it

mush-

lI to a
; they
house

pleased
"Oh,
in here
n your
lore to
Jde or

I. I

I was
)yer at
Id call

"the

affair,
(r own

in the
cook

of the age, at a salary that would have pen-
sioned half-a-dozcn of the poor worn-out clerks
in Downing Street. Vulgarity is always showy.
It is a pretty word " Reformers." The common
herd of them I don't mind much, for rogues
and fools always find employment for each other.
But when I hear of a great reformer like some
of the big bugs to England, that have been
grinning through horse-collars of late years, like
harlequins at fairs, for the amusement and in-
struction of the public, I must say I do expect
to see a super-superior hypocrite.

Yes, I know who those great artists Soyer
and Ude were, but I thought I'd draw him out.
So I just asked who on earth they were, and he
explained at great length, and mentioned the
wonderful discoveries thev had made in their
divine art.

" Well," sais I, " why on earth don't your
friend the Mackinic cook go to London or Paris
where he won't want a pension, or anything else
if he excels them great men ?"

" Bless you. Sir," he replied, " he is merely

a vovageur.

" Oh dear," sais I, " I dare say then he can
fry ham and eggs and serve 'em up in ile, boil

206

FIDDLING AND DANCING.

!!■! I

(!.*

salt beef and pork and twice lay cod-fish, and
perhaps boil potatoes nice and watery like cattle
turnips. What discoveries could such a rough-
and-tumble fellow as that make ?"

" Well," said the doctor, " 1 didn't want to
put myself forward, for it aint pleasant to speak
of oneself."

" Well, I don't know that," sais I, "I aint above
it, I assure you. If you have a horse to sell,
put a thunderin' long price on him, and folks
w^ill think he must be the devil and all, and if
you want people to vally you right, appraise
yourself at a high figure. Braggin saves adver-
tisin. I always do it ; for, as the Nova Scotia
magistrate said, w^ho sued his debtor before him-
self, ' What's the use of being a justice, if you
can't do yourself justice.' But what was you
sayin about the voyageur?"

"Why, Sir," said he, "I made the dis-
covery through his instrumentality. He en-
abled me to do it by suffering the experiments
to be made on him. His name was Alexis
St Martin ; he was a Canadian, and about
eighteen years of age, of good constitution, ro-
bust and healthy. He had been engaged in
the service of the American Fur Company, as a

AND SKRVING THE DEVIL.

20'

dis-
en-
ents
exis

)OUt

ro-

s a

voyageur, and was accidentally wounded by the
discharge of a musket, on the 9th of June,
1822. The charge, consisting of powder
and duck-shot, was received in his left side ;
he being at a distance of not more than
one yard from the muzzle of the gun. The
contents entered posteriorly, and in an obhque
direction, forward and inward, literally blowing
off integuments and muscles, of the size of a
man's hand, fracturing and carrying away the
anterior half of the sixth rib, fracturing the fifth,
lacerating the lower portion of the left lobe of
the luuL^s, the diaphragm, and perforating the
stomach."

" Good gracious !" sais I, " how plain that is
expressed ! Jt is as clear as mud, that ! I do
like doctors, for their talking and writing is
is intelligible to the meanest capacity."

He looked pleased, and went ahead agin.

" After trying all the means in my power for
eight or ten months, to close the orifice, by ex-
citing adhesive inflammation in the lips of the
wound, without the least appearance of success,
1 gave it up as impracticable, in any other way
than that of incising and bringing them together
by sutures ; an operation to which the patient

i !

208

FIDDLING AND DANCING,

would not submit. By using the aperture which
providence had supplied us with to communicate
with the stomach, I ascertained, Ijy attaching
a small portion of food, of different kinds to a
string, and inserting it through his side, the exact
time each takes for digestion, such as beef or
pork, or mutton or fowl, or fish or vegetables,
cooked in different ways.* We all know how
long it takes to dress them, but we did not know
how long a time they required for digestion. I
will show you* a comparative table."

" Thank you," sais I, " but I am afraid I
must be a moving." Fact is, my stomach was
movin' then, for it fairly made me sick. Yes,
I'd a plaguy sight sooner see a man embroidering,
which is about as contemptible an accomplish-
ment as an idler can have, than to hear him
everlastingly smack his lips, and see him open
his eyes and gloat like an anaconda before he

* The village doctor appears to have appropriated to him-
self the credit due to another. The particulars of this re-
markable case are to he found in a work published in New
York in 1833, entitled " Experiments and observations on
the gastric juices, and the phisiology of digestion," by
William Beaumont, M.D., Surgeon in the United States
Army, and also in the " Albion " newspaper of the same
place for January 4, 1834.

AND SERVING THE DEVIL.

209

which
inicate
aching
Is to a
3 exact
beef or
Btables,
)W how
)t know
ion. I

ifraid I
ach was
. Yes,
idering,
mplish-
ar him
open
ifore he

id to hira-
)f this re-

l;d in New
/^ations on

Ition," by

[ted States
the same

takes down a bullock, horns, hair, and hoof,
tank, shank, and flank, at one bolt, as if it was
an opium pill to make him sleep.

Well, all this long lockrum arose out of my
saying I should like to have the receipt by which
Jessie's sister had cooked the salmon for dinner ;
and J intend to get it too, that's a fact. As
we concluded our meal, " Doctor," sais I,
" we have been meditating mischief in your
absence. What do you say to our makin' a
party to visit the ' Bachelor beaver's daniy' and
see your museum, fixins, betterments, and what
not ?"

" Why," said he, " I should like it above all
things ; but — "

" But what," said I.

" But I am afraid, as you must stay all night,
if you go, my poor wigwam wont accomodate so
many with beds."

" Oh ! some of us will camp out," sais I, " I
am used to it, and like it a plaguy sight better

than hot rooms."

'^ Just the thing," said he. " Oh ! Mr. Slick
you are a man after my own heart. The nature
of all foresters is alilce, red or white, English or
French, Yankee or Blue-nose."

■WB*9i

!«**si«

210

FIDDLING AND DANCING,

Jessie looked up at the coincidence of that
expression with what I had said yesterday.

" Blue-nose," said I, " Doctor," to famiharize
the girl's mind to the idea I had started of the
mixed race being on a footing of equality with
the other two, " Blue-nose ought to be the best,
for he is half Yankee, and half English ; two of
the greatest people on the focc of the airth !"

" True," said he, " by right he ought to be,
and it's his own fault he aint."

I thought it would be as well to drop the
allusion there, so I said, " That's exactly what
mother used to say when I did anytliing WTong :
' Sam, aint you ashamed.' ' No, I aint,' said I.
' Then you ought to be,' she'd reply.

" It's a fixed fact, then," said I, " that we go
to-morrow to the Beaver dam ?"

" Yes," said he, " I shuU be delighted. Jessie,
you andyour sister will accompanyus, won'tyou?"

" I should be charmed," she replied.

" I think you will be pleased with it," he con-
tinued, " it will just suit you ; it's so quiet and
retired. But you must let Etienne take the
horse, and carry a letter to my sergeant and his
commanding officer, Betty, to give them notice
of our visit, or he will go through the v.i'vle

AND SERVING THE DEVIL.

211

)f that

liliarize
of the
ty with
c best,
two of

■h 1"
to be,

:op the
ly what

wrong :
said 1.

we go

Jessie,
tyouf

he con-
let and
Ike the
md his
notice

campaign in Spain before he is done, and tell
you how ill the commissariat-people were used,
in not having notice given to them to lay in
stores. I never was honoured with the presence
of ladies there before, and he will tell vou he is

' %■'

broken-hearted at the accommodation. I don't
know what there is in the house ; but the rod
and the gun will supply us, I think, and th(!
French boy, when he returns, will bring me word
if anything is wanted from the shore."

" Jessie," said I, "■ can't you invite the two
Highland lassies and their brother, that were
here last night, and let us have a reel this
evening ?"

" Oh ! yes," she said, and going into the
kitchen, the message was dispatched immediately.
As soon as the guests arrived, Peter produced
his violin, and the Doctor waking out of one of
his brown studies, jumped up like a boy, and
taking one of the new comers by the hand, com-
menced a most joyous and rapid jig, the triumph
of which seemed to consist in who should tire
the other out. The girl had youth and agility
on her side ; but the Doctor was not devoid of
activity, and the great training which his constant
exercise kept him in, threw the balance in his

li
I

i'^

212

FIDDLING AND DANCING,

; III

I '

favour ; so, when he ceased, and declared the
other victorious, it was evident that it was an
act of grace, and not of necessity. After that
we all joined in an eight-handed reel, and eight
merrier and happier people, I don't think were
ever before assembled at Ship Harbour.

In the midst of it the door opened, and a
tall, thin, cadaverous-looking man entered, and
stood contemplating us in silence. He had a
bilious -looking countenance, which the strong
light of the fire and candles, when thrown upon
it, rendered still more repulsive. He had a
broad-brimmed hat on his head, which he did
not condescend to remove, and carried in one
hand a leather travelling-bag, as lean and as
dark-complexioned as himself, and in the other
a bundle of temperance newspapers. Peter
seeing that he did not speak or advance, called
out to him, with a face beaming with good
humour, as he kept bobbing his head, and
keeping time with his foot, (for his whole body
was affected by his own music,)

" Come in, friend, come in, she is welcome.
Come in, she is playin' herself just now, but
she will talk to you presently." And then he
stamped his foot to give emphasis to the turn

I
i

AND SERVING THE DEVIL.

213

of the tune, as if he wanted to astonish the
stranger with his performance.

The latter, however, not only seemed per-
fectly insensible to its charms, but immoveable.
Peter at last got up from his cliair, and con-
tinued playing as he advanced towards him ;
but he v^as so excited by what was going on
among the young people, that he couldn't resist
dancing himself, as he proceeded down the
room, and vvlien ho got to him, capered and
fiddled at the same time.

" Come," said he, as he jumped about in
front of him, " come and join in," and hftin' the
end of his bow suddenly, tipt oflf his hat for
him, and said, " come, she will dance with you
herself."

The stranger deliberately laid down his tra-
velling-bag and paper ])arcel, and lifting up
both hands said, " Satan, avaunt." But Peter
misunderstood him, and thought he said,
" Sartain, I can't."

" She canna do tat," he replied, " can't she
then, she'll teach you the step, herself. This is the
way," and his feet approached so near the solemn-
colly man that he retreated a step or two as if to
protect his shins. Everybody in the room was

214

FIDDLING AND DANCING,

convulsed with liiughtcr, for all saw what the
intruder was, and tlio singular mistake Peter
was making. It broke up the reel. The
Doctor put his hands to his sides, bent forward,
and made the most comical contortions of face.
In this position he shuffled across the room,
and actually roared out with laughter.

1 sliall never forget the scene ; I have made
a sketcli of it, to illustrate this for you. There
was this demure sinncu-, standing bolt upright
in front of the door, his hat hanging on the
handle, which had arrested it in its fall, and
his long black hair, as if partaking of his :jon-
sternation, . flowing wildly over his cheeks ;
while, Peter, utterly unconscious that no one
was dancing continued playing and capering
in front of him, as if he wa^ ravin distracted,
and the Doctor bent forward, pressing his sides
with his hands, as if to prevent their bursting,
laughed as if he was in hysterics. It was the
most comical thing I ever saw. I couldn't
resist it no longer, so I joined the trio.

" Come, Doctor," sais I, " a three-handed
reel," and entering into the joke, he seized the
stranger by one hand, and I by the other, and
before our silent friend knew where he was,

AND SEKVING THE DEVIL.

21j

ha was in the middle of the floor, and though
he was not made to dance, he was pushed or
flung into his place, and turned and faced
about as if he was taking his first lesson. At
last, as if by common consent, we all ceased
laughing', from sheer exhaustion. The stranger
still kept his position in the centre of the floor,
and when silence was restored, raised his hands
again in pious horror, and said, in a deep,
sepulchral voice:

" FiddUmj and dancincji and serving Ike
devil. Do you ever think of your latter end ?"

" Thee had better think of thine, friend," 1
whispered, assuming the manner of a quaker
for fun, " for Peter is a rough customer, and
won't stand upon ceremony."

'' Amhic an aibhisteir, (son of the devil,)"
said Peter, shiiking his fist at him, " if she
don't like it, she had better go. It's her
own house, and she will do what she likes in
it. Faat does she want ?"

" I want the man called Samuel Slick," said
he.

" Verily," sais I, " friend, I am that man, and
wilt thee tell me who thee is that wantest me,
and where thee livest ?"

216

FIDDLING AND DANCING,

" Men call mo," he s;ii<l, " Jehu Judd, and
when to liome, I live in Qiuico in New Bruns-
wick."

I was glad of that, because it warn't
possi])le the critter could know anything of me,
and I wanted to draw him out.

" And what does thee want, friend ?" I
said.

" I come to trade with you, to sell you fifty
barrels of mackerel, and to procure some nets
for the fishery, and some manutaetures, com-
monly called domestics.''^

** Verily," sais I, " thee hast an odd way of
opening a trade, methinks, friend Judd. Shak-
ing quakers dance piously, as thee mayest have
heard, and dost thee think thy conduct seemly ?
What mayest thee be, friend ?"

" A trader," he rej)licd.

" Art thee not a fisher of men, friend, as
well as a fisher of fish ?"

" I am a Christian man," he said, " of the

sect called ' Come -outers,'* and have had ex-

♦ Come-outers. This name has been appUed to a con-
siderable number of persons in various parts of the Nor-
thern States, principally in New England, who have re-
cently come out of the various religious denominations with
which they have been connected ; hence the name They

AND SERVING THE DEVIL.

217

d, and
Bruns-

wiirn't
of me,

1 ?" I

3u fifty
ae nets
3, corn-
way of
Shak-
;st have
eeinly ?

ind, as

of the

lad cx-

to a con-
the Nor-
liave re-
lons with
They

pnricnro, and wlien I meet the brethren, some-
times 1 speak a word in season."

*' Well, fri(!nd, thee has spoken thy words
out of season, to-night," I said.

" Peradventure I was wrong," he replied,
'* and if so, I repent me of it."

" Of a certainty, thee was, friend. Thee
sayest thy name is Jehu ; now, he was a hard
rider, and it may be thee drivest a hard
barg.'iin, if so, go thy ways, for thee cannot
* make seed-corn off of me ;' if not, tarry here
till this company goeth, and then I will talk
to tliee touchin": the thine: called maekarel.
Wilt thee sit by the fire till the quaker ceaseth
his dancing, and perhaps thee may learn ^.hat
those words mean : ' and the heart danceth for
iov,' or it mav be thee will return to .hv
vessel, and trade in the morning."

" No man knoweth," he said, " what an
hour may bring forth ; I will bide my time."

" The night is cold at this season," said Peter,
who considered that the laws of hospitality

have not themselves assumed any distinctive organization.
They have no creed, beUevinf? that every one should be left
free to hold such opinions on religious subjects as he pleases,
without being held accountable for the same to any human
authority. — Bartlett's Americanisms.

VOL. I. L

! / i

218

FIDDLING AND DANCING,

I'li'i

required him to offer the best he had in his
house to a stranger, so he produced some
spirits, as the most acceptable thing he possessed,
and requested him to help himself.

" I care not if I do," he said, " for my pledge
extendeth not so far as this," and he poured
himself out a tumbler of brandy and water, that
warnt half-and-half, but almost the whole hog.
Oh, gummy, what a horn ! it was strong
enough almost to throw an ox over a five bar
gate. It made his eyes twinkle, I tell you, and
he sat down and began to look as if he thought
the galls pretty.

" Come Peter," said I, " strike up, the
stranger will wait awhile."

" Will she dance," said he, " tam her."

" No," said I, but I whispered to the Doctor,
" he will reel soon," at which he folded his arms
across his breast and performed his gyrations
as before. Meanwhile Cutler and Frazer, and
two of the girls commenced dancing jigs, and
harmony was once more restored. While they
were thus occupied, I talked over the arrange-
ments for our excursion on the morrow with
.Jessie, and the Doctor entered into a close
examination of Jehu Judd, as to the new

AND SERVING THE DEVIL.

219

his
ome
ssed,

edge
mred
, that
hog.
trong
e bar
1, and
ought

the

►octor,
arms
•ations
[r, and
and
they
•ange-
with
close
new

asphalt mines in his province. He informed
him of the enormous petrified trunks of palm-
trees that have been found while exploring the
coal-fields, and warmed into eloquence as he
enumerated the mineral wealth and great re-
sources of that most beautiful colony. The
Doctor expressed himself delighted with the
information he had received, whereupon, Jehu
rose and asked him in token of amity to pledge
him in a glass of Peter's excellent cognac, and
without waiting for a reply, filled a tumbler and
swallowed it at one gulp.

My, what a pull that was. Thinks I to
mvself, " Friend if that don't take the wrinkles
out of the parcijment case of your conscience,
then I don't know nothin' that's all." Oh dear,
how all America is overrun with such cattle as
this ; how few teach religion, or practise it right.
How hard it is to find the genuine article. Some
folks keep the people in ignorance, and make
them believe the moon is made of green cheese,
others with as much sense, fancy the world is.
One has old saints, the other invents new ones.
Qne places miracles at a distance, 'tother makes
them before their eyes, while both are up to
mesmerism. One says there is no marry in' in

L 2

220

FIDDLING AND DANCING,

Paradise, the other says, if that's true, it's hard,
and it is hcst to be a mormon and to have
polygamy here. Then there is a third party who
says, neither of you speak sense, it is better to
believe nothin, than to give yourself up to be
crammed. Religion, Squire, ain't natur, because
it is intended to improve corrupt natur, it's no use
talkin, therefore, it can't be left to itself, otherwise
it degenerates into something little better than
animal instinct. It must be taught, and teach-
ing must have authority as well as learning.
There can be no authority where there is no
power to enforce, and there can be no learning
where there is no training. If there must be
normal schools to qualify schoolmasters, there
must be Oxfords and Cambridges to qualify
clergymen. At least that's my idea. Well, if
there is a qualified man he nmst be supported
while he is working. But if he has to please
his earthly employer, instead of obeying his
heavenly master, the better he is qualified the
more dangerous he is. If he relies on his con-
gregation, the order of things is turned upside
down. He serves mammon, and not God. If
he does his duty he must tell unpleasant truths,
and then he gets a walkin' ticket. Who will

. .J<

hard,
have
V who
ter to
to be
ecause
no use
xTvvise
r than
teach-
irning.
; is no
arning
ust be
there
[qualify
^eU, if
ported
please
g his
d the
s con-
upside
Id. If
truths,
10 will

AND SERVING THE DEVIL.

221

hire a servant, pay him for his time, find a
house for him to live in, and provide him in
board, if he has a will of his own, and won't
please his employer by doin' what he is ordered
to do. I don't think you would, Squire, and I
know I wouldn't.

No, a fixed, settled church, like ourn, or
yours, Squire, is the bcat. There is safe anchor-
age ground in them, and you don't go draggin'
your flukes with every spurt of wind, or get
wrecked if there is a gale that rages round you.
There is something strong to hold on to. There
are good buoys, known landmarks, and fixed
light-houses, so that you know how to steer,
and not belter skelter lights movin' on the
shore like will-o'-the-whisps, or wreckers' false
fires, that jusi- lead you to destruction. The
medium between the two churches, for the
clergy would be the right thing. In yours
they are too independent of the people, with
us a little too dependent. But we are coming
up to the notch by making moderate endow-
ments, which W'ill enable the minister to do
what is right, and not too large to make him
lazy or careless. Well then, in neither of them
is a minister handed over to a faction to try.

I ;

I>l):

222

FIDDLING AND DANCING,

A !

}> 'i

\ ilii

Them that make the charges ain't the judges,
which is a Magna Charta for him.

Yes, 1 like our episcopal churches, they teach,
persuade, guide, and paternally govern, hut they
have no dungeons, no tortures, no fire and
sword. They ain't afraid of the light, for as
minister used to say, " their light shines afore
men." Just see what sort of a system it must
be that produces such a man as Jehu Judd. And
yet Jehu finds it answer his purpose in his class
to be what he is. His religion is a cloak, and
that is a grand thing for a pick-pocket. It
hides his hands, while they are fumblin' about
your waistcoat and trowsers, and then conceals
the booty. You can't make tricks if your
adversary sees your hands, you may as well give
up the game.

But to return to the evangelical trader. Before
we recommenced dancing again, I begged the
two Gaelic girls, who were bouncing, buxom
lasses, and as strong as Shetland ponies, to coax
or drag him up for a reel. Each took a hand
of his and tried to persuade him. Oh, weren't
they full of smiles, and didn't they look rosy
and temptin? They were sure they said
so good-lookin' a man as he was, must have

«''"i

AND SERVING THE DEVIL.

2-23

■4

«^

icained to dance, or how could he have given
it up ?

" For a single man like you," said Catherine.

" I am not a single man," said Old Piety, " I
am a widower, a lonely man in the house of
Israel."

" Oh, Catherine," sais I, a givin' her a wink,

" take care of theeself, or thy Musquodobit farm '

with its hundred acres of intervale meadow,

and seventy head of horned cattle is gone."

He took a very amatory look at her after that
hint.

" Verily she would be a duck in Quaco, friend
Jehu," said I.

" Indeed would she, anywhere," he said, look-
ing sanctified Cupids at her, as pious galls do
who show you the place in your prayer-book at
church.

"Ah, there is another way, methinks she
would be a duck," said I, « the maiden would
soon turn up the whites of her eyes at dancin'
like a duck in thunder, as the. profane men
say."

" Oh, oh," said the Doctor, who stood behind
me, " I shall die, he'll kill me. I can't stmd
this, oh, how my sides ache."

224

FIDDLING AND DANCING,

" Indeed I am afraid I shall always be a wild
duck" said Catherine.

" They are safer from the fowler," said Jehu,
" for they are wary and watchful."

" If you are a widower," she said, " you
ought to dance."

" Why do you think so ?" said he ; but his
tongue was becoming thick, though his eyes
were getting brighter.

" Because," she said, " a widower is an odd
critter."

" Odd ?" he replied, " in what way odd,
dear ?"

" Why," said the girl, " an ox of our'n
lately lost his mate, and my brother called him
the odd ox, and not the single ox, and he is the
most frolicksome fellow you ever see. Now, as
you have lost your mate, you are an odd one,
and if you are lookin' for another to put its
head into the yoke, you ought to go frolickin'
everywhere too !"

" Do single critters ever look for mates ?"
said he, slily.

" Well done," said I, " friend Jehu. The
dllike had the best of the duck that time.
Thee weren't bred at Quaco for nothin. Come,

AND SERVIxVG THE DEVIL.

2'25

/ou

odd,

our'n
d him
is the
w, as
one,
ut its
ickin'

»)

tes?

The
Itime.

fome,

rouse up, wake snakes, and walk chalks, as tht:
thoughtless children of evil say. I sec thee is
warniin' to the subject."

" Men do allow," said he, lookin' at me with
great self-complacency, "that in spci^h I am
peeowerfuV

" Come, Mary," said I, addressin' the other
sister, " do thee try thy persuasive powi^rs, but
take care of thy grandmother's legacy, the two
thousand pounds thee hast in the Pictou Bank.
It is easier for that to go to Quaco than the
farm."

" Oh, never fear," said she.

" Providence," he continued, " has been kind
to these virgins. They are surprising comely,
and well endowed with understanding and
money," and he smirked first at one and then
at the other, as if he thought either would do —
the farm or the legacy.

" Come," they both said, and as tliey gave a
slight pull, up he sprung to his feet. The
temptation was too great for him : two pan s of
bright eyes, two pretty faces, and two hands in
his, filled with Highland blood— and that aui't
cold — and two glasses of grog within, and two
fortunes without were irresistible.

L 3

226

FIDDLING AND DANCING,

w i

So said he, " If I have offended, verily I will
make amends ; but dancing is a dangerous
thing, and a snare to the unwary. The hand
and waist of a maiden in the dance lead not to
serious thoughts."

" It's because thee so seldom feels them," I
said. "Edged tools never v\^ound thee when
thee is used to them, and the razor that cutteth
the child, passeth smoothly over the chin of a
man. He who locketh up his daughters, for-
getteth there is a window and a ladder, and if
gaiety is shut out of the house, it is pitied and
admitted when the master is absent or asleep.
When it is harboured by stealth and kept con-
cealed, it loses its beauty and innocence, and
waxeth wicked. The crowd that leaveth a
night-meeting is less restrained than the throng
that goeth to a lighted ball-room. Both are to
be avoided ; one weareth a cloak that conceals too
much, the other a thin vestment that reveals
more than is seemly. Of the two, it is better
to court observation than shun it. Dark
thouo-hts lead to dark deeds."

" There is much reason in what you say," he
said ; " I never had it put to me in that light
before. I have heard of the shakers, but never

AND SERVING SHE DEVIL.

•227

I will
^erous
I hand
not to

m," I

when
lutteth
n of a
rs, for-

and if
ed and
asleep.

/'he

light

I never

saw one before you, nor was aware that they
danced."

" Did thee never hear," said I, " when thee
was a boy,

" ' Merrily dance the Quaker's wife,
And merrily dance the Quaker?'

and so on ?'*

" No, never," said he.

" Then verily, friend, I will show thee how a
Quaker can dance. They call us shakers, from
shaking our feet so spry. Which will thee
choose — the farm or the lon^acv ?"

Mary took his hand, and led him to his
place, the music struck up, and Peter gave us
one of his quickest measures. Jehu now felt
the combined influence of music, women,
brandy and dancing, and snapped his fingers
over his head, and stamped his feet to mark
the time, and hummed the tune in a voice that
from its power and clearness astonished us
all.

" Well done, old boy," said I, for I thought
I might drop the quaker now, " well done, old
boy," and I slapped him on the back, "go it
while you are young, make up for lost time :

228

FIDDLING AND DANCING,

■^if II

now for the double shuffle. Dod drot it, you
are clear grit and no mistake. You are like a
critter that boggles in the collar at the first
go off, and don't like the start, but when you
do lay legs to it you certainly ain't no slouch,
I know."

The way he cut carlicues, ain't no matter.
From humming he soon got to a full cry, and
from that to shouting. His antics overcame
us all. The Doctor gave the first key note.
" Oh, oh, that man will be the death of me,"
and again rubbed himself round the wall, in
convulsions of laughter. Peter saw nothing
absurd in all this, on the contrary, he was
delighted with the stranger.

" Oigh," he said, " ta preacher is a goot
feller after all, she will tance with her hern
ainsel," and fiddling his way up to him again,
he danced a jig with Jehu, to the infinite
amusement of us all. The familiarity which
Mr. Judd exhibited with the steps and the
dance, convinced me that he must have often
indulged in it before he became a christian.
At last he sat down, not a little exhausted with
the violent exertion, but the liquor made him
peeowerful thick-legged, and his track warnt a

AND SERVING QUE DEVIll.

229

bee line, I tell you. After a while a song was
proposed, and Mary entreated him to favour
us with one.

"Dear Miss," said he, "pretty Miss," and
his mouth resembled that of a cat contem-
platini^ a pan of milk that it cannot reach,
" lovely maiden, willingly would I comply, if
Sail Mody (Psalmody) will do, hut I hav(j
forgotten my songs."

"Try this," said 1, and his strong, clear
voice rose above us all, as he joined us in

goot

" Yes, Lucy is a pretty girl,
Sucli lubly hands and feet,
When her toe is in the Market-house,
Her heel is in Main Street.

" Oh, take your time, Miss Lucy,
Miss Lucy, Lucy Long,
Rock de cradle, Lucy,
And listen to de song."

He complained of thirst and fatigue after
this, and rising, said, " I am peeowerfui dry,
by jinks," and helped himself so liberally, that
he had scarcely resumed his seat before he was
fast asleep, and so incapable of sustaining
himself in a sitting posture, that we removed

230

FlUUUNG AND DANCING.

'* li

him to tin; sofa, and loosening his cravat,
placed him in a situation where he could repose
comfortably. We then all stood round th(?
evangelical " come-outer" and sang in clioras :

" My old master, Twiddledum Don,
Went to bed with his trousers on.
One shoe off, and the other shoe on —
That's a description of TwiddU'dmn Don."

" Oh, my old ' Come-outer,' said I, as 1
took my last look at him for the night, " you
have ' come-out ' in your true colours at last,
but this comes of ^fiddling and dancing, and
serving the devil.' "

ii A

STITCHING A DUTTON-HOLE.

231

CHAFrER VIII.

STITCHING A BUTTON-HOLE.

After the family had retired to rest, the
Doctor and 1 lighted our cigars, and discoursed
of the events of the evening.

" Such nnen, as Jehu Judd," he said, " do a
monstrous deal of mischief in the country. By
making the profession of piety a cloak for their
knavery, they injure the cause of morality, and
predispose men to ridicule the very appearance
of that which is so justly entitled to their re-
spect, a soher, righteous, and godly life. Men
lose their abhorrence of fraud in their distrust
of the efficacy of religion. It is a duty we owe
to society to expose and punish such fellows."

"Well then, I will do my duty," said I,
laughing, " he has fired into the wrong flock

232

STITCHING A BUTTON-HOLE.

; I

this time, I'll teach him not to do it again or
my name is not Sam Slick. I will make that
goney a caution to sinners 1 know. He has
often deceived others so that they didn't know
him, I will now alter him so he shan't know
himself when he wakes up."

Proceeding to my hed-room, which, as I said
before adjoined the parlour, I brought out the
box containin' my sketchin' fixins, and opening
of a secret drawer, shewed him a small paper of
bronze coloured powder.

" That," said I, " is what the Indians at the
Nor-west use to disguise a white man, when he
is in their train, not to deceive their enemies, for
you couldn't take in a savage for any length of
time, no how you could fix it, but that his pale
face might not alarm the scouts of their foes.
1 was stained that way for a month, when I w^as
among them, for there w^as war going on at the
time."

Mixing a httle of it with brandy I went to
the sofa, where Mr. Jehu Judd was laid out, and
with a camel's hair brush ornamented his upper
lip with two enormous and ferocious moustachios,
curling well upwards, across his cheeks, to his
ears, and laid on the paint in a manner to resist

STITCHTNG A BUTTON-HOLE.

233

the utmost efforts of soap and water. Each eye
was adorned with an enormous circle to represent
the effect of blows, and on his forehead was
written in this indelible ink in la' <je print letters,
like those oi- Ihe starn-board of a vessel, the
words, " Jehu of Quaco."

In the morning we made preparations for
visiting the Batchelor Beaver. The evan-
gelical trader awoke amid the general bustle of
the house, and sought me out to talk over the
sale of his mackarel.

" Fa is tat," said Peter, who first stared wildly
at him, and then put himself in a posture of
defence. " Is she a deserter from the garishon
of Halifax ?"

" I am a man of peace," said Jehu, (who
appeared to have forgotten the aberrations of
the last evening, and had resumed his usual
sanctimoniouslyfied manner.) "Swear not, friend,
it is an abomination, and becometh not a
christian man."

Peter was amazed, he could not trust his
eyes, his ears, or his memory.

" Toctor," said he, " come here for heaven's
sake, is she hernainsel or ta tevil."

The moment the Doctor saw him, his hands

( .

f '1

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i

234

STITCHING A BUTTON-HOLE.

as usual involuntarily protected his sides, and he
burst out a laughing in his face, and then de-
scribing a circle on the grass, fell down, and
rolled over, saying ; " Oh, oh, that man will be
the death of me." The girls nearly went into
hysterics, and Cutler, though evidently not
approving of the practical joke, as only fit for
military life, unable to contain himself, walked
away. The French boy, Etienne, frightened
? L his horrible expression of face, retreated back-
wards, crossed himself most devoutly, and
muttered an Ave Maria.

" Friend Judd," said I, for I was the only
one who retained my gravity, " thee ought not
to wear a mask, it is a bad sign."

" I wear no mask, Mr. Slick," he said, " I
use no disguises, and it does not become a pro-
fessing man like you, to jeer and scoff because
I reprove the man Peter for his profaneness."
Peter stamped and raved like a madman,
and had to resort to Gaelic to disburden his
mind of his effervescence. He threatened to shoot
him, he knew him very well, he said, for he
hai seen him before on the prairies. He was a
Kentucky villain, a forger, a tief, a Yan ee spy
sent to excite the Indians against the English. He

STITCHING A BUTTON-HOLE.

235

knew his false moustachios, he would swear to
them in any court of justice in the world.
" Deil a bit is ta Loon, Jehu Judd," he said,
" her name is prayin' Joe, the horse-stealer."

For the truth of this charge he appealed to
his daughters, who stood aghast at the fearful
resemblance his moustachios had given him to
that noted borderer.

" That man of Satan," said Jehu, looking
very uncomfortable, as he saw Peter flourishing
a short dirk, and the Doctor holding him back
and remonstrating with him. "That man of
Satan I never saw before yesterday, when I
entered his house, where there vjus Jiddling and
dancing, and serving the devil. Truly my head
became dizzy at the sight, my heart sunk with-
in me at beholding such wickedness, and I fell
into' a swoon, and was troubled with dreams
of the evil one all night."

" Then he visited thee, friend," I said, " in
thy sleep, and placed his mark upon thee — the
mark of the beast, come and look at it in the
glass."

When he saw himself, he' started back in
great terror, and gave vent to a long, low,
guttural groan, like a man who is suffering

236

STITCHING A BUTTON-HOLE.

i : !

intense agony. " What in the world is all this ?"
he said. He again approached the glass and
again retreated with a look of unspeakable
despair, groaning like a thousand sinners, and
swelled out about the head and throat like a
startled blauzer-snake. After which he put
his hand to his lip and discovered there was no
hair. He then took courage and advanced
once more, and examined it carefully, and
rubbed it, but it did not remove it.

" He has burned it into the skin," I said,
" he hath made thee the image of the horse-
stealer, and who knoweth whom else thou
resemblest. Thee art a marked man verily.
Thee said thee never used disguises."

" Never," he said, " never, Mr. Slick."

" Hush," I said, " thee hast worn three
disguises. First thee wore the disguise of
religion ; secondly, thee were disguised in
liquor ; and thirdly, thee art now disguised
with what fighting men call the mous-
tachio."

"Oh, Mr. Slick," said he, leaving off his
cant, and really looking like a different man,
" dod drot it, it is a just punishment. I knock
under, I holler, I give in, have mercy on me.

STITCHING A BUTTON-HOLE.

237

Can you rid mc of this horrid mark, for I can't
flunk out in the street in this rig."

*' I can/' sais I, " but I will do it on one
condition only, and that is, that you give over
canting that way, and coverin' tricks with long
faces, and things too serious to mention now,
for that is doubly wicked. Cheatin' ain't pretty
at no time, though I wouldn't be too hard on a
man for only gettin' hold of the right ecnd of
the rope in a bargain. I have done it myself.
Or puttin' the leak into a consaited critter some-
times for fun. But to cheat, and cant to help
you a doin' of it, is horrid, that's a fact. It's
the very devil. Will you promise, if I take
down that ornamental sign-board, that you will
give up that kind o' business and set up a new
shop ?"

*' I will," said he, " upon my soul — I'll be
d — d if I don't. That ain't cant now is it ?"

" Well, now you never said a truer word,"
said I, "you will be d — d if you don't, that's
a fact. But there is no use to run to the other
extreme, neither."

" Are you a preacher ?" said he, and I thought
he gave me a sly look out of the corner of his
eye, as much as to say, " how good we are, ain't

I '

: I

i >
1

• I

;:!!

238

STITCHING A BUTTON-HOLE.

we," as sin said when the devil was rebukin' of
him. The fact is, the fellow was a thunderin'
knave, but he was no fool, further than being
silly enough to be a knave.

" No," sais I, " I ain't, I scorn a man dubbin'
himself preacher, without the broughtens up to
it, and a lawful warrant for being one. And I
scorn cant, it ain't necessary to trade. If you
want that proved to you, wait till I return to-
moiTow, and if you get to winderd of me in a
bargain, I'll give you leave to put the mustachios
on me, that's a fact. My maxim is to buy as
low, and sell as high as I can, provided the
article will bear a large profit. If not, I take a
moderate advance, turn the penny quick, and at
it again. I will compound something that w-ill
take out your false hair, for I don't think it will
be easy to shave it off. It all came of pretence.
What in the world was the reason you couldn't
walk quietly into the cantecoi, where people
were enjoying themselves, and either join them,
or if you had scruples, keep them to yourself
and sit by. Nobody would have molested you.
Nothing but cant led you to join temperance
societies. A man ought to be able to use, not
abuse liquor, but the moment you obligate your-

STITCHIHG A BUTTON-HOLE.

239

self not to touch it, it kinder sets you a hanker-
ing after it, and if you taste it after that, it
upsets you, as it did last night. It ain't easy
to wean a calf that takes to suckin' the second
time, that's a fact. Your pretence set folks
agin' you. They didn't half like the interruption
for one thing, and then the way you acted made
them disrespect you. So you got a most an
all-fired trick played on you. And I must say
it sarvcs you right. Now, sais I, go on board
and—"

" Oh, Mr. Slick," said he, " oh now, that's a
good fellow, don't send me on board, such a
figure as this, I'd rather die fust, I'd never
hear the last of it. The men would make me
the laughing stock of Quaco. Oh, I can't go
on board."

" Well," sais I, " go to bed then, and put a
poultice on your face, to soften the skin."
That warn't necessary at all, but I said it to
punish him. " And when I come back, I will
give you a wash, that will make your face as
white and as smooth as a baby's.'*

" Oh, Mr. Slick," said he, " couldn't you—"
but I turned away, and didn't hear him out.

By the time I had done with him, we were

240

STITCHING A BUTTON-HOLE.

- I

all ready to start for the Bachelor Beaver.
Peter borrowed an extra horse and waggon, and
drove his youngest daughter. Cutler drove
Jessie in another, and the Doctor and I walked.

" We can travel as fast as they can," he
said, " for part of the road is full of stumps, and
very rough, and I like the arrangement, and
want to have a talk with you about all sorts of
things."

After travelling about two miles, we struck
off the main highway, into a wood-road, in
which stones, hillocks, and roots of trees, so
impeded the waggons, that we passed them,
and took the lead.

" Are you charged ?" said the Doctor, " if
not, I think we may as well do so now."

" Perhaps it would be advisable," said I.
'* But where is your gun ?"

" I generally am so well loaded," he replied,
" when I go to the woods, I find it an incum-
brance. In addition to my other traps, I find
forty weight of pemican as much as I can carry."

" Pemican"*^ sais I, " what in natur is that ?"
I knew as well as he did what it was, for a
man that don't understand how to make that,
* See Dunn's " Oregon."

STITCHING A BUTTON-HOLE.

24 1

don't know the very abeselfa of wood-craft.
But I tell you what, Squire, unless you
want to be hated, don't let on you know
all that a feller can tell you. The more
you do know, the more folks are afeared to be
able to tell you something new. It flatters
their vanity, and it's a harmless piece of polite-
ness, as well as good policy to listen ; for who
the plague will attend to you, if you won't con-
descend to hear them? Conversation is a
barter, in which one thing is swapped for
another^ and you must abide by the laws of
trade. What you give, costs you nothing ; and
what you get, may be worth nothing ; so, if
you don't gain much, you don't lose, at all
events. " So," sais I, "what in natur is pemican?"
" Why," sais he, " it is formed by pounding the
choice parts of venison or other meat very small,
dried over a slack fire, or by the frost, and put into
bags, made of the skin of the slain animal, into
which a portion of melted fat is poured. The
whole being then strongly pressed, and sewed
up in bags, constitutes the best, and most port-
able food known ; and one which will keep a
great length of time. If a dainty man, like you,
wishes to improve its flavour, you may spice it."

VOL. I. M

ill

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242

STITCHING A BUTTON-HOLE.

" What a grand thing that would be for
soldiers, during forced marches, wouldn't it.
Well, Doctor," sais I, " that's a wrinkle, aint
it ? But who ever heard of a colonial minister
knowing anything of colony habits?"

" If we have a chance to kill a deer," he said,
" I will show you how to make it," and he looked
as pleased to give me that information, as if he
had invented it himself. " So I use this instead
of a gun," he continued, producing a long,
thick-barreled pistol, of capital workmanship,
and well mounted. " I prefer this, it answers
every purpose : and is easy to carry. There are
no wolves here, and bears never attack you,
unless molested, so that the gun-barrel is not
needed as a club ; and if Bruin once gets a
taste of this, he is in no hurry to face it again.
The great thing is to know how to shoot, and
where to hit. Now, it's no use to fire at the
head of a bear, the proper place to aim for is
the side, just back of the fore leg. Are you a
good shot?"

" Well," said I, " I can't brag, for I have
seen them that could beat me at that game ;
but, in a general way, I don't calculate to throw
away my lead. It's scarce in the woods.

STITCHING A UUTTON-HOLE.

24 3

Suppose, tliou^^h, we have a trial. Do you see
that blaze in the hernloek tree, there ? try it."

Well, he up, and as quick as wink fired,
and hit it directly in the centre.

" Well," sais I, '* you scare me. To tell
you the truth, I didn't expect to be taken u])
that way. And so sure as I boast of a thing,
I slip out of the little eend of the horn." Well,
1 drew a bead fine on it, and fired.

" That mark is too small," said he, (thinking
I had missed it,) " and hardly plain enough."

*' I shoukln't wonder if I had gone a one
side or the other," said I, " as we walked up
to it, " 1 intended to send your ball further in ;
but I guess I have only turned it round. See,
I have cut a little grain of the bark off the
right side of the circle."

'■' Good," said he, " these balls are near
enough to give a critter the heart-ache, at any
rate. You are a better shot than I am ; and
that's what I have never seen in this province.
Strange, too, for you don't live in the woods,
as I do."

" That's the reason," said I, " I shoot for
practice, you, when you require it. Use keeps
your hand in, but it wouldn't do it for me ;

M 2

•244

STITCHING A liUTTON-IlOf.E.

so 1 make uj3 hy j)ra(;tisin^, vvhoncvor I can.
Whon I ^0 to the woods, which aint as often
now as I could wish, for tht!V aint to \w found
everywhere in our great country, I enjoy it with
all mv heart. I enter into it as keen as a
hound, and I don't care to have the Clock-
maker run rigs on. A man's life often depends
on his shot, and he ought to he afraid of
nothin. Some men, too, are as dangerous us
wild heasts ; hut if they know you can snuft' a
(;;indle with a hall, hand runnin, why, they are
apt to try their luck with some one else, that
aint up to snuff, that's all. It's a common
feeling, that.

" The host sliot I ever knew, was a tailor, at
Alhanv. He used to be very fond of brousin'
in the forest sometimes, and the young fellows
was apt to have a shy at Thimble. They talked
of the skirts of the forest, the capes of the
Hudson, laughing in their sleeve, giving a fellow
a bast in, having a stitch in the side, cuffing a
fellow's ears, taking a tuck-in at lunch, or
calling mint-julip an inside lining, and so on ;
and every time any o' these words came out,
they all laughed like anything.

" Well, the critter who was really a capital

STITCHING A nLTTON-IlOLE.

24:)

r I can.

as often
w found
y it with
ivn as a
3 Clock-

(Icpt'nds
ifraid of
erous us
1 snuff a
they aro
jIso, that
common

ailor, at
brousin'
fellows
talked
of the
fellow
ng a
ch, or
so on ;
e out,

capital

fellow, used to join in the laUL,di himself, hut
still grinnin' is no j)r()of a man enjoys it ; for a
hyena will laugh, if you give him a [)oke. So
what does he do, but practise in seei'et every
morning and evening at pistol-shooting, for an
hour or two, until he was a shade more than
perfection itself. Well, one day he was out
with a party of them same coons, and they
began to run the old rig on him as usual. And
he jumps up on eend, and in a joking kind u'
way, said : ' Gentleme/i, can any of you stitch a
button-hole, with the button in it ?* Well, they
all roared out at that like mad.

" ' No S'lrree,' sais they, * but come, show us
Thimble, will you ? that's a good fellow. Tom,
fetch the goose, to press it when it's done, Dick,
cabbage a bit of cloth for him to try it upon.
Why, Tom, you are as s/tar/v as a needle.'

" ' Well,' sais he, ' I'll show you-'

" So he went to a tree, and took out of his
pocket a fippenny bit, that had a hole in the
centre, and putting in it a small nail, which lie
had provided, he fastened it to the tree.

" ' Now,' said he, taking out a pair of pistols,
and lots of ammunition, from the bottom of his
prog-basket, where he had hid them, ' Now,'

'!'

111

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♦i

246

STITCHING A BUTTON- HOLE.

said he, gentlemen, the way to stitch a button-
holo, is to put balls all round that button, in a
close ring, and never disturb them ; that's what
we tailors call workmanlike,' and he fired away,
shot after shot, till he had done it.

" * Now,' said he, ' gentlemen, that button has
to be listened,' and he fired, and drove the nail
that it hung on, into the tree. ' And now,
gentlemen,' said he, ' I have stood your shots for
many a long day, turn about is fair play. The
first man that cracks a joke at me, on account
of my calling, must stand my shot, and if I
don't stitch his button-hole for him, I am no
tailor ; that's all.'

" Well, they all cheered him when he sat
down, and they drank his health ; and the boss
of the day said : ' Well, Street (afore that he used
to call him Thimble), well. Street,' said he,
* vou are a man.'

" * There you are again,' said Street, ' that is
a covered joke at a tailor being only the ninth
part of one. I pass it over this time, but
let's have no more of it.'

" ' No, Sirree, no,' said boss, * on honour now,
I didn't mean it. And I say, too, let there be no
more of it.'

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;■«

STITCHING A BUTTON-HOLE.

247

I button-
on, in a
it's what
3(1 avvav,

tton has
the nail
id now,
shots for
\\ The
account
nd if I
. am no

he sat
he boss
he used
aid he,

that is
ninth
le, but

jr now,
be no

" Not a bad story !" said the Doctor. " A
man ought to be able to take his own part in
the world ; but my idea is we think too much
of guns. Do you know anything of archery '?"

" A little," sais I, " at least folks say so ; but
then they really give me credit for what I don't
deserve ; they say I draw a thunderin long bow
sometimes."

" Oh ! oh !" he said laughing, " posi^jVely, as
the fellow said to the tailor, you'll giv^e me a stitch
in my side. Well, that's better than being
' sewed up,' as Jehu was last night. But,
seriously, do you ever use the bow ?"

" Well, I have tried the South American bow,
and it's a powerful weapon that ; but it takes a
man to draw it, I tell vou."

" Yes," said he, " it requires a strong arm ; but
the exercise is good for the chest. It's the one
I generally use. The bow is a great weapon,
and the oldest in the world. I believe I have a
tolerable collection of them. The Indian bow
was more or less excellent, according to the wood
they had ; but they never could have been worth
much here, for the country produces no suitable
material. The old English long-bow, perhaps,
is a good one ; but it is not so powerful as the

248

STITCHING A BUTTON-HOLE.

Turkish. That has immense power. They say
it will carry an arrow from four hundred and
fifty to five hundred yards. Mine, perhaps,
is not a first-rate one, nor am I what I call a
skilful archer; but I can reach beyond three
hundred yards — though that is an immense
distance. The gun has superseded them ; but
though superior in many respects, the other has
some qualities that are invaluable. In skirmish-
ing, or in surprising outposts, what an advantage
it is to avoid the alarm and noise occasioned by
fire-arms. All troops engaged in this service in
addition to the rifle ought to have the bow and
the quiver. "What an advantage it would have
been in the Caffre war, and how serviceable
now In the Crimea. They are light to carry
and quickly discharged. When we get to my
house, I will prove it to you. We will set up two
targets, at one hundred yards, say. You shall fire
fi-om one to the other, and then stand aside, and
before you can reload I will put three arrows
into yours. T should say four to a common
soldier's practice ; but I give even you three to
one. If a man misses his first shot at me with
a gun, he is victimized, for I have three chances
in return before he gets his second, and if I don't

STITCHING A BUTTON-HOLE.

249

pink him with one or thi; other; why, I
deserve to he hit. For the same reason, whiit a
glorious cavalry weapon it is, as the Parthians
knew. What a splendid thiniT for an amhush,
where vou are neither seen lior heard. I don't
mean to say they are hetter than tire-arms ; hut,
occasionally used with them they would he irre-
sistahle. If I were a British officer in command
I would astonish the enemy."

" You would astonish the Horse- Guards, too,
/ know," said I. " It would ruin you for ever.
They'd call you old ' hows and arrows,' as they did
the general that had no tlints to his guns, when
he attacked Buonus Ayres ; they'd have you
up in ' Punch ;' they'd draw you as Cupid
going to war ; they'd nickname you a Bow-
street officer. Oh ! they'd soon teach you
what a quiver was. They'll play the di'\il
with you. They'd heat you at your ow n game ;
y«'u'd he stuck full of poisoned arrows ; you could
as easily introduce the queue again, as the how."

" Well, Cressey, Poictiers, and Agincourt
were won with the how," he said, " and, as an
auxiliary weapon, it is still as effective as ever.
However that is not a mere speculation. When
I go out after carihoo, I always carry mine, and

M 3

250

STITCHING A BUTTON-HOLE.

seldom use my gun. It don't alarm the herd ;
they don't know where the shaft comes from,
and arc as likely to look for it in the lake or in
the wikl grass, as any where else. Let us try
them together. But let us load with shot now.
We shall come to the brook directly, and where
it spreads out into still water, and the flags grow,
the wild fowl frequent ; for they arc amazin fond
of poke-lokeins, as the Indians call those spots.
We may get a brace or two, perhaps, to take
home with us. Come, let us push ahead, and
go warily."

After awhile a sudden turn of the road dis-
closed to us a flock of blue-winged ducks, and
he whispered, " Do you fire to the right, and I
will take the left." When the smoke from our
simultaneous discharges cleared away, we saw the
flock rise, leaving five of their number as victims
of their careless watch.

" That is just what I said," he remarked, " the
gun is superior in many respects ; but if we had
our bows here, we would have had each two more
shots at them, while on the wing. As it is, we
can't reload till they are out of reach. I only
spoke of the bow as subordinate and auxiliary ;
but never as a substitute. Although I am not

STITCHING A liUTTON-HOLE.

251

certain that with our present manufacturing skill,
metallic bows could not now be made, equal in
power, superior in lightness, and more effective
than any gun when the o!)jeet to be aimed at
is not too minute, for in that j)articular, the ritle
A^ill never be equalled — certainly not surpassed."
The retreiver soon brought us our birds, and
we proceeded leisurely on our way, and, in a short
time were overtaken by the waggons, when we
advanced together towards the house, which we
reached in about an hour more. As soon as we
came in sight of it, the dogs gave notice of our
approach, and a tall, straight, priggish-looking
man, marched, for he did not hurrv himself,
bareheaded towards the bars in the pole fence.
He wp soon afterwards followed by a little old
woman at a foot Jimble, or sort of broken t»'ot,
such as distinguishes a Naragansct pacer. She
had a hat in her hand, which she hastily put on
the man's head. But, as she had to jump up to
do it, she effected it with a force that made it
cover his eyes, and nearly extinguish his nose.
It caused the man to stop and adjust it, when he
turned round to his flapper, and, by the motion
of his hand, and her retrogadc movement it
appeared he did not receive this delicate attention

252

STITCHING A BUTTON-HOLE.

very graciously. Duty, however, was pressing
him, and he resumed his stately step towards the
bars.

She attacked him again in the rear, as a
goose does an intruder, and now and then
picked something from his coat, which I supposed
to be a vagrant thread, or a piece of lint or straw,
and then retreated a step or two, to avoid closer
contact. He was (jompclled at last to turn again
on his pursuer, and expostulate with her in no
gentle terms. I heard the words, " mind your
own business," or something of the kind, and
the female voice more distinctly (women always
have the best of it) ; " You look as if you had
slept in it. You aint fit to appear before gentle-
men." Ladies she had been unaccustomed of late
to see, and therefore omitted altogether. " What
would Colonel Jones say, if he saw you that way."
To which the impatient man replied : " Colonel
Jones be hanged. He is not my commanding
officer, or you either — take that will you old
ooman." If the colonel was not there his master
was, therefore pressing forward he took down the
bars, and removed them a one side, when he drew
himself bolt upright, near one of the posts, and
placing his hand across his forehead, remained

I»

STITCHING A BUTTON-HOLE.

253

in that position, without uttciing a word, till
the waggons passed, and the Doctor said, " Well,
Jackson how are you ?" " Hearty sir ! I hope
your honour is well? Why, Buscar, is that
you dog ; how are you, my man ?" and then he
proceeded very expeditiously to replace the poles.

" What arc you stopping for ?" said the
Doctor to me, for the whole party was waiting
for us.

** I was admirin of them bars," said I.

" Why, they are the commonest things in
the country," he replied. " Did you never see
them before?" Of course I had, a thousand
times, but I didn't choose to answer.

" What a most beautiful contrivance," said I,
" they are. First, you can't find them, if you
don't know beforehand where they are, they
look so like the rest of the fence. It tante
one stranger in a thousand could take them
down, for if he begins at the top they get
awfully tangled, and if he pulls the wrong way,
the harder he hauls the tighter they get. Then
he has to drag them all out of the way, so as to
lead the horse through, and leave him standin
there till he puts them up, agin and as like
as not, the critter gets tired of waitin, races

)U\

254

STITCHING A BUTTON-HOLE.

off to the stable, and breaks the waggon all to
flinders. After all these advantages, they don't
cost but a shilling or so more than a gate.
Oh, it's grand."

" Well, well," said the Doctor, " I never
thought of th[it afore, but you are right after
all," and he laugh(;d as good humouredly as
possible. " Jackson," said he.

" Yes, your honour."

" We must have a gate there."

" Certainly," said the servant, touching his
hat. But he honoured me with a look, as
much as to say, " thank you for nothing, Sir.
It's a pity you hadn't served under Colonel
Jones, for he would have taught you to mind
your own business double quick."

We then proceeded to the door, and the
Doctor welcomed the party to the " Bachelor
Beaver 's-dam," as he callerl it. In the mean-
time, the bustling little old woman returned,
and expressed great delight at seeing us.
The place was so lonesome, she said, and it was
so pleasant to see ladies there, for they were the
first who had ever visited the Doctor, and it
was so kind of them to come so far, and she
hoped they would often honour the place

ill.

STITCHING A BUTTON-HOLE.

2qo

all to

jey

don't

gate.

never

after

redly as

ling his
3ok, as
ng, Sir.
Colonel
mind

nd the
fichelor
mean-
turned,
ig us.
it was
jre the
and it
id she
place

with their presence, if they could put up with
their accommodation, for she had only heard
from the Doctor the night hofore ; and she was
so sorry she couldn't receive them as she could
wi-sh, and a whole volume more, and an ap-
pendix longer than that, and an index to it,
where the paging was so jumbled you couldn't
find nothin.

Jackson joined in, and said, he regretted his
commissariat was so badly supplied. That it
was a poor country to forage in, and that there
was nothing but the common rations and stores
for the detachment stationed there. But that
nothing should be wanting on his part, and so
on. The housekeeper led the way to the
apartments destined for the girls. Peter as-
sisted the boy to unharness the horses, and the
Doctor shewed Cutler and myself into the hall,
where the breakfast-table was set for us. Seeing
Jackson marching to the well, as if he was on
parade, I left the two together in conversation,
and went out to talk to him.

" Sergeant," sais I.

"Yes, your honour," said he. and he put
down the pail, and raised his hand to his fore-
head.

1 1

■i

256

STITCHING A BUTTON-HOLl-:.

" I understand you have seen a great deal of
service in your tinnc."

'* Yes, Sir," said he, looking well pleased,
and as if his talking tacks were all ready. 1
had hit the right suhject. " I ave gone
through a deal of soldiering in my day, and
heen in many a ard fight. Sir."

*' I see you have the marks on you," I said.
" That is a had scar on your face."

" Well, Sir," said he, " saving your presence,
I wish the devil had the Frenchman that gave
me that wound. I have some I am proud of
having received in the service of my king and
country. I have three halls in me now, which
the doctors couldn't extract, and nothin' but
death will bring to the light of day again, if
they can be said to be seen in the grave. But
that scar is the only disgraceful mark I ever
received since 1 first joined in 1808.

" When we were laying siege to Badajoz,
Sir, I was in the cavalrv, and I w\is sent
with u message to a brigade that was posted
some distance from us. Well, Sir, as I was
trotting along, I saw a French dragoon, well
mounted, leading a splendid spare orse, be-
longing to some French hofficer of rank, as

STITCHING A BUTTON-HOLE.

257

far as I could jiulj^c from his happc;irancc and
mountings. Instead of pursuing my course,
as I ought to have done*, Sir, I thought I'de
make a dash at the rascal, and make prize
of that arc haninial. So I drew mv sword,
raised myself in my saddle (for I was con-
sidered a first-rate swordsman, as most
Hinglishmen hare who have hccn used to the
single-stick,) and made sure I ad him.
Instead of turning, he kept steadily on, and
never as much as drew his sahre, so in places
of making a cut hat him, for I'de scorn to
strike han hunarmed man, my play was to cut
is reins, and then if he wanted a skrimage,
to give him one, and if not, to carry off
that hare orse.

" Well, Sir, he came on gallantly, I must
say thaf, and kept his eye fixed steadily on
me, when just as I was going to make a
cut at his reins, he suddenly seized his eavy-
mounted elmet, and threw" it slap at my face,
and I'll be anged if it didn't stun mo, and
knock me right off the orse fiat on the ground,
and then he galloped off as ard as he could
go. When I got up, I took his elmet under
my harm, and proceeded on my route. I was

258

STITCHING A HUTTON-IIOLF<:.

I I

ashamed to tell the storv straight, and I made
the best talc I could of the scrimmage, and
shewed the clmct in token that it was a pretty
rough fight. But the doctor, when he dressed
the wound, swore it never was made with a
sword, nor a bullet, nor any instrument he knew
hon, and that he didn't think it was occasioned
by a fall, for it was neither insised, outsised,
nor contused — but a confusion of all three.
He questioned me as close as a witness.

" ' But,' says I, ' doctor, there is no telling
what himplemcnts Frenchmen ave. They
don't fight like us, they don't. It was a
runnin' scrimmage, or handicap fight.' Yes,
Sir, if it was hany where hclse, where it wouldn't
show, it wouldn't be so bad, but there it is on
the face, and there is no denyin' of it."

Here the little woman made her appearance
again, with the hat in her hand, and said
imploringly :

" Tom, doee put your hat on, that's a good
soul. He don't take no care of himself. Sir,"
she said, addressing herself to me. " He has
seen a deal of service in his day, and has
three bullets in him now, and he is as careless
of hisself, as if he didn't mind whether I was

STITCHING A BUTTON-HOLE.

259

left aloiu; in the oulin' wildcjini'ss or not.
Oh, Sir, if vou heard the wild hcastcsis here at
night, it's dreadful. It's worst; than tho wolves
in the IVnen, in Spain. And then, Sir, all
I can do, I can't get him to wear is at,
when he knows in is cart he had a stroke
of the sun near Badajoz, which knocked him
off his orse, and see how it cut his face. He
was so andsomc heforc, Sir."

" Betty," said the sergeant, " the Doctor is
calling you. Do go into the ouse, and don't
bother the gentleman. Oh, Sir," said he, " I
have had to tell a cap of li(.'s about that are
scar on my face, and that's ard, Sir, for a
man who has a medal with five clasps ; ain't
it?"

Here the Doctor came to tell me breakfast
was ready.

" I was admiring, Doctor," said 1, " this
simple contrivance of yours for raising water
from th(! well. It is very ingenious."

" Very," he said, " but I assure you it is no
invention of mine. I have no turn that way.
It is very common in the country."

I must describe this extraordinary looking
affair, for though not unusual in America, I have

260

STITCHING A BUrTON-IlOLE.

never seen it in England, altliough the happy
thought, doubtless owes its origin to the inventive
genius of its farmers.

Tiie well had a curb, as it is called, a square
wooden box open at the top, to prcvciit accident
to the person drawing the water. A few paces
from this was an upriglit post about twelve feet
high, having a crotch at the top. A long beam
lies across this, one end of which rests on the
ground at a distance from the post, and the
other projects into the air with its point over
the well. This beam is secured in tlie middle
of the crotch of the upright post bv an iron
bolt, on which it moves, as on an axle. To
the serial end is attach(;d a few links of a chain,
that hold a long pole to which tlie l)ucket is
fastened and hangs over the well. The beam
and its pendant apparatus, resembles a fishing-
rod and its line protruding over a stream.
When a person wishes to draw water, he takes
hold of the pole, and as he pulls it down,
the bucket descends into the well, and the
heavy end of the beam rises into the air, and
when the pail is filled, the weight of the butt end

of the beam in its descent raises the bucket.

said I, " Doctor, just observe how

((

ow,

STITCHING A BUTroN-HOLE,

261

happy
,'cntive

square

3cidcnt

' paces

A'e feet

!; beam

on the

11(1 the

it over

middle

n iron

. To

chain,

cket is

beam

Ishing-

Itream.

\, takes

down,

d the

', and

Itt end

:t.

how

beautiful (his thing is in operation. A woman,
(for thev draw more nor half the water used in
this country,) has to put out all her strength,
dragging down the pole, with her hands over
her head, (an attitude and exercise greatly re-
commended by doctors to women,) in order to
get the bucket down into the well. If she is
in too big a hurry, the lever brings it up with
a jerk tliat upsets it, and wets her all over,
which is very refreshing in hot weather, and if
a child or a dog happens to be under the heavy
end of the beam, it smashes it to death, which
after all ain't no great matter, for there are
plenty left to them who have too many and
don't care for 'em. And then if it ain't well
looked after and the post gets rotten at the
bottom, on a stormy day it's apt to fall, and
smash tlie roof of the house in, which is rather
lucky, for most likely it wanted shingling, and it
is time it was done. Well, when the bucket
svNmgs about in the wind, if a gall misses catch-
ing it, it is apt to hit her in the mouth, which
is a great matter, if she has the tooth-ache,
for it will extract corn-crackers a plaguey
siglit quicker than a dentist could to save his

^ s5
SUUi.

' ■)

262

STITCHING A BUTTON-HOLE

"Well," said he "I never thought of that
before. I have no turn fur these things, I'll
have it removed, it is a most dangerous thing,
and I wouldn't have an accidunt happen to the
sergeant and dear old Betty for the world."

" God bless your honour for that," said
Jackson.

" But Doctor," said I, "joking apart, they
are very picturesque, ain't they, how well they
look in a sketch, eh ! nice feature in the fore-
ground."

" Oh," said he, patting me on the back,
" there you have me again Slick. Oh, indeed
they are, 1 can't part with my old well pole, oh,
no, not for the world : Jackson, have an eye to
it, see that it is all safe and strong and that no
accident haji^ns, but I don't think we need
take it away. Come, Slick, come to break-
fast."

Thinks I to myself, as 1 proceeded to the
hall, " there are two classes only in this world.
Those who have genius, and those v»'ho have
common sense. They are like tailors, one can
cut a coat, and do nothin' else, for he is an
artist. The other can put the parts together,
for he is a workman only. Now the Doctor is

of that
ings, I'll
us thing,
'n to the

■Id."
it," said

STITCHING A BUTTON-HOLE. 263

a man of talent and learning, an uncommon
man, but he don't know common things at all.
He can cut out a garment, but he can't stitch
a button hole.''

irt, they
^^dl they
lie fore-

e back,
indeed
ole, oh,
I eye to
;hat no
need
break -

to the
world.
D have
ne can
is an
^ether,
ctor is

264

THE PLURAL OF MOOSE.

.W'

Ji!

CHAPTER IX.

THE PLURAL OF MOOSE.

Tin-: room in wliith vvc breakfasted was about
eighteen feet square, having a large old-fashioned
fire-plaec opposite to the front door, which
opened directly on the lawn. The walls were
fancifullv ornamented with moose and deer
horns, fuwling-pieces, fishing-rods, landing nets
and baskvits, bows and arrows of every descrip-
tion, and Indian relics, such as stone hatchets,
bowls, rude mortars, images, war clubs, v^'ampum,
and imj)lrments not unlike broad swords made
of black birch, the edges of which were inlaid
witli the teeth of animals, or the shells of fish,
grountl .-.harp, llesides these, were skulls of
great size and in good preservation, stone pipes,
pouches, and so on, also some enormous teeth

as about
'ashioned
•, which
alls were
nd deer
ing nets
descrip-
latchets,
ampum,
Is made
e inlaid
of fish,
iuUs of
\G pipes,
IS teeth

THE PLURAL OF MOOSE.

265

and bones of an antediluvian animal, found in
the Bras Dor lake in Cape Breton. It was,
take it altogether, the most complete collection of
relics of this interestin<r race, the Micmacs, and
of natur's products to be found in this province.
Some of the larger moose horns were ingeniously
managed, so as to form supports for polished slabs
of hardwood for tables. The Doctor informed me
that this department of his museum was under the
sole direction of the Sergeant, who called it his
armoury, and to whose experience ia the ar-
rimgement of arms he was indebted for the
good ert'ect they produced. The only objection
he said he had to it, was, that classification had
been sacrificed to appearance, and things were
very much intermixed ; but liis collection was
too small to make this a matter of any impor-
tance.

Jackson, as soon as the Doctor was similarly
engaged in showing them to the Captain and
the Miss McDonalds, for whom they seemed to

iterest, mount(

peculiar

over

me.

((

You see, Sir," said he, " the moose hor

are the only thing of any size here, and that's
because the moose is half English, you know,

VOL. I.

266

THE PLURAL OP MOOSE.

Everything is small in this country, and de-
generates, Sir. The fox ain't near as big as an
English one. Lord, Sir, the ounds would run
flown one o' these fellows in ten minutes. They
haven't got no strength. The rabbit, too, is a
mere rothink ; he is more of a cat, and looks
like one too, when he is hanged in a snare.
It's so cold nothin comes to a right size here.
The trees is mere shrubbery compared to our
hoaxes. The pine is tall, but then it has no
sap. It's all tar and turpentine, and that keeps
the frost out of its heart. The fish that live
under the ice in the winter are all iley, in a
general way, like the whales, porpoises, dog-fish,
and cod. The liver of the cod is all ile, and
women take to drinkin it now in cold weather,
to keep their blood warm. Depend upon it,
Sir, in two or three generations, they will shine
in the sun like niggers. Porter would be better
for 'em to drink than ile, and far more plcasanter
too, Sir, wouldn't it ? It would fill 'em out,
Saving your presence, Sir, you never see a girl
here with — "

*' Hush ! the ladies will hear you," I said.

" 1 ax your honor's pardon ; perhaps I am
making too i3old, but it's nateral for a man that

I'l

d de-
as an
d run
They
), is a
looks
snare.
! here,
to our
has no
, keeps
lat live
Jy in a
>g-fish,
le, and
ather,
on it,
shine
bettor
santer
out,
a girl

lid.
I am

lin that

THE PLURA.L OP MOOSE.

267

has seed so much of the world as I have to talk
a bit, especially as my tongue is absent on fur-
lough more nor half the year, and then the
old 'ooman's goes on duty, and never fear, Sir,
hcr'n don't sleep at its post. She has seen too
much sarvice for that. It don't indeed. It
hails every one that passes the sentry-box, and
makes 'em advance and give the countersign.
A man that has seed so much, Sir, in course
has n good deal to talk about. Now, Sir, I
don't want to undervaly the orns at no rate,
but Lord bless you. Sir, I have seen the orns
of a wild sheep, when I was in the Mcdetcranion,
so large, I could hardly lift them with one hand.
They say young foxes sleep in them sometimes.
Oh, Sir, if they would only get a few of them,
and let them loose here, there would be some
fun in unting of them. They are covered over
with air in summer, and they are so wild you
can't take them nb other way than by shooting
of them. Then, Sir, there is the orns of — "

" But how is the moose half English ?"
sais I.

"Why, Sir, I heard our colour-sergeant
M'Clure say so when we was in Halifax. He
was a great reader and a great arguer. Sir, as

N 2

1' "

i f

2G8

THE PLURAL OF MOOSE.

most Scotchmen arc. I used to sav to him,

* M'Chirc, it's a wonder you can tight as well
as you do, for in England fellows who dispute
all the time, commonly take it all out in
words.'

" One day, Sir, a man passed the north
barrack gate, tumping, (as he said, which means
in English, Sir, hauhng,) an immense bull moose
on a sled, though why he didn't say so, I don't
know, unless he wanted to show he knew what
M'Clurc calls the botanical word for it. It
was the largest hanimal I ever saw here.

" Says Mac to him, ' What do you call that
creature ?'

" ' Moose,' said he.

" ' Do you pretciid to tell me,' said Mac,

* that that henormous hanimal, with orns like a
deer, is a moose ?'

" * I don't pretend at all,' said he; 'I think I
houglit to know one when I see it, for I have
killed the matter of a undred of them in my
day.'

" ' It's a daumed lee,' said the Sergeant.

* It's no such thing ; I wouldn't believe it if you
was to swear to it.'

'* ' Tell you what,' said the man, ' don't go for

r
1

THE PLURAL OF MOOSE

2G9

nk I

I have
my

3ant.
you

for

.'/

to tell mc that again, or I'll lay you as flat as ho
is in no time,' nnd he eracked his whip and
moved on.

" * What's the use,' said I, ' M'Clure, to call
that man a liar ? How do vou know whether
it is a moose or not, and he is more like to j^et
its name right than you, who never saw one
afore.*

" * Moose,' said he, * do you take me for a
fool ? do you suppose he is a goin to cram me
with such stuff as that ? The idea of his pre-
tending to tell me that a creature six feet high
with great spreading antlers like a deer is w
moose, when in fact thev are no hi2"2:er th;m a
cock-roach, and can run into holes the size of a
sixpence ! Look at me — do you sec any tiling
very green ahout me ?'

" * Why, Mac,' sais I, ' as sure as the world
you mean a mouse.'

" < Well, I said a moose,' he replied.

" * Yes, I know you said a moose, hut that's
not the way to pronounce a mouse. It may l)e
Scotch, hut it ain't Endish. Do vou 2:0 into
that hardware shop, and ask for a moose-trap,
and see how the bovs will wink to each other,
and laugh at you.'

1 1 I^

I ,"i

i ii'h

270

THE PLURAL OF MOOSE.

(( t

A man,' sais he, drawing himsolf up,
' who has learned humanity at Ghiskcc, don't
require to be taught how to pronounce moose.'

" * As for your humanity,' said 1 , ' I never
see much of that. If you ever had that weak-
ness, you got bravely over it, and the glass key
must have been broke years'agone in Spain.'

" * You are getting impertinent,* said he, and
he walked off and left me.

" It's very strange, your honor, but I never
saw an Irishman or Scotchman yet that hadn't
the vanity to think he spoke English better
than we do."

" But the Yankees ?" said I.

" Well, Sir, they are foreigners, you know,
and only speak broken English ; but they mix
up a deal of words of their own with it, and
then wonder you don't understand them. They
keep their mouths so busy chawing, they have
to talk through their noses.

" A few days after that, Sir, wc walked down
to the market-place, and there was another of
these hanimals for sale. But perhaps I am
making too bold. Sir ?"

" No, no, not at all ; go on. I like to hear
you."

THE PLURAL OF MOOSE.

271

hear

" ' Well/ said M'Clurc to the countryman,
* What do you call that f

** * A moose/ said he.

" Well, I ^ives him a nudge of my helbovv, to
remind hliii not to tell liim it was a ' daumed
lee/ as he did th( other man.

" ' What does moose mean, my man ?'

" Would you believe it, Sir, he didn't like
that word * my man,' partikelarly coming from
a soldier, for they are so hignorant here they
affect to look down upon soldiers, and call 'em
•' thirteen pences.'

" * Mean,' said he, ' it means thatj' a-
pointin' to the carcass. * Do you want to
buy it ?'

" ' Hem !' said Mac. ' Well now, my good
fellow — '

" Oh, Sir, if you had a seen the countryman
when he heard them words, it would a been
as good as a play. He eyed him all over, very
scornful, as if he was taking his measure and
weight for throwing him over the sled by his
cape and his trousers, and then he put his hand
in his waistcoat pocket, and took out a large
black fig of coarse tobacco, and bit a piece out
of it, as if it was an apple, and fell too a

IMAGE EVALUATION
TEST TARGET (MT-3)

/^ ..^'4p.

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1.0

1.1

1^12^ |2.5

150 ^^™ H^H

Z lis, 12.0

■it

1.8

1.25 III 1.4

6" -

►

Photographic

Sciences

Corporation

23 WEST MAIN STREET

WEBSTER, N.Y. 14580

(716) S72-4S03

272

THE PLURAL OF MOOSE.

1 ,

i !■

ill!:

: '1\ _ ,

chewing of it, as if to vent his wrath on it, but
said nothing.

" * Well, my good fellow,' said Mac, ' when
there arc more than one, or thev are in the
plural number, what do you call them ?'

" * Mice,' said the fellow.

" ' Mice !' said M'Clure, ' I must look into
that ; it's very odd. Still, it can't be mooses,
either.'

" He didn't know what to make of it ; he
had been puzzled with mouse before, and found
he was wrong, so he thought it was possible
' mice ' might be the right word, after all.

" ' Well,' said he, ' what do you call the
female moose?'

" ' Why,' sais the man, ' I guess,' a-talkin'
through his nose instead of his mouth — how 1
hate that Yankee way, don't you. Sir ? * Why,'
sais he, ' I guess we call the he-moose M, and
the other N, as the case may be.'

" ' Who gave them that name ?' said M'Clure.

" ' Why, I reckon,' said the other, ' their
godfathers and godmothers at their baptism,
but I can't say, for I warn't there.'

" ' I say, my man,' said M'Clure, ' you had
better keep a civil tongue in your head '

THE PLURAL OF MOOSE.

273

calkin'

[, and

/lure.

their

)tism,

had

" ' Ask me no questions, then,' said the
countryman, ' and I'll tell you no lies ; but if
you think to run a rig on me, you have made
a mistake in the child, and barked up the wrong
tree, that's all. P'raps I ain't so old as you be,
but I warn't born yesterday. So slope, if you
please, for I want to sneeze, and if I do, it will
blow your cap over the market-house, and you'll
be lucky if your head don't go along with it."

" ' Come away,* said I, ' Mac, that fellow has
no more manners than a heathen.'

" ' He's an hignorant beast,' said he, * he is
beneath notice.'

" The man card that, and called after him,
' Hofficer, hofficer,' said he.

" That made M'Clure stop, for he was ex-
pectin' to be one every day, and the word
sounded good, and Scotchmen, Sir, ain't like
other people, pride is as natural as oatmeal to
them. The man came up to us limpin.

" ' Hofficer,' said he, ' I ax your pardon if 1
offended you, I thought you was a pokin fun at
me, for I am nothing but a poor hignorant farmer,
from the country, and these townspeople are
always making game of us. I'll tell you all
about that are moose and how I killed liiin,

N 3

274

THE PLURAL OF MOOSE.

He urt my feelins, Sir, or I never would have
mislcsted him, for Zack Wilcox is as good-
natured a chap, it's generally allowed, as ever lived.
Yes, he trod on my toes, I don't feel right yet,
and when any fellow does that to me, why there
ain't no mistake ahout it, his time is out and
the sentence is come to pass. He begged for his
life, oh, it was piteous to see him. I don't mean
to say the dumb beast spoke, but his looks were
so beseeching just the way if you was tied up to
the halbert to be whipped, you'd look at the
general.'

" ' Me ?' said M'Clure.

" ' Yes, you or anybody else,' said the man.
' Well,' said he, ' I told him I wouldn't shoot him,
I'de give him one chance for his life, but if he
escaped he'd be deaf for ever afterwards. Poor
feller, I didn't intend to come it quite so strong,
but he couldn't stand the shock I gave him,
and it killed him — frightened him to death.'

" ' How ?' said M'Clure.

"'Why,' sais he, 'I'll tell you,' and he
looked cautiously all round, as if he didn't want
anyone to know the secret. ' I gave him a
most an almighty hambler that fairly keeled
him over.'

THE PLURAL OF MOOSE.

•275

" ' What r said M'Clurc.

" ' Why,' sais he, ' I gave him,' and he bent
forward towards his hear as if to whisper the
word, * I gave him a most thunderin' everlastin'
loud — ' and he gave a yell into his hear that was
eard clean across the harbour, and at the
ospital beyond the dock-yard, and 'tothcr way
as far as Fresh-water Bridge. Nothin' was
hever eard like it before.

"M'Clure sprang backwards the matter of four
or five feet, and placed his hand on his side
arms, while the countryman brayed o-'it a horse
laugh that nearly took away one's earing. The
truck-men gave him a cheer, for they are all
Irishmen, and they don't like soldiers commonly
on account of their making them keep the
peace at ome at their meetin' of monsters, and
there was a general commotion in the market.
We beat a retreat, and when we got out of the
crowd, sais I, ' M'Clure, that comes of arguing
with every one you meet. It's a bad habit,'

" ' I wasn't arguing,' sais he, quite short, ' I
was only asking questions, and how can you ever
learn if you don't inquire ?'

" Well, when he got to the barrack, he got a
book wrote by a Frenchman, called Buffoon."

I >

>ii

r '

276

THE PLURAL OF MOOSE.

" A capital name" sais I " for a Frenchman,"
but he didn't take, for there is no more fun in
an Englishman, than a dough pudding, and
went on without stopping.

" Sais he, ' this author is all wrong. He
calls it ban * horiginal,' but he ain't a native
animal, it's half English and half Yankee. Some
British cattle at a remote period have been
wrecked here, strayed into the woods, and erded
with the Carriboo. It has the ugly carcass and
ide of the ox, and has taken the orns, short tail
and its speed from the deer. That accounts for
its being larger than the native stags.' I think
he was right, Sir, what is your opinion ?"

The Doctor and the rest of the party coming
up just then put an end to Jackson's dissertation
on the origin of the moose. The former
said,

" Come, Mr. Slick, suppose w^e try the ex-
periment of the bow," and Jessie, seeing us pre-
pared for shooting, asked the Doctor for smaller
ones for her sister and herself. The targets
were accordingly prepared, and placing myself
near one of them, I discharged the gun and
removed a few paces on one side, and commenced
as rapidly as I could to reload, but the Doctor

THE PLURAL OF MOOSE.

277

pre-
laller
^rgets
lyself
and
priced
)ctor

had sent three arrows through mine before I
had finished. It required ahnost as little time
as a revolver. He repeated the trial again
with the same result.

" What do you think of the bow now ?" said
he in triumph. " Come, Captain, do you and
Mr. Slick try your luck, and see what sort of
shots you can make." The Captain, who was
an experienced hand with a gun, after a few-
attempts to ascertain the power and practice
necessary, made capital play with the bore, and his
muscular arm rendered easy to him that which
required of me the utmost exertion of my
strength. Jessie and her sister now stept for-
ward, and measuring off a shorter distance, took
their stations. Their shooting in which they
were quite at home, was truly wonderful. In-
stead of using the bow as we did, so as to bring
the arrow in a line with the eye, they held it
lower down, in a way to return the elbow to the
right side, much in the same manner that a
skilful sportsman shoots from the hip. It
seemed to be no sort of exertion whatever
to them, and every arrow was lodged in
the inner circle. It seemed to aw^aken them
to a new existence, and in their excite-

278

THE Pl.UllAL OF MOOSE.

i .

mcnt I observed they used their mother
tongue.

" Beg your pardon, Sir," said Jaekson to the
Doctor, putting his hand to his forehead, " if
our sharp-shooters in Spain ad ad bows like
yours, in their skrimagcs with the French light
troops, they would ave done more service and
made less noise about it than they did." And
saluting me in the same maner, he said in an
under tone,

" If I ad ad one of them at Badajoz, Sir, I
think I'd a put a pen in that trooper's mouth, to
write the account of the way he lost his
elmet. A shower of them, Sir, among a troop
of cavalry, would have sent riders flying, and
horses kicking, as bad as a shower of grape.
There is no danger of shooting your fingers off
with them, Sir, or firing away your ramrod.
No, there aint, is there. Sir ?"

" Tom, do'ee put on your hat now, that's a
good soul," said his attentive wife, who had
followed him out a third time, to remind him
of his danger. " Oh, Sir," said she, again
addressing me, " what signifies a armless thing,
like an harrow; that's nothin but a little
wooden rod, to the stroke of the sun, as they

THE PLURAL OF MOOSE.

279

s a
had
him
jain

little
they

calls it. See what a dreadful cut it's given
him."

Tom looked very impatient at this, but
curbed in his vexation, and said " thankee,
Betty," though his face expressed anything but
thanks. " Thankee, Betty. There, the Doctor is
calling you. She is as good a creature. Sir, as ever
lived," he continued ; " and has seen a deal of
service in her day. But she bothers me to death,
about that stroke of the sun. Sometimes I
think I'll tell her all about it ; but I don't like
to demean myself to her. She wouldn't think
nothin of me, Sir, if she thought I could have
been floored that way ; and women, when
they begin to cry, throw up sometime, what's
disagreeable. They aint safe. She would,
perhaps, have heaved up in my face, that that
dragoon had slapped my chops for me, with
his elmet. I am b^ --d, Sir, if I can take a
glass of grog out of m^. canteen, but she says,
Tom, mind that stroke of the sun. And
when I ave a big D marked agin my name
in the pension book, she'll swear, to her dying
day, I was killed by that are stroke."

" Why don't you put it on then," I said,
'' just to please her."

1 1

Hi I

)

\ u

■11

280

THE PLUUAL OF MOOSE.

"Well, Sir, if I was at hcad-quaitcrs, or even
at han houtpost, where there was a detachinent,
I would put it hon ; because it wouldn't soem
decent to go bare-headed. But Lord bless
you, Sir, whaVs the use of ha at in the woods,
where there is no one to see you ?"

Poor fellow, he didn't know what a touch of
human nature there was in that expression,
" v)hat's the use of a hat in the ivoods, when
there is no one to see you ?"

The same idea, though differently expressed,
occurs to so many. " Yes," said I to myself,
" put on your hat for your wife's sake, and
your own too ; for though you may fail to get a
stroke of the sun, you may get not an inflam-
mation of the brain, for there aint enough of it
for that complaint to feed on, but rheumatism
in the head ; and that will cause you a plaguey
sight more pain than the dragoon's helmet ever
did, by a long chalk."

But, to get back to my story, for the way
I travel through a tale, is like the way a child
goes to school. He leaves the path to chase a
butterfly, or to pick wild strawberries, or to run
after his hat, that has blown off', or to take a
shy at a bird, or throw off his shoes, roll up

THE PLURAL OF MOOSE.

281

or (iVQw
jliinont,
I't soem
1 bl('ss
woods,

luch of
rcssion,
, ichen

»ressed,
myself,
3, and
) get a
nflam-
1 of it
latism
agucy
ever

way
Ichild
ise a

run

[e a

his trousers, and wade about the edge of a pond,
to catch polly-wogs ; but he gets to school
in the eend, though somewhat of the latest, so
I have got back at last, you see.

Mother used to say, *' Sam, your head is
always a wool-gathering."

" I am glad of it," says I, " marm."

" Why, Sam," she'd say, " why, what on
earth do you mean."

" Because, marm," I'd reply, " a bend that's
always a gatherin, will get well stored at last."

" Do get out," the dear old soul would say,
" I do believe, in my heart, you are the most
nimpent (impudent), idlest, good for nothingcst
boy in the world. Do get along."

But she was pleased, though, after all ; for
women do like to repeat little things hke them,
that their children say, and ask other people,
who don't hear a word, or if they do, only go
right off and laugh at 'em : Aint that proper
cute now ? Make a considerable smart man
when he is out of his time, and finished his
broughtcns up, won't he ?

Well, arter the archery meeting was over,
and the congregation disparsed, who should I
find myself a walkin down to the lake with

282

TIIR PLURAL OF MOOSE.

but Jessie. How it was, 1 don't know, for I
warnt a lookiu for her, nor she for me ; but
so it was. I suppose it is liunian nutur, and
that is the only way I can account for it.
Where there is a flower, there is the bee ;
where the grass is sweet, there is the sheep ;
where the cherry is ripe, there is the bird ;
and where there is a gall, especially if she is
pretty, there, it is likely, I am to be found also.
Yes, it must be natur. Well, we walked, or
rather, strolled off easy,. There are different
kinds of gaits, and they are curious to observe ;
for I consait, sometimes, I can read a man's
character in his walk. The child trots ; the
boy scarcely touches the ground with his feet,
and how the plague he wears his shoes out so
fast, I don't know. Perhaps Doctor Lardner
can tell, but I'll be hanged if I can, for the
little critter is so light, he don't even squash the
grass. The sailor waddles like a duck, and gives
his trousers a jerk, to keep them from going
down the masts (his legs), by the run ; a sort of
pull at the main-brace. The soldier steps solemn
and formal, as if the dead march in Saul was a
playin. A man and his wife walk on different
sides of the street ; he sneaks along head down,

THE PLURAL OF MOOSE.

283

and she struts head up, as if she never heard
the old proverb, * woe to the house where the
hen crows.' Thi^y leave the carriage-way between
them, as if they were afraid their thoughts
could be heard. When nnectin is out, a lover
lags behind, as if he had nothin above particular
to do, but to go home ; and he is in no hurry
to do that, for dinner won't be ready this hour.
But, as soon as folks are dodged by a blue bonnet
with pink ribbons ahead, he pulls foot like a
lamp-lighter, and is up with the gall that
wears it in no time, and she whips her arms
in hisn, and they saunter off, to make the way
as long as possible. She don't say " Peeoiverful
sermon that, warn't it ?" and he don't reply, " I
heerd nothin but the text, ' love one another.' "
Nor does he squeeze her arm with his elbow,
nor she pincli his with her little blue-gloved
fingers. Watch them after that, for they go
so slow, they almost crawl, they have so much
to say, and they want to make the best of their
time ; and besides, walking fast would put them
out of breath.

The articled-clerk walks the streets with an
air as much like a military man as he can ; and
it resembles it almost as much as electrotype

I ^

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11 '

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284

THE PLURAL OF MOOSE.

ware does silver. He tries to look at ease,
though it is a great deal of trouble ; but he
imitates him to a hair in some things, for he
stares impudent at the galls, has a cigar in his
mouth, dresses snobbishly, and talks : making a
book at Ascot. The young la',vyer strutts
along in his seven-league boots, has a white-
bound book in one hand, and a parcel of papers,
tied with red tape in the other. He is in a des-
perate hurry, and as sure as the world, somebody
is a dying, and has sent for him to make his will.
The Irish priest walks like a warder who has
the keys. There is an air of authority about
him. He puts his cane down on the pave-
ment hard, as much as to say, do you hear that,
you spalpeen ? He has the secrets of all the
parish in his keeping; but they are other
folk's secrets, and not his own, and of course, so
much hghter to carry, it don't prevent him
looking like a jolly fellow, as he is, arter all.
The high-churchman has an M.B. waistcoat on,
is particular about his dress, and walks easy,
like a gentleman, looks a little pale about the
gills, like a student ; but has the air of a man,
that wanted you to understand. I am about
my work, and I would have you to know I am the

THE PLURAL OF MOOSE.

2S5

boy to do it, and do it, too, without a fuss. If
he meets a bishop, he takes his hat off, for he
admits his authority. If a beggar accosts him,
he slips some charity in his hands, and looks
scared, lest he should be seen.

The low-churchman hates the M.B. vestment,
it was him who christened it. He is a dab
at nick-names. He meant it to signify the
Mark of the Beast. He likes the broad-brimmed
beaver, it's more like a quaker, and less like a
pope. It is primitive. He looks better fed
than the other, and in better care. Preachin
he finds in a general way easier than practice.
Watch his face as he goes along, slowly and
solemncolv through the street. He looks so
good, all the women that see him say, " Ain't he
a dear man ?" He is meekness itself. Butter
wouldn't melt in his mouth. He has no pride
in him. If there is any, it ain't in his heart at
any rate. Perhaps there is a little grain in his
legs, but it never got any higher. Sometimes,
I suspect, they have been touched with the
frost, for the air of a dining-room is colder
under the table than above it, and his legs do
march stiff and formal like a soldier's, but then,
as he says, he is of the church militant. See

286

THE PLURAL OF MOOSE.

H t !

i: !

what a curious expression of countenance he
has when he meets his bishop. Read it, it
says : " Now, my old Don, let us understand
each other ; you may ordain and confirm, but
don't you go one inch beyond that. No synods,
no regeneration in baptism, no control for me ;
I won't stand it. My idea is every clergyman
is a bishop in his own parish, and his synod is
composed of pious galls that worli, and rich
spinsters that give. If you do interfere, I will
do my duty and rebuke those in high places.
Don't rile me, for I have an ugly pen, an ugly
tongue, and an ugly temper, and nothing but
my sanctity enables me to keep them under." If
he is accosted by a beggar, he don't, like the
other, give him money to squander, but he
gives him instruction. He presents him with a
tract. As he passes on, the poor wretch pauses
and looks after him, and mutters. " Is it a
prayer? most likely, for that tract must be
worth something, for it cost something to
print."

Then there is the sectarian lay-brother.
He has a pious walk, looks well to his ways
lest he should stumble, and casting his eyes
down, kills two birds with one stone. He is

ince he

id it, it

lerstand

•m, but

synods,

for me ;

rgyman

lynod is

nd rich

;, I will

places.

an ugly

ng but

er." If

like the

ut he

with a

pauses

it a

st be

ig to

kther.

ways

eyes

[e is

THE PLURAL OP MOOSE.

287

in deep meditation about a contract for a load
of deals, and at the same time regards his steps,
for the ways of the world are slippery. His
digestion is not good, and he eats pickles,
for the vinegar shews in his face. Like Jehu
Judd, he hates " fiddling and dancing, and
serving the devil," and it is lucky he has a
downcast look, for here come two girls that
would shock him into an ague.

Both of them have the colonial step and
air, both of them, too, are beautiful, as Nova
Scotia girls generally are. The first is young
and delicate, and as blooming as a little blush-
rose. She holds out with each hand a portion
of her silk dress, as if she was walking a
minuet, and it discloses a snow white petti-
coat, and such a dear little foot and ankle —
lick ! Her step is short and mincing. She
has a new bonnet on, just imported by the last
English steamer. It has a horrid name, it is
called a kiss-me-quick. It is so far back on
her head, she is afraid people will think she
is bare-facedy so she casts her eyes down, as
much as to say, " Don't look at me, please,
I am so pretty I am afraid you will stare, and
if you do I shall faint, as sure as the world, and

'l I

288

THE PLURAL OF MOOSE.

if you want to look at my bonnet, do pray go
behind me, for what there is of it, is all there.
It's a great trial to me to walk alone, when I
am so pretty." So she compresses her sweet
lips with such resolution that her dear little mouth
looks so small you'd think it couldn't take in a
sugar-plum. Oh, dear, here are some officers
approaching, for though she looks on the pave-
ment shv. can see ahead for all that. What is
to be done. She half turns aside, half is
enough, to turn her back would be rude, and
she looks up at a print or a necklace, or some-
thing or another in a shop window, and it's
a beautiful attitude, and very becoming, and
if they will stare, she is so intent on the show
glass, she can't see them, and won't faint, and
her little heart flutters as one of them says as
he passes, " Devilish pretty gall, that. Grant,
who is she ?" and then she resumes her walk,
and minces on.

If any man was to take his Bible oath that that
little delicate girl, when she gets home, and the
hall-door is shut, will scream out at the tip eend
of her voice, like a screetching paraquet, " Eliza
Euphemia, where in creation have you stowed
yourself too ?" and that Eliza Euphemia would

1
^1

THE PLURAL OF MOOSE.

•289

hear her away up in the thh'd story, and in tht;
same key answer : " I can't come down, I aint
fit to be seen, nary way, for I'm all open before,
and onfastened behind, and my hair is all in
paper," I wouldn't believe him ; would you ?

The other young lady, that follows, is a little
too much of Juno, and somewhat too little of
Venus. She is a tall, splendid-looking heifer, as
fine a gall as you will see in any country, and she
takes it for granted you don't need to inquire who
she is. She aint bold, and she aint diffident ;
but she can stare as well as vou can, and has as
good a right too. Her look is scorny, as the
snobocracy pass and do homage, by bestowing on
her an admiring look. Her step is firm, but
elastic ; it is a decided step, but the pious lay-
brother regards her not, and moves not out of
his way for her. So she stops that he may see
his error, and when he does look, he perceives
that it would lead him into further error if he
gazed long, so he moves to the other side of the
path, but does it so slowly, she confronts him
again. After a moment's reflection, he tries to
turn her flank — a movement that is unfortu-
nately anticipated by her, and there is a collision
on the track. The concussion dislocates his hat,

VOL. I. O

•.!

290

THE PLURAL OF MOOSE.

and the red silk Bandannoh handkerchief, which
acted as travelling-bag, and pocket-book, dis-
charges its miscellaneous contents on the pave-
ment. That's onlucky ; for he was a going to
shunt off on another line, and get away ; but he
has to stop and pick up the fragmentary freight
of his beaver.

Before he can do this, he is asked bv Juno
how he dares to stop a l.idy in tlmt indecent
manner, in the street ; and while he is pleading
not guilty to the indictment, the gentlemen that
stared at the simpering beauty, come to the aid
of the fair prosecutrix. She knows them, and
they say, " Capital, by Jove — what a rum one
he is !" Rum one ; why he is a member of a
temperance society, walks in procession when to
home, with a white apron in front, and the ends
of a scarf-like sash behind, and a rosette as large
as a soup-plate on his breast — a rum one ; what
an infamous accusation !

The poor man stands aghast at this; he
humbly begs pardon, and Juno is satisfied. She
takes one of the beaux by the arm, and says :
" Do pray see me home — 1 am quite nervous ;"
and to prove it she laughs as loud as any of
them. The joke is now being carried too far,

THE PLURAL OF MOOSE.

291

, which
k, dis-
e pave-
)ing to
but he
freight

v Juno

ndecnnt

•leading

en that

the aid

!m, and

m one

or of a

hen to

eends

s large

; what

|is; he

She

says:

fous ;"

jny of

far,

and the young sword-knots pick up, amid roars
of laughter, his handkerchief, the papers, the
horn-comb, the fig of tobacco, the fractured pipe,
thejack-kuife, and the clean shirt-collar, that was
only worn once, and toss them into his hat, which
is carefully secured on his head, so low as to cover
his eyes, and so tight as nearly to shuvc off both
his cars. The lay-brother thinks, with great truth,
that he would sooner take five yoke of oxen, and
tail a mnst for a frigate, through the solid forest
to the river, than snake his way through the
streets of a garrison-town. After re-adjusting his
hat, he resumes his pious gait, and Juno also
goes her v\'ay, and exhibits her decided step.

Now, the step of Jessie and myself ^Yas unlike
any of these — it was a natural and easy one ; the
step of people who had no reason to hurry, and,
at the same time, were not in the habit of crawl-
ing. In this manner we proceeded to the lake,
and sought a noint of land which commanded a
full view of it on both sides, and embraced
nearly its whole length. Here was a clump of
trees from which the underwood had been wholly
cut away, so as to form a shade for the cattle
depasturing in the meadow. As we entered the
grove, Jessie exclaimed :

o 2

( ,

»' i

'■ I

j I

iff

f 1

(1 ,

.<-

I ' !

:; i

292

THE PLURAL OF MOOSE.

" Oh ! Mr. Slick, do look ! Here is a canoe
— can you use a paddle ?"

" As well as an oar," said I, " and, perhaps a
little grain better ; for I haven't been down all
the New Brunswick and Nova Scotia rivers in
em for nothing, let alone Lake Michigan, George,
Madawaska and Rossignol, and I don't know
how many others. Step in, and let us have at
them on the water."

In a minute the canoe was launched and
away we flew like lightning. Oh, there is nothing
like one of those light elegant graceful barks ;
what is a wherry or a whale-boat, or a skull or
a gig to them ? They draw no more water than
an egg-shell ; they require no strength to paddle ;
they go right up on the beach, and you can
carry them about like a basket. With a light
hand, a cool head and a quick eye, you can
make them go where a duck can. What has
science, and taste, and handicraft ever made to
improve on this simple contrivance of the
savage. When I was for two years in John
Jacob Astor Fur Company's employment, I knew
the play of Jessie's tribe.

" Can you catch," said I, " Miss ?"

" Can you ?"

THE PLURAL OF MOOSE.

293

1 canoe

haps a
iwn all
A'ers in.
jeorge,
know
have at

:d and

lothing

barks ;

iuU or

er than

addle ;

u can

light

u can

t has

de to

the

John

knew

" Never fear."

And we exchanged paddles as she sat in one
end of the canoe, and 1 in the other, by throwing
them diagonally at each other as if we were
passing a shuttle-cock. She almost screamed
with delight, and in her enthusiasm addressed
me in her native Indian language.

" Gaelic," said I, " give me Gaelic dear, for I
am very simple and very innocent."

" Oh, very," she said, and as she dropped
her paddle into the water, managed to give me
the benefit of a spoonfull in the eyes.

After we had tried several evolutions with the
canoe and had proceeded homeward a short dis-
tance, we opened a miniature bay into which we
leisurely paddled, until we arrived at its head
where a small waterfall of about forty feet in
height, poured its tributary stream into the
lake. On the right hand side which was nearest
to the house was a narrow strip of verdant in-
tervale, dotted here and there with vast shady
beeches and elms. I never saw a more lovelv
spot. Hills rose above each other beyond the
waterfall, like buttresses to support the conical
one that though not in itself a mountain, (for
there is not, strictly speaking, one in this pro-

1 '

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;

294

THE PLURAL OF MOOSE.

vince,) yet loomed as large in the light mist that
enveloped its lofty peak. As this high cliif rose
abruptly from the lake, the light of smaller
cascades was discernable through the thin
shrubbery that clothed its rocky side, although
their voice was drowned in the roar of that at
its base.

Nothing was said by either of us for some
time, for both were occupied by different thoughts.
I was charmed with its extraordinary beauty,
and wondered how it was possible that it
should be so little known as not even to have a
name. My companion, on the other hand, was
engaged in sad reflections which the similarity
of the scene with her early recollections of her
home in the far west, suggested to her mind.

" Ain't this beautiful, Jessie ?" I said, " don't
this remind you of Canada, or rather your own
country ?"

" Oh, yes," she said, " me — me," for during
the whole day there had been a sad confusion of
languages- fend idioms, " me very happy and very
sad ; I want to laugh, I want to cry ; T am here
and there," pointing to the north-west. " Laugh-
ing, talking, sporting with my father and Jane,
and you, and am also by the side of my dear

THE PLURAL OP MOOSE.

295

ist that
iif rose
smaller
\e thin
though
that at

r some
oughts,
beauty,
that it

have a
id, was
nilarity

of her
ind.
don't
own

during
ion of
d very
n here
augh-
Jane,
dear

mother, far — far beyond those hills. 1 see your
people and my people ; I paddle in our canoe,
shoot with our bows, speak our language ; yes,
I am here, and there also. The sun, too, is in
both places. He sees us all. When 1 die,
perhaps I shall go back, but I am not of them or
of you — I am nothing," and she burst into
tears and wept bitterly.

" Jessie," said I, " let us talk about something
else ; you have been too much excited this
morning, let us enjoy what God gives us and
not be ungrateful ; let your sister come also,
and try the canoe once more. This is better
than a hot room, ain't it ?"

" Oh yes," she replied, " this is life. This is
freedom."

" Suppose we dine here," I said.

" Oh yes," she replied, " 1 should like it above
all things. Let us dine on the grass, the table
the great spirit spreads for his children ;" and the
transient cloud passed away, and we sped back
to the lawn as if the bark that carried us was a
bird that bore us on its wings.

Poor Jessie, how well 1 understood her emo-
tions. Home is a word, if there is one in the
language, that appeals directly to the heart.

296

THE PLURAL OF MOOSK.

l;M

I j

■ t.

Man and wife, father and mother, hrothcrs and
sisters, master and servant with all their ties,
associations and duties all, all are contained in
thnt one word. Is it any wonder, when her
innagination raised them up hefore her, that the
woman hccame again a child and that she longed
for the wings of the dove to fly away to the tents of
her trihe in the far west. I am myself as dry,
as seasoned, and as hard as the wood of which my
clocks are made. I am a citizen of the world
rather than of Slick ville. But I too felt my heart
sink within me when I reflected that mine, also,
was desolate, and that I was alone in my own
house, the sole surviving tenant of all that large
domestic circle, whose merry voices once made
its silent halls vocal with responsive echoes of
happiness. We know that our fixed domicile is
not here, but we feel that it is, and must continue
to be our home, ever dear and ever sacred until
we depart hence for another, and a better world.
They know but little of the agency of human
feelings, who in their preaching, attempt to lessen
our attachment for the paternal roof, because, in
common with all other earthly possessions it is
perishable in its nature, and uncertain in its
tenure. The home of life is not the less es-

THE PLUIUL OF MOOSE.

297

rs and

ir ties,

ined in

en her

tut the

longed

tents of

as dry,

ich my

world

y heart

e, also,

ly own

t large

made

oes of

cile is

ntinue

until

world.

uman

lessen

se, in

it is

its

es-

timable.

but ^1

because it
more valuabl

not the home of eternity ;
perhaps, as it prepares

and fits us by its joys and its sorrows, its rij^hts
and its dutlrs, and also by what it withholds, ns
well as imparts for tluit inheritance which awaits
us hereafter. Yes, home is a gn^at word, but
its full meaning ain't understood by every one.

It ain't those who have one, or those who
have none that comprehend what it is ; nor tbos«;
who in the course of nature leave the old and
found a new one for themselves ; nor those who
when they quit shut their eyes and squinch their
faces when they think of it, as if it fetched
something to their mind that warn't pleasant
to recollect ; nor those who suddenly rise so high
in life, that their parents look too vulgar, or the
old cottage too mean for them, or their former
acquaintances too low. But I'll tell you who
knows the meaning and feels it too ; a fellow
Hke me who had a cheerful home, a merry
and a happy home, and who when he returns
from foreign lands finds it deserted and as still
as the grave, and all that he loved scattered and
gone, some to the tomb and others to distant
parts of the earth. The solitude chills him, the
silence appals him. At night shadows follow

o 3

r V

i II

< I

298

THE PLURAL OF MOOSE.

■: I

'i i

him like ghosts of the departed, and the walls
echo back the sound of his footsteps, as if
demons were laughing him to scorn. The least
noise is heard over the whole house. The clock
ticks so loud he has to remove it, for it affects
his nerves. The stealthy mouse tries to annoy
him with his mimic personification of the
burglar, and the wind moans among the trees
as if it lamented the general desolation. If he
strolls out in his grounds, the squirrel ascends
the highest tree and chatters and scolds at the
unusual intrusion, while the birds fly away
screaming with affright, as if pursued by a
vulture. They used to be tame once, when the
family inhabited the house, and listen with
wonder at notes sweeter and more musical than
their own. They would even feed from the hand
that protected them. His dog alone seeks his
society, and strives to assure him by mute but
expressive gestures that he at least wtU never
desert him. As he paces his lonely quarter-
deck, (as he calls the gravel- walk in front of his
house,) the silver light of the moon gleaming
here and there between the stems of the aged
trees startles him with the delusion of unreal
white robed forms, that flit about the shady

(-5

THE PLURAL OF MOOSE.

299

le walls

, as if

he least

le clock

b affects

3 annoy

of the

le trees

If he

ascends

at the

y away

1 by a

hen the

n with

al than

16 hand

eks his

te but

never

luarter-

of his

aming

le aged

lunreal

shady

groves as if enjoying or pitying his condition,
or perhaps warning him that in a few short
years he too must join this host of disembodied
spirits.

Time hangs heavily on his hands, he is tired
of reading, it is too early for repose, so he
throws himself on the sofa and muses, but even
meditation calls for a truce. His heart laments
its solitude, and his tongue its silence. Nature
is weary and exhausted and sleep at last comes
to his aid. But alas ! he awakes in the morning
only to resume his dull monotonous course, and
at last he fuUy comprehends what it is to be
alone. Women won't come to see him, for
fear they might be talked about, and those that
would come would soon make him a subject of
scandal. He and the world like two people
travelling in opposite directions, soon increase at
a rapid rate the distance between them. He
loses his interest in what is going on around
him, and people lose their interest in him. If
his name happens to be mentioned, it may
occasion a listless remark, " I wonder how he
spends his time," or, " the poor devil must be
lonelv there."

Yes, yes, there are many folks in the world

300

THE PLURAL OF MOOSE.

h: 1

^ f

that talk of things they don't understand, and
there are precious few who appreciate the mean-
ing of that endearing term " home." He only
knows it as I have said who has lived in one,
amid a large family, of which he is the solitary
surviving member. The change is like going
from the house to the sepulchre, with this
difference only, one holds a living and the other
a dead body. Yes, if you have had a home
you know what it is, but if you have lost it, then
and not till then do you feel its value.

A DAY ON THE LAKE.

and, and
le mean-
He only
in one,
solitary
e going
th this
le other
1 home
it, then

301

CHAPTER X.

A DAY ON THE LAKE.— PART I.

When we reached the grove, I left Jessie in
the canoe, and went up to the house in search
of her sister. Jackson and Peter were sitting
on the wood-pile ; the latter was smoking his
pipe, and the other held his in his hand, as he
was relating some story of his exploits in Spain
When I approached, he rose up and saluted me
in his usual formal manner.

"Where is the Doctor," said I, "and the
rest of the party ?"

" Gone to see a tame moose of his. Sir," he
said, - in the pasture ; but they wiU be back
directly."

" Well," sais I, lighting a cigar by Peter's

lit

(1 ■

I ■

302

A DAY ON THE LAKE.

pipe, and taking a seat alongside of him, " go
on, Jackson ; don't let me interrupt you."

" I was just telling Mr. McDonald, Sir,"
said he, " of a night I once spent on the field
of battle in Spain."

" Well, go on.

" As I was a saying to him. Sir," he con-
tinued, '•' you could ear the wolves among the
dead and the dying a owling like so many
devils. I was afraid to go to sleep, as I didn't
know when my turn might come; so I put
my carbine across my knees, and sat up as well
as I could, determined to sell my life as dearly
as possible, but I was so weak from the loss of
blood, that I kept dozing and starting all the
time amost. Oh, what a tedious night that
was. Sir, and how I longed for the dawn of day,
when search should be made among us for the
wounded ! Just as the fog began to rise, I saw
a henormous wolf, about a hundred yards or so
from me, busy tearing a body to pieces ; and
taking a good steady haim at him, I fired, when
he called out :

" * Blood and ounds ! you cowardly furrin
rascal, haven't you had your belly-full of fighting
yet, that you must be after murthering a

A DAY ON THE LAKE.

303

lurrin
iting
fg a

wounded man that way? By the powers of
Moll Kelly, but you won't serve Pat Kallahan
that dirty trick again, anyhow.'

" As he levelled at me, I fell back, and the
ball passed right over me and struck a wounded
orse that was broke down behind, and a sittin
up. on his fore-legs like a dog. Oh, the scream
of that are hanimal. Sir, was just like a Chris-
tian's. It was hawful. I have the sound of it
in my ears now halmost. It pierced through
me, and you might have card it that still
morning over the whole field. He sprung up
and then fell over, and kicked and stmggled
furious for a minute or two before he died, and
every time he lashed out, you could a card a
elpless wounded wretch a groanin bitterly, as
he battered away at him. The truth is. Sir,
what I took for a wolf that hazy morning was
poor Pat, who was sitting up, and trying to
bandage his hankie, that was shattered by a
bullet, and the way he bobbed his head up and
down, as he stooped forward, looked exactly as
a wolf does when he is tearing the flesh off a
dead body.

" Well, the scream of that are orse, and the
two shots the dragoon and I exchanged, saved

i i

' !■

» i !
! I

' i

304

A DAY ON THE LAKE.

my life, for I saw a man and a woman making
right straight for us. It was Betty, Sir, God
bless her, and Sergeant M'Clure. The owling
she sot up, when she saw me, was dreadful to
ear. Sir.

" ' Betty,' said I, * dear, for eaven's sake see
if you can find a drop of brandy in any of these
poor fellows' canteens, for I am perishing of
thirst, and amost chilled to death.'

" ' Oh, Tom, dear,' said she, * I have thought
of that,' and unslinging one from her shoulders
put it to my lips, and I believe I would have
drained it at a draft, but she snatched it away
directly, and said :

" ' Oh, do 'ee think of that dreadful stroke
of the sun, Tom. It will set you crazy if you
drink any more.'

" * The stroke of the sun be anged !' said I ;
' it's not in my ead this time — it's in the other
end of me.'

" ' Oh dear, dear !' said Betty ; * two such
marks as them, and you so handsome too !
Oh dear, dear !'

" Poor old soul ! it's a way she had of trying
to come round me.

" * Where is it ?' said M'Clurc

A DAY ON THE LAKE.

305

naking
r, God
owling
dful to

ake see
»f these
ing of

bought
oulders
Id have
it away

stroke
if vou

;aid I ;
other

such
too!

trying

(( <

I .

In the calf of my leg,' said I.

" Well, he was a handy man, for he had been
a hospital- sargeant, on account of being able to
read doctors' pot-hooks and inscriptions. So
he cut my boot, and stript down my stocking
and looked at it. Says he, * I must make a
turn-and-quit.'

" ' Oh, Rory,' said I, * don't turn and quit
your old comrade that way.'

" * Oh, Rory, dear,' said Betty, ' don't 'ee leave
Tom now — don't 'ee, that's a good soul.'

" * Pooh !' said he, * nonsense ! How your early
training has been neglected, Jackson !'

" * Rory,' said I, * if I was well you would'nt
dare to pass that slur upon me. I am as well-
trained a soldier, and as brave a man as ever
^ou was.'

" ' Tut, tut, man,' said he, ' I meant your
learning.'

" ' Well,' says I, * I can't brag much of that,
and I am not sorry for it. Many a better
scholar nor you, and better-looking man too
has been anged afore now, for all his schoolin.'

" Says he, ' T'U soon set you up, Tom. Let
me see if I can find anything here that will do
for a turn-and-quit.'

<i;i

H *

II I'l

306

A DAY ON THE LAKE.

" Close to where I lay there was a furrin
officer who had his head nearly amputated with
a sahre cut. Well, he took a heautiful gold
repeater out of his fob, and a great roll of
dubloons out of one pocket, and a little case of
diamond rings out of the other.

" ' The thieving Italian rascal !' said he, ' he
has robbed a jeweller's shop before he left the
town,' and he gave the body a kick and passed
on. Well, close to him was an English officer.

" ' Ah,' said he, * here is something useful,*
and he undid his sash, and then feeling in his
breast pocket, he hauled out a tin tobacco-case,
and opening of it, says he :

" * Tom, here's a real god-send for you.
This, and the sash I will give you as a keepsake.
They are mine by the fortune of war, but T will
bestow them on you.' "

" Oigh ! oigh !" said Peter, *' she was no
shentleman."

*' He warn't then, Sir," said Tom, not under-
standing him, " for he was only a sargeant like
me at that time, but he is now, for he is an
officer."

" No, no," said Peter, " the king can make
an offisher, but she can't make a shentleman.

A DAY ON THE LAKE.

307

She took the oyster her nainsel, and gave you
the shell."

" Well," continued Jackson, " he took the
sash, and tied it round my leg, and then took a
bayonet off a corpse, and with that twisted it
round and round so tight it urt more nor the
wound, and then he secured the bayonet so that
it wouldn't slip. There was a furrin trooper's
orse not far off that had lost his rider, and
had got his rein hunder his foreleg, so Betty
caught him and brought him to where I was
a sitting. By the haid of another pull at the
canteen, which put new life into me, and by
their hassistance, I was got on the saddle, and
he and Betty steadied me on the hanimal, and
led me off. I no sooner got on the orse than
Betty fell to a crying and a scolding again like
anything.

" ' What hails you now,' says I ' Betty ? You
are like your own town of Plymouth — it's
showery weather with you all the year round
amost. What's the matter now ?'

" ' Oh, Tom, Tom,' said she, ' you will break
my eart yet — I know you will.'

" ' Why what have I done ?' says I. ' I
could't help getting that little scratch on the leg.'

fi'

! )

; '

Mil:

1! 1

J.:

t.'

308

A DAY ON THE LAKE.

" * Oh, it tantc that,' she said ; * it's that
orrid stroke of the sun. There's your poor
ead huncovered again. Where is your elmet V

"'Oh, hother,' sais I, 'ovv do I know? Some-
where on the ground, I suppose.'

" Well, back she ran as ard as she could,
but M'Clure wouldn't wait a moment for her
and went on, and as she couldn't find mine, she
undid the furriner's and brought that, and
to pacify her I had to put it on and wear it.
It was a good day for M'Clure, and I was glad
of it, for he was a great sch- lar and the best
friend I ever had. He sold the orse for twenty
pounds afterwards."

" She don't want to say nothin disrespect-
able," said Peter, " against her friend, but she
was no shentleman Tor all tat."

" He is now," said Tom again, with an air
of triumph. " He is an hofficer, and dines at
the mess. I don't suppose he'd be seen with
me now, for it's agen the rules of the service,
but he is the best friend I have in the world."

" She don't know nothin about ta mess
herself,'* said Peter, " but she supposes she eats
meat and drinks wine every tay, which was
more tan she did as a poy. But she'd rather

A DAY ON THE LAKE.

309

it's that
•iir poor
olmet ?'
' Some-

e could,
for her
line, she
at, and
wear it.
vas glad
:he best
' twenty

respect-
but she

an air
lines at
In with
[ervice,
rid."
mess
eats
was
ither

live on oatmeal and drink whiskey, and be a poor
shentlemen, than be an officherlike M'Clurc, and
tine with tlic Queen, Cot bless her."

** And the old pipe, then, was all you got
for your share, was it ?" says I.

" No, Sir," said Tom, " it warnt. One day,
when I was nearly well, Betty came to me.

" ' Oh, Tom," said she, " I have such good
news for you.'

" * What is it ?' sais I, ' are we going to have
another general engagement ?'

" ' Oh, dear, I hope not,' she said. * You
have had enough of fighting for one while, and
you arc always so misfortunate.'

" ' Well, what is it ?' sais I.

" * Will you promise me not to tell ?'

" * Yes,' said I, ' I wiU.'

" ' That's just what you said the first time I
kissed you. Do get out,' she replied, ' and you
promise not to lisp a word of it to Rory M'Clure ?
or he'll claim it, as he did that orse, and Tom I
caught that orse, and he was mine. It was a
orrid, nasty, dirty, mean trick that.'

" ' Betty,' said I, ' I won't ear a word hagin
him : he is the best friend I ever had, but I
won't tell him, if you wish it.'

I ;

310

A DAY ON THli LAKE.

" ' Well,' said Betty, and she bust out crying
for joy, for she can cry at nothing, amost.
* Look, Tom, here's twenty Napoleons, I found
them quilted in that otticcr's elmet.' So after
all, I got out of that scrape pretty well, didn't
I, Sir ?"

" Indeed she did," said Peter, " but if she had
seen as much of wolves as Peter McDonald has
she wouldn't have been much frightened by them.
This is the way to scare a whole pack of them,"
and stooping down, and opening a sack, he
took out the bagpipes, and struck up a favourite
•highland air. If it was calculated to alarm the
animals of the forest, it at all events served now
to recall the party, who soon made their ap-
pearance from the moose-yard. " Tat," said
Peter, " will make 'em scamper like the tevil.
It has saved her life several times."

" So I should think," said I. ( For of all the
awful instruments that ever was heard, that is
the worst. Pigs in a bag, ain't the smallest part
of a circumstance to it, for the way it squeals is
a caution to cats.) When the devil was a
carpenter, he cut his foot so bad with an adze,
he threw it down, and gave up the trade in
disgust. And now that Highlanders have

A DAY ON THE LAKE.

311

given up th(; trade of barbarism, and become
the noblest IVllows in Europr, they should
follow the devil's example, and throw away the
bagpipos for ever.

*' I have never seen M'Clure," said Jackson,
addressinq; me, " but once since he disputed
with tlu^ countryman about the plural of moose
in thi! country-nui.ket. I met him in the
street one day, and says I,

" ' How are yo\i, Rory ? Suppose we take a
bit of a walk.'

'' Well, he held up his ead stiii' and straight,
and didn't speak for a minute or two ; at last
he said :

" * How do you do, Sargeant Jackson ?'

" ' Why, Rory,' sais I, ' what hails you to hact
that way ? What's the matter with you now,
to treat an old comrade in that manner ?'

" He stared ard at me in the face hagain,
without giving any explanation. At last he
said, ' Sargeant Jackson,' and then he stopped
again. ' If anybody specrs at you where Ensign
Roderich M'Clure is to be found, say on the
second flat of the officers quarters at the North
Barracks,' and he walked on and left me. He
had got his commission."

312

A DAY ON THE LAKE.

I i -ii

" She had a Highland name," said Peter,
" and tat is all, but she was only a lowland
Glaskow peast. Ta teivil tack a' such friends a
tat."

" Doctor," said I, " Jessie and I have dis-
covered the canoe, and had a glorious row of
it. I see you have a new skiflf there ; suppose
we all finish the morning on the lake. We
have been up to the waterfall, and if it is agree-
able to you, Jessie proposes to dine at the
intervale instead of the house."

" Just the thing," said the Doctor, " but you
understand these matters better than I do, so
just give what instructions you think proper."

Jackson and Betty were accordingly di-
rected to pack up what was needful, and
hold themselves in readiness to be em-
barked on our return from the excursion on the
water. Jessie, her sister and myself took the
canoe; the Doctor and Cutler the boat, and
Peter was placed at the stern to awaken the
sleeping echoes of the lake with his pipes.
The Doctor seeing me provided with a short
gun, ran hastily back to the house for his bow
and arrows, and thus equipped and grouped, we
proceeded up the lake, the canoe taking the

aid Peter,
a lowland
^ friends a

have dis-
is row of
; suppose
ke. We
is agree-
' at the

'' but you
f do, so
oper."
py di-
^h and
»e em-

on the
5ok the
t, and
^n the

pipes.

short
s bow
id, we
? the

A DAY ON THE LAKE. 313

Ifead. Peter struck up a tune on his pipes
The great expanse of water, and the large open
area where they were played, as well as th

thT ■' "^ ""^' '"'"°^' -"^ - think
that ,t was not such bad music after all, as I
had considered it.

After we had proceeded a short distance

the boat. I tried to dissuade her from it

on account of the fatigue she had already un.'
dergone. and the excitement she had maniLed
at the waterfall, but she declared herself per-
fectly well, and able for the contest. The odds

were against the girls ; for the r.„f • J
..J-, 6 ^, lor tne Laptain and

the Doctor were both experienced hands, and
powerf 1, ,.hletic men, and their boat was
flat-bottomed skifF, and drew but little water
Added to „^ch, the young women had been
long out of practice, and their hands and
muscles were unprepared by exercise. I yielded

at last, on condition that the race should ter
nnnate at a large rock that rose out of the

ke at about a mile from us. I named th
distance, not merely because I wished to limi

^irA.;l ^•'^!^ --- hut bemuse •;

knew that if they had the lead

VOL. I.

that far.

they

314

A DAY ON THE LAKE.

; •

would be unable to sustain it beyond that, and
that they would be beaten by the main strength
of the rowers. We accordingly slackened our
speed till the boat came up alongside of us.
The challenge was given and accepted, and the
terminus pointed out, and when the signal was
made, away we went with great speed.

For more than two-thirds of the distance we
were bow and bow, sometimes one and some-
timetimes the other being ahead, but on no
occasion did the distance exceed a yard or so.
When we had but the remaining third to
accomplish, I cautioned the girls that the
rowers would now probably put out all their
strength, and take them by surprise, and there-
fore advised them to be on their guard. They
said a few words to each other in their native
language, laughed, and at once prepared for
the crisis, by readjusting their seats and foot-
hold, and then the eldest said, with a look of
animation, that made her surpassingly beautiful,
" Now," and away we went like iled lightning,
leaving the boat behind at a rate that was
perfectly incredible.

They had evidently been playing with them
at first, and doing no more than to ascertain

A DAY ON THE LAKE.

315

that, and
L strength
iened our
le of us.
1, and the
iignal was

stance we
,nd some-
lit on no
ird or so.
third to
1 that the
all their
md there-
They
ir native
)ared for
and foot-
a look of
eautiful,
ghtning,
hat was

Ith them
iscertain

their speed and power of propulsion, and had
all along intended to reserve themselves for
this triumph at the last. As soon as we
reached the winning point, I rose up to give
the cheer of victory, but just at that moment,
they suddenly backed water with their paddles,
and in turning towards the boat, the toe of my
boot caught in one of the light ribs of the
canoe, which had been loosened by the heat of
the sun, and I instantly saw that a fall was un-
avoidable. To put a hand on the side of the
little bark would inevitably overset it, and
precipitate the girls into the lake. I had but
one resource left, therefore, and that was lo
arch over the gunwale, and lift my feet clear
of it, while I dove into the water. It was the
York of an instant, and in another, I had again
reached the canoe. Begging Jessie to movo
forward, so as to counter-balance my weight,
I rose over the stern, (if a craft can be said to
have one, where both ends are alike, and it
can be propelled either way,) and then took the
seat that had been occupied by her.

" Now, Jane," said I, " I must return to the
house, and get a dry suit of the Doctor's clothes ;
let us see what we can do."

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316

A DAY ON THE LAKE.

The Doctor told me Betty knew more about his
wardrobe, than he did himself, and would furnish
me with what I required ; and in the meantime,
that they would lay upon their oars till we
returned.

" Are you ready, Miss," said I, " I want you
to do your prettiest now, and put your best foot
out, because I wish them to see that I am not
the awkward critter in a canoe, they think I am."

The fact is. Squire, that neither the Doctor
nor Cutler knew, that to avoid falling under
the circumstances I was placed in, and to
escape without capsizing the canoe, was a feat
that no man, but one familiar with the manage-
ment of those fragile barks, and a good
swimmer, too, can perform, Peter was aware
of it, and appreciated it ; but the other two
seemed disposed to cut their jokes upon me ;
and them that do that, generally find, in the
long run, I am upsides with them, that's a fact.
A cat and a Yankee always come on their feet,
pitch them up in the air as high, and as often
as you please.

"Now for it," said 1, and away we went
at a 2.30 pace, as w^e say of our trotting horses.
Cutler and the Doctor cheered us as we went ;

A DAY ON THE LAKE.

317

about his
d furnish
leantime,
) till we

vant you

best foot

am not

ik I am."

le Doctor

ig under

and to

as a feat

manage-

a good

s aware

her two

on me ;

in the

a fact.

ir feet,

s often

le went

I horses,
went ;

and Peter, as the latter told me afterwards, said :
" A man who can dwell like an otter, on both
land and sea, has two lives." I indorse that
saw, he made it himself; it's genuine, and it
was like a trapper's maxim. Warn't it ?

As soon as I landed I cut off for the house,
and in no time, rigged up in a dry suit of our
host's, and joined the party, afore they knew
where they were. I put on a face as like the
Doctor's, as two clocks of mine are to each
other. I didn't do it to make fun of him, but
out of him. Oh, they roared again, and the
Doctor joined in it as heartily as any of them,
though he didn't understand the joke. But
Peter didn't seem to like it. He had lived so
much among the Indians, and was so accus-
tomed to their way of biling things down to an
essence, that he spoke in proverbs, or wise saws.
Says he to me, with a shake of his head, " a
mocking bird has no voice of its own." It
warn't a bad sayin, was it? I wish I had
noted more of them, for though I like 'em, I
am so yarney, I can't make them as pithey
as he did. I can't talk short-hand, and I
must say I like condensation. Now, brevity is
the only use to individuals there is in telegraphs.

' ; 4-!

318

A DAY ON THE LAKE.

■■

it i

^^m

^^m
^^^■^^H

There is very little good news in the world for
any of us ; and bad news comes fast enough.
I hate them myself. The only good there is in
em, is to make people write short ; for if you
have to pay for every word you use, you won't
be extravagant in em, there is no mistake.

Telegraphs ruin intellect ; they reduce a wise
man to the level of a fool; and fifty years
hence, there won't be a sensible trader left.
For national purposes they are very well, and
government ought to have kept them to them-
selves, for those objects ; but they play the devil
with merchants. There is no room for the
exercise of judgment. It's a dead certainty now.
Flour is eight dollars in England ; well, every
one knows that, and the price varies, and every
one knows that also, by telegraph. Before that, a
judgmatical trader took his cigar in his mouth,
sat down, and calculated. Crops short, Russian
war, blockade., and so on. Capital will run up
prices, till news of new hai'vest are known ; and
then they will come down by the run. He
deliberates, reasons, and decides. Now, the last
Liverpool paper gives the price current. It
advises all, and governs all. Any blockhead can
be a merchant now. Formerly, they poked sapey-

A DAY ON THE LAKE.

319

world for
t enough,
there is in
or if you
you won't
itake.
ice a wise
fty years
ader left,
well, and
to thera-
the devil
1 for the
inty now.
ell, every
nd every
re that, a
> mouth,
Russian
run up
n ; and
n. He
the last
nt. It
lead can
sapey-

headed goncys into Parliament, to play dummey ;
or into the army and navy, the church, and the
colonial office. But they kept clever fellows for
law, special commissioners, the stage, the
' Times,' the ' Chronicle,' and such like able
papers, and commerce ; and men of middlin
talents were resarved for doctors, solicitors,
Gretna Green, and so on.

But the misfortinate prince-merchants now
will have to go to the bottom of the list with
tradesmen and retailers. They can't have an
opinion of their own, the telegraph will give it.
The latest quotations, as they call them, come to
them, they know that iron is firm, and timber
giving way, that lead is dull and heavy, and
coal gone to biases, while the stocks are rising
and vessels sinking, all the rest they won't trouble
their heads about. The man who trades with
Cuba, won't care about Si nope, and it's too much
trouble to look for it on the map. While the
Black Sea man won't care about Toronto, or
whether it is in Nova Scotia or Vermont, in
Canada or California. There won't soon be a
merchant that understands geography.

But what is wuss, half the time the news is
f'ilse, and if it hadn't been for that, old Hemp

320

A DAY ON THE LAKE.

and Iron would have made a fortune. And if
it is true, it's worse still, for he would have acted
on his own judgment if he hadn't heard it, and
circumstances would have altered as they always
are doing every day, and he would have made a
rael hit. Oh, I hate them. And besides this,
they have spoiled them by swearing the operators.
An oath gives them fellows such an itch to
blart, that though they don't inform, they let
the cat out of the bag, and that is as bad. Tell
you what I wouldn't like to confess by telegraph.
If I am courting a gall and she sais all right,
why then my fun is spoiled, for when a thing is
settled, all excitement is gone, and if I am
refused the longer I am in ignorance the better.
It is wiser to wait, as the Frenchman did at
Clare, who sat up three nights to see how the
letters passed over the wires. Well, if I am
married, I have to report progress and log-books
are always made up before or afterwards. It's
apt to injure my veracity. In short, you know
what I mean, and I needn't follow it out, for a
nod is as good as a wink to a blind horse.

But the Lord have mercy on merchants, any
fool will get along as well as the best of them
now. Dear me, I recollect a man they poked

A DAY ON THE LAKE.

321

And if
ave acted
i it, and
ly always
5 made a
ides this,
P'jrators.
I itch to
they let
id. Tell
;legraph.
ill right,
thing is
f I am
e better,
did at
ow the
I am
^- books
. It's
know
for a

IS, any
them
I poked

fun at once at Salem. They induced him by
way of a rise, to ship a cargo of blankets and
warming-pans to the West Indies. Well, he
did so, and made a good speck, for the pans
were bought for dippers, and the blankets for
strainers. Yes, telegraphs will reduce merchants
to the level of that fellow Isaac Oxter.

But I must look for the trail again, or I shall
forget my story.

I think 1 left off, where I got back in the
canoe, and joined the party in the boat. Well,
we then proceeded like the off and near ox,
puUing from rather than to each other, but
still keeping neck and neck as it were. In this
manner we proceeded to the head of the lake,
and then as we returned, steered for a small
wooded island in the centre, where I proposed to
land and rest awhile, for this beautiful sheet of
water was of considerable extent. As we
approached it, Peter again struck up his pipes,
and shortly afterwards a noble male moose, as
much terrified by the noise, as McDonald said
Canada wolves were, broke cover, and swam
for the main land. The moose frequently select
such places to secure their young, from the
bears, who are their greatest enemies, and find

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322

A DAY ON THE LAKE.

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an easy prey in their helpless calves. It is
not improbable that the female still remained,
and that this act of gallantry in the buck was
intended to withdraw attention from her, and
thus save her from pursuit. I had no bullets
with me, and my gun was only lojided with
duck-shot. To discharge that at him, would
have been a wanton act of cruelty, as at most
it could only inflict upon him painful wounds.
In this emergency, Jessie pointed to a stout half-
inch rope that was coiled up in the bottom of
the canoe, and I immediately exchanged places
with her, and commenced making a lasso, while
she plied the paddle.

We gained rapidly upon him, and I was pre-
preparing to throw the fatal noose over his
horns, when to my astonishment he raised his
neck and a* portion of his fore-legs out of the
water, as if he was landing. We were then a
considerable distance from the shore, but it ap-
peared, as I afterwards learned from the Doctor,
that a long low neck of land made out there
into the lake, that was only submerged in the
spring and autumn, but in summer was covered
with wild grass, upon which deer fed with
avidity, as an agreeable change from browsing.

It is

•cmained,
buck was
her, and
no bullets
ided with
im, would
5 at most
[ wounds,
stout half-
bottom of
red places
fisso, while

w^as pre-
over his
raised his
)ut of the
e then a
)ut it ap-
le Doctor,
out there
ed in the
Bis covered
fed with
browsing.

A 1)A\ ON THE LAKE

3-23

The instinct of the animal induced him to make
for this shallow, from which he could bound
away at full speed (trot) into the cover.

All hope of the chase was now over, and I
was about abandoning it in despair, when an
arrow whizzed by us, and in an instant he
sprang to his feet, and exposed his huge form
to view. Ho was a remarkable fine specimen
of his kind, for they are the largest as well' as
the ugliest of the deer tribe. For an instant
he paused, shook himself violently, and holding
down his head, put up his fore-leg to break oft*
that, which evidently maddened liim with pain.
He then stood up erect, with his head high in
the air, and laid his horns back on his neck,
and giving a snort of terror, prepared to save
his life by flight.

It is astonishing how much animation and
attitude has to do with beauty. I had never
seen one look well before, but as his form w^as
relieved against the sky, he looked as he is, the
giant king of the forest. He was just in the
act of shifting his feet in the yielding surface of
the boggy meadow, preparatory to a start, when
he was again transfixed by an arrow, in a more
vulnerable and vital part. He sprung, or rather

I I

I ill,;

. Ill

^ !

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324

A DAY ON THE LAKE.

roiircd forward, and cam(3 down on his knees,
and then several times repeated the attempt to
eommenec his flight hy the same (iesi)erate
effort. At last he fell to rise no more, and
soon rolled over, and after some splashing with
his head to avoid the impending death hy
drowning, quietly submitted to his fate. No-
thing now was visible of him hut the tips of
his horns, and a small strip of the hide that
covered his ribs. A shout from the boat pro-
elaimed the victory.

"Ah, Mr. Slick," said the Doctor, "what
could you have done, with only a charge of
(luck-shot in your gun, eh ? The arrow, you
see, served for shot and bullet. I could have
killed him with the first shaft, but his head was
turned and covered the vital spot. So I had to
aim (\ little too far forward, but still it carried a
death-warrant with it, for he couldn't have run
over a mile without falling from exhaustion,
arising from the loss of blood. It is a charming
day for the bow, for there is no wind, and I
could hit a dollar at a hundred and twenty
yards. There is another on that island, but she
probably has a calf, perhaps two, and it would
be a wicked waste of the food that God provides

A DAY ON TIIK LAKE.

3'25

for us, to (li.'stroy her. But \vc must get this
gcntltman into the boat, and it will bring us down
so deep in th(! water, we must keep nc'ar the; shore,
as it may be necessary occasionally to wade."

Peter, without ceremony, began to make pre-
parations for such an emergc^ncy. He had been
accustomed all his life, until he left the Nor-
west Company's employment, to the kilt, and
he neither felt nor looked at home in the trou-
sers. Like most of his countrymen, he thought
there was more beauty in a hairy leg, and in a
manly shammy-leather looking skin, than in any
covering. While his bald knee, the ugliest,
weakest, most complicated and important joint
in the frame, he no doubt regarded with as
much veneration as the pious do the shaven
crown of a monk. He therefore, very com-
placently and coolly began to disencumber him-
self of this detestable article of the tailor's skill.
I thought it best therefore to push off in time,
to spare his daughters this spectacle, merely
telling the Doctor we would wait for him
where we had embarked.

We proceeded very leisurely, only once in a
while dipping the paddle gently into the water,
so as to keep up the motion of the canoe. The

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326

A DAY ON THE LAKE.

girls amused themselves by imitating the call
and answer of the loon, the blue-jay, the king-
fisher, and the owl. With a piece of bark,
rolled up in the form of a short-ear trumpet,
they mimicked the hideous voice of the moose,
and the not less disagreeable lowing of the
cariboo. The martin started in surprise at his
affrighted neighbour on the water, and the fox
no doubt, crept from his hole to listen to the
voice that called him to plunder, at this danger-
ous hour. All these sounds are signals among
the Indians, and are carried to a perfection, that
deceives the ear of nature itself. I had read of
their great power in this species of ventrilo-
quism, but never had heard it practised before,
with the exception of the imitation of the deer
tribe, which is well-known to white 'still-hunters.'

They are, in their own country, not very
communicative to strangers ; and above all,
never disclose practices so peculiarly reserved for
their own service or defence. I was amazed at
their skill in this branch of Indian accomplish-
ment.

But the notes of the dear little chick- a-dee-
dee charmed me the most. The stillness of
this wild, sequestered place, was most agreeably

the call
le kiiig-
)f bark,
rumpet,

moose,

of the
' at his
the fox
1 to the
danger-

among
3n, that
read of
entrilo-

jefore,
le deer

nters.'

A DAY ON THE LAKE.

3-27

ery
all,
ed for
zed at
plish-

a-dee-
ss of
ieably

diversified by all these fictitious birds and
beasts, that seemed inviting, each his own kind,
to come and look at this lovely scene. From
the wonderful control they appeared to have
over their voices, I knew that one, or both of
them must sing. I therefore asked them if
they knew the Canadian-boat song ; and they
answered, with great dehght, that they did.
And suiting the action to the word, which, by
the bye, adds marvellously to its effect, they
sung it charmingly. I couldn't resist their
entreaties to join in it, although I would in-
finitely have preferred listening to taking a part.
When we concluded it, Jessie said it was much
prettier in her native tongue, and sung a verse
in her own language. She said the governor of
the fort, who spoke Indian, as well as English,
had arranjred the words for it, and when she was
a child in his familv, she learned it. '* Listen,"
said she, " what is that ?"

It was Jackson playing on the key-bugle.
Oh, how gloriously it sounded, as its notes fell
on the ear, mellowed and softened by the dis-
tance. When Ensrhshmcn talk of the hunters'
horn in the morning, they don't know what
they are a saying of. It's well enough I do

y
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328

A DAY ON THE LAKE.

suppose in the field, as it wakes the drowsy
sportsman, and reminds him that there is a
hard dav's ride before him. But the lake and
the forest is nature's amphitheatre, and it is at
home there. It won't speak as it can do at all
times and in all places ; but it gives its whole
soul out in the woods ; and the echoes love it,
and the mountains wave their plumes of pines
to it, as if they wanted to be wooed by its
clear, sweet, powerful notes.* All nature listens
to it, and keeps silence, while it lifts its voice
on high. The breeze wafts its music on its
wings, as if proud of its trust ; and the lake
lies stiU, and pants like a thing of life, as if its
heart beat to its tones. The birds are all
hushed, as if afraid to disturb it ; and the deer

* This inflated passage, and some other similar ones,
are extremely characteristic of Americans in the same
station of life as Slick. From the use of superlative
expressions in their conversation, they naturally adopt
an exaggerative style in writing, and the minor poets
and provincial orators of the Republic are distinguished
for this hyperbolical tone. In Great Britain they would
be admired by the Irish ; on the Continent, by the
Gascons. If Mr. Slick were not affected by this weak-
ness himself, he would \>v. .imong the first to detect and
ridicule it in others.

A DAY OxN THE LAKE.

329

drowsy
3re is a
akc and
I it is at
lo at all
s whole
love it,
of pines

by its
e listens
ts voice

on its
;he lake
as if its
are all

e deer

far ones,
le same
►erlative

|y adopt
ir poets
[uished
would
|by the
weak-
;ct and

pause, and listen, and gaze on the skies, as if
the music came from Heaven. Money only
can move some men, and a white heat alone
dissolve stones. But he who has ever heard
the bugle, and is not inspired by it, has no
divinity within him. The body is there, but
the soul is wanting.

" Go on, Jackson, I will forgive your twadle
about Sargent M'Clure, the stroke of the sun,
the trooper's helmet, and the night among the
wolves. I will listen to your old soldier's
stories all night, only go on, and play for me.
Give me that simple air again. Let me drink
it in with my ears, till my heart is full. No grace
notes, no tricks of the band-master's, no
flourishes ; let it be simple and natural.
Let it suit us, and the place we are in, for it is
the voice of our common parent, nature." Ah,
he didn't hear me, and he ceased.

" Jessie, dear, ain't that beautiful ?"
said L

" Oh," she said, (and she clasped her hands
hard,) " it is like the sound of a spirit speaking
from above."

" Imitate it/' said L

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330

A DAY ON THE LAKE.

:|iNI

I! !■■

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', il

She knew the air, it was a Scotch one; and
their music is the most touching, because the
most simple, I know.

Squire, you will think I am getting spooney,
but I ain't. You know how fond I am of
nature, and always was ; but I suppose you will
think if I ain't talking Turkey, that I am getting
crankey, when I tell you an idea that came
into my mind just then. She imitated it in the
most perfect manner possible. Her clear, sweet,
mellow, but powerful notes, never charmed me
so before. I thought it sounded like a maiden,
answering her lover. One was a masculine,
the other a female voice. The only difference
was in the force, but softness was common to
both. Can I ever forget the enchantment of
that day ?

"Dear Jessie," said I, " you and your friend
are just formed for each other. How happy
you could make him."

" Who ?" said she, and there was no affecta-
tion in the question. She knew not the import
of that word. " What do you mean ?"

" Hush," said I, " I will tell you by and bye.
Old Tom is playing again."

A DAY ON THE LAKE.

331

one; and
lecausc the

\g spooney,
I am of
se you will
am getting
that came
jd it in the
lear, sweet,
larmcd me
! a maiden,
masculine,
' difference
ommon to
ntment of

3ur friend
)w happy

affecta-
he import

and hye.

It was " Auld lang syne." How touching it
was. It brought tears to Jessie's eyes. She
had learned it, when a child, far, far away ; and
it recalled her tribe, her childhood, her country,
and her mother. I could see these thoughts
throw their shadows over her face, as light
clouds chase each other before the sun, and
throw their veil, as they course along the sky, over
the glowing landscape. It made me feel sad,
too ; for how many of them, with whom my
early years were spent, have passed away. Of
all the fruit born by the tree of life, how small
a portion drops from it, when fully ripe, and
in the due course of nature. The worm, and
premature decay, are continually thinning them ;

and the tempest and the blight destroy the
greater part of those that are left. Poor dear
worthy old Minister, you, too, are gone, but not
forgotten. How could I have had these thoughts ?
How could I have enjoyed these scenes ? and
how described them ? but for you ! Innocent
pure, and simple-minded man, how fond you
were of nature, the handy-work of God, as you
used to call it. How full you were of poetry,
beauty, and sublimity? And what do I not
owe to you? I am not ashamed of having

\ (

332

A DAY ON THE LAKE.

.11 ]i I

■ "I I

li!

i «

u H

been a Clockmaker, I am proud of it.* But 1
should, indeed, have been ashamed, with your in-
struction, always to have remained one. Yes, yes !

•• Why should auld acquaintance be forgot,
And never brought to mind ?"

Why? indeed.

" Tarn it," said Peter, for we were so absorbed
in listening to the music, we did not hear the
approach of the boat, " ta ting is very coot
but it don't stir up te blood, and make you feel
like a man, as ta pipes do ? Did she ever hear
barris an tailler ? Fan she has done with her
brass cow-horn, she will give it to you. It can
wake the tead that air. When she was a piper
poy to the fort, Captain Fraisher was killed by
the fall of a tree, knocked as stiff as a gunparrel,
and as silent too. We laid her out on the
counter in one of the stores, and pefore we put her
into the coffin the governor said : * Peter,' said
he, ' she was always fond of barris an tailler,
play it before we nail her up, come seid suas,
(strike up.)'
"Well, she gets the pipes and plays it hernain-

* This is the passage to which Mr. Slick referred in
the conversation I had with him, related in Chapter I.,
entitled, "A Surprise."

.* But 1

th your in-

Yes, yes !

rgot.

3 absorbed
; hear the
very coot
3 you feel
ever hear
3 with her
«- It can
is a piper
killed by

unparrel,
on the

e put her
r/ said
tailler,

d suasy

ler nain-

[ferred in
lapter I.,

A DAY ON THE LAKE.

333

sel, and the governor forgot his tears, anr'. seized
McPhee by the hand, and they danced ; they
couldn't help it when that air was played, and
what do you think ? It prought Captain Fraisher
to life. First she opened her eyes, and ten her
mouth again wunst more. She did upon my
shoul.

" Says she, ' Peter, play it faster will you ?
More faster yet, you blackguard.' And she tropt
the pipes and ran away, and it was the first and
last time Peter McDonald ever turned his pack
on a friend. The doctor said it was a trance, but
he was a sassanach and knew nothing about
music ; but it was the pipes prought the tead
to. This is the air," and he played it with such
vigour he nearly grew black in the face.

" I believe it," sais I, " it has brought me to,
also, it has made me a new man, and brought
me back to life again. Let us land the moose."

" Ted," said Peter, " she is worth two ted
men yet. There is only two teaths. Ted as te
tevil, and ted drunk, and she ain't neither ; and
if she were poth she would wake her up with
tat tune, barris an tailler, as she tid Captain
Fraisher, tat she will."

" Now," said I, " let us land the moose."

IL^

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334

A DAY ON THE LAKE.

I' I il

\ ■

CHAPTER XI.

A DAY ON THE LAKE. PART II.

Peter's horrid pipes knocked all the romance
out of me. It took all the talk of dear old
Minister, (whose conversation was often like
poetry without rhyme,) till I was of age, to
instill it into me. If it hadn't been for him I
should have been a mere practical man, exactly
like our Connecticut folks, who have as much
sentiment in them in a general way as an onion
has of otter of roses. It's lucky when it don't
predominate though, for when it does, it spoils
the relish for the real business of life.

Mother when 1 was a boy used to coax me
up so everlastingly with loaf-cake, I declare I got
such a sweet tooth I could hardly eat plain
bread made of flour and corn meal, although it

• II.

le romance
if dear old
often like

age,

for him I
m, exactly
e as much
an onion

n it don't
s, it spoils

coax me
jlare I got
eat plain
though it

A DAY ON THE LAKE.

335

was the vvholesomest of the two. When I used to
tell Minister this sometimes, as ho was flying off
the handle, like when we travelled through New
York State to Niagara, at the scenery of the
Hudson, or Lake George, or that cverlastin
water-fall, he'd sav.

" Sam, you are as correct as a problem in
Euclid, but as cold and dry. Business and romance
are like oil and water that I use for a night-
lamp, with a little cork dipsey. They oughtn't to
be mixed, but each to be separate, or they spoil
each other. The tumbler should be nearly full
of water, then pour a little oil on the top, and
put in your tiny wick and floater, and ignite it.
The water goes to the bottom — that's business
you sec, solid and heavy. The oil and its burner
lies on the top — and that's romance. It's a living
flame, not enough to illuminate the room, but
to cheer you through the night, and if you want
more, it will light stronger ones for you. People
have a wrong idea of romance, Sam. Properly
understood, it's a right keen, lively appreciation
of the works of nature, and its beauty, won-
ders, and sublimity. From thence we learn
to fear, to serve, and to adore Him that
made them and us. Now, Sam, you under-

336

A DAY ON THE LAKE.

1 I

i;|

stand all the wheels, and pullies and halajices of
your wooden clocks ; hut you don't think any-
thing more of them, than it's a grand speculation
for you, because they cost you a mere nothing,
seeing they are made out of that which is as
cheap as dirt here, and because you make a great
profit out of them among the benighted colonists,
who know little themselves, and are governed by
English officials who know still less. Well,
that's nateral, for it is a business view of things.*
Now sposen you lived in the Far West woods,
away from great cities, and never saw a watch
or a wooden clock before, and fust sot your eyes
on one of them that was as true as the sun,
wouldn't you break out into enthusiasm about
it, and then extol to the skies the skill and
knowledge of the Yankee man, that invented,
and made it ? To be sure you would. Wouldn't
it carry you off into contemplatin' of the planet
whose daily course, and speed, it measures so
exact? Wouldn't you go on from that point,
and ask yourself what must be the wisdom and
power of Him who made innumerable worlds.

* It is manifest Mr. Hopewell must have had Pal ey's
illustration in his mind.

A DAY ON THE LAKE.

337

and caus(Hl them to form part of a great, grand,
magnificent, and harmonious system, and fly off
the handle, as you call it, in admiration, and
awe ? To he sure vou would. And if anvhodv
said vou was full of romance who heard vou,
wouldn't you have pitied his ignorance, and said
there are other enjoyments we arc capable? of
besides corporeal ones ? Wouldn't you be a
wiser and a better man ? Don't you go
now for to run down romance, Sam ; if you
do, I shall think you don't know, there is
a divinity witliin you," and so he would preach
on for an hour, till 1 thought it was time
for him to say Amen, and give the dismissal
benediction.

Well, that's the way I came by it, I was
inoculated for it, but I was always a hard subject
to inoculate. Vaccination was tried on me
over and over again by the doctor before f took
it, but at last it came and got into the system.
So it was with him and his romance, it was
only the continual dropping that wore the stone
at last, for I didn't listen as I had ought to have
done. If he had a showed me where I could
have made a dollar, he would have found me
wide awake, I know, for I set out in life with a

VOL. I. Q

33S

A DAY ON THE LAKE.

(J(!t('rminntion to go ahead, and I have ; and now
I am well to do, but still I wish I had a minded
more what he did say, fur poor old soul, he is
dead now. An opportunity lost, is like missing
a passage, another chance may never offer to
make the voyage worth ivhile. The first wind
may carry you to the end. A good start often
vnns the race. To miss your chance of a shot,
is to lose the bird.

How true these ** saws" of his are ; but I
(loa't recollect half of them, I am ashamed to
say. Yes, it took me a loni;^ time to got romance
in my sails, and Peter shook it out of them, by
one shiver in the wind. So we -went to work.
The moose was left on the shore, for the Doctor
said he had another destination for him than the
water-fnll. Betty, Jackson, and Peter, were em-
harked with their baskets and utensils in the
boats and directed to prepare our dinner.

As soon as they were fairly off, we strolled
leisurely back to the house, which I had hardly
time to examine before. It was an irregular
building made of hewn logs, and appeared to
have l)een enlarged, from time to time, as more
accommodation had been required. There was
neither uniformity nor design in it, and it might

1 1 '-~-^».

A D\Y ON THE LAKE.

33J

rather be called a small cluster of little tenements
than a house. Two of these structures alone,
seemed to cories])ond in appearance and sizt\
They protruded in front, from each end of the
main building, forming with it thr(M» sides of a
square. One of these was aj)propriated to tlie
purposes of a museum, and the othrr used as a
workshop. The former contained an exceed-
ingly interesting collection.

" This room," he said, " I cannot intrust to
Jackson, who would soon throw everything into
confusion by grouping, instead of classifying
things. This country is full of most valuable
minerals, and the people know as much about
them, as a pudding does of the plums contained
in it. Observe this shelf. Sir, there are specimens
of seven diiferent kinds of copper on it ; and
on this one fragments of four kinds of lead. In
the argentiferous galena is a very considerable
proportion of silver. Here is a piece of a mineral
called molybdena of singular beauty, I found it
at Gaberous Bay, in Cape Breton. The iron ores
you see are of great variety. The coal-fields
of this colony are immense in extent, and incal-
culable in value. All this case is filled with
their several varieties. These precious stones

Q 2

"fli

V I

1, i

h '

340

A DAY ON THE LAKE.

are from the Bay of Fundy. Among them are
amethyst, and other varieties of crystal, of quartz,
henlaudite, stibite, analcine, chabasie, albite,
mesotype, silicious sinter, and so on. Pray do
me tiie favour to accept this amethyst. I have
several others of equal size and beauty, and it is
of no use to me."

He also presented Cutler with a splendid
j:)iece of nesotype or needle stone, which he
begged him to keep as a memento of the
" Bachelor Beaver's-dam."

"Thiee things, Mr. Slick," he continued,
" are necessary to the development of the mi-
neral wealth of this province — ^kill, capital, and
population ; and depend upon it the day is not
far distant, when this magnificent colony will
support the largest population, for its area, in
America."

I am not a mineralogist myself, Squire, and
much of what he said was heathen Greek to
me, but some general things I could understand,
and remember such as that there are (to say
nothing of smaller ones) four immense inde-
pendant coal-fields in the eastern section of
Nova Scotia : namely, at Picton, Pomquet,
Cumberland, and Londonderry ; the first of

'■1

A DAY ON THE LAKE.

341

which covers an area of one hundred square
miles, and that there are also at Cape Breton two
other cnomious fields of the same mineral, one
covering one hundred and twenty square miles,
and presenting at Lingan a vein eleven feet
thick. Such facts I could comprehend, and I
was som- when I heard the hudc announcini;
that the boat had returned for us.

" Jessie," said the Doctor, " here is a little
case containing a curiously fashioned and exqui-
sitely worked ring, and a large gold cross and
chain, that I found while searching among the
ruins of the nunnery at Louisburg. I have no
doubt they belonged to the superior of the C(mi-
vent. These baubles answered her purpose bv
withdrawing the eyes of the profane from hir
care-worn and cold features ; they vvill seive
mine also, by showing how little you require the
aid of art, to adorn a person nature has made
so lovelv."

" Hallo !" sais I to myself, " well done, Doc-
tor, if that don't beat cock-fighting, then there
aint no snakes in Varginny, I vow. Oh ! ymi
aint so soft as you look to be after all ; you may
be a child of nature, but that has its own

> 'I

I ;

i' . i

I ill i\

; I

!■ \

. {

34-2

A DAY ON THE LAKE.

secrets, and if you haint found out its mysteries,
it's a pity."

" They have neither suffered," he continued,
" from the corrosion of time nor the asceticism of
a devotee, who vainly thought she was serving
God hy vokmtarily withdrawing from a world
into which he himself had sent her, and by
foregoing duties which he had expressly ordained
she should fulfil. Don't start at the sight of
the cross ; it is the emblem of Christianity, and
not of a sect, who claim it exclusively, as if He
who suffered on it, died for them only. This
one has hitherto been used in the negation of
all human affections, may it shed a blessing on
the exercise of yours."

I could hardly believe my ears; I didn't
expect this of him. I knew he was romantic,
and all that ; but I did not think there was
such a depth and strength of feeling in him.

" I wish," I said," Jehu Judd could a heard you,
Doctor, he would have seen the difference be-
tween the clear grit of the genuine thing, and a
counterfeit, that might have made him open his
eyes and wink."

" Oh ! Slick," said he, " come now that's a

'' '\

A DAY ON THE LAKE.

343

;s mysteries,

continued,
sccticism of
was serving
om a world
er, and by
>ly ordained
be sight of
tianity, and
y, as if He
►nly. This
negation of
ilessing on

I didn't
romantic,
there was
n him.
licard you,
erence be-
ng, and a

open his

V that's a

good fellow, don't make me laugh, or I shall
upset these glass cases ;" and before Jessie could
either accept or decline this act of gallantry, he
managed to lead the way to the lake. The
girls and I embarked in the canoe, and the rest
of the party in the boat, but before I stepj d
into the bark, I hid the pipes of Peter behind
the body of the moose, very much to the
amusement of Jessie and the Docto;*, who both
seemed to agree with me in giving a preference
to the bugle.

I never saw so lovely a spot in this country
as the one we had chosen for our repast, but it
was not my intention to land until the pre-
parations for our meal were all fully completed ;
so as soon as Jane leaped ashore, I took her
place and asked Jessie to take another look at
the lake with me. Desiring Jackson to recal
us with his bugle when required, we coasted
up the west side of the lake for about half-a-
mile, to a place where I had observed two enor-
mous birches bend over the water into which
they were ultimately doomed to fall, as the
current had washed away the land where they
stood, so as to leave them only a temporary
•esting place. Into this arched and quiet re-

:1 ,

H| 1 I

t 1

!■

Ill

344

A DAY ON THE LAKE.

treat we impelled our canoe, and paused for a
while to enjoy its cool and refreshing shade.

" Jessie,'^ said I, " this time to-morrow I
shall be on the sea again."

" So soon ?" she replied.

" Yes dear ; business calls us away, and life
is not all like a day on the lake."

" No, no," she said, " not to me ; it is the
only really happy one I have spent since I left
my country. You have all been so kind to me ;
you, the Captain, and the Doctor, all of you,
you have made no difference, you have treated
me as if I was one of you, as if I was born a
lady."

" Hasn't the Doctor always been kind to
you?" I said.

" Oh, yes," she replied, " always very kind,
but there is nobody here like him."

" He loves you very much."

" Yes," she saia, in the most unembarrassed
and natural manner possible, " he told me so
himself."

"And can't you return his love V"

" I do love him as I do my father, brother,
or sister."

" Couldn't you add the word husband ?"

luscd for a
shade,
-morrow I

ly, and life

! ; it is the
since I left
nd to me ;
11 of you,
ve treated
as born a

kind to

?ry kind,

)arrassed
me so

Ibrother,

)»

A DAY ON THE LAKE.

345

" Never, never," she said, " Mr. Slick. Hv
thinks he loves me now, but he may not think
so alwavs. He don't see the red blood now, hr
don't think of my Indian mother ; when h«'
comes nearer perhaps he will see plainer. Xo,
no, half-cast and out-cast, I belong to no race.
Shall T go back to my tribe and give up my
father and his peopL; ? they will not receive me,
and I must fall asleep with my mother. Shall I
stay here and cling to him and his race, that race
that scorns the half-savage ? never ! never ! wlien
he dies I shall die too. I shall have n(j home
then but the home of the spirits of the dead."

" Don't talk that way, Jessie," I said, " you
make yourself wretched, because you don't see
things as they are. It's your own fault if you
a/e not happy. You say you have enjoyed this

day.

" Oh, yes," she said, " no day like this ; it
never came before, it don't return again. Jr
dies to-night, but will never be forgotten."

" Why not live where you are ? Why not
iiave your home here by this lake, and this
mountain ? His tastes are like yours, and yours
like his ; you can live two lives here — the forest
of the red man around vou — the roof of the

Q 3

)

m i

li:;t

1 I

346

A DAY ON THE LAKE.

white one above you. To unite both is true enjoy-
ment ; there is no eye to stare here, no pride to
exclude, no tongue to offend. You need not seek
the society of others, let them solicit yours, and
the Doctor will make them respect it."

It was a subject on which her mind appeared
to have been made up. She seemed like a
woman that has lost a child, who hears your
advice, and feels there is some truth in it, but
the consolation reaches not her heart.

" It can't be," she said, with a melancholy
smile, as if she was resigning something that
was dear to her, " God or nature forbids it. If
there is one God for both Indian and white man,
he forbids it. If there are two great spirits, one
for each, as my mother told me, then both for-
bid it. The great spirit of the pale faces," she
continued, " is a wicked one, and the white man
is wicked. Wherever he goes, he brings
death and destruction. The woods recede
before him — the wild fowl leave the shores — the
fish desert their streams — the red man disap-
pears. He calls his deer and his beaver, and
his game, (for they are all his and were given tc
nim for food and for clothing,) and travels far,
far. away, and leaves the graves and the bones

t\^^^

A DAY ON THE LAKE.

of his people behind him. But the white man
pursues him, day and night, with his gun
and his axe, and fire-water ; and what he spares
with the rifle, rum, despair and starvation destroy.
See," she said, and she plucked a withered red
cone from a shumack that wept over the water,
" see that is dyed with the l)lood of the red
man."

" That is prejudice," I said.
" No, it is the truth," she replied. " I know-
it. My people have removed twice, if not
three times, and the next move ^Yill be to the
sea or the grave."

" It is the effect of civilization, and arts, and
the power of sci'^nces and learning, ov(t untu-
tored nature," I said.

" If learning makes men wicked, it is a bad
thing," she observed ; " for the devil instructs
men how to destroy. But rum aint learning,
it is poison ; nor is sin civilization, nor are
diseases, blessings, nor madness, reason."

" That don't alter things," I said, " if it is all

true, that you say, and there is too mucii reality

in it, I fear ; but the pale faces are not all bad, nor

the red all good. It don't apply to your case."

" No," she said, " nature forbids the two

f, ,

u 1
i!

i; 1

1 t

;

'll '

'' 1

.!i

1 1

I i

348

A DAY ON THE LAKE.

races to mingle. That, th;it is wild, continues wild ;
and the tame remains tame. The dog watches his
sleeping mast(T; and the wolf devours him. The
wild-duck scorns confinement ; and the partridge
dies if compelled to dwell with domestic fowls.
Look at those birds," she said, as she threw a chip
among a flock of geese that were floating down the
lake, " if the beautiful Indian wild bird consorts
with one of them, the progeny die out. They arc
mongrels, they have not the grace, the shape, or
the courage of either. Their doom is fixed. They
soon disappear from the face of the earth and the
waters. They are despised by both breeds ;" and
she shook her head, as if she scorned and loathed
herself, and burst into a passionate flood of tears.

" Jessie," said I, and I paused a moment, for
I wanted to give her a homoeopathic dose of
common sense — and those little wee doses work
like charms, that's a fact. " Jessie," says I, and I
smiled, for I wanted her to shake off those volun-
tary trammels. " Jessie, the Doctor Jiint quite
quite tame, and you aint quite wild. You are
both six of one, and half-a-dozen of the other,
and just about as like as two peas."

Well it's astonishing what that little sentence
did. An ounce of essence is ivorth a gallon of

inueswild ;

ratches his

him. The

) partridge

Stic fowls.

irew a chip

r down the

d consorts

They are

5 shape, or

:ed. They

th and the

eds ;" and

id loathed

of tears.

mcnt, for

c dose of

scs work

I, and I

se volun-

int quite

You are

Ihe other,

Isentence
lallon of

A DAY ON THE LAKE

349

fluid. A wise saw is more valuable than a whole
hook, and a plain truth is better than an ar-
gument. She had no answer for that. She
had been reasoning without knowing it, as if in
fact she had been in reality an Indian. She had
imbibed in childhood the feelings of her mother,
who had taken the first step and repent(^d it — of
one who had deserted, but had not been adopted
— who became an exile and remained an alien
— w^ho had bartered her birthriglit, for degrada-
tion and death. It is natural that regret for
the past, and despair for the future should have
been the burden of the mournful ditties of such
a woman ; that she who had mated without
love, and lived without affection, the slave, the
drudge, but not the wife or companion of her
master should die with imprecations on her lips
for a race who were the natural foes of her
people, and who had reduced her to be an object
of scorn and contempt to both. It is no wonder,
therefore, poor Jessie had a repugnance to the
union, when she remembered her mother, and the
sad lesson her unhappy life and fearful death con-
tained. It was a feeling difficult to overcome.

" Jessie," sais I, " nature, instead of for-
biddin it, approves of it ; for like takes to

111 ■

t ■ »

I's

\ *

350

A DAY ON THE LAKE.

like. 1 don't say it to please you, but you arc
as good as he is, or any white man in the world.
Your forefathers on your mother's side are a
brave, manly, intelligent race ; they are free men
and have never been subdued or enslaved by
any one : and if they have degenerated at all,
it is because they have contracted, as you say,
vices from the white man. You have reason to
be proud of being descended from a race of
warriors. On the other hand, your father is a
Highlander, and they too have always been free,
because they were brave ; they are the noblest
fellows in Europe. As for the English, there
are none now, except in Wales, and they are
called Taffies — which means lunatics, for they
are awful proud, and their mountains are so
high, every fellow says his ancestors were des-
cended from the man in the moon. But the
present race are a mixture of Taffies, French,
Danes, Saxons, Scotch, and the Lord knows who
all, and to my mind are all the better of it."

" But the colour," said she.

" As to colour !" said I, " nations differ in every
shade, from black up to chalk white. The Portu-
gese, Italians and Turks are darker than the Indian
if anything; SpaniardsandGreeksabout thesame."

A DAY ON THE I.AKK.

351

lesame.

" And do they intermarry ?"

" I guess they do ?" said I ; " the difference
of language only stops them — for it's hard to
make love when you can't understand each
other — hut colour never."

" Is that now really tme ?" she said : " for
I am ignorant of the world."

" True as preachin," said I, " and as plain as
poverty."

She paused awhile, and said slowly :

" Well, I suppose if all the world says and
does differently, I must he wrong, for f am
unacquainted with everything, hut my own
feehngs ; and my mother taught me this, and
bade me never to trust a white man- I am
glad I was wrong, for if I feel I am right, 1
am sure I shall be happy."

" Well," sais I, " I am sure you will be so,
and this is just the place, above all others in
the world that will suit you, and makej you so.
Now," sais I, " Jessie, I will tell you a story ;"
and I told her the whole tale of Pocahontas •,
how she saved Captain Smith's hfe in the early
settlement of Virginia, and afterwards married
Mr. Rolfe, and visited the court of England,
where all the nobles sought her society. And

3J2

A DAY ON Till!: LAKE.

tlu'ii I giivc her all thu particulars of her life,
illness, and death, and informed her that her
son, who stood in the same relationship to the
whites as she did, hecame a wealthy planter in
Virginia, and that one of his descendants lately
deceased, was one of the most eloquent as well
as one of the most distinguish(!d men in the
United States. It interested her uncommonly,
and I have no douht greatly contributed to
confirm her in the decision she had come to.
I will not trouble you. Squire, with the story,
for it is so romantic, 1 believe everybody has
heard of it. I promised to give her a book
containing all the details.

The bugle now sound(;d our recall, and in a
few minutes wc were seated on the grass, and
enjoying our meal with an appetite that exercise,
excitement, and forest air never fail to give.
Songs, trout-fishing, and stories agreeably occu-
pied the afternoon ; and when the sun began to
cast long shadows from the mountain, we re-
embarked with our traps, and lauded at the cove
near the clump of trees where we started in the
morning. While preparations were making for
tea in the house, I lit my cigar to take a stroll
with Cutler, and talk over our arranircments for

A DAY ON TIIL LAKE.

353

of her life,
r that her
liip to the
planter in
lants lately
'nt as well
m in the
commonly,
i bated to
come to.
the story,
ybody has
r a book

n\(\ in a
•ass, and
exercise,
to give.
)lv occu-
•cgan to
, we re-
he cove
1 in the
dug for
a stroll
nts for

an early start in the morrow, and procii-ding
ininiediatcly to sea. In the meantime, I briuHy
stated to the Doctor that he would now find no
further ol)stacle to his wishes, and counselled
him to lose no time, while tlu' impression was
favourable, to bring his long-pending negociation
to a conclusion.

" Slick," said he, laughing, " your govern-
ment ought to liavc ])revailed upon you to re-
main in the diplomatic service. You are such
a capital negociator."

" Well," said 1, " I believe I would have
succeeded in that line ; but do you know how ?"

*' By a plentiful use of soft sawder," said he.

" No, Doctor, I knew you would say that ; and
it aint to be despised neither, I can tell you. No,
it's because you go coolly to work for you are ne-
gotiatin for another. If you don't succeed, it's the
fault of the mission, of course, and defeat won't
break your heart ; if you do carry your point, why,
in the natur of things, it is all your own skill. I
have done famously for you; but I made a
bungling piece of business for myself, I assure
you. What my brother, the lawyer, used to say is
very true : * A man who pleads his own cause has
a fool for his client.' You can't praise yourself

354

A DAY ON THE LAKE.

I i ■'.

I I

unless it's a bit of brag, and that I can do as
well as anyone, I do suppose ; but you can't lay
the whitewash on handily no more than you
can brush the back of your own coat when it is
on. Cutler and I will take a stroll, and do you
invite Jessie out, to see the moon on the lake."

In about an hour, Peter, who had found his
pipes to his infinite delight, intimated supper
was ready ; and the dispersed groups returned,
and sat down to a meal whicb, in addition to
the tea and coffee and its usual accompani-
ments at country-houses, had some substantial
viands for those, like myself, who had done
more talking than eating at dinner. In a short
time, the girls retired for the night, and we
arranged for a peep of day return.

" Mr. SHck," said the Doctor, " I have
ordered the boy to take the moose down to the
village as my share of the sea-stores. Will you
give me leave to go a part of the cruise with
you ?"

" With great pleasure," said I ; " it's just
what I was going to ask the favour of you to
do. It's the very identical thing "

" Come, Peter," said he, " I will show you
where to turn in ;" and returning, in a few

A DAY ON THE LAKE.

355

can do as
ou cun't lay
J than you
' when it is
and do you
the lake."
J found his
ted supper
s returned,
iddition to
accompani-
suhstantial

had done

In a short

and we

"I have
wn to the

Will you
•uise with

'it's just
)f vou to

low you
a tew

minutes, with Jackson, desired him to attend
the Captain.

Wlien we were alone, he said :

" Come this way, ^Ir. Slick. Put your hat
on — I want you to take a turn with me."

And leading me down to the ver^c of the
woods, where I saw a light, we entered a large
bark wigwam, where he said he often slept
during the hot weather.

It was not made in the usual conical form, but
resembled a square tent, which among Indians
generally indicates there is a large family, and
that they propose to occupy the same spot for
some time. In fact, it was half wigwam, half
summer-liouse, resembling the former in appear-
ance, construction, and material ; but was floored
on account of the damp ground, and contained a
small table, two chairs, and a couple of rustic
seats large enough to sleep upon, which, on the
present occasion, had hunters' beds on them.
The tent, or more properly camp, as it is generally
called here, was so contrived as to admit of th.'
door being shifte;(i according to the wind. On
the present occ:ision, the opening was towards
the lake, on which the moon was casting its
silver light.

ill! f

If
]

!!''

II »

•

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[

I III

356

A DAY ON THE LAKE.

Here we sat till a late hour, discoursing, over
our cigars, on a variety of subjects, the first
and last of which topic was Jessie, who had, it
appeared, at last accepted the Bachelor Beaver.
Altogether, it was a charming visit ; and left
a most agreeable recollection of the enjoyment^
that is to be found in " a day and a night in
the woods."

coursing, over
3cts, the first
', who had, it
lelor Beaver,
't; and left
le enjoyment'
' « night in

TWE BETROTHAL.

357

CHAPTER XII.

THE IJ E T R O T H A L.

Early the following morning, just as the first
dawn ot day was streaking the eastern sky
Jackson's bugle sounded the reveille^ and we
were all soon on foot and in motion. The
moose was lifted into the cart, and the boy dis-
patched with it to the harbour, so as to have it
m readiness for putting on board as soon as we
should arrive, and a cup of coffee was prepared
tor us by Betty, as she said, to keep the cold out
ot our stomach while travelling. The Doctor
liad some few arrangements to make for his
voyage, and Cutler and I set out in advance, on
foot. It was agreed that Ovey, Peter, and his

i i

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358

THE BETROTHAL.

daughters, should follow, as soon as possible, in
the wai:gons, and breakfast witli us on board of
the Black Hawk.

" Mr. Jackson," said I, as I saw him standinfj
at the door.

*' Yes, Sir," and he was at mv side in a
minute, and honoured me with one of his most
gracious smiles, and respectful military salutes.

There is great magic in that word " Mr.," when
used to men of low degree, and in " Squire " for
those just a notch higher. Servitude, at best,
is but a Ijard lot- To surrender your will to
a. mother, to come and go at his bidding, and to
answer a bell as a dog does a whistle, .aint just
the lot one would choose, if a better one offered.
A master may forget this, a servant never does.
The great JU't, as well as one of the great Chris-
tian duties, therefore, is not to make him feel it.
Bidding is one thing, and commaniling is another.
If you put him on good terms with himself, he
is on good terms with you, and affection is a
stronger tie than duty. The vanity of m.ankind
is such, that vou alwavs have the ingratitude of
helps dinned into your eai's, from one year's end
to another, and yet these folk never heard of
the ingratitude of employers, and wouldn't

; possible, in
on board of

lim standinfr

ly side in a
of bis nnost
iry salutes.
' Mr.," when
Squire " for
de, at best,
our will to
inir, and to
'j aint just
)ne offered,
never does,
reat Chris-
lim i't:ii\ it.
is another,
imself, he
etion is a
mankind
titudc of
ear's end
heard of
wouldn't

THE BETROTHAL.

359

believe there was such a thing in the world, if
you were to tell them. Ungrateful, eh ! Why,
didn't I pay him his wages ? wasn't he well
boarded ? and didn't I now and then let him go
to a frolic ? Yes, he wouldn't have worked
without pjiy. He couldn't have lived if he
hadn't been fed, and he wouldn't have staid if
you hadn't given him recreation now and then.
J t's a poor heart that don't rejoice sometimes. So
much thanks he owes you. Do you pray that
it may always rain at night or on Sundays ?
Do vou think the Lord is the Lord of masters
only ? Rut he has been faithful, as well as
diligent, and oareful as well as laborious, he has
saved you more than his wages came to — arc
there iio thanks for this ? Pooh ! you remind
me of rny pooi' old mother. Father used to say
she was the most unreasonable woman in the
world — for when she hired a gall she expected
perfection, for two dollars and a half a mouth.
Mr. Jackson ! didn't that make him feel good
all over ? Whv shouldn't he be called Mr., as
well as that selfish conceited M'Clurc, Captain ?
Yes, there is a great charm in that are word,
" Mr." It wasawruikle I picked up by accident,
very early in life. We had to our farm to Slick-

I \

360

THE BETlKVniAL.

ville, an Irish servant, called Paddy Monahan —
as hard-working a critter as ever I see, hut none
of the hoys could get him to do a hlessed thing
for thcin. He'd do his plowin or reapin, or
whatever it was, hut the deuce a hit vvoidd he
leave it to ohliue Sallv or the hovs, or anv one
else, hut lather ; he had to mind him, in course,
or ])ut his three great coats on, the way he came,
one atop of the other, to cover the holes of the
inner ones, and walk. But, as for me, he'd do
anythin I wanted. He'd drop his spade, and
lielp wv. catch a horse, or he'd do my chores for
me, and let me go and attenil my mink and
musquash traps, or hcM throw down his hoe and
go and fetch the cows from pasture, that I
might slick up for a party — in short he^l do
anything in the world for me.

" Well, they all wondered how under the sun
Paddy had taken such a shindy to me, when
nohody else could get him to hudge an inch for
them. x\t last, one day, mother asked me how
on airth it was — for nothin strange goes on long,
hut a woman likes to get at the hottom of it.

" Well," sais I, " mother, if you won't whisper
a syllahle to anyhody uhout it, Fll tell you."

"Who, me," sais, she "Sammy?" She

THE BETROTHAL.

361

MoiiMhan —
l;o, but none
essed thing
r ic;i])in, or
it would lie

or any one
II, in course,
\"d\ he came,
loles of the
me, lie'd do

spade, and
y chores for
r mink and

his hoe and
ure, that 1

t he'd do

ler the sun
I me, when
h inch for
|1 me how
IS on long,

of it.
I't whisper
lou."

r She

always called me Sammy when she wanted to
come over mc. " Me tell ? A person who can
keep her own secrets, can keep yours, Sammy.
There are some thinc-s I never told your father."

" Such as what ?" sais I

" A-hem," said she. " A-hem — such as lu;
oughtn't to know, dear. Why, Sam I am as
secret as the grave ! H(^w is it, dear ?"

'' Well," sais I, " 1 will tell you. This is the
way : I drop Pat and Paddy altoucther, and i
call him Mr. Monaghan, and never say a word
about the priest."

"Why, Sammy," said she, '-where in the
world did you pickup all your cuteness. I do de-
clare you are as sharp as a needle. Wei!, 1 ncvrr.
How you do take after me ! hoyn are inothprs'
sons. It's only (jails who take after their fathf^r."

It's cheap coin, is civility, and kindness is a nice
bank to fund it in. Squire : for it comes back with
compound interest. He used to call .Tosiah, Jo,
and brother Eldad, Dad, and then yoke 'em both
together, as "spalpeens," or " rapscallions," and
he'd vex them by calHng mother, when he spoke
to them of her, the " ould woman," and Sally,
" that young; cratur, Sal." But he'd show the
difference when he mentioned me ; it was always

VOL. I. R

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362

THE liETllOTIIAL.

. $

" the younf^ master," and when I was with him,
it was " vour honour."

Lord, I shall never forget wunst, when I
was a practisin of hall-shooting at a target, Pat
hrought out one of my muskits, and, sais he :
" Would your honour just let me take a crack at
it. You only make a little round hole in it, ahout
the size of a fly's eye ; hut, hy the piper that
played hcfore Moses, I'll knock it all to smi-
thereens."

" Yes," sais I, " Mr. Monnghan ; fire and
welcome."

Well, up he comes to the toe-line, and puts
himself into attitude, scientific like. First he
throws his left leg out, and then hraces hack the
right one well behind him, and then he shuts
his left eye to, and makes an awful wry face, as
if he was determined to keep every bit of light
out of it, and then h(; brought his gun up to
the shoulder with a deuce of a flourish, and took a
long, steady aim. AU at once he lowered the piece.

" I think I'll do it better knalin, your honour,"
said he, " the wav I did when I fired at Lord
Blarney's land-agent, from behind the hedge, for
k'ttin a farm to a Belfast heretic. Oh ! didn't
I riddle him, your honour." He paused a mo-

THE BETROTHAL.

363

IS with him,

st, when 1
, target, Pat
id, sais he :
[c a crack at
: in it, about
; piper that
all to smi-

; fire and

le, and puts
First he
cs back the
he shuts
ry face, as
3it of light
^un up to
md took a
the piece,
honour,"
at Lord
|hedge, for
li! didn't
ed a mo-

ment, his tongue had run away with him. " His
coat, 1 main," said he. '* I cut the skirts otf as
nait as a tailor could. It scared him entirely,
so, when he see the feathers flyin that way, he
took to flight, and I never sot eyes on him no
more. I shouldn't wonder if he is runnin yet."

So he put down one knee on the ground, and
adjusting himself said, " I won't leave so much
as a hair of that target, to tell where it stood."
He took a fresh aim, and fired, and away he went,
heels over head, the matter of three or four times,
and the gun flew away bcjhind him, ever so far.

" Oh !" sais he, " I am kilt entirely. I am a
dead man, Master Sam. By the holy poker,
but my arm is broke."

" I am afraid my gun is broke," said I, " and
off I set in search of it."

" Stop, yer honour," said he, " for the love of
Heaven, stop, or she'll be the death of you."

"What?" saisl.

" There are five more shots in her yet, Sir.
I put in six cartridges, so as to make sure of
that paper kite, and only one of them is gone
ofl^ yet. Oh ! my shoulder is out, Master
Sam. Don't say a word of it, Sir, to the ould
cratur, and — "

R 2

364

THE BETROTHAL.

; !

"To who !" said I.

" To her ladyship, the mistress," said he, " and
I'll sarvc you hy day and by night."

Poor Pat ! you were a good-hearted ereatiirc
naturally, as nio^t of your countrymen are, if
repealers, j)atriots and demagogues of all sorts and
sizes, would only let you alone. Yes, there is a
great charm in that word "Mr."

So, sais I, " Mr. Jackson !"

" Yes, Sir," said he. " Let mc look at your
bugle."

** Here it is, your honour."

" What a curious lookin thing it is," sais I,
" and what's all them little button-like things on
it with long shanks ?"

" Keys, Sir," said he.

*' Exactly," sais I, " they unlock the music, 1
suppose, don't they, and let it out ? Let me see
if I could blow it."

" Try the pipes, Mr Slick," said Peter. " Tat
is nothin but a prass cow-horn as compared to
the pagpipes."

" No thank you," sais I, " it's only a High-
lander can make music out of that,

((

She never said a wiser word tan tat," he

replied, much gratified.

lid he. "and

tod creature
m(!n are, if
all soits and
s, there is a

ook at your

• >) • T

IS, sais I,
e things on

le music, 1
jet me see

ir. " Tat
iparcd to

a High-
tat," he

TllIC BETROTHAL.

365

"Now," sais I, "let me blow tiiis, docs It
take much wind V"

" No," said Jackson, " not much, try it, Sir."

Well, I put it to my lips, and played a well-
known air on it. " It's not hard to play, after
all, is it, Jackson ?"

" No, Sir," said he, looking delighted,
" nothing is ard to a man as knows how, as
you do."

" Tom," sais Betty, " don't thatdo'ec good?"
Oh, Sir, 1 ain't card that since I left the
hold country, it's what the guards has used to be
played in the mail-coaches has was. Oh, Sir,
when thev corned to the town, it used to sound
pretty ; many's the time I have run to the
window to listen to it. Oh, tlie coaches was a
pretty sight, Sir. But them times is all gono,"
and she wiped a tear from her eye with the
corner of her apron, a tear that the recollection
of early days, had called up from the fountain of
her he.irt.

Oh, what a volume does one stray thought of
the past contain within itself. It is like a rocket
thrown up in the night. It suddenly expands
into a brilliant light, and sheds a thousand
sparkling meteors, that scatter in all directions,

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23 WEST MAIN STREET

WEBSTER, N.Y. 14580

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366

THE BETROTHAL.

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as if inviting attention each to its own train.
Yes, that one thought is the centre of many,
and awakens them all to painful sensibility.
Perhaps it is more like a vivid flash of lightning,
it discloses with intense brightness the whole
landscape, and exhibits in their minutest form
and outline, the very leaves and flowers, that lie
hid in the darkness of night.

" Jessie," said I, " will you imitate it ?"
I stopt to gaze on her for a moment — she
stood in the doorway — a perfect model for a
sculptor. But oh, what chisel could do justice *
to that face — it was a study for a painter.
Her whole soul was filled with those clear
beautiful notes, that vibrated through the frame,
and attuned every nerve, till it was in harmony
with it. She was so wrapt in admiration, she
didn't notice what I observed, for I try in a
general way that nothing shall escape me ; but
as they were behind us all, I just caught a
glimpse of the Doctor (as T turned my head
suddenly) withdrawing his arm from her
waist. She didn't know it of course, she was
so absorbed in the music. It ain't likely she
felt him, and if she had, it ain't probable she
would have objected to it. It was natural he

THE BETROTHAL.

3G7

own train,
re of many,

sensibility.
)f lightning,
5 the whole
nutest form
3rs, that lie

e it ?"
•ment — she
lodel for a
i do justice *
a painter.
;hose clear
the frame,
n harmony
ration, she

try in a

? me ; but

caught a

my head
from her
J, she was
likely she
•bable she
latural lie

should like to press the heart she had given
him ; wasn't it now his ? and wasn't it reason-
able he should Hke to know how it beat ? He
was a doctor, and doctors like to feel pulses, it
comes sorter habitual to them, they can't help it.
They touch your wrist without knowing it, and
if it is a woman's, why their hand like brother
Josiah's cases that went on all fours, crawls up
on its fingers, till it gets to where the best pulse
of all is. Ah, Doctor, there is Highland blood
in that heart, and it will beat warmly towards
you, I know. I wonder what Peter would have
said, if he had seen what I did. But then he
didn't know nothin about pulses.

" Jessie," said I, " imitate that for me, dear.
It is the last exercise of that extraordinary
power I shall ever hear."

" Play it again," she said, " that I may catch
the air."

" Is it possible," said I to myself, " you didn't
hear it after all ? It is the first time your little
heart was ever pressed before, perhaps it beat so
loud you couldn't distinguish the bugle notes.
Was it the new emotion or the new music that
absorbed you so ? Oh Jessie, don't ask me again
what natur is."

■'■a

368

THE BETROTHAL.

Illi

Well, I played it again for her, and instantly
she gave the repetition with a clearness, sweet-
ness, and accuracy, that was perfectly amazing.
Cutler and I then took leave for the present,
and ])roceeded on our way to the shore.

" Ah, Sir !" said Jackson, who accompanied
us to the hars, " it's a long while ago since I
card that hair. Warn't them mail-coaches
pretty things. Sir ? Hon the hold King's hirth-
dav, Sir, when thev all turned out with new
arness and coaches fresh painted, and coach-
man and guard in new toggery, and four as
beautiful bits of blood to each on 'em as was to
be found in England, warn't it a sight to
behold, Sir? The world could show^ nothin
hke it, Sir. And to think they are past and
gone, it makes ones eart hache. They tells
me the coachman now. Sir, has a dirty black
face, and rides on a fender before a large grate,
and flourishes a red ot poker instead of a
whip. The guard, Sir, they tells me, is
no—"

" Good bye, Mr. Jackson ;" and I shook
hands with him.

" Isn't that too bad. Sir, now ?" he said.
" Why, here is Betty again. Sir, with that d — d

.1?!

THE BETROTHAL.

369

id instantly
less, sweet-
y amazing,
he present,
re.

Jcompanied
go since I
ail' coaches
ing's hirth-
with new
nd coach-
d four as
as was to

sight to
w nothin
past and
t'hey tells
irty black
■ge grate,
>ad of a

me, is

I shook

he said,
at d — d

hat, and a lecture about the stroke. Good bye
your honour," said he.

When we came to the bridge where the road
curved into the woods, I turned and took a last
look at the place where I had spent such .m
agreeable day.

I don't envy you it, Doctor, but I wish I
had such a lovely place at SlickviUe as that.
What do you think, Sophy, eh ? I have an
idea you and I could be very happy there, don't
you?

" Oh ! Mr. Slick," said Jehu Judd, who was
the first person I saw at the door of Peter's
house, " what an everlastin' long day was yester-
day ! I did nothing but renew the poultice,
look in the glass, and turn into bed again. It's
off now, ain't it ?"

" Yes," sais I, " and we are off, too, in nc
time."

" But the trade," said he ; « let's talk that
over."

" Haven't time," sais I ; "it must be short
meter, as you say when you are to home to
Quaco, practising Sail Mody (as you call it)
Mackarel is five dollars a barrel, sains thirty
— say yes or no, that's the word."

R 3

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370

THE BETROTHAL.

" How can you have the conscience ?" said
he.

" I never talk of conscience in trade," sais I ;
" only of prices. Bargain or no bargain, that's
the ticket."

" I can't," he said.

" Well, then, there is an end of it," says I.
" Good bye, friend Judd."

Sais he : " You have a mighty short way with
you, my friend."

" A short way is better than a long face,"
said I.

"Well," said he, "1 can't do without
the sains (nets) no how, I can fix it, so I
suppose 1 must give the price. But I
hope I may be skinned alive, if you ain't too
keen."

" Whoever takes a fancy to skin you, whether
dead or alive, will have a tough job of it, I
reckon," sais I, " it's as tight as the bark of a
tree."

" For two pins," said he, " I'd tan your hide
for you now."

" Ah," said I, " you are usin' your sain before
you pay for it. That's not fair."

" Why," said he.

THE BETROTHAL.

371

nee?" said

de," sais I ;
?ain, that's

It, says I.

t way with

3ng face,"

without

: it, so I

But I

ain't too

, whether
b of it, I
bark of a

" Because," sais I, " you are insaine to talk
that wav."

"Well, well," said he, "you do beat the
devil."

" You can't say that," sais I, " for I hain't
laid a hand on you. Come," sais I, " wake snakes,
and push off with the Captain, and get the hsh
on board. Cutler, tell the mate, macurel is five
dollars the barrel, and nets thirty each. We shall
join you presently, and so friend Judd vou had
better put the licks in, and make haste, or there
will be * more fiddling and dancing, and serving
the devil this morning.' "

He turned round, and gave me a look of in-
tense hatred, and shook his fist at me. I took
off my hat and made him a low bow, and said,
that's right, save your breath, to cool vour

broth

or to groan with when you get home,

and have a refreshing time with the Come-

outers.

our hide
in before

"My father was a preacher,
A mighty holy man ;

My mother was a Methodist,
But I'm a Tunvan."

He became as pale as a mad nigger at this.

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372

THE BETROTHAL.

He was quite speechless with rage, and turning
from me, said nothing, and proceeded with the
Captain to the hoal . It was some time before
the party returned from the lake, but the two
waggons were far apart, and Jessie and the Doc-
tor came last — was it that the road was bad, and
he was a poor driver ? perhaps so. A man who
loves the woods, don't know or care much about
roads. It don't follow because a feller is a good
shot, he is a good whip ; or was it they had so
much to sav, the short distance didn't afford
time. Well I aint experienced in these matters,
though perhaps you are Squire. Still though Cupid
is represented with bows and arrows, (and how
many I have painted on my clocks, for they
always sold the best,) I don't think he was ever
sketched in an old one hoss waggon. A canoe
would have suited you both better, you would
have been more at home there. If I was a gall
I would always be courted in one, for you can't
romp there, or you would be capsized. It's the
safest place I know of. It's very well to be over
head and ears in love, but my eyes, to be over
head and ears in the water, is no place for love-
making, unless it is for young whales, and even
they spout and blow like all wrath, when they

THE BETROTHAL.

373

md turning
d with the
imc before
ut the two
d the Doc-
is bad, and
^ man who
luch about
• is a good
ley had so
n't afford
e matters,
igh Cupid
(and how
for they
was ever
A canoe
•u would
^as a gall
'ou can't
It's the
> be over
be over
for love-
nd even
len they

come up, as if you might have too much of a
good thing, don't they ?"

They both looked happy— Jessiu was unso-
phisticated, and her countenance, when it turned
on me, seem(«d to say, " Mr. Slick, 1 have taken
your advice, and I am delighted I did." And
the Doctor looked happy, but his face seemed to
say, " come now. Slick, no nonsense, please, let
me alone, that's a good fellow."

Peter perceived something he didn't under-
stand. He had seen a great deal he didn't com-
prehend since he left the Highlands, and heard
a great many things he didn't know the mean-
ing of It was enough for him if he could
guess it.

" Toctor," said he, " how many kind o' par-
tridges are there in this country ?"

"Two," said the simple-minded naturalist,
" spruce and birch."

" Which is the prettiest ? "

" The birch."

" And the smartest ? "

"The birch."

" Poth love to live in the woods, don't they ?"

" Yes."

"Well there is a difference in colour. Ta

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374

THE BETROTHAL.

Spruce is red flesh, and ta birch white, did you
ever know them mix ?"

" Often," said the Doctor, who begnn to under-
stand this allegorical talk of the North-West
trader, and feel uncomfortable, and therefore didn't
like to say no. " Well, then, the spruce must stay
with the pirch, or the pirch liv(; with the spruce,"
continued Peter. "The peeeh wood between
the two are dangerous to both, foi* its only fit for
cuckoos."

Peter looked chuffy and sulky. There was no
minister at the remote post he had belonged to in
the nor-west. The governor there read a sermon
of a Sunday sometimes, but he oftener wrote
letters. The marriages, when contracted, were
generally limited to the period of service of the
employes, and sometimes a wife was bought, or
at others, entrapped like a beaver. It was a civil
or uncivil contract as the case might be. Wooing
was a thing he didn't understand ; for what right
had a woman to an opinion of her own ? Jessie
felt for her fiither, the Doctor, and herself, and
retired crying. The Doctor said :

" Peter, you know me, I am an honest man ;
give me your confidence, and then 1 will ask
the Chief for the hand of his daughter."

THE BETROTHAL.

375

!, did you

to under-
jrth-West
fore didn't
must stay
3 spruce,"
I between
nlv fit for

re was no
iged to in
a sermon
[er wrote

d, were
ce of the
)ught, or
as a civil

Wooing
lat right
Jessie
self, and

t man ;
will ask

"Tat is like herself," said Peter. "And
she never doubted her ; and there is her
hand, which is her word. Tarn the coffee !
let us have a glass of whiskey."

And he poured out three, and we severally
drank to each other's health, and peace was once
more restored.

Thinks I to myself, now is the time to settle
this affair ; for the Doctor, Peter, and Jessie are
all like children ; it's right to show em how to act.

" Doctor," sais I, "just see if the cart with
the moose has arrived ; we must be a moving
soon, for the wind is fair."

As soon as he went on this errand, " Peter,"
sais I, " the Doctor wants to marry your
daughter, and she, I think, is not unwilling,
though, between you and me, you know better
than she does what is good for her. Now the
Doctor don't know as much of the world as you
do. He has never seen Scotland, nor the north-
west, nor travelled as you have, and observed so
much."

" She never said a truer word in her life," said
Peter. " She has seen the Shctlands and the
Rocky Mountains — the two finest places in the
woild, and crossed the sea and the Red River ;

376

THE BETROTHAL.

li' 1

' '.

posidcs Canada and Nova Scotia, and seen
French, and pairs, and Indians and wolves, and
pluc noses and puflFaloes, and Yankees and prairie
dogs, and Highland chiefs, and Indian chiefs,
and other great shcntleinen, pcsides peavcrs with
their tails on. She has seen the j)cst ])art of the
world, Mr. Slick." And he lighted his pipe in his
enthusiasm, when enumerating what he had seen
and looked as if he felt good all over.

"Well," sais I, " the Doctor, like an honourable
man, has asked Squire Peter McDonald for his
daughter ; now, when he comes in, call Jessie
and place her hand in his, and say you consent,
and let the spruce and birch-partridge go and
live near the lake together."

" Tat she will," said he, " for ta Toctor is a
shentleman pred and porn, though she hasn't the
honour to be a Highlander."

As soon as the Bachelor Beaver returned,
Peter went on this paternal mission, for which
I prepared my friend ; and the betrothal was
duly performed, when he said in Gaelic :

" Dhia Beammich sibh le choile mo chlam !
God bless you both, my children 1"

As soon as the ceremony was over, " Now,"
sais I, " we must be a movin. Come, Peter,

M ' t

TIllC U12TR0TIIAL.

377

and seen
olves, and
md prairie
an chiefs,
ivcrs with
art of the
lipc in his
; had seen

onourable
Jd for his
;all Jessie
1 consent,
B go and

ctor is a
lasn't the

eturned,

r which

lal was

chlam !

' Now,"
Peter,

let us go on boiird. Where are the pipes?
Strike up your merriest tune."

And he preceded us, pliiying, " A'dc/i dumb-
sadli am miusler" in liis best manner — if
anythinji," can be said to be good, where bad is
the l)est. Wlicn we arrived at the beach,
Cutler and my old friend, the black steward,
were readv to receive us. It would have
been a bad omen, to have had Sorrow meet
the betrothed pair so soon, but that was only
a jocular name given to a very merry negro.

" Well, Sorrow," sais I, as we pushed off in
the boat, " how are you '?"

" Very bad, Massa," he said, " I ab been used
most rediculous shamful since you left. Time
was berry dull on board since you been with-
drawn from de light ob your countenance, and
de crew sent on shore, and got a consignment
ob rum, for benefit ob underwriters, and all con-
sarned as dey said, and dey sung hymns, as dey
call nigga songs, like Lucy Neal and Lucy Long,
and den dev said we must hab ablution sarmon ;
so dey fust corned me, Massa."

" In the beef or pork-barrel, Sorrow ?"
said I.

" Oh, Lord bless you, Massa, in needer ; you

m i

iSv

!,.

li :

;

/:!

il I : ■;'

(I:

I-

•', *

i: t

378

THE BETROTHAL.

knows dc meaning ob dat are word — I is sure
you does — dey made me most tosicated, Massa,
and dey said, ' Sorrow, come preach ablution
sarmon.' Oh, Massa, I was berry sorry, it made
me feel all ober like ague ; but how could I
insist so many ; what was I to do, dey fust made
me der slave, and den said, now tell us bout
mancipation. Well, dey gub me glass ob rum,
and I swallowed it — berry bad rum —well, dat
wouldn't do. Well, den dey gub me anoder
glass, and dat wouldn't do ; dis here child hab
trong head, Massa, werry trong, but he hoped
de rum was all out, it was so bad ; den dey re-
jectioned anoder in my face, and I paused and
crastimated : sais I, ' Masters is you done,' for
dis child was afeard, Massa, if he drank all de
bottle empty, dey would tro dat in his face too,
so sais I :

" ^ Masters, I preaches under protest, against
owners and ship for bandonment; but if I
must put to sea, and dis niggar don't know
how to steer by lunar compass, here goes.'
Sais I, 'My dear bredren,' and dey all called out:

" ' You farnal niggar you ! do you call us
bredren, when you is as black as de debbils hind
leg?'

THE BETROTHAL.

379

— I is sure
ied, Massa,
!h ablution
•ry, it made
>w could I
i fust made
3II us bout
ss ob rum,
—well, dat
fne anoder
J child hab
he hoped
3n dey re-
)aused and
done,* for
ink all de
s face too,

St, against
but if I
►n't know
ere goes.'
sailed out:
u call us
jbils hind

"'1 beg your most massiful pardon,' sais I,
' but as you is ablutionists, and when you preach,
calls us regraded niggars your coloured bredren,
I tought I might venture to foller in dc same
suit, if I had a card ob same colour.'

"'Well done Uncle Tom,' sais they. ' Well
done Zip Coon,' and dey made me swallow
anoder glass ob naked truth. Dis here child has
a trong head, Massa, dat are a fac. He stand
so much sun, he aint easy combustioned in his
entails.

" ' Go on,' sais they.

" ' Well, my bredren,' sais I, ' I will dilate to
you the valy of a niggar, as put in one scale and
white man in de oder. Now, bredren, you
know a sparrer can't fall to de ground no how
he can fix it, but de Lord knows it — in course
ob argument you do. Well, you knows twelve
sparrers sell in de market for one penny. In course
ob respondence you do ; how much more den
does de Lord care for a niggar like me, who is
worth six hundred dollars and fifty cents, at de
least ? So, gentlemen, I is done, and now please,
my bredren, I will pass round de hat wid your
recurrence.'

" Well, dey was pretty high, and dey behaved

^fi

lUi;

380

THE BETROTHAL.

like gentlemen, I must submit dat ; dey gub me
four dollars, dey did — dey is great friends
to niggar, and great mancipaiionists, all ob
dem ; and I would hab got two dollars more,
I do raily conclude, if I hadn't a called 'em my
bredren. Dat was a slip ob de lock-jaw."

" I must inquire into this," said Cutler,
" it's the most indecent thing I ever heard of,
It is downright profanity ; it is shocking."

"Very," said I, *' but the sermon warnt a
bad one ; I never heerd a niggar reason before ;
I knew they could talk, and so can Lord Tan-
demberry ; but as for reasoning, I never heerd
either one or the other attempt it before. There
is an approach to logic in that."

" There is a very good hit at the hypocrisy
of abolitionists in it," said the Doctor, "that
appeal about my bredren is capital, and the
passing round of the hat is quite evangelical."

" Oigh," said Peter, " she have crossed the
great sea and the great prairies, and she haven't
heerd many sarmons, for Sunday don't come but
once a month there, but dat is the pest she ever
heerd, it is so short."

" Slick," said Cutler, " I am astonished at
you. Give way there my men ; ease the bow oar."

THE BETROTHAL.

381

ley gub me
at friends
ts, all ob
liars

more.

d 'em my

aw.

»>

id Cutler,
heard of,
iiig."

1 warnt a
on before ;
Lord Tan-
3ver heerd
re. There

hypocrisy
or, "that

and the
gelical."
'ossed the
le haven't
come but

she ever

lished at

t)ow oar.

"Exactly," sais I, "Cutler — give way there
my man; case the bow oar— that's my maxim
too— how the devil can you learn if you don't
hear," sais I.

" How can you learn good," said he, " if yon
listen to evil ?"

" Let's split the difference," said I, laufrhin./-
" as I say in swapping ; let's split the difference.
If you don't study mankind how can you know
the world at all ? But if you want to preach—"
" Come, behave yourself," said he, laughing ;
" lower down the man ropes there."
" To help up the women'' said I.
" Slick," said he, " it's no use talking ; you
are incorrifjible."

The breakfast was like other breakfasts of
the same kind ; and, as the wind was fair, we
could not venture to offer any amusements to
our guests. So in due time we parted, the
Doctor alone, of the whole party, remaining
on board. Cutler made the first move by as-
cending the companion-ladder, and I shook
hands with Peter as a hint for him to follow.
Jessie, her sister, Ovey, and I, remained a
few minutes longer in the cabin. The former
was much agitated.

•

■i

382

THE BETROTHAL.

" Good bye," said she, " Mr. Slick ! Next
to him," pointing to the Bachelor Beaver, " you
have been the kindest and best friend I
ever had. You have made me feel what it is
to be happy ;" and woman-like to prove her
happiness burst out a crying, and threw her
arms round my neck and kissed me. " Oh !
Mr. Slick ! do we part for ever ?"

" For ever !" sais I, trying to cheer her up ;
" for ever is a most thundering long word. No,
not for ever, nor for long either. I expect you
and the Doctor will come and visit us to Slick-
ville this fall ;" and I laid an emphasis on that
word " us" because it referred to what I had
told her of Sophy.

« Oh 1" said she, " how kind that is !"

"Well," sais I, "now I will do a kinder
thing. Jane and I will go on deck, and leave
you and the Doctor to bid each other good-bye."
As I reached the door, I turned and said :
" Jessie, teach him Gaelic the way Flora taught
me — do hhileau hoidheach (with your pretty
lips)."

As the boat drew alongside, Peter bid me
again a most affectionate, if not a most com-
plimentary farewell.

THE BETROTHAL.

383

ck ! Next
aver, " you
t friend I
what it is
prove her
threw her
le. " Oh !

?er her up ;
k^ord. No,
expect you
IS to Slick-
sis on that
hat I had

3!"

• a kinder
and leave
^ood-bye."
ind said :
ora taught
3ur pretty

" She has never seen many Yankees herself,"
said Peter, " but prayin Joe, the horse-stealer—
tarn him — and a few New England pedlars,
who asked throe hundred per shent for their
coots, but Mr. Slick is a shentleman, every
inch of him, and the pest of them she ever saw,
and she will pe glad to see her again whenever
she comes this way."

When they were all seated in the boat, Peter
played a doleful ditty, which I have no doubt
expressed the grief of his heart. But I am
sorry to say it was not much appreciated on
board of the ' Black Hawk.' By the time they
reached the shore, the anchor was up, the sails
trimmed, and we were fairly out of Ship
Harbour.

^i| :

END OF VOL. L

r bid me
nost com-

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appealed to as a standard authority. A valuable and most aulheiitic addition Is here
furnished to the true history ot transactions which will ever hold a prominent i)lace in the
annals of our Indian rule " — Duhliii Uitiri'rsUi/ Mug.

" We know not a boi)k after the WeilingKju Despatches, more deserving of the sturly of
a young oHiier. It might be nuule one of the standard manuals of military education."—
Litei'iin/ Guztttte,

" I'liis book is one of the most interesting records of military life that we possess, and
a genuine memorial of one who has adiieved a right to be reckoned among England's greatebt
tnen.'"—U(til^ Acics.

NARRATIVE OF A RESIDENCE AT NEPAUL. BY

CAPTAIN THOMAS SMITH, late Assistant PoLiTicAL-RuriiuKNT .\t
Nki'aul. 2 vols, post 8vo. 21s.

*' No man could be better qualified to describe Nepaul than Captain Smith ; and his
concise, but clear and graphic account of its history, its natural productions, its laws iuid
ciistoms, and the character of its warlike inhabitants, is very agreeable and instructive
reading. A separate chapter, not the least entertaining In the book, is devoted to ancc'oti-
ot tlv.' N'i'iiaulese mission, of whom, and of their visit to Europe, many remark ;b.c ^luiica
are i .U\."—i''isl

NATIONS.

OF MAJOR

niE AllMY OK Can-
EUITKD I»Y J. II-

of the late (".cncral,

pObSCSSKJll.

2 vols.

■Inim a peimanent pltui-'

to the history of I^.^l^i»

ill. .

ill do th'.it Justice to the
le vrecediiiB works hiive

y describes n:s a ' moi\v\

gurvivinB lisi'ighii'i's. -^
irieii piiienl it would bv
rier, and u iioble monu-
ite inoineiit. The lite . !

the Dt'spati'hes of tl.at
an nspira-.it for militiiry
,ution to the lil.v^raphlLUl
rm 11 most valiuil''.f guiiU ,
i\\\\\u^tou."-.V>.:sxfn:'>:
pressed a hope iliat s(.ini;
1 ofticiiil forresp )n(U iitf,
ructer, whUe a in. mcir ot
Mid so good nil example to
le able edilorsliip of Mr.
i correspoiider.ie has just
(ost Interesting memoir of

■ing campaign in Attglmn-
, to left Inobscuiily. Tlye

,y leaders and those in-

|an. The book will <ift"n be
ilheutic addUion is lu'ie
piouiiiuMit place in tlie

, deserving of the sludy^of
of military education."-

life that we po^^sess, ami
I among England's greatest

NEPAUL. BY

|liticai>-«ksu)KNT at

_ Captain Smith ; ami his

[productions, its laws iuni

lagreeable and instructive

Ik, is devoted to anp('''^t'-

many remark :b.e ao.ui.

HISTORY AND HlOfJU M'llY.

TURKEY: ITS HISTORY AND PROGRESS; FPCIvI

Tin: JOURNALS AND CORRKSPONDKNCK OT SlR.JAMKS i'ORTIlR,
FifliM'ii Years Ai»l)assii<lor at Constaiitiiioplc, contiiiiifid to the l»rosoi\t rime,
with a .Memoir of Siu J.v.mks I'oiiTr.ii, l>y his (iramhon, SIR (illOUdi;
LARIMilNT, Baiit. 2 vols. Hvo., with Illustrations. 3l)s, Iiouiid.

" Tlie*e volumes are of an authentic charneter and enduring interest,"- .'I//(»'/»fii»m.

"Thi-i book forms a very valuable repertory of informailm in n-u'^id to ilu- p.ist :m(l
present stale (;f Turkey. Altogether the iiifiirmiition is eumploMy triviii, and lor all pur.
poses of refiTi nee dnring the contiinian<^ of the struggle in the Kasl, the book will be
valuable." -/'.'.i'/»«iwer.

"To any of our renders desirous of forming an opinion for him.self on the lomlition
aiKl prospecl.s of Turkey, we would advise a earet'ol punisal of this w i^rk No work on the
subject could have been better timed, while the Infor.iiatioii whieli it contains iiiililie the
great bulk of those ha.sty compilations which a sudden demand has called into existence -in
not only accurate, but valuable." — Morning Chronicle.

"A most interesting, Instructive, and valuable work. Innoother book that we are
a*VBre of, will Uie reader find the same amount of reliable information reapecting tlie actual
WMidltlon and resources of the Sultan's dominions."— .l/or/;///^' Post.

" III these volumes we have the most complete and accurate descrlptinn of the past auil
jMresent jiosition of the Turkish Emiiire to be found in our language."— fl(v7i////(/i(.

" These volumes constitute o work for the fulitre as w.dl as f.ir iUl' iirenent, in other
words, a valuable library book as well as a book of great contemporaneous interest. Their
permanent value they derive chiefly from the deej) research and extensive and minute in-
vestigation of their first author, Sir James Porter, their present Interest from the acute and
lively treatni.nt of the events of the day by his grandson and continuator. In fact, we know
not where to find so jierfect an account of Turkey in all its relations with the rest of the
world, military, political, and, above all, commercial." — ^Standard.

"Thishi^ih'y interesting work consists of two parts. The fir.st volume, after a memoir
of Sir .Tames I'orter, proceeds to give a general descri])tion of the Turkish Kuipire, of its
iraturai and industrial productions, and Its commerce, a sketch of its history from the In-
vasion of Europe to the reign of Sultan Mahmud II., and an account of the religion and
the civil institutions of the Turks, and of their manners and custom.s, chielly from the
data supplied bv the papers of Sir James Porter. In the second volume we are made ac-
quainted with Turkey as it is ; the religious and civil government of Turkey, its Legislature,
the state of education in the Empire, its finances, its military and naval strength, and the
social condition o( the Turks, are ill in succession brought under review. The work gives a fuller
and more life-like picture of the present state ot the Ottoman Empire, than any other work with
which we are acquainted." — John Bull.

"No publication upon the state and prospects of the Ottoman Empire, with which we
are acquainted can compare with the work now under notice for general utility. In addition
to investigations into the legislature of Turkey, its civil and lellglous goveinment, its
educatlonnl institutions, and the system of instruction. Its finances, military and ntival
resources, and the social condition of the people, ample details are given of its history, and
a short account of the progress of the actual struggle. These researches are interspersed with
journals and letters, which impart a charming interest to the volumes. We hail the apjiear-
ance of these volumes with satisfaction, as accurate information both on the history and the
actual condition of Turkey is much needed. Good books are ever welcome, and this is a good
book, coming into our possession at the critical moment when it is most required."— i»/esse«ger.

IIURST AND nLACKETTS NEW PUBLICATIONS.

1 1 r

.,»

THE UFE OF MARIE DE MEDICIS, QUEEN OF

rU,\N( I], CoNHOIlT OK IIkVKY IV., AND lli;(iKNT UNhRK LoiJIS XIII.

Hy MLSS I'AIIDOK, Author of "Louis XIV, mid the Court of France, in
tlic 1 7th Century," \c. Second Edition. 3 large vols. Hvo. with tine
I'orlraits.

" A r.iscliiatlriK ))ook. The hUtory of iiu-h u wnrnnii im the l)eautlfiil, lmpulNl\'e, enrnfit,
aiut nfTfctliiMiiti' Marie de Med'ciw c(iiil<l uiily be done JiiNtlce to by u femiile |ii>n, linpelled by
nil ttie nyinpntbleM of woniiitilinuit, but 8(renKtiu>iie>l by nn eriulltioii by which It Is not III
every ra^e arcoiniaiiied. In Alisn Purdoe tlio unr<irtiinate Queen has found both these
ri'<|ul.slte<<, nnd thereMult has been u bloxraphy coinblnlng the nttractiveneiii of romance with
the reliableiiesR of history, and whb h, taking a place midway between the ' frescoed KoHcrle"'
of Tlilerry, and the • philosophic watch-tower (it Oul/.(it,' haf all the pictorial brilliancy of
the one, with much of the rellective speculation of the other,"— />»//7// News.

" A work of high literary nnd historical merit, llurcly have the strange vlclssltnden of
romance been more Intimately blended with the facts of real hlslory than in the lite of IMarle
de IVIedicis; nor has the dltUtult problem of combining with the tideilty of biography the
graphic power of dramatic delincAtlon been often more successfully solved than by the
Uilcnted author of the volumes before us. As n personal narrative, niiss I'ardne's admirable
biography posHesses the mo»t absorbing and constantly sustained interest ; as n historical
record of the events of which it treats, Its merit is of no ordinary description."—
Ju/in Bull,

MEMOIRS OF THE BARONESS FOBERKIRCH,

Il,t.USTRATIVE OF THK SkCRKT IIiSTOHY OK THE Cot'RTS OK FllANCE,

Russia, and Germany. Written by HERSELF, and Edited by Her
Grandson, the COUNT DE MONTBRISON. 3 vols, post 8vo. 31s. 6d.

The Darouess d'Obcrkirch being the intimate friend of the Empress of Russia,
wife of Paul I., nnd the conlidential companion of the Duchess of Bourbon, her
facilities for obtaining information respecting the most private affairs of the
principal Courts of Europe, render her Memoirs unrivalled as a book of interest-
ing anecdotes of the royal, noble and other celebrat I'd individuals who flourished
on the continent during the latter part of the last century. Among the royal per-
sonages introduced to the reader in this work, are Louis XVL, Marie Antoinette,
Philip Egalitu, and all the Princes of France then living — Peter the Great, the
Empress Catherine, the Emperor Paul, and his sons Constantine aud Alexander,
of Russia — Frederick the Great and Prince Henry of Prussia — the Emperor
Joseph IF. of Austria — Gustavus III, of Sweden — Princess Christina of Saxony
— Sobieski, and Czartoriski of Poland — and the Princes of Brunswick and
Wurtembnrg. Among the most remarkable persons are the Princes and
Princesses de Laniballe, do Ligne and Galitzin — the Dukes and Duchesses de
Choiseul, de Mazarin, de BoufHers, de la Vallitre, de Guiche, de Penthievre, and
de Poligiiac — Cardinal de Rohan, Marshals Riron antl d'Harcourt, Count de
Staieinberg, Baroness de Krudener, Madame Geoffrin, Talleyrand, Mirabeau, and
Necker — with Count Cagliostro, Mesmer, Vestris, and Madame Mara ; and the
work also includes such literary celebrities as Voltaire, Condorcet, de la Harpe,
de Beaumarchais, Rousseau, Lavater, Bernouilli, Raynal, de I'Epee, Hubcr,
Giithe, Wieland, Malesherbes, Marmontel, de Stael and de Genlis ; with some
singular disclosures respecting those celebrated Englishwomen, Elizabeth Chud-
leigh, Duchess of Kingston, and Lady Craven, Margravine of Anspach.

" A keen observer, and by position thrown in the high places of the world, the
Baroness d'Oberkirch was the very woman to write Memoirs that would interest future
generations. We commend these volumes most heartily to every reader. They are a
perfect magazine of pleasant anecdotes and interesting characteristic things. We lay
down these charming volumes with regret. They will entertain the most fastidious
readers, and instruct the most iDformsd."— fxaminer.

NATIONS.

QUEEN OF

oiEii Lotus XIII.
Court <tf France, in
wh. 8vo. with tine

ful, ImpnlNlve, enrnftt,
•miilf jifii, liiM'i'lle«l I'V
in by whiih It U in>l I"
hus found both lliese
,cneM of rotnunce with
the • fruscoed «•>"«'''«'■ *
le pictorial brlUlnncy of
y News.

e strange vlcls«ltu(le« of
hull In the life of Miirle
idellty of biography the
lly solved thim by the
iliss I'ardoe's admlruble
ntereit } as n historlcol
•dlnary description,"—

'OBERKIRCH,

:OCHTS OF FllANCE,

and Edited by Her
post 8vo. lils. 6d.

1 Empress of Russia,
ess of Bourbon, her
rivate affairs of the
, a book of interest-
uals who flourished
Vniang the royal per-
, Marie Antoinette,
eter the Great, the
itine aud Alexander,
ussia— tlie Emperor
Christina of Baxony
of Brunswick and
the Princes and
and Duchesses de
, de Pentbievre, and
Harcourt, Count de
rand, Mirabeau, and
me Mara; and the
orcet, de la Harpe,
de I'Epee, Hubcr,
Genlis; with some
■n, Elizabeth Chud-
Anspach.

:e8 of the world, the
, would interest future
•y reader. They are a
Istic things. We lay
the most fastidious

HISTORY AM) niOORAPIlY.

THE LIFE OF MARGUERITE D'ANGOULEME,

Ql't'EN OF NAVAUUE.SISTKIl OK FUANCIS I., from nnmrimn ()ri^innl
Sources, inclu(hiig MS. Documents in the BiMiothctiuo Impi'riaU', niid tlvn
Arcliivi's du Royniiuit' (it Fra'icc, and the I'riv.itc ('orrcspomlt'iicc of (iu»!«'n
Marutiorito witli IVauris 1. fjv MlSSFUEEU. 2 vols., with tiuc Portraits,
engraved by llcutli, 21». bound.

(/PINIONS or TUB PPKSS.

"This is A very complete and clevf/rly-uriitcn life ot the iihutflmn sister of Frnncit I.,
und it niiy l)e siild of her thnt the v.iried :iiil interesting ntoros of French hUtory offer no
theme more worthy of resiiircli and Htmly thun tho ( iin-er <{ t]\\n ((rent prlnicRs, who ixor-
dxed so potent an Influence ovc r the polltiis und nianmri of the iiKc of uhUh Hlie whs
herself the l)rlghtest ornament. The published and manuscript dotiimeiits and letters
relating to tlie life of Marguerite of Navarre, and wlilcli are Indispensable to a correct
tUoi?raphy of tbis queen, are widely dispersed. Tlie antlior has spared no cost or trouble \n
i<ndeav(iuring to obtain all that were likely to elucidate her clinracter and conduct. She bns
furnished us with a very intercstlngf and uniphic sl.-etch of the shiKular events and lh«
important personn^^es who took part in tliem during this stormy and remarkable period of
French and Kngllsh history."— OAscrucr.

"This is a very useful ami amiislng booli. It is a good work, very well done. Tht
authoress is rjulte equal in power and grace to I\Iiss Stricklanil. .She must have spent a
great time and labour In collecting the Information, which she imparts in an easy and
fgrecablo manner. It is ditficult to lay down lier l)ook after having once l»egun It. This la
Otting partly to the Interesting nature of llie sul)jcct, partly to the skilful manner in which U
ha« been treatrd. No other life of Marguerite has yet lieen published, even in France.
Indeed, till Louis Philippe ordered the collection and publication of munnaciipts relating to
the History of France, no such work could be published. It is dilTicult to conceive how,
under any clrcumatauccs, it could have been done better."— .S/«Hrf/ird.

" There are few names more distinguished that that of Marguerite d'AngouK^me !n thd
range of female biography, and the writer of this work has done well in taking up a
subject ao copious and attractive. It is altogether an interesting and well-written
blQgrai)hy."— A»7er';c// Gazette.

" A work of high literary and historic merit. It is full of absorbing and constantly
sustained interest. In these volumes will be found not alone an incalculable amount of
historical information, but a store uf reading of a charming and entrancing character, and we
heartily commend them as deserving general popularity." — Sunday Time:

" A work which is most acceptable as an addition to our historical stores, and which will
place the author in a foremost rank among our female writers of the royal biography of their
own aex."—John Bull.

"A candidly, carefully, and spiritedly written production, and no one who peruses it
with the attention it merits can fail to acqidre a complete and accurate knowledge of the
interesting life of the best and most graceful woman who ever filled a conspicuous place in
the history of mankind." — Morning Herald.

" This life of Marguerite d'AngouK^me is entitled to high rank amongst the many excel-
lent memoirs of illustrious women for "vhich we have been largely indebted to female
authorship. The subject is eminently attractive."— jVornirtif Po.it.

"Throughout these volumes the most intense interest is maintained. Like Carlyle,
Miss Freer has written as one whose thoughts and sympathies became assimilated to the
age. The biography of Marguerite of Navarre is a work upon which the author has
lavished all the resources of her genius." — Britannia.

HURST AND BLACKETT's NEW PUBLICATIONS.

MEMOiaS OF JOHN ABERNETHY, F.R.S. WITH A

View of his Wkitings, Lectures, and Character. By GEORGE
MACILWAIN, F.R.C.S., author of " Medicine and Surgery One Inductive
Science," &c. Second Edition. 2 vols., post 8vo., with Portraits, 2 Is.

" A memoir of high professional interest." — Morning Post.

"These memoirs convey a graphic, and, we believe, faithful picture of the celebrated
John Abernethy. 'I'he volumes are written in a popular style, and will afford to the general
reader much instruction and entertainment."— //e»vi/rf,

" This is a book which ought to be read by every one. The professional man will find
in it the career of one of the most illustrious professors of medicine of our own or of any
other age— the student of intellectual science, the progress of a truly profound philosopher—
and all, the lesson afforded by a good man's life. Abernethy's memory is worthy of a good
biographer, and happily It has found one."—Stiindard.

"We hope these volumes will be perused by all our readers. They are extremely
interesting, and not only give un account of Abernethy, which cannot fail to be read with
benefit, but they discuss incidentally many questions of medicine and medical polity. Mr.
Macilwain is fond of anecdotes, and has in.serted a great number; this does not render his
work less pleasant reading. We recommend it most strongly as an interesting, and, at the
same time, instnactive iYs&i\ie."—Medico-Chirurgical Review.

THE LITERATURE .4ND ROMANCE OF NORTHERN

EUROPE; constituting a complete History of the Literature of Sweden,
Denmark, Norway, and Iceland, with copious Specimens of the most cele-
brated Histories, Romances, and Popular Legends and Tales, old Chivalrous
Ballads, Tragic and Comic Dramas, National Songs, Novels and Scenes from
the Life of the Present Day. By.WILLIAM and iMARY IIOWITT. 2 vols,
post 8vo. 21s.

" English readers have long been indebted to Mr. and Mrs. Howltt. They have now
increased our obligations by presenting us with this most charming and valuable work, by
means of which the great majority of the reading public will 1)e, for the first time, made
acquainted with the rich stores of intellectual wealth long garnered in the literature and
l>eauliful romance of Northern Europe, From the famous Edda, whose origin is lost In
antiquity, down to the novels of Miss Hremer and Baroness Knorring, the prose and poetic
writings of Denmark, Norway, Sweden, and Iceland are here introduced to us in a manner
at once singularly comprehensive and concise. It is no dry enumeration of names, but the
very marrow and spirit of the various works displayed before us. We have old ballads and
fairy tales, always fascinating ; we have scenes from plays, and selections from the poets,
with most attractive biographies of great men. The songs and ballads are translated with
exquisite poetic beauty." — Sun.

RULE AND MISRULE OF THE ENGLISH IN

AMERICA. By the Author of " SAM SLICK." 2 vols, post 8vo. 21s.

" We conceive this work to be by far the most valuable and important .Judge Haliburton
has ever written. While teeming with interest, moral and historical, to the general reader,
it equally constitutes a philosophical study for the politician and statesman. It will be found
to let in a flood of light upon the actual origin, formation, and progress of the republic of
the United States."— iVara/ and Military Gazette,

TIONS.

HISTORY AND BIOGRAPHY.

5. WITH A

R. By GEORGE
ry One Inductive
Portraits, 2 Is.

ure of the celebrated
I afford to the general

fssional man will find
of our own or of any
rofound philosopher—
ry is worthy of a good

They are extremely
ot fail to be read with
d medical polity. Mr,
tiis does not render his
interesting, and, at the

' NORTHERN

terature of Sweden,
ns of the most cele-
palcs, old Chivalrous
rels and Scenes from
lOWITT. 2 vols.

owitt. They have now
and valuable work, by
for the first time, made
id in the literature and
.hose origin is lost in
pr, the prose and poetic
need to us in a manner
jtion of names, but the
e have old ballads and
■ctions from the poets,
ads are translated with

INGLISH IN

ols. postSvo. 2 Is.

■tant .Tudge Haliburton
I, to the general reader,
\man. It will be found

[ress of the republic of

THE JOURNALS AND CORRESPONDENCE OF

GENE UAL SIR HARRY CALVERT, Bart,, G.C.B. and G.C.H,, Ad-
jutant-Genehal of the forces under II,R,Il. THE DuKK OF York,
conii)rising the Campaigns in Flanders and Holland in UOo-!-!; with ;ui
Appendix containing His Plans for the Defence of the Ci-iiiitry in case of
Invasion. Edited by His Son, SIR HARRY VERNE Y, Bart.' 1 vol. royal
8vo,, with large maps, 14s.

" Both the journals and letters of Capt. Calvert are lull of interest. Tl-.e letters, in
particular, are entitled to much praise. Not too long, easy, ^'racefiil, not williout wit, aiul
everywhere marked by good sense and good taste— the series atUiressed by Capt. Calvert to
his sister are litTary compositions of no common order. With liie best means of observing
the progress of the war, and with his faculties of judgment exercised and streiigtliened by
experience — a quick eye, a placid temper, and a natural aptitude for langua^ie rendered
Capt. Calvert in many respects a model of a military critic. Sir Harry Verney has per-
formed his duties of editor very well. The book is creditable to all parties cuncerned in its
production,"— .i4//<ew«;ttw.

RECOLLECTIONS OF MY MILITARY LIFE. BY

COLONEL LANDMANN, Late of the Corps of Royal Exgineers,
Author of " Adventures and Recollections," 2 vols, post 8vo. 21s.

"Much as has been written of late years about war and Wellington, we knf^w (>f iiothii;^
that contains so striking a picture of the march and the battle as seen l)y an individual, or so
close and homely a sketch of the Great Captain in the outset of the European career of Sir
Arthur Wellesley." — Spectator.

" The deserved popularity with which the previous volumes of Colonel Lai.dniann'3
adventures were received will be increased by the present portion of these interei-ling and
amusing records of a long life passed in active and arduous service. The Colmiel's
shrewdness of observation renders his sketches of character highly amusing.'— iJ/-(7f/H«i'i.

COLONEL LANDMANN'S ADVENTURES AND Re-
collections, 2 vols, post 8vo. 21s.

" Among the anecdotes in this work will be found notices of King George HI., the Dukes
•)f Kent, Cumberland, Cambridge, Clarence, and Richmond, the I'rincess Aii;;ustn, fieneral
Garth, Sir Harry Mildmay, Lord Charles Somerset, Lord Kdward Fit^yer-ild, Lnrd Heath-
field, Cajitain Grose, &c. The volumes abound in interesting matter. Tiie aiiec'di-tes are
one and all amusing." — Observer,

"These 'Adventures and Recollections' are those of a gentleman who-e birth and
profession gave him facilities of access to distinguished society. Colonel Landinaiiii writes
so agreeably that we have little doubt that his volumes will be acceplab.e."' — Al/itnoeuiit.

ADVENTURES OF THE CONNAUGHT RANGERS.

Second Series, By WILLIAM GRATTAN, Esa , Lte Lieutenant

CONNAUGHT RaNGERS. 2 VOls, 21s.

" In this second series of the adventures of this famous regiment, the autlior extends
liis narrative from tlie first formation of the gallant 88th up to the oe( opation of Paris, All
the battles, sieges, and skirmishes, in which the regiment took part, are described. The
volumes are interwoven with original anecdotes that give a freshness :.nd spirit to the whole.
The stories, and the sketches of society and manners, with the anecdotes of the celebrities of
the time, are told in an agreeable and unaffected manner. The work bears ail the character-
istics of a soldier's straightforward and entertaining narrative." — Sutiday Times.

(

• ll

i !

HURST AND BLACKETT S NEW PUBLICATIONS.

PAINTING AND CELEBRATED PAINTERS, AN-

CIENT and MODERN ; including Historical and Critical Notices of the
Schools of Italy, Spain, France, Germany, and the Netherlands. Edited by
LADY JERVIS. 2 vols, post 8vo. 218.

" This book is designed to give to the general public a popular knowledge of the History
of Painting and the characters of Painters, with especial reference to the most prominent
anioni; those of their works which are to be seen in English galleries. It is pleasantly written
with the intention of serving a useful purpose. It succeeds in its design, and will be of real
use to the multitude of picture seers. As a piece of agreeable reading also, it is unex-
ceptionable." — Eiaminer.

" This useful and well-arranged compendium will be found of value to the amateur, and
pleasing as well as instructive to the general reader ; and, to give it still further praise, the
collector will tind abundance of most useful information, and many an artist will rise from
the perusal of the work with a muih clearer idea of his art than he had before. %Ve sum up
its merits by recommending it as an acceptable handbook to the principal galleries, and a
trustworthy guide to a knowledge of the celebrated paintings i:i England, and that this
information is valuable and much required by many thousands is a well-proven fact." —
Sunday Times.

" In turning over Lady Jervis'a pages, we are astonished at the amount of knowledge
she has acquired. We can testify to the accuracy of her statements, and to the judiciousness
of her remarks. The work will deser^'e to take rank with those of Waagen and Passavant.
To the art-student's attention it is In every respect to be commended." — Messenger.

" It is not overstating the merits of the work to describe it as the most complete, and, at
the same time, one of the most trustworthy guides to a knowledge of the celebrated paintings
in England that has hitherto been published." — Observer.

CLASSIC AND HISTORIC PORTRAITS. BY JAMES

BRUCE. 2 vols, post 8vo. 21s.

This work comprises Biographies of the following Classic and Historic Per-
sonages : — Sappho, iEsop, Pythagoras, Aspasia, Milto, Agesilaus, Socrates, Plato,
Alcil)iades, Helen of Troy, Alexander the Great, Demetrius Poliorcetes, Scipio
Africanus, Sylla, Cleopatra, Julius Cnesar, Augustus, Tiberius, Germanicus,
Caligula, Lollia Paulina, Cajsonia, Boadicea, Agrippina, Poppaja.Olho, Commodus,
Caracalla, Heliogabalus, Zenobia, Julian the Apostate, Eudocia, Theodora,
Charlemagne, Abelard and Heloise, Elizabeth of Hungary, Dante, Rol)ert Bruce,
Ignoz de Castro, Agnes Sorrel, Jane Shore, Lucrezia Borgia, Anne BuUen, Diana
of Poitiers, Catherine de Medicis, Queen Elizabeth, Mary Queen of Scots,
Cervantes, Sir Kenelni Digby, Jobn Sobieski, Anne of Austria, N'inon del'Enclos,
Mile, de Montpeusier, the Duchess of Oileans, Madame de Maintenon, Catherine
of Russia, and Madame de Stael.

" A book which has miiny merits, most of all, that of a fresh and unhacknied subject.
The volumes are the result of a good deal of reading, and have Lesides an original s\nvit and
fluvoiir about them, which have pleased us much. Mr. Bruce is often eloquent, often
humorous, an'l has a proper appreciation of the wit and sarcasm belonging in abundance to
his theme. The variety and amount of information scattered through his v(/lumes entitle
them to be geneinilly read, and to be received on all hands with merited favour." — Examiner.

" We find in these piquant volumes the liberal outpourings of a ripe scholarship, the
results of wide and various reading, given in a style and manner at once pleasant and pictu-
resque." — Athenceum,

\TIONS.

HISTORY AND BIOGRAPHY.

[TERS, AN-

cal Notices of the
■lands. Edited by

wledge of the History
to the most prominent
[t Is pleasantly written
ign, and will be of real
adlng also, it is unex-

ue to the amateur, and
still further praise, the
an artist will rise from
id before. We sum up
rincipal galleries, and a.
England, and that this
a well-proven fact."—

! amount of knowledge
and to the judiciousness
Waagen and Passavant.
•> — Messenger.
> most complete, and, at
the celebrated paintings

BY JAMES

Ic and Historic Per-
laus, Socrates, Plato,
Is Poliorcetes, Scipio
iberiiis, Gcrmanicus,
Ifca, Otlio, Commodus,
Eialocia, Theodora,
ante, llobert Bruce,
I, Anne BiiUen, Diana
ly Queen of Scots,
a, Ninon derEnclos,
laintenon, Catherine

land unhacknied subject.
|es an original spirit and
often eloquent, often
lloiiging in abundance to
louyh his volumes entitle
si\tdVouT."—K.vnminer.

a ripe scholarship, the
jnce pleasant and pictu-

MILITARY LIFE IN ALGERIA. BY THE COUNT P.

DE CASTELLANE. 2 vols, post 8vo. 2Is.

" We commend this book as really worth perusal. The volumes mnko ns familiarly
ai'quainted with the nature of Aiijerian experience. St. Arnaud, Cannibert, C'liangarnier,
Cavaignac, Lainorici&re, are brought prominently before the reader." — E.niniiner.

" These volumes will be read with extraordinary interest. The vivid manner in which
the author narrates his adventures, and the number of personal anecdotes that he tells,
engage the reader's attention in an extraordinary manner." — Sunday Times.

AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF AN ENGLISH SOLDIER IN

THE UNITED STATES' AllMY. 2 vols. post 8vo. 2ls.

" The novelty characteriiiing these interesting volumes is likely to secure them many
readers. In the first place, an accountofthe internal organization, the manners and customs
of the United States' Federal Army, is in itself a novelty, and a still greater novelty is to
have this account rcu lered by a man who hal served in the Englisli before joining the
American army, and who can give his report after having every opportunity of comparison.
The author went through the Mexican campaign with General Scott, and his volumes
contain much descriptive matter concerning battles, sieges, and marches on Mexican
territory, besides their sketches of the normal chronic condition of the United States' soldier
in time of peace." — Dailj/ News.

CANADA AS IT WAS, IS, AND MAY BE. BY THE

late LIEUTENANT-COLONEL SIR R. BONNYCASTLE. With an Accoiuit
of Recent Transactions, by SIR J. E. ALEXANDER, K.L.S., &c. 2 vols.,
post 8vo. with maps, ic, 21s.

"These volumes offer to the Rritisli public a clear and trustworthy statement of the
atfairs of Canada, and the effects of the immense public works in progress and completed j
with sketches of locality and scenery, amusing anecdotes of personal observation, and gene-
rally every information which may be of use to the traveller or settler, and the military and
political reader.— A/essen^er.

ATLANTIC AND TRANSATLANTIC SKETCHES. BY

CAPTAIN MACKINNON, R.N. 2 vols, post 8vo. 21s.

"Captain Mackinnon's sketches of America are of a striking character and permanent
value. His volumes convey a just impression of the United States, a fair and candid view of
their society and institutions, so well written and so entertaining that the effect of their
perusal on the public here must be considerable. They are light, animated, and lively, full
of racy sketches, pictures of life, anecdotes of society, visits to remarkable men and famous
places, sporting episodes, &c., very original and interesting."— S«/nd«j/ Timet.

SPAIN AS IT IS. BY G. A. HOSKINS, ESQ.

2 vols, post 8vo. 21s.

" To the tourist this work will prove invalup.ble. It is the most complete and interestin?
portraiture of Spain that has ever come under our notice." — John litiU.

HISTORY OF CORFU; AND OF TEE REPUBLIC

OF THE IONIAN ISLANDS. By LIEUT. H. J. W. JERVIS, Royal
Artillery. 1 vol. post 8vo. 10?. Gd.

" Written with great care and research, and including probably all the particulars of
any moment in the history of Corfu." — Athenaeum.

HURST AND BLACKETT S NEW PUBLICATIONS.

HOME LIFE IN RUSSIA. REVISED BY COL. LACH

SZYRMA, Editorof" Revelations OF Siberia." 2 vols. postSvo. 21s,

OPINIONS OF THE PRESS.

"This work gives a very interesting and graphic account of the manners and customs of
tlic Russian people. The most interesting and amusing pnrts of the worlf will be found to be
those interior scenes in the houses of the wealthy and middle classes of Russia upon which
we have but scanty infurmation, although they are some uf the most striking and truthful
indications of the progress and civilization of a country. As such we recommend them to the
study of our readers." — Observer.

"A curious, extraordinary, and very entertaining memoir is contained in these volumes,
and at the present crisis cannot but command an eager perusal. The special recommenda-
tion of the work to us is the novel view and clear insight it affords Englishmen of the real
character of the Russians. Their sayings and doings, and the machinery of their society, are
all laid unsparingly bare."— Sunday Times.

"So little is known in this country of the internal condition of Russia, or the state of
society in that enormous empire, that the contents of these volumes will naturally be perused
with great curiosity. The volumes abound in lively dialopne, and are enlivened by satirical
and humorous touches, and the manners and customs of the individuals composing what is
called the middle rank in Russia are graphically described." — Morning Herald.

"A very remarkable work, and one which, interesting at any time, will not fail to
extract peculiar attention at the present moment. Once read, it will never be forgotten."
—Post.

REVELATIONS OF SIBERIA. BY A BANISHED

LADY. Edited by COLONEL LACH SZYRMA. Third and cheaper
Edition. 2 vols, post 8vo. 16s.

" A thoroughly good book. It cannot be read by too many people."— 7)icA-?/m's House-
hold Words.

" The authoress of these volumes was a lady of quality, wlio, having incurred the
displeasure of the Russian Government for a political offence, was c.\ile(l to Siberia. The
place of her exile was Berezov, the most northern part of this nortlierji penal settlement ; and
In it she spent about two years, not unprofitibly, as the reador will find by her interesting
work, containing a lively and graphic picture of the country, the people, their manners and
customs, &c. The book gives a most important and valuable insight into the economy ot
what has been hitherto the terra Incognita of Russian despotism."— Du//^ News.

" Since the publication of the famous romance the ' Exiles of Siberia,' of Madame
Cottin, we have had ;io account of these desolate lands more attractive than the present
work, from the pen of the Lady Eve Felinska, which, in its unpretending style and truthful
Bimplicity will win its way to the reader's heart, and compel him to sympathise with the
fair sufferer. The series of hardships endured in traversing these frozen solitudes is
affectingly told ; and once settled down at one of the most northern points of the convic'
territory, Berezov, six hundred miles beyond Tobolsk, the Author exhibits an observant eye
for the natural phenomena of those latitudes, as well as the habits of the semi-barbarous
aborigines. This portion of the book will be found by the naturalist as well as ethnologist
full of valuable information."— G/o4e.

.\TIONS.

VOYAGES AND TRAVELS.

I COL. LACH

Is. postSvo. 21s.

anners and customs of
ork will be found to be
of Uussia upon which
t striking and truthful
ecommend them to the

lined in these volumes,
! special lecommenda-
Snglishaien of the real
lery of their society, are

Russia, or the state of
rill naturally be perused
re enlivened by satirical
iials composing what is
tg Herald.

■ time, will not fail to
vill never be forgotten."

BANISHED

Third and cheaper

lie."— Dickens's House-

k). liiiving incTirred the

exiled to Siberia. The

In penal settlement j and

|l find by her interesting

[ople, their manners and

fat into the economy ot

'iuUif yews.

|f Siberia,' of JIadame
j-active than the present
luling style and truthful
Ito sympathise with the
^se frozen solitudes is

rn points of the convic*
Ihibits an observant eye
of the semi-barbarous

3t as well as ethnologist

NARRATIVE OF A JOURNEY ROUND THE WORLD,

Comprising A Winter Passage across the Anees to Chili, with a
Visit to the Gold Regions of California and Australia, the South
Sea Islands, Java, &c. By F. GERSTAECKEll. 3 vols, post 8vo.
31s. 6d.

opinions of the press.

" Starting from Bremen for California, the author of this Narrative proceeded to Rio,
and thence to Buenos Ayres; where he exchanged the wild seas for the yet wilder Pampas,
and made his way on horseback to ^'alparaiso across the Cordilleras — a winter passage full of
difficulty and danger. From Valparaiso he sailed to California, and visited San Francisco,
Sacramento, and the mining districts generally. Thence he steered his course to the South
Se:i Islands, resting at Honolulu, Tahiti, and other gems of the sea in that quarter, and from
thence to Sydney, marching through the Murray Valley, and insjiectiiig the Adelaide district.
From Australia he dashed onward to Java, riding through the interior, and faking a general
survey of Biitavia, with a glance at Japan and the Japanese An active, intelligent, observant
man, the notes he made of his adventures are full of variety and interest. His descriptions of
places and persons are lively, and his remarks on natural productions and the phenomena of
earth, sea, and sky are always sensible, and made with a view to ])ractical rcsidts. Those
portions of the Narrative which refer to California and Austndia are replete with vivid
sketches ; and indeed the whole work abounds with living and picturesque descriptions of
men, manners, and localities." — Globe,

" Independently of great variety — for these pages are never monotonous or dull — a
pleasant freshness pervades Mr. Gerstaecker's che(|uered narrative. It offers much to
interest, and conveys much valuable information, set forth in a very lucid and graphic
manner." — Athenaum.

"A book of travels of a superior kind, both as regards the varied information it con-
tains and the spirited style in which it is written." — Literary Gazette,

A SKETCHER'S TOUR ROUND THE WORLD. BY

ROBERT ELWES, Esa. Second Edition, 1 vol. royal Hvo., with 21
Coloured Illustrations from Original Designs by the Author. 21s. elegantly
bound, gilt edges.

" Combining in itself the best qualities of a library volume with that of a gift-book, is
Mr. Elwes' ' Sketcher's Tour.' It is an unaffected, well-written record of a tour of some
36,000 miles, and is accompanied by a number of very bea>itiful tinted lithographs, executed
by the author. These, as well c." the literary sketches in the volume, deal most largely with
Southern and Spanish America,— whence the reader is afterwards taken by Lima to the
Sandwich Islands, is carried to and fro among the strange and exciting scenes of the
Pacific, — thence sails to the Australian coast,— passes to China,— afterwards to Singapore
and Bombay,— and so home by Egypt and Italy. The book is pleasantly written throughout,
and with the picturesque variety that cannot but belong to the description of a succession of
such scenes, is also full of interesting and instructive remarks." — E.raminer.

"The garment in which this book comes forth seems to point out the drawing-room table
as its place of destination. The nature of its contents,— cheerful, lively letter-press— will
assure it a ready welcome there. Yet it is not, therefore, ineligible for the library shelf— even
for that shelf which is devoted to • Voyages Round the World.' Pleasanter reading, "we
repeat, need not be offered than our sketcher brings."— i4<//e«««»;.

i( 'Ci

II!

-n^

(il-ii

H ^ i

' ■.. !|

' i<

HURST AND BLACKETT S NEW PUBLICATIONS.

AUSTRALIA AS IT IS : ITS SETTLEMENTS, FARMS,

AND GOLD FIELDS. By F. LANCELOT, Esa., Mineralogical Sua-
VETOR IN THE AUSTRALIAN COLONIES. Second Edition, revised. 2 vol».
post 8vo. 21s.

** This is an unadorned account of the actual condition in which these colonies are found,
by a professionul surveyor and miueralogist, who goes over the ground with a careful glance
and a remarkable aptitude for seizing on the practical portions of the subject. On the
climate, the vegetation, and the agricultural resources of the country, he is copious in the
extreme, and to the intending emigrant an invaluable instructor. As may be expected from
a scientific hand, the subject of gold digging undergoes a thorough manipulution. M*,
Lancelot dwells with minuteness on the several indications, stratifications, varieties of soil,
aiid methods of working, experience has pointed out, and offers a perfect manual of the new
craft to the adventurous settler. Nor has he neglected to provide him with information as to
the sea voyage, and all its accessories, the commodities most in request at the antipodes, and
a general view of social wants, family management, &c., such as a shrewd and observant
counsellor, aided by old resident authoritie<i, can afford. As a guide to the auriferous regions^
as well as the pastoral solitudes of Australiu, the work is unsurpassed." — Glube.

"We advise all about to emigrate to take this book as a counsellor and companion." —
Lloyd's Weekly Paper.

A LADY'S VISIT TO THE GOLD DIGGINGS OF

AUSTRALIA. By MRS. CLACY. 1 vol. 10s. 6d.

"The most pithy and entertaining of all the books that have been written on the gold
diggings." — Literary Gazette.

"Mrs. Clacy's book will be read with considerable interest, and not without profit.
Her statements and advice will be most useful among her own ie\."—AthentJEum.

" Mrs. Clacy tells her story well. Her book is the most graphic account of the diggings
and the gold country in general that is to be had." — Daily News.

" We recommend this work as the emigrant's cade mecum." — Hume Companion.

LIGHTS AND SHADOWS OF AUSTRALIAN LIFE.

By MRS. CLACY. Author of " A Lady's Visit to the Gold Diggings."
2 vols, post 8vo. 21s.

" In these volumes Mrs. Clacy has presented life in Australia in all its varied aspects.
An intimate acquaintance with the country, and with the circumstances in which settlers and
emigrants find themselves, has enabled the writer to impart to her narrative a character of
truthfulness and life-like animation, which renders them no less instructive than charming.
The book is throughout exceedingly attractive." — John Bull.

"While affording amusement to the general reader, these ' Lights and Shadows of
Australian Life,' are full of useful hints to intending emigrants, and will convey to friends at
home acceptaljle information as to the country where so many now have friends or relatives."
— Literary Gazette.

" These volumes consist of a series of very interesting tales, founded onr-cts, in which the
diief features of a settler's life are shown. To intending emigrants the wo'k will be specially
attractive, but the ordinary novel reader will find that these narratives are more likely to
amuse an idle hour than more ambitious productions — possessing, as they do, the charm of
truth with the fascination of fiction."— S«».

TIONS.

rS, FARMS,

RALOGICAL Sua-

revised. 2 vol*.

e colonies are found,
vith a careful glance
he subject. On the
he is copious in the
ly be expected from
manipulation. M>.
ons, varieties of soil,
:t manual of the new
th information as to
It the antipodes, and
revvd and observant
le auriferous regionst
-Glube.
t and companion." —

S^GINGS OF

n written on the gold

not without profit.
thenceutn.
:ount of the diggings

e Companion.

:jan life.

Gold Diggings."

ill its varied aspects,
in which settlers and
rative a character of
;tive than charming.

Its and Shadows of
convey to friends at
friends or relatives."

jni-^'.<i .n which the
ivo'k will be specially
are more liliely to
ey do, the charm of

TRAVELS IN EUROPEAN TURKEY: THROUGH

Bosnia, Servia, Bulgaria, Macedonia, IIoumelia, Albania, asd
Efirus; with a Visit to Greece and the Ionian Isles, and a IIomb*
WARD Tour through Hungary and the Sclavoni.\n Provinces op
Austria on the Lower Danube. By EDMUND SPKNCEU, Esck.
Author of •• Travels in Circassia," etc. Second and Cheaper Edition, in
2 vols. 8vo., with Illustrations, and a valuable Map of European Turkey
from the most recent Charts in the possession of the Austrian and Turkish
Governments, revised by the Author, 18s.

"These important volumes describe some of »hose countries to which public attention
is now more particularly directed: Turkey, Greece, Hungary, and Austria. The author has
given us a most interesting picture of the Turkish Empire, its weaknesses, and the embar-
rassments from which it is now suffering, its financial dilRculties, the discontent of its
Christian, and the turbulence of a great portion of its Mohammedan subjects. We cordially
recommend Mr. Spencer's valuable and interesting volumes to the attention of the reader."—
U. S. Mag'izine.

"This interesting work contains by far the most complete, the most enlightened, and
the most reliable amount of what has been hitherto almost the terra incognita of European
Turkey, and supplies the reader with abundance of entertainment as well as instruction." —
John Dull.

A TOUR OF INQUIRY THROUGH FRANCE AND

ITALY, Illustrating their Present Social, Political, and Religious
Condition. By EDMUND SPENCER, Esa., Author of "Travels in
European Turkey," "Circassia," &c. 2 vols, post 8vo. 21s.

" Mr. Spencer has travelled through France and Italy, with the eyes and feelings of a
Protestant philosopher. His volumes contain much valuable matter, many judicious remarks,
and a great deal of useful information." — Morning Chronicle.

ARCTIC MISCELLANIES, A SOUVENIR OF THE

LATE POLAR SEARCH. By the OFFICERS and SEAMEN of the
EXPEDITION. Dedic.\ted by permission to the Lords of the
Admiralty. Second Edition. 1 vol., with numerous Illustrations.
10s. 6rf.

" This volume is not the least interesting or instructive among the records of the late
expedition in search of Sir John Franklin, commanded by Captain Austin. The most
valuable portions of the book are those which relate to the scientific and practical obsen-ations
made in the course of the expedition, and the descriptions of scenery and incidents of arctic
travel. From the variety of the materials, and the novelty of the scenes and incidents to
which they refer, no less than the interest which attaches to uU that relates to the probable
safety of Sir John Franklin and his companions, the Arctic Miscellanies forms a very
readable book, and one that rtdovnds to the honour of the national character."— TAe Times.

1 1 •

HURST AND BLACKETT S NEW PUBLICATIONS.

FOREST LIFE IN CEYLON. BY W. KNIGHTON, M.A.,

formerly SiicRinARY TO THE Ckylon Buanch Koyal Asiatic Society.
Second Etlilioii, 2 vols, jjost 8vo. 21s.

" A very clever und amusini; book, by one who has lived iia a i)lunter and journalist many
years in Ceylon. The worlc is tilled with interesting accounts of the sjjorts, resources, pro-
ductions, scenery, and traditions of the island, i'he sporting uilventures are narrated in a
rery spirited nmuMcr."— Standard.

" We have not met with a more deliglitful book for along time past." — Lit. Guz.

"We have no recollection of a more interesting or instructive work on Ceylon and the
Cingalese than tliat wh'.ch Mr. Knighton has just given to the world. It displays n greatdeal of
aciti-U'-'ss and sagacity in its observation of men and manners, and contains a vast deol of
ust't'id information on topics, historical, pulltical, and commercial, and has the charm of a
fiueiit and graphic style."— Jl/or;.iw^ Pv.st.

TROPICAL SKETCHES; OR, REMINISCENCES OF

AN INDIAN JOURNALIST. BY W. KNIGHTON, M.A., Author of
" Forest Life in Ceylon." 2 vols, post 8vo. 21s.

"When Mr. Knighton's pleasant volumes on Ceylon were published, we freely gave his
publication the praise which it appears to have well deserved, since another edition has been,
calli.'dfor. Amongst the writersoftheday.weknowof none who are niorefellcitou.siii hitting off
witlian amusing accuracy, the characters he has met with, and his descriptive powers are tirst-
rate. Take his Sketches up and open where you will, he touches upon topics of varied
nature— now political, anon historical or commercial, interspersed with traits of society and
manners, every page teeming with information, combineil with liveiy detail. His style, indeed,
is eminently attractive. There is no weariness comes over the reader with Rlr. Knighton's
work before him— all is vivacity. The Tropical Sketffies contains the result of the author's
experience in the East in various capacities, but he is chiefly at home when he enters upon
the narrative of his mission as a journalist. His revelations of his labours in an educational
capacity, are highly amusing, and there is an added charm to the volumes that the impress
of fidelity is stamped on every page. In short, Tru/tical Sketches maybe set down as the work
of a man of education and refinement, gifted with a keen ob$i.Tvatioii for all that is passing
around him ; such o publication cannot fail in being both amusing and instructive."— SM«</«y
Time.i.

FIVE YEARS IN THE WEST INDIES. BY CHARLES

W. DAY.Esa. 2 vols, post 8vo. 21s.

"It would be unjust to deny the vigour, brilliancy and varied interest of this work, the
abundant stores of anecdote and incident, and the copious detail of local habits and peculiarities
in each island visited in succession." — Globe.

TRAVELS IN INDIA AND KASHMIR. BY BARON

SCHONBERG. 2 vols, post 8vo. 21s.

" This account of a Journey through India and Kashmir will be read with considerable
interest. Whatever came in his way worthy of record the author committed to writing, and
the result is an entertaining and instructive miscellany of information on the country, its
climate, its natural production, its history and antiquities, and the character, the religion,
and the social condition of its inhabitants." — John Bull.

lTIONS.

VOYAGES AND TRAVELS.

[ITON, M.A.,

Asiatic Society.

and journalist many
orts, resources, pro-
es lire narrated In a

."—Lit. Giiz.

k on Ceylon and the
isplaysn greatdeal of
utains a vast di-al of
I has the charm of a

CENCE3 OF

^I.A., Author of

id, we freely gave his

)iher edition has been,

felicitous in hitting otf

iptive powers are tirst-

pon topics of varied

ii traits of society and

tail. His style, indeed,

with Mr. Kni^hton'8

result of the author's

i when he enters upon

m\s in an educntionul

mes that the impress

set down as the work

for all that is passing

instructive."— Smh</«//

Y CHARLES

rest of this work, the
labits and peculiarities

BY BARON

lead with considerable
mitted to writing, and
li on the country, its
Iharacter, the religion.

EIGHTEEN YEARS ON THE GOLD COAST OF

AFRICA; including an Account of the Nativi; Tiiim-.s, and tiieih
iNTKRcouusE WITH EUROPEANS. Bv BKODIE CKL' [CKSI 1 A N K. MKMHicn
OF Tin; Leoislative Council, Cai-e Coast Casti.i:. 2 volv. post Hvo.
21s.

"This is one of the most interesting works that ever yet cnme into our hands. It
possesses the charm of Introducing ns ta haliits and manners of the human family ol which
before we had no conception. Mrs. Ueecher .Stowes work lias, indeeil, made us all familiar
with the degree of intulllgence and the disposition of the transiilanted African ; but it has
been reserved to Mr. Cruickshank to exhibit the children of Ham in tlu'ir original state, and
t,) prove, as his work proves to demonstration, that, by the extension of a knowledge of the
Gospel, and I»y tluit only can the African be bioiiglit within the pale of civilization. \\c
anxiously desire to direct puldic attention to a work so valuable. An incidental episode in
the work Is an att'ecting narrative of the death of the gifted I.etitia Klizabeth Landon [L. E. L.)
written a few months after her mairiage with Governor MuLiean."— Aiiim^irrf.

EIGHT YEARS IN PALESTINE, SYRIA, AND ASIA

MINOR. By F. A. NEALE, Esci., Late Attached to the Consular
Service in Syria. Second Edition, 2 vols, post 8vo, with Illustrations,
21s.

"A very agreeable book. Mr. Neale Is evidently quite familiar witli the East, and writes
in a lively, shrewd, and good-humoured maimer. A great deal of information is to be found
in his pages." — Athenceum

KHARTOUM AND THE NILES. BY GEORGE MELLY,

Second Edition.
21s.

2 vols, post 8vo., with Maps and Illustra-

Esa.
lions,

" Mr. Melly is of the same school of travel as the author of ' Eiithen.' His book
altogether is ve. y agreeable, comprising, beside?! the de^^cripti'm of Khartoi'.m, many in-
telligent illustrations of the relations now subsisting between the Governments of the Sultan
and the Pacha, and excee(iin,!,dy graphic sketches of Cairo, the Pyramids, the I'lain of Thebes-,
the Cataracts, i<ic." — Examiner.

TRAVELS IN BOLIVIA; WITH A TOUR ACROSS

THE PAMPAS TO BUENOS AYUES.
Her Britannic Majesty's Legation.

BY L. HUGH DE BONNliLI.of
2 vols, post Hvo. 21«.

"Mr. Bonelli's official position gave him great opportunities of observation, of which
he has freely availed himself, and he has furnished us with a very intt-resting and amusing
book of travels respecting a country whose poMtiual and commercial Importance is becoming
every day more obvious." — Observer.

THE ANSYREEH AND ISMAELEEH : A VISIT TO

THE SECRET SECTS OF NORTHERN SYRIA, with a View to the
Establishment OF Schools. BY THE REV. S. LYDE, :\I.A., Late
Chaplain at Beyrout. 1 vol. 10s. Cd.

" Mr. Lyde's pages fundsh a very good illustration of the present state of some of the
east known parts of Syria. Mr, Lyde visited the most important districts of the Ansyreeh,
lived with them, and conversed with their sheika or 'chief men. The practical aim of the
author gives his vol'mes an interest which works of greater pretensiou want." — Athenceum.

1 i

HURST AND BLACKETT S NEW PUBLICATIONS.

\n.H

SAM SLICK'S WISE SAWS AND MODERN

INSTANCES ; on, What iik Said, Did, oh Invu.nticd. Secoud £di:io».
2 Tolii. poiit Bvo. 21s.

I' ■•

Opinions ov the press.

" We do not fonr to predict thnt these (lelightrul vuliinies will be the moit popular, o»
bayond doubt, they are the best, of all Jiid((e Hullburtoii's adiiiiriible works. The 'Wile
Saws and Modern liistiinies* evince powers of iniaginiitloii and expresnioii fnr beyond what
even his former publications could lead any one to ascribe to the nntlior. We have, it is true
long been fiiiniliar with his quaint humour und racy narrative, but the volumes before ub
take a loftier range, and are so rich in fun and good sense, thiit to offer nn extract na a
aiunple w<iuld be an injustice to author and reader. It is one of the pleaiuntest books vrt
ever read, and we earnestly recommend it." — Standard.

" Let Snm Slick go a muckarcl Ashing, or to court In Rnglnnd— let him venture atone
among a tribe of the siiuciest single women that ever b.-indeil thems-lves to;];f tber in electric
flbain to turn tiible.* or to mystify man— our hero always manages to come otf with Hying
colours — to beat every craftsman in the cunning of his own callin;?— to get nt the heorl of
orery maid's and matron's secret. The book before us will be read und laughed over. Its
qnuint and racy dialect will please some readers— its abundance of yarns will niniise others,
i'here is something in the volumes to suit readers of every humour."— Athenantm.

" Tht humour of Sam Slick is inexhaustible. He is ever und evervwhere a tvelcotnc
visitor ; smiles greet his approach, and wit and wisdom hang upon his tout^ je The present
la altogether a most edifying production, remarkable alike for its racy i.uMour, its sound
philosophy, the felicity of its illustrations, and the delicacy of its sath'e, ',\ e ^romUe onr
readers a great treat from the perusal of these 'Wise Sows and Modern Instanres,' which
contain a world of practical wisdom, and a treasury of the richest fun." — Morning Po$t.

itH

THE AMERICANS AT HOME; OR, BYEWAYS,

BACKWOODS, AND PRAIRIES. Edited by the Author of "SAM
SLICK." 3 vols, post 8vo. 31s. 6d.

** In the picturesque dellneotion of character, and the felicitous portraiture of national
features, no writer of the i)resent day equals Judge Haliburton, and the subjects embraced
In the present delightful volumes call forth In new and vigorous exercise his peculiar powers.
' The Americans ut Home' will not be less popular than any of his previous worka."— Morning
Pott.

** In this highly-entertaining work, we are treated to another cargo of capital stories
from the inexhaustible store of our Yankee friend— uU of them graphically illustrative of the
ways and manners of Brother Jonathan." — John Bull.

TRAITS OF AMERICAN HUMOUR. EDITED BY

the Author of '• SAM SLICK." 3 vols, post 8vo. 31s. 6d.

" We have seldom met with a work more rich in fun or more generally delightful"—
Stattdard.

" No man has done more than the facetious Judge Haliburton, through the mouth of
the inimitable * Sam,' to make the old parent country recognise and appreciate her queer
transatlantic progeny. His present collection of comic stories and laughable traits is a
budget of fun full of rich specimens of American humour." — Globe,

,f.-

VTIONS.

MODERN

Sccoud Eilition.

he inoit popular, a*
works. The ' Wi»e
»lon fnr beyond what
. We have, It Is true
he volumes before u«
offer nil extract as a
pleaiuntest books we

et him venture ahine
?s to:J!f'ther in electric
come off with flying
) get nt the heart «f
(I laughed over. Its
ns will ninuse others.
Athenaiim.

svervwhere a welcome
tou(_, je The present
cy l,iU'iour, its sound
.\ve, '.Ve jiromlse our
ern Jnstnnres,* which
." — Morning Pott.

BYEWAYS,

Author of "SAM

jrtralture of national
le subjects embraced
be his peculiar powers,
lus works."— il/ormnif

Irgo of capital stories
(ally illustrative of the

3DITED BY

|6d.

Inerally delightfuL"—

trough the mouth of
Appreciate her queer
(laughable traits is a

HURST AND BLACKETT S NEW PUBLICATIONS.

THE DRAMATIC WORKS OF MARY RUSSELL

Mliroill). Author of" Our Villiigc," " Atherton," Ac. 2 vols, post bvo.
Mith Portrait of the Autlior aiidotlicr lUiistrntions. 2l!i.

•* We recommend Miss Mltfortl's dramas heartily to all by whom they are unknown. A
more graceful addition could not be made to any collection of dramatic vforUa."— lUackuuMJiT i
magazine.

" Miss Mitford has collected Into cnechaplet the laurels (rnthercd In her prime of unth(i»-
shlp, and she has given It to the world with a gnici't'id and loving letter of remlnlNcence and
benediction. I. aid by the side of the volunie uf (irainatic works of Joanna HailUe, thci-i.*
volumes suffer no disparagement. This is high (irnise, and it is well deserved." — Athenarum.

" Aliss Mitford's plays arul dramatic scenes form very (U-llglillui rending."— Krnminf*.

"The high reputation which Miss IMItfiird his acquired as a drninatist will iusur* a
hearty welcome t(j this collected edition of her dramntic works."— Jo/iN Uull.

DARIEN; OR, THE MERCHANT PRINCE. BY EUOT

WARI5LIIT0N. Second Kditiou. 3 vols, post 8vo.

"The sthtMne for the colonization of Dnrien by Scotchmen, and the opening of a com-
municati(>n tx'twoeii the Knst and West across the I.>tihmus of I'anamn, furni.shes the founda-
tion of this story, which Is in all respects worthy of the high reputation which the author of
the ' Crescent and theOross' had already made for himself. The early history of the ' Alerchaut
Prince' introduces the reader to the condition of Spain under the In(|ulsitlori ; the portraitures
of Scottish life which occupy a prominent place hi the narrative, are full of spirit ; the scenes
id America exhibit the state of the natives of the New World at that period i the daring deeds
nS the Buccaneers supply a most romantic element in the story ; and an additional interest
U infused into it by the intioduL'tion uf tlie various celebrated characters of the period, such
us Law, the Freucii Himncier, and I'atersoii, the founder of the Hank of Kngland. All these
varied Ingreditnts are treated with that brilliancy of style and powerful <lescriptive taleut, by
which the pen of Kllot Warburton was so eminently diiitinguished." — John Hull.

THE AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF A MISSIONARY. BY

THE REV. J. P. FLirrCllER. 2 vols, post 8vo. 21s.

"We const ientiously recommend this book, as well for its amusing character at tor
the spirit it displays of earnest piety." — Standard.

SCENES FROM SCRIPTURE. BY THE REV. G.

CROLY, LL.D. 10s. Gd.

"Eminent in every mode of literature. Dr. Croly stands, in our judgment, first among
the living poets of Great Britain— the only man of our day entitled by his power to venture
within the sacred circle of religious poets." — Standard.

"An admirable addition to the iitirary of religioi<s families." — John Bull.

THE SONG OF ROLAND, AS CHANTED BEFORE

THE BATTLE OF HASTINGS, BY THE MINSTREL TAILLEFER.
Translated hy the Author of "EMILIA WYNDIIAM." Small 4to.,
handsomely hound, gilt edges, 5s.

" ' The Song of Uoland' Is well worth general perusal. It is spirited and descriptive,
nd gives an important, and, no doubt, faithful picture of the chivulric manners and feelings
of the age,"— Morning Herald.

IIURST AND ULACKETTS NEW I'UULICATIONS.

FAMILY ROMANCE; OR, DOMESTIC ANNALS OF

TIIK AKISTOt'KACY. HY Sill UKIlNAld) IJLKKi:, L'i.stiiii Kino of
AiiMH. 2 vols, post Kvo. 21m.

)ri

Among the iiimiy other intcrotini^ logondH antl romantic family lii>torios ooin-
i.iix'ilin tli»;r \dllllll(■^, will l)e found the I'ollowing; — The wondcrl'nl narrative
of .Marin Stella, Lady N(!wl)oroiigli, who ciniineil on Mich Nlroni^ L>\idenct> to be
a Princess of the lloii>e of Orleans, and <lis|>nted the identity of Loiii>. lMiilii>|to —
Tho story of the hiindtle nnirriage of the hcaiiiii'nl Counters of Straihniore, and
tlic sufferings and fate of her only child — The Leaders of I'aihion, from (Iramoiit
to D'CJrsay — The rise of the cclehrattvl Haron Ward, now Prime Minister at
I'arma — The eiiiouselaim to the llarldom of Crawford — Tho Striuige Vici>siludes
of our tireai Famili^'s, replete with the nio>it romantii' details — The story of the
Kirkpatricks of Clos<'l)urn (the ancestors of the Freneh Ihnpress), and the rc-
niarkahlt! tradition assoeiattid with them — Tho I.e^end of the liamliioi ,> — Tho
verification in our own time of the famous ])redieli(m as to the l>arls of Mar —
Lady Ogihy's e^ea[»e — The Berosford and Wynyard ghost stories < orreetly told —

"It ivoro linpossihle to prnUe ti)0 IiIkIiIv lis a worit of nniiigiMiieiit th^se two most irw
l4?re«tiiitj Vi.'liinies, ulu'llier we slioul't liiivi- rt'gnni to its I'XcclU'iit plan or it;t iint k-ss ex-
ci'llenl cxo( iitliMi. 'I'iie vnliniieH lire just what oii^'lit to lie t'ouiiii on every ilrawiiiK-i'ouin table.
Here yt)ii luive nearly tW'ly captivating roinanreH witti tlie )iilii of ull tlieir interest preserved
ill niiiiliTiiiiislie't iioignaney, and any one may lje read in lialt' iin iioiir. It \i not the least ot
tJieir merits that the roinaiices are t'oiinded on I'uet — cjr wliut, at least, has been handed down
for tnilli by long tradition— and the romance of reality liir exceeds the roinunce of fiction.
Kach story is told in the clear, niiati'ecled style with which the author's former works
have inadf the public faindiar, widle they alford evidence of the value, even to a work of
uinusi-inent, of iliut historical and genealogical learning that may justly be expected of the
author of ' 'I'he I'eerage.' " — Siunddrd.

" The very reading for sea side or lire-side In our hours of idleness."— .i</it'/jaf«fn.

THE ROMANCE OF THE FORUM; OR, NARRA-

TIVES, SCRNES, AND ANECDOTES I'UO.M COURTS OF JUSTICE,
SECOND SERIES. IIY FETEU liUUKE, Esa., of the Inner Temple,
IJarribter-al-Law. 2 vols, post 8vo. 21s.

PRINCIPAL CONTENTS:— Lord Crichton's Revenge— The Groat Douglas
Cause — Lord and Lady Kinnaird — Marie Delorme and Her llusi)and — The
Spectral Treasure — Murders in Inns of Court — Matthicson the Forger — Trials
tliat cstal)lislied the Illegality of Slavery — Tlie Lover Highwayman — The
Accusing Spirit — The Attorney-General o the Reign of Terror — Eccentric
Occurrences in the Law — Adventuresses of Pretended Rank — The Courier of
Lyons — General Sarra/in's Bigamy — The Elstrec Murder — Count Bocanue and
his wife — Professor Webster, &c.

"We lm\e no hesitation in recommending this, as one of the most interesting works
that have been lately given to the public." — Morning Chronicle

" The favour with which the first series of this publication was received, has induced
Mr. Burke tu extend his researdies, which he has done with great judgment. The incidents
forming the subject of the second series are as extraordinary in every respect, as those which
obtained so liigh a meed of celebrity tor tlie first. Some of the tales could scarcely be lielieved
to be founded in fact, or to be records of events that have startled the world, were there not
the incontestable evidence which Mr. Burke has established to prove that they have
actually happened." — Messenger,

ATIONS.

\NNALS OF

L'l.sTiitt Kino ok

iMiily liistories com-
Aoiidcrlul narrative
)iii( e\ i<lriict! to i)U
i)t' Loui> I'liilippc—
of Straihiiioif, and
lion, tVont (iraniont
Prime Minister at
Strange Vii'i>silii(lc8
—The ^tory of tlio
ui'sb), and tli(! re-
lie liaiol)toi s — Tlin
lie I'^arls of Mar-
ries correctly told—

lit tli'.'so two most liw
iliiii or its nut Ifss cx-
ry (lra\viii(?-iooiii tubli'.
iK'ir inteii'^'t pii-seivecl
U \i not tliv least ot
liuM been liunded down
Ihe romuiue of liction.
mthor's former works
e, tven to n work of
tly bo cxpetted of the

i." — Alhtincfum.

)K, NARRA-

rS OF JUSTICE,
the Inner Temple,

10 Groat Douglas
or lliisi)and — The
the Forger — Trials
lighwayman — The
Terror — Eccentric
i. — The Courier of
ouiit Bocarme and

nost interesting works

ecelved, lias induced
ineiit. The incidents
jspect, ns those which
Id scarcely be believed
world, were there not
rove that they have

WORKS OF FICTION.

BY MRS. TllOLLOPi:.

THE LIFE AND ADVEN-

TUBES OP A CLEVER

WOMAN.

" Th- '( !i'\ir WoMi.iii ' in i.f the same
claiH Willi tlie 'N'liiu ot Wiexhill,' and
•Widow llartnliy.' It ia the b.si novel
the KeiiHon h.i> in.idiued. No iit-rMoii cuii
lull to be niniise<l by It " Crilir.

".'Ml-!', 'rrollope hi\H done fnll j>i»llt'e to
her weM-eaim I reputation in one ol the
cleve. e.tt lunclNis of the (l;y In Ihls
new p'oiiH'.i .11 of her f itile pen."—
Jiilm Hull

UNCLE WALTER.

:< voIm.

"• Uncle Walter' Is an ••xreodlnHly en-
tertiiiniiiK novel. It ii«<tnieit Mr<. 'rrnllope
nnire thnn ever In her poHltlon iii one of
the aldeitt litticjn writers of the day."—

THE YOUNG HEIRESS.

I'i vols.

" The knowledge of ti.e world wlilch
Mrs. Trollopt' posHe>i>tes in xo eminent n
(hyree \* utrnnKly exhibitid In the pa^et
of this novel." — (ihsvrvi.r.

BY MRS. GORE.

MAMMON; OR, THE HARDSHIPS OF AN HEIRESS.

.'t V(d!<,

TH E DEAN'S DAUGHTER. PROGRESS & PREJUDICE.

.'i vols.

"One of the best of Mrs. fJore's
stories. 'I'll'.' V'dumeH are strewed with
smart niid sparkling epiurum," — Morning
Chronicle.

.'i vols.

'"This entertainiiiff and (Kirtii nlarly
clever novel is not to be aniily^fij, l.u't
to be praised, and thut eniphuticully,'—
A'jrtwijMur,

BY THE AUTHOR OF MARGARET MAITLANI).

MAGDALEN HEPBURN;

A STOnVOKTHK SCOTTISH BKFOHM ATION.

3 vols.

" • Magdalen Hepburn will sustain the
reputation wliich the author of ' Margaret
Maitlund' has acquired. It is a well
prepared and car( fully executed picture
of the society an 1 state of manners in
Scotland at the duwn of the Iteforma-
tlon. John Knox is snccessfully drawn."
—Athenetiim.

"' Magdalen Hepburn ' is n story of the
Scottish Htfornmiion, with John Knox
prominently introduced amoii^ the drn-
miitis personie. 'I'lie book is thoroughly
enjoyable, pleasant women move to !Mid
fro ill it, chavi'.cters aie well dlsciinu-
nated, and there is a sense everywhere of
the right and pood, its well i's the pictu-
resque." — Kxnhtincr,

ADAM GRAEME,
OF MOSSGRAY.

3 vols.

"A story awakening genuine emotions
of interest and delight by its i-dmirable
pictures cf Scottish lite and scenery." —
I'ont.

HARRY MUIR.

Secono Edition. 3 vols,

"We prefer 'Harry Muir ' to most (f
the Scottish novels that have apptiiml
since Gait's domestic stories, 'lliis new
tale, by the author of ' Miirguret Mait-
land,' Is a real picture of the weakness cf
man's nature and the depths of woman's
kindness. The narrative, to repeat our
juaise, is not one to be entered on or
parted from without our regard for its
writer being increased."— /l///e«rti/Mj,

" This is incomparably the best of the
author's works. In it the brilliant pro-
mise atlorded by ' Margaret Maithind '
has been fully realised, and now thert;
can be no question that, for graphic pic-
tures of Scottish life, the author is en-
titled to be ranked second to none among
modern writers of liction." — Caledunittn
Mercury.

CALEB FIELD. A TALE.

1 vol. Gs.

"This beautiful production is every way
worthy of its author's reputation in the
very first rank of contemporary writers." —
Standard.

' !

WORKS OF FICTION.

nil

OAKLEIGH MASCOTT.

By I,. IIowK.
Dedicated to Professor Aytoun. 2 vols.

ANTIPODES ;

Ob, THK NKW KXISTKNCE.
a talk ok rkal i.ifb.

By A Cl.KRGTMAN. 3 VOls.

HERBERT LAKE.

By the Author of "A VNK Uvsart."
.'1 vols.

" Many and various are the cross pur-
poses of love which run through tliis
cleveriy-writt'-ii tale, from the pen of the
talented author of ' Anne U\sart.' While
administering lamely to the entertainment
of the reader, the Author has added to
a well-earned reputation." — John Bull.

THE YOUNG HUSBAND.

By Bias. Gkev, Author of "Thb Gam-

BLKll'S WlKK," &C. ',i vols.

"In this fascinatini? novel Jlrs. Grey
has surpassed her tornier productions,
talented and powerful us they were." —
John Bull.

••The merit of producing an admirahle
story may he justly awaided to Mrs.
Grey." — Sunilai/ Times.

THE CURATE OF OVERTON.

3 vols.

"A powerfully written story, the cha-
racters and incidents of which are por-
trayed with great skill." — Jufin Bull.

••The startling seces.sion of such men
as Newman, IManning, and Wilhcrforce,
renders the revelations wliich the author
has made in these interesting and instruc-
tive volumes extremely well-timed." — Bri-
tannia.

THE VILLAGE
MILLIONNAIRE.

By the Author of "The Fortunes of
Wo.MAN." 3 voLs.
"Great diversity of character and an
endless succession of surprising incidents
and vicissitudes impart an ahsorbing inte-
rest to this new production of IMiss
Lamout's pen." — Ju/in Bull.

MARY SEAHAM.

By Mas. Grey. 3 vols.

•• Equal to any former novel by its
aathor." — Atheiia:uiii.

CONFESSIONS
OF AN ETONIAN.

By C. RuwcROKT, Esq. 3 vols.

VIVIA.

By Mrs. J. E. Dai.ry.mple.

Dedicated to .Sir E. Ilulwer Lytton. 2 vols

*• ' Vivia is an excellent novel. Mrs.
Dalrymple paints society in its true
colours. We heartily congratulate her
upon a production whicli displays such
high p\n pose, wrought out with so much
ability.'' — I'osl.

MATHEW PAXTON.

Edited by the Author of " Joiiv Dbav-
To.\," " AiMKKOiu)," Ike. 3 vols.

" * IMathew Paxton ' bciirs a strong
generic resemblance to those clever stories
•John l>rayton ' and 'Ailieford,* and
awakens in the perusal a kin<lred gratifi-
cation. It displays the same simple
pathos, the same homely humour, the
same truth to nature, and the same fine
sense of national peculiarity." — I'osl.

AILIEFORD.

A FAMILY HISTOKV.
By the Autlior of «' John Dhavtov." 3 v.

"'Ailieford' is the biography of the
clever writer of 'John Drayton.' It is a
deeply interesting tale." — Britannia.

A PHYSICIAN'S TALE.

3 vols.

" A vast amount of thought and know-
ledge is displayed in this work. Many
various phases of society, and different
gradations of character, are dexterously
given to sight." — Sun.

CREWE RISE.

By JoH.v C. Jeafkreson. 3 vols.

" A clever novel, and one that, without
any great w.alth or diversity of incilent,
contrives to be deeply intere t iig. Tha
career of a brilliiint young man at college
— his temi)tations, errors, and resolute
self-redemption frou) evil courses — makes
the main interest of the story, which is set
forth with a vigour and reality that looks
like a daguerreotype from facts." — Athe-
na nni.

EDV7ARD WILLOUGHBY.

By the Author of "Tuk Di.scipi.ink or
IiiFK." 3 vols.

" We like all Lady Emiiy I'onsonby's
novels, and this is, in our judgment, the
best of them." — Morning I'ost,

PHEMIE MILLAR.

By the Author of The Kinxe.vrs." 3 r.

" We feel obliged to the author ft)r
giving us such a fresh pleasant story as
* Phemie Jlillar.' Out of the homeliest of
details a certain fascination is evoked
which ensures the reader interest to tlie
end." — Alhenceum.

[

HA.

',. Dai.rymplb.
tuUver Lytton. 2 vols

CL-ellent novel. Mrs.
society in its true
tily congriitulale hur
which (lispliiys such
^ht out with 80 much

' PAXTON.

lor of " JoHV Drat-
)iu>," &c. 3 vols.
)n ' bears a strong
to those clever stories
nd 'Ailieford,' and
isal a kindred gratifi-
s the Siime simple
homely humour, the
re, and the same fine
culiarity. "—i'os<.

SFORD.

' IIISTOUV.

JOUN DUAVTOV." 3 V.

the biography of the
jhn Drayton." It is ft
i\e."—ISrit(tiini(i.

[AN'S TALE.

vols.

|of thought and kiww-
n this work. Many
lociety, and ditterent
cter, are dexterously

RISE.

FKllKSOX. 3 vols.

Lmd one that, without
diversity of iiiciie?it,
ply intere t ng. 'fhu
lyonn},' man at college
J errors, and resolute
li evil courses— makes
Vhe story, which is set
[and reality that looks
from facts."— /K/ie-

IlLLOUGHBY.

Itiik Discipi.ink or

3 vols.
ly Emily Ponsonby's
lin our juilgment, the
l;(i/)i,'' J'ust,

Imillar.

lllG KiNXKARS." 3 T.

to the author tbr
|sh pleasant story as
t of the h'lmt'liest of
cinatiori is evoked
ader interest to the

WORKS OF FICTION.

REGINALD LYLE.

JSv I^IlSS I'AllUOK.

" An excellent novel, containing a great
viiriety of well- drawn characters, and
keeping up the interest of the reader to
the last \)uge." —Atlas.

FLORENCE,
THE BEAUTIFUL.

By A. Raillie Cochuane, Esq. 2 v.

'•Thi> best story that has yet appeared
from the pen of the talented author."—
Herald.

THE SECRET HISTORY
OF A HOUSEHOLD.

By the Author of
"Ai.TCK Wkntwohtii." 3 vols.

ALICE WENTWORTH.

." vols.

"This novel reminds us of the taK's by
I-ady Sciitt, \\ liich had puwcr iuid pathos
enough to get a hearing and keep a place,
even though Lister, Ward, ai.d Uulwer
were all in the field, with their manly
exneriences of modern life and society." —
Athetututn,

JANET MOWBRAY.

By Caroline Grautoff. 3 v.
"This very pleasant tale of 'Janet
Mowbray ' is a love story— and a very
good one— full of agreeable variety and
interest." — Exaviiner.

THE ROSES.

By th? Author of " The Flirt." 3 v.

•"The Roses ' displays, with the polish
always attending a later work, all the
taient which appeared in 'The Flirt,' and
' Ihe Manffiuvring Mother.' '^—Standard.

CHARLES AUCHESTER.

3 vols.

"Music has never bad so glowing an
advocate as the author of these volumes.
There is an amazing deal of ability dis-
played in them."— //t'r«W.

THE KINNEARS.

A SCOTTISH sroRV. 3 v.

THE LADY
AND THE PRIEST.

By Bins. JIaukhly. 3 vols.

THE COLONEL.

Hy the Author of " Pkrils ok Fashion."
3 vols.

ELECTRA.

By the Author of " Kockinoiiam."

\\'M\ Fllustrations by Lord Gerald FiU-
gerald. Second kdiiion. 3 vols.

"The ar.thor of ' Uockinghnm ' h^Ms
always a vigorous pen. It is impossible
to deny him the happy faculty of telling a
pleasing story witti ability and powet.
We are bound to e.Mcnd our highest praiac
to the skill with which the several clii*.
racters in 'Kleclra' are jiortrayed, and
with whiih the interest of the story is
sustained to the very last chapter." —
Tiinea.

AUBREY.

By the Author of " Emilia Wtnduam."

3 vols.

"This novel is worthy of the author's
reputation. The interest of the story Is
powerfully kept up, and there is much
truthful am! discriminating depicting of
character." — Literary Ouzctte.

CASTLE AVON.

By the Author of " Emilia Wvnuiiam."
3 vols.

"One of the most successful of the aii-
thor'a works." — Post.

"These volumes abound in delicate
and passionate w thing."— Kj'u miner.

THE DAUGHTER
OF THE SOUTH.

By Mrs. Clara Waluky. 3 vols.
Dedicated to the Earl of Carlisle.

ANNETTE. A TALE.

By \V. F. Deacon.

With a Memoir of the Author, by the
Hon. Sir T. N. Talfourd, D.C.L. 3 vols.

"'Annette' is a stirring tale. The pre-
fatory memoir of Sir Thomas Talfourd
would be at all times inteiesting, nor tLe
le.is so for containing two buig letters from
Sir Waller Scott to Mr. Deacon, full of
gentle far-thinking wisdom." — Examiner.

LADY MARION.

By Mr.s. W. Foster.
3 vols.

THE BELLE
OF THE VILLAGR

By the Author of "The Old Knclisu
Gentleman. "

3 vols.

tl.

i'!'

i ,1

! ii

if! ^f

THE ARMY AND THE NAVY.

COLBURN'S UNITED SERVICE MAGAZINE, AND

NAVAL AND MH.ITA11Y JOL'KNAL.
month, price 3s. 6d.

Published on the first of every

This pojitilar periodical, which has now been established a quarter of a century,
embraces subjects of such extensive variety and powerful interest as must render
it scarcely less nccei)table to readers in general than to the members of those pro-
fessions for whose use it is more i)articularly intended. Independently of a suc-
cession of Original Papers on innumerable interesting subjects, Per^onal Nar-
ratives, Historical Incidents, Correspoiulence, etc., each number comprises
Biographical Memoirs of Eminent Officers of all branches of service. Reviews of
New Pul)liciitions, cither immediately relating to the Army or Navy, or involving
subjects of utility or interest to the members of either, full Reports of Trials
by Courts Martial, Distribution of the Army and Navy, General Orders, Circulars,
Promotions, Appointments, Births, Marriages, Obituary, etc., with all the Naval
and Military Intelligence of the month.

OPINIONS OF THE PRESS.

" This is confessedly one of the ablest and most attractive periodicals of which the
British press can boast, presenting a wide field of entertainment to the general as well as
professional reader. The suggestions for the benefit of the two services are distinguished
by vigour of sense, acute and practical observation, an ardent love oi discipline, tempered by
a high sense of justice, honour, and a tender regard for the welfare and comfort of oursoldiers
and seamen "—Globe.

" At the head of those periodicals which furnish useful and valuable information to
their peculiar classes of readers, as well as amusement to the general body of the public,
must be placed the ' United Service Magazine, and Naval and Jlilitary Journal.' It numbers
among its contributors almost all those g:i!lant spirits who have done no less honour
to their country by their swords than by their pens, and abounds with the most interesting
discussions on naval and military afl'airs, and stirring narratives of deeds of arms in all
parts of the world. Every information of value and interest to both the Services is culled
with the greatest diligence from every available so'irce, and the corresjjondence of various
distinguished officers which enrich its piiges is a feature of great attraction. In short, the
* United Service ]\Iagazine' can be recommended to every reader who possesses that attach-
ment to his country which should mi. ice him loolc with the deepest interest on its naval and
military resources."— Shh.

" This truly national periodical is always full of the most valuable matter for professional
men." — Morning Herald.

" To military and naval men, and to that class of readers who hover on the skMrts of the
Service, and take a world of pains to inform themselves of all the goitigs on, the modes and
fashions, the movements and adventures connected with ships and barracks, this periodical
ia indispensable. It is a repertory of facts and criticisms — narratives of past experience, and
fictions that are as good as if they were true — tables and returns — new inventions and new
books bearing upon the army and navy — correspondence crowded with intelligence — and
sundry unclaimed matters that lie in close neighbourhood with the professions, and contribute
more or less to tlie stock of general useful information."— .4//ns.

HURST AND BLACKETT, PUBLISHERS,

SUCCESSORS TO HENRY COLBURN,

/* 13, GREAT MAULBOROUGH STREET.

GAZINE, AND

on the first of every

a quarter of a century,
merest as must render
members of those pro-
:lei)endemly of a suc-
ihjects, Pergonal Nar-
h number comprises
of service, Reviews of

or Navy, or involving
full Reports of Trials
eral Orders, Circulars,
;., with all the Naval

periodicals of which the
to the general as well as
?rvices are distinguished
f discipline, tempered Ijy
id comfort of our soldiers

valuable information to
eral body of the public,
•y Journal.' It numbers
! done no lesg honour
th the most interesting
of deeds of arms in all
h the Services is culled
rrespondence of various
traction. In short, the
o possesses that attach-
iterest on its naval and

f matter for professional

vcr on the skirts of tht;
iisgs on, the modes and
)arracks, this periodical
of past experience, and
;w inventions and new
with intelligence— and
fessioi.s, and contribute

ISHERS,
JRN,