Chapter II: Part 2

"I admit no such thing; I say I boarded with him a month, and was like Pat Moran's cow at the end of it, at the lifting, bad luck to him." A neighbour was here called, who proved that the three pounds might be the usual price. "And do you know I taught his children to write at the school?" said Dennis. "You might," answered the witness. "And what is that worth?" "I don't know." "You don't know? Faith, I believe you're right," said Dennis, "for if the children are half as big rogues as the faither, they might leave writing alone, or they'd be like to be hanged for forgery." Here Dennis produced his account for teaching five children, two quarters, at nine shillings a quarter each, four pounds ten shillings. "I am sorry, Mr. O'Brien," said the Justice, "very sorry, but your defence will not avail you; your account is too large for one Justice; any sum over three pounds must be sued before two magistrates."

"But I only want to offset as much as will pay the board."

"It can't be done in this shape," said the magistrate; "I will consult Justice Dolittle, my neighbour, and if Mr. Hare won't settle with you, I will sue it for you."

"Well," said Dennis, "all I have to say is, that there is not so big a rogue as Hare on the whole river, save and except one scoundrel who shall be nameless," making a significant and humble bow to the Justice. Here there was a general laugh throughout the court. Dennis retired to the next room to indemnify himself by another glass of grog, and venting his abuse against Hare and the Magistrate. Disgusted at the gross partiality of the Justice, I also quitted the court, fully concurring in the opinion, though not in the language, that Dennis was giving utterance to in the bar room.

Pettifog owed his elevation to his interest at an election. It is to be hoped that his subsequent merits will be as promptly rewarded, by his dismissal from a bench which he disgraces and defiles by his presence.

No. VI

Anecdotes.

As we mounted our horses to proceed to Amherst, groups of country people were to be seen standing about Pugnose's inn, talking over the events of the morning, while others were dispersing to their several homes.

"A pretty prime superfine scoundrel, that Pettifog," said the Clockmaker; "he and his constable are well mated, and they've travelled in the same gear so long together, that they make about as nice a yoke of rascals as you'll meet in a day's ride. They pull together like one rope reeved through two blocks. That 'ere constable was e'enamost strangled t'other day; and if he hadn't had a little grain more wit than his master, I guess he'd had his wind-pipe stopped as tight as a bladder. There is an outlaw of a feller here, for all the world like one of our Kentucky Squatters, one Bill Smith--a critter that neither fears man nor devil. Sheriff and constable can make no hand of him; they can't catch him no how; and if they do come up with him, he slips through their fingers like an eel; and then, he goes armed, and he can knock the eye out of a squirrel with a ball, at fifty yards hand running--a regular ugly customer.

"Well, Nabb, the constable, had a writ agin him, and he was ciphering a good while how he should catch him; at last he hit on a plan that he thought was pretty clever, and he scheemed for a chance to try it. So one day he heerd that Bill was up at Pugnose's inn, a-settling some business, and was likely to be there all night. Nabb waits till it was considerable late in the evening, and then he takes his horse and rides down to the inn, and hitches his beast behind the hay stack. Then he crawls up to the window and peeps in, and watches there till Bill should go to bed, thinking the best way to catch them 'ere sort of animals is to catch them asleep. Well, he kept Nabb a-waiting outside so long, with his talking and singing, that he well nigh fell asleep fist himself; at last Bill began to strip for bed. First he takes out a long pocket pistol, examines the priming, and lays it down on the table, near the head of the bed.

"When Nabb sees this, he begins to creep like all over, and feel kinder ugly, and rather sick of his job; but when he seed him jump into bed, and heerd him snore out a noise like a man driving pigs to market, he plucked up courage, and thought he might do it easy arter all if he was to open the door softly, and make one spring on him afore he could wake. So round he goes, lifts up the latch of his door as soft as soap, and makes a jump right atop of him, as he lay in the bed. 'I guess I got you this time,' said Nabb. 'I guess so too,' said Bill, 'but I wish you wouldn't lay so plaguy heavy on me; jist turn over, that's a good fellow, will you?' With that Bill lays his arm on him to raise him up, for he said he was squeezed as flat as a pancake, and afore Nabb knew where he was, Bill rolled him right over and was atop of him. Then he seized him by the throat, and twisted his pipe till his eyes were as big as saucers, and his tongue grew six inches longer, while he kept making faces for all the world like the pirate that was hanged on Monument Hill at Boston. It was pretty near over with him, when Nabb thought of his spurs; so he just curled up both heels, and drove the spurs right into him; he let him have it jist below his crupper. As Bill was naked he had a fair chance, and he ragged him like the leaf of a book cut open with your finger. At last, Bill could stand it no longer; he let go his hold and roared like a bull, and clapping both hands ahind him, he out of the door like a shot. If it hadn't been for them 'ere spurs, I guess Bill would have saved the hangman a job of Nabb that time."

The Clockmaker was an observing man, and equally communicative. Nothing escaped his notice; he knew everybody's genealogy, history and means, and like a driver of an English stage-coach, was not unwilling to impart what he knew. "Do you see that snug-looking house there," said he, "with a short sarce garden afore it, that belongs to Elder Thomson. The Elder is pretty close-fisted, and holds special fast to all he gets. He is a just man and very pious, but I have observed when a man becomes near about too good, he is apt, sometimes, to slip ahead into avarice, unless he looks sharp arter his girths. A friend of mine in Connecticut, an old sea Captain, who was once let in for it pretty deep, by a man with a broader brim than common, he said to me, 'Friend Sam, I don't like those folks who are too damned good.' There is, I expect, some truth in it, tho' he needn't have swore at all, but he was an awful hand to swear. Howsomever that may be, there is a story about the Elder, that's not so coarse neither.

"It appears an old Minister came there once, to hold a meetin' at his house--well, after meetin' was over, the Elder took the minister all over his farm, which is pretty tidy, I tell you; and he showed him a great Ox he had, and a swingeing big Pig, that weighed some six or seven hundred weight, that he was plaguy proud of, but he never offered the old minister anything to eat or drink. The preacher was pretty tired of all this, and seeing no prospect of being asked to partake with the family, and tolerably sharp set, he asked one of the boys to fetch him his horse out of the barn. When he was taking leave of the Elder (there were several folks by at the time), says he, 'Elder Thomson, you have a fine farm here, a very fine farm, indeed; you have a large Ox too, a very large Ox; and I think,' said he, 'I've seen today' (turning and looking him full in the face, for he intended to hit him pretty hard) 'I think I have seen today the greatest hog I ever saw in my life.' The neighbours snickered a good deal, and the Elder felt pretty streaked. I guess he'd give his great Pig or his great Ox either, if that story hadn't got wind."

No. VII

Go Ahead.

When we resumed our conversation, the Clockmaker said, "I guess we are the greatest nation on the face of the airth, and the most enlightened too."

This was rather too arrogant to pass unnoticed, and I was about replying, that whatever doubts there might be on that subject, there could be none whatever that they were the most modest, when he continued "we 'go ahead'; the Nova Scotians 'go astarn.' Our ships go ahead of the ships of other folks, our steamboats beat the British in speed, and so do our stage coaches; and I reckon a real right down New York trotter might stump the univarse for going ahead. But since we introduced the railroads if we don't go ahead it's a pity. We never fairly knew what going the whole hog was till then; we actilly went ahead of ourselves, and that's no easy matter I tell you. If they only had edication here, they might learn to do so too, but they don't know nothin'."

"You undervalue them," said I; "they have their College and Academies, their grammar schools and primary institutions, and I believe there are few among them who cannot read and write."

"I guess all that's nothin'," said he. "As for Latin and Greek, we don't vally it a cent; we teach it, and so we do painting and music, because the English do, and we like to go ahead on 'em, even in them 'ere things. As for reading, it's well enough for them that has nothing to do, and writing is plaguy apt to bring a man to states-prison, particularly if he writes his name so like another man as to have it mistaken for his'n. Cyphering is the thing--if a man knows how to cipher, he is sure to grow rich. We are a 'calculating' people, we all cipher.

"A horse that won't go ahead, is apt to run back, and the more you whip him the faster he goes astarn. That's jist the way with the Nova Scotians; they have been running back so fast lately, that they have tumbled over a bank or two, and nearly broke their necks; and now they've got up and shook themselves, they swear their dirty clothes and bloody noses are all owing to the banks. I guess if they won't look ahead for the future, they'll larn to look behind, and see if there's a bank near hand 'em.

"A bear always goes down a tree starn foremost. He is a cunning critter; he knows 'tain't safe to carry a heavy load over his head, and his rump is so heavy, he don't like to trust it over his'n, for fear it might take a lurch, and carry him heels over head, to the ground; so he lets his starn down first, and his head arter. I wish the Bluenoses would find as good an excuse in their rumps for running backwards as he has. But the bear 'ciphers;' he knows how many pounds his hams weigh, and he 'calculates' if he carried them up in the air, they might be top heavy for him.

"If we had this Province we'd go to work and 'cipher' right off. Halifax is nothing without a river or back country; add nothing to nothing, and I guess you have nothing still--add a railroad to the Bay of Fundy, and how much do you git? That requires ciphering--it will cost three hundred thousand dollars or seventy-five thousand pounds your money--add for notions omitted in the addition column, one third, and it makes even money--one hundred thousand pounds. Interest at five per cent, five thousand pounds a year. Now turn over the slate and count up freight. I make it upwards of twenty-five thousand pounds a year. If I had you at the desk, I'd show you a bill of items.

"Now comes 'subtraction'; deduct cost of engines, wear and tear, and expenses, and what not, and reduce it for shortness down to five thousand pounds a year, the amount of interest. What figures have you got now? You have an investment that pays interest, I guess, and if it don't pay more then I don't know chalk from cheese. But suppose it don't, and that it only yields two and a half per cent (and it requires good ciphering, I tell you, to say how it would act with folks that like going astarn better than going ahead), what would them 'ere wise ones say then? Why the foolish critters would say it won't pay; but I say the sum ain't half stated. Can you count in your head?"

"Not to any extent," said I.

"Well, that's an etarnal pity," said the Clockmaker, "for I should like to show you Yankee Cyphering. What is the entire real estate of Halifax worth, at a valeation?"

"I really cannot say."

"Ah," said he, "I see you don't cipher, and Latin and Greek won't do; them 'ere people had no railroad. Well, find out, and then only add ten per cent to it, for increased value, and if it don't give the cost of a railroad, then my name is not Sam Slick. Well, the land between Halifax and Ardoise is worth--nothing; add five per cent to that, and send the sum to the College, and ax the students how much it comes to. But when you get into Hants County, I guess you have land worth coming all the way from Boston to see. His Royal Highness the King, I guess, hasn't got the like in his dominions. Well, add fifteen per cent to all them 'ere lands that border on Windsor Basin, and five per cent to what 'buts on basin of Mines, and then, what do you get? A pretty considerable sum I tell you--but it's no use to give you the CHALKS, if you can't keep the TALLIES.

"Now we will lay down the schoolmaster's assistant, and take up another book every bit and grain as good as that, although these folks affect to sneer at it--I mean human natur'."

"Ah!" said I, "a knowledge of that was of great service to you, certainly, in the sale of your clock to the old Deacon; let us see how it will assist you now."

"What does a clock want that's run down?" said he.

"Undoubtedly to be wound up," I replied.

"I guess you've hit it this time. The folks of Halifax have run down, and they'll never go to all eternity, till they are wound up into motion; the works are all good, and it is plaguy well cased and set--it only wants a key. Put this railroad into operation, and the activity it will inspire into business, the new life it will give the place, will surprise you. It's like lifting a child off his crawling, and putting him on his legs to run--see how the little critter goes ahead arter that. A kurnel (I don't mean a Kurnel of militia, for we don't vally that breed o' cattle nothing--they do nothing but strut about and screech all day, like peacocks), but a kurnel of grain, when sowed, will stool into several shoots, and each shoot hear many kurnels, and will multiply itself thus--four times one is four, and four times twenty-five is one hundred (you see all natur' ciphers, except the Bluenoses). Jist so, this 'ere railroad will not, perhaps, beget other railroads, but it will beget a spirit of enterprise, that will beget other useful improvements. It will enlarge the sphere and the means of trade, open new sources of traffic and supply--develop resources--and what is of more value perhaps than all--beget motion. It will stool out and bear abundantly; it will teach the folks that go astarn or stand stock still, like the statehouse in Boston (though they do say the foundation of that has moved a little this summer), not only to 'go ahead,' but to nullify time and space."

Here his horse (who, feeling the animation of his master, had been restive of late) set off at a most prodigious rate of trotting. It was some time before he was reined up. When I overtook him, the Clockmaker said, "this old Yankee horse, you see, understands our word 'go ahead' better nor these Bluenoses."

"What is it," he continued, "what is it that 'fetters' the heels of a young country, and hangs like 'a poke' around its neck? What retards the cultivation of its soil, and the improvement of its fisheries? The high price of labour, I guess. Well, what's a railroad? The substitution of mechanical for human and animal labour, on a scale as grand as our great country. Labour is dear in America, and cheap in Europe. A railroad, therefore, is comparatively no manner of use to them, to what it is to us; it does wonders there, but it works miracles here. There it makes the old man younger, but here it makes a child a giant. To us it is river, bridge, road and canal, all in one. It saves what we hain't got to spare, men, horses, carts, vessels, barges, and what's all in all--time.

"Since the creation of the Universe, I guess it's the greatest invention, arter man. Now this is what I call 'ciphering' arter human natur', while figures are ciphering arter the 'assistant.' These two sorts of ciphering make edecation--and you may depend on't, Squire, there is nothing like folks ciphering, if they want to 'go ahead.'"

No. VIII

The Preacher that Wandered from His Text.

"I guess," said the Clockmaker, "we know more of Nova Scotia than the Bluenoses themselves do. The Yankees see further ahead than most folks; they can e'enamost see round t'other side of a thing; indeed some of them have hurt their eyes by it, and sometimes I think that's the reason such a sight of them wear spectacles. The first I ever heerd tell of Cumberland was from Mr. Everett of Congress; he know'd as much about it as if he had lived here all his days, and maybe a little grain more. He is a splendid man that--we class him No. 1, letter A. One night I chanced to go into General Peep's tavern at Boston, and who should I see there but the great Mr. Everett, a-studying over a map of the Province of Nova Scotia. 'Why it ain't possible!' said I; 'if that ain't Professor Everett, as I am alive! Why, how do you do, Professor?' 'Pretty well, I give you thanks,' said he; 'how be you? but I ain't no longer Professor; I gin that up, and also the trade of preaching, and took to politics.' 'You don't say so,' said I; 'why, what on airth is the cause o' that?' 'Why,' says he, 'look here, Mr. Slick. What IS the use of reading the Proverbs of Solomon to our free and enlightened citizens, that are every mite and morsel as wise as he was? That 'ere man undertook to say there was nothing new under the sun. I guess he'd think he spoke a little too fast, if he was to see our steamboats, railroads, and India rubber shoes--three inventions worth more nor all he knew put in a heap together.' 'Well, I don't know,' said I, 'but somehow or another, I guess you'd have found preaching the best speculation in the long run; them 'ere Unitarians pay better than Uncle Sam.' (We call," said the Clockmaker, "the American public Uncle Sam, as you call the British John Bull.)

"That remark seemed to grig him a little; he felt oneasy like, and walked twice across the room, fifty fathoms deep in thought; at last he said, 'Which way are you from, Mr. Slick, this hitch?' 'Why,' says I, 'I've run away up South a-speculating in nutmegs.' 'I hope,' says the Professor, 'they were a good article, the real right down genuine thing.' 'No mistake,' says I, 'no mistake, Professor: they were all prime, first chop; but why did you ax that 'ere question?' 'Why,' says he, 'that eternal scoundrel, that Captain John Allspice of Nahant, he used to trade to Charleston, and he carried a cargo once there of fifty barrels of nutmegs: well, he put half a bushel of good ones into each eend of the barrel, and the rest he filled up with wooden ones, so like the real thing, no soul could tell the difference until HE BIT ONE WITH HIS TEETH, and that he never thought of doing, until he was first BIT HIMSELF. Well, it's been a standing joke with them southerners agin us ever since.

"'It was only t'other day at Washington, that everlasting Virginny duellist, General Cuffy, afore a number of senators, at the President's house, said to me, "Well Everett," says he, "you know I was always dead agin your Tariff bill, but I have changed my mind since your able speech on it; I shall vote for it now." "Give me your hand," says I, "General Cuffy; the Boston folks will be dreadful glad when they hear your splendid talents are on our side. I think it will go now--we'll carry it." "Yes," says he, "your factories down east beat all natur'; they go ahead on the English a long chalk." You may depend I was glad to hear the New Englanders spoken of that way; I felt proud, I tell you. "And," says he, "there's one manufacture that might stump all Europe to produce the like." "What's that?" says I, looking as pleased all the time as a gal that's tickled. "Why," says he, "the 'facture of wooden nutmegs; that's a cap sheef that bangs the bush--it's a real Yankee patent invention." With that all the gentlemen set up a laugh, you might have heerd away down to Sandy Hook, and the Gineral gig-gobbled like a great turkey-cock--the half nigger, half alligator-like looking villain as he is. I tell you what, Mr. Slick,' said the Professor, 'I wish with all my heart them 'ere damned nutmegs were in the bottom of the sea.' That was the first oath I ever heerd him let slip: but he was dreadful riled, and it made me feel ugly too, for it's awful to hear a minister swear; and the only match I know for it, is to hear a regular sneezer of a sinner quote Scripture. Says I, 'Mr. Everett, that's the fruit that politics bears; for my part I never seed a good graft on it yet, that bore anything good to eat, or easy to digest.'

"Well, he stood awhile looking down on the carpet, with his hands behind him, quite taken up a-ciphering in his head, and then he straightened himself up, and he put his hand upon his heart, just as he used to do in the pulpit (he looked pretty I tell you), and slowly lifting his hand off his breast, he said, 'Mr. Slick, our tree of liberty was a beautiful tree--a splendid tree--it was a sight to look at; it was well fenced and well protected, and it grew so stately and so handsome, that strangers came from all parts of the globe to see it. They all allowed it was the most splendid thing in the world. Well, the mobs have broke in and tore down the fences, and snapped off the branches, and scattered all the leaves about, and it looks no better than a gallows tree. I am afeared,' said he, 'I tremble to think on it, but I am afeared our ways will no longer be ways of pleasantness, nor our paths, paths of peace; I am, indeed, I vow, Mr. Slick.' He looked so streaked and so chop-fallen, that I felt kinder sorry for him; I actilly thought he'd a boo-hoo'd right out.

"So, to turn the conversation, says I, 'Professor, what 'ere great map is that I seed you a-studyin' over when I came in?' Says he, 'it's a map of Nova Scotia. That,' says he, 'is a valuable province, a real clever province; we hain't got the like on it, but it's most plagily in our way.' 'Well,' says I, 'send for Sam Patch' (that 'ere man was a great diver," says the Clockmaker, "and the last dive he took was off the falls of Niagara, and he was never heerd of agin till t'other day, when Captain Enoch Wentworth, of the Susy Ann whaler saw him in the South Sea. 'Why,' says Captain Enoch to him, 'why Sam,' says he, 'how on airth did you get here? I thought you was drowned at the Canadian lines.' 'Why,' says he, 'I didn't get ON airth here at all, but I came right slap THROUGH it. In that 'ere Niagara dive, I went so everlasting deep, I thought it was just as short to come up t'other side, so out I came in those parts. If I don't take the shine off the Sea Serpent, when I get back to Boston, then my name's not Sam Patch'.) 'Well,' says I, 'Professor, send for Sam Patch, the diver, and let him dive down and stick a torpedo in the bottom of the Province and blow it up; or if that won't do, send for some of our steam towboats from our great Eastern cities, and tow it out to sea; you know there's nothing our folks can't do, when they once fairly take hold on a thing in airnest.'

"Well, that made him laugh; he seemed to forget about the nutmegs, and says he, 'That's a bright scheme, but it won't do; we shall want the Province some day, and I guess we'll buy it of King William; they say he is over head and ears in debt, and owes nine hundred millions of pounds starling--we'll buy it, as we did Florida. In the meantime we must have a canal from Bay Fundy to Bay Varte, right through Cumberland neck, by Shittyack, for our fishing vessels to go to Labradore.' 'I guess you must ax leave first,' said I. 'That's jist what I was ciphering at,' says he, 'when you came in. I believe we won't ax them at all, but jist fall to and do it; IT'S A ROAD OF NEEDCESSITY. I once heard Chief Justice Marshall of Baltimore say; "If the people's highway is dangerous, a man may take down a fence and pass through the fields as a way of NEEDCESSITY;" and we shall do it on that principle, as the way round by Isle Sable is dangerous. I wonder the Nova Scotians don't do it for their own convenience.' Said I, 'it wouldn't make a bad speculation that.' 'The critters don't know no better,' said he. 'Well,' says I, 'the St. John's folks, why don't they? for they are pretty cute chaps them.'

"'They remind me,' says the Professor, 'of Jim Billings. You knew Jim Billings, didn't you, Mr. Slick?' 'Oh yes,' said I, 'I knew him. It was he that made such a talk by shipping blankets to the West Indies.' 'The same,' says he. 'Well, I went to see him the other day at Mrs. Lecain's boarding-house, and says I, "Billings, you have a nice location here." "A plaguy sight too nice," said he. "Marm Lecain makes such an etarnal touss about her carpets, that I have to go along that everlasting long entry, and down both staircases, to the street door to spit; and it keeps all the gentlemen a-running with their mouths full all day. I had a real bout with a New Yorker this morning. I run down to the street door, and afore I seed anybody a-coming, I let go, and I vow if I didn't let a chap have it all over his white waistcoat. Well, he makes a grab at me, and I shuts the door right to on his wrist, and hooks the door chain taught and leaves him there, and into Marm Lecain's bedroom like a shot, and hides behind the curtain. Well, he roared like a bull, till black Lucretia, one of the house-helps, let him go, and they looked into all the gentlemen's rooms and found nobody; so I got out of that 'ere scrape. So, what with Marm Lecain's carpets in the house, and other folks' waistcoats in the street, it's too nice a location for me, I guess, so I shall up killock and off tomorrow to the TREE-mont."

"'Now,' says the Professor, 'the St. John's folks are jist like Billings, fifty cents would have bought him a spit box, and saved him all them 'ere journeys to the street door--and a canal at Bay Varte would save the St. John's folks a voyage all round Nova Scotia. Why, they can't get at their own backside settlements, without a voyage most as long as one to Europe. If we had that 'ere neck of land in Cumberland, we'd have a ship canal there, and a town at each end of it as big as Portland. You may talk of Solomon,' said the Professor, 'but if Solomon in all his glory was not arrayed like a lily of the field, neither was he in all his wisdom, equal in knowledge to a real free American citizen.' 'Well,' said I, 'Professor, we are a most enlightened people, that's sartain, but somehow I don't like to hear you run down King Solomon neither; perhaps he warn't quite so wise as Uncle Sam, but then,' said I (drawing close to the Professor, and whispering in his ear, for fear any folks in the bar room might hear me), 'but then, said I, may be he was every bit and grain as honest.' Says he, 'Mr. Slick, there are some folks who think a good deal and say but little, and they are wise folks; and there are others agin, who blart right out whatever comes uppermost, and I guess they are pretty considerable superfine darned fools.'

"And with that he turned right round, and sat down to his map and never said another word, lookin' as mad as a hatter the whole blessed time."

No. IX

Yankee Eating and Horse Feeding.

"Did you ever hear tell of Abernethy, a British doctor?" said the Clockmaker.

"Frequently," said I; "he was an eminent man, and had a most extensive practice."

"Well, I reckon he was a vulgar critter that," he replied, "he treated the hon'ble Alden Gobble, secretary to our legation at London, dreadful bad once; and I guess if it had been me he had used that way, I'd a fixed his flint for him, so that he'd think twice afore he'd fire such another shot as that 'ere agin. I'd a made him make tracks, I guess, as quick as a dog does a hog from a potato field. He'd a found his way out of the hole in the fence a plaguy sight quicker than he came in, I reckon."

"His manner," said I, "was certainly rather unceremonious at times, but he was so honest and so straightforward, that no person was, I believe, ever seriously offended at him. IT WAS HIS WAY."

"Then his way was so plaguy rough," continued the Clockmaker, "that he'd been the better, if it had been hammered and mauled down smoother. I'd a levelled him as flat as a flounder."

"Pray what was his offence?" said I.

"Bad enough you may depend. The hon'ble Alden Gobble was dyspeptic, and he suffered great on easiness arter eatin', so he gees to Abemethy for advice. 'What's the matter with you?' said the Doctor--jist that way, without even passing the time o' day with him--'what's the matter with you?' said he. 'Why,' says Alden, 'I presume I have the Dyspepsy.' 'Ah!' said he, 'I see; a Yankee swallowed more dollars and cents than he can digest.' 'I am an American citizen,' says Alden, with great dignity; 'I am Secretary to our Legation at the Court of St. James.' 'The devil you are,' said Abernethy; "then you'll soon get rid of your dyspepsy.' 'I don't see that 'ere inference,' said Alden, 'it don't follow from what you predicate at all; it ain't a natural consequence, I guess, that a man should cease to be ill because he is called by the voice of a free and enlightened people to fill an important office.' (The truth is, you could no more trap Alden than you could an Indian. He could see other folks' trail, and made none himself; he was a real diplomatist, and I believe our diplomatists are allowed to be the best in the world.) 'But I tell you it does follow,' said the Doctor; 'for in the company you'll have to keep, you'll have to eat like a Christian.'

"It was an everlasting pity Alden contradicted him, for he broke out like one ravin' distracted mad. 'I'll be damned,' said he, 'if ever I saw a Yankee that didn't bolt his food whole like a boa constrictor. How the devil can you expect to digest food, that you neither take the trouble to dissect, nor time to masticate? It's no wonder you lose your teeth, for you never use them; nor your digestion, for you overload it; nor your saliva, for you expend it on the carpets, instead of your food. It's disgusting, it's beastly. You Yankees load your stomachs as a Devonshire man does his cart, as full as it can hold, and as fast as he can pitch it with a dung-fork, and drive off; and then you complain that such a load of compost is too heavy for you. Dyspepsy, eh! infernal guzzling, you mean. I'll tell you what, Mr. Secretary of Legation, take half the time to eat that you do to drawl out your words, chew your food half as much as you do your filthy tobacco, and you'll be well in a month.'

"'I don't understand such language,' said Alden. (For he was fairly riled, and got his dander up, and when he shows clear grit, he looks wicked ugly, I tell you.) 'I don't understand such language, sir; I came here to consult you professionally, and not to be--' 'Don't understand!' said the Doctor, 'why it's plain English; but here, read my book!' and he shoved a book into his hands and left him in an instant, standing alone in the middle of the room.

"If the hon'ble Alden Gobble had gone right away and demanded his passport, and returned home with the Legation, in one of our first class frigates (I guess the English would as soon see p'ison as one o' them 'ere Serpents), to Washington, the President and the people would have sustained him in it, I guess, until an apology was offered for the insult to the nation. I guess if it had been me," said Mr. Slick, "I'd a headed him afore he slipped out o' the door, and pinned him up agin the wall, and made him bolt his words again, as quick as he throw'd 'em up, for I never seed an Englishman that didn't cut his words as short as he does his horse's tail, close up to the stump."

"It certainly was very coarse and vulgar language, and I think," said I, "that your Secretary had just cause to be offended at such an ungentlemanlike attack, although he showed his good sense in treating it with the contempt it deserved."

"It was plaguy lucky for the doctor, I tell you, that he cut his stick as he did, and made himself scarce, for Alden was an ugly customer; he'd a gi'n him a proper scalding; he'd a taken the bristles off his hide, as clean as the skin of a spring shote of a pig killed at Christmas."

The Clockmaker was evidently excited by his own story, and to indemnify himself for these remarks on his countrymen, he indulged for some time in ridiculing the Nova Scotians.

"Do you see that 'ere flock of colts," said he, as we passed one of those beautiful prairies that render the valleys of Nova Scotia so verdant and so fertile. "Well, I guess they keep too much of that 'ere stock. I heerd an Indian one day ax a tavern-keeper for some rum. 'Why, Joe Spawdeeck,' said he, 'I reckon you have got too much already.' 'Too much of anything,' said Joe, 'is not good; but too much rum is jist enough.' I guess these Bluenoses think so about their horses; they are fairly eat up by them, out of house and home, and they are no good neither. They bean't good saddle horses, and they bean't good draft beasts; they are jist neither one thing nor t'other. They are like the drink of our Connecticut folks. At mowing time they use molasses and water--nasty stuff, only fit to catch flies; it spiles good water and makes bad beer. No wonder the folks are poor. Look at them 'ere great dykes; well, they all go to feed horses; and look at their grain fields on the upland; well, they are all sowed with oats to feed horses, and they buy their bread from us: so we feed the asses, and they feed the horses. If I had them critters on that 'ere marsh, on a location of mine, I'd jist take my rifle and shoot every one on 'em--the nasty yo-necked, cat-hammed, heavy-headed, flat-eared, crooked-shanked, long-legged, narrow-chested, good-for-nothin' brutes; they ain't worth their keep one winter. I vow, I wish one of these Bluenoses, with his go-to-meetin' clothes on, coat-tails pinned up behind like a leather blind of a Shay, an old spur on one heel, and a pipe stuck through his hat-band, mounted on one of these limber-timbered critters, that moves its hind legs like a hen scratchin' gravel, was sot down in Broadway, in New York, for a sight. Lord! I think I hear the West Point cadets a-larfin' at him. 'Who brought that 'ere scare-crow out of standin' corn and stuck him here?' 'I guess that 'ere citizen came from away down east out of the Notch of the White Mountains.' 'Here comes the Cholera doctor, from Canada--not from Canada, I guess, neither, for he don't look as if he had ever been among the rapids.' If they wouldn't poke fun at him it's a pity.

"If they'd keep less horses, and more sheep, they'd have food and clothing, too, instead of buyin' both. I vow I've larfed afore now till I have fairly wet myself a-cryin', to see one of these folks catch a horse: may be he has to go two or three miles of an arrand. Well, down he goes on the dyke with a bridle in one hand, and an old tin pan in another, full of oats, to catch his beast. First he goes to one flock of horses, and then to another, to see if he can find his own critter. At last he gets sight on him, and goes softly up to him, shakin' of his oats, and a-coaxin' him, and jist as he goes to put his hand upon him, away he starts all head and tail, and the rest with him: that starts another flock, and they set a third off, and at last every troop on 'em goes, as if Old Nick was arter them, till they amount to two or three hundred in a drove. Well, he chases them clear across the Tantramer marsh, seven miles good, over ditches, creeks, mire holes, and flag ponds, and then they turn and take a fair chase for it back again, seven miles more. By this time, I presume, they are all pretty considerably well tired, and Bluenose, he goes and gets up all the men folks in the neighbourhood, and catches his beast, as they do a moose arter he is fairly run down; so he runs fourteen miles, to ride two, because he is in a tarnation hurry. It's e'enamost equal to eatin' soup with a fork, when you are short of time. It puts me in mind of catching birds by sprinklin' salt on their tails; it's only one horse a man can ride out of half a dozen, arter all. One has no shoes, t'other has a colt, one ain't broke, another has a sore back, while a fifth is so etarnal cunnin', all Cumberland couldn't catch him, till winter drives him up to the barn for food.

"Most of them 'ere dyke marshes have what they call 'honey pots' in 'em; that is a deep hole all full of squash, where you can't find no bottom. Well, every now and then, when a feller goes to look for his horse, he sees his tail a-stickin' right out an eend, from one of these honey pots, and wavin' like a head of broom corn; and sometimes you see two or three trapped there, e'enamost smothered, everlastin' tired, half swimmin' half wadin', like rats in a molasses cask. When they find 'em in that 'ere pickle, they go and get ropes, and tie 'em tight round their necks, and half hang 'em to make 'em float, and then haul 'em out. Awful lookin' critters they be, you may depend, when they do come out; for all the world like half-drowned kittens--all slinkey slimey, with their great long tails glued up like a swab of oakum dipped in tar. If they don't look foolish it's a pity! Well, they have to nurse these critters all winter, with hot mashes, warm covering, and what not, and when spring comes, they mostly die, and if they don't they are never no good arter. I wish with all my heart half the horses in the country were barrelled up in these here 'honey pots,' and then there'd be near about one half too many left for profit. Jist look at one of these barn yards in the spring--half a dozen half-starved colts, with their hair lookin' a thousand ways for Sunday, and their coats hangin' in tatters, and half a dozen good-for-nothin' old horses, a-crowdin' out the cows and sheep.

"Can you wonder that people who keep such an unprofitable stock, come out of the small eend of the horn in the long run?"

No. X

The Road to a Woman's Heart--The Broken Heart.

As we approached the inn at Amherst, the Clockmaker grew uneasy.

"It's pretty well on in the evening, I guess," said he, "and Marm Pugwash is as onsartain in her temper as a mornin' in April; it's all sunshine or all clouds with her, and if she's in one of her tantrums, she'll stretch out her neck and hiss, like a goose with a flock of goslins. I wonder what on airth Pugwash was a-thinkin' on, when he signed articles of partnership with that 'ere woman; she's not a bad-lookin' piece of furniture neither, and it's a proper pity sich a clever woman should carry such a stiff upper lip--she reminds me of our old minister Joshua Hopewell's apple trees.

"The old minister had an orchard of most particular good fruit, for he was a great hand at buddin', graftin', and what not, and the orchard (it was on the south side of the house) stretched right up to the road. Well, there were some trees hung over the fence, I never seed such bearers, the apples hung in ropes, for all the world like strings of onions, and the fruit was beautiful. Nobody touched the minister's apples, and when other folks lost their'n from the boys, his'n always hung there like bait to a hook, but there never was so much as a nibble at 'em. So I said to him one day, 'Minister,' said I, 'how on airth do you manage to keep your fruit that's so exposed, when no one else can do it no how?' 'Why,' says he, 'they are dreadful pretty fruit, ain't they?' 'I guess,' said I, 'there ain't the like on 'em in all Connecticut.' 'Well,' says he, 'I'll tell you the secret, but you needn't let on to no one about it. That 'ere row next the fence, I grafted it myself, I took great pains to get the right kind, I sent clean up to Roxberry, and away down to Squaw-neck Creek for ---.' 'I know that, Minister,' said I (for I was afeared he was a-goin' to give me day and date for every graft, being a terrible long-winded man in his stories), 'I know that,' said I, 'but how do you preserve them?' 'Why, I was a-goin' to tell you,' said he, 'when you stopped me. That 'ere outward row I grafted myself with the choicest kind I could find, and I succeeded. They are beautiful, but so etarnal sour, no human soul can eat them. Well, the boys think the old minister's graftin' has all succeeded about as well as that row, and they sarch no farther. They snicker at my graftin', and I laugh in my sleeve, I guess, at their penetration.'

"Now, Marm Pugwash is like the minister's apples--very temptin' fruit to look at, but desperate sour. If Pugwash had a watery mouth when he married, I guess it's pretty puckery by this time. However, if she goes to act ugly, I'll give her a dose of 'soft sawder,' that will take the frown out of her frontispiece, and make her dial-plate as smooth as a lick of copal varnish. It's a pity she's such a kickin' devil, too, for she has good points: good eye--good foot--neat pastern--fine chest--a clean set of limbs, and carries a good ---. But here we are; now you'll see what 'soft sawder' will do."

When we entered the house, the traveller's room was all in darkness, and on opening the opposite door into the sitting-room, we found the female part of the family extinguishing the fire for the night. Mrs. Pugwash had a broom in her hand, and was in the act (the last act of female housewifery) of sweeping the hearth. The strong flickering light of the fire, as it fell upon her tall fine figure and beautiful face, revealed a creature worthy of the Clockmaker's comments.

"Good evening, Marm," said Mr. Slick, "how do you do, and how's Mr. Pugwash?"

"He," said she, "why he's been abed this hour, you don't expect to disturb him this time of night I hope?"

"Oh no," said Mr. Stick, "certainly not, and I am sorry to have disturbed you, but we got detained longer than we expected; I am sorry that--"

"So am I," said she, "but if Mr. Pugwash will keep an inn when he has no occasion to, his family can't expect no rest."

Here the Clockmaker, seeing the storm gathering, stooped down suddenly, and staring intently, held out his hand and exclaimed, "Well if that ain't a beautiful child! Come here, my little man and shake hands along with me; well, I declare if that 'ere little feller ain't the finest child I ever seed! What, not abed yet? Ah, you rogue, where did you get them 'ere pretty rosy cheeks; stole 'em from mamma, eh? Well, I wish my old mother could see that child, it is such a treat. In our country," said he, turning to me, "the children are all as pale as chalk, or as yeller as an orange. Lord, that 'ere little feller would be a show in our country--come to me my man." Here the "soft sawder" began to operate. Mrs. Pugwash said in a milder tone than we had yet heard, "Go, my dear to the gentleman; go, dear." Mr. Slick kissed him, asked him if he would go to the States along with him, told him all the little girls there would fall in love with him, for they didn't see such a beautiful face once in a month of Sundays. "Black eyes--let me see--ah mamma's eyes too, and black hair also; as I am alive, why you are mamma's own boy--the very image of mamma."

"Do be seated, gentlemen," said Mrs. Pugwash. "Sally make a fire in the next room."

"She ought to be proud of you," he continued. "Well, if I live to return here, I must paint your face, and have it put on my clocks, and our folks will buy the clocks for the sake of the face. Did you ever see," said he, again addressing me, "such a likeness between one human and another, as between this beautiful little boy and his mother?"

"I am sure you have had no supper," said Mrs. Pugwash to me; "you must be hungry and weary, too--I will get you a cup of tea."

"I am sorry to give you so much trouble," said I.

"Not the least trouble in the world," she replied, "on the contrary a pleasure."

We were then shown into the next room, where the fire was now blazing up, but Mr. Slick protested he could not proceed without the little boy, and lingered behind me to ascertain his age, and concluded by asking the child if he had any aunts that looked like mamma.

As the door closed, Mr. Slick said, "It's a pity she don't go well in gear. The difficulty with those critters is to get them to start, arter that there is no trouble with them if you don't check 'em too short. If you do, they'll stop again, run back and kick like mad, and then Old Nick himself wouldn't start 'em. Pugwash, I guess, don't understand the natur' of the critter; she'll never go kind in harness for him. When I see a child," said the Clockmaker, "I always feel safe with these women folk; for I have always found that the road to a woman's heart lies through her child."

"You seem," said I, "to understand the female heart so well, I make no doubt you are a general favourite among the fair sex."

"Any man," he replied, "that understands horses, has a pretty considerable fair knowledge of women too, for they are jist alike in temper, and require the very identical same treatment. Encourage the timid ones, be gentle and steady with the fractious, but lather the sulky ones like blazes.

"People talk an everlastin' sight of nonsense about wine, women and horses. I've bought and sold 'em all, I've traded in all of them, and I tell you, there ain't one in a thousand that knows a grain about either on 'em. You hear folks say, oh, such a man is an ugly-grained critter--he'll break his wife's heart; jist as if a woman's heart was as brittle as a pipe stalk. The female heart, as far as my experience goes, is jist like a new India rubber shoe; you may pull and pull at it, till it stretches out a yard long, and then let go, and it will fly right back to its old shape. Their hearts are made of stout leather, I tell you; there's a plaguy sight of wear in 'em.

"I never knowed but one case of a broken heart, and that was in t'other sex, one Washington Banks. He was a sneezer. He was tall enough to spit down on the heads of your grenadiers, and near about high enough to wade across Charlestown River, and as strong as a towboat. I guess he was somewhat less than a foot longer than the moral law and catechism too. He was a perfect pictur' of a man; you couldn't falt him in no particular; he was so just a made critter; folks used to run to the winder when he passed, and say 'There goes Washington Banks, bean't he lovely?' I do believe there wasn't a gal in the Lowell factories, that warn't in love with him. Sometimes, at intermission, on Sabbath day, when they all came out together (an amazin' hansom sight too, near about a whole congregation of young gals), Banks used to say, 'I vow, young ladies, I wish I had five hundred arms to reciprocate one with each of you; but I reckon I have a heart big enough for you all; it's a whapper, you may depend, and every mite and morsel of it at your service.' Well, how you do act, Mr. Banks, half a thousand little clipper-clapper tongues would say, all at the same time, and their dear little eyes sparklin', like so many stars twinklin' of a frosty night.