A New Home — Who'll Follow? Or, Glimpses of Western Life
Caroline Matilda Kirkland
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PREFACE.
CHAPTER I.
CHAPTER II.
CHAPTER III.
CHAPTER IV.
CHAPTER V.
CHAPTER VI.
CHAPTER VII.
CHAPTER VIII.
CHAPTER IX.
CHAPTER X.
CHAPTER XI.
CHAPTER XII.
CHAPTER XIII.
CHAPTER XIV.
CHAPTER XV.
CHAPTER XVI.
CHAPTER XVII.
CHAPTER XVIII.
CHAPTER XIX.
CHAPTER XX.
CHAPTER XXI.
CHAPTER X.
CHAPTER XXIII.
CHAPTER XXIV.
CHAPTER XXV.
CHAPTER XXVI.
CHAPTER XXVII.
CHAPTER XXVIII.
CHAPTER XXIX.
CHAPTER XXX.
CHAPTER XXXI.
CHAPTER XXXII.
CHAPTER XXXIII.
CHAPTER XXXIV.
CHAPTER XXXV.
CHAPTER XXXVI.
CHAPTER XXXVII.
CHAPTER XXXVIII.
CHAPTER XXXIX.
CHAPTER XL.
CHAPTER XLI.
CHAPTER XLII.
CHAPTER XLIII.
CHAPTER XLIV.
CHAPTER XLV.
CHAPTER XLVI.
CHAPTER XLVII.
I am glad to be told by those who live in the world, that it has
lately become fashionable to read prefaces. I wished to say a few
words, by way of introduction, to a work which may be deemed too slight
to need a preface, but which will doubtless be acknowledged to require
some recommendation. I claim for these straggling and cloudy
crayon-sketches of life and manners in the remoter parts of Michigan,
the merit of general truth of outline. Beyond this I venture not to
aspire. I felt somewhat tempted to set forth my little book as being
entirely, what it is very nearly—a veritable history; an unimpeachable
transcript of reality; a rough picture, in detached parts, but
pentagraphed from the life;' a sort of "Emigrant's Guide:"—considering
with myself that these my adventurous journeyings and tarryings beyond
the confines of civilization, might fairly be held to confer the
traveller's privilege. But conscience prevailed, and I must honestly
confess, that there be glosses, and colourings, and lights, if not
shadows, for which the author is alone accountable. Journals published
entire and unaltered, should be Parthian darts, sent abroad only when
one's back is turned. To throw them in the teeth of one's every-day
associates might diminish one's popularity rather inconveniently. I
would desire the courteous reader to bear in mind, however,that
whatever is quite unnatural, or absolutely incredible, in the few
incidents which diversify the following pages, is to be received as
literally true. It is only in the most common-place parts (if there be
comparisons) that I have any leasing-making to answer for. It will of
course be observed that Miss Mitford's charming sketches of village
life must have suggested the form of my rude attempt. I dare not
flatter myself that any one will be led to accuse me of further
imitation of a deservedly popular writer. And with such brief salvo, I
make my humble curtsey. M. C.
Here are seen No traces of man's pomp and pride; no silks Rustle,
nor jewels shine, nor envious eyes Encounter * * * * * Oh, there is
not lost One of earth's charms; upon her bosom yet After the flight
of untold centuries The freshness of her far beginning lies. —
Bryant Our friends in the "settlements" have expressed so much
interest in such of our letters to them, as happened to convey any
account of the peculiar features of western life, and have asked so
many questions, touching particulars which we had not thought, worthy
of mention, that I have been for some time past contemplating the
possibility of something like a detailed account of our experiences.
And I have determined to give them to the world, in a form not very
different from that in which they were originally recorded for our
private delectation; nothing doubting, that a veracious history of
actual occurrences, an unvarnishedtranscript of real characters, and an
impartial record of every-day forms of speech (taken down in many cases
from the lips of the speaker) will be pronounced "graphic," by at least
a fair proportion of the journalists of the day. 'Tis true there are
but meagre materials for anything which might be called a story. I have
never seen a cougar—nor been bitten by a rattlesnake. The reader who
has patience to go with me to the close of my desultory sketches, must
expect nothing beyond a meandering recital of common-place
occurrences—mere gossip about every-day people, little enhanced in
value by any fancy or ingenuity of the writer; in short, a very
ordinary pen-drawing; which, deriving no interest from colouring, can
be valuable only for its truth. A home on the outskirts of
civilization—habits of society which allow the maid and her mistress
to do the honours in complete equality, and to make the social tea
visit in loving conjunction—such a distribution of the duties of life
as compels all, without distinction, to rise with the sun or before
him—to breakfast with the chickens—then, "Count the slow clock and
dine exact at noon"— to be ready for tea at four, and for bed at
eight—may certainly be expected to furnish some curious particulars
for the consideration of those whose daily course almost reverses this
primitive arrangement—who "call night day and day night," and who are
apt occasionally to forget, when speaking of a particular class,
that"those creatures" are partakers with themselves of a common nature.
I can only wish, like other modest chroniclers, my respected
prototypes, that so fertile a theme had fallen into worthier hands. If
Miss Mitford, who has given us such charming glimpses of Aberleigh,
Hilton Cross and the Loddon, had by some happy chance been translated
to Michigan, what would she not have made of such materials as
Tinkerville, Montacute, and the Turnip? When my husband purchased two
hundred acres of wild land on the banks of this to-be-celebrated
stream, and drew with a piece of chalk on the bar-room table at
Danforth's the plan of a village, I little thought I was destined to
make myself famous by handing down to posterity a faithful record of
the advancing fortunes of that favoured spot. "The madness of the
people" in those days of golden dreams took more commonly the form of
city-building; but there were a few who contented themselves with
planning villages, on the banks of streams which certainly never could
be expected to bear navies, but which might yet be turned to account in
the more homely way of grinding or sawing—operations which must
necessarily be performed somewhere for the well-being of those very
cities. It is of one of these humble attempts that it is my lot to
speak, and I make my confession at the outset, warning any fashionable
reader who may have taken up my book, that I intend to be "decidedly
low." Whether the purchaser of our village would have been moderate
under all possible circumstances, I am not prepared to say, since,
never having enjoyed a situationunder government, his resources have
not been unlimited;—and for this reason any remark which may be
hazarded in the course of these my lucubrations touching the more
magnificent plans of wealthier aspirants, must be received with some
grains of allowance. "Il est plus aisé d'être sage pour les autres, que
de l'être pour soi-même." When I made my first visit to these remote
and lonely regions, the scattered woods through which we rode for many
miles were gay in their first gosling-green suit of half-opened leaves,
and the forest odours which exhaled with the dews of morning and
evening, were beyond measure delicious to one "long in populous cities
pent." I desired much to be a little sentimental at the time, and feel
tempted to indulge to some small extent even here—but I forbear; and
shall adhere closely to matters more in keeping with my subject. I
think, to be precise, the time was the last, the very last of April,
and I recollect well that even at that early season, by availing myself
with sedulous application, of those times when I was fain to quit the
vehicle through fear of the perilous mud-holes, or still more perilous
half-bridged marshes, I picked upwards of twenty varieties of
wild-flowers—some of them of rare and delicate beauty;—and sure I am,
that if I had succeeded in inspiring my companion with one spark of my
own floral enthusiasm, one hundred miles of travel would have occupied
a week's time. The wild flowers of Michigan deserve a poet of their
own. Shelley, who sang so quaintly of "the pied wind-flowers and the
tulip tall," would have found many a fanciful comparison and deep-drawn
meaning for thethousand gems of the road-side. Charles Lamb could have
written charming volumes about the humblest among them. Bulwer would
find means to associate the common three-leaved white lily so closely
with the Past, the Present, and the Future—the Wind, the stars, and
the tripod of Delphos, that all future botanists, and eke all future
philosophers, might fail to unravel the "linked sweetness." We must
have a poet of our own. Since I have casually alluded to a Michigan
mud-hole, I may as well enter into a detailed memoir on the subject,
for the benefit of future travellers, who, flying over the soil on
rail-roads, may look slightingly back upon the achievements of their
predecessors. In the "settlements," a mud-hole is considered as apt to
occasion an unpleasant jolt—a breaking of the thread of one's
reverie—or in extreme cases, a temporary stand-still or even an
overturn of the rash or the unwary. Here, on approaching one of these
characteristic features of the "West"—(How much does that expression
mean to include? I never have been able to discover its limits,—the
driver stops—alights—walks up to the dark gulf—and around it if he
can get round it. He then seeks a long pole and sounds it, measures it
across to ascertain how its width compares with the length of his
wagon—tries whether its sides are perpendicular, as is usually the
case if the road is much used. If he find it not more than three feet
deep, he remounts cheerily, encourages his team, and in they go, with a
plunge and a shock rather apt to damp the courage of the inexperienced.
If the hole be narrow the hinder wheels will be quite lifted off the
ground by the depression of their precedents, and so remain until by
unweariedchirruping and some judicious touches of "the string" the
horses are induced to struggle as for their lives; and if the fates are
propitious they generally emerge on the opposite side, dragging the
vehicle, or at least the fore wheels after them. When I first
"penetrated the interior" (to use an indigenous phrase) all I knew of
the wilds was from Hoffman's tour or Captain Hall's "graphic"
delineations: I had some floating idea of "driving a barouche-and-four
anywhere through the oak-openings"—and seeing "the murdered Banquos of
the forest" haunting the scenes of their departed strength and beauty.
But I confess, these pictures, touched by the glowing pencil of fancy,
gave me but incorrect notions of a real journey through Michigan. Our
vehicle was not perhaps very judiciously chosen; —at least we have
since thought so. It was a light high-hung carriage—of the description
commonly known as a buggy or shandrydan—names of which I would be glad
to learn the etymology. I seriously advise any of my friends who are
about flitting to Wisconsin or Oregon, to prefer a heavy lumber-waggon,
even for the use of the ladies of the family; very little aid or
consolation being derived from making a "genteel" appearance in such
cases. At the first encounter of such a mud-hole as I have attempted
to describe, we stopped in utter despair. My companion indeed would
fain have persuaded me that the many wheel tracks which passed through
the formidable gulf were proof positive that it might be forded. I
insisted with all a woman's obstinancy that I could not and would not
make the attempt, and alighted accordingly, and tried to find a path on
one side or the other. But in vain, even putting out of the question my
paper-soled shoes—sensible things for the woods. The ditch on each
side was filled with water and quite too wide to jump over; and we were
actually contemplating a return, when a man in an immense bear-skin cap
and a suit of deer's hide, sprang from behind a stump just within the
edge of the forest. He "poled" himself over the ditch in a moment, and
stood beside us, rifle in hand, as wild and rough a specimen of
humanity as one would wish to encounter in a strange and lonely road,
just at the shadowy dusk of the evening. I did not scream, though I own
I was prodigiously frightened. But our stranger said immediately, in a
gentle tone and with a French accent, "Me watch deer—you want to
cross?" On receiving an answer in the affirmative, he ran in search of
a rail which he threw over the terrific mud-hole—aided me to walk
across by the help of his pole —showed my husband where to
plunge—waited till he had gone safely through and "slow circles
dimpled o'er the quaking mud"—then took himself off by the way he
came, declining any compensation with a most polite "rien, rien!" This
instance of true and genuine and generous politeness I record for the
benefit of all bearskin caps, leathern jerkins and cowhide boots, which
ladies from the eastward world may hereafter encounter in Michigan.
Our journey was marked by no incident more alarming than the one I
have related, though one night passed in a wretched inn, deep in the
"timbered land"—as all woods are called in Michigan—was not without
its terrors, owing to the horrible drunkenness of the master of the
house, whose wife and children were in constantfear of their lives,
from his insane fury. I can never forget the countenance of that
desolate woman, sitting trembling and with white, compressed lips in
the midst of her children. The father raving all night, and coming
through our sleeping apartment with the earliest ray of morning, in
search of more of the poison already boiling in his veins. The poor
wife could not forbear telling me her story—her change of lot—from a
well-stored and comfortable home in Connecticut to this wretched den in
the wilderness—herself and children worn almost to shadows with the
ague, and her husband such as I have described him. I may mention here
that not very long after I heard of this man in prison in Detroit, for
stabbing a neighbour in a drunken brawl, and ere the year was out he
died of delirium tremens, leaving his family destitute. So much for
turning our fields of golden grain into "fire water"— a branch of
business in which Michigan is fast improving. Our ride being a
deliberate one, I felt, after the third day, a little wearied, and
began to complain of the sameness of the oak-openings and to wish we
were fairly at our journey's end. We were crossing a broad expanse of
what seemed at a little distance a smooth shaven lawn of the most
brilliant green, but which proved on trial little better than a quaking
bog—embracing within its ridgy circumference all possible varieties of
"Muirs, and mosses, slaps and styles"— I had just indulged in
something like a yawn, and wished that I could see our hotel. At the
word, my companion'sface assumed rather a comical expression, and I was
preparing to inquire somewhat testily what there was so laughable—I
was getting tired and cross, reader—when down came our good horse to
the very chin in a bog-hole, green as Erin on the top, but giving way
on a touch, and seeming deep enough to have engulphed us entirely if
its width had been proportionate. Down came the horse—and this was not
all—down came the driver; and I could not do less than follow, though
at a little distance—our good steed kicking and floundering—covering
us with hieroglyphics, which would be readily decyphered by any
Wolverine we should meet, though perchance strange to the eyes of our
friends at home. This mishap was soon amended. Tufts of long marsh
grass served to assoilize our habiliments a little, and a clear stream
which rippled through the marsh aided in removing the eclipse from our
faces. We journeyed on cheerily, watching the splendid changes in the
west, but keeping a bright look-out for bog-holes.
Think us no churls, nor measure our good minds By this rude place we
live in. — Shakspeare—Cymbeline. The sun had just set when we
stopped at the tavern, and I then read the cause of my companion's
quizzical look. My Hotel was a log-house of diminutive size, with
corresponding appurtenances; and from the moment we entered its door I
was in a fidget to know where we could possibly sleep. I was then new
in Michigan. Our good hostess rose at once with a nod of welcome.
"Well! is this Miss Clavers?" (my husband had been there before,)
"well! I want to know! why do tell if you've been upsot in the mash?
why, I want to know!—and didn't ye hurt ye none? Come, gals! fly
round, and let's git some supper." "But you'll not be able to lodge
us, Mrs. Danforth," said I, glancing at three young men and some boys,
who appeared to have come in from their work, and who were lounging on
one side of the immense open chimney. "Why, bless your heart! yes I
shall; don't you fret yourself: I'll give you as good a bed as any-body
need want." I cast an exploring look, and now discovered a door
opposite the fire. "Jist step in here," said Mrs. Danforth, opening
this door, "jist come in, and take off your things, and lop down, if
you're a mind to, while we're a getting supper." I followed her into
the room, if room it might be called, a strip partitioned off, just six
feet wide, so that a bed was accurately fitted in at each end, and a
square space remained vacant between the two. "We've been getting this
room made lately, and I tell you it's real nice, so private, like!"
said our hostess, with a complacent air. "Here," she continued, "in
this bed the gals sleeps, and that's my bed and the old man's; and then
here's a trundle-bed for Sally and Jane," and suiting the action to the
word, she drew out the trundle-bed as far as our standing-place would
allow, to show me how convenient it was. Here was my grand problem
still unsolved! If "me and the old man," and the girls, and Sally and
Jane, slept in this strip, there certainly could be no room for more,
and I thought with dismay of the low-browed roof, which had seemed to
me to rest on the tops of the window-frames. And, to make a long story
short, though manifold were the runnings up and down, and close the
whisperings before all was ready, I was at length ushered up a steep
and narrow stick-ladder, into the sleeping apartment. Here, surrounded
by beds of all sizes spread on the floor, was a bedstead, placed under
the peak of the roof, in order to gain space for its height, and round
this state-bed, for such it evidently was, although not supplied with
pillows at each end, all themen and boys I had seen below stairs, were
to repose. Sundry old quilts were fastened by forks to the rafters in
such a way as to serve as a partial screen, and with this I was obliged
to be content. Excessive fatigue is not fastidious. I called to mind
some canal-boat experiences, and resigned myself to the "honey-heavy
dew of slumber." I awoke with a sense of suffocation—started up—all
was dark as the Hall of Eblis. I called—no answer came; I shrieked!
and up ran one of the "gals." "What on airth's the matter?" "Where am
I? What ails me?" said I, beginning to feel a little awkward when I
heard the damsel's voice. "Why, I guess you was scairt, wa'n't ye?"
"Why am I in the dark? Is it morning?" "Morning? why, the boys has
been gone away this hour, and, you see, there ain't no winder up here,
but I'll take down this here quilt, and then I guess you'll be able to
see some." She did so, and I began to discern "A faint shadow of
uncertain light," which, after my eyes had become somewhat accustomed
to it, served very well to dress by. Upon descending the ladder, I
found our breakfast prepared on a very neat-looking table, and Mrs.
Danforth with her clean apron on, ready to do the honours. Seeing me
looking round with inquiring eye, she said, "Oh! you'm lookin' for a
wash-dish, a'n't ye!" and forth with put some water into a little iron
skillet,and carried it out to a bench which stood under the eaves,
where I performed my very limited ablutions al fresco, not at all
pleased with this part of country habits. I bethought me of a story I
had heard before we crossed the line, of a gentleman travelling in
Michigan, who instead of a "wash-dish" was directed to the spring, and
when he requested a towel received for answer: "Why, I should think you
had a hankercher!" After breakfast, I expressed a wish to accompany
Mr. Clavers to the village tract; but he thought a very bad marsh would
make the ride unpleasant. "Lord bless ye!" said Mr. Danforth, "that
mash has got a real handsome bridge over it since you was here last."
So we set out in the buggy and rode several miles through an
alternation of open glades with fine walnut trees scattered over them,
and "bosky dells" fragrant as "Araby the blest" at that delicious hour,
when the dews filled the air with the scent of the bursting leaves. By
and bye, we came to the "beautiful bridge," a newly-laid causeway of
large round logs, with a slough of despond to be crossed in order to
reach it. I would not consent to turn back, however, and in we went,
the buggy standing it most commendably. When we reached the first log
our poor Rozinante stopped in utter despair, and some persuasion was
necessary to induce him to rear high enough to place his fore feet upon
the bridge, and when he accomplished this feat, and after a rest
essayed to make the buggy rear too, it was neck or nothing. Yet up we
went, and thencame the severe part of the achievement, a "beautiful
bridge" half a mile long! Half a rod was enough for me, I cried for
quarter, and was permitted to pick my way over its slippery eminences,
to the utter annihilation of a pair of Lane's shoes.
The greatness of an estate, in bulk and territory doth fall under
measure; and the greatness of finances and revenue doth fall under
computation. * * * By all means it is to be procured, that the trunk of
Nebuchadnezzar's tree of monarchy be great enough to bear the branches
and the boughs.— — Bacon The morning passed in viewing and
reviewing the village site and the "Mill privilege," under the
condescending guidance of a regular land speculator, into whose
clutches—but I anticipate. The public square, the water lots, the
value per foot of this undulating surface, clothed as it then was with
burr-oaks, and haunted by the red deer; these were almost too much for
my gravity. I gave my views, however, as to the location of the grand
esplanade, and particularly requested that the fine oaks which now
graced it might be spared when the clearing process commenced. "Oh,
certainly, mem!" said our Dousterswivel, "a place that's designed for a
public promenade must not be divested of shade trees!" Yet I believe
these very trees were the first "Banquos" at Montacute. The water lots,
which were too valuable to sell save by the foot, are still in the
market, and will probably remain there for the present. This factotum,
this Mr. Mazard, was an odd-lookingcreature, with "diverse ocular
foci," and a form gaunt enough to personify Grahamism. His words
sometimes flowed in measured softness, and sometimes tumbled over each
other, in his anxiety to convince, to persuade, to inspire. His air of
earnest conviction, of sincere anxiety for your interest, and, above
all, of entire forgetfulness of his own, was irresistible. People who
did not know him always believed every word he said; at least so I have
since been informed. This gentleman had kindly undertaken to lay out
our village, to build a mill, a tavern, a store, a blacksmith's shop;
houses for cooper, miller, to purchase the large tracts which would be
required for the mill-pond, a part of which land was already improved;
and all this, although sure to cost Mr. Clavers an immense sum, he,
from his experience of the country, his large dealings with saw-mills,
would be able to accomplish at a very moderate cost. The mill, for
instance, was to be a story and a half high, and to cost perhaps
twenty-five hundred dollars at the utmost. The tavern, a cheap building
of moderate size, built on the most popular plan, and connected with a
store, just large enough for the infant needs of the village, reserving
our strength for a splendid one, (I quote Mr. Mazard) to be built out
of the profits in about three years. All these points being thus
satisfactorily arranged, Mr. Mazard received carte blanche for the
purchase of the lands which were to be flowed, which he had ascertained
might be had for a mere trifle. The principal care now was to find a
name—a title at once simple and dignified—striking and euphonious
—recherché and yet unpretending. Mr. Mazard wasfor naming it after the
proprietor. It was a proper opportunity, he thought, of immortalizing
one's-self. But he failed in convincing the proprietor, who relished
not this form of fame, and who referred the matter entirely to me. Here
was a responsibility! I begged for time, but the matter must be decided
at once. The village plot was to be drawn instanter—lithographed and
circulated through the United States, and, to cap the climax, printed
in gold, splendidly framed, and hung up in Detroit, in the place "where
merchants most do congregate." I tried for an aboriginal designation,
as most characteristic and unworn. I recollected a young lady speaking
with enthusiastic admiration of our Indian names, and quoting Ypsilanti
as a specimen. But I was not fortunate in my choice; for to each of the
few which I could recollect, Mr. Mazard found some insuperable
objection. One was too long, another signified Slippery Eel, another
Big Bubble; and these would be so inappropriate! I began to be very
tried. I tried romantic names; but these again did not suit any of us.
At length I decided by lot, writing ten of the most sounding names I
could muster from my novel reading stores, on slips of paper, which
were mingled in a shako, and out came—Montacute. How many matters of
greater importance are thus decided.
As I am recording the sacred events of History I'll not bate one
nail's breadth of the honest truth. — W. Irving—Knickerbocker.
Hope, thou bold taster of delight, Who, while thou should'st but
taste, devours't it quite. — Cowley Much was yet to be done
this morning, and I was too much fatigued to wander about the hills any
longer; so I sought shelter in a log-house at no great distance, to
await the conclusion of the survey. I was received with a civil nod by
the tall mistress of the mansion, and with a curiously grave and
somewhat sweeping curtsey by her auburn-tressed daughter, whose hair
was in curl papers, and her hands covered with dough. The room was
occupied at one end by two large beds not partitioned off "private
like," but curtained in with cotton sheets pinned to the unhewn
rafters. Between them stood a chest, and over the chest hung the Sunday
wardrobe of the family; the go-to-meeting hats and bonnets, frocks and
pantaloons of a goodly number of all sizes. The great open hearth was
at the opposite end of the house, flanked on one side by an open
cupboard, and on the other by a stick ladder. Large broadside sheets,
caravan show bills were pasted on the logs in different places,
garnished with mammoth elephants, and hippopotamuses, over which
"predominated" Mr. Van Amburgh, with his head in the lion's mouth. A
strip of dingy listing was nailed in such a way as to afford support
for a few iron spoons, a small comb, and sundry other articles grouped
with the like good taste; but I must return to my fair hostesses. They
seemed to be on the point of concluding their morning duties. The
hearth was newly swept, a tin reflector was before the fire, apparently
full of bread, or something equally important. The young lady was
placing some cups and plates in a pyramidal pile on the cupboard shelf,
when the mother, after taking my bonnet with grave courtesy, said
something, of which I could only distinguish the words "slick up." She
soon after disappeared behind one of the white screens I have
mentioned, and in an incredibly short time emerged in a different
dress. Then taking down the comb I have hinted at, as exalted to a
juxtaposition with the spoons, she seated herself opposite to me,
unbound her very abundant brown tresses, and proceeded to comb them
with great deliberateness; occasionally speering a question at me, or
bidding Miss Irene (pronounced Irenee) "mind the bread." When she had
finished, Miss Irene took the comb and went through the same exercise,
and both scattered the loose hairs on the floor with a coolness that
made me shudder when I thought of my dinner, which had become, by means
of the morning's ramble, a subject of peculiar interest. A little iron
"wash-dish," such as I had seen in the morning, was now produced; the
young lady vanished—reappearedin a scarlet circassian dress, and more
combs in her hair than would dress a belle for the court of St. James;
and forthwith both mother and daughter proceeded to set the table for
dinner. The hot bread was cut into huge slices, several bowls of milk
were disposed about the board, a pint bowl of yellow pickles, another
of apple sauce, and a third containing mashed potatoes took their
appropriate stations, and a dish of cold fried pork was brought out
from some recess, heated and re-dished, when Miss Irene proceeded to
blow the horn. The sound seemed almost as magical in its effects as
the whistle of Roderick Dhu; for, solitary as the whole neighbourhood
had appeared to me in the morning, not many moments elapsed before in
came men and boys enough to fill the table completely. I had made
sundry resolutions not to touch a mouthful; but I confess I felt
somewhat mortified when I found there was no opportunity to refuse.
After the "wash dish" had been used in turn, and various handkerchiefs
had performed, not for that occasion only, the part of towels, the
lords of creation seated themselves at the table, and fairly demolished
in grave silence every eatable thing on it. Then, as each one finished,
he arose and walked off, till no one remained of all this goodly
company but the red-faced heavy-eyed master of the house. This
personage used his privilege by asking me five hundred questions, as to
my birth, parentage, and education; my opinion of Michigan, my
husband's plans and prospects, business and resources; and then said,
"he guessed he must be off." Meanwhile his lady and daughter had been
clearing the table, and were now preparing to wash the dishes in an
iron pot of very equivocal-looking soapsuds, which stood in a corner of
the chimney place, rinsing each piece in a pan of clean water, and then
setting it to "dreen" on a chair. I watched the process with no
increasing admiration of Michigan economics—thought wofully of dinner,
and found that Mrs. Danforth's breakfast table, which had appeared in
the morning frugal and homely enough, was filling my mind's eye as the
very acme of comfort. Every thing is relative. But now, prospects
began to brighten; the tea-kettle was put on; the table was laid again
with the tea equipage and a goodly pile of still warm bread, redolent
of milk yeast—the unfailing bowls of apple-sauce and pickles, a plate
of small cakes, and a saucer of something green cut up in vinegar. I
found we had only been waiting for a more lady-like meal, and having
learned wisdom by former disappointment, I looked forward with no small
satisfaction to something like refreshment. The tea was made and the
first cup poured, when in came my husband and Mr. Mazard. What was my
dismay when I heard that I must mount and away on the instant! The
buggy at the door—the sun setting, and the log causeway and the black
slough yet to be encountered. I could not obtain a moment's respite,
and I will not pretend to describe my vexation, when I saw on looking
back our projector already seated at my predestined cup of tea, and
busily engaged with my slice of bread and butter! I walked over the
logs in no very pleasant mood andwhen we reached the slough it looked
blacker than ever. I could not possibly screw up my fainting courage to
pass it in the carriage, and after some difficulty, a slender pole was
found, by means of which I managed to get across, thinking all the
while of the bridge by which good Mussulmans skate into Paradise, and
wishing for no houri but good Mrs. Danforth. We reached the inn after
a ride which would have been delicious under other circumstances. The
softest and stillest of spring atmospheres, the crimson rays yet
prevailing, and giving an opal changefulness of hue to the half-opened
leaves;— "The grass beneath them dimly green"— could scarcely pass
quite unfelt by one whose delight is in their beauty: but, alas! who
can be sentimental and hungry? I alighted with gloomy forebodings. The
house was dark—could it be that the family had already stowed
themselves away in their crowded nests? The fire was buried in ashes,
the tea-kettle was cold—I sat down in the corner and cried. * * * * *
I was awakened from a sort of doleful trance by the voice of our
cheery hostess. "Why, do tell if you've had no supper! Well, I want to
know! I went off to meetin' over to Joe Bunner's and never left nothing
ready." But in a space of time which did not seem long even to me, my
cup of tea was on the table, and the plate of snow-white rolls had no
reason to complain of our neglect or indifference.
Such soon-speeding geer As will dispense itself through all the
veins. — Shakspeare By her help I also now Make this churlish
place allow Some things that may sweeten gladness In the very heart
of sadness. — Withers The next day I was to spend in the
society of my hostess; and I felt in no haste to quit my eyrie,
although it was terribly close, but waited a call from one of the
little maidens before I attempted my twilight toilet. When I descended
the ladder, nobody was visible but the womankind. After breakfast Mrs.
Danforth mentioned that she was going about a mile into the woods to
visit a neighbour whose son had been bitten by a Massisanga (I spell
the word by ear) and was not expected to live. I inquired of
course—"Why, law! it's a rattle-snake; the Indians call them
Massisangas and so folks calls 'em so too." "Are they often seen
here?" "Why, no, not very; as far from the mash as this. I han't seen
but two this spring, and them was here in the garden, and I killed 'em
both." "You killed them!" "Why, law, yes!—Betsey come in one night
after tea and told me on 'em, and we went out, and she held the candle
while I killed them. But I tell you we had a real chase after them!"
My desire for a long walk through the woods, was somewhat cooled by
this conversation; nevertheless upon the good dame's reiterated
assurance that there was no danger, and that she would "as lief meet
forty on 'em as not," I consented to accompany her, and our path
through the dim forest was as enchanting as one of poor Shelley's
gemmed and leafy dreams. The distance seemed nothing and I scarcely
remembered the rattle-snakes. We found the poor boy in not quite so
sad a case as had been expected. A physician had arrived from —, about
fourteen miles off, and had brought with him a quantity of spirits of
Hartshorn, with which the poisoned limb had now been constantly bathed
for some hours, while frequent small doses of the same specific had
been administered. This course had produced a change, and the pale and
weary mother had begun to hope. The boy had been fishing in the stream
which was to make the fortune of Montacute, and in kneeling to search
for bait, had roused the snake which bit him just above the knee. The
entire limb was frightfully swollen and covered with large livid spots
"exactly like the snake," as the woman stated with an air of mysterious
meaning. When I saw the body of the snake, which the father had found
without difficulty, and killed very near the scene of the accident, so
slow are these creaturesgenerally—I found it difficult to trace the
resemblance between its brilliant colours, and the purplish brown
blotches on the poor boy's leg. But the superstition once received,
imagination supplies all deficiencies. A firm belief in some
inscrutable connexion between the spots on the snake and the spots on
the wounded person is universal in this region, as I have since
frequently heard. During our walk homeward, sauntering as we did to
prolong the enjoyment, my hostess gave me a little sketch of her own
early history, and she had interested me so strongly by her unaffected
kindliness, and withal a certain dash of espiéglerie, that I listened
to the homely recital with a good deal of pleasure. "I was always
pretty lucky" she began—and as I looked at her benevolent countenance
with its broad expansive brow and gentle eyes, I thought such people
are apt to be "lucky" even in this world of disappointments. "My
mother did'n't live to bring me up," she continued, "but a man by the
name of Spangler that had no children took me and did for me as if I
had been his own; sent me to school and all. His wife was a real mother
to me. She was a weakly woman, hardly ever able to sit up all day. I
don't believe she ever spun a hank of yarn in her life; but she was a
proper nice woman, and Spangler loved her just as well as if she had
been ever so smart." Mrs. Danforth seemed to dwell on this point in
her friend's character with peculiar respect,—that he should love a
wife who could not do her own work. I could not help telling her she
reminded me of a man weepingfor the loss of his partner—his neighbours
trying to comfort him, by urging the usual topics; he cut them short,
looking up at the same time with an inconsolable air—"Ah! but she was
such a dreadful good creature to work!" Mrs. Danforth said gravely,
"Well, I suppose the poor feller had a family of children to do for;"
and after a reflective pause continued—"Well, Miss Spangler had a
little one after all, when I was quite a big girl, and you never see
folks so pleased as they! Mr. Spangler seemed as if he could not find
folks enough to be good to, that winter. He had the prayers of the
poor, I tell ye. There was'nt a baby born anywheres in our
neighbourhood, that whole blessed winter, but what he found out whether
the mother had what would make her comfortable, and sent whatever was
wanted. "He little thought that baby that he thought so much on was
going to cost him so dear. His wife was never well again! She only
lived through the summer and died when the frost came, just like the
flowers; and he never held up his head afterwards. He had been a
professor for a good many years, but he did'nt seem then to have
neither faith nor hope. He would'nt hear reason from nobody. I always
thought that was the reason the baby died. It only lived about a year.
Well, I had the baby to bring up by hand, and so I was living there yet
when Mr. Spangler took sick. He seemed always like a broken-hearted
man, but still he took comfort with the baby, and by and bye the little
dear took the croup and died all in a minute like. It began to be bad
after tea and it was dead before sunrise. Then I saw plain enough
nothing could be donefor the father. He wasted away just like an April
snow. I took as good care on him as I could, and when it came towards
the last he would'nt have any body else give him even so much as a cup
of tea. He set his house in order if ever any man did. He settled up
his business and gave receipts to many poor folks that owed him small
debts, besides giving away a great many things, and paying all those
that had helped take care of him. I think he knew what kind of a feller
his nephew was, that was to have all when he was gone. "Well, all this
is neither here nor there. George Danforth and I had been keeping
company then a good while, and Mr. Spangler knew we'd been only waiting
till I could be spared, so he sent for George one day and told him that
he had long intended to give me a small house and lot jist back of
where he lived, but, seein things stood jist as they did, he advised
George to buy a farm of his that was for sale on the edge of the
village, and he would credit him for as much as the house and lot would
have been worth, and he could pay the rest by his labour in the course
of two or three years. Sure enough, he gave him a deed and took a
mortgage, and it was so worded, that he could not be hurried to pay,
and every body said it was the greatest bargain that ever was. And Mr.
Spangler gave me a nice settin out besides.—But if there is n't the
boys comin in to dinner, and I bet there's nothin ready for 'em!" So
saying, the good woman quickened her pace, and for the next hour her
whole attention was absorbed by the "savoury cates," fried pork and
parsnips.
A trickling stream from high rock tumbling down, And ever drizzling
rain upon the loft, Mixt with a murmuring wind, much like the sound
Of swarming bees. — Spencer—House of Sleep. While pensive
memory traces back the round Which fills the varied interval between;
Much pleasure, more of sorrow, marks the scene. — Warton When
we were quietly seated after dinner, I requested some further insight
into Mrs. Danforth's early history, the prosy flow of which was just in
keeping with the long dreamy course of the afternoon, unbroken as it
was by any sound more awakening than the ceaseless click of
knitting-needles, or an occasional yawn from the town lady who found
the farniente rather burdensome. She smiled complacently and took up
the broken thread at the right place, evidently quite pleased to find
she had excited so much interest. "When Mr. Spangler's nephew came
after he was dead and gone, he was very close in asking all about the
business, and seein' after the mortgages and such like. Now, George had
never got his deed recorded.He felt as if it was'nt worth while to lose
a day's work, as he could send it any time by one of his neighbours.
But when we found what sort of a man Mr. Wilkins was, we tho't it was
high time to set about it. He had talked a good deal about the place
and said the old man must have been crazy to let us have it so cheap,
and once went so far as to offer my husband a hundeed dollars for his
bargain. So John Green, a good neighbour of ours, sent us word one
morning that he was going, and would call and get the deed, as he knew
we wanted to send it up, and I got it out and laid it ready on the
stand and put the big bible on it to keep it safe. But he did not come,
something happened that he could not go that day: and I had jist took
up the deed to put it back in the chest, when in came Wilkins. He had
an eye like a hawk; and I was afraid he would see that it was a deed,
and ask to look at it, and then I could n't refuse to hand it to him,
you know, so I jist slipped it back under the bible before I turned to
ask him what was his will. "'Didn't John Saunderson leave my bridle
here?' says he. So I stepped into the other room and got it, and he
took it and walked off without speaking a word; and when I went to put
away the deed, it was gone! "My husband came in while I sat crying fit
to break my heart; but all I could do I could not make him believe that
Wilkins had got it. He said I had put it somewhere else without
thinking, that people often felt just as sure as I did, and found
themselves mistaken after all. But I knew better, and though I hunted
highand low to please him, I knew well enough where it was. When he
found we must give it up he never gave me a word of blame, but charged
me not to say anything about the loss, for, wherever the deed was,
Wilkins was just the man to take advantage if he knew we had lost it.
"Well, things went on in this way for a while, and I had many a good
cryin' spell, I tell ye! and one evening when George was away, in comes
Wilkins, I was sittin' alone at my knittin', heavy hearted enough, and
the schoolmaster was in the little room; for that was his week to board
with us. "'Is your man at home?' says he; I said—No; but I expected
him soon, so he sat down and began the old story about the place, and
at last he says, "'I'd like to look at that deed if you've no
objection, Mrs. Danforth.' I was so mad, I forgot what George had told
me, and spoke right out. "I should think, says I, you'd had it long
enough to know it all by heart. "'What does the woman mean?' says he.
"You know well enough what I mean, says I, you know you took it from
off this table, and from under this blessed book, the very last time
you was in this house. "If I had not known it before, I should have
been certain then, for his face was as white as the wall and he
trembled when he spoke in spite of his impudence. But I could have bit
off my own tongue when I tho't how imprudent I had been, and what my
husband would say. He talked very angry as you may think. "'Only say
that where anybody else can hear you,' says he, 'and I'll make it cost
your husband all he is worth in the world.' "He spoke so loud that Mr.
Peeler, the master, came out of the room to see what was the matter,
and Wilkins bullied away and told Peeler what I had said, and dared me
to say it over again. The master looked as if he knew something about
it but did not speak. Just then the door opened, and in came George
Danforth led between two men as pale as death, and dripping wet from
head to foot. You may think how I felt! Well, they would n't give no
answer about what was the matter till they got George into bed—only
one of'em said he had been in the canal. Wilkins pretended to be too
angry to notice my husband, but kept talking away to himself—and was
jist a beginning at me again, when one of the men said, 'Squire, I
guess Henry 'll want some looking after; for Mr. Danforth has just got
him out of the water.' "If I live to be an hundred years old I shall
never forget how Wilkins looked. There was every thing in his face at
once. He seemed as if he would pitch head-foremost out of the door when
he started to go home—for Henry was his only child. "When he was
gone, and my husband had got warm and recovered himself a little, he
told us, that he had seen Henry fall into the lock, and soused right in
after him, and they had come very near drowning together, and so stayed
in so long that they were about senseless when they got into the air
again. Then I told him all that had happened—and then Peeler, he up,
and told that he saw Wilkins take a paper off the stand the timeI
opened the bed-room door, to get the bridle, for he was at our house
then. "I was very glad to hear it to be sure; but the very next
morning came a new deed and the mortgage with a few lines from Mr.
Wilkins, saying how thankful he was, and that he hoped George would
oblige him by accepting some compensation. George sent back the
mortgage, saying he would rather not take it, but thanked him kindly
for the deed. So then I was glad Peeler had n't spoke, 'cause it would
have set Wilkins against him. After that we thought it was best to sell
out and come away, for such feelings, you know, a'n't pleasant among
neighbours, and we had talked some of coming to Michigan afore. "We
had most awful hard times at first. Many's the day I've worked from
sunrise till dark in the fields gathering brush heaps and burning
stumps. But that's all over now; and we've got four times as much land
as we ever should have owned in York-State." I have since had occasion
to observe that this forms a prominent and frequent theme of
self-gratulation among the settlers in Michigan. The possession of a
large number of acres is esteemed a great good, though it makes but
little difference in the owner's mode of living. Comforts do not seem
to abound in proportion to landed increase, but often on the contrary,
are really diminished for the sake of it: and the habit of selling out
so frequently makes that home-feeling, which is so large an ingredient
in happiness elsewhere, almost a nonentity in Michigan. The man who
holds himself ready to accept the first advantageous offer, will not be
very solicitous to provide those minor accommodations,which, though
essential to domestic comfort, will not add to the moneyed value of his
farm, which he considers merely an article of trade, and which he knows
his successor will look upon in the same light. I have sometimes
thought that our neighbours forget that "the days of man's life are
three score years and ten," since they spend all their lives in getting
ready to begin.
Offer me no money, I pray you; that kills my heart. * * Will you buy
any tape Or lace for your cape, My dainty duck, my dear-a? Any silk,
any thread, Any toys for your head, Of the newest and finest wear-a?
— Shakspeare—Winter's Tale. Our return to Detroit was
accomplished without any serious accident, although we were once
overturned in consequence of my enthusiastic admiration of a tuft of
splendid flowers in a marsh which we were crossing by the usual bridge
of poles, or corduroy as it is here termed. While our eyes were fixed
upon it, and I was secretly determining not to go on without it, our
sober steed, seeing a small stream at a little distance on one side,
quietly walked towards it, and our attention was withdrawn from the
contemplation of the object of my wishes by finding ourselves spilt
into the marsh, and the buggy reposing on its side, while the innocent
cause of the mischief was fairly planted, fetlock deep, in the
tenacious black-mud: I say the innocent cause, for who ever expected
any proofs of education from a livery-stable beast?—and such was our
brown friend. 'T were vain to tell how I sat on the high bog, (the
large tufted masses in a marsh are so called in Michigan,) which had
fortunately received me in falling, and laughed till I cried to see my
companion hunting for his spectacles, and D'Orsay (whom I ought sooner
to have introduced to my reader) looking on with a face of most evident
wonder. D'Orsay, my beautiful grey-hound, was our compagnon de voyage,
and had caused us much annoyance by his erratic propensities, so that
we were obliged to tie him in the back part of the buggy, and then
watch very closely that he did not free himself of his bonds. Just at
this moment a pedestrian traveller, a hardfeatured, yellow-haired son
of New England, came up, with a tin trunk in his hand, and a small pack
or knap-sack strapped on his shoulders. "Well! I swan!" said he with a
grim smile, "I never see any thing slicker than that! Why, you went
over jist as easy! You was goin' to try if the mash wouldn't be softer
ridin', I s'pose." Mr. Clavers disclaimed any intention of quitting
the causeway, and pointed to my unfortunate pyramid of pale pink
blossoms as the cause of our disaster. "What! them posies? Why, now,
to my thinking, a good big double marygold is as far before them pink
lilies as can be: but I'll see if I can't get 'em for you if you want
'em." By this time, the carriage was again in travelling trim, and
D'Orsay tolerably resigned to his imprisoned state. The flowers were
procured, and most delicately beautiful and fragrant they were. Mr.
Clavers offered guerdon-remuneration, but ouroriental friend seemed shy
of accepting any thing of the sort. "If you've a mind to trade, I've
got a lot o' notions I 'd like to sell you," said he. So my travelling
basket was crammed with essences, pins, brass thimbles, and balls of
cotton; while Mr. Clavers possessed himself of a valuable outfit of
pocket-combs, suspenders, and cotton handkerchiefs—an assortment which
made us very popular on that road for some time after. We reached the
city in due time, and found our hotel crowded to suffocation. The
western fever was then at its height, and each day brought its
thousands to Detroit. Every tavern of every calibre was as well filled
as ours, and happy he who could find a bed any where. Fifty cents was
the price of six feet by two of the bar-room floor, and these choice
lodgings were sometimes disposed of by the first served at "thirty per
cent. advance." The country inns were thronged in proportion; and your
horse's hay cost you nowhere less than a dollar per diem; while,
throughout the whole territory west of Detroit, the only masticable
articles set before the thousands of hungry travellers were salt ham
and bread, for which you had the satisfaction of paying like a prince.
Notre sagesse n'est pas moins à la merci de la fortune que nos biens.
— Rochefoucault Your horse's hoof-tread sounds too rude, So
stilly is the solitude. — Scott Our breakfast-table at—House
was surrounded by as motley a crew as Mirth ever owned. The standing
ornament of the upper end was a very large light-blue crape turban,
which turban surmounted the prolonged face of a lady, somewhere (it is
not polite to be exact in these matters) between forty and fifty, and
also partly concealed a pair of ears from which depended ear-rings
whose pendants rested not far from the Apalachian collar-bones of the
dignified wearer. This lady, turban and ear-rings, were always in their
places before the eggs came, and remained long after the last one had
disappeared—at least, I judge so; for I, who always take my chance
(rash enough in this case) for a breakfast, never saw her seat vacant.
Indeed, as I never met her anywhere else, I might have supposed her a
fixture, the production of some American Maelzel, but that the rolling
of her very light grey eyes was quite different from that of the dark
Persian orbs of the chess-player; while an occasional word came to my
ear with a sharp sound, even more startling than the "Echec" of that
celebrated personage. Another very conspicuous member of our usual
party was a lady in mourning, whom I afterwards discovered to be a
great beauty. I had indeed observed that she wore a great many curls,
and that these curls were carefully arranged and bound with a ribbon,
so as to make the most of a pair of dark eyes; that nothing that could
be called throat was ever enviously shaded, even at breakfast; and that
a pair of delicately white hands, loaded with rings of all hues,
despite the mourning garments, were never out of sight. But I did not
learn that she was a beauty till I met her long after at a brilliant
evening party in rouge and blonde, and with difficulty recognized my
neighbour of the breakfast-table. But if I should attempt to set down
half my recollections of that piquant and changeful scene, I should
never get on with my story: so, begging pardon, I will pass over the
young ladies, who never were hungry, and their papas, who could never
be satisfied, and their brothers, who could not get any thing fit to
eat; the crimson-faced célibataire, who always ate exactly three eggs,
and three slices of bread and butter, and drank three cups of tea, and
then left the table, performing the whole in perfect silence; the lady,
who played good mamma, and would ever have her two babies at the table
with her, aud feed them on sausage and strong coffee, without a
mouthful of bread; and the shoals of speculators, fat and lean, rich
and poor, young and old, dashing and shabby, who always looked very
hungry, but could not take time to eat. I saw them only at breakfast,
for the rest of the day we usually spent elsewhere. While we were
awaiting the arrival of our chattels from the east, Mr. Clavers
accepted an invitation to accompany a party of these breakfast-table
companions last mentioned, men of substance literally and figuratively,
who were going to make a tour with a view to the purchase of one or two
cities. Ponies, knapsacks, brandy-bottles, pocket-compasses, blankets,
lucifers, great India rubber boots, coats of the same, and caps with
immense umbrella capes to them: these things are but a beginning of the
outfit necessary for such an expedition. It was intended to "camp out"
as often as might be desirable, to think nothing of fasting for a day
or so, and to defy the ague and all its works by the aid of the potent
exorcisor contained in the bottles above mentioned. One of the company,
an idler from —, was almost as keen in his pursuit of game as of
money, and he carried a double-barrelled fowling-piece, with all things
thereunto appertaining, in addition to his other equipments, giving a
finishing touch to the grotesque cortége. My only parting charge to my
quota of the expedition was to keep out of the water, and to take care
of his spectacles. I should have cautioned him against buying a city,
but that he was never very ambitious, and already owned Montacute. He
went merely pour se désennuyer; and I remained at the very focus of
this strange excitement an unconcerned spectator, weary enough of the
unvarying theme which appeared to fill the whole soul of the community.
The party were absent just four days; and a more dismal sight than
they presented on their return cannot well be imagined. Tired and
dirty, cross and hungry, were they all. No word of adventures, no
boasting ofachievements, not even a breath of the talismanic word
"land," more interesting to the speculator of 1835-6 than it ever was
to the ship-wrecked mariner. They seemed as if they would, Esau-like,
have sold their city lots for a good supper, though I doubt whether the
offer of a "trade" would not have aroused all their energies, and so
prevented the bargain. After tea, however, things brightened a little:
I speak for one of the party only. The bath, the razor, the much needed
change of those "lendings" on which so much of the comfort of life
depends, produced their usual humanizing effect; and by questions
skilfully timed and cautiously worded, I drew from my toil-worn spouse
a tolerably circumstantial account of the journey. The first day had
been entirely consumed in reaching Shark River, or rather its junction
with another considerable stream. Twilight had already shaded the woody
path, when the surveyor, who was acquainted with the whole region,
informed them that they had yet some miles of travel before they could
hope to reach any kind of shelter. They had been for some hours
following an Indian trail, and some of the city gentlemen recollecting,
as the day declined, that they were a little rheumatic, began to give
vent to their opinion that the evening was going to be particularly
damp. One went so far as to hint that it would have been as well if
Mr.—(the sportsman) had not taken quite so long to ascertain whether
that white moving thing he had seen in the woods was a deer's tail or
not. To this the city Nimrod had replied, that as to its being a
deer's tail, there was no possibility of question;that if the other
gentlemen had been a little more patient, they might have had venison
for supper; and this little discussion, growing more and more animated
as it proceeded, at length occupied the attention of the whole party so
completely, that they lost the trail and found themselves at the end of
what had seemed to them an open path. There was nothing for it, but to
turn the horses' heads right about, and retrace the last mile or more,
while the faint gleam of daylight was fast disappearing. The good
humour of the party was, to say the least, not increased by this little
contretemps, and the following of a trail by star-light is an exercise
of skill and patience not likely to be long agreeable to gentlemen who
have been for many years accumstomed to pavements and gas-lamps. Not a
word was said of "camping out," so manfully planned in the morning. The
loads of preparations for a bivouac seemed entirely forgotten by every
body—at least, no one thought proper to mention them; and after some
few attempts of the younger members to be funny, the whole caravan
yielded to fate, and plodded on in gloomy and determined silence. The
glimmer of a distant light had an electrical effect. The unlucky
sportsman was fortunately in the van, and so had an opportunity of
covering up his offences by being the announcer of joyous tidings. He
sang out cheerily, "So shines a good deed in this naughty world!" and
pricked on his tired Canadian into something akin to a trot, while the
soberer part of the cavalcade followed as fast as they could, or as
they dared. Ere long they reached the much desired shelter, and found
that their provident care in regard to thevarious items requisite for
food and lodging had not been in vain. The log cabin which received
the weary way-farers was like many others which have served for the
first homes of settlers in Michigan. It was logs and nothing else, the
fire made on the ground, or on a few loose stones, and a hole in the
roof for the escape of the smoke. A family of tolerably decent
appearance inhabited this forlorn dwelling, a man and his wife and two
young children. They seemed little moved at the arrival of so large a
company, but rendered what assistance they could in providing for the
ponies and preparing the meal from such materials as were afforded by
the well-stored hampers of the baggage pony. After the conclusion of
the meal, the blankets were spread on the ground, and happy he who
could get a bag for a pillow. But the night's rest was well earned, and
Nature is no niggard paymaster.
Night came; and in their lighted bower, full late The joy of converse
had endured; when, hark! Abrupt and loud, a summons shook their gate—
Upris'n each wondering brow is knit and arch'd. — Campbell If
thou wert the lion, the fox would beguile thee: if thou wert the lamb,
the fox would eat thee. — Shakspeare—Timon of Athens. The
morning sun showed the river and its adjunct bright and beautiful,
though a leetle marshy at the sides. The dead silence, the utter
loneliness, the impenetrable shade, which covered the site of the
future city, might well call to mind the desolation which has settled
on Tadmor and Palmyra; the anticipation of future life and splendour
contrasting no less forcibly with the actual scene than would the
retrospect of departed grandeur. The guide, who had been much employed
in these matters, showed in the course of the day six different points,
each of which, the owners were fully satisfied, would one day echo the
busy tread of thousands, and see reflected in the now glassy wave the
towers and masts of a great commercial town. If already this
infatuation seems incredible, how shall we make our children believe
its reality? The day was to be spent in exploring, and as it was
desirable to see as much as could be seen of the river so important to
the future fortunes of the company, it was concluded to follow the bank
as closely as the marshes would allow, and pass the night at the house
of a French trader near the outlet of the stream. The spirits of the
party were not very high during the ride. There was something a little
cooling in the aspect of the marshes, and, although nobody liked to say
so, the ground seemed rather wet for city building. However, the
trader's dwelling looked very comfortable after the accommodations of
the preceding night, and a few Indian huts at no great distance gave
some relief to the extreme solitariness of the scene, which had
contributed not a little to the temporary depression of the party. The
Frenchman was luckily at home, and with his Indian wife treated the
travellers with much civility: the lady, however, declining
conversation, or indeed notice of any sort unless when called on to
perform the part of interpreter between the gentlemen and some wretched
looking Indians who were hanging about the house. Several children with
bright, gazelle-like eyes, were visible at intervals, but exhibited
nothing of the staring curiosity which is seen peeping from among the
sun-bleached locks of the whiter broods of the same class of settlers.
The Indians to whom I have alluded, had come to procure whiskey of the
trader, and after they had received the baleful luxury which performs
among their fated race the work of fire, famine and pestilence, they
departed with rapid steps. They had scarcely quittedthe house when
another was seen approaching the door with that long easy trot which is
habitual with the savage when on a journey. He was well dressed, in his
way; his hat boasted a broad band of silver lace; his tunic, leggins
and moccasins were whole and somewhat ornamented; his blanket glorying
in a bright red border; and on his shoulders, slung by a broad thong,
was a pack of furs of considerable value. He seemed an old acquaintance
of the family, and was received with some animation even by the grave
and dignified mistress of the mansion. The trader examined and counted
the skins, spoke to the Indian in his own tongue, and invited him to
eat, which however he declined, with a significant gesture towards the
huts before alluded to. This evening's supper was made quite luxurious
by the preserved cranberries and maple syrup furnished by the settlers;
and our friends retired to rest in much more comfortable style than on
the preceding night. The first nap was in all its sweetness, when the
whole party were aroused by a hideous yelling, which to city ears could
be no less than an Indian war-whoop. Every one was on foot in an
instant; and the confusion which ensued in the attempt to dress in the
dark was most perplexing and would have been amusing enough but for
certain unpleasant doubts. The noise continued to increase as it
approached the house, and terror had reached its acmé,—every one
catching at something which could be used as a weapon; when a violent
knocking at the door aroused the trader, who slept in an inner room or
closet, and who had not been disturbed by the bustle within doors or
the yelling without. He seemed much surprised at the confusion which
reigned among his guests—assured them it was "noting at all" but the
Indians coming for more whiskey; and then admitting one of them, and
coolly shutting the door in the face of the rest, spoke to the
desperate looking savage very sharply, evidently reprobating in no
gentle terms the uproar which had disturbed the sleepers. The Indian
made scarce any reply, but pointed with an impatient gesture to the
keg, repeating "Whiskey! whiskey!" till the trader re-filled it; he
then departed leaving our party once more to repose. The next morning,
much was said of the disturbance of the night. The Frenchman seemed to
look upon it as a thing of course, and unblushingly vindicated his own
agency in the matter. He said that they would get whiskey from some
one—that an Indian could not live without it, and that they would pay
honestly for what they got, although they would steal anything they
could lay their hands on, from the farmers who lived within reach of
their settlements. Bitter complaints he said were often made of corn,
potatoes, or cucumbers being spirited away in the night, and the
Indians got the blame at least, but from him they took nothing. His
lady listened with no pleased aspect to this discussion of the foibles
of her countrymen, and seemed quite willing to expedite the departure
of the guests. The way to the "Grand Junction" seemed shortened as
they went. The day was fine and the ponies in excellent spirits. The
sportsman came very near shooting a fat buck, and this miss kept him in
talk for all day. The old gentlemen were much pleased with certain
statistical accounts furnished them by the trader, whom they decided on
the whole to be a very sensible fellow: and when they reached once more
the chosen spot, they saw at a glance how easily the marshes could be
drained, the channel of the Shark deepened, and the whole converted
into one broad area on which to found a second New-York. They passed
another night at the log hut which had first received them, and leaving
with the poor couple who inhabited it, what cheered their lonely
dwelling for many a day, they returned to Detroit. Our friends
considered the offers which had been made them so very advantageous
that the bargain for the site at the "Grand Junction" was concluded the
very next day. "Only one hundred shares at three hundred dollars each!"
the money might be quadrupled in a month. And some of the knowing ones,
who took shares "merely to oblige," did realize the golden vision,
while the more careful, who held on to get the top of the market—but
why should I tell secrets? Nobody happened to mention to these eastern
buyers that the whole had been purchased for four hundred dollars, just
a week before they reached Detroit. These things certainly cost a good
deal of trouble after all. They ought to have paid well,
unquestionably. When lots were to be sold, the whole fair dream was
splendidly emblazoned on a sheet of super-royal size; things which only
floated before the mind's eye of the most sanguine, were portrayed with
bewitching minuteness for the delectation of the ordinary observer.
Majestic steamers plied their paddles to and fro uponthe river; ladies
crowding their decks and streamers floating on the wind. Sloops dotted
the harbours, while noble ships were seen in the offing. Mills,
factories, and light-houses—canals, rail-roads and bridges, all took
their appropriate positions. Then came the advertisements, choicely
worded and carefully vague, never setting forth any thing which might
not come true at some time or other; yet leaving the buyer without
excuse if he chose to be taken in. An auctioneer was now to be
procured (for lots usually went rather heavily at private sale,) and
this auctioneer must not be such a one as any Executive can make, but a
man of genius, or ready invention, of fluent speech; one who had seen
something of the world, and above all, one who must be so thoroughly
acquainted with the property, and so entirely convinced of its value,
that he could vouch on his own personal respectability, for the truth
of every statement. He must be able to exhibit certificates from—no
matter whom—Tom-a-Nokes perhaps—but "residing on the spot"—and he
must find men of straw to lead the first bids. And when all this had
been attended to, it must have required some nerve to carry the matter
through; to stand by, while the poor artizan, the journeyman mechanic,
the stranger who had brought his little all to buy government land to
bring up his young family upon, staked their poor means on strips of
land which were at that moment a foot under water. I think many of
these gentlemen earned their money. It is not to be supposed that the
preliminaries I have enumerated, preceded every successful land-sale.
Many thousand acres were transferred from hand to handwith a rapidity
which reminded one irresistibly of the old French game of "le petit bon
homme" (anglicised into 'Robin's alive')—while all gained save him in
whose hand Robin died. I have known a piece of property bought at five
hundred dollars, sold at once for twenty thousand; five thousand
counted down, and the remainder secured by bond and mortgage. Whether
these after payments were ever made, is another question, and one which
I am unable to answer. I mention the transaction as one which was
performed in all truth and fairness savouring nothing of the "tricksy
spirit" on which I have been somewhat diffuse. I must not omit to
record the friendly offer of one of the gentlemen whose adventures I
have recapitulated, to take "two Montacute lots at five hundred dollars
each." As this was rather beyond the price which the owner had thought
fit to affix to his ordinary lots, he felt exceedingly obliged, and
somewhat at a loss to account for the proposition, till his friend
whispered, "and you shall have in payment a lot at New-New-York at a
thousand; and we have not sold one at that I can assure you." The
obliged party chanced to meet the agent for New-New-York about a year
after and inquired the fortunes of the future emporium—the number of
inhabitants, "There's nobody there," said he "but those we hire to
come."
Mrs. Hardcastle. I wish we were at home again. I never met so
many accidents in so short a journey. Drenched in the mud, overturned
in the ditch, jolted to a jelly, and at last to lose our way. —
Goldsmith—She Stoops to Conquer. At length came the joyful news that
our moveables had arrived in port; and provision was at once made for
their transportation to the banks of the Turnip. But many and dire were
the vexatious delays, thrust by the cruel Fates between us and the
accomplishment of our plan; and it was not till after the lapse of
several days that the most needful articles were selected and bestowed
in a large waggon which was to pioneer the grand body. In this waggon
had been reserved a seat for myself, since I had far too great an
affection for my chairs and tables, to omit being present at their
debarcation at Montacute, in order to ensure their undisturbed
possession of the usual complement of legs. And there were the children
to be packed this time,— little roley-poley things, whom it would have
been in vain to have marked—"this side up," like the rest of the
baggage. A convenient space must be contrived for my plants among
which were two or three tall geraniums and an enormous Calla Ethiopica.
Then D'Orsay must beaccommodated, of course; and, to crown all, a large
basket of live fowls; for we had been told that there were none to be
purchased in the vicinity of Montacute. Besides these, there were all
our travelling trunks; and an enormous square box crammed with articles
which we then in our greenness considered indispensable. We have since
learned better. After this enumeration, which yet is only partial, it
will not seem strange that the guide and director of our omnibus was to
ride "On horseback after we." He acted as a sort of
adjutant—galloping forward to spy out the way, or provide
accommodations for the troop—pacing close to the wheels to modify our
arrangements, to console one of the imps who had bumped its pate, or to
give D'Orsay a gentle hint with the riding-whip when he made
demonstrations of mutiny— and occasionally falling behind to pick up a
stray handkerchief or parasol. The roads near Detroit were
inexpressibly bad. Many were the chances against our toppling load's
preserving its equilibrium. To our inexperience the risks seemed
nothing less than tremendous—but the driver so often reiterated, "that
a'n't nothin'," in reply to our despairing exclamations, and, what was
better, so constantly proved his words by passing the most frightful
inequalities (Michiganicé "sidlings") in safety, that we soon became
more confident, and ventured to think of something else besides the
ruts and mud-holes. Our stopping-places after the first day were of
theordinary new country class—the very coarsest accommodations by
night and by day, and all at the dearest rate. When every body is
buying land and scarce any body cultivating it, one must not expect to
find living either good or cheap: but, I confess, I was surprised at
the dearth of comforts which we observed every where. Neither milk,
eggs, nor vegetables were to be had, and those who could not live on
hard salt ham, stewed dried apples, and bread raised with "salt
risin'," would necessarily run some risk of starvation. One word as to
this and similar modes of making bread, so much practised throughout
this country. It is my opinion that the sin of bewitching snow-white
flour by means of either of those abominations, "salt risin'," "milk
emptin's," "bran 'east," or any of their odious compounds, ought to be
classed with the turning of grain into whiskey, and both made
indictable offences. To those who know of no other means of producing
the requisite sponginess in bread than the wholesome hop-yeast of the
brewer, I may be allowed to explain the mode to which I have alluded
with such hearty reprobation. Here follows the recipe: To make milk
emptin's. Take quantum suf. of good sweet milk—add a teaspoon full of
salt, and some water, and set the mixture in a warm place till it
ferments, then mix your bread with it; and if you are lucky enough to
catch it just in the right moment before the fermentation reaches the
putrescent stage, you may make tolerably good rolls, but if you are
five minutes too late, you will have to open your doors and windows
while your bread is baking.—Verbum sap. "Salt risin"' is made with
water slightly salted andfermented like the other; and becomes putrid
rather sooner; and "bran 'east" is on the same plan. The consequences
of letting these mixtures stand too long will become known to those
whom it may concern, when they shall travel through the remoter parts
of Michigan; so I shall not dwell upon them here—but I offer my
counsel to such of my friends as may be removing westward, to bring
with them some form of portable yeast (the old-fashioned dried cakes
which mothers and aunts can furnish, are as good as any)— and also
full instructions for perpetuating the same; and to plant hops as soon
as they get a corner to plant them in. "And may they better reck the
rede, Than ever did th' adviser." The last two days of our slow
journey were agreeably diversified with sudden and heavy showers, and
intervals of overpowering sunshine. The weather had all the
changefulness of April, with the torrid heat of July. Scarcely would we
find shelter from the rain which had drenched us completely—when the
sunshine would tempt us forth; and by the time all the outward gear was
dried, and matters in readiness for a continuation of our progress,
another threatening cloud would drive us back, though it never really
rained till we started. We had taken a newly opened and somewhat
lonely route this time, in deference to the opinion of those who ought
to have known better, that this road from having been less travelled
would not be quite so deep as the other. As we went farther into the
wilderness thedifficulties increased. The road had been but little
"worked," (the expression in such cases) and in some parts was almost
in a state of nature. Where it wound round the edge of a marsh, where
in future times there will be a bridge or drain, the wheels on one side
would be on the dry ground while the others were sinking in the long
wet grass of the marsh—and in such places it was impossible to discern
inequalities which yet might overturn us in an instant. In one case of
this sort we were obliged to dismount the "live lumber"— as the man
who helped us through phrased it, and let the loaded waggon pass on,
while we followed in an empty one which was fortunately at hand—and it
was, in my eyes, little short of a miracle that our skillful friend
succeeded in piloting safely the top-heavy thing which seemed thrown
completely off its centre half a dozen times. At length we came to a
dead stand. Our driver had received special cautions as to a certain
mash that "lay between us and our home"—to "keep to the right"— to
"follow the travel" to a particular point, and then "turn up stream:"
but whether the very minuteness and reiteration of the directions had
puzzled him, as is often the case, or whether his good genius had for
once forsaken him, I know not. We had passed the deep centre of the
miry slough, when by some unlucky hair's-breadth swerving, in went our
best horse—our sorrel— our "Prince,"—the "off haus," whose value had
been speered three several times since we left Detroit, with
magnificent offers of a "swop!" The noble fellow, unlike the tame
beasties that are used to such occurrences, shewed his good blood by
kicking and plunging,which only made his case more desperate. A few
moments more would have left us with a "single team," when his master
succeeded in cutting the traces with his penknife. Once freed, Prince
soon made his way out of the bog-hole and pranced off, far up the green
swelling hill which lay before us—out of sight in an instant—and
there we sat in the marsh. There is but one resource in such cases.
You must mount your remaining horse if you have one, and ride on till
you find a farmer and one, two, or three pairs of oxen—and all this
accomplished, you may generally hope for a release in time. The
interval seemed a leetle tedious, I confess. To sit for three mortal
hours in an open waggon, under a hot sun, in the midst of a swamp, is
not pleasant. The expanse of inky mud which spread around us, was
hopeless, as to any attempt at getting ashore. I crept cautiously down
the tongue, and tried one or two of the tempting green tufts, which
looked as if they might afford foothold; but alas! they sank under the
slightest pressure. So I was fain to re-gain my low chair, with its
abundant cushions, and lose myself in a book. The children thought it
fine fun for a little while, but then they began to want a drink. I
never knew children who did not, when there was no water to be had.
There ran through the very midst of all this black pudding, as clear a
stream as ever rippled, and the waggon stood almost in it!—but how to
get at it? The basket which had contained, when we left the city, a
store of cakes and oranges, which the children thought inexhaustible,
held now, nothing but the napkins, whichhad enveloped those departed
joys, and those napkins, suspended corner-wise, and soaked long and
often in the crystal water, served for business and pleasure, till papa
came back. "They're coming! They're coming!" was the cry, and with the
word, over went Miss Alice, who had been reaching as far as she could,
trying how large a proportion of her napkin she could let float on the
water. Oh, the shrieks and the exclamations! how hard papa rode, and
how hard mamma scolded! but the little witch got no harm beyond a
thorough wetting, and a few streaks of black mud, and felt herself a
heroine for the rest of the day.
Rous'd at his name, up rose the boozy sire, * * * * * * * * In vain,
in vain,—the all-composing hour Resistless falls: the Muse obeys the
power." — Pope The night dews were falling chill and heavy when
we crossed the last log-causeway, and saw a dim glimmering in the
distance. The children were getting horribly cross and sleepy. The
unfortunate anchoring in the black swamp had deranged our plans by
about three hours, and when we reached our destined resting-place,
which was the log-house where I had been so happy as to make the
acquaintance of Miss Irene Ketchum, and her dignified mamma, the family
had retired to rest, except Mr. Ketchum, who rested without retiring.
The candle, a long twelve I should judge, was standing on the table,
and wasting rapidly under the influence of a very long snuff, which
reclined upon its side. Upon the same table, and almost touching the
tall iron candlestick, was a great moppy head; and this head rested in
heavy slumber on the brawny arms of the master of the house. "Ketchum!
Ketchum!" echoed a shrill voice from within the pinned-up sheets in one
corner, and I might have thought the woman was setting the dog at us,
if I had not recognized the dulcet-treble of the fair Irene from the
other bed—"Pa, pa, get up, can't you?" Thus conjured, the master of
the mansion tried to overcome the still potent effects of his evening
potations, enough to understand what was the matter, but in vain. He
could only exclaim, "What the devil's got into the women?" and down
went the head again. Mrs. Ketchum had, by this time, exchanged the
night for the day cap, and made herself, otherwise, tolerably
presentable. She said she had supposed we were not coming, it was so
late; (it was just half-past eight,) and then, like many other poor
souls I have known, tried hard to hide her husband's real difficulty.
"He was so tired!" she said. How long the next hour seemed! A summer
day in some company I wot of, would not seem half as tedious. It took
all papa's ingenuity, and more than all mamma's patience to amuse the
poor children, till matters were arranged; but at length the important
matter of supper being in some sort concluded, preparations were made
for "retiracy." Up the stick-ladder we all paced "slowly and sadly."
Miss Irene preceding us with the remnant of the long twelve, leaving
all below in darkness. The aspect of our lodging-place was rather
portentous. Two bed-steads, which looked as if they might, by no very
violent freak of nature, have grown into their present form, a good
deal of bark being yet upon them, occupied the end opposite the stairs;
and between them was a window, without either glass or shutter— that
is to say, politeness aside, a square hole in the house. Three beds
spread upon the floor, two chests, and a spinning-wheel, with reel and
swifts, completed the plenishing of the room. Two of the beds were
already tenanted, as the vibrations of the floor might have told us
without the aid of ears, (people snore incredibly after ploughing all
day,) and the remainder were at our service. The night air pouring in
at the aperture seemed to me likely to bring death on its dewy wings,
and when I looked up and saw the stars shining through the crevices in
the roof, I thought I might venture to have the wider rent closed,
although I had been sensible of some ill resulting from the close
quarters at Danforth's So a quilt, that invaluable resource in the
woods, was stuck up before the window, and the unhinged cover of one of
the chests was used as a lid for the stair-way, for fear the children
might fall down. Sheets served to partition off a "tyring room" round
my bed—an expedient frequently resorted to—and so dangerous that it
is wonderful that so few houses are burnt down in this country. And
thus passed my first night in Montacute. I do not remember
experiencing, at any time in my life, a sense of more complete
uncomfortableness than was my lot, on awaking the next morning. It
seemed to arise entirely from my anticipations of the awkward and
tedious inconveniences of our temporary sojourn at this place, where
every thing was so different from our ideas of comfort, or even
decency. But I have since been convinced, that sleeping in an
exhaustedatmosphere, of which those who slept on the bedsteads felt the
effect more sensibly than those who lay on the floor, had no small
agency in producing this depression of spirits, so unusual with me. Be
this as it may, my troubles, when the children were to be washed and
dressed, became real and tangible enough; for, however philosophical
grown people may sometimes be under disagreeables consequent upon a
change of habits, children are very epicures, and will put up with
nothing that is unpleasant to them, without at least making a noise,
which I do detest and dread; though I know mothers ought to "get used
to such things." I have heard that cels get accustomed to being
skinned, but I doubt the fact. That morning was the first and the last
time I ever attempted to carry through the ordinary nursery routine, in
a log-hut, without a servant, and with a skillet for a wash-basin. The
little things did get dressed after a while, however, and were safely
escorted down the stick-ladder, and it was really a pleasure to see
them careering round the house, rioting in their freedom, and to hear
now and then a merry laugh, awakening the echoes. Children are the true
bijouterie of the woods and wilds. How weary would my last three years
have been, without the cares and troubles they have brought me! Our
breakfast, of undistinguishable green tea, milk-rising bread, and salt
ham, did not consume much time, and most fortunately we here found milk
for the children, who of course made out sumptuously. It was the first
time since we left Detroit, that we had been able to procure more than
a small allowance for the tea. My first care was to inquire where I
might be able to procure a domestic, for I saw plainly I must not
expect any aid from Miss Irene or her younger sister, who were just
such "captive-princess" looking damsels as Miss Martineau mentions
having seen at a country inn somewhere on her tour. "Well, I don't
know," said Mrs. Ketchum in reply to my questions; "there was a young
lady here yesterday that was saying she did n't know but she'd live out
a spell till she'd bought her a new dress." "Oh! but I wish to get a
girl who will remain with me; I should not like to change often." Mrs.
Ketchum smiled rather scornfully at this, and said there were not many
girls about here that cared to live out long at a time. My spirits
fell at this view of the matter. Some of my dear theorizing friends in
the civilized world had dissuaded me most earnestly from bringing a
maid with me. "She would always be discontented and anxious to return;
and you'll find plenty of good farmer's daughters ready to live with
you for the sake of earning a little money." Good souls! how little
did they know of Michigan! I have since that day seen the interior of
many a wretched dwelling, with almost literally nothing in it but a
bed, a chest, and a table; children ragged to the last degree, and
potatoes the only fare; but never yet saw I one where the daughter was
willing to own herself obliged to live out at service. She would "hire
out" long enough to buy some article of dress perhaps, or "because our
folks have been sick, and want a littlemoney to pay the doctor," or for
some such special reason; but never as a regular calling, or with an
acknowledgment of inferior station. This state of things appalled me
at first; but I have learned a better philosophy since. I find no
difficulty now in getting such aid as I require, and but little in
retaining it as long as I wish, though there is always a desire of
making an occasional display of independence. Since living with one for
wages is considered by common consent a favour, I take it as a favour;
and, this point once conceded, all goes well. Perhaps I have been
peculiarly fortunate; but certainly with one or two exceptions, I have
little or nothing to complain of on this essential point of domestic
comfort. To be sure, I had one damsel who crammed herself almost to
suffocation with sweatmeats and other things which she esteemed very
nice; and ate up her own pies and cake, to the exclusion of those for
whom they were intended; who would put her head in at a door,
with—"Miss Clavers, did you holler? I thought I heered a yell." And
another who was highly offended, because room was not made for her at
table with guests from the city, and that her company was not requested
for tea-visits. And this latter high-born damsel sent in from the
kitchen a circumstantial account in writing, of the instances wherein
she considered herself aggrieved; well written it was too, and
expressed with much naïveté, and abundant respect. I answered it in the
way which "turneth away wrath." Yet it was not long before this fiery
spirit was aroused again, and I was forced to part with my country
belle. But these instances are notvery tremendous even to the city
habits I brought with me; and I cannot say I regret having been obliged
to relinquish what was, after all, rather a silly sort of pride. But
bless me! how I get before my story! I viewed the matter very
differently when I was at Ketchum's. My philosophy was of slow growth.
On reflection, it was thought best not to add another sleeper to the
loft, and I concluded to wait on myself and the children while we
remained at Ketchum's, which we hoped would be but for a day or two. I
can only say, I contrived to simplify the matter very much, when I had
no one to depend on but myself. The children had dirty faces, and
aprons which would have effected their total exclusion from genteel
society more than half the time; and I was happy to encourage the
closest intimacy between them and the calves and chickens, in order to
gain some peace within doors. Mrs. Ketchum certainly had her own
troubles during our sojourn under her leaky roof; for the two races
commingled not without loud and long effervescence, threatening at
times nothing short of a Kilkenny cat battle, ending in mutual
extermination. My office, on these occasions, was an humble imitation
of the plan of the celestials in ancient times; to snatch away the
combatant in whom I was most interested, and then to secrete him for a
while, using as a desert island one of the beds in the loft, where the
unfortunate had to dree a weary penance, and generally came down quite
tame.
The ripeness or unripeness of the occasion must ever be well weighed;
and generally, it is good to commit the beginnings of all great actions
to Argus with his hundred eyes, and the ends to Briareus with his
hundred hands.— — Bacon Trust not yourself; but your defects
to know Make use of every friend. — Pope The log-house, which
was to be our temporary home, was tenanted at this time; and we were
obliged to wait while the incumbent could build a framed one; the
materials for which had been growing in the woods not long before; I
was told it would take but a short time, as it was already framed.
What was my surprise, on walking that way to ascertain the progress of
things, to find the materials still scattered on the ground, and the
place quite solitary. "Did not Mr. Ketchum say Green's house was
framed?" said I to the dame du palais, on my return; "the timbers are
all lying on the ground, and nobody at work." "Why, la! so they be all
framed, and Green's gone to—for the sash. They'll be ready to raise
tomorrow." It took me some time to understand that framing was nothing
more than cutting the tenons and morticesready for putting the timbers
together, and that these must be raised before there could be a frame.
And that "sash," which I in my ignorance supposed could be but for one
window, was a generic term. The "raising" took place the following
afternoon, and was quite an amusing scene to us cockneys, until one
man's thumb was frightfully mashed, and another had a severe blow upon
the head. A jug of whiskey was pointed out by those who understood the
matter, as the true cause of these disasters, although the Fates got
the blame. "Jem White always has such bad luck!" said Mr. Ketchum, on
his return from the raising, "and word spake never more," for that
night at least; for he disappeared behind the mysterious curtain, and
soon snored most sonorously. The many raisings which have been
accomplished at Montacute, without that ruinous ally, strong drink,
since the days of which I speak, have been free from accidents of any
sort; Jem White having carried his "bad luck" to a distant county, and
left his wife and children to be taken care of by the public. Our
cottage bore about the same proportion to the articles we had expected
to put into it, that the "lytell hole" did to the fiend whom Virgilius
cajoled into its narrow compass; and the more we reflected, the more
certain we became that without the magic powers of necromancy, one half
of our moveables at least must remain in the open air. To avoid such
necessity, Mr. Clavers was obliged to return to Detroit and provide
storage for sundry unwieldy boxes which could by no art of ours be
conjured into our cot. While he was absent, Green had enclosed his new
house; that is to say put on the roof and the siding, and laid one
floor, and forthwith he removed thither without door, window or
chimney, a course by no means unusual in Michigan. As I was by this
time, truth to speak, very nearly starved, I was anxious to go as soon
as possible to a place where I could feel a little more at home; and so
completely had my nine days at Ketchum's brought down my ideas, that I
anticipated real satisfaction in a removal to this hut in the
wilderness. I would not wait for Mr. Clavers's return; but insisted on
setting up for myself at once. But I should in vain attempt to convey
to those who know nothing of the woods, any idea of the difficulties in
my way. If one's courage did not increase, and one's invention brighten
under the stimulus of such occasions, I should have given up at the
outset, as I have often done with far less cause. It was no easy
matter to get a "lady" to clean the place, and ne'er had place more
need of the tutelary aid of the goddess of scrubbing brushes. Then this
lady must be provided with the necessary utensils, and here arose
dilemma upon dilemma. Mrs. Ketchum rendered what aid she could, but
there was little superfluous in her house. And then, such racing and
chasing, such messages and requisitions! Mrs. Jennings "could n't do
nothin' without a mop, and I had not thought of such a thing and was
obliged to sacrifice on the spot sundry nice towels, a necessity which
made all the house-keeping blood in my veins tingle. After one day's
experience of this sort, I decided to go myself to the scene of action,
so as to be at hand for these trying occasions; and I induced Mr.
Ketchum to procure a waggon and carry to our new home the various
articles which we had piled in a hovel on his premises. Behold me then
seated on a box, in the midst of as anomalous a congregation of
household goods as ever met under one roof in the back-woods, engaged
in the seemingly hopeless task of calling order out of chaos,
attempting occasionally to throw out a hint for the instruction of Mrs.
Jennings, who uniformly replied by requesting me not to fret, as she
knew what she was about. Mr. Jennings, with the aid of his sons,
undertook the release of the pent up myriads of articles which crammed
the boxes, many of which though ranked when they were put in as
absolutely essential, seemed ridiculously superfluous when they came
out. The many observations made by the spectators as each new wonder
made its appearance, though at first rather amusing, became after a
while quite vexatious; for the truth began to dawn upon me that the
common sense was all on their side. "What on airth's them gimcracks
for?" said my lady, as a nest of delicate japanned tables were set out
upon the uneven floor. I tried to explain to her the various
convenient uses to which they were applicable; but she looked very
scornfully after all and said "I guess they'll do better for kindlin's
than any thing else, here." And I began to cast a disrespectful glance
upon them myself, andforthwith ordered them up stairs, wondering in my
own mind how I could have thought a log house would afford space for
such superfluities. All this time there was a blazing fire in the
chimney to accommodate Mrs. Jennings in her operations, and while the
doors and windows were open we were not sensible of much discomfort
from it. Supper was prepared and eaten—beds spread on the floor, and
the children stowed away. Mrs. Jennings and our other "helps" had
departed, and I prepared to rest from my unutterable weariness, when I
began to be sensible of the suffocating heat of the place. I tried to
think it would grow cooler in a little while, but it was absolutely
insufferable to the children as well as myself, and I was fain to set
both doors open, and in this exposed situation passed the first night
in my western home, alone with my children and far from any neighbour.
If I could live a century, I think, that night will never fade from my
memory. Excessive fatigue made it impossible to avoid falling asleep,
yet the fear of being devoured by wild beasts, or poisoned by
rattle-snakes, caused me to start up after every nap with sensations of
horror and alarm, which could hardly have been increased by the actual
occurrence of all I dreaded. Many wretched hours passed in this manner.
At length sleep fairly overcame fear, and we were awakened only by a
wild storm of wind and rain which drove in upon us and completely
wetted every thing within reach. A doleful morning was this—no fire
on the hearth— streams of water on the floor, and three hungry
childrento get breakfast for. I tried to kindle a blaze with matches,
but alas! even the straw from the packing-boxes was soaked with the
cruel rain; and I was distributing bread to the hungry, hopeless of
anything more, when Mr. Jennings made his appearance. "I was thinking
you'd begin to be sick o' your bargain by this time," said the good
man, "and so I thought I'd come and help you a spell. I reckon you'd
ha' done better to have waited till the old man got back." "What old
man?" asked I, in perfect astonishment. "Why, your old man to be
sure," said he laughing. I had yet to learn that in Michigan, as soon
as a man marries he becomes "th' old man," though he may be yet in his
minority. Not long since I gave a young bride the how d' ye do in
passing, and the reply was, "I'm pretty well, but my old man's sick
a-bed." But to return, Mr. Jennings kindled a fire which I took care
should be a very moderate one; and I managed to make a cup of tea to
dip our bread in, and then proceeded to find places for the various
articles which strewed the floor. Some auger-holes bored in the logs
received large and long pegs, and these served to support boards which
were to answer the purpose of shelves. It was soon found that the
multiplicity of articles which were to be accommodated on these shelves
would fill them a dozen times. "Now to my thinkin'," said my good
genius, Mr. Jennings, "that'ere soup-t'reen, as you call it, and them
little ones, and these here great glass-dishes, and all sich, might
jist as well go up chamber for all the good they'll ever do you here."
This could not be gainsaid; and the good man proceeded to exalt them
to another set of extempore shelves in the upper story; and so many
articles were included in the same category, that I began to
congratulate myself on the increase of clear space below, and to fancy
we should soon begin to look very comfortable. My ideas of comfort
were by this time narrowed down to a well-swept room with a bed in one
corner, and cooking-apparatus in another—and this in some fourteen
days from the city! I can scarcely, myself, credit the reality of the
change. It was not till I had occasion to mount the ladder that I
realized that all I had gained on the confusion below was most
hopelessly added to the confusion above, and I came down with such a
sad and thoughtful brow, that my good aid-de-camp perceived my
perplexity. "Had n't I better go and try to get one of the neighbour's
gals to come and help you for a few days?" said he. I was delighted
with the offer, and gave him carteblanche as to terms, which I
afterwards found was a mistake, for, where sharp bargains are the grand
aim of every body, those who express anything like indifference on the
subject, are set down at once as having more money than they know what
to do with; and as this was far from being my case, I found reason to
regret having given room for the conclusion. The damsel made her
appearance before a great while—a neat looking girl with "scarlet hair
and belt to match;" and she immediately set about "reconciling" as she
called it, with a good degree of energy and ingenuity. I was forced to
confess that she knew much better than I how to make a log-house
comfortable. She began by turning out of doors the tall cup-board,
which had puzzled me all the morning, observing very justly, "Where
there ain't no room for a thing, why, there ain't;" and this decision
cut the Gordian knot of all my plans and failures in the disposal of
the ungainly convenience. It did yeoman's service long afterwards as a
corn-crib. When the bedsteads were to be put up, the key was among the
missing; and after we had sent far and wide and borrowed a key, or the
substitute for one, no screws could be found, and we were reduced to
the dire necessity of trying to keep the refractory posts in their
places by means of ropes. Then there were candles, but no
candle-sticks. This seemed at first rather inconvenient, but when Mr.
Jennings had furnished blocks of wood with auger-holes bored in them
for sockets, we could do nothing but praise the ingenuity of the
substitute. My rosy-haired Phillida who rejoiced in the euphonius
appellation of Angeline, made herself entirely at home, looking into my
trunks, and asking the price of various parts of my dress. She wondered
why I had not my hair cut off, and said she reckoned I would before
long, as it was all the fashion about here. "When d' ye expect Him?"
said the damsel, with an air of sisterly sympathy, and ere I could
reply becomingly, a shout of "tiny joy" told me that Papa had come. I
did not cry for sorrow this time.
Dans toutes les professions et dans tous les arts, chacum se fait une
mine et un extérieur qu' il met en la place de la chose dont il veut
avoir la merite; de sorte que tout le monde n'est composé que de mines;
et c' est inutilement que nous travaillons à y trouver rien de ríel.
— Rochefoucault We see the reign or tyranny of custom, what it
is. The Indians lay themselves quietly upon a stack of wood, and so
sacrifice themselves by fire. * * * * * Since custom is the principal
magistrate of man's life, let men by all means endeavour to obtain good
customs. — Bacon Difficulties began to melt away like frosty
rime after this. Some were removed, but to many we became habituated in
a far shorter time than I could have imagined possible. A carpenter
constructed a narrow flight of board-steps which really seemed
magnificent after the stick-ladder. The screws came before the
bed-steads were quite spoiled, and the arrival of my bureau—the
unpacking of the box among whose multifarious contents appeared the
coffee-mill, the smoothing-irons, the snuffers, gave more real delight
than that of any case of splendid Parisian millinery that ever drew
together a bevy of belles at Mrs.—'s show-rooms. I never before knew
the value of a portabledesk, or realized that a bottle of ink might be
reckoned among one's treasures. Our preparations for residence were on
a very limited scale, for we had no idea of inhabiting the loggery more
than six weeks or two months at farthest. Our new dwelling was to be
put up immediately, and our arrangements were to be only temporary. So
easily are people deluded! The Montacute mill was now in progress, and
had grown (on paper,) in a short time from a story and a half to four
stories; its capabilities of all sorts being proportionably increased.
The tavern was equally fortunate, for Mr. Mazard had undertaken its
erection entirely on his own account, as a matter of speculation,
feeling, he said, quite certain of selling it for double its cost
whenever he should wish. The plan of the public-house was the
production of his teeming brain, and exhibited congenial intricacies;
while the windows resembled his own eyes in being placed too near
together, and looking all manner of ways. Several smaller buildings
were also in progress, and for all these workmen at a high rate of
wages were to be collected and provided for. I could not but marvel
how so many carpenters had happened to "locate" within a few miles of
each other in this favoured spot; but I have since learned that a
plane, a chisel, and two dollars a day make a carpenter in Michigan.
Mill-wrights too are remarkably abundant; but I have never been able
to discover any essential difference between them and the carpenters,
except that they receive three dollars per diem, which, no doubt,
creates a distinction in time. Our mill-wright was a little
round-headed fellow with a button nose, a very Adonis, in his own eyes,
and most aptly named Puffer, since never did a more consequential
dignitary condescend to follow a base mechanical calling. His
statements, when he condescended to make any, were always given with a
most magisterial air; and no suggestion, however skilfully insinuated
or gently offered, was ever received without an air of insulted
dignity, and a reiteration of his own conviction that it was probable
he understood his business. It is to be ascribed to this gentleman's
care and accuracy that Mr. Clavers has since had the satisfaction of
appearing as defendant in several suits at law, brought by those of his
neighbours whose property had been doubled in value by the erection of
the mill, and who therefore thought they might as well see what else
they could get, to recover the value of sundry acres of wet marsh made
wetter by the flowing back of the pond, while Mr. Puffer's calculations
and levels prove most satisfactorily (on paper) that the pond had no
business to flow back so far, and that therefore malice itself could
ascribe no fault to his management. But to return. Our own dwelling
was to be built at the same time with all those I have mentioned; and
materials for the whole were to be brought by land carriage from two to
thirty miles. To my inexperienced brain, these undertakings seemed
nothing less than gigantic. I used to dream of the pyramids of Egypt,
and the great wall of China, and often thought, during my waking hours,
of the "tower on Shinar's plain," and employed myself in conjectural
comparisons between the confusion which punished the projectors of
thatedifice, and the difficulties which beset the builders of
Montacute. "No brick come yet, sir! Dibble couldn't get no white wood
lumber at I—, (thirty miles off,) so he stopt and got what lime there
was at Jones's; but they hadn't only four bushels, and they wouldn't
burn again till week after next; and that'ere sash that came from —is
all of three inches too large for the window frames; and them doors was
made of such green stuff, that they won't go together no how." "Well,
you can go on with the roof surely!" "Why, so we could; but you know,
sir, oak-shingle wouldn't answer for the mill, and there's no pine
shingle short of Detroit." "Can't the dwelling-house be raised to-day
then?" "Why, we calc'lated to raise to-day, sir; but that fellow never
came to dig the cellar." "Go on with the blacksmith's shop, then,
since nothing else can be done." "Yes, sir, certainly. Shall we take
that best white wood siding? for you know the oak siding never came
from Tacker's mill." "Send Thomson for it, then." "Well, Thomson's
best horse is so lame that he can't use him to-day, and the other is
a-drawin' timber for the dam." "Let John go with my horses." "John's
wife's sick, and he's got your horses and gone for the doctor." But if
I should fill pages with these delays and disappointments, I should
still fail to give any idea of the real vexations of an attempt to
build on any but thesmallest scale in a new country. You discover a
thousand requisites that you had never thought of, and it is well if
you do not come to the angry conclusion that every body is in league
against you and your plans. Perhaps the very next day after you have by
extra personal exertion, an offer of extra price, or a bonus in some
other form, surmounted some prodigious obstacle, you walk down to
survey operations with a comfortable feeling of self-gratulation, and
find yourself in complete solitude, every soul having gone off to
election or town meeting. No matter at what distance these important
affairs are transacted, so fair an excuse for a ploy can never pass
unimproved; and the virtuous indignation which is called forth by any
attempt at dissuading one of the sovereigns from exercising "the
noblest privilege of a freeman," to forward your business and his own,
is most amusingly provoking. I once ventured to say, in my feminine
capacity merely, and by way of experiment, to a man whose family I knew
to be suffering for want of the ordinary comforts: "I should suppose
it must be a great sacrifice for you, Mr. Fenwick, to spend two days in
going to election." The reply was given with the air of Forrest's
William Tell, and in a tone which would have rejoiced Miss Martineau's
heart—"Yes, to be sure; but ought not a man to do his duty to his
country?" This was unanswerable, of course. I hope it consoled poor
Mrs. Fenwick, whose tattered gown would have been handsomely renewed by
those two days' wages. As may be conjectured from the foregoing slight
sketch of our various thwartings and hinderances, the neat framed house
which had been pictured on my mind's eye so minutely, and which I
coveted with such enthusiasm, was not built in a month, nor in two, nor
yet in three;—but I anticipate again. The circumstance of living all
summer, in the same apartment with a cooking fire, I had never happened
to see alluded to in any of the elegant sketches of western life which
had fallen under my notice. It was not until I actually became the
inmate of a log dwelling in the wilds, that I realized fully what
"living all in one room" meant. The sleeping apparatus for the children
and the sociable Angeline, were in the loft; but my own bed, with its
cunning fence of curtains; my bureau, with its "Alps on Alps" of boxes
and books; my entire cooking array; my centre-table, which bore, sad
change! the remains of to-day's dinner, and the preparations for
to-morrow, all covered mysteriously under a large cloth, the only
refuge from the mice: these and ten thousand other things, which a
summer's day would not suffice me to enumerate, cumbered this one
single apartment; and to crown the whole was the inextinguishable fire,
which I had entirely forgotten when I magnanimously preferred living in
a log-house, to remaining in Detroit till a house could be erected. I
had, besides the works to which I have alluded, dwelt with delight on
Chateaubriand's Atala, where no such vulgar inconvenience is once
hinted at; and my floating visions of a home in the woods were full of
important omissions, and always in a Floridian clime, where fruits
serve for vivers. The inexorable dinner hour, which is passed sub
silentio in imaginary forests, always recurs, in real woods, with
distressing iteration, once in twenty-four hours, as I found to my
cost. And the provoking people for whom I had undertaken to provide,
seemed to me to get hungry oftener than ever before. There was no end
to the bread that the children ate from morning till night—at least it
seemed so; while a tin reflector was my only oven, and the fire
required for baking drove us all out of doors. Washing days,
proverbial elsewhere for indescribable horrors, were our times of
jubilee. Mrs. Jennings, who long acted as my factotum on these
occasions, always performed the entire operation, al fresco, by the
side of the creek, with "A kettle slung Between two poles, upon a
stick transverse." I feel much indebted to Cowper for having given a
poetical grace to the arrangement. "The shady shadow of an umbrageous
tree" (I quote from an anonymous author) served for a canopy, and there
the bony dame generally made a pic-nic meal, which I took care to
render as agreeable as possible, by sending as many different articles
as the basket could be persuaded to receive, each contained in that
characteristic of the country, a pint bowl. But, oh! the ironing days!
Memory shrinks from the review. Some of the ordinary household affairs
could be managed by the aid of a fire made on some large stones at a
little distance from the house; and this did very well when the wind
sat in the right quarter; which it did not always, as witness the
remains of the pretty pink gingham which fell a sacrifice to my desire
for an afternoon cup of coffee. But the ironing and the baking were
imperious; and my forest Hecate, who seemed at times to belong to the
salamander tribe, always made as much fire as the stick-chimney, with
its crumbling clay-lining, would possibly bear. She often succeeded in
bringing to a white heat the immense stone which served as a
chimney-back, while the deep gaps in the stone hearth, which Alice
called the Rocky Mountains, were filled with burning coals out to the
very floor. I have sometimes suspected that the woman loved to torment
me, but perhaps I wrong her. She was used to it, I dare say, for she
looked like one exsiccated in consequence of ceaseless perspiration.
When the day declined, and its business was laid aside, it was our
practice to walk to and fro before the door, till the house had been
thoroughly cooled by the night-air; and these promenades, usually made
pleasant by long talks about home, and laughing conjectures as to
what—and—would say if they could see our new way of life, were
frequently prolonged to a late hour. And to this most imprudent
indulgence we could not but trace the agues which soon prostrated most
of us. We had, to be sure, been warned by our eastern friends that we
should certainly have the ague, do what we might, but we had seen so
many persons who had been settled for years in the open country, and
who were yet in perfect health, that we had learned to imagine
ourselves secure. I am still of the opinion that care and rational diet
will enable most persons toavoid this terrible disease; and I record
this grave medical view of things for the encouragement and instruction
of such of my city friends as may hereafter find themselves borne
westward by the irresistible current of affairs; trusting that the sad
fate of their predecessors will deter them from walking in the open air
till ten o'clock at night without hat or shawl.
Down with the topmast; yare; lower, lower; bring her to try with
main-course. — Tempest When Angeline left me, which she did
after a few days, I was obliged to employ Mrs. Jennings to "chore
round," to borrow her own expression; and as Mr. Clavers was absent
much of the time, I had the full enjoyment of her delectable society
with that of her husband and two children, who often came to meals very
sociably, and made themselves at home with small urgency on my part.
The good lady's habits required strong green tea at least three times a
day; and between these three times she drank the remains of the tea
from the spout of the tea-pot, saying "it tasted better so." "If she
had n't it," she said "she had the 'sterics so that she was n't able to
do a chore." And her habits were equally imperious in the matter of
dipping with her own spoon or knife into every dish on the table. She
would have made out nobly on kibaubs, for even that unwieldly morsel a
boiled ham, she grasped by the hock and cut off in mouthfuls with her
knife, declining all aid from the carver, and saying cooly that she
made out very well. It was in vain one offered her any thing, she
replied invariably with a dignified nod; "I'll help myself, I thank ye.
I never want no waitin' on."And this reply is the universal one on such
occasions, as I have since had vexatious occasion to observe. Let no
one read with an incredulous shake of the head, but rather let my
sketch of these peculiar habits of my neighbours be considered as a
mere beginning, a shadow of what might be told. I might "Amaze indeed
The very faculty of eyes and ears," but I forbear. If "grandeur hear
with a disdainful smile"—thinking it would be far better to starve
than to eat under such circumstances, I can only say such was not my
hungry view of the case; and that I often found rather amusing exercise
for my ingenuity in contriving excuses and plans to get the old lady to
enjoy her meals alone. To have offered her outright a separate table,
though the board should groan with all the delicacies of the city,
would have been to secure myself the unenviable privilege of doing my
own "chores," at least till I could procure a "help" from some distance
beyond the reach of my friend Mrs. Jennings' tongue. It did not
require a very long residence in Michigan, to convince me that it is
unwise to attempt to stem directly the current of society, even in the
wilderness, but I have since learned many ways of wearing round which
give me the opportunity of living very much after my own fashion,
without offending, very seriously, any body's prejudices. No settlers
are so uncomfortable as those who, coming with abundant means as they
suppose, to be comfortable, set out with a determination to live as
they have been accustomed to live. They soon find that there are places
where the "almighty dollar" is almost powerless; or rather, that
powerful as it is, it meets with its conqueror in the jealous pride of
those whose services must be had in order to live at all. "Luff when
it blows," is a wise and necessary caution. Those who forget it and
attempt to carry all sail set and to keep an unvarying course, blow
which way it will, always abuse Michigan, and are abused in their turn.
Several whom we have known to set out with this capital mistake have
absolutely turned about again in despair, revenging themselves by
telling very hard stories about us nor' westers. Touchstone's
philosophy is your only wear for this meridian. "Corin. And how
like you this shepherd's life, Master Touchstone? "Touch. Truly,
shepherd, in respect of itself it is a good life; but in respect it is
a shepherd's life, it is naught. In respect that it is solitary, I like
it very well; but in respect that it is private, it is a very vile
life. Now, in respect that it is in the fields, it pleaseth me well;
but in respect it is not in the court, it is tedious. As it is a spare
life, look you, it fits my humour well; but as there is no plenty in
it, it goes much against my stomach. Hast any philosopy in thee,
shepherd? Nobody will quarrel with this view of things. You may say
any thing you like of the country or its inhabitants: but beware how
you raise a suspicion that you despise the homely habits of those
around you. This is never forgiven. It would be in vain to pretend
that this state of society can ever be agreeable to those who have
beenaccustomed to the more rational arrangements of the older world.
The social character of the meals, in particular, is quite destroyed,
by the constant presence of strangers, whose manners, habits of
thinking, and social connexions are quite different from your own, and
often exceedingly repugnant to your taste. Granting the correctness of
the opinion which may be read in their countenances that they are "as
good as you are," I must insist, that a greasy cook-maid, or a redolent
stable-boy, can never be, to my thinking, an agreeable table
companion—putting pride, that most terrific bug-bear of the woods, out
of the question. If the best man now living should honour my humble
roof with his presence—if he should happen to have an unfortunate
penchant for eating out of the dishes, picking his teeth with his fork,
or using the fire-place for a pocket handkerchief, I would prefer he
should take his dinner solus or with those who did as he did. But, I
repeat it; those who find these inconveniences most annoying while all
is new and strange to them, will by the exertion of a little patience
and ingenuity, discover ways and means of getting aside of what is most
unpleasant, in the habits of their neighbours: and the silent influence
of example is daily effecting much towards reformation in many
particulars. Neatness, propriety, and that delicate forbearance of the
least encroachment upon the rights or the enjoyments of others, which
is the essence of true elegance of manner, have only to be seen and
understood to be admired and imitated; and I would fain persuade those
who are groaning under certain inflictions to which Ihave but alluded,
that the true way of overcoming all the evils of which they complain is
to set forth in their own manners and habits, all that is kind,
forbearing, true, lovely, and of good report. They will find ere long
that their neighbours have taste enough to love what is so charming,
even though they see it exemplified by one who sits all day in a
carpeted parlor, teaches her own children instead of sending them to
the district school, hates "the breath of garlic eaters," and—oh fell
climax!—knows nothing at all of soap-making.
Honester men have stretch'd a rope, or the law has been sadly cheated.
But this unhappy business of yours? Can nothing be done? Let me see the
charge. He took the papers, and as he read them, his countenance grew
hopelessly dark and disconsolate. — Antiquary A strange fish!
Were I in England now, and had but this fish painted, not a holiday
fool there but would give me a piece of silver. —
Shakspeare—Tempest. Sorrow chang'd to solace, and solace mixed with
sorrow. — The Passionate Pilgrim Several lots had already been
purchased in Montacute and some improvement marked each succeeding day.
The mill had grown to its full stature, the dam was nearly completed;
the tavern began to exhibit promise of its present ugliness, and all
seemed prosperous as our best dreams, when certain rumours were set
afloat touching the solvency of our disinterested friend Mr. Mazard.
After two or three days' whispering, a tall black-browed man who
"happened in" from Gullsborough, the place which had for some time been
honoured as the residence of the Dousterswivel of Montacute, stated
boldly that Mr. Mazard had absconded; or, in Western language
"cleared." It seemed passing strange that he should run away from the
argehouse which was going on under his auspices; the materials all on
the ground and the work in full progress. Still more unaccountable did
it appear to us that his workmen should go on so quietly, without so
much as expressing any anxiety about their pay. Mr. Clavers had just
been telling me of these things, when the long genius above mentioned,
presented himself at the door of the loggery. His abord was a singular
mixture of coarseness, and an attempt at being civil; and he sat for
some minutes looking round and asking various questions before he
touched the mainspring of his visit. At length, after some fumbling in
his pocket, he produced a dingy sheet of paper, which he handed to Mr.
Clavers. "There; I want you to read that, and tell me what you think
of it." I did not look at the paper, but at my husband's face, which
was black enough. He walked away with the tall man, "and I saw no more
of them at that time." Mr. Clavers did not return until late in the
evening, and it was then I learned that Mr. Mazard had been getting
large quantities of lumber and other materials on his account, and as
his agent; and that the money which had been placed in the agent's
hands, for the purchase of certain lands to be flowed by the mill-pond,
had gone into government coffers in payment for sundry eighty acre
lots, which were intended for his, Mr. Mazard's, private behoof and
benefit. These items present but a sample of our amiable friends
trifling mistakes. I will not fatigue the readerby dwelling on the
subject. The results of all this were most unpleasant to us. Mr.
Clavers found himself involved to a large amount; and his only remedy
seemed to prosecute Mr. Mazard. A consultation with his lawyer,
however, convinced him, that even by this most disagreeable mode,
redress was out of the question, since he had through inadvertence
rendered himself liable for whatever that gentleman chose to buy or
engage in his name. All that could be done, was to get out of the
affair with as little loss as possible, and to take warning against
land sharks in future. An immediate journey to Detroit became
necessary, and I was once more left alone, and in no overflowing
spirits. I sat, "Revolving in my altered soul The various turns of
fate below," when a tall damsel, of perhaps twenty-eight or thirty
came in to make a visit. She was tastefully attired in a blue gingham
dress, with broad cuffs of black morocco, and a black cambric apron
edged with orange worsted lace. Her oily black locks were cut quite
short round the ears, and confined close to her head by a black ribbon,
from one side of which depended, almost in her eye, two very long
tassels of black silk, intended to do duty as curls. Prunelle slippers
with high heels, and a cotton handkerchief tied under the chin,
finished the costume, which I have been thus particular in describing,
because I have observed so many that were nearly similar. The lady
greeted me in the usual style, with a familiarnod, and seated herself
at once in a chair near the door. "Well, how do like Michigan?" This
question received the most polite answer which my conscience afforded;
and I asked the lady in my turn, if she was one of my neighbours?
"Why, massy, yes!" she replied; "do n't you know me? I tho't every
body know'd me. Why, I'm the school ma'am, Simeon Jenkins' sister,
Cleory Jenkins." Thus introduced, I put all my civility in requisition
to entertain my guest, but she seemed quite independent, finding
amusement for herself, and asking questions on every possible theme.
"You're doing your own work now, a' n't ye?" This might not be
denied; and I asked if she did not know of a girl whom I might be
likely to get. "Well, I do n't know; I'm looking for a place where I
can board and do chores myself. I have a good deal of time before
school, and after I get back; and I did n't know but I might suit ye
for a while." I was pondering on this proffer, when the sallow damsel
arose from her seat, took a short pipe from her bosom, (not "Pan's
reedy pipe," reader) filled it with tobacco, which she carried in her
"work-pocket," and reseating herself, began to smoke with the greatest
gusto, turning ever and anon to spit at the hearth. Incredible again?
alas, would it were not true! I have since known a girl of seventeen,
who was attending a neighbour's sick infant, smoke the live-long day,
and take snuff besides; and I can vouch for it, that a large proportion
of the married women in the interiorof Michigan use tobacco in some
form, usually that of the odious pipe. I took the earliest decent
opportunity to decline the offered help, telling the school-ma'am
plainly, than an inmate who smoked would make the house uncomfortable
to me. "Why, law!" said she, laughing; "that's nothing but pride now:
folks is often too proud to take comfort. For my part, I could n't do
without my pipe to please nobody." Mr. Simeon Jenkins, the brother of
this independent young lady now made his appearance on some trifling
errand; and his sister repeated to him what I had said. Mr. Jenkins
took his inch of cigar from his mouth, and asked if I really disliked
tobacco-smoke, seeming to think it scarcely possible. "Do n't your old
man smoke?" said he. "No, indeed," said I, with more than my usual
energy; "I should hope he never would." "Well," said neighbour
Jenkins, "I tell you what, I'm boss at home; and if my old woman was to
stick up that fashion, I'd keep the house so blue she could n't see to
snuff the candle." His sister laughed long and loud at this sally,
which was uttered rather angrily, and with an air of most manful
bravery; and, Mr. Jenkins, picking up his end of cigar from the floor,
walked off with an air evidently intended to be as expressive as the
celebrated and oft-quoted nod of Lord Burleigh in the Critic. Miss
Jenkins was still arguing on the subject of her pipe, when a gentleman
approached, whose dress and manner told me that he did not belong to
our neighbourhood. He was a red-faced, jolly-looking person, evidently
"well to do in the world," and sufficiently consequential for any
meridian. He seated himself quite unceremoniously; for who feels
ceremony in a log-house? said he understood Mr. Clavers was
absent—then hesitated; and, as Miss Jenkins afterwards observed,
"hummed and hawed," and seemed as if he would fain say something, but
scarce knew how. At length Miss Cleora took the hint—a most necessary
point of delicacy, where there is no withdrawing room. She gave her
parting nod, and disappeared; and the old gentleman proceeded. He had
come to Montacute with the view of settling his son, "a wild chap," he
said, a lawyer by profession, and not very fond of work of any sort;
but as he himself had a good deal of land in the vicinity, he thought
his son might find employment in attending to it, adding such
professional business as might occur. "But what I wished particularly
to say, my dear madam," said he, "regards rather my son's wife than
himself. She is a charming girl, and accustomed to much indulgence; and
I have felt afraid that a removal to a place so new as this might be
too trying to her, I knew you must be well able to judge of the
difficulties to be encountered here, and took the liberty of calling on
that account." I was so much pleased with the idea of having a
neighbour, whose habits might in some respects accord with my own, that
I fear I was scarcely impartial in the view which I gave Mr. Rivers, of
the possibilitiesof Montacute. At least, I communicated only such as
rises before my own mind, while watching perhaps a glorious sunset
reflected in the glassy pond; my hyacinths in all their glory; the
evening breeze beginning to sigh in the tree-tops; the children just
coming in after a fine frolic with D'Orsay on the grass; and Papa and
Prince returning up the lane. At such times, I always conclude, that
Montacute is, after all, a dear little world; and I am probably quite
as near the truth, as when, —"on some cold rainy day, When the birds
cannot show a dry feather;" when Arthur comes in with a pound of mud
on each foot, D'Orsay at his heels, bringing in as much more; little
Bell crying to go out to play; Charlie prodigiously fretful with his
prospective tooth; and some gaunt marauder from "up north," or "out
west," sits talking on "bis'ness," and covering my andirons with
tobacco juice; I determine sagely, that a life in the woods is worse
than no life at all. One view is, I insist, as good as the other; but I
told Mr. Rivers he must make due allowance for my desire to have his
fair daughter-in-law for a neighbour, with which he departed; and I
felt that my gloom had essentially lightened in consequence of his
visit.
Art thou so confident? within what space Hop'st thou my cure?
— All's well that ends well Mr. Clavers at length returned; and
the progress of the village, though materially retarded by the
obliquities of Mr. Mazard's course, was still not entirely at a stand.
If our own operations were slow and doubtful, there were others whose
building and improving went on at a rapid rate; and before the close of
summer, several small tenements were enclosed and rendered in some sort
habitable. A store and a public house were to be ready for business in
a very short time. I had the pleasure of receiving early in the month
of September, a visit from a young city friend, a charming lively girl,
who unaffectedly enjoyed the pleasures of the country, and whose taste
for long walks and rides was insatiable. I curtained off with the
unfailing cotton sheets a snow-white bower for her in the loft, and
spread a piece of carpeting, a relic of former magnificence, over the
loose boards that served for a floor. The foot square window was shaded
by a pink curtain, and a bed-side chair and a candle-stand completed a
sleeping apartment which she declared was perfectly delightful. So
smoothly flowed our days during that charmingvisit that I had begun to
fear my fair guest would be obliged to return to—without a single
adventure worth telling, when one morning as we sat sewing, Arthur ran
in with a prodigious snake-story, to which, though we were at first
disposed to pay no attention, we were at length obliged to listen. "A
most beautiful snake," he declared, "was coming up to the back door."
To the back door we ran; and there, to be sure, was a large
rattle-snake, or massasauga, lazily winding its course towards the
house, Alice standing still to admire it, too ignorant to fear. My
young friend snatched up a long switch, whose ordinary office was to
warn the chickens from the dinner-table, and struck at the reptile
which was not three feet from the door. It reared its head at once,
made several attempts to strike, or spring, as it is called here,
though it never really springs. Fanny continued to strike; and at
length the snake turned for flight, not however without a battle of at
least two minutes. "Here's the axe, cousin Fanny," said Arthur, "don't
let him run away!" and while poor I stood in silent terror, the brave
girl followed, struck once ineffectually, and with another blow divided
the snake, whose writhings turned to the sun as many hues as the
windings of Broadway on a spring morning—and Fanny was a heroine. It
is my opinion that next to having a cougar spring at one, the absolute
killing of a rattle-snake is peculiarly appropriate to constitute a
Michigan heroine;— and the cream of my snake-story is, that it might
be sworn to, chapter and verse, before the nearest justice. What cougar
story can say as much? But the nobler part of the snake ran away with
far more celerity than it had displayed while it "could a tail unfold,"
and we exalted the coda to a high station on the logs at the corner of
the house—for fear none of the scornful sex would credit our prowess.
That snake absolutely haunted us for a day or two; we felt sure that
there were more near the house, and our ten days of happiness seemed
cut short like those of Seged, and by a cause not very dissimilar. But
the gloom consequent upon confining ourselves, children and all, to the
house, in delicious weather, was too much for our prudence; and we soon
began to venture out a little, warily inspecting every nook, and
harassing the poor children with incessant cautions. We had been
watching the wheelings and flittings of a flock of prairie hens, which
had alighted in Mr. Jenkins's corn-field, turning ever and anon a
delighted glance westward at the masses of purple and crimson which
make sunset so splendid in the region of the great lakes. I felt the
dew, and warning all my companions, stepped into the house. I had
reached the middle of the room, when I trod full upon something soft,
which eluded my foot. I shrieked "a snake! a snake!" and fell senseless
on the floor. When I recovered myself I was on the bed, and well
sprinkled with camphor, that never failing specific in the woods.
"Where is it?" said I, as soon as I could utter a word. There was a
general smile. "Why, mamma," said Alice, who was exalted to a place on
the bed,"dont you recollect that great toad that always sits behind the
flour-barrel in the corner?" I did not repent my fainting though it
was not a snake, for if there is anything besides a snake that curdles
the blood in my veins it is a toad. The harmless wretch was carried to
a great distance from the house, but the next morning, there it sat
again in the corner catching flies. I have been told by some persons
here that they "liked to have toads in the room in fly time." Truly may
it be said, "What's one man's meat—" Shade of Chesterfield, forgive
me!—but that any body can be willing to live with a toad! To my
thinking nothing but a toady can be more odious. The next morning I
awoke with a severe head-ache, and racking pains in every bone. Dame
Jennings said it was the "agur." I insisted that it could be nothing
but the toad. The fair Fanny was obliged to leave us this day, or lose
her escort home—a thing not to be risked in the wilderness. I thought
I should get up to dinner, and in that hope bade her a gay farewell,
with a charge to make the most of the snake story for the honour of the
woods. I did not get up to dinner, for the simple reason that I could
not stand—and Mrs. Jennings consoled me by telling me every ten
minutes, "Why, you've got th' agur! woman alive! Why, I know the
fever-agur as well as I know beans! It a'n't nothin' else!" But no
chills came. My pains and my fever became intense, and I knew but
little about it after the first day, for there was an indistinctness
about my perceptions, which almost, although not quite, amounted to
delirium. A physician was sent for, and we expected, of course, some
village Galen, who knew just enough to bleed and blister, for all
mortal ills. No such thing! A man of first-rate education, who had
walked European hospitals, and who had mother-wit in abundance, to
enable him to profit by his advantages. It is surprising how many such
people one meets in Michigan. Some, indeed, we have been led to
suppose, from some traits in their American history, might have "left
their country for their country's good:"—others appear to have
forsaken the old world, either in consequence of some temporary
disgust, or through romantic notions of the liberty to be enjoyed in
this favoured land. I can at this moment call to mind, several among
our ten-mile neighbours, who can boast University honours, either
European or American, and who are reading men, even now. Yet one might
pass any one of these gentlemen in the road without distinguishing
between him and the Corydon who curries his horses, so complete is
their outward transformation. Our medical friend, treated me very
judiciously; and by his skill, the severe attack of rheumatic-fever,
which my sunset and evening imprudences had been kindling in my veins,
subsided after a week, into a daily ague; but Mrs. Jennings was not
there to exult in this proof of her sagacity. She had been called away
to visit a daughter, who had been taken ill at a distance from home,
and I was left without a nurse. My neighbours showed but little
sympathy on the occasion. They had imbibed the idea that we held
ourselves above them, and chose to take it for granted, that we did not
need their aid. There were a goodmany cases of ague too, and, of
course, people had their own troubles to attend to. The result was,
that we were in a sad case enough. Oh! for one of those feminine men,
who can make good gruel, and wash the children's faces! Mr. Clavers
certainly did his best, and who can more? But the hot side of the bowl
always would come to his fingers—and the sauce-pan would overset, let
him balance it ever so nicely. And then—such hungry children! They
wanted to eat all the time. After a day's efforts, he began to complain
that stooping over the fire made him very dizzy. I was quite
self-absorbed, or I should have noticed such a complaint from one who
makes none without cause; but the matter went on, until, when I asked
for my gruel, he had very nearly fallen on the coals, in the attempt to
take it from the fire. He staggered to the bed, and was unable to sit
up for many days after. When matters reached this pitch—when we had,
literally, no one to prepare food, or look after the children—little
Bell added to the sick-list, too—our physician proved our good genius.
He procured a nurse from a considerable distance; and it was through
his means that good Mrs. Danforth heard of our sad condition, and sent
us a maiden of all-work, who materially amended the aspect of our
domestic affairs. Our agues were tremendous. I used to think I should
certainly die in my ten or twelve hours' fever— and Mr. Clavers
confidently asserted, several times, that the upper half of his head
was taking leave of the lower. But the event proved that we were both
mistaken; for our physician verified his own assertion, that an ague
was as easily managed as a common cold,by curing us both in a short
time after our illness had assumed the intermittent form. There is,
however, one important distinction to be observed between a cold and
the ague—the former does not recur after every trifling exertion, as
the latter is sure to do. Again and again, after we seemed entirely
cured, did the insidious enemy renew his attacks. A short ride, a walk,
a drive of two or three miles, and we were prostrated for a week or
two. Even a slight alarm, or any thing that occasioned an unpleasant
surprise, would be followed by a chill and fever. These things are, it
must be conceded, very discouraging. One learns to feel as if the
climate must be a wretched one, and it is not till after these first
clouds have blown over, that we have resolution to look around us— to
estimate the sunny skies of Michigan, and the ruddy countenances of its
older inhabitants as they deserve. The people are obstinately attached
to some superstitious notions respecting agues. They hold that it is
unlucky to break them. "You should let them run on," say they, "till
they wear themselves out." This has probably arisen from some imprudent
use of quinine, (or "Queen Ann,") and other powerful tonics, which are
often taken before the system is properly prepared. There is also much
prejudice against "Doctor's physic;" while Lobelia, and other poisonous
plants, which happen to grow wild in the woods are used with the most
reckless rashness. The opinion that each region produces the medicines
which its own diseases require, prevails extensively,—a notion which,
though perhaps theoretically correct to a certain extent, is a most
dangerous one for the ignorant to practise upon. These agues are, as
yet, the only diseases of the country. Consumption is almost unknown,
as a Michigan evil. Indeed many, who have been induced to forsake the
sea-board, by reason of too sensitive lungs, find themselves renovated
after a year in the Peninsula. Our sickly season, from August till
October, passed over without a single death within our knowledge. To
be sure, a neighbour told me, not long ago, that her old man had a
complaint of "the lights," and that "to try to work any, gits his
lights all up in a heap." But as this is a disease beyond the bounds of
my medical knowledge, I can only "say the tale as 't was said to me,"
hoping, that none of my emigrating friends may find it contagious:—any
disease which is brought on by working, being certainly much to be
dreaded in this Western country!
The house's form within was rude and strong, Like an huge cave hewn
out of rocky clift; From whose rough vault the ragged breaches hung:—
* * * * * * * * And over them Arachne high did lift Her cunning web,
and spread her subtle net, Enwrapped in foul smoke, and clouds more
black than jet. — Spencer—Faery Queene. It were good that men,
in their innovations, would follow the example of time itself, which,
indeed, innovateth greatly, but quietly, and by degrees scarce to be
perceived. — —Bacon. It was on one of our superlatively
doleful ague days, when a cold drizzling rain had sent mildew into our
unfortunate bones; and I lay in bed, burning with fever, while my
stronger half sat by the fire, taking his chill with his great-coat,
hat, and boots on, that Mr. Rivers came to introduce his young
daughter-in-law. I shall never forget the utterly disconsolate air,
which, in spite of the fair lady's politeness, would make itself
visible in the pauses of our conversation. She did try not to cast a
curious glance round the room. She fixed her eyes on the
fire-place—but there were the clay-filled sticks, instead of a
chimney-piece—the half-consumedwooden crane, which had, more than
once, let our dinner fall—the Rocky-Mountain hearth, and the
reflector, baking biscuits for tea—so she thought it hardly polite to
appear to dwell too long there. She turned towards the window: there
were the shelves, with our remaining crockery, a grotesque assortment!
and, just beneath, the unnameable iron and tin affairs, that are
reckoned among the indispensables, even of the half-civilized state.
She tried the other side, but there was the ladder, the flour-barrel,
and a host of other things—rather odd parlour furniture—and she cast
her eyes on the floor, with its gaping cracks, wide enough to admit a
massasauga from below, and its inequalities, which might trip any but a
sylph. The poor thing looked absolutely confounded, and I exerted all
the energy my fever had left me, to try to say something a little
encouraging. "Come to-morrow morning, Mrs. Rivers," said I, "and you
shall see the aspect of things quite changed; and I shall be able to
tell you a great deal in favour of this wild life." She smiled
faintly, and tried not to look miserable, but I saw plainly that she
was sadly depressed, and I could not feel surprised that she should be
so. Mr. Rivers spoke very kindly to her, and filled up all the pauses
in our forced talk with such cheering observations as he could muster.
He had found lodgings, he said, in a farm-house, not far from us, and
his son's house would, ere long, be completed, when we should be quite
near neighbours. I saw tears swelling in the poor girl's eyes, as she
took leave, and I longed to be well for her sake. In this newly-formed
world, the earlier settler has a feeling of hostess-ship toward the new
comer. I speak only of women—men look upon each one, newly arrived,
merely as an additional business-automaton—a somebody more with whom
to try the race of enterprize, i. e. money-making. The next day Mrs.
Rivers came again, and this time her husband was with her. Then I saw
at a glance why it was that life in the wilderness looked so peculiarly
gloomy to her. Her husband's face shewed but too plainly the marks of
early excess; and there was at intervals, in spite of an evident effort
to play the agreeable, an appearance of absence, of indifference, which
spoke volumes of domestic history. He made innumerable inquiries,
touching the hunting and fishing facilities of the country around us,
expressed himself enthusiastically fond of those sports, and said the
country was a living death without them, regretting much that Mr.
Clavers was not of the same mind. Meanwhile I had begun to take quite
an interest in his little wife. I found that she was as fond of novels
and poetry, as her husband was of field-sports. Some of her flights of
sentiment went quite beyond my sobered-down views. But I saw we should
get on admirably, and so we have done ever since. I did not mistake
that pleasant smile, and that soft sweet voice. They are even now as
attractive as ever. And I had a neighbour. Before the winter had quite
set in, our little nest was finished, or as nearly finished as anything
in Michigan; and Mr. and Mrs. Rivers took possession oftheir new
dwelling, on the very same day that we smiled our adieux to the
loggery. Our new house was merely the beginning of a house, intended
for the reception of a front-building, Yankee-fashion, whenever the
owner should be able to enlarge his borders. But the contrast with our
sometime dwelling, made even this humble cot seem absolutely sumptuous.
The children could do nothing but admire the conveniences it afforded.
Robinson Crusoe exulted not more warmly in his successive acquisitions
than did Alice in "a kitchen, a real kitchen! and a pantry to put the
dishes!" while Arthur found much to praise in the wee bed-room which
was allotted as his sanctum in the "hic, hæc, hoc," hours. Mrs. Rivers,
who was fresh from "the settlements," often curled her pretty lip at
the deficiencies in her little mansion, but we had learned to prize any
thing which was even a shade above the wigwam, and dreamed not of two
parlours or a piazza. Other families removed to Montacute in the
course of the winter. Our visiting list was considerably enlarged, and
I used all my influence with Mrs. Rivers to persuade her that her true
happiness lay in making friends of her neighbours. She was very shy,
easily shocked by those sins against Chesterfield, which one encounters
here at every turn, did not conceal her fatigue when a neighbour
happened in after breakfast to make a three hours' call, forgot to ask
those who came at one o'clock to take off their things and stay to tea,
even though the knitting needles might peep out beneath the shawl. For
these and similar omissions I lectured her continually but with little
effect. It was with thegreatest difficulty I could persuade her to
enter any house but ours, although I took especial care to be impartial
in my own visiting habits, determined at all sacrifice to live down the
impression that I felt above my neighbours. In fact, however we may
justify certain exclusive habits in populous places, they are
strikingly and confessedly ridiculous in the wilderness. What can be
more absurd than a feeling of proud distinction, where a stray spark of
fire, a sudden illness, or a day's contre-temps, may throw you entirely
upon the kindness of your humblest neighbour? If I treat Mrs. Timson
with neglect to-day can I with any face borrow her broom to-morrow? And
what would become of me, if in revenge for my declining her invitation
to tea this afternoon, she should decline coming to do my washing on
Monday? It was as a practical corollary to these my lectures, that I
persuaded Mrs. Rivers to accept an invitation that we received for the
wedding of a young girl, the sister of our cooper, Mr. Whitefield. I
attired myself in white, considered here as the extreme of festal
elegance, to do honour to the occasion; and called for Mrs. Rivers in
the ox-cart at two o'clock. I found her in her ordinary neat
home-dress; and it required some argument on my part to induce her to
exchange it for a gay chally with appropriate ornaments. "It really
seems ridiculous," she said, "to dress for such a place! and besides,
my dear Mrs. Clavers, I am afraid we shall be suspected of a desire to
outshine." I assured her we were in more danger of that otherand far
more dangerous suspicion of undervaluing our rustic neighbours. "I
s'pose they did n't think it worth while to put on their best gowns for
country-folks!" I assumed the part of Mentor on this and many similar
occasions; considering myself by this time quite an old resident, and
of right entitled to speak for the natives. Mrs. Rivers was a little
disposed to laugh at the oxcart; but I soon convinced her that, with
its cushion of straw overspread with a buffalo-robe, it was far
preferable to a more ambitious carriage. "No letting down of steps, no
ruining one's dress against a muddy wheel! no gay horses tipping one
into the gutter!" She was obliged to acknowledge the superiority of
our vehicle, and we congratulated ourselves upon reclining à la Lalla
Rookh and Lady Mary Wortley Montague. Certainly a cart is next to a
palanquin. The pretty bride was in white cambric, worn over pink
glazed muslin. The prodigiously stiff under-dress with its large cords
(not more than three or four years behind the fashion) gave additional
slenderness to her taper waist, bound straitly with a sky-blue zone.
The fair hair was decorated, not covered, with a cap, the universal
adjunct of full dress in the country, placed far behind the ears, and
displaying the largest puffs, set off by sundry gilt combs. The
unfailing high-heeled prunelle shoe gave the finishing-touch, and the
whole was scented, à l'outrance, with essence of lemon. After the
ceremony, which occupied perhaps three minutes, fully twice as long as
is required by our state laws, tea was served, absolutely handed on a
salver, and by the master of the house, a respectable farmer. Mountains
of cake followed. I think either pile might have measured a foot in
height, and each piece would have furnished a meal for a hungry
school-boy. Other things were equally abundant, and much pleasant talk
followed the refreshments. I returned home highly delighted, and tried
to persuade my companion to look on the rational side of the thing,
which she scarcely seemed disposed to do, so outré did the whole appear
to her. I, who had begun to claim for myself the dignified character of
a cosmopolite, a philosophical observer of men and things, consoled
myself for this derogatory view of Montacute gentility, by thinking,
"All city people are so cockneyish!"
Lend me your ears. — Shakspeare Grant graciously what you
cannot refuse safely. — Lacon "Mother wants your sifter," said
Miss Ianthe Howard, a young lady of six years' standing, attired in a
tattered calico, thickened with dirt; her unkempt locks straggling from
under that hideous substitute for a bonnet, so universal in the western
country, a dirty cotton handkerchief, which is used, ad nauseam, for
all sorts of purposes. "Mother wants your sifter, and she says she
guesses you can let her have some sugar and tea, 'cause you've got
plenty." This excellent reason, "'cause you've got plenty," is
conclusive as to sharing with your neighbours. Whoever comes into
Michigan with nothing, will be sure to better his condition; but wo to
him that brings with him any thing like an appearance of abundance,
whether of money or mere household conveniences. To have them, and not
be willing to share them in some sort with the whole community, is an
unpardonable crime. You must lend your best horse to qui que ce soit,
to go ten miles over hill and marsh, in the darkest night, for a
doctor; or your team to travel twentyafter a "gal;" your wheel-barrows,
your shovels, your utensils of all sorts, belong, not to yourself, but
to the public, who do not think it necessary even to ask a loan, but
take it for granted. The two saddles and bridles of Montacute spend
most of their time travelling from house to house a-manback; and I have
actually known a stray martingale to be traced to four dwellings two
miles apart, having been lent from one to another, without a word to
the original proprietor, who sat waiting, not very patiently, to
commence a journey. Then within doors, an inventory of your plenishing
of all sorts, would scarcely more than include the articles which you
are solicited to lend. Not only are all kitchen utensils as much your
neighbours as your own, but bedsteads, beds, blankets, sheets, travel
from house to house, a pleasant and effectual mode of securing the
perpetuity of certain efflorescent peculiarities of the skin, for which
Michigan is becoming almost as famous as the land "'twixt Maidenkirk
and John o' Groat's." Sieves, smoothing irons, and churns run about as
if they had legs; one brass kettle is enough for a whole neighbourhood;
and I could point to a cradle which has rocked half the babies in
Montacute. For my own part, I have lent my broom, my thread, my tape,
my spoons, my cat, my thimble, my scissors, my shawl, my shoes; and
have been asked for my combs and brushes: and my husband, for his
shaving apparatus and his pantaloons. But the cream of the joke lies
in the manner of the thing. It is so straight-forward and honest, none
of your hypocritical civility and servile gratitude! Your true
republican, when he finds that you possess anything which would
contribute to his convenience, walks in with, "Are you going to use
your horses to-day?" if horses happen to be the thing he needs. "Yes,
I shall probably want them." "Oh, well; if you want them—I was
thinking to get 'em to go up north a piece." Or perhaps the desired
article comes within the female department. "Mother wants to get some
butter: that 'ere butter you bought of Miss Barton this mornin'." And
away goes your golden store, to be repaid perhaps with some cheesy,
greasy stuff, brought in a dirty pail, with, "Here's your butter!" A
girl came in to borrow a "wash-dish," "because we've got company."
Presently she came back: "Mother says you've forgot to send a towel."
"The pen and ink and a sheet o' paper and a wafer," is no unusual
request; and when the pen is returned, you are generally informed that
you sent "an awful bad pen." I have been frequently reminded of one of
Johnson's humorous sketches. A man returning a broken wheel-barrow to a
Quaker, with, "Here I've broke your rotten wheel-barrow usin' on't. I
wish you'd get it mended right off, 'cause I want to borrow it again
this afternoon." The Quaker is made to reply, "Friend, it shall be
done:" and I wish I possessed more of his spirit. But I did not intend
to write a chapter on involuntary loans; I have a story to tell. One
of my best neighbours is Mr. Philo Doubleday, a long, awkward, honest,
hard-working Maine-man, orMainote I suppose one might say; so
good-natured, that he might be mistaken for a simpleton; but that must
be by those that do not know him. He is quite an old settler, came in
four years ago, bringing with him a wife who is to him as
vinegar-bottle to oil-cruet, or as mustard to the sugar which is used
to soften its biting qualities. Mrs. Doubleday has the sharpest eyes,
the sharpest nose, the sharpest tongue, the sharpest elbows, and above
all, the sharpest voice that ever "penetrated the interior" of
Michigan. She has a tall, straight, bony figure, in contour somewhat
resembling two hard-oak planks fastened together and stood on end; and,
strange to say! she was full five-and-thirty when her mature graces
attracted the eye and won the affections of the worthy Philo. What
eclipse had come over Mr. Doubleday's usual sagacity when he made
choice of his Polly, I am sure I never could guess; but he is certainly
the only man in the wide world who could possibly have lived with her;
and he makes her a most excellent husband. She is possessed with a
neat devil; I have known many such cases; her floor is scoured every
night, after all are in bed but the unlucky scrubber, Betsey, the maid
of all work; and wo to the unfortunate "indiffidle," as neighbour
Jenkins says, who first sets dirty boot on it in the morning. If men
come in to talk over road business, for Philo is much sought when "the
public" has any work to do, or school-business, for that being very
troublesome, and quite devoid of profit, is often conferred upon Philo,
Mrs. Doubleday makes twenty errands into the room, expressing in her
visage all the force of Mrs. Raddle's inquiry, "Is themwretches going?"
And when at length their backs are turned, out comes the bottled
vengeance. The sharp eyes, tongue, elbow, and voice, are all in instant
requisition. "Fetch the broom, Betsey! and the scrub-broom, Betsey!
and the mop, and that 'ere dish of soap, Betsey; and why on earth did
n't you bring some ashes? You did n't expect to clean such a floor as
this without ashes, did you?"—"What time are you going to have dinner,
my dear?" says the imperturbable Philo, who is getting ready to go out.
"Dinner! I'm sure I do n't know! there's no time to cook dinner in
this house! nothing but slave, slave, slave, from morning till night,
cleaning up after a set of nasty, dirty," "Phew!" says Mr. Double-day,
looking at his fuming helpmate with a calm smile, "It'll all rub out
when it's dry, if you'll only let it alone." "Yes, yes; and it would
be plenty clean enough for you if there had been forty horses in here."
Philo on some such occasion waited till his Polly had stepped out of
the room, and then with a bit of chalk wrote on the broad black-walnut
mantel-piece: Bolt and bar hold gate of wood, Gate of iron springs
make good, Bolt nor spring can bind the flame, Woman's tongue can no
man tame. and then took his hat and walked off. This is his favourite
mode of vengeance—"poetical justice" he calls it; and as he is never
at a loss for arhyme of his own or other people's, Mrs. Doubleday
stands in no small dread of these efforts of genius. Once, when Philo's
crony, James Porter, the black-smith, had left the print of his
blackened knuckles on the outside of the oft-scrubbed door, and was the
subject of some rather severe remarks from the gentle Polly, Philo, as
he left the house with his friend, turned and wrote over the offended
spot: Knock not here! Or dread my dear. — P.D. and the very
next person that came was Mrs. Skinner, the merchant's wife, all drest
in her red merino, to make a visit. Mrs. Skinner, who did not possess
an unusual share of tact, walked gravely round to the back-door, and
there was Mrs. Doubleday up to the eyes in soap-making. Dire was the
mortification, and point-blank were the questions as to how the visiter
came to go round that way; and when the warning couplet was produced in
justification, we must draw a veil over what followed—as the novelists
say. Sometimes these poeticals came in aid of poor Betsey; as once,
when on hearing a crash in the little shanty-kitchen, Mrs. Doubleday
called in her shrillest tones, "Betsy! what on earth's the matter?"
Poor Betsey, knowing what was coming, answered in a deprecatory whine,
"The cow's kicked over the buck-wheat batter!" When the clear,
hilarous voice of Philo from the yard, where he was chopping, instantly
completed the triplet— "Take up the pieces and throw 'em at her!" for
once the grim features of his spouse relaxed into a smile, and Betsey
escaped her scolding. Yet, Mrs. Doubleday is not without her excellent
qualities as a wife, a friend, and a neighbour. She keeps her husband's
house and stockings in unexceptionable trim. Her emptin's are the envy
of the neighbourhood. Her vinegar is, as how could it fail? the ne plus
ultra of sharpness; and her pickles are greener than the grass of the
field. She will watch night after night with the sick, perform the last
sad offices for the dead, or take to her home and heart the little ones
whose mother is removed forever from her place at the fireside. All
this she can do cheerfully, and she will not repay herself as many good
people do by recounting every word of the querulous sick man, or the
desolate mourner with added hints of tumbled drawers, closets all in
heaps, or awful dirty kitchens. I was sitting one morning with my
neighbour Mrs. Jenkins, who is a sister of Mr. Doubleday, when Betsey,
Mrs. Doubleday's "hired girl" came in with one of the shingles of
Philo's handiwork in her hand, which bore in Mr. Doubleday's well-known
chalk marks— Come quick, Fanny! And bring the granny, For Mrs.
Double- day's in trouble. And the next intelligence was of a fine new
pair of lungs at that hitherto silent mansion. I called very soon after
to take a peep at the "latest found;" and if the suppressed delight of
the new papa was a treat, how much more was the softened aspect, the
womanized tone of the proud and happy mother. I never saw a being so
completely transformed. She would almost forget to answer me in her
absorbed watching of the breath of the little sleeper. Even when trying
to be polite, and to say what the occasion demanded, her eyes would not
be withdrawn from the tiny face. Conversation on any subject but the
ever-new theme of "babies" was out of the question. Whatever we began
upon whirled round sooner or later to the one point. The needle may
tremble, but it turns not with the less constancy to the pole. As I
pass for an oracle in the matter of paps and possets, I had frequent
communication with my now happy neighbour, who had forgotten to scold
her husband, learned to let Betsey have time to eat, and omitted the
nightly scouring of the floor, lest so much dampness might be bad for
the baby. We were in deep consultation one morning on some important
point touching the well-being of this sole object of Mrs. Doubleday's
thoughts and dreams, when the very same little Ianthe Howard, dirty as
ever, presented herself. She sat down and stared awhile without
speaking, à l' ordinaire; and then informed us that her mother "wanted
Miss Doubleday to let her have her baby for a little while, 'cause
Benny's mouth's so sore that"— but she had no time to finish the
sentence. "Lend my baby!!!"—and her utterance failed. The new
mother's feelings were fortunately too big for speech, and Ianthe
wisely disappeared before Mrs. Doubleday found her tongue. Philo, who
entered onthe instant, burst into one of his electrifying laughs with—
"Ask my Polly, To lend her dolly!" —and I could not help thinking
that one must come "west" in order to learn a little of every thing.
The identical glass-tube which I offered Mrs. Howard, as a substitute
for Mrs. Doubleday's baby, and which had already, frail as it is,
threaded the country for miles in all directions, is, even as I write,
in demand; a man on horse-back comes from somewhere near Danforth's,
and asks in mysterious whispers for —but I shall not tell what he
calls it. The reader must come to Michigan.
Le bonheur et le malheur des hommes ne dépend pas moins de leur humeur
que de la fortune. — Rochefoucault It has been a canker in Thy
heart from the beginning: but for this We had not felt our poverty,
but as Millions of myriads feel it,—cheerfully;— * * * Thou
might'st have earn'd thy bread as thousands earn it; Or, if that seem
too humble, tried by commerce, Or other civic means, to mend thy
fortunes. — Byron—Werner. The winter—the much dreaded winter
in the woods, strange to tell, flew away more rapidly than any previous
winter of my life. One has so much to do in the country. The division
of labour is almost unknown. If in absolutely savage life, each man is
of necessity "his own tailor, tent-maker, carpenter, cook, huntsman,
and fisherman;"—so in the state of society which I am attempting to
describe, each woman is, at times at least, her own cook, chamber-maid
and waiter; nurse, seamstress and school-ma'am; not to mention various
occasional callings to any one of which she must be able to turn her
hand at a moment's notice. And every man, whatever his circumstances or
resources, mustbe qualified to play groom, teamster, or boot-black, as
the case may be; besides "tending the baby" at odd times, and cutting
wood to cook his dinner with. If he has good sense, good nature, and a
little spice of practical philosophy, all this goes exceedingly well.
He will find neither his mind less cheerful, nor his body less vigorous
for these little sacrifices. If he is too proud or too indolent to
submit to such infringements upon his dignity and ease, most essential
deductions from the daily comfort of his family will be the mortifying
and vexatious result of his obstinate adherence to early habits. We
witnessed by accident so striking a lesson on this subject, not long
after our removal to Montacute, that I must be allowed to record the
impression it made upon my mind. A business errand called Mr. Clavers
some miles from home; and having heard much of the loveliness of the
scenery in that direction, I packed the children into the great waggon
and went with him. The drive was a charming one. The time, midsummer,
and the wilderness literally "blossoming as the rose." In a tour of ten
miles we saw three lovely lakes, each a lonely gem set deep in masses
of emerald green, which shut it in completely from all but its own
bright beauty. The road was a most intricate one "thorough
bush—thorough brier," and the ascents, the "pitches," the "sidlings"
in some places quite terrific. At one of the latter points, where the
road wound, as so many Michigan roads do, round the edge of a broad
green marsh; I insisted upon getting out, as usual. The place was quite
damp; but I thought I could pick my way over the green spots better
than trust myself in the waggon, which went along for some rods at an
angle (I said so at least,) of forty-five. Two men were mowing on the
marsh, and seemed highly amused at my perplexity, when after watching
the receding vehicle till it ascended a steep bank on the farther side,
I began my course. For a few steps I made out tolerably, but then I
began to sink most inconveniently. Silly thin shoes again. Nobody
should ever go one mile from home in thin shoes in this country, but
old Broadway habits are so hard to forget. At length, my case became
desperate. One shoe had provokingly disappeared. I had stood on one
foot as long as ever goose did, but no trace of the missing Broqua
could I find, and down went the stocking six inches into the black mud.
I cried out for help; and the mowers, with "a lang and a loud guffaw,"
came leisurely towards me. Just then appeared Mr. Clavers on the green
slope above mentioned. It seems his high mightiness had concluded by
this time that I had been sufficiently punished for my folly, (all
husbands are so tyrannical!) and condescended to come to my rescue. I
should have been very sulky; but then, there were the children.
However, my spouse did try to find a road which should less frequently
give rise to those troublesome terrors of mine. So we drove on and on,
through ancient woods, which I could not help admiring; and, at length,
missing our way, we came suddenly upon a log-house, very different from
that which was the object of our search. It was embowered in oaks of
the largest size; and one glance told us that the hand of refined taste
had been there. The under-brush had been entirely cleared away, and
thebroad expanse before the house looked like a smooth-shaven lawn,
deep-shadowed by the fine trees I have mentioned. Gleams of sunset fell
on beds of flowers of every hue; curtains of French muslin shaded the
narrow windows, and on a rustic seat near the door lay a Spanish
guitar, with its broad scarf of blue silk. I could not think of
exhibiting my inky stocking to the inmates of such a cottage, though I
longed for a peep; and Mr. Clavers went alone to the house to inquire
the way, while I played tiger and held the horses. I might have
remained undiscovered, but for the delighted exclamations of the
children, who were in raptures with the beautiful flowers, and the lake
which shone, a silver mirror, immediately beneath the bank on which we
were standing. Their merry talk echoed through the trees, and presently
out came a young lady in a demi-suisse costume; her dark hair closely
braided and tied with ribbons, and the pockets of her rustic apron full
of mosses and wild flowers. With the air rather of Paris than of
Michigan, she insisted on my alighting; and though in awkward plight, I
suffered myself to be persuaded. The interior of the house corresponded
in part with the impressions I had received from my first glance at the
exterior. There was a harp in a recess, and the white-washed log-walls
were hung with a variety of cabinet pictures. A tasteful drapery of
French chintz partly concealed another recess, closely filled with
books; a fowling-piece hung over the chimney, and before a large
old-fashioned looking-glass stood a French pier-table, on which were
piled fossil specimens, mosses, vases of flowers, books, pictures, and
music. So far all was well; and twoyoung ladies seated on a small sofa
near the table, with netting and needle-work were in keeping with the
romantic side of the picture. But there was more than all this. The
bare floor was marked in every direction with that detestable yellow
dye which mars every thing in this country, although a great box filled
with sand stood near the hearth, melancholy and fruitless provision
against this filthy visitation. Two great dirty dogs lay near a large
rocking-chair, and this rocking-chair sustained the tall person of the
master of the house, a man of perhaps forty years or thereabouts, the
lines of whose face were such, as he who runs may read. Pride and
passion, and reckless self-indulgence were there, and fierce discontent
and determined indolence. An enormous pair of whiskers, which
surrounded the whole lower part of the countenance, afforded incessant
employment for the long slender fingers, which showed no marks of
labour, except very dirty nails. This gentleman had, after all,
something of a high-bred air, if one did not look at the floor, and
could forget certain indications of excessive carelessness discernible
in his dress and person. We had not yet seen the lady of the cottage;
the young girl who had ushered me in so politely was her sister, now on
a summer visit. Mrs. B—shortly after entered in an undress, but with a
very lady-like grace of manner, and the step of a queen. Her face,
which bore the traces of beauty, struck me as one of the most
melancholy I had ever seen; and it was overspread with a sort of
painful flush, which did not conceal its habitual paleness. We had
been conversing but a few moments, when a shriek from the children
called every one out of doors in an instant. One of Mr. B—'s sons had
ventured too near the horses, and received from our "old Tom," who is a
little roguish, a kick on the arm. He roared most lustily, and every
body was very much frightened, and ran in all directions seeking
remedies. I called upon a boy, who seemed to be a domestic, to get some
salt and vinegar, (for the mother was disabled by terror;) but as he
only grinned and stared at me, I ran into the kitchen to procure it
myself. I opened a closet door, but the place seemed empty or nearly
so; I sought every where within ken, but all was equally desolate. I
opened the door of a small bed-room, but I saw in a moment that I ought
not to have gone there, and shut it again instantly. Hopeless of
finding what I sought, I returned to the parlour, and there the little
boy was holding a vinaigrette to his mother's nose, while the young
ladies were chafing her hands. She had swooned in excessive alarm, and
the kick had, after all, produced only a trifling bruise. After Mrs.
B—had recovered herself a little, she entered at some length, and with
a good deal of animation on a detail of her Michigan experience; not,
as I had hoped at the beginning, In equal scale weighing delight and
dole; But giving so depressing a view of the difficulties of the
country, that I felt almost disposed for the moment to regret my
determination of trying a woodland life. She had found all barren. They
had no neighbours, or worse than none—could get no domestics—found
every onedisposed to deal unfairly, in all possible transactions; and
though last not least, could get nothing fit to eat. Mr. B—'s
account, though given with a careless, off-hand air, had a strong dash
of bitterness in it—a sort of fierce defiance of earth and heaven,
which is apt to be the resource of those who have wilfully thrown away
their chances of happiness. His remarks upon the disagreeables which we
had to encounter, were carried at least as far as those of his wife;
and he asserted that there was but one alternative in Michigan— cheat
or be cheated. We were not invited to remain to tea; but took our
leave with many polite hopes of further acquaintance. Mr. Clavers found
the spot he had been seeking, and then, taking another road home, we
called to see Mrs. Danforth; whom we considered even then in the light
of the very good friend which she has since so often proved herself. I
told of our accidental visit and learned from the good lady some
particulars respecting this family, whose condition seemed so strange
and contradictory, even in the western country, where every element
enters into the composition of that anomalous mass called society. Mr.
B—, was born to a large fortune, a lot which certainly seems in our
country to carry a curse with it in a large proportion of instances.
Feeling quite above the laborious calling by which his father had
amassed wealth, the son's only aim had been to spend his money, like a
gentleman; and in this he had succeeded so well that by the time he had
established himself, at the head of the ton in one of our great Eastern
cities, and been set down as an irreclaimable roué by his soberfriends,
he found that a few more losses at play would leave him stranded. But
he had been quite the idol of the "good society" into which he had
purchased admission, and the one never-failing resource in such
cases—a rich wife, was still perhaps in his power. Before his altered
fortunes were more than whispered by his very particular friends, he
had secured the hand of an orphan heiress, a really amiable and
well-bred girl; and it was not until she had been his wife for a year
or more, that she knew that her thousands had done no more than prop a
falling house. Many efforts were made by the friends on both sides, to
aid Mr. B—in establishing himself in business, but his pride and his
indolence proved insuperable difficulties; and after some years of
those painful struggles between pride and poverty, which so many of the
devotees of fashion can appreciate from their own bitter experience, a
retreat to the West was chosen as the least of prospective evils. Here
the whole country was before him "where to choose." He could have
bought at government price any land in the region to which he had
directed his steps. Water-power of all capabilities was at his command,
for there was scarce a settler in the neighbourhood. But he scorned the
idea of a place for business. What he wanted was a charming spot for a
gentlemanly residence. There, with his gun and his fishing rod he was
to live; a small income which still remained of his wife's fortune
furnishing the only dependance. And this income, small as it was,
would have been, in prudent and industrious hands, a subsistence at
least; so small is the amount really requisite for a frugal wayof life
in these isolated situations. But unfortunately Mr. B—'s character had
by no means changed with his place of residence. His land, which by
cultivation would have yielded abundant supplies for his table, was
suffered to lie unimproved, because he had not money to pay labourers.
Even a garden was too much trouble; the flower-beds I had seen were
made by the hands of Mrs. B—, and her sisters; and it was asserted
that the comforts of life were often lacking in this unfortunate
household, and would have been always deficient but for constant aid
from Mrs. B—'s friends. Mrs. B—had done as women so often do in
similar situations, making always a great effort to keep up a certain
appearance, and allowing her neighbours to discover that she considered
them far beneath her; she had still forgotten her delicate habits, and
that they were delicate and lady-like, no one can doubt who had ever
seen her, and laboured with all her little strength for the comfort of
her family. She had brought up five children on little else beside
Indian meal and potatoes; and at one time the neighbours had known the
whole family live for weeks upon bread and tea without sugar or
milk;—Mr. B—sitting in the house smoking cigars, and playing the
flute, as much of a gentleman as ever. And these people, bringing with
them such views and feelings as make straitened means productive of
absolute wretchedness any where, abuse Michigan, and visit upon their
homely neighbours the bitter feelings which spring from that fountain
of gall, mortified yet indomitable pride. Finding themselves growing
poorerand poorer, they persuade themselves that all who thrive, do so
by dishonest gains, or by mean sacrifices; and they are teaching their
children, by the irresistible power of daily example, to despise
plodding industry, and to indulge in repining and feverish longings
after unearned enjoyments. But I am running into an absolute homily! I
set out to say only that we had been warned at the beginning against
indulging in certain habits which darken the whole course of country
life; and here I have been betrayed into a chapter of sermonizing. I
can only beg pardon and resume my broken thread.
I come, I come! ye have called me long, I come o'er the mountains
with light and song! Away from the chamber and sullen hearth! The
young leaves are dancing in breezy mirth. — Mrs. Hemans—Voice
of Spring. And because the breath of flowers is far sweeter in the air
(where it comes and goes like the warbling of music,) therefore nothing
is more fit for that delight than to know what be the flowers and
plants that do best perfume the air. — —Bacon. I believe I was
recurring to the rapidity with which our first winter in the wilds
slipped away. We found that when the spring came we were not half
prepared to take advantage of it; but armed with the "American
Gardener," and quantities of choice seeds received in a box of
treasures from home during the previous Autumn, we set about making
something like a garden. It would seem that in our generous soil this
could not be a difficult task; but our experience has taught us quite
differently. Besides the eradication of stumps, which is a work of time
and labour any where, the "grubs" present a most formidable hindrance
to all gardening efforts in the "oak-openings." I dare say my reader
imagines a "grub" to be a worm, a destructive wretch that spoils peach
trees. In Michigan, it is quite another affair. Grubs are, in western
parlance, the gnarled roots of small trees and shrubs, with which our
soil isinterlaced in some places almost to absolute solidity. When
these are disturbed by the immense "breaking up" plough, with its three
or four yoke of oxen, the surface of the ground wears every where the
appearance of chevaux-de-frise; and to pile in heaps for durning, such
of these serried files as have been fairly loosened by the plough, is a
work of much time and labour. And after this is done in the best way,
your potagerie will still seem to be full of grubs; and it will take
two or three years to get rid of these troublesome proofs of the
fertility of your soil. But your incipient Eden will afford much of
interest and comfort before this work is accomplished, and I sincerely
pity those who lack a taste for this primitive source of pleasure. On
the opening of our first spring, the snow had scarcely disappeared ere
the green tops of my early bulbs were peeping above the black soil in
which they had been buried on our first arrival; and the interest with
which I watched each day's developement of these lovely children of the
sun, might almost compare with that which I felt in the daily
increasing perfections of my six months' old Charlie, whose rosy cheeks
alone, could, in my view at least, outblush my splendid double
hyacinths. Whatever of a perennial kind we could procure, we planted
at once, without waiting until our garden should be permanently
arranged. All that we have since regretted on this point is that we had
not made far greater efforts to increase our variety; since one year's
time is well worth gaining, where such valuables are in question. On
the subject of flowers, I scarcely dare trust mypen with a word, so
sure am I that my enthusiastic love for them would, to most readers,
seem absolutely silly or affected. But where the earth produces
spontaneously such myriads of splendid specimens, it would seem really
ungrateful to spare the little time and pains required for their
cultivation. This is a sin which I at least shall avoid; and I lose no
opportunity of attempting to inspire my neighbours with some small
portion of my love for every thing which can be called a flower,
whether exotic or home-bred. The ordinary name with us for a rose is
"a rosy-flower;" our vase of flowers usually a broken-nosed pitcher, is
a "posy-pot;" and "yaller lilies" are among the most dearly-prized of
all the gifts of Flora. A neighbour after looking approvingly at a
glass of splendid tulips, of which I was vain-glorious beyond all
justification, asked me if I got "them blossoms out of these here
woods." Another cooly broke off a spike of my finest hyacinths, and
after putting it'to his undiscriminating nose, threw it on the ground
with a "pah!" as contemptuous as Hamlet's. But I revenged myself when I
set him sniffing at a crown imperial—so we are at quits now. A lady
to whom I offered a cutting of my noble balm geranium, with leaves
larger than Charlie's hand, declined the gift, saying, "she never
know'd nobody make nothin' by raisin' sich things." One might have
enlightened her a little as to their moneyed value, but I held my peace
and gave her some sage-seed. Yet, oddly enough, if any thing could be
odd in Michigan—there is, within three miles of us, a gardener and
florist of no mean rank, and one whose aid can beobtained at any time
for some small consideration of "rascal counters;" so that a hot-bed,
or even a green-house is within our reach. I have sometimes thought
that there could scarcely be a trade or profession which is not largely
represented among the farmers of Michigan, judging from the somewhat
extensive portion of the state with which we have become familiar. I
was regretting the necessity of a journey to Detroit for the sake of a
gold filling; when lo! a dentist at my elbow, with his case of
instruments, his gold foil, and his skill, all very much at my service.
Montacute, half-fledged as it is, affords facilities that one could
scarce expect. Besides the blacksmith, the cooper, the chair maker, the
collar maker, and sundry carpenters and masons, and three stores, there
is the mantua-maker for your dresses, the milliner for your bonnets,
not mine, the "hen tailor" for your little boy's pantaloons; the plain
seamstress, plain enough sometimes, for all the sewing you can 't
possibly get time for, and "The spinners and the knitters in the sun,"
or in the chimney-corner, for all your needs in the winter hosiery
line. Is one of your guests dependent upon a barber? Mr. Jenkins can
shave. Does your husband get too shaggy? Mr. Jenkins cuts hair. Does he
demolish his boot upon a grub? Mr. Jenkins is great at a rifacciamento.
Does Billy lose his cap in the pond? Mr. Jenkins makes caps comme il y
en a peu. Does your bellows get the asthma? Mr. Jenkins is a famous
Francis Flute. Then there is Philemon Greenly has been apprenticed to a
baker, and he can make you crackers, baker's-bread and round-hearts,
the like of which—, but you should get his story. And I certainly can
make long digressions, if nothing else. Here I am wandering like
another Eve from my dearly beloved garden. A bed of asparagus—I mean
a dozen of them, should be among the very first cares of spring; for
you must recollect, as did the Cardinal De Retz at Vincennes, that
asparagus takes three years to come to the beginnings of perfection.
Ours, seeded down after the Shaker fashion, promise to be invaluable.
They grew so nobly the first year that the haulm was almost worth
mowing, like the fondly-prized down on the chin of sixteen. Then, what
majestic palm-leaf rhubarb, and what egg-plants! Nobody can deny that
our soil amply repays whatever trouble we may bestow upon it. Even on
the first turning up, it furnishes you with all the humbler luxuries in
the vegetable way, from the earliest pea to the most delicate
cauliflower, and the golden pumpkin, larger than Cinderella's
grandmother ever saw in her dreams. Enrich it properly, and you need
lack nothing that will grow north of Charleston. Melons, which attain
a delicious perfection in our rich sandy loam, are no despicable
substitute for the peaches of the older world; at least during the six
or seven summers which must elapse before the latter can be abundant. I
advise a prodigious melon-patch. A fruit sometimes despised elsewhere,
is here among the highly-prized treasures of the summer. The
whortle-berry of Michigan, is a different affair fromthe little
half-starved thing which bears the name elsewhere. It is of a deep rich
blue, something near the size of a rifle bullet, and of a delicious
sweetness. The Indians bring in immense quantities slung in panniers or
mococks of bark on the sides of their wild-looking ponies; a squaw,
with any quantity of pappooses, usually riding a l'Espagnole on the
ridge between them. "Schwap? Nappanee?" is the question of the queen
of the forest; which means, "will you exchange, or swap, for flour:"
and you take the whortle-berries in whatever vessel you choose,
returning the same measured quantity of flour. The spirit in which the
Indians buy and sell is much the same now as in the days of the
renowned Wouter Van Twiller, when "the hand of a Dutchman weighed a
pound, and his foot two pounds." The largest haunch of venison goes for
two fingers, viz. twenty-five cents, and an entire deer for one hand,
one dollar. Wild strawberries of rare size and flavour,
"schwap-nappanee," which always means equal quantities. A pony,
whatever be his age or qualities, two hands held up twice, with the
fingers extended, twenty dollars. If you add to the price an old
garment, or a blanket, or a string of glass beads, the treasure is at
once put on and worn with such an air of "look at me." Broadway could
hardly exceed it. The Indians bring in cranberries too; and here again
Michigan excels. The wild plum, so little prized elsewhere, is valued
where its civilized namesake is unattainable; and the assertion
frequently made, that "it makes excellent saase," is undeniably true.
Butgrapes! One must see the loads of grapes in order to believe. The
practical conclusion I wish to draw from all this wandering talk is,
that it is well worth while to make garden in Michigan. I hope my
reader will not be disposed to reply in that terse and forceful style
which is cultivated at Montacute, and which has more than once been
employed in answer to my enthusiastic lectures on this subject. "Taters
grows in the field, and 'taters is good enough for me."
Les hommes ne vivraient pas long-temps en société, s' ils n' etaient
pas les dupcs les uns des autres. — La Rochefoucault I have not
said a single word as yet of our neighbour Tinkerville; a village whose
rising fortunes have given occasion for more discussion in the select
circles of Montacute than any thing but the plan of the new
school-house. I know this rambling gossiping style, this going back to
take up dropped stitches, is not the orthodox way of telling one's
story; and if I thought I could do any better, I would certainly go
back and begin at the very beginning; but I feel conscious that the
truly feminine sin of talking "about it and about it," the
unconquerable partiality for wandering wordiness would cleave to me
still; so I proceed in despair of improvement to touch upon such points
in the history of Tinkerville as have seemed of vital and absorbing
interest to the citizens of Montacute. Tinkerville was originally one
of the many speculations of the enterprising Mr. Mazard, and it
differed from most of his landed property, in having been purchased at
second hand. This fact was often mentioned in his proffers of sale, as
a reason why the tract could not be afforded quite so low as was his
general practice. He omitted to state, that he bought of aperson who,
having purchased at the land-office without viewing, was so entirely
discouraged when he saw the woody swamp in which he was to pitch his
tent, that he was glad to sell out to our speculator at a large
discount, and try elsewhere on the old and sound principle of "look
before you leap." The tract contained, as Mr. Mazard's advertisement
fairly set forth, "almost every variety of land;" and as he did not say
which kind predominated, nobody could complain if imagination played
tricks, as is sometimes the case in land-purchases. An old gentleman
of some property in Massachusetts became the fortunate owner of the
emblazoned chart, which Mr. Mazard had caused to set forth the
advantages of his choice location. There were canals and rail-roads,
with boats and cars at full speed. There was a steam-mill, a wind-mill
or two; for even a land-shark did not dare to put a stream where there
was scarce running water for the cattle; and a state-road, which had at
least been talked of, and a court-house and other county buildings,
"all very grand;" for, as the spot was not more than ten miles from the
centre of the county, it might some day become the county-seat. Besides
all this, there was a large and elegantly-decorated space for the name
of the happy purchaser, if he chose thus to dignify his future capital.
Mr. Tinker was easily pursuaded that the cherished surname of his
ancestors would blend most musically with the modern and very genteel
termination in which so many of our western villages glory; so
Tinkerville was appointed to fill the trump of fame and the blank on
the chart; and Mr. Mazard, furnished with fullpowers, took out the
charter, staked out the streets, where he could get at them, and
peddled out the lots, and laid out the money, all very much to his own
satisfaction; Mr. Tinker rejoicing that he had happened to obtain so
"enterprising" an agent. We are not informed what were the internal
sensations of the lot-holders, when they brought their families, and
came to take possession of their various "stands for business." They
were wise men; and having no money to carry them back, they set about
making the best of what they could find. And it is to be doubted
whether Mr. Mazard's multifarious avocations permitted him to visit
Tinkerville after the settlers began to come in. Many of them expressed
themselves quite satisfied that there was abundance of water there to
duck a land-shark, if they could catch him near it; and Mr. Mazard was
a wise man too. While the little settlement was gradually increasing,
and a store had been, as we were told, added to its many advantages and
attractions, we heard that the padroon of Tinkerville had sold out; but
whether from the fear that the income from his Michigan property would
scarce become tangible before his great grandson's time, or whether
some Bangor Mr. Mazard had offered him a tempting bargain nearer home,
remains to us unknown. It was enough for Montacute to discover that the
new owners were "enterprising men." This put us all upon the alert.
The Tinkervillians, who were obliged to come to us for grinding until
their wind-mills could be erected, talked much of a new hotel, a
school-house, and a tannery; all which, they averred, were "going up"
immediately. They turned up their noses at our squint-eyed "Montacute
house," expressing themselves certain of getting the county honours,
and ended by trying to entice away our blacksmith. But our Mr. Porter,
who "had a soul above buttons," scorned their arts, and would none of
their counsel. Mr. Simeon Jenkins did, I fear, favourably incline to
their side; but on its being whispered to him that Montacute had
determined upon employing a singing-master next winter; he informed the
ambassadors, who were no doubt spies in disguise, that he would never
be so selfish as to prefer his own interest to the public good. No one
thought of analyzing so patriotic a sentiment, or it might have been
doubted whether Mr. Jenkins sacrificed much in remaining to exercise
his many trades, where there were twice as many people to profit by
them as he would find at Tinkerville.
Ignorance lies at the bottom of all human knowledge, and the deeper we
penetrate, the nearer we arrive unto it. — —Lacon. Mrs. Rivers
and I had long been planning a ride on horse-back; and when the good
stars were in conjunction, so that two horses and two saddles were to
be had at one time, we determined to wend our resolute way as far as
Tinkerville, to judge for ourselves of the state of the enemy's
preparations. We set out soon after breakfast in high style; my Eclipse
being Mr. Jenkins's Governor, seventeen last grass; and my fair
companion's a twenty-dollar Indian pony, age undecided—men's saddles
of course, for the settlement boasts no other as yet; and, by way of
luxury, a large long-woolled sheep-skin strapped over each. We jogged
on charmingly, now through woods cool and moist as the grotto of
Undine, and carpeted every where with strawberry vines and thousands of
flowers; now across strips of open land where you could look through
the straight-stemmed and scattered groves for miles on each side. A
marsh or two were to be passed, so said our most minute directions, and
then we should come to the trail through deep woods, which would lead
us in a short time to the emerging glories of our boastful neighbour.
We found the marshes, without difficulty, and soon afterwards the
trail, and D'Orsay's joyous bark, as he ran far before us, told that he
had made some discovery. "Deer, perhaps," said I. It was only an
Indian, and when I stopped and tried to inquire whether we were in the
right track, he could not be made to understand but gave the usual
assenting grunt and passed on. When I turned to speak to my companion
she was so ashy pale that I feared she must fall from her horse. "What
is the matter, my dearest madam!" said I, going as near her as I could
coax old Governor. "The Indian! the Indian!" was all she could utter.
I was terribly puzzled. It had never occurred to me that the Indians
would naturally be objects of terror to a young lady who had scarcely
ever seen one; and I knew we should probably meet dozens of them in the
course of our short ride. I said all I could, and she tried her best
to seem courageous, and, after she had rallied her spirits a little, we
proceeded, thinking the end of our journey could not be distant,
especially as we saw several log-houses at intervals which we supposed
were the outskirts of Tinkerville. But we were disappointed in this;
for the road led through a marsh, and then through woods again, and
such tangled woods, that I began to fear, in my secret soul, that we
had wandered far from our track, betrayed by D'Orsay's frolics. I was
at length constrained to hint to my pale companion my misgivings, and
to propose a return to the nearest log hut for information. Without a
word she wheeled her shaggy pony, and, in a few minutes, we found
ourselves at the bars belonging to the last log house we had passed. A
wretched looking woman was washing at the door. "Can you tell us which
is the road to Tinkerville?" "Well, I guess you can't miss it if you
follow your own tracks. It a'n't long since you came through it. That
big stump is the middle of the public square."
I boast no song in magic wonders rife, But yet, oh nature! is there
nought to prize Familiar in thy bosom-scenes of life? And dwells in
day-light truth's salubrious skies No form with which the soul may
sympathize? — Campbell We returned by a different and less
lonely route, the Tinkervillians having very civilly directed us to one
on which we should not at any point be far distant from a dwelling. The
single Indian we had encountered in the morning had been quite
sufficient to spoil Mrs. Rivers' ride; and we hurried on at the best
pace of our sober steeds. The country through which we were passing
was so really lovely that even my timid little friend forgot her fears
at times and exclaimed like a very enthusiast. At least two small lakes
lay near our way; and these, of winding outline, and most dazzling
brightness, seemed, as we espied them now and then through the arched
vistas of the deep woods, multiplied to a dozen or more. We saw
grape-vines which had so embraced large trees that the long waving
pennons flared over their very tops; while the lower branches of the
sturdy oaks were one undistinguishable mass of light green foliage,
without an inch of bark to be seen. The roadside was piled like an
exaggerated velvet with exquisitelybeautiful ferns of almost every
variety; and some open spots gleamed scarlet with those wild
strawberries so abundant with us, and which might challenge the world
for flavour. Birds of every variety of song and hue, were not wanting,
nor the lively squirrel, that most joyous of nature's pensioners; and
it cost us some little care to keep D'Orsay in his post of honour as
sole escort through these lonely passes. But alack! "'t was ever thus!"
We had scarcely sauntered two miles when a scattered drop or two
foretold that we were probably to try the melting mood. We had not
noticed a cloud, but thus warned we saw portentous gatherings of these
bugbears of life. Now if our poneys would only have gone a little
faster! But they would not, so we were wet to the skin—travelling jets
d' eau—looking doubtless very much like the western settler taking his
stirrup-cup in one of Mrs. Trollope's true pictures. When we could be
no further soaked we reached a farm-house—not a Michigan farm-house,
but a great, noble, yankee "palace of pine boards," looking like a
cantle of Massachusetts or Western New-York dropped par hazard, in
these remote wilds. To me who had for a long while seen nothing of
dwelling kind larger than a good sized chicken-coop, the scene was
quite one of Eastern enchantment. A large barn with shed and stables
and poultry-yard and all! Fields of grain, well fenced and stumpless,
surrounded this happy dwelling; and a most inviting door-yard, filled
to profusion with shrubs and flowers, seemed to invite our entrance.
"A honey-suckle! absolutely a honey-suckle on the porch!" Mrs. Rivers
was almost too forlorn to sympathize with me: but then she had not been
quite so long from home. I have been troubled with a sort of home
calenture at times since we removed westward. As we were about to
dismount, the sun shone out most provokingly: and I was afraid there
would be scarce the shadow of an excuse for a visit to the interesting
inmates, for such I had decided they must be, of this delicious
home-like spot; but, as we wavered, a young man as wet as ourselves,
came up the road, and, opening the gate at once, invited us to enter
and dry our dripping garments. We stayed not for urging, but turned
our graceless steeds into the shady lane, and dismounting, not at the
front entrance, but, a la Michigan, at the kitchen door, we were
received with much grave but cordial politeness by the comely mistress
of the mansion, who was sharing with her pretty daughter the
after-dinner cares of the day. Our upper garments were spread to dry,
and when we were equipped, with urgent hospitality, in others belonging
to our hostesses, we were ushered into the parlor or "keeping room."
Here, writing at an old-fashioned secretary, sat the master of the
house, a hearty, cheerful-looking, middleaged man; evidently a person
of less refinement than his wife, but still of a most prepossessing
exterior. He fell no whit behind in doing the honours, and we soon
found ourselves quite at ease. We recounted the adventures of our tiny
journey, and laughed at our unlucky over-running of the game. "Ah!
Tinkerville! yes, I think it will be some timeyet before those dreams
will come to pass. I have told Mr. Jephson there was nothing there to
make a village out of." "You are acquainted then with the present
proprietors?" "With one of them I have been acquainted since we were
boys; and he has been a speculator all that time, and is now at least
as poor as ever. He has been very urgent with me to sell out here and
locate in his village, as he calls it; but we knew rather too much of
him at home for that," and he glanced at his fair spouse with some
archness. I could scarcely believe that any man could have been
impudent enough to propose such an exchange, but nothing is incredible
in Michigan. Mrs. Beckworth was now engaged in getting tea, in spite
of our hollow-hearted declarations that we did not wish it. With us, be
it known to new comers, whatever be the hour of the day, a cup of tea
with trimmings, is always in season; and is considered as the orthodox
mode of welcoming any guest, from the clergyman to "the maid that does
the meanest chores." We were soon seated at a delicately-furnished
table. The countenance of the good lady had something of peculiar
interest for me. It was mild, intelligent, and very pleasing. No
envious silver streaked the rich brown locks which were folded with no
little elegance above the fair brow. A slight depression of the outer
extremity of the eye-lid, and of the delicately-pencilled arch above
it, seemed to tell of sorrow and meek endurance. I was sure that like
so many western settlers, the fair and pensive matron had a story; and
when I had once arrived at this conclusion, I determinedto make a brave
push to ascertain the truth of my conjecture. I began, while Mrs.
Beckworth was absent from the parlour, by telling every thing I could
think of; this being the established mode of getting knowledge in this
country. Mr. Beckworth did not bite. "Is this young lady your
daughter, Mr. Beckworth?" "A daughter of my wife's—Mary Jane
Harrington?" "Oh! ah! a former marriage; and the fine young man who
brought us into such good quarters is a brother of Miss Harrington's I
am sure." "A half brother—Charles Boon." "Mrs. Beckworth thrice
married! impossible!" was my not very civil but quite natural
exclamation. Our host smiled quietly, a smile which enticed me still
further. He was, fortunately for my reputation for civility, too kindly
polite not to consent to gratify my curiosity, which I told him
sincerely had been awakened by the charming countenance of his wife,
who was evidently the object of his highest admiration. As we rode
through the freshened woods with Mr. Beckworth, who had, with ready
politeness, offered to see us safely a part of the way, he gave us the
particulars of his early history; and to establish my claim to the
character of a physiognomist, I shall here recount what he told me;
and, as I cannot recollect his words, I must give this romance of
rustic life in my own, taking a new chapter for it.
Sudden partings, such as press, The life from out young hearts; and
choking sighs Which ne'er might be repeated, who could guess If ever
more should meet those mutual eyes— — Byron Henry Beckworth,
the eldest son of a Massachusetts farmer, of small means and many
mouths, was glad to accept a situation as clerk in the comprehensive
"variety store" of his cousin Ellis Irving, who was called a great
merchant in the neighbouring town of Langton. This cousin Ellis had
fallen into the dangerous and not very usual predicament of having
every body's good word; and it was not until he had failed in business,
that any one discovered that he had a fault in the world. While he was
yet in his hey-day, and before the world knew that he had been so
good-natured as to endorse for his wife's harum-scarum brother, his
clerk, Henry Beckworth, had never dared to acknowledge, even in his
dreams, that he loved to very dizziness his sweet cousin Agnes Irving.
But when mortification and apoplexy had done their work upon Mr.
Irving, and his delicate wife had ascertained that the remnant of her
days must pass in absolute poverty, dependantfor food and raiment upon
her daughter's needle, Henry found his wits and his tongue, and made so
good use of both, that, ere long, his cousin Agnes did not deny that
she liked him very well. Now young ladies who have been at
boarding-school and learned to paint water-melons in water colours, and
work Rebecca at the well in chenille and gold thread, find real,
thrifty, housewifely sewing, very slow and hard work, to earn even
bread and salt by; but the dove-eyed Agnes had been the sole care and
pride of a genuine New England housewife, who could make hard
gingerbread as well as soft, and who had plumed herself on being able
to put every stitch into six fine shirts between Sunday evening and
Saturday night. And so the fair child, though delicately bred, earned
her mother's living and her own, with cheerful and ungrudging industry;
and Henry sent all the surplus of his clerkly gains to his father, who
sometimes found the cry of "crowdie, crowdie, a' the day," rather
difficult to pacify. But by-and-bye, Mrs. Irving became so feeble that
Agnes was obliged to nurse her instead of plying her skilful needle;
and then matters went far astray, so that after a while the kind
neighbours brought in almost all that was consumed in that sad little
household; Henry Beckworth being then out of employ, and unable for the
time to find any way of aiding his cousin, save by his personal
services in the sick-room. He grew almost mad under his distress, and
the anxious, careful love which is the nursling of poverty, and at
length seeing Mrs. Irving's health a little amended, he gave a long,
sad, farewell kiss to his Agnes, and left her with an assurance that
she should hear from him soon. He dared not tell her that he was
quitting her to go to sea, in order that he might have immediate
command of a trifling sum which he could devote to her service. He
made his way to the nearest sea-port, secured a berth before the mast
in a vessel about to sail for the East Indies; and then put into a
letter all the love, and hope, and fear, and caution, and
encouragement, and resolution, and devotedness, that one poor sheet
could carry, giving the precious document into the care of a Langton
man, who was returning "direct," as he said, to the spot where poor
Henry had left his senses. This said letter told Agnes, among other
things, how and when to draw on Messrs.—, for Henry's wages, which
were left subject to her order—and the lover went to sea, with a heavy
heart indeed, but with a comforting security that he had done all that
poverty would let him, for the idol of his heart. An East India voyage
is very long, and most people experience many a changing mood and many
a wayward moment during its course; but Henry Beckworth's heart beat as
if it would burst his blue jacket, when he found himself on shore
again, and thought of what awaited him at Langton. He called on
Messrs.—, to ascertain whether any thing remained of his pay, and
found that every dollar was untouched. At first this angered him a
little; "for," as he justly argued, "if Agnes loved me as I love
her—but, never mind!" This I give as a fair specimen of his thoughts
on his homeward journey. All his contemplations, however incoherent or
wide ofthe mark, came invariably to one conclusion—that Agnes would
surely be willing to marry him, poor as he was, rather than he should
go to sea again. It was evening, and a very dull, lead-coloured
evening, when the stage that contained our lover stopped at the only
public-house in Langton. The True Blue Hotel, kept, as the oval sign
which creaked by its side informed the grateful public, by Job Jephson,
(at this moment J. Jephson, Esquire, of Tinkerville, in Michigan,) the
very Job Jephson to whose kindly care Henry had committed his parting
letter. The stage passed on, and Mr. Beckworth paced the tesselated
floor of Mr. Jephson's bar-room, until the worthy proprietor and
himself were left its sole occupants. "Why, Henry, my boy, is that
you? Do tell! Why your hat was slouched over your eyes so, that I did
not know you! Why, man! where on airth have you sprung from!" Henry
asked after every body, and then after Agnes Irving and her mother.
"Agnes Irving!" "Dead!" said Henry, wildly enough. "Dead! no,
married to be sure! three months ago; and this very day a week ago, her
mother was buried." It is really surprising how instantaneously pride
comes to one's aid on some occasions. The flashing thought of the loved
one's death, had been anguish intolerable and inconcealable; the
certainty of what was far worse only blanched Henry's cheek, and set
his teeth firmly together while his lips questioned on, and the
loquacious host of the True Blue proceeded. "Poor Agnes saw hard times
after you went away.She had to give up the house you left her in, and
take a room at Mr. Truesdell's. And then Mrs. Irving did nothing but
pine after the comforts she had lost, for her mind was kind o' broke up
by trouble. And Agnes tried to find some other place to board, because
her mother took such an awful dislike to Mrs. Truesdell; but there
wasn't nobody willing to take them in, because the old lady was so
particular. And so, John Harrington—you know John?—made up to her
again, though she 'd refused him two or three times before; and said he
loved her better than ever, and that he would take her mother home and
do for her as if she was his own. Now, you see, the neighbours had got
pretty much tired of sending in things, because they thought Aggy
oughtn't to refuse such a good offer, and so after a while John got
her. After all the poor old lady did not seem to enjoy her new home,
but pined away faster than ever, and said she knew Aggy had sold
herself for her sake, but that was only a notion you know, for John was
an excellent match for a poor—" "Did you give my cousin the letter I
handed you?" interrupted Henry. "I'll just tell you all about that,"
responded Mr. Jephson, complacently drawing a chair for Henry, and
inviting him to sit, as if for a long story. "I'll just tell you how
that was. When you and I parted that time, I thought I was all ready
for a start home; but there was a chance turned up to spekilate a
little, and arter that I went down South to trade away some notions, so
that when I got back to Langton it was quite cold weather, and I took
off my best coat and laid it away, for where's the use of wearing good
clothes under a great coat, you know? and there, to be sure was your
letter in the pocket of it. Well, before I found it again Agnes was
getting ready to be married; and, thinks I to myself, like enough it's
a love-letter, and might break off the match if she go it, gals are so
foolish! so I just locked up the letter and said nothing to nobody
and"— there lay Mr. Jephson on his bar-room floor. Henry turned from
the place with some glimmering of an intention to seek his lost love
and tell her all, but one moment's lapse cured this madness; so he only
sat down and looked at Job, who was picking himself up and talking all
the while. "Man alive! what do you put yourself into such a plaquy
passion for? I done it all for the best; and as to forgetting, who does
not forget sometimes? Plague take you! you've given my back such a
wrench I sha' n't be able to go to trainin' to-morrow, and tore my
pantaloons besides; and, arter all, you may likely thank me for it as
long as you live. There's as good fish in the sea as ever was
caught—but I swan! you're as white as the wall, and no mistake," and
he caught the poor soul as he was falling from his chair. "Well, now,
if this does n't beat cock-fighting!" muttered he, as he laid his
insensible guest at full length on the floor and ran to the bar for
some "camphire," which he administered in all haste, "to take on so
about a gal without a cent, but he wont come to after all, and I shall
have to bleed him:" saying which he pulled off one sleeve of Henry's
jacket and proceeded in due form to the operation. "He wont bleed, I
vow! Hang the fellow! if hedies, I shall be took up for manslaughter.
Why, Harry, I say!" shaking him soundly, and dragging at his arm with
no gentle force. At last blood came slowly, and Beckworth became once
more conscious of misery, and Mr. Jephson's tongue set out as if fresh
oiled by the relief of his fears for his own safety. "Now, Henry, do
n't make such a fool of yourself! You always used to be a fellow of
some sconce. What can't be cured must be endured." But as Henry's lips
resumed their colour, and he raised himself from the floor, Mr.
Jephson's habitual prudence urged him farther and farther from the
reach of the well arm. His fears were groundless, however, for all that
Henry now wanted was to be alone, that he might weep like a woman.
"Promise me that you will never tell any one that I have been here
this night," said he at length; "this is all I ask. Since Agnes is
another man's wife, God forbid I should wish my name mentioned in her
presence." "Why, law! I'll promise that, to be sure; but you should
n't make so much out o' nothing: Aggy has got the best house in town,
and every thing comfortable; and it a' n't no ways likely she would
fret after you." And with this comforting assurance Henry prepared for
departure. "I say, Beckworth!" said Mr. Jephson as his guest left the
room with his valise; "I sha' n't charge you anything for the
bleeding."
Now I will believe That there are unicorns; that in Arabia There is
one tree the Phœnix' throne; one Phœnix At this hour reigning there. *
* I'll believe both, And what else doth want credit, come to me And
I'll be sworn 't is true. — Shakspeare—Tempest. The windows of
heaven were opened that night. The rain descended in sheets instead of
drops; and it was only by an occasional flash of paly lightning that
our unfortunate was able to find the house which he well recollected
for John Harrington's. There it was in all its fresh whiteness and
greenness, and its deep masses of foliage, and its rich screens of
honeysuckle and sweet-briar, meet residence for a happy bridegroom and
his new-found treasure. The upper half of the parlour shutters was
unclosed, and plainly by the clear bright lamp-light could Henry see
the delicate papering of the walls, and the pretty French clock under
its glass shade on the mantel-piece. Oh! for one glance at the table,
near which he felt sure Agnes was sitting. Wild thoughts of the old
song— We took but ae kiss, an' we tore ourselves away. Were coursing
through his brain, and he was deliberatingupon the chance that the end
window, which looked on a piazza, might be free from the envious
shutter, when a man ran against him in the dark. The next flash showed
a great-coated figure entering the pretty rural gate to the little
shrubbery; and in another moment the hall-door opened. Henry saw the
interior, light and cheerful; and again all was dark. It would have
been very wrong to set the house on fire and then go and murder Job
Jephson; and as Henry could not at the moment decide upon any other
course of conduct, which would be at all in unison with his feelings,
he set out, a human loco-motive at the top-speed, in the very teeth of
the storm, on his way towards the sea-port again. The worse one feels,
the faster one travels, hoping to outrun sorrow; so it did not take
Henry Beckworth long to reach a neighbouring town, where he could find
a stage-coach; and he was far at sea again in the course of a very few
days. His outre-mer adventures are of no importance to my story—how,
as he stood with two or three messmates, staring, like a true Yankee,
at the Tower of London, a press-gang seized them all, and rowed them to
a vessel which lay off the Traitor's Gate, the Americans protesting
themselves such, and the John Bulls laughing at them;—how, when they
got on board the man o' war, they showed their protections, and the
officer of his Majesty's recruiting service said he could do nothing in
the case till the ship returned from her cruize—and how the ship did
not return from her cruize, but after cruizing about for some three
years or more, was taken by a French first-rate and carried into Brest.
All this is but little to the purpose. But when Henry was thrown into a
French prison, his American certificate procured his release through
the consul's good offices, and he shipped at once for New-York,
somewhat weary of a sea life. At New-York he learned from a townsman
whom he met there that Agnes Harrington had been two years a window.
"Is she rich?" asked Henry. A strange question for a true lover.
"Rich!—Lord bless ye! John Harrington was n't worth that;" snapping
his fingers most expressively. His property was under mortgage to such
an extent, that all it would sell for would n't clear it. His widow and
child will not have a cent after old Horner forecloses, as he is now
about doing. And Mrs. Harrington's health is very poor, though to my
thinking she's prettier than ever." Henry's movements were but little
impeded by baggage, and the journey to Langton was performed in a short
time. Once more was he set down at Job Jephson's; and there was
day-light enough this time to see, besides the oval sign before hinted
at, which had for years held out hopes of "Entertainment for man and
beast," a legend over the door in great white characters, "Post
Office,"—"good business for Job," thought Henry Beckworth,—a board in
one window setting forth, "Drugs and Medicines," and a card in the
other, "Tailoring done here." Slight salutation contented Henry, when
the man of letters made his appearance, and he requested a horse to
carry him as far as his father's, saying he would send for his trunk in
the morning. Mr. Jephson madesome little difficulty and delay, but
Henry seemed in fiery haste. In truth he hated the sight of Job beyond
all reason; but that complacent personage seemed to have forgotten,
very conveniently, all former passages in that memorable bar-room.
"You do n't ask after your old friends, Harry," said he. "A good many
things has altered here since I see you last. You came that time a
little too late." Henry looked dirks at the fellow, but he went on as
coldly as ever. "Now this time, to my thinkin', you've come a leetle
too soon." Henry tried not to ask him what he meant; but for his life
he could not help it. "Why, I mean, if John Harrington's widow has not
more sense than I think she has, you've come in time to spoil a good
match." "A match!" was all Henry could say. "Aye, a match; for
Colonel Boon came from there yesterday, and sent for old Horner here to
this blessed house, and took up the mortgage on Harrington's property;
and every body knows he has been after Aggy this twelvemonth, offering
to marry her and clear the property, and do well by the child. And if
there's a good man on airth, Boon is that man, and every body knows
it." What did Henry Beckworth now? He un-ordered his horse, and went
quietly to bed.
There are thoughts that our burden can lighten, Though toilsome and
steep be the way And dreams that like moon-light can brighten With a
lustre far clearer than day. Love nursed amid pleasures is faithless
as they, But the love born of sorrow, like sorrow, is true. —
Moore Henry Beckworth came from the hand of Nature abundantly
furnished with that excellent qualification known and revered
throughout New England, under the expressive name of "spunk". This
quality at first prompted him, spite of the croakings of the ill-omened
Job, to present himself before the one only object of his constant
soul, to tell her all, and to ask her to share with him the weal or wo
which might yet be in store for him. But he had now seen a good deal of
this excellent world, and the very indifferent people who transact its
affairs. He had tasted the tender mercies of a British man of war, and
the various agré,mens of a French prison; and the practical conclusion
which had gradually possessed itself of his mind, was, that money is,
beyond all dispute, one of the necessaries of life. No way of making
money off-hand occurred to him as he tossed and groaned through the
endless hours of that weary night. He had neither house nor land,
noryet a lottery ticket—nor a place under government— and the chest
which stood at his bed-side, though it contained enough of this world's
goods to keep his fair proportions from the weather; and a
sea-journal—a love-log—which he hoped might one day, by some romantic
chance, come into the fair hands of his beloved, and give her to guess
how his sad life had passed—held as he well knew, nothing which she
could in anywise eat, or that she would be probably willing, under any
contingency to put on. I feel proud of my hero. He was "a man of
deeds, not words." He loved Agnes so well, that before morning shone on
his haggard cheek, he had determined to turn his back forever on the
home of his youth, the scene of his first love-dream; and to seek his
dark fortune far away from the place which held all that his heart
prized on earth. This resolution once taken, he arose and addressed
himself to his sad journey, waiting only the earliest beam of light
before he awakened Mr. Jephson. This worthy commended much his prudent
course, and recommended a long voyage; an attempt to discover the
North-West Passage, or to ascertain the truth of Capt. Symmes' theory;
to take the nonsense out of him and make a little money. For five long
years did Henry Beckworth box the compass; five years of whaling
voyages and all their attendant hardships—and when at the end of that
time he retouched his native shore, richer than he had ever been before
in his life, he heard, as the reader will no doubt anticipate, that
Agnes Boon was again unmated;her worthy Colonel having been killed by a
fall from his horse in less than two years from his marriage. Yet did
our phœnix of lovers approach the village which he had vowed never to
see again, with many more misgivings than he had experienced on former
occasions. Years and a rough life he was well aware had changed him
much. He thought of his Agnes, fair and graceful as a snow-drop, and
feared lest his weather-beaten visage might find no favour in her eyes.
Yet he determined that this time nothing, not even that screech-owl Job
Jephson, should prevent him from seeing her, face to face, and learning
his fate from her own lips. He approached Langton by a road that
passed not near the detested house of man and horse entertainment, and
was just emerging from a thick grove which skirted the village on that
side, when he came near riding over a man who seemed crouched on the
ground as if in search of something, and muttering to himself the
while. The face that turned hastily round was Job Jephson's. "Why, it
a'n't! Yes, I'll be switched if it is n't Harry Beckworth rose from the
dead!" said this fated tormentor; and he fastened himself on the
bridle-rein in such sort, that Henry could not rid himself of his
company without switching him in good earnest. "Here was I, lookin' up
some little things for my steam doctorin' business," said Mr. Jephson,
"and little thinkin' of any body in the world; and you must come along
jist like a sperrit. But I've a notion you've hit it about right this
time. I s'pose you know Aggy's a rich widow by this time, do n't ye?"
Henry vouchsafed no reply, though he found it very difficult to
maintain a dignified reserve, when so many questions were clustering on
his lips. But it was all one to Job—question or no question, answer or
no answer, he would talk on, and on, and on. "I'll tell ye what," he
continued, "I should n't wonder if Aggy looked higher now, for she's a
good spec for any man. I see you've smarted up a good deal, but don't
be cock-sure—for there's others that would be glad to take her and her
two children. I've been a thinkin' myself—" And now Henry gave Job
such a switch across the knuckles as effectually cleared the bridle,
and changed the current of the steam-doctor's thoughts. In half an hour
he rang at Mrs. Boon's door, and was ushered at once into her presence.
"Mr. Beckworth, ma'am," said the little waiting-maid as she threw open
the parlour door. Agnes, the beloved, rose from her seat—sat down
again—tried to speak, and burst into tears; while Henry looked on her
countenance—changed indeed, but still lovely in matronly dignity—more
fondly than in the days of his lighter youthful love; and seating
himself beside her, began at the wrong end of the story, as most people
do in such cases, talking as if it were a thing of course that his
twice-widowed love should become his wife. "Marry again! oh,
never!"—that was entirely out of the question; and she wiped her eyes
and asked her cousin to stay to dinner. But Henry deferred his
ultimatum on this important point, till he should have ravelled out the
whole web of his past life before thedewy eyes of his still fair
mistress, till he should tell her all his love—no, that he could never
fully tell, but some of the proofs of it at least, and that first
horrible forget of Job Jephson's. And when this was told in many words,
Agnes, all sighs and tears, still said no, but so much more faintly
that Mr. Beckworth thought he would stay to dinner. And then—but why
should I tell the rest, when the reader of my true-love story has
already seen Mrs. Beckworth like a fair though full-blown
China-rose—Mr. Beckworth with bien content written on every line of
his handsome middle-aged face—Mary Jane Harrington a comely
marriageable lass, and George Boon a strapping youth of eighteen— all
flourishing on an oak opening in the depths of Michigan? Let none
imagine that this tale of man's constancy must be the mere dream of my
fancy. I acknowledge nothing but the prettinesses. To Henry Beckworth
himself I refer the incredulous, and if they do not recognize my story
in his, I cannot help it. Even a woman can do no more than her best.
Smelling so sweetly (all musk,) and so rushling, I warrant you, in
silk and gold; and in such alligant terms. — Shakspeare—Merry
Wives of Windsor. Art thou not Romeo, and a Montague? —
Shakspeare My brain's in a fever, my pulses beat quick I shall die,
or at least be exceedingly sick! Oh what do you think! after all my
romancing My visions of glory, my sighing, my glancing— — Miss
Biddy Fudge An addition to our Montacute first circle had lately
appeared in the person of Miss Eloise Fidler, an elder sister of Mrs.
Rivers, who was to spend some months "in this peaceful retreat,"—to
borrow one of her favourite expressions. This young lady was not as
handsome as she would fain have been, if I may judge by the cataracts
of ashcoloured ringlets which shaded her cheeks, and the exceeding
straitness of the stays which restrained her somewhat exuberant
proportions. Her age was at a stand; but I could never discover exactly
where, for this point proved an exception to the general
communicativeness of her disposition. I guessed it at eight-and-twenty;
but perhaps she would have judged this uncharitable, so I will not
insist. Certain it is that it must have taken a good while to read as
many novels and commit to memory as much poetry, as lined the head and
exalted the sensibilities of our fair visitant. Her dress was in the
height of fashion, and all her accoutrements point de vice. A gold
pencil-case of the most delicate proportions was suspended by a kindred
chain round a neck which might be called whity-brown; and a note-book
of corresponding lady-like-ness was peeping from the pocket of her
highly-useful apron of blue silk—ever ready to secure a passing
thought or an elegant quotation. Her album—she was just the person to
have an album—was resplendent in gold and satin, and the verses which
meandered over its emblazoned pages were of the most unexceptionable
quality, overlaid with flowers and gems—love and despair. To find any
degree of appropriateness in these various offerings, one must allow
the fortunate possessor of the purple volume, at least all the various
perfections of an Admirable Crichton, allayed in some small measure by
the trifling faults of coldness, fickleness, and deceit; and to judge
of Miss Fidler's friends by their hand-writing, they must have been
able to offer an edifying variety of bumps to the fingers of the
phrenologist. But here is the very book itself at my elbow, waiting
these three months, I blush to say, for a contribution which has yet to
be pumped up from my unwilling brains; and I have a mind to steal a few
specimens from its already loaded pages, for the benefit of the
distressed, who may, like myself, be at their wits' end for something
to put in just such a book. The first page, rich with embossed lilies,
bears theinvocation, written in a great black spattering hand, and
wearing the air of a defiance. It runs thus: If among the names of the
stainless few Thine own hath maintain'd a place, Come dip thy pen in
the sable dew And with it this volume grace. But oh! if thy soul e'er
encouraged a thought Which purity's self might blame, Close quickly
the volume, and venture not To sully its snows with thy name. Then we
come to a wreath of flowers of gorgeous hues, within whose circle
appears in a miminee piminee hand, evidently a young lady's— THE
WREATH OF SLEEP. Oh let me twine this glowing wreath Amid those rings
of golden hair, 'T will soothe thee with its odorous breath To sweet
forgetfulness of care. 'T is form'd of every scented flower That
flings its fragrance o'er the night; And gifted with a fairy power To
fill thy dreams with forms of light. 'T was braided by an angel boy
When fresh from Paradise he came To fill our earth-born hearts with
joy— Ah! need I tell the cherub's name? This contributor I have
settled in my own mind to be a descendant of Anna Matilda, the
high-priestess of theDella Cruscan order. The next blazon is an
interesting view of a young lady, combing her hair. As she seems not to
have been long out of bed, the lines which follow are rather
appropriate, though I feel quite sure they come from the expert fingers
of a merchant's clerk —from the finished elegance, and very sweeping
tails of the chirography. MORNING, Awake! arise! art thou slumbering
still? When the sun is above the mapled hill, And the shadows are
flitting fast away, And the dews are diamond beneath his ray, And
every bird in our vine-roofed bower Is waked into song by the joyous
hour; Come, banish sleep from thy gentle eyes, Sister! sweet sister!
awake! arise! Yet I love to gaze on thy lids of pearl, And to mark
the wave of the single curl That shades in its beauty thy brow of
snow, And the cheek that lies like a rose below; And to list to the
murmuring notes that fall From thy lips, like music in fairy hall.
But it must not be—the sweet morning flies Ere thou hast enjoyed it;
awake! arise! There is balm on the wings of this freshen'd air; 'T
will make thine eye brighter, thy brow more fair, And a deep, deep
rose on thy cheek shall be The meed of an early walk with me. We will
seek the shade by the green hill side, Or follow the clear brook's
whispering tide; And brush the dew from the violet's eyes— Sister!
sweet sister! awake! arise! This I transcribe for the good advice
which it contains. And what have we here? It is tastefully headed by an
engraving of Hero and Ursula in the "pleached bower," and Beatrice
running "like a lapwing" in the background. It begins ominously. TO—
Oh, look upon this pallid brow! Say, canst thou there discern one
trace Of that proud soul which oft ere now Thou'st sworn shed
radiance o'er my face? Chill'd is that soul—its darling themes, Thy
manly honour, virtue, truth Prove now to be but fleeting dreams, Like
other lovely thoughts of youth. Meet, if thy coward spirit dare, This
sunken eye; say, dost thou see The rays thou saidst were sparkling
there When first its gaze was turn'd on thee? That eye's young light
is quench'd forever; No change its radiance can repair: Will Joy's
keen touch relume it? Never! It gleams the watch-light of Despair. I
find myself growing hoarse by sympathy, and I shall venture only a
single extract more, and this because Miss Fidler declares it, without
exception, the sweetest thing she ever read. It is written with a
crow-quill, and has other marks of femininity. Its vignette is a little
girl and boy playing at battle-door. BALLAD. The deadly strife was
over, and across the field of fame, With anguish in his haughty eye,
the Moor Almanzor came; He prick'd his fiery courser on among the
scatter'd dead, Till he came at last to what he sought, a sever'd
human head. It might have seem'd a maiden's, so pale it was, and fair;
But the lip and chin were shaded till they match'd the raven hair.
There lingered yet upon the brow a spirit bold and high, And the
stroke of death had scarcely closed the piercing eagle eye. Almanzor
grasp'd the flowing locks, and he staid not in his flight, Till he
reach'd a lonely castle's gate where stood a lady bright. "Inez!
behold thy paramour!" he loud and sternly cried, And threw his ghastly
burdeu down, close at the lady's side. "I sought thy bower at
even-tide, thou syren, false as fair!" "And, would that I had rather
died! I found yon stripling there. "I turn'd me from the hated spot,
but I swore by yon dread Heaven, "To know no rest until my sword the
traitor's life had riven." The lady stood like stone until he turn'd
to ride away, And then she oped her marble lips, and wildly thus did
say: "Alas, alas! thou cruel Moor, what is it thou hast done! "This
was my brother Rodriguez, my father's only son." And then before his
frenzied eyes, like a crush'd lily bell, Lifeless upon the bleeding
head, the gentle Inez fell. He drew his glittering ataghan—he
sheath'd it in his side— And for his Spanish ladye-love the Moor
Almanzor died. This is not a very novel incident, but young ladies
like stories of love and murder, and Miss Fidler's tastes were
peculiarly young-lady-like. She praised Ainsworth and James, but
thought Bulwer's works "veryimmoral," though I never could discover
that she had more than skimmed the story from any of them. Cooper she
found "pretty;" Miss Sedgwick, "pretty well, only her characters are
such common sort of people." Miss Fidler wrote her own poetry, so that
she had ample employment for her time while with us in the woods. It
was unfortunate that she could not walk out much on account of her
shoes. She was obliged to make out with diluted inspiration. The
nearest approach she usually made to the study of Nature, was to sit on
the wood-pile, under a girdled tree, and there, with her gold pencil in
hand, and her "eyne, grey as glas," rolled upwards, poefy by the hour.
Several people, and especially one marriageable lady of a certain age,
felt afraid Miss Fidler was "kind o' crazy." And, standing marvel of
Montacute, no guest at morning or night ever found the fair Eloise
ungloved. Think of it! In the very wilds to be always like a cat in
nutshells, alone useless where all are so busy! I do not wonder our
good neighbours thought the damsel a little touched. And then her
shoes! "Saint Crispin Crispianus" never had so self-sacrificing a
votary. No shoemaker this side of New-York could make a sole papery
enough; no tannery out of France could produce materials for this piece
of exquisite feminine foppery. Eternal imprisonment within doors,
except in the warmest and driest weather, was indeed somewhat of a
price to pay, but it was ungrudged. The sofa and its footstool, finery
and novels, would have made a delicious world for Miss Eloise Fidler,
if— But, alas! "all this availeth me nothing," has been ever the song
of poor human nature. The mention of that unfortunate name includes the
only real, personal, pungent distress which had as yet shaded the lot
of my interesting heroine. Fidler! In the mortification adhering to so
unpoetical, so unromantic, so inelegant a surname—a name irredeemable
even by the highly classical elegance of the Eloise, or as the fair
lady herself pronounced it, "Elovees;" in this lay all her wo; and the
grand study of her life had been to sink this hated cognomen in one
more congenial to her taste. Perhaps this very anxiety had defeated
itself; at any rate, here she was at—I did not mean to touch on the
ungrateful guess again, but at least at mateable years; neither
married, nor particularly likely to be married. Mrs. Rivers was the
object of absolute envy to the pining Eloise. "Anna had been so
fortunate," she said; "Rivers was the sweetest name! and Harley was
such an elegant fellow!" We thought poor Anna had been any thing but
fortunate. She might better have been Fidler or Fiddle-string all her
life than to have taken the name of an indifferent and dissipated
husband. But not so thought Miss Fidler. It was not long after the
arrival of the elegant Eloise, that the Montacute Lyceum held its first
meeting in Mr. Simeon Jenkins's shop, lighted by three candles,
supported by candelabra of scooped potatoes; Mr. Jenkins himself
sitting on the head of a barrel, as president. At first the debates of
the institute were held with closed doors; but after the youthful or
less practised speakers had tried their powers fora few evenings, the
Lyceum was thrown open to the world every Tuesday evening, at six
o'clock. The list of members was not very select as to age, character,
or standing; and it soon included the entire gentility of the town, and
some who scarce claimed rank elsewhere. The attendance of the ladies
was particularly requested; and the whole fair sex of Montacute made a
point of showing occasionally the interest they undoubtedly felt in the
gallant knights who tilted in this field of honour. But I must not be
too diffuse—I was speaking of Miss Fidler. One evening—I hope that
beginning prepares the reader for something highly interesting— one
evening the question to be debated was the equally novel and striking
one which regards the comparative mental capacity of the sexes; and as
it was expected that some of the best speakers on both sides would be
drawn out by the interesting nature of the subject, every body was
anxious to attend. Among the rest was Miss Fidler, much to the
surprise of her sister and myself, who had hitherto been so
unfashionable as to deny ourselves this gratification. "What new whim
possesses you, Eloise?" said Mrs. Rivers; "you who never go out in the
day-time." "Oh, just per passy le tong," said the young lady, who was
a great French scholar; and go she would and did. The debate was
interesting to absolute breathlessness, both of speakers and hearers,
and was gallantly decided in favour of the fair by a youthful member
who occupied the barrel as president for the evening. He gave it as his
decided opinion, that if the natural and socialdisadvantages under
which woman laboured and must ever continue to labour, could be
removed; if their education could be entirely different, and their
position in society the reverse of what it is at present, they would be
very nearly, if not quite, equal to the nobler sex, in all but strength
of mind, in which very useful quality it was his opinion that man would
still have the advantage, especially in those communities whose
energies were developed by the aid of debating societies. This
decision was hailed with acclamations, and as soon as the question for
the ensuing debate," which is the more useful animal the ox or the
ass?" was announced, Miss Eloise Fidler returned home to rave of the
elegant young man who sat on the barrel, whom she had decided to be one
of "Nature's aristocracy," and whom she had discovered to bear the
splendid appellative of Dacre. "Edward Dacre," said she, "for I heard
the rude creature Jenkins call him Ed." The next morning witnessed
another departure from Miss Fidler's usual habits. She proposed a walk;
and observed that she had never yet bought an article at the store, and
really felt as if she ought to purchase something. Mrs. Rivers chancing
to be somewhat occupied, Miss Fidler did me the honour of a call, as
she could not think of walking without a chaperon. Behind the counter
at Skinner's I saw for the first time a spruce clerk, a really
well-looking young man, who made his very best bow to Miss Fidler, and
served us with much assiduity. The young lady's purchases occupied some
time, and I was obliged gently to hint home-affairs before she could
decide between two piecesof muslin, which she declared to be so nearly
alike, that it was almost impossible to say which was the best. When
we were at length on our return, I was closely questioned as to my
knowledge of "that gentleman," and on my observing that he seemed to be
a very decent young man, Miss Fidler warmly justified him from any such
opinion, and after a glowing eulogium on his firm countenance, his
elegant manners and his grace as a debater, concluded by informing me,
as if to cap the climax, that his name was Edward Dacre. I had thought
no more of the matter for some time, though I knew Mr. Dacre had become
a frequent visitor at Mr. Rivers', when Mrs. Rivers came to me one
morning with a perplexed brow, and confided to me her sisterly fears
that Eloise was about to make a fool of herself, as she had done more
than once before. "My father," she said, "hoped in this remote corner
of creation Eloise might forget her nonsense and act like other people;
but I verily believe she is bent upon encouraging this low fellow,
whose principal charm in her bewildered eyes is his name. "His name?"
said I, "pray explain;" for I had not then learned all the boundless
absurdity of this new Cherubina's fancies." "Edward Dacre?" said my
friend, "this is what enchants my sister, who is absolutely mad on the
subject of her own homely appellation." "Oh, is that all?" said I,
"send her to me, then; and I engage to dismiss her cured." And Miss
Fidler came to spend the day. We talked of all novels without
exception, and all poetry of allmagazines, and Miss Fidler asked me if
I had read the "Young Duke." Upon my confessing as much, she asked my
opinion of the heroine, and then if I had ever heard so sweet a name.
"May Dacre—May Dacre," she repeated, as if to solace her delighted
ears. "Only think how such names are murdered in this country," said
I, tossing carelessly before her an account of Mr. Skinner's which
bore, "Edkins Daker" below the receipt. I never saw a change equal to
that which seemed to "come o'er the spirit of her dream." I went on
with my citations of murdered names, telling how Rogers was turned into
Rudgers, Conway into Coniway, and Montague into Montaig, but poor Miss
Fidler was no longer in talking mood; and, long before the day was out,
she complained of a head-ache and returned to her sister's. Mr. Daker
found her "not at home" that evening; and when I called next morning,
the young lady was in bed, steeping her long ringlets in tears, real
tears. To hasten to the catastrophe: it was discovered ere long that
Mr. Edkins Daker's handsome face, and really pleasant manners, had
fairly vanquished Miss Fidler's romance, and she had responded to his
professions of attachment with a truth and sincerity, which while it
vexed her family inexpressibly, seemed to me to atone for all her
follies. Mr. Daker's prospects were by no means despicable, since a
small capital employed in merchandize in Michigan, is very apt to
confer upon the industrious and fortunate possesser that crowning
charm, without which handsome faces,and even handsome names, are quite
worthless in our Western eyes. Some little disparity of age existed
between Miss Fidler and her adorer; but this was conceded by all to be
abundantly made up by the superabounding gentility of the lady; and
when Mr. Daker returned from New-York with his new stock of goods and
his stylish bride, I thought I had seldom seen a happier or better
mated couple. And at this present writing, I do not believe Eloise,
with all her whims, would exchange her very nice Edkins for the
proudest Dacre of the British Peerage.
By sports like these are all their cares beguiled, The sports of
children satisfy the child; Each nobler aim, repress'd by long
control, Now sinks at last, or feebly mans the soul; While low
delights succeeding fast behind, In happier meanness occupy the mind.
— Goldsmith— There is in our vicinity one class of settlers
whose condition has always been inexplicable to me. They seem to work
hard, to dress wretchedly, and to live in the most uncomfortable style
in all respects, apparently denying themselves and their families every
thing beyond the absolute necessaries of life. They complain most
bitterly of poverty. They perform the severe labour which is shunned by
their neighbours; they purchase the coarsest food, and are not too
proud to ask for an old coat or a pair of cast boots, though it is
always with the peculiar air of dignity and "dont care," which is
characteristic of the country. Yet instead of increasing their means
by these penurious habits, they grow poorer every day. Their dwellings
are more and more out of repair. There are more and more shingles in
the windows, old hats and red petticoats cannot be spared; and an
increasing dearth of cows, pigs, and chickens. The daughters go to
service, and the sons "chore round" for everybody and any body; and
even the mamma, the centre of dignity, is fain to go out washing by the
day. A family of this description had fallen much under our notice.
The father and his stout sons had performed a good deal of hard work in
our service, and the females of the family had been employed on many
occasions when "help" was scarce. Many requests for cast articles, or
those of trifling value had been proffered during the course of our
acquaintance; and in several attacks of illness, such comforts as our
house afforded had been frequently sought, though no visit was ever
requested. They had been living through the summer in a shanty, built
against a sloping bank, with a fire-place dug in the hill-side, and a
hole pierced through the turf by way of chimney. In this den of some
twelve feet square, the whole family had burrowed since April; but in
October, a log-house of the ordinary size was roofed in, and though it
had neither door nor window, nor chimney, nor hearth, they removed, and
felt much elated with the change. Something like a door was soon after
swinging on its leathern hinges, and the old man said they were now
quite comfortable, though he should like to get a window! The first
intelligence we received from them after this, was that Mr. Newland,
the father, was dangerously ill with inflammation of the lungs. This
was not surprising, for a quilt is but a poor substitute for a window
during a Michigan November. A window was supplied, and such
alleviations as might be collected, were contributed by several of the
neighbours. The old man lingered on, much to my surprise, andafter two
or three weeks we heard that he was better, and would be able to "kick
round" pretty soon. It was not long after, that we were enjoying the
fine sleighing, which is usually so short-lived in this lakey region.
The roads were not yet much beaten, and we had small choice in our
drives, not desiring the troublesome honour of leading the way. It so
happened that we found ourselves in the neighbourhood of Mr. Newland's
clearing; and though the sun was low, we thought we might stop a moment
to ask how the old man did. We drove to the door, and so noiseless was
our approach, guiltless of bells, that no one seemed aware of our
coming. We tapped, and heard the usual reply, "Walk!" which I used to
think must mean "Walk off." I opened the door very softly, fearing to
disturb the sick man; but I found this caution quite mal-apropos. Mrs.
Newland was evidently in high holiday trim. The quilts had been removed
from their stations round the bed, and the old man, shrunken and
miserable-looking enough, sat on a chair in the corner. The whole
apartment bore the marks of expected hilarity. The logs over-head were
completely shrouded by broad hemlock boughs fastened against them; and
evergreens of various kinds were disposed in all directions, while
three tall slender candles, with the usual potato supporters, were
placed on the cupboard shelf. On the table, a cloth seemed to cover a
variety of refreshments; and in front of this cloth stood a tin pail,
nearly full of a liquid whose odour was but too discernible; and on the
whiskey, for such it seemed,swam a small tin cup. But I forget the more
striking part of the picture, the sons and daughters of the house. The
former flaming in green stocks and scarlet watch-guards, while the cut
of their long dangling coats showed that whoever they might once have
fitted, they were now exceedingly out of place; the latter decked in
tawdry, dirty finery, and wearing any look but that of the modest
country maiden, who, "in choosing her garments, counts no bravery in
the world like decency." The eldest girl, Amelia, who had lived with
me at one time, had been lately at a hotel in a large village at some
distance, and had returned but a short time before, not improved either
in manners or reputation. Her tall commanding person was arrayed in far
better taste than her sisters', and by contrast with the place and
circumstances, she wore really a splendid air. Her dress was of rich
silk, made in the extreme mode, and set off by elegant jewelry. Her
black locks were drest with scarlet berries; most elaborate pendants of
wrought gold hung almost to her shoulders; and above her glittering
basilisk eyes, was a gold chain with a handsome clasp of cut coral. The
large hands were covered with elegant gloves, and an embroidered
handkerchief was carefully arranged in her lap. I have attempted to
give some idea of the appearance of things in this wretched log-hut,
but I cannot pretend to paint the confusion into which our ill-timed
visit threw the family, who had always appeared before us in such
different characters. The mother asked us to sit down, however, and Mr.
Newland muttered something, from which I gathered, that "the girls
thought they must have a kind of a house-warmin' like." We made our
visit very short, of course; but before we could make our escape, an
old fellow came in with a violin, and an ox-sled approached the door,
loaded with young people of both sexes, who were all "spilt" into the
deep snow, by a "mistake on purpose" of the driver. In the scramble
which ensued, we took leave; wondering no longer at the destitution of
the Newlands, or of the other families of the same class, whose young
people we had recognized in the mêlée. The Newland family did not
visit us as usual after this. There was a certain consciousness in
their appearance when we met, and the old man more than once alluded to
our accidental discovery with evident uneasiness. He was a person not
devoid of shrewdness, and he was aware that the utter discrepancy
between his complaints, and the appearances we had witnessed, had given
us but slight opinion of his veracity; and for some time we were almost
strangers to each other. How was I surprised some two months after at
being called out of bed by a most urgent message from Mrs. Newland,
that Amelia, her eldest daughter, was dying! The messenger could give
no account of her condition, but that she was now in convulsions, and
her mother despairing of her life. I lost not a moment, but the way
was long, and ere I entered the house, the shrieks of the mother and
her children, told me I had come too late. Struck with horror I almost
hesitated whether to proceed, but the door was opened, and I went in.
Two or three neighbourswith terrified countenances stood near the bed,
and on it lay the remains of the poor girl, swollen and discoloured,
and already so changed in appearance that I should not have recognized
it elsewhere. I asked for particulars, but the person whom I
addressed, shook her head and declined answering; and there was
altogether an air of horror and mystery which I was entirely unable to
understand. Mrs. Newland, in her lamentations, alluded to the
suddenness of the blow, and when I saw her a little calmed, I begged to
know how long Amelia had been ill, expressing my surprise that I had
heard nothing of it. She turned upon me as if I had stung her. "What,
you've heard their lies too, have ye!" she exclaimed fiercely, and she
cursed in no measured terms those who meddled with what did not concern
them. I felt much shocked: and disclaiming all intention of wounding
her feelings, I offered the needful aid, and when all was finished,
returned home uninformed as to the manner of Amelia Newland's death.
Yet I could not avoid noticing that all was not right. Oft have I
seen a timely-parted ghost Of ashy semblance, meagre, pale and
bloodless— but the whole appearance of this sad wreck was quite
different from that of any corpse I had ever viewed before. Nothing was
done, but much said or hinted on all sides. Rumour was busy as usual;
and I have been assured by those who ought to have warrant for their
assertions, that this was but one fatal instance our of the many cases,
wherein life was perilled in the desperate effort to elude the "slow
unmoving finger" of public scorn. That the class of settlers to which
the Newlands belong, a class but too numerous in Michigan, is a vicious
and degraded one, I cannot doubt: but whether the charge to which I
have but alluded, is in any degree just, I am unable to determine. I
can only repeat, "I say the tale as 't was said to me," and I may add
that more than one instance of a similar kind, though with results less
evidently fatal, has since come under my knowledge. The Newlands have
since left this part of the country, driving off with their own, as
many of their neighbours' cattle and hogs as they could persuade to
accompany them; and not forgetting one of the train of fierce dogs
which have not only shown ample sagacity in getting their own living,
but, "gin a' tales be true," assisted in supporting the family by their
habits of nightly prowling. I passed by their deserted dwelling. They
had carried off the door and window, and some boys were busy pulling
the shingles from the roof to make quailtraps. I trust we have few such
neighbours left. Texas and the Canada was have done much for us in this
way; and the wide west is rapidly drafting off those whom we shall
regret as little as the Newlands.
Something that mellows and that glorifies, Ev'n like the soft and
spiritual glow Kindling rich woods whereon th' ethereal bow Sleeps
lovingly the while. * * * * * * * Swift and high The arrowy pillars
of the fire-light grew.— — Mrs. Hemans As I have never made
any remarkable progress in the heights and depths of meteorology, I am
unable to speak with confidence as to the concatenation of causes which
may withhold from this fertile peninsula the treasures of the clouds,
in the early spring-time, when our land elsewhere, is saturated even to
repletion with the "milky nutriment." In plain terms, I cannot tell any
thing about the reason why we have such dry Springs in Michigan, I can
only advert to the fact as occasioning scenes rather striking to the
new comer. In April, instead of the "misty-moisty morning," which
proverbially heralds the "uncertain glory" of the day in that much
belied month, the sun, day after day, and week after week, shows his
jolly red face, at the proper hour, little by little above the horizon,
casting a scarlet glory on the leafless trees, and investing the
well-piled brush-heaps with a burning splendour before their time. Now
and then a brisk shower occurs, but it is short-lived, and not very
abundant; and after being here through a season or two, one begins to
wonder that the soil is so fertile. My own private theory is, that when
the peninsula was covered with water, as it doubtless was before the
Niagara met with such a fall, the porous mass became so thoroughly
soaked, that the sun performs the office of rain, by drawing from below
to the rich surface, the supplies of moisture which, under ordinary
circumstances, are necessarily furnished from the aerial reservoirs.
Such are my views, which I offer with the diffidence becoming a tyro;
but at the same time avowing frankly that I shall not even consider an
opposing hypothesis, until my antagonist shall have traversed the
entire state, and counted the marshes and cat-holes from which I
triumphantly draw my conclusion. Leaving this question, then, I will
make an effort to regain the floating end of my broken thread. These
exceedingly dry Spring-times—all sun and a very little
east-wind—leave every tree, bush, brier and blade of grass, dry as new
tinder. They are as combustible as the heart of a Sophomore; as ready
for a blaze as a conclave of ancient ladies who have swallowed the
first cup of Hyson, and only wait one single word to begin. At this
very suitable time, it is one of the customs of the country for every
man that has an acre of marsh, to burn it over, in order to prepare for
a new crop of grass; and a handful of fire thus applied, wants but a
cap-full of wind, to send it miles in any or all directions. The
decayed trees, and those which may have been some time felled, catch
the swift destruction,and aid the roaring flame; and while the earth
seems covered with writhing serpents of living fire, ever and anon an
undulating pyramid flares wildly upward, as if threatening the very
skies, only to fall the next moment in crashing fragments, which serve
to further the spreading ruin. These scenes have a terrible splendour
by night; but the effect by day is particularly curious. The air is so
filled with the widely-diffused smoke, that the soft sunshine of April
is mellowed into the ruddy glow of Autumn, and the mist which seems to
hand heavy over the distant hills and woods, completes the illusion.
One's associations are those of approaching winter, and it seems really
a solecism to be making garden under such a sky. But this is not all.
We were all busy in the rough, pole-fenced acre, which we had begun to
call our garden;—one with a spade, another with a hoe or rake, and the
least useful,—videlicet, I,—with a trowel and a paper of celeryseed,
when a rough neighbour of ours shouted over the fence:— "What be you
a potterin' there for? You 'd a plaguy sight better be a fighting fire,
I tell ye! The wind is this way, and that fire'll be on your haystacks
in less than no time, if you don't mind." Thus warned, we gazed at the
dark smoke which had been wavering over the north-west all day, and saw
that it had indeed made fearful advances. But two well-travelled roads
still lay between us and the burning marshes, and these generally prove
tolerably effectual barriers when the wind is low. So our operatives
took their way toward the scene of action, carryingwith them the
gardening implements, as the most efficient weapons in "fighting fire."
They had to walk a long distance, but the fire was very obliging and
advanced more than two steps to meet them. In short, the first barrier
was overleapt before they reached the second, and the air had become so
heated that they could only use the hoes and spades in widening the
road nearest our dwelling, by scraping away the leaves and bushes; and
even there they found it necessary to retreat more rapidly than was
consistent with a thorough performance of the work. The winds, though
light, favoured the destroyer, and the more experienced of the
neighbours, who had turned out for the general good, declared there was
nothing now but to make a "back-fire!" So homeward all ran, and set
about kindling an opposing serpent which should "swallow up the rest;"
but it proved too late. The flames only reached our stable and
haystacks the sooner, and all that we could now accomplish was to
preserve the cottage and its immediate appurtenances. I scarce
remember a blanker hour. I could not be glad that the house and horses
were safe, so vexed did I feel to think that a rational attention to
the advance of that black threatening column, would have prevented the
disaster. I sat gazing out of the back window, watching the gradual
blackening of the remains of our stores of hay—scolding the while most
vehemently, at myself and every body else, for having been so stupidly
negligent; declaring that I should not take the slightest interest in
the garden which had so engrossed us, and wishing most heartily that
the fellow who setthe marsh on fire, could be detected and fined "not
more than one thousand dollars," as the law directs; when our
neighbour, long Sam Jennings, the slowest talker in Michigan, came
sauntering across the yard with his rusty fowling-piece on his
shoulder, and drawled out— "I should think your dam was broke some; I
see the water in the creek look dreadful muddy." And while Sam took his
leisurely way to the woods, the tired fire-fighters raced, one and all,
to the dam, where they found the water pouring through a hole near the
head-gate, at a rate which seemed likely to carry off the entire
structure in a very short time. But I have purposely refrained from
troubling the reader with a detail of any of the various accidents
which attended our own particular debût, in the back-woods. I mentioned
the fire because it is an annual occurrence throughout the country, and
often consumes wheat-stacks, and even solitary dwellings; and I was
drawn in to record the first breach in the mill-dam, as occurring on
the very day of the disaster by fire. I shall spare my friends any
account of the many troubles and vexatious delays attendant on
repairing that necessary evil, the dam; and even a transcript of the
three astounding figures which footed the account of expenses on the
occasion. I shall only observe, that if long Sam Jennings did not get a
ducking for not giving intelligence of the impending evil a full
half-hour before it suited his convenience to stroll our way, it was
not because he did not richly deserve it—and so I close my chapter of
accidents.
Qu' ay je oublié? dere is some simples in my closet, dat I vill not
for de varld I shall leave behind. * * * * * * * Shal. The Council
shall hear it: it is a riot. Evans. It is petter that friends is the
sword, and end it; and there is another device in my prain which,
peradventure, prings goot discretions with it. * * We will afterwards
'ork upon the cause with as great discreetly as we can. —
Shakspeare—Merry Wives of Windsor. "Ah! who can tell how hard it is
to" say—any thing about an unpretending village like ours, in terms
suited to the delicate organization of "ears polite." How can one hope
to find any thing of interest about such common-place people? Where is
the aristocratic distinction which makes the kind visit of the great
lady at the sick-bed of suffering indigence so great a favour, that all
the inmates of the cottage behave picturesquely out of gratitude—form
themselves into tableaux, and make speeches worth recording? Here are
neither great ladies nor humble cottagers. I cannot bring to my aid
either the exquisite boudoir of the one class, with its captivating
bijouterie—its velvet couches and its draperies of rose-coloured
satin, so becoming to the complexions of one's young-lady
characters—nor yet the cot of the other more simple but not less
elegant,surrounded with clustering eglantine and clematis, and
inhabited by goodness, grace, and beauty. These materials are denied
me; but yet I must try to describe something of Michigan cottage life,
taking care to avail myself of such delicate periphrasis as may best
veil the true homeliness of my subject. Moonlight and the ague are,
however, the same every where. At least I meet with no description in
any of the poets of my acquaintance which might not be applied, without
reservation, to Michigan moonlight; and as for the ague, did not great
Cæsar shake "when the fit was on him?" T'is true, this god did shake:
His coward lips did from their colour fly— And in this important
particular poor Lorenzo Titmouse was just like the inventor of the
laurel crown. We— Mrs. Rivers and I—went to his father's, at his
urgent request, on just such a night as is usually chosen for romantic
walks by a certain class of lovers. We waited not for escort, although
the night had already fallen, and there was a narrow strip of forest to
pass in our way; but leaving word whither we had gone, we accompanied
the poor shivering boy, each carrying what we could. And what does the
gentle reader think we carried? A custard or a glass of jelly each,
perhaps; and a nice sponge-cake, or something equally delicate, and
likely to tempt the faint appetite of the invalid. No such thing. We
had learned better than to offer such nick-nacks to people who "a'n't
us'd to sweetnin'." My companion was "doubly arm'd:" a small tin pail
of cranberry sauce in one hand, a bottle ofvinegar in the other. I
carried a modicum of "hop 'east," and a little bag of crackers; a scrap
of Hyson, and a box of quinine pills. Odd enough; but we had been at
such places before. We had a delicious walk; though poor Lorenzo, who
had a bag of flour on his shoulders, was fain to rest often. This was
his "well day," to be sure; but he had had some eight or ten fits of
ague, enough to wither any body's pith and marrow, as those will say
who have tried it. That innate politeness which young rustics, out of
books as well as in them, are apt to exhibit when they are in good
humour, made Lorenzo decline, most vehemently, our offers of
assistance. But we at length fairly took his bag from him, and passing
a stick through the string, carried it between us; while the boy
disposed of our various small articles by the aid of his capacious
pockets. And a short half mile from the bridge brought us to his
father's. It was an ordinary log house, but quite old and dilapidated:
the great open chimney occupying most of one end of the single
apartment, and two double-beds with a trundle-bed, the other. In one of
the large beds lay the father and the eldest son; in the other, the
mother and two little daughters, all ill with ague, and all sad and
silent, save my friend Mrs. Titmouse, whose untameable tongue was too
much even for the ague. Mrs. Titmouse is one of those fortunate beings
who can talk all day without saying any thing. She is the only person
whom I have met in these regions who appears to have paid her devoirs
at Castle Blarney. "How d'ye do, ladies,—how d'ye do? Bless my soul!
if ever I thought to be catch'd in sitch a condition, and by sich grand
ladies too! Not a chair for you to sit down on. I often tell Titmouse
that we live jist like the pigs; but he ha' n't no ambition. I'm sure
I'm under a thousand compliments to ye for coming to see me. We're
expecting a mother of his'n to come and stay with us, but she ha' n't
come yet—and I in sitch a condition; can't show ye no civility. Do sit
down, ladies, if you can sit upon a chest—ladies like you. I'm sure
I'm under a thousand compliments—" and so the poor soul ran on till
she was fairly out of breath, in spite of our efforts to out-talk her
with our assurances that we could accommodate ourselves very well, and
could stay but a few minutes. "And now, Mrs. Titmouse," said Mrs.
Rivers, in her sweet, pleasant voice, "tell us what we can do for you."
"Do for me! Oh, massy! Oh, nothing, I thank ye. There a'n't nothing
that ladies like you can do for me. We make out very well, and—"
"What do you say so for!" growled her husband from the other bed. "You
know we ha'n't tasted a mouthful since morning, nor had n't it, and I
sent Lorenzo myself—" "Well, I never!" responded his help-mate;
"you're always doing just so: troubling people. You never had no
ambition, Titmouse; you know I always said so. To be sure, we ha'n't
had no tea this good while, and tea does taste dreadful good when a
body's got the agur; and my bread is gone, and I ha'n't been able to
set no emptins; but—" Here we told what we had brought, and prepared
at once to make some bread; but Mrs. Titmouse seemed quite horrified,
and insisted upon getting out of bed, though she staggered, and would
have fallen if we had not supported her to a seat. "Now tell me where
the water is, and I will get it myself," said Mrs. Rivers, "and do you
sit still and see how soon I will make a loaf." "Water!" said the poor
soul; "I'm afraid we have not water enough to make a loaf. Mr. Grimes
brought us a barrel day before yesterday, and we've been dreadful
careful of it, but the agur is so dreadful thirsty—I'm afraid there a'
n't none." "Have you no spring?" "No, ma'am; but we have always got
plenty of water down by the mash till this dry summer." "I should
think that was enough to give you the ague. Do n't you think the marsh
water unwholesome?" "Well, I do n't know but it is; but you see he was
always a-going to dig a well; but he ha'n't no ambition, nor never had,
and I always told him so. And as to the agur, if you've got to have it,
why you can't get clear of it." There was, fortunately, water enough
left in the barrel to set the bread and half-fill the tea-kettle; and
we soon made a little blaze with sticks, which served to boil the
kettle to make that luxury of the woods, a cup of green tea. Mrs.
Titmouse did not need the tea to help her talking powers, for she was
an independent talker, whose gush of words knew no ebb nor exhaustion.
Alike to her was tide or time, Moonless midnight or matin prime. Her
few remaining teeth chattered no faster when she had the ague than at
any other time. The stream flowed on In one weak, washy, everlasting
flood. When we had done what little we could, and were about to
depart, glad to escape her overwhelming protestations of eternal
gratitude, her husband reminded her that the cow had not been milked
since the evening before, when "Miss Grimes" had been there. Here was a
dilemma! How we regretted our defective education, which prevented our
rendering so simple yet so necessary a service to the sick poor. We
remembered the gentleman who did not know whether he could read Greek,
as he had never tried; and set ourselves resolutely at work to
ascertain our powers in the milking line. But alas! the "milky mother
of the herd" had small respect for timid and useless town ladies.
Crummie kick'd, and Crummie flounced, And Crummie whisk'd her tail.
In vain did Mrs. Rivers hold the pail with both hands, while I essayed
the arduous task. So sure as I succeeded in bringing ever so tiny a
stream, the ill-mannered beast would almost put out my eyes with her
tail, and oblige us both to jump up and run away; and after a
protracted struggle, the cow gained the victory,as might have been
expected, and we were fain to retreat into the house. The next
expedient was to support Mrs. Titmouse on the little bench, while she
tried to accomplish the mighty work; and having been partially
successful in this, we at length took our leave, promising aid for the
morrow, and hearing the poor woman's tongue at intervals till we were
far in the wood. "Lord bless ye! I'm sure I'm under an everlastin'
compliment to ye; I wish I know'd how I could pay ye. Such ladies to be
a waitin' on the likes of me; I'm sure I never see nothing like it,"
And now we began to wonder how long it would be before we should see
our respected spouses, as poor Lorenzo had fallen exhausted on the bed,
and was in no condition to see us even a part of the way home. The wood
was very dark, though we could see glimpses of the mill-pond lying like
liquid diamonds in the moonlight. We had advanced near the brow of the
hill which descends toward the pond, when strange sounds met our ears.
Strange sounds for our peaceful village! Shouts and howling—eldrich
screams—Indian yells— the braying of tin horns, and the violent
clashing of various noisy articles. We hurried on, and soon came in
sight of a crowd of persons, who seemed coming from the village to the
pond. And now loud talking, threats—"Duck him! duck the impudent
rascal!" what could it be? Here was a mob! a Montacute mob! and the
cause? I believe all mobs pretend to have causes. Could the choice
spirits have caught an abolitionist? which theythought, as I had heard,
meant nothing less than a monster. But now I recollected having heard
that a ventriloquist, which I believe most of our citizens considered a
beast of the same nature, had sent notices of an exhibition for the
evening; and the truth flashed upon us at once. "In with him! in with
him!" they shouted as they approached the water, just as we began to
descend the hill. And then the clear fine voice of the dealer in voice
was distinctly audible above the hideous din— "Gentlemen, I have
warned you; I possess the means of defending myself, you will force me
to use them." "Stop his mouth," shouted a well-known bully, "he lies;
he ha'n't got nothing! in with him!" and a violent struggle followed,
some few of our sober citizens striving to protect the stranger. One
word to Mrs. Rivers, and we set up a united shriek, a screech like an
army of sea-gulls. "Help! help!" and we stopped on the hill-side, our
white dresses distinctly visible in the clear, dazzling moonlight. We
"stinted not nor staid" till a diversion was fairly effected. A dozen
forms seceded at once from the crowd, and the spirit of the thing was
at an end. We waited on the spot where our artifice began, certain of
knowing every individual who should approach; and the very first proved
those we most wished to see. And now came the very awkward business of
explaining our ruse, and Mrs. Rivers was rather sharply reproved for
her part of it. Harley Riverswas not the man to object to any thing
like a lark, and he had only attempted to effect the release of the
ventriloquist, after Mr. Clavers had joined him on the way to Mr.
Titmouse's. The boobies who had been most active in the outrage, would
fain have renewed the sport; but the ventriloquist had wisely taken
advantage of our diversion in his favour, and was no where to be found.
The person at whose house he had put up told afterwards that he had
gone out with loaded pistols in his pocket; so even a woman's shrieks,
hated of gods and men, may sometimes be of service. Montacute is far
above mobbing now. This was the first and last exhibition of the spirit
of the age. The most mobbish of our neighbours have flitted westward,
seeking more congenial association. I trust they may be so well
satisfied that they will not think of returning; for it is not pleasant
to find a dead pig in one's well, or a favourite dog hung up at the
gate-post; to say nothing of cows milked on the marshes, hen-roosts
rifled, or melon-patches cleared in the course of the night. We
learned afterwards the "head and front" of the ventriloquist's offence.
He had asked twenty-five cents a-head for the admission of the
sovereign people.
Bah! bah!—not a bit magic in it at all—not a bit. It is all founded
on de planetary influence, and de sympathy and force of numbers. I will
show you much finer dan dis. — Antiquary The very next
intelligence from our urban rival came in the shape of a polite note to
Mr. Clavers, offering him any amount of stock in the "Merchants' and
Manufacturers' Bank of Tinkerville." My honoured spouse—I acknowledge
it with regret—is any thing but "an enterprising man." But our
neighbour, Mr. Rivers, or his astute father for him, thought this
chance for turning paper into gold and silver too tempting to be
slighted, and entered at once into the business of making money on a
large scale. I looked at first upon the whole matter with unfeigned
indifference, for money has never seemed so valueless to me as since I
have experienced how little it will buy in the woods; but I was most
unpleasantly surprised when I heard that Harley Rivers, the husband of
my friend, was to be exalted to the office of President of the new
bank. "Just as we were beginning to be so comfortable, to think you
should leave us," said I to Mrs. Rivers. "Oh! dear no," she replied;
"Harley says it will not be necessary for us to remove at present.
Thebusiness can be transacted just as well here, and we shall not go
until the banking-house and our own can be erected." This seemed odd
to a novice like myself; but I rejoiced that arrangements were so
easily made which would allow me to retain for a while so pleasant a
companion. As I make not the least pretension to regularity, but only
an attempt to "body forth" an unvarnished picture of the times, I may
as well proceed in this place to give the uninitiated reader so much of
the history of the Tinkerville Bank, as has become the property of the
public; supposing that the effects of our "General Banking Law" may not
be as familiarly known elsewhere as they unfortunately are in this
vicinity. When our speculators in land found that the glamour had
departed, that the community had seen the ridicule of the delusion
which had so long made "The cobwebs on a cottage wall Seem tapestry
in lordly hall; A nutshell seem a gilded barge, A sheeling seem a
palace large, And youth seem age and age seem youth." And poverty
seem riches, and idleness industry, and fraud enterprise; some of these
cunning magicians set themselves about concocting a new species of
gramarye, by means of which the millions of acres of wild land which
were left on their hands might be turned into bonâ fide cash—paper
cash at least, to meet certain times of payment of certain moneys
borrowed at certain rates of interest during the fervour of the
speculatingmania. The "General Banking Law" of enviable notoriety,
which allowed any dozen of men who could pledge real estate to a
nominal amount, to assume the power of making money of rags; this was
the magic cauldron, whose powers were destined to transmute these acres
of wood and meadow into splendid metropolitan residences, with
equipages of corresponding elegance. It was only "bubble-bubble," and
burroaks were turned into marble tables, tall tamaracks into draperied
bedsteads, lakes into looking-glasses, and huge expanses of wet marsh
into velvet couches, and carpets from the looms of Agra and of Ind. It
is not to be denied that this necromantic power had its limits. Many of
these successful wizards seemed after all a little out of place in
their palaces of enchantment; and one could hardly help thinking, that
some of them would have been more suitably employed in tramping, with
cow-hide boot, the slippery marshes on which their greatness was based,
than in treading mincingly the piled carpets which were the magical
product of those marshes. But that was nobody's business but their own.
They considered themselves as fulfilling their destiny. Some thirty
banks or more were the fungous growth of the new political hot-bed; and
many of these were of course without a "local habitation," though they
might boast the "name," it may be, of some part of the deep woods,
where the wild cat had hitherto been the most formidable foe to the
unwary and defenceless. Hence the celebrated term "Wild Cat," justified
fully by the course of these cunning and stealthy blood-suckers; more
fatal in their treacherous spring than ever was their forest prototype.
A stout farmer might hope to "whip" a wild cat or two; but once in the
grasp of a "wild cat bank," his struggles were unavailing. Hopeless
ruin has been the consequence in numerous instances, and every day adds
new names to the list. But I have fallen into the sin of generalizing,
instead of journalizing, as I promised. The interesting nature of the
subject will be deemed a sufficient justification, by such of my
readers as may have enjoyed the pleasure of making alumets of
bank-notes, as so many Michiganians have done, or might have done if
they had not been too angry. Of the locale of the Merchants' and
Manufacturers' Bank of Tinkerville, I have already attempted to give
some faint idea; and I doubt not one might have ridden over many of the
new banks in a similar manner, without suspecting their existence. The
rubicand and smooth-spoken father-in-law of my friend was the
mainspring of the institution in question; and his son Harley, who "did
not love work," was placed in a conspicuous part of the panorama as
President. I thought our Caleb Quotem neighbour, Mr. Simeon Jenkins,
would have found time to fulfil the duties of cashier, and he can write
"S. Jenkins" very legibly; so there would have been no objection on
that score: but it was thought prudent to give the office to a
Tinkervillian—a man of straw, for aught I know to the contrary; for
all I saw or heard of him was his name, "A. Bite," on the bills. A
fatal mistake this, according to Mr. Jenkins. He can demonstrate, to
any body who feels an interest in the facts of the case,that the bank
never would have "flatted out," if he had had a finger in the pie.
Just as our Wild Cat was ready for a spring, the only obstacle in her
path was removed, by the abolition of the
old-fashioned-and-troublesome-but-now-exploded plan of specie payments;
and our neighbours went up like the best rocket from Vauxhall. The
Tinkerville Astor House, the County Offices, the Banking House, were
all begun simultaneously, as at the waving of a wand of power.
Montacute came at once to a dead stand; for not a workman could be had
for love or flour. Those beautifully engraved bills were too much for
the public spirit of most of us, and we forgot our Montacute patriotism
for a time. "Real estate pledged;" of course, the notes were better
than gold or silver, because they were lighter in the pocket. Time's
whirligig went round. Meanwhile all was prosperous at the incipient
capital of our rising county. Mr. President Rivers talked much of
removing to the bank; and in preparation, sent to New-York for a
complete outfit of furniture, and a pretty carriage; while Mrs. Rivers
astonished the natives in our log meeting-house, and the wood-chucks in
our forest strolls, by a Parisian bonnet of the most exquisite
rose-colour, her husband's taste. Mr. Rivers, senior, and sundry other
gentlemen, some ruddy-gilled and full-pocketed like himself, others
looking so lean and hungry, that I wondered any body would trust them
in a bank —a place where, as I supposed in my greenness, In bright
confusion open rouleaux lie, Made frequent and closetted sojourn at
Montacute.Our mill whirred merrily, and toll-wheat is a currency that
never depreciates; but in other respects, we were only moderately
prosperous. Our first merchant, Mr. Skinner, did not clear above three
thousand dollars the first year. Slow work for Michigan; and somehow,
Mr. Jenkins was far from getting rich as fast as he expected. One
bright morning, as I stood looking down Mainstreet, thinking I
certainly saw a deer's tail at intervals flying through the woods, two
gentlemen on horseback rode deliberately into town. They had the air of
men who were on serious business; and as they dismounted at the door of
the Montacute House, a messenger was despatched in an instant to Mr.
Rivers. Ere long, I discovered the ruddy papa wending his dignified way
towards the Hotel, while the President, on his famous trotter
Greenhorn, emerged from the back-gate, and cleared the ground in fine
style towards Tinkerville. A full hour elapsed before the elder Mr.
Rivers was ready to accompany the gentlemen on their ride. He happened
to be going that way, which was very convenient, since the Bank
Commissioners, for our portly strangers were none other, did not know
in what part of the unsurveyed lands the new city lay. The day was far
spent when the party returned to take tea with Mrs. Rivers. All seemed
in high good humour. The examination prescribed by our severe laws had
been exceedingly satisfactory. The books of the Bank were in apple-pie
order. Specie certificates, a newly-invented kind of gold and silver,
were abundant. A long row of boxes, which contained the sinews of peace
as well as of war, had been viewed and "hefted" bythe Commissioners.
The liabilities seemed as nothing compared with the resources; and the
securities were as substantial as earth and stone could make them. If
the height of prosperity could have been heightened, Tinkerville would
have gone on faster than ever after this beneficent visitation. Mr.
Rivers' new furniture arrived, and passed through our humble village in
triumphal procession, pile after pile of huge boxes, provokingly
impervious to the public eye; and, last of all, the new carriage,
covered as closely from the vulgar gaze as a celebrated belle whose
charms are on the wane. The public buildings at the county seat were
proclaimed finished, or nearly finished, a school-house begun, a
meeting-house talked of; but for the latter, it was supposed to be too
early—rather premature.
And whare is your honours gaun the day wi' a' your picks and shules? *
* — — Antiquary. On peut être plus fin qu' un autre, mais non
pas plus fin que tous les autres. — —Rochefoucault. All too
soon came the period when I must part with my pleasant neighbour Mrs.
Rivers, the opening brilliancy of whose lot seemed to threaten a
lasting separation, from those whose way led rather through the "cool,
sequestered vale," so much praised, and so little coveted. Mr. Rivers
had for some time found abundant leisure for his favourite occupations
of hunting and fishing. The signing of bills took up but little time,
and an occasional ride to the scene of future glories, for the purpose
of superintending the various improvements, was all that had
necessarily called him away. But now, final preparations for a removal
were absolutely in progress; and I had begun to feel really sad at the
thought of losing the gentle Anna, when the Bank Commissioners again
paced in official dignity up Main-street, and, this time, alighted at
Mr. Rivers' door. The President and Greenhorn had trotted to
Tinkerville that morning, and the old gentleman was not in town; so our
men of power gravely wended their waytowards the newly-painted and
pine-pillared honours of the Merchants' and Manufacturers'
Banking-house, not without leaving behind them many a surmise as to the
probable object of this new visitation. It was Mr. Skinner's opinion,
and Mr. Skinner is a long-headed Yankee, that the Bank had issued too
many bills; and for the sincerity of his judgment, he referred his
hearers to the fact, that he had for some time been turning the
splendid notes of the Merchants' and Manufacturers' Bank of Tinkerville
into wheat and corn as fast as he conveniently could. A sly old
farmer, who had sold several hundred bushels of wheat to Mr. Skinner,
at one dollar twenty-five cents a bushel, winked knowingly as the
merchant mentioned this proof of his own far-seeing astuteness; and
informed the company that he had paid out the last dollar long ago on
certain outstanding debts. Mr. Porter knew that the Tinkerville
blacksmith had run up a most unconscionable bill for the iron doors,
which were necessary to secure the immense vaults of the Bank; that
would give, as he presumed, some hint of the probable object of the
Commissioners. Mr. Simeon Jenkins, if not the greatest, certainly the
most grandiloquent man in Montacute, did 'nt want to know any better
than he did know, that the Cashier of the Bank was a thick-skull; and
he felt very much afraid that the said Cashier had been getting his
principals into trouble. Mr. Bite's manner of writing his name was, in
Mr. Jenkins' view, proof positive of his lack of capacity; since
"nobody in the universalworld" as Mr. Jenkins averred, "ever wrote such
a hand as that, that know'd any thing worth knowing." But conjectures,
however positively advanced, are, after all, not quite satisfactory;
and the return of the commissioners was most anxiously awaited even by
the very worthies who knew their business so well. The sun set most
perversely soon, and the light would not stay long after him; and thick
darkness settled upon this mundane sphere, and no word transpired from
Tinkerville. Morning came, and with it the men of office, but oh! with
what lengthened faces! There were whispers of "an injunction"—horrid
sound!—upon the Merchants' and Manufacturers' Bank of Tinkerville. To
picture the dismay which drew into all sorts of shapes the universal
face of Montacute, would require a dozen Wilkies. I shall content
myself with saying that there was no joking about the matter. The
commissioners were not very communicative, but in spite of their
dignified mystification, something about broken glass and tenpenny
nails did leak out before their track was fairly cold. And where was
Harley Rivers? "Echo answers, where!" His dear little wife watered her
pillow with her tears for many a night before he returned to Montacute.
It seemed, as we afterwards learned, that the commissioners had seen
some suspicious circumstances about the management of the Bank, and
returned with a determination to examine into matters a little more
scrupulously. It had been found in other cases that certain
"specie-certificates" had been locomotive. Ithad been rumoured, since
the new batch of Banks had come into operation, that Thirty steeds
both fleet and wight Stood saddled in the stables day and night—
ready to effect at short notice certain transfers of assets and
specie. And in the course of the Tinkerville investigation the
commissioners had ascertained by the aid of hammer and chisel, that the
boxes of the "real stuff" which had been so loudly vaunted, contained a
heavy charge of broken glass and tenpenny nails, covered above and
below with half-dollars, principally "bogus." Alas! for Tinkerville,
and alas, for poor Michigan! The distress among the poorer classes of
farmers which was the immediate consequence of this and other Bank
failures, was indescribable. Those who have seen only a city panic, can
form no idea of the extent and severity of the sufferings on these
occasions. And how many small farmers are there in Michigan who have
not suffered from this cause? The only adequate punishment which I
should prescribe for this class of heartless adventurers, would be to
behold at one glance all the misery they have occasioned; to be gifted
with an Asmodean power, and forced to use it. The hardiest among them,
could scarcely, I think, endure to witness the unroofing of the humble
log-huts of Michigan, after the bursting of one of these Dead-sea
apples. Bitter indeed were the ashes which they scattered! How many
settlers who came in from the deep woods many miles distant where no
grain had yetgrown, after travelling perhaps two or three days and
nights, with a half-starved ox-team, and living on a few crusts by the
way, were told when they offered their splendid-looking bank-notes,
their hard-earned all, for the flour which was to be the sole food of
wife and babes through the long winter, that these hoarded treasures
were valueless as the ragged paper which wrapped them! Can we blame
them if they cursed in their agony, the soul-less wretches who had thus
drained their best blood for the furtherance of their own schemes of
low ambition? Can we wonder that the poor, feeling such wrongs as
these, learn to hate the rich, and to fancy them natural enemies?
Could one of these heart-wrung beings have been introduced, just as he
was, with the trembling yet in his heart, and the curses on his lips,
into the gilded saloon of his betrayer, methinks the dance would have
flagged, the song wavered, the wine palled, for the moment at least.
Light is the dance and doubly sweet the lays When for the dear
delight another pays— But the uninvited presence of the involuntary
pay-master, would have been "the hand on the wall" to many a successful
(!) banker. After public indignation had in some measure subsided, and
indeed such occurrences as I have described became too common to stir
the surface of society very rudely, Mr. Harley Rivers returned to
Montacute, and prepared at once for the removal of his family. I took
leave of his wife with most sincere regret, and I felt at the time as
if we should never meet again. ButI have heard frequently from them
until quite lately; and they have been living very handsomely (Mr.
Rivers always boasted that he would live like a gentleman) in one of
the Eastern cities on the spoils of the Tinkerville Wild-cat.
I say the pulpit, (and I name it, filled With solemn awe, that bids
me well beware With what intent I touch that holy thing.) —
Cowper One of the greatest deficiencies and disadvantages of the
settler in the new world, is the lack of the ordinary means of public
religious instruction. This is felt, not only when the Sabbath morn
recurs without its call for public worship, and children ask longingly
for that mild and pleasing form of religious and moral training, to
which they are all attached as if by an intuition of nature; but it
makes itself but too evident throughout the entire structure and
condition of society. Those who consider Religion a gloom and a burden,
have only to reside for a while where Religion is habitually forgotten
or wilfully set aside. They will soon learn at least to appreciate the
practical value of the injunction, "Forsake not the assembling of
yourselves together." We have never indeed been entirely destitute for
any length of time of the semblance of public worship. Preachers
belonging to various denominations have, from the beginning,
occasionally called meetings in the little log school-house, and many
of the neighbours always make a point of being present, although a far
greater proportion reserve the Sunday for fishingand gunning. And it
must be confessed that there has generally been but little that was
attractive in the attempts at public service. A bare, cold room, the
wind whistling through a thousand crevices in the unplastered walls,
and pouring down through as many more in the shrunken roof, seats
formed by laying rough boards on rougher blocks, and the whole covered
thick with the week's dirt of the district school; these are scarcely
the appliances which draw the indolent, the careless, the indifferent,
the self-indulgent, to the house of worship. And the preacher, "the
messenger of Heaven," "the legate of the skies,"—Alas! I dare not
trust my pen to draw the portraits of some of these well-meaning, but
most incompetent persons. I can only say that a large part of them seem
to me grievously to have mistaken their vocation. "All are not such."
We have occasionally a preacher whose language and manner, though
plain, are far from being either coarse or vulgar, and whose sermons,
though generally quite curious in their way, have nothing that is
either ridiculous or disgusting. If we suffer ourselves to be driven
from the humble meeting-house by one preacher with the dress and air of
a horse-jockey, who will rant and scream till he is obliged to have
incessant recourse to his handkerchief to dry the tears which are the
natural result of the excitement into which he has lashed himself, we
may perhaps lose a good plain practical discourse from another, who
with only tolerable worldly advantages, has yet studied his Bible with
profit, and offers with gentle persuasivenesss its message of mercy.
Yet to sit from two to three hours trying to listen to the blubberer,
is a trial of one's nerves and patience which is almost too much to
ask; greater I confess, than I am often willing to endure, well
convinced as I am, that the best good of all, requires the support of
some form of public worship. I have often been a little amused not
only at the very characteristic style of the illustrations which are
freely made use of, by all who are in the habit of preaching in the new
settlements, but at the extreme politeness with which certain rather
too common classes of sins, are touched upon by these pioneers among
us. They belong to various denominations, and they are well aware that
a still greater number of differing sects are represented in their
audience; and each is naturally desirous to secure as many adherents as
possible to his own view of religious truth. It becomes therefore
particularly necessary to avoid giving personal offence. Does the
speaker wish to show the evils and penalties of Sabbath-breaking, of
profanity, of falsehood, of slander, of dishonest dealings, or any
other offence which he knows is practised by some at least among his
auditors, he generally begins with observing that he is quite a
stranger, very little acquainted in the neighbourhood, entirely
ignorant whether what he is going to say may or may not be especially
applicable to any of his hearers, and that he only judges from the
general condition of human nature, that such cautions or exhortations
may be necessary, exhibitting a constant struggle between his sense of
duty and his fear of making enemies. The illustrative style to which I
have alluded, is certainly much better calculated to excite the
attention, and keep alive the interest of an unlettered audience, than
the most powerful argument could possibly be, but it is sometimes
carried so far that the younger part of the congregation find it hard
to maintain the gravity befitting the time. It is not long since I
heard a good man preach from the text "Behold how great a matter a
little fire kindleth." He began by saying that it could not be
necessary to show the literal truth of this observation of the Apostle;
"For you yourselves know, my friends, especially at this time of year,
when most of you have had to fight fire more or less, how easy it is to
kindle what is so difficult to put out. You know that what fire a man
can carry in his hand, applied to the dry grass on the marshes, will
grow so, that in ten minutes a hundred men could not put it out, and,
if you do n't take care, it will burn up your haystacks and your barns
too, aye, and your houses, if the wind happens to be pretty strong. And
if you get a cannon loaded up with powder, it wont take but a leetle
grain of fire to produce a great explosion, and maybe kill somebody.
And I dare say that some of you have seen the way they get along in
making rail-roads in the winter, when the ground's froze so hard that
they can't dig a bit; they blast off great bodies of the hard ground,
just as they blast rocks. And it do n't take any more than a spark to
set it a-going. Even so, a woman's tongue, can set a whole
neighbourhood together by the ears, and do more mischief in a minute,
than she can undo in a month." At this all the young folks looked at
each other and smiled, and as the preacher went on in a similar strain,
the smile was frequentlyrepeated; and such scenes are not very
uncommon. It was some little time before we could learn the rules of
etiquette which are observed among these itinerant or voluntary
preachers. We supposed that if a meeting was given out for Sunday
morning at the school-house by a Baptist, any other room might be
obtained and occupied at the same hour by a Presbyterian or Methodist,
leaving it to the people to chose which they would hear. But this is
considered a most ungenerous usurpation, and such things are
indignantly frowned upon by all the meeting-goers in the community. If
a minister of any denomination has appointed a meeting, no other must
preach at the same hour in the neighbourhood; and this singular notion
gives rise to much of the petty squabbling and ill-will which torments
Montacute as well as other small places. This is one of the many cases
wherein it is easier to waive one's rights than to quarrel for them. I
hope, as our numbers increase rapidly, the evil will soon cure itself,
since one room will not long be elastic enough to contain all the
church-goers. Of the state of religion, a light work like this affords
no fitting opportunity to speak; but I may say that the really devoted
Christian can find no fairer or ampler field. None but the truly
devoted will endure the difficulties and discouragements of the way.
"Pride, sloth, and silken ease," find no favour in the eyes of the
fierce, reckless, hard-handed Wolverine. He needs A preacher such as
Paul, Were he on earth, would hear, approve and own. Ministers who
cannot or will not conform themselves to the manners of the country, do
more harm than good. Pride is, as I have elsewhere observed, the
bugbear of the western country; and the appearance of it, or a
suspicion of it, in a clergyman, not only destroys his personal
influence, but depreciates his office. It takes one a long while to
become accustomed to the unceremonious manner in which the meetings of
all sorts are conducted. Many people go in and out whenever they feel
disposed; and the young men, who soon tire, give unequivocal symptoms
of their weariness, and generally walk off with a nonchalant air, at
any time during the exercises. Women usually carry their babies, and
sometimes two or three who can scarcely walk; and the restlessness of
these youthful members, together with an occasional display of their
musical talents, sometimes interrupts in no small measure the progress
of the speaker. The stove is always in the centre of the room, with
benches arranged in a hollow square around it; and the area thus formed
is the scene of infantile operations. I have seen a dozen people kept
on a stretch during a whole long sermon, by a little, tottering,
rosy-cheeked urchin, who chose to approach within a few inches of the
stove every minute or two, and to fall at every third step, at the
imminent danger of lodging against the hot iron. And tae mamma sat
looking on with an air of entire complacency, picking up the chubby
rogue occasionally, and varying the scene by the performance of the
maternal office. I fancy it would somewhat disconcert a city
clergyman, on ascending his sumptuous pulpit, to find it already
occupied by a deaf old man, with his tin ear-trumpet ready to catch
every word. This I have seen again and again; and however embarrassing
to the preacher, an objection or remonstrance on the subject would be
very ill-received. And after all, I must confess, I have heard sermons
preached in such circumstances, which would have reflected no disgrace
on certain gorgeous draperies of velvet and gold. The meliorating
influence of the Sunday school is felt here as everywhere else, and
perhaps here more evidently than in places where society is farther
advanced. When books are provided, the children flock to obtain them,
with a zest proportioned to the scarcity of those sweeteners of
solitude. Our little Montacute library has been well-thumbed already,
by old and young; and there is nothing I long for so much as a public
library of works better suited to "children of a larger growth." But
"le bon temps viendra."
There is a cunning which we in England call "the turning of the cat in
the pan;" which is, when that which a man says to another, he lays it
as if another had said it to him. — —Bacon. My near neighbour,
Mrs. Nippers, whose garden joins ours, and whose "keepin' room," I
regret to say it, looks into my kitchen, was most cruelly mortified
that she was not elected President of the Montacute Female Beneficent
Society. It would have been an office so congenial to her character,
condition, and habits! 'T was cruel to give it to Mrs. Skinner,
"merely," as Mrs. Nippers declares, "because the society wanted to get
remnants from the store!" Mrs. Campaspe Nippers is a widow lady of
some thirty-five, or thereabouts, who lives with her niece alone in a
small house, in the midst of a small garden, in the heart of the
village. I have never noticed any thing peculiar in the construction of
the house. There are not, that I can discover, any contrivances
resembling ears; or those ingenious funnels of sail-cloth which are
employed on board-ship to coax fresh air down between-decks. Nor are
there large mirrors, nor a telescope, within doors, nor yet a camera
obscura. I have never detected any telegraphic signals from without.
Yet no man sneezes at opening his front door in the morning; no woman
sweeps her stepsafter breakfast; no child goes late to school; no
damsel slips into the store; no bottle out of it; no family has fried
onions for dinner; no hen lays an egg in the afternoon; no horse slips
his bridle; no cow is missing at milking-time; and no young couple
after tea; but Mrs. Nippers, and herniece, Miss Artemisia Clinch, know
all about it, and tell it to everybody who will listen to them. A sad
rumour was raised last winter, by some spiteful gossip, against a poor
woman who had taken lodgers to gain bread for her family; and when Mrs.
Nippers found it rather difficult to gain credence for her view of the
story, she nailed the matter, as she supposed, by whispering with
mysterious meaning, while her large light eyes dilated with energy and
enjoyment— "I have myself seen a light there after eleven o'clock at
night!" In vain did the poor woman's poor husband, a man who worked
hard, but would make a beast of himself at times, protest that malice
itself might let his wife escape; and dare any man to come forward and
say aught against her. Mrs. Nippers only smiled, and stretched her
eye-lids so far apart, that the sky-blue whites of her light-grey eyes
were visible both above and below the scarce distinguishable iris, and
then looked at Miss Artemisia Clinch with such triumphant certainty;
observing, that a drunkard's word was not worth much. It is impossible
ever to convince her, in any body's favour. But this is mere
wandering. Association led me from my intent, which was only to speak
of Mrs. Nippers as connected with the Montacute Female
BeneficentSociety. This Association is the prime dissipation of our
village, the magic circle within which lies all our cherished
exclusiveness, the strong hold of caste, the test of gentility, the
temple of emulation, the hive of industry, the mart of fashion, and I
must add, though reluctantly, the fountain of village scandal, the
hot-bed from which springs every root of bitterness among the
petticoated denizens of Montacute. I trust the importance of the
Society will be enhanced in the reader's estimation, by the variety of
figures I have been compelled to use in describing it. Perhaps it would
have been enough to have said it is a Ladies' Sewing Society, and so
saved all this wordiness; but I like to amplify. When the idea was
first started, by I know not what fortunate individual,—Mrs. Nippers
does, I dare say,— this same widow-lady espoused the thing warmly,
donned her India-rubbers, and went all over through the sticky mud,
breakfasted with me, dined with Mrs. Rivers, took tea with Mrs.
Skinner, and spent the intervals and the evening with half-a-dozen
other people, not only to recommend the plan, but to give her opinion
of how the affair ought to be conducted, to what benevolent uses
applied, and under what laws and by-laws; and though last, far from
least, who ought to be its officers. Five Directresses did she select,
two Secretaries, and a Treasurer, Managers and Auditors,— like the
military play of my three brothers, who always had "fore-captain,"
"hind-captain," and "middle-captain," but no privates. But in all this
Mrs. Campaspe never once hinted the name of a Lady President. She said,
to be sure, that she should be very glad to beof any sort of service to
the Society; and that from her position she should be more at leisure
to devote time to its business, than almost any other person; and that
both herself and her niece had been concerned in a sewing-society in a
certain village at "the East," whose doings were often quoted by both
ladies, and concluded by inquiring who her hearer thought would be the
most suitable president. In spite of all this industrious canvassing,
when the meeting for forming the society took place at Mrs. Skinner's,
Mrs. Campaspe Nippers' name was perversely omitted in the animated
ballot for dignities. No one said a word, but every one had a sort of
undefined dread of so active a member, and, by tacit consent, every
office which she had herself contrived, was filled, without calling
upon her. Her eyes grew preternaturally pale, and her lips wan as
whit-leather, when the result was known; but she did not trust herself
to speak. She placed her name on the list of members with as much
composure as could be looked for, under such trying circumstances, and
soon after departed with Miss Artemisia Clinch, giving a parting glance
which seemed to say, with Sir Peter Teazle, "I leave my character
behind me." A pawkie smile dawned on two or three of the sober visages
of our village dames, as the all-knowing widow and her submissive niece
closed the door, but no one ventured a remark on the killing frost
which had fallen upon Mrs. Nippers' anticipated "budding honours," and
after agreeing upon a meeting at our house, the ladies dispersed. The
next morning, as I drew my window curtain, tosee whether the sun had
aired the world enough to make it safe for me to get up to
breakfast,—I do not often dispute the pas with Aurora,—I saw Mrs.
Nippers emerge from the little front door of her tiny mansion,
unattended by her niece for a marvel, and pace majestically down
Main-street. I watched her in something of her own prying spirit, to
see whither she could be going so early; but she disappeared in the
woods, and I turned to my combs and brushes, and thought no more of the
matter. But the next day, and the next, and the day after, almost as
early each morning, out trotted my busy neighbour; and although she
disappeared in different directions—sometimes P. S. and sometimes O.
P.—she never returned till late in the afternoon. My curiosity began
to be troublesome. At length came the much-desired Tuesday, whose
destined event was the first meeting of the society. I had made
preparations for such plain and simple cheer as is usual at such
feminine gatherings, and began to think of arranging my dress with the
decorum required by the occasion, when about one hour before the
appointed time, came Mrs. Nippers and Miss Clinch, and ere they were
unshawled and unhooded, Mrs. Flyter and her three children—the eldest
four years, and the youngest six months. Then Mrs. Muggles and her
crimson baby, four weeks old. Close on her heels, Mrs. Briggs and her
little boy of about three years' standing, in a long-tailed coat, with
vest and decencies of scarlet circassian. And there I stood in my
gingham wrapper, and kitchen apron; much to my discomfiture, and the
undisguised surprise of the Female Beneficent Society. "I always
calculate to be ready to begin at the time appointed," remarked the
gristle-lipped widow. "So do I," responded Mrs. Flyter, and Mrs.
Muggles, both of whom sat the whole afternoon with baby on knee, and
did not sew a stitch. "What! is n't there any work ready?" continued
Mrs. Nippers, with an astonished aspect; "well, I did suppose that such
smart officers as we have, would have prepared all beforehand. We
always used to, at the East." Mrs. Skinner, who is really quite a
pattern-woman in all that makes woman indispensable, viz. cookery and
sewing, took up the matter quite warmly, just as I slipped away in
disgrace to make the requisite reform in my costume. When I returned,
the work was distributed, and the company broken up into little knots
or coteries; every head bowed, and every tongue in full play. I took my
seat at as great a distance from the sharp widow as might be, though it
is vain to think of eluding a person of her ubiquity, and reconnoitred
the company who were "done off" (indigenous,) "in first-rate style,"
for this important occasion. There were nineteen women with thirteen
babies—or at least "young'uns" (indigenous,) who were not above
gingerbread. Of these thirteen, nine held large chunks of gingerbread,
or dough-nuts, in trust, for the benefit of the gowns of the society;
the remaining four were supplied with bunches of maple sugar, tied in
bits of rag, and pinned to theirshoulders, or held dripping in the
fingers of their mammas. Mrs. Flyter was "slicked up" for the
occasion, in the snuff-coloured silk she was married in, curiously
enlarged in the back and not as voluminous in the floating part as is
the wasteful custom of the present day. Her three immense children,
white-haired and blubber-lipped like their amiable parent, were in pink
ginghams and blue glass beads. Mrs. Nippers wore her unfailing brown
merino, and black apron; Miss Clinch her inevitable scarlet calico;
Mrs. Skinner her red merino with baby of the same; Mrs. Daker shone out
in her very choicest city finery,—where else could she show it, poor
thing;) and a dozen other Mistresses shone in their "'tother gowns,"
and their tamboured collars. Mrs. Doubleday's pretty black-eyed Dolly
was neatly stowed in a small willow-basket, where it lay looking about
with eyes full of sweet wonder, behaving itself with marvellous
quietness and discretion, as did most of the other little torments, to
do them justice. Much consultation, deep and solemn, was held as to
the most profitable kinds of work to be undertaken by the society. Many
were in favour of making up linen, cotton linen of course, but Mrs.
Nippers assured the company that shirts never used to sell well at the
East, and she was therefore perfectly certain that they would not do
here. Pincushions and such like feminilities were then proposed; but at
these Mrs. Nippers held up both hands, and showed a double share of
blue-white around her eyes. Nobody about here needed pincushions, and
besides where should we get the materials? Aprons, capes, caps,
collars, were all proposed with the same ill success. At length Mrs.
Doubleday, with an air of great deference, inquired what Mrs. Nippers
would recommend. The good lady hesitated a little at this. It was more
her forte to object to other people's plans, than to suggest better;
but after a moment's consideration she said she should think
fancy-boxes, watch-cases, and alum-baskets would be very pretty. A
dead silence fell on the assembly, but of course it did not last long.
Mrs. Skinner went on quietly cutting out shirts, and in a very short
time furnished each member with a good supply of work, stating that any
lady might take work home to finish if she liked. Mrs. Nippers took
her work and edged herself into a coterie of which Mrs. Flyter had
seemed till then the magnet. Very soon I heard, "I declare it's a
shame!" "I don't know what'll be done about it;" "She told me so with
her own mouth;" "Oh but I was there myself!" etc. etc., in many
different voices; the interstices well filled with undistinguishable
whispers "not loud but deep." It was not long before the active widow
transferred her seat to another corner;—Miss Clinch plying her tongue,
not her needle, in a third. The whispers and the exclamations seemed to
be gaining ground. The few silent members were inquiring for more work.
"Mrs. Nippers has the sleeve! Mrs. Nippers, have you finished that
sleeve?" Mrs. Nippers coloured, said "No," and sewed four stitches. At
length "the storm grew loud apace." "It will break up the society—"
"What is that?" asked Mrs. Doubleday, in her sharptreble. "What is it,
Mrs. Nippers? You know all about it." Mrs. Nippers replied that she
only knew what she had heard, etc. etc., but, after a little urging,
consented to inform the company in general, that there was great
dissatisfaction in the neighbourhood; that those who lived in
log-houses at a little distance from the village, had not been invited
to join the society; and also that many people thought twenty-five
cents quite too high, for a yearly subscription. Many looked aghast at
this. Public opinion is nowhere so strongly felt as in this country,
among new settlers. And as many of the present company still lived in
log-houses, a tender string was touched. At length, an old lady who
had sat quietly in a corner all the afternoon, looked up from behind
the great woollen sock she was knitting— "Well now! that's queer!"
said she, addressing Mrs. Nippers with an air of simplicity simplified.
"Miss Turner told me you went round her neighbourhood last Friday, and
told how that Miss Clavers and Miss Skinner despised every body that
lived in log-houses; and you know you told Miss Briggs that you thought
twenty-five cents was too much; did n't she, Miss Briggs?" Mrs. Briggs
nodded. The widow blushed to the very centre of her pale eyes, but,
"e'en though vanquished," she lost not her assurance. "Why, I'm sure I
only said that we only paid twelve-and-a-half cents at the East; and as
to log-houses, I do n't know, I can't just recollect, but I did n't say
more than others did." But human nature could not bear up against
themortification; and it had, after all, the scarce credible effect of
making Mrs. Nippers sew in silence for some time, and carry her colours
at half-mast for the remainder of the afternoon. At tea each lady took
one or more of her babies into her lap and much grabbing ensued. Those
who wore calicoes seemed in good spirits and appetite, for green tea at
least, but those who had unwarily sported silks and other unwashables,
looked acid and uncomfortable. Cake flew about at a great rate, and the
milk and water which ought to have gone quietly down sundry juvenile
throats, was spirted without mercy into various wry faces. But we got
through. The astringent refreshment produced its usual crisping effect
upon the vivacity of the company. Talk ran high upon almost all
Montacutian themes. "Do you have any butter now?" "When are you going
to raise your barn?" "Is your man a going to kill, this week?" "I
ha'n't seen a bit of meat these six weeks." "Was you to meetin' last
Sabbath?" "Has Miss White got any wool to sell?" "Do tell if you've
been to Detroit!" "Are you out o' candles?" "Well I should think Sarah
Teals wanted a new gown!" "I hope we shall have milk in a week or two,"
and so on; for, be it known, that in a state of society like ours, the
bare necessaries of life are subjects of sufficient interest for a good
deal of conversation. More than one truly respectable woman of our
neighbourhood has told me, that it is not very many years since a
moderate allowance of Indian meal and potatoes, was literally all that
fell to their share of this rich world for weeks together. "Is your
daughter Isabella well?" asked Mrs. Nippers of me solemnly, pointing to
little Bell who sat munching her bread and butter, half asleep, at the
fragmentious table. "Yes, I believe so, look at her cheeks." "Ah yes!
it was her cheeks I was looking at. They are so very rosy. I have a
little niece who is the very image of her. I never see Isabella without
thinking of Jerushy; and Jerushy is most dreadfully scrofulous!"
Satisfied at having made me uncomfortable, Mrs. Nippers turned to Mrs.
Doubleday, who was trotting her pretty babe with her usual proud
fondness. "Do n't you think your baby breathes rather strangely?" said
the tormentor. "Breathes! how!" said the poor thing, off her guard in
an instant. "Why rather croupish, I think, if I am any judge. I have
never had any children of my own to be sure, but I was with Mrs.
Green's baby when it died, and— "Come, we'll be off!" said Mr.
Doubleday, who had come for his spouse. "Do n't mind the envious
vixen"—aside to his Polly. Just then, somebody on the opposite side
of the room happened to say, speaking of some cloth affair, "Mrs.
Nippers says it ought to be sponged." "Well, sponge it then, by all
means," said Mr. Doubleday, "nobody else knows half as much about
sponging;" and with wife and baby in tow, off walked the laughing
Philo, leaving the widow absolutely transfixed. "What could Mr.
Doubleday mean by that?" was at length her indignant exclamation.
Nobody spoke. "I am sure," continued the crest-fallen Mrs. Campaspe,
with an attempt at a scornful giggle, "I am sure if any body understood
him, I would be glad to know what he did mean." "Well now, I can tell
you;" said the same simple old lady in the corner, who had let out the
secret of Mrs. Nippers' morning walks. "Some folks calls that sponging,
when you go about getting your dinner here and your tea there, and sich
like; as you know you and Meesy there does. That was what he meant I
guess." And the old lady quietly put up her knitting, and prepared to
go home. There have been times when I have thought that almost any
degree of courtly duplicity would be preferable to the brusquerie of
some of my neighbours: but on this occasion I gave all due credit to a
simple and downright way of stating the plain truth. The scrofulous
hint probably brightened my mental and moral vision somewhat. Mrs.
Nippers' claret cloak and green bonnet, and Miss Clinch's ditto ditto,
were in earnest requisition, and I do not think either of them spent a
day out that week.
We will rear new homes under trees which glow As if gems were the
fruitage of every bough; O'er our white walls we will train the vine
And sit in its shadow at day's decline. — Mrs. Hemans Alas!
they had been friends in youth But whispering tongues will poison
truth. * * * * * They stood aloof, the scars remaining,— A dreary
sea now flows between. — Coleridge—Christabel. Many English
families reside in our vicinity, some of them well calculated to make
their way any where; close, penurious, grasping and indefatigable;
denying themselves all but the necessaries of life, in order to add to
their lands, and make the most of their crops; and somewhat apt in
bargaining to overreach even the wary pumpkin-eaters, their neighbours:
others to whom all these things seem so foreign and so unsuitable, that
one cannot but wonder that the vagaries of fortune should have sent
them into so uncongenial an atmosphere. The class last mentioned,
generally live retired, and show little inclination to mingle with
their rustic neighbours; and of course, they become at once the objects
of suspicion and dislike. The principle of "let-a-be for let-a-be"
holds not with us. Whoever exhibitsany desire for privacy is set down
as "praoud," or something worse; no matter how inoffensive, or even how
benevolent he may be; and of all places in the world in which to live
on the shady side of public opinion, an American back-woods settlement
is the very worst, as many of these unfortunately mistaken emigrants
have been made to feel. The better classes of English settlers seem to
have left their own country with high-wrought notions of the unbounded
freedom to be enjoyed in this; and it is with feelings of angry
surprise that they learn after a short residence here, that this very
universal freedom abridges their own liberty to do as they please in
their individual capacity; that the absolute democracy which prevails
in country places, imposes as heavy restraints upon one's free-will in
some particulars, as do the over-bearing pride and haughty distinctions
of the old world in others; and after one has changed one's whole plan
of life, and crossed the wide ocean to find a Utopia, the waking to
reality is attended with feelings of no slight bitterness. In some
instances within my knowledge these feelings of disappointment have
been so severe as to neutralize all that was good in American life, and
to produce a degree of sour discontent which increased every real evil
and went far towards alienating the few who were kindly inclined toward
the stranger. I ever regarded our very intelligent neighbours the
Brents, as belonging to the class who have emigrated by mistake, they
seemed so well-bred, so well-off, so amiable and so unhappy. They lived
a few miles from us, and we saw them but seldom, far less
frequentlythan I could have wished, for there were few whose society
was so agreeable. Mr. Brent was a handsome, noble-looking man of thirty
or perhaps a little more, well-read, and passionately found of literary
pursuits; no more fit to be a Michigan farmer than to figure as
President of the Texan republic; and his wife a gentle and timid woman,
very dependent and very lovely, was as ill fitted to bear the household
part of a farmer's lot. But all this seemed well-arranged, for the farm
was managed "on shares" by a stout husbandman and his family, tolerably
honest and trustworthy people as times go; and Mr. Brent and his pale
and delicate Catherine disposed of their hours as they thought proper;
not however without many secret and some very audible surmises and
wonderings on the part of their immediate neighbours, which were duly
reported, devoutly believed, and invariably added to, in the course of
their diffusion in Montacute. I might repeat what I heard at a
Montacute teaparty; I might give Mrs. Flyter's views of the probable
duration of Mr. Brent's means of living on the occasion of having
learned from Mrs. Holbrook that Mrs. Brent did not see to the
butter-making, and had never milked a cow in her life. I might repeat
Mrs. Allerton's estimate of the cost of Mrs. Brent's dress at meeting
on a certain Sunday. But I shall only tell what Mrs. Nippers said, for
I consider her as unimpeachable authority in such matters. Her decided
and solemn assertion was that Mrs. Brent was jealous. "Jealous of
whom?" "Why of Mr. Brent to be sure!" "But it is to be supposed that
there is somebody else concerned." "Ah yes! but I do n't know. Mrs.
Barton did n't know." "Oh, it was Mrs. Barton who told you then."
Mrs. Nippers had declined giving her authority, and Mrs. Barton was
the wife of Mr. Brent's farmer. So she coloured a little, and said that
she did not wish it repeated, as Mrs. Barton had mentioned it to her in
confidence. But since it had come out by mere chance, she did n't know
but she might just as well tell that Mrs. Barton was sure that Mrs.
Brent was jealous of somebody in England, or somebody that was dead,
she did n't know which. She hoped that none of the ladies would mention
it. There were some fourteen or so in company, and they had not yet
had tea. After tea the poor Brents were completely "used up," to borrow
a phrase much in vogue with us, and the next day I was not much
surprised at being asked by a lady who made me a three hours' morning
call beginning at nine o'clock, if I had heard that Mr. and Mrs. Brent
were going to "part." I declared my ignorance of any thing so
terrible, and tried to trace back the news, but it must have passed
through several able hands before it came to me. We rode over to see
the Brents that afternoon, found them as usual, save that Mrs. Brent
seemed wasting, but she always declared herself quite well; and her
husband, whose manner towards her is that of great tenderness, yet not
exactly that of husbands in general, a little constrained, was reading
aloud to her as she lay on the sofa. They seemed pleased to see us, and
promisedan afternoon next week, to meet "a few friends,' —that is the
term, I believe,—but not Mrs. Nippers. Among those whom I invited to
partake our strawberries and cream on the occasion, were Mr. Cathcart
and his beautiful wife, English neighbours from a little vine-clad
cottage on the hill west of our village; much older residents than the
Brents, who had not yet been a year in our vicinity. Mrs. Cathcart is
one of the most beautiful women I have ever seen, and certainly a very
charming one in all respects, at least to me, who do not dislike a good
share of spirit and energy in a lady. Her spouse, though far different,
has his good points, and can make himself agreeable enough when he is
in the humour; which sometimes occurs, though not often. He is at least
twenty years older than his lady, and as ugly as she is handsome, and
horribly jealous, I say it myself, of every thing and every body which
or whom Mrs. Cathcart may chance to look at or speak to, or take an
interest in, gentle or simple, animate or inanimate. It is really
pitiable sometimes to see the poor man grin in the effort to suppress
the overboiling of his wrath, for he is a very polite person, and
generally says the most disagreeable things with a smile. These
neighbours of ours are persons of taste— taste in pictures, in music,
in books, in flowers; and thus far they are well mated enough. But
there are certain glances and tones which betray to the most careless
observer that there are points of difference, behind the scenes at
least; and little birds have whispered that after Mrs. Cathcart had
spent the morning in transplanting flowers, training her honeysuckles
and eglantines, and trimming the turf seats which are
tastefullydisposed round their pretty cottage, Mr. Cathcart has been
seen to come out and destroy all she had been doing; ploughing up the
neat flower-beds with his knife, tearing down the vines, and covering
the turf sofas with gravel. And the same little birds have added, that
when Mr. Cathcart, sated with mischief, turned to go into the house
again, he found the front-door fastened, and then the back-door
fastened; and after striding about for some time till his bald head was
well nigh fried, he was fain to crawl in at the little latticed window,
and then—but further these deponents say not. Well! our little
strawberry party was to consist of these English neighbours and some
others, and I made due provision of the fragrant rubies, and all the
et-ceteras of a rural tea-visit. Roses of all hues blushed in my vases
— a-hem! they were not pitchers, for the handles were broken off, —
and forests of asparagus filled the fire-place. Alice and Arthur
figured in their Sundays, little Bell had a new calico apron, and
Charlie a shining clean face; so we were all ready. First of all came
the Cathcarts, and their one only and odd son of three years old; a
child who looked as old as his father, and walked and talked most
ludicrously like him. It did seem really a pity that the uncommonly
fine eyes of his beautiful mamma had not descended to him; those
large-pupilled grey eyes, with their long black lashes! and her richest
of complexions, brighter in bloom and contrast than the sunniest side
of a ripe peach; and her thousand graces of face and person. But there
he was, a frightful little dwarf, just what his father would seem,
looked at through a reversed telescope, or in a convex mirror. And
Mr.Cathcart was all smiles and politeness, and brought a whole pocket
full of literary novelties lately received from "home." And Mrs.
Cathcart, always charming, looked lovelier than usual, in a
pale-coloured silk and very delicate ornaments. She was sitting at the
piano, playing some brilliant waltzes for the children, and Mr.
Cathcart looking over some New-York papers which lay on the table, when
Mrs. Brent, wan and feeble as usual, glided into the room. I introduced
her to my guests, with whom she was evidently unacquainted, and in the
next moment Mr. Brent entered. It needed but one glance to convince me
that, to Mrs. Cathcart at least, there was no occasion to introduce the
latest comer. She half rose from her seat, painful blushes overspread
her beautiful countenance, and instantly subsiding left it deathly
pale, while Mr. Brent seemed equally discomposed, and Mr. Cathcart
gazed in undisguised and most angry astonishment. I went through with
the ceremony of presentation as well as I could, awkwardly enough, and
an embarrassed pause succeeded, when in walked Mrs. Nippers and Miss
Clinch. "Well, good folks," said the widow, fanning herself with a
wide expanse of turkeys' feathers, which generally hung on her arm in
warm weather; "this is what you may call toiling for pleasure. Mrs.
Cathcart, how do you manage to get out in such melting weather? Well! I
declare you do all look as if you was overcome by the weather or
something else!" and she laughed very pleasantly at her own wit. "Warm
or cool, I believe we had better return home, Mrs. Cathcart," said her
amiable spouse with one of his ineffable grins. She obeyed
mechanically, and began putting her own straw bonnet on little
Algernon. "I declare," said the agreeable Mrs. Campaspe, "I thought—I
was in hopes you were going to stay, and we could have had such a nice
sociable time;" for Mrs. Nippers was very fond of inviting company—to
other people's houses. "No, Madam!" said Mr. Cathcart, "we must go
instantly. Fanny, what are you doing? Can't you tie the child's hat?"
"One word, Sir!" said Mr. Brent, whose fine countenance had undergone
a thousand changes in the few moments which have taken so many lines in
telling; and he stepped into the garden path, with a bow which Mr.
Cathcart returned very stiffly. He followed, however, and, in less than
one minute, returned, wished us a very good day with more than the
usual proportion of smiles—rather grinnish ones, 'tis true; but very
polite; and almost lifting his trembling wife into the vehicle, which
still stood at the gate, drove off at a furious rate. And how looked
the pale and gentle Catherine during this brief scene? As one who feels
the death-stroke; like a frail blighted lily. And beside her stood in
silence One with a brow as pale, And white lips rigidly compress'd
Lest the strong heart should fail. "Your ride has been too much for
you, Mrs. Brent," said I; "you must rest awhile;" and I drew her intoa
small room adjoining the parlour, to avoid the industrious eyes of Mrs.
Nippers. She spoke not, but her eyes thanked me, and I left her, to
receive other guests. Mrs. Nippers made a very faint move to depart
when she began to perceive that company had been invited. "Remain to
tea, Mrs. Nippers," I said,—could one say less,—and she simpered, and
said she was hardly decent, but—and added in a stage-whisper, "If you
could lend me a smart cap and cape, I do n't know but I would." So she
was ushered in due form to my room, with unbounded choice in a very
narrow circle of caps and capes, and a pair of thin shoes, and then
clean stockings, were successively added as decided improvements to her
array. And when she made her appearance in the state-apartments, she
looked, as she said herself, "pretty scrumptious;" but took an early
opportunity to whisper, "I did n't know where you kept your
pocket-handkerchiefs." So Alice was despatched for one, and the lady
was complete. Mr. Brent, with Bella in his arms, paced the garden
walk, pretending to amuse the child, but evidently agitated and
unhappy. "Did you ever see any thing so odd?" whispered Mrs. Nippers,
darting a glance toward the garden. But, fortunately, the person
honoured by her notice was all unconscious; and happening to observe
his wife as he passed the low window in the little west-room, he
stopped a few moments in low and earnest conversation with her. It was
not long before Mrs. Brent appeared, and, apologizing with much grace,
said, that feeling a little better, she would prefer returninghome. I
took leave of her with regretful presentiments. In less than a week,
Mrs. Nippers had more than she could attend to. The Brents had left the
country, and Mrs. Cathcart was alarmingly ill. The unfortunate
strawberry-party so unexpectedly marred by this rencontre, was the
theme of every convention within five miles, to speak moderately; and
by the time the story reached home again, its own mother could not have
recognized it. A letter from Mr. Brent to say farewell and a little
more, gave us in few words the outlines of a sad story; and while all
Montacute is ringing with one of which not the smallest particular is
lacking, I am not at liberty to disclose more of the "owre true tale,"
than the reader will already have conjectured—"a priory 'tachment."
The way Mrs. Nippers rolls up her eyes when the English are mentioned
is certainly "a caution."
Away with these! true wisdom's world will be Within its own creation,
or in thine, Maternal Nature! * * * Are not the mountains, waves and
skies a part Of me and of my soul, as I of them? Is not the love of
these deep in my heart With a pure passion? — Childe
Harold—Canto III. When we first took our delighted abode in the
"framed house," a palace of some twenty by thirty feet, flanked by a
shanty kitchen, and thatched with oak shingles,—a sober neighbour, who
having passed most of his life in the country, is extremely
philosophical on the follies of civilization, took my husband to task
on the appearance of the ghost of a departed parlour carpet, which he
said was "introducing luxury." Whether from this bad example, I cannot
tell, but it is certain that our neighbours are many of them beginning
to perceive that carpets "save trouble." Women are the most reasonable
beings in the world; at least, I am sure nobody ever catches a woman
without an unanswerable reason for anything she wishes to do. Mrs.
Micah Balwhidder only wanted a silver tea-pot, because, as all the
world knows, tea tastes better out of silver; and Mrs. Primrose loved
her crimson paduasoy, merely because her husband had happened to say it
became her. Of the mingled mass of our country population, a goodly
and handsome proportion—goodly as to numbers, and handsome as to
cheeks and lips, and thews and sinews, consists of young married people
just beginning the world; simple in their habits, moderate in their
aspirations, and hoarding a little of old-fashioned romance,
unconsciously enough, in the secret nooks of their rustic hearts. These
find no fault with their bare loggeries. With a shelter and a handful
of furniture they have enough. If there is the wherewithal to spread a
warm supper for "th' old man" when he comes in from work, the young
wife forgets the long, solitary, wordless day, and asks no greater
happiness than preparing it by the help of such materials and such
untensils as would be looked at with utter contempt in a comfortable
kitchen; and then the youthful pair sit down and enjoy it together,
with a zest that the "orgies parfaites" of the epicure can never
awaken. What lack they that this world can bestow? They have youth, and
health, and love and hope, occupation and amusement, and when you have
added "meat, clothes, and fire," what more has England's fair young
queen? These people are contented, of course. There is another class
of settlers neither so numerous nor so happy; people, who have left
small farms in the eastward states, and come to Michigan with the hope
of acquiring property at a more rapid rate. They have sold off, perhaps
at considerable pecuniary disadvantage the home of their early married
life; sacrificed the convenient furniture which had become necessaryto
daily comfort, and only awake when it is too late, to the fact that it
kills old vines to tear them from their clinging-places. These people
are much to be pitied, the women especially. The ladies first 'Gin
murmur—as becomes the softer sex. Woman's little world is overclouded
for lack of the old familiar means and appliances. The husband goes to
his work with the same axe or hoe which fitted his hand in his old
woods and fields, he tills the same soil, or perhaps a far richer and
more hopeful one—he gazes on the same book of nature which he has read
from his infancy, and sees only a fresher and more glowing page; and he
returns to his home with the sun, strong in heart and full of
self-gratulation on the favourable change in his lot. But he finds the
home-bird drooping and disconsolate. She has been looking in vain for
the reflection of any of the cherished features of her own dear
fire-side. She has found a thousand deficiencies which her rougher mate
can scarce be taught to feel as evils. What cares he if the
time-honoured cupboard is meagerly represented by a few oak-boards
lying on pegs and called shelves? His tea-equipage shines as it was
wont—the biscuits can hardly stay on the brightly glistening plates.
Will he find fault with the clay-built oven, or even the tin
"reflector?" His bread never was better baked. What does he want with
the great old cushioned rocking-chair? When he is tired he goes to bed,
for he is never tired till bed-time. Women are the grumblersin
Michigan, and they have some apology. Many of them have made sacrifices
for which they were not at all prepared, and which detract largely from
their every day stores of comfort. The conviction of good accruing on a
large scale does not prevent the wearing sense of minor deprivations.
Another large class of emigrants is composed of people of broken
fortunes, or who have been unsuccesful in past undertakings. These like
or dislike the country on various grounds, as their peculiar condition
may vary. Those who are fortunate or industrious look at their new home
with a kindly eye. Those who learn by experience that idlers are no
better off in Michigan than elsewhere, can find no terms too virulent
in which to express their angry disappointment. The profligate and
unprincipled lead stormy and uncomfortable lives any where; and
Michigan, now at least, begins to regard such characters among her
adopted children, with a stern and unfriendly eye, so that the few who
may have come among us, hoping for the unwatched and unbridled license
which we read of in regions nearer to the setting sun, find themselves
marked and shunned as in the older world. As women feel sensibly the
deficiencies of the "salvage" state, so they are the first to attempt
the refining process, the introduction of those important nothings on
which so much depends. Small additions to the more delicate or showy
part of the household gear are accomplished by the aid of some little
extra personal exertion. "Spinning-money" buys a looking-glass perhaps,
or "butter-money" a cherry table. Eglantines and wood-vine, or
wild-cucumber, aresought and transplanted to shade the windows. Narrow
beds round the house are bright with Balsams and Sweet Williams, Four
o'clocks, Poppies and Marigolds; and if "th' old man" is good natured,
a little gate takes the place of the great awkward bars before the
door. By and bye a few apple-trees are set out; sweet briars grace the
door yard, and lilacs and currant-bushes; all by female effort—at
least I have never yet happened to see it otherwise where these
improvements have been made at all. They are not all accomplished by
her own hand indeed, but hers is the moving spirit, and if she do her
"spiriting gently," and has anything but a Caliban for a minister, she
can scarcely fail to throw over the real homeliness of her lot
something of the magic of that Ideal which has been truly sung— Nymph
of our soul, and brightener of our being; She makes the common waters
musical— Binds the rude night-winds in a silver thrall, Bids Hybla's
thyme and Tempe's violet dwell Round the green marge of her
moon-haunted cell. * * * * * * This shadowy power, or power of
shadows is the "archvanquisher of time and care" every where; but most
of all needed in the waveless calm of a strictly woodland life, and
there most enjoyed. The lovers of "unwritten poetry" may find it in the
daily talk of our rustic neighbours—in their superstitions—in the
remedies which they propose for every ill of humanity, the ideal makes
the charm of their life as it does that of all the world's, peer and
poet, wood-cutter and serving-maid. After allowing due weight to the
many disadvantages and trials of a new-country life, it would scarce be
fair to pass without notice the compensating power of a feeling,
inherent as I believe, in our universal nature, which rejoices in that
freedom from the restraints of pride and ceremony which is found only
in a new country. To borrow from a brilliant writer of our own, "I
think we have an instinct, dulled by civilization, which is like the
caged eaglet's, or the antelope's that is reared in the Arab's tent; an
instinct of nature that scorns boundary and chain; that yearns to the
free desert; that would have the earth like the sky, unappropriated and
open; that rejoices in immeasurable liberty of foot and dwelling-place,
and springs passionately back to its freedom, even after years of
subduing method and spirit-breaking confinement!" This "instinct," so
beautifully noticed by Willis, is what I would point to as the
compensating power of the wilderness. Those who are "to the manor born"
feel this most sensibly, and pity with all their simple hearts the
walled-up denizens of the city. And the transplanted ones—those who
have been used to no forests but "forests of chimneys," though "the
parted bosom clings to wonted home," soon learn to think nature no
step-mother, and to discover many redeeming points even in the
half-wild state at first so uncongenial. That this love of unbounded
and unceremonious liberty is a natural and universal feeling, needs no
argument to show; I am only applying it on a small scale to the novel
condition in which I find myself in the woods of Michigan. I ascribe
much of the placidcontentment, which seems the heritage of rural life,
to the constant familiarity with woods and waters— All that the
genial ray of morning gilds, And all that echoes to the song of even;
All that the mountain's sheltering bosom yields, And all the dread
magnificence of heaven— To the harmony which the Creator has
instituted between the animate and inanimate works of His hands.
Authorities crowd upon me, and I must be allowed to close my chapter
with a favourite paragraph from Hazlitt. "The heart reposes in greater
security on the immensity of nature's works, expatiates freely there,
and finds elbow-room and breathing-space. We are always at home with
Nature. There is neither hypocrisy, caprice, nor mental reservation in
her favours. Our intercourse with her is not liable to accident or
change, suspicion or disappointment: she smiles on us still the same. *
* In our love of Nature, there is all the force of individual
attachment, combined with the most airy abstraction. It is this
circumstance which gives that refinement, expansion and wild interest
to feelings of this sort. * * Thus Nature is a sort of universal home,
and every object it presents to us an old acquaintance, with unaltered
looks; for there is that constant and mutual harmony among all her
works—one undivided spirit pervading them throughout—that to him who
has well acquainted himself with them, they speak always the same
well-known language, striking on the heart amidst unquiet thoughts and
the tumult of the world, like the music of one's native tongue, heard
in some far-off country."
Per mezz' i boschi inospiti e selvaggi Onde vanno a gran rischio
uomini, ed arme Vo secur' io; che non può spaventarme Altri, che 'l
Sol.— E vo cantando— Raro un silenzio, un solitario orrore D'
ombrosa selva mai tanto mi piacque. — Petrarca, Son. CXLII. A
bridle-path through the deep woods which lie south-west of our village,
had long been a favourite walk on those few days of our Boreal summer,
when shade had seemed an essential element of comfort. The forest
itself is so entirely cumbered with shrubs and tangled vines, that to
effect even a narrow path through it, had been a work of no little time
and labour; and as no money was likely to flow in upon us from that
direction, I had no fears of a road, but considered the whole as a
magnificent pleasaunce for the special delight of those who can discern
glory and splendour in grass and wild-flowers. We lacked not carpets,
for there was the velvet sward, embroidered with blossoms, whose gemmy
tints can never be equalled in Brussels or in Persia; nor canopy, for
an emerald dome was over us, full of trembling light, and festooned and
tasselled with the starry eglantine, the pride of our Western woods;
norpillars, nor arches; for, oh! beloved forests of my country, where
can your far-sounding aisles be matched for grandeur, your "alleys
green" for beauty? We had music too, fairy music, "gushes of wild
song," soft, sighing murmurs, such as flow from The convolutions of a
smooth-lipped shell, And recalling, like those other murmurs, the
summer swell of the distant ocean; and withal, the sound of a bubbling
stream, which was ever and anon sweetly distinct amid the delicate
harmony. Many a dreamy hour have I wandered in this delicious
solitude, not "book-bosomed;" for, at such times, my rule is peu lire,
penser beaucoup; nor yet moralizing, like the melancholy Jaques, on the
folly and inconstancy of the world; but just "daundering," to borrow an
expression from Mr. Galt; perhaps Fanny Kemble would have said
"dawdling;" so I leave the choice with my reader, and make an effort to
get on with my story, which seems as much inclined to loiter in my
favourite wood as I am myself. I had never ventured far from Montacute
in my strolls with the children, or with my female friends. To say
nothing of my sad pausse, I hate it in English; but "'tis not half so
shocking in French:" not to mention that at all, there are other "lions
in the way;" Massasaugas for instance, and Indians, and blue racers,
six or eight feet long, and as thick as a man's arm; "harmless," say
the initiated, but j' en doute, and my prime and practical favourite
among mottoes and maxims, is "'ware snakes!" Then toads; but if I once
mount a toad, I shall not get back this great while. It so happened
that one morning when the atmosphere was particularly transparent, and
the shower-laid earth in delicious order for a ride, I had an
invitation from my husband for a stroll—a "splorification" on
horseback; and right joyously did I endue myself with the gear proper
to such wood-craft, losing not a moment, for once, that I might be
ready for my "beautiful Orelio," old Jupiter, when he should come
round. We mounted, and sought at once the dim wood of which I have been
speaking. We followed the bridle-path for miles, finding scarcely a
trace of human life. We scared many a grey rabbit, and many a bevy of
quails, and started at least one noble buck; I said two, but may be the
same one was all around us, for so it seemed. I took the opportunity of
trying old Jupiter's nerves and the woodland echoes, by practising poor
Malibran's "Tourment d'Amour," at the expense of the deepest recess of
my lungs, while my companion pretended to be afraid he could not manage
Prince, and finally let him go off at half speed. Old Jupiter, he is
deaf, I believe, jogged on as before, and I still amused myself by
arousing the Dryads, and wondering whether they ever heard a Swiss
refrain before, when I encountered a sportsman, belted, pouched,
gunned, and dogged, quite comme il faut, and withal, wearing very much
such a face as Adonis must have looked at when he arrayed himself at
the fountain. What an adventure for a sober village matron! I almost
think I must have blushed. At least I am sureI must have done so had
the affair happened only ten years earlier. I thought seriously of
apologizing to the stranger for singing in the woods, of which he
seemed like the tutelar deity; but fortunately Mr. Clavers at this
moment returned, and soon engaged him in conversation; and it was not
long before he offered to show us a charming variety in the landscape,
if we would ride on for a quarter of a mile. We had been traversing a
level tract, which we had supposed lay rather low than high. In a few
minutes, we found ourselves on the very verge of a miniature precipice;
a bluff which overhung what must certainly have been originally a lake,
though it is now a long oval-shaped valley of several miles in extent,
beautifully diversified with wood and prairie, and having a lazy, quiet
stream winding through it, like—like— "like a snake in a bottle of
spirits;" or like a long strip of apple-paring, when you have thrown it
over your head to try what letter it will make on the carpet; or like
the course of a certain great politician whom we all know. My third
attempt hits it exactly, neither of the others was crooked enough. The
path turned short to the right, and began, not far from where we stood,
to descend, as if to reach at some distance, and by a wide sweep, the
green plain below us. This path looked quite rocky and broken, so much
so, that I longed to try it, but my companion thought it time to return
home. "Let me first have the pleasure of shewing you my cottage," said
our handsome guide, whose air had a curious mixture of good-breeding
with that sort of rusticfreedom and abruptness, which is the natural
growth of the wilderness. As he spoke he pointed out a path in the
wood, which we could not help following, and which brought us in a few
minutes to a beautiful opening, looking on the basin below the bluff on
one side, and on the deep woods on the other. And there was a long,
low, irregularly-shaped house, built of rich brown tamarack logs,
nearly new, and looking so rural and lovely that I longed to alight.
Every thing about the house was just as handsome and
picturesque-looking, as the owner; and still more attractive was the
fair creature who was playing with a little girl under the tall oaks
near the cottage. She came forward to welcome us with a grace which was
evidently imported from some civilized region; and as she drew near, I
recognized at once an old school-friend; the very Cora Mansfield who
used to be my daughter at Mrs.—'s; at least the dozenth old
acquaintance I have met accidentally since we came to the new world.
Mutual introductions of our honoured spouses were now duly performed,
and we of Montacute did not refuse to alight and make such short tarry
with our ten-mile neighbours, as the lateness of the hour permitted. We
found the house quite capacious and well-divided, and furnished as
neatly though far less ostentatiously than a cottage ornée in the
vicinity of some great metropolis. There was a great chintz-covered
sofa—a very jewel for your siesta—and some well-placed lounges; and
in an embayed window draperied with wild vines, a reading-chair of the
most luxurious proportions, with its foot-cushion and its prolonged
rockers. Neat, compact presses, filled with books, newas well as old,
and a cabinet piano-forte, made up nearly all the plenishin', but there
was enough. The whole was just like a young lady's dream, and Cora and
her Thalaba of a husband looked just fit to enjoy it. The contrast was
amusing enough when I recalled where I had last seen Cora. It was at a
fancy ball at Mrs. L—'s, when she was a little, dimpled,
pink-and-silver maid of honour to Mary of Scots, or some such great
personage, flitting about like a humming-bird over a honey-suckle, and
flirting most atrociously with the half-fledged little beaux who hung
on her footsteps. She looked far lovelier in her woodland simplicity,
to my simplified eyes at least. She had not, to be sure, a "sweet white
dress," with straw-coloured kid-gloves, and a dog tied to a pink
ribbon, like "the fair Curranjel," but she wore a rational, home-like,
calico—"horrors!" I hear my lady readers exclaim— aye, a calico,
neatly fitted to her beautiful figure; and her darkly-bright eyes
beamed not less archly beneath her waving locks than they had
done—years before. You did not think I was going to tell, did you?
Two hundred and forty questions, at a moderate guess, and about half
as many answers, passed between us, while Mr. Hastings—did n't I say
his name was Hastings?—was shewing Mr. Clavers his place. Cora and I
had no leisure for statistics or economics on this our first rencontre.
She rocked the basket cradle with her foot, and told me all about her
two little daughters; and I had a good deal to say of the same sort;
and at length, when superior authority said we could not stay one
moment longer, we cantered off, with promises of reunion, which have
since been amply redeemed on both sides. And now shall I tell, all in
due form, what I have gathered from Cora's many talks, touching a wild
prank of hers? She said I might, and I will, with the reader's good
leave.
Love sat on a Lotus-leaf afloat, And saw old Time in his loaded boat;
Slowly he cross'd Life's narrow tide, While love sat clapping his
wings and cried, — Who will pass Time? Everard Hastings, a
tall, bright-haired, elegant-looking boy of nineteen, handsome as
Antinous, and indolent as—any body on record, left college with his
head as full of romance and as far from any thing like plain,
practical, common-sense views of life and its wearisome cares and its
imperious duties, as any young New-Yorker of his standing; and he very
soon discovered that his charming cousin Cora Mansfield was just the
bewitching little beauty for such a hero to fall shockingly in love
with. To be freed from college restraints and to be deeply in love,
were both so delightful, that Everard "argued sair" to persuade his
father not to be in such haste to immure him in a law-office. He
thought his health rather delicate—exertion certainly did not agree
with him. He passed his slender fingers through the cherished
love-locks which had been much his care of late; looked in the glass
and wished he was of age and had finished his studies; and then went
and sat the evening with Cora. And though law did not get on very fast,
love made up for it by growing wondrously. His diary in those days, if
he had found time to keep a diary, must have run somewhat on this wise:
"Monday morning. Rose at eight. Got to the office about ten, or pretty
soon after. Mr. J. looked a little dry. Went with Cora at twelve to
see—'s pictures. Took us a long time. Dined at uncle Phil's —and
found all in bed but Pa when I came home. Tuesday. Overslept. Office
at ten, or perhaps a little after. Mr. J. asked me if I was not well.
Vexed to think how I coloured as I said "not very." Cora and I were
engaged to make a bridal call with Mrs. L. Carriage called for me at
the office. Dined at uncle Phil's and went to the theatre with aunt
Charlotte and the girls. Cora grows prettier. Henry Tracy says she is
handsomer than the great beauty Miss—of Boston. Wednesday. All dined
with us, and company in the evening. Did not get to the office at all.
Thursday. Rose early. Walked with the girls on the battery, and
breakfasted at uncle Phil's. Felt quite ill. Rising early never did
agree with me. Obliged to lie on the sofa and have my forehead bathed
with Cologne till it was too late to go to the office. Dined at uncle
Phil's, and rode with girls afterwards," And what were uncle Phil and
aunt Charlotte thinking of all this time? Why, that Everard and Cora
were but children; and that by-and-bye, when the fitting time should
come, a marriage would be just the very thing most agreeable to all
concerned. When spring came—delicious tempting days of warm sun and
bright skies, both families prepared fortheir usual summer flight to
their rural palaces on the North River, not far from town; and Everard
pleaded so hard for one single summer, or part of a summer, that his
father, who was too indulgent by half, gave way and suffered him to
postpone his studies; hoping of course that Everard would gain studious
habits by sauntering in the woods with his cousins. 'T is pity parents
can so seldom stop at the juste milieu between weak compliance and
severe requisition; but then I should have had no story to tell, so it
is better as it is. "How fond the children are of each other!" said
Mrs. Hastings to Mrs. Mansfield. What parent ever thought that a child
had arrived at maturity? I have heard of an octogenarian who declined
staying two days with a relative because he was afraid "the boys" could
not get along without him; one of the "boys" a bachelor of fifty, the
other a grandfather. But to return. Wandering one afternoon over the
woody hills which make so charming a part of those elegant places on
the Hudson, Cora and Everard, by one of those chances which will occur,
spite of all one can do, were separated from their companions.
"Everard," said the fair girl, stopping short and looking around her
with delight, "only see! it seems now as if we were in a lonely
wilderness without a single trace of man but this little path. Would
n't it be charming if it were really so? if there were nobody within,
oh! ever so many miles, but just ourselves—" she stopped and blushed.
"Ah Cora!" said Everard, passionately, "if you onlyloved me half as
well as—" but he had not time to finish, for the little hand which had
lain quietly within his arm, was snatched away, leaving the glove
behind it, and Cora, running away from her own blushes, was at the
river-side quick as lightning. Love had not blinded Everard's eyes
when he called Cora a beauty. She was a beauty, and of the most
bewitching style too; with eyes of all sorts of colours, just as as she
happened to feel, but the fringing lashes were always silky-black, and
the eyes seemed so too, to the unconcerned spectator. She might have
passed for one of "Spain's dark-glancing daughters," if one looked at
her elastic form, and her tiny hands and feet, but her skin was too
exquisitely white to warrant the supposition, and besides, she had mind
enough in her face to have furnished forth a dozen Senoras. Imagine
such a being, graceful as a sylph, and withal, Ruby-lipp'd and tooth'd
with pearl— And you have Cora Mansfield before you, as she stood on
the beach, every charm heightened by the sudden exertion, and the
confusion into which Everard's last speech, (of which I gave only an
inkling,) had thrown her. There had long been a tacit understanding
between the young lovers; but after all, the first words of love will,
whatever may have been the preparation, inevitably overset a woman's
philosophy. Cora was almost sixteen, reader, and thought herself a
woman at least, though her mother—but that's quite another thing. It
was sunset before Everard and Cora found their way back to the house;
but they did not stop on the lawn as usual, to talk about the western
sky. Cora's little heart throbbed audibly, as a heroine's ought; and as
for Everard, he walked with his eyes fixed on the earth, though he
thought only of the bright being beside him. Both looked most terribly
conscious, but nobody thought of noticing them, and Mrs. Mansfield,
whom they found in the parlour, only said, "Cora, child, you are very
imprudent to be running about after sunset without your bonnet." Now
Cora did hate, above all other things, to be called "child," and it was
quite a comfort to her that evening to reflect, "Mamma would not be
always calling me child, if she knew—!" It was not long before Mamma
knew all about it, for there was no motive for concealment, except the
extreme youth of the parties. Everard said three years would soon pass
away, which is very true, though he did not think so. I forgot, when I
was describing Cora, to say she was even more deeply tinged with
romance than Everard himself. She lived entirely in an ideal world. Her
mind was her kingdom or her cottage—her ball-room or her dungeon—as
the imaginary drama shifted the unities. Everard's reveries had in them
nothing defined. There was always a beautiful creature, just like Cora,
but the inferior parts of fancy's sketch were usually rather dim. With
his fairy mistress the case was different. The first poem her Italian
master, the Marquis—, had put into her hands, had been the Pastor
Fido; and the "Care beate selve" of Amaryllis had been ever since the
favouritetheme of her musings. And then the sweet little enchanting
"Isola Disabitata" of Metastasio, proved, just as young ladies like to
have things proved—that people, nay, women alone, can live in a
wilderness, and even in a desert island; and oh! what a pretty variety
of paradises she wove out of these slight materials. She was always
herself the happy tenant of a cottage; so happy in herself that even
Everard did not always find a place in the dream. She had her books,
her needle-work, and her music; a harp of course, or a guitar at the
very least; ever-smiling skies and ever-rippling rivulets; the distant
murmur of a water-fall, or perhaps a boat upon a deep-shaded lake; and
a fair hill-side with some picturesque sheep grazing upon it. "No
sound of hammer or of saw was there." no thought of dinner, no concern
about "the wash," no setting of barrels to catch rain-water—oh, dear!
only think of coming to Michigan to realize such a dream as that!
Go follow the breeze that flies over the sea, Go fasten the rainbow's
dyes; Go whistle the bird from yonder tree, Or catch on the wave the
sparkles that rise: This to do thou shalt easier find, Than to know
the thoughts of a woman's mind. With a head full of such fantastic
notions, it is hardly surprising that the distant prospect of an
old-fashioned wedding—all the aunts and uncles and fifteenth cousins
duly invited—a great evening party, and then a stiff setting-up for
company—had not many charms for our heroine, and that Everard, almost
equally romantic, and éperdument amoureux, should have learned to think
with his pretty wilful cousin in this as in all other particulars. He
did not at all relish Cora's living so much in these home-made worlds
of hers. He sometimes questioned her pretty closely as to particulars,
and, I regret to say, was often more jealous than he cared to own, of
certain cavaliers who played conspicuous parts in Cora's dramas. She
declared they all meant Everard, but he thought some of them but poor
likenesses. He found her one day crying her pretty eyes red, over one
of Barry Cornwall's Dramatic Scenes, sweet and touching enough for any
body to cry over. It ran thus:— "There stiff and cold the dark-eyed
Guido lay, His pale face upward to the careless day, That smiled as
it was wont. And he was found His young limbs mangled on the rocky
ground, And 'mid the weltering weeds and shallows cold His dark hair
floated, as the phantom told: And like the very dream, his glassy eye
Spoke of gone mortality!—" And he took it quite hard of her to weep
over a handsome boy, who was not a bit like him. Cora declared he was,
and they made quite a pretty quarrel of it. It must come out at
last—I have put it off as long as I decently could, and I am sorry to
be obliged to tell it—but this silly young couple in their dreamy
folly, concluded that since all the papas and mammas were quite willing
they should marry, it could be no great harm if they took the how and
the when into their own hands, and carved out for themselves a home in
the wilderness, far from law-offices and evening parties, plum-cake and
white satin. Accordingly, on pretence of dining with an aunt in town,
the imprudent pair were irrevocably joined by a certain reverend
gentleman, who used to be very accommodating in that way and the very
next evening set out clandestinely for —, some hundreds of miles west
of Albany. Cora left, all in due form, a note of apology on her
dressing-table; placed whatever money and valuables she possessed, in
security about her person,—I believeshe did not take any particular
heroine for a model in these arrangements, but all;—and then prepared
to leave her father's house. Unfortunately nobody was watching. There
was no possible excuse for jumping out of the window, but she waited
till all were in bed, and then unlocked a door with much care, and let
herself out. She felt a sort of pang as she looked back at the house,
but the flurry of her spirits scarcely allowed her to be as sentimental
as the occasion demanded. Everard, whose purse had just been
replenished by his father's bountiful half-yearly allowance, joined her
before she had reached the high-road. He was a shade less thoughtless
than his volatile companion, who had been ever a spoiled child, and his
heart felt portentously heavy ere they had lost sight of their happy
homes. It was a beautiful moonlight night, somewhere near the middle
of July, and a slight shower in the afternoon had rendered the walking
delightful. Cora was enchanted: the hour, the scene, the excitement of
her romance-ridden brain, conspired to raise her spirits to an
extravagant pitch, and to make her forget all that ought to have
deterred her from the mad step she was now taking. She only regretted
that the whole journey could not be performed on foot; and it was with
some difficulty that Everard convinced her of the impracticability of
this, her first and darling scheme. It was to have been what my friend
Mrs. — calls a "predestinarian tower." To be indebted to wheels and
boilers for transportation, detracted terribly from the romance of the
thing; but she was comforted bythe thought that it was only by
travelling as rapidly as possible, that they could hope to elude the
search which she doubted not would be immediately commenced, by the
astonished friends they had left behind. Cora confessed herself a
little weary when they reached the little Dutch tavern where they were
to find the carriage which was to bear them to a landing on the river.
By some mistake, the carriage had not yet arrived, and the hour which
elapsed before it came, was one of feverish anxiety to both. A dreary
unfurnished room, lighted by one forlorn little candle, was rather too
much for Cora's philosophy. She began to feel terribly sleepy, and, if
the truth must be told, wished herself safely in bed at home. But she
would not have lisped such a thing for the world; and to Everard's
repeated inquiry, "My dearest Cora, what has become of all your
charming spirits? Do you repent already?"—almost hoping she would say,
yes,—she still replied, "No, indeed! Do you think I have so little
resolution!" And she silenced the loud whispers of her better
feelings, aided as they were by this temporary depression of spirits,
by the consideration that it was now too late to recede; since,
although she had found it easy to quit her father's house unnoticed, to
re-enter it in the same manner would now be impossible, and to return
in the morning was not to be thought of. The rapid motion of the
carriage, and the refreshing air of approaching morning, revived her
flagging energies; and they had not proceeded many miles before her
fancy had drawn for her one of its brightest pictures, and this soon
after subsided into a most fantastically charming dream. In short, she
fell asleep, and slept till day-break. At sunrise they found themselves
at the landing, and, in the course of half an hour, on board the
steamer. The morning was express. No lovelier sunshine ever encouraged
a naughty girl in her naughtiness. A cold rain would have sent her back
probably, wilted and humble enough, but this enchanting morning was but
too propitious. Cora felt her little heart dilate with pleasure as the
boat shot through the foaming waters, and the bugles a wakened the
mountain echoes. She kept her green silk veil closely drawn, until she
had ascertained that all on board were strangers to her; and Everard,
who could not adopt the same means of masking his Apollo front, was
much relieved at making the same discovery. A few hours brought them
to Albany, and here Everard would gladly have remained a few days; but
there was now an anxious restlessness in Cora's heart, which sought
relief in rapid motion; and she entreated him to proceed immediately.
So he disposed of his watch—for who needs a time-piece in the woods,
where there is nothing to do but watch the shadows all day? —and, with
much reluctance, of a ring of Cora's; a rich diamond, a splendid
birth-day gift from the grandmother who had done Cora the favour to
spoil her by every possible indulgence. The jeweller, who, fortunately
for the headlong pair, proved very honest as times go, agreed to
receive these articles only in pledge, on being allowed what he called
moderate interest for one year, the time he engaged to retain them. To
our wise lovers the sum now in their possession seemed inexhaustible.
All difficulties seemed at an end, and they set out with all sails
filled by this happy raising of the wind. 'T is, after all, a
humiliating truth that Lips, though blooming, must still be fed. To
wander over the woody hills all the morning with —the poet or the
novelist whom the reader loves best; to watch the sailing clouds till
the sultry noon is past, then linger by the shadowy lake till its bosom
begins to purple with day's dying tints, while it fills the soul with
dreamy happiness, only makes the unsympathizing body prodigiously
hungry; and then to go home, wondering what on earth we can have for
dinner, strikes me as a specimen of pungent bathos. But to return.
Cora's desire to perform certain parts of the westward journey on
foot, Everard himself bearing the two small valises which now enveloped
all their earthly havings;—"some kinds of baseness are nobly
undergone;"—this wish had yielded to that feverish haste, that secret
desire to fly from her own pursuing thoughts, to which I have before
alluded. So they travelled like common people. At Utica, Everard
purchased a few books; for Cora had not been able to crowd into her
travelling basket more than two mignon volumes of her darling
Metastasio; and to live in a wilderness without books, was not to be
thought of. Robinson Crusoe would have been the most rational purchase,
but I dare say he did not buy that. Perhaps Atala, perhaps Gertrude
ofWyoming, perhaps—but these are only conjectures. For my own part, I
should have recommended Buchan's Domestic Medicine, the Frugal
Housewife, the Whole Duty of Man, and the Almanac for 18—. But,
counselled only by their own fantasies, these sober friends were, I
doubt, omitted, in favour of some novels and poetry-books, idle gear at
best. With this reinforcement of "the stuff that dreams are made of,"
they proceeded; and, after some two or three days' travel, found
themselves in a small village, in the south-western part of New-York.
Here Cora was content to rest awhile; and Everard employed the time in
sundry excursions for the purpose of reconnoitring the face of the
country; wishing to ascertain whether it was rocky, and glenny, and
streamy enough to suit Cora, whose soul disdained any thing like a
level or a clearing. Ere long he found a spot, so wild and mountainous
and woody, as to be considered entirely impracticable by any
common-sense settler; so that it seemed just the very place for a
forest-home for a pair who had set out to live on other people's
thoughts. Cora was so charmed with Everard's description of it,
and—whispered be it—so tired of living at the—Hotel, that she would
not hear of going first to look and judge for herself, but insisted on
removing at once, and finding a place to live in afterwards.
Love conceives No paradise but such as Eden was, With two hearts
beating in it. — Willis—Bianca Visconti, Act I. Sc. I. On the
confines of this highland solitude stood a comfortable-looking
farm-house, with only the usual complement of sheds and barns; but, on
approaching near enough to peep within its belt of maples and elms, a
splendid sign was revealed to the delighted eye of the weary traveller,
promising "good entertainment for man and beast. Thus invited, Everard
and Cora sought admission, and were received with a very civil nod from
the portly host, who sat smoking his pipe by the window, "thinking of
nothing at all;" at least so said his face, while his great dog lay
just outside, ready to bark at customers. The cognomen of this worthy
transplanted Yankee, —the landlord, not the dog,—was, as the sign
assured the world, Bildad Gridley; and the very tall, one-eyed "ottomy"
who sat knitting by the other window, was addressed by him as "Miss
Dart." Mr. Gridley, a widower, in the decline of life, and "Miss Dart,"
a poor widow, who, in return for a comfortable home, assisted his
daughter Arethusa to do "the chores." There was yet another member of
the family, Mr.Gridley's son Ahasuerus, but he had not yet appeared.
Miss Arethusa was a strapping damsel, in a "two-blues" calico, and a
buff gingham cape, with a towering horn comb stuck on the very pinnacle
of her head, and a string of gold beads encircling her ample neck. The
arrival of our city travellers, at this secluded public, produced at
first quite a sensation. Few passengers, save the weary pedlar, or the
spruce retailer of books, clocks, or nutmegs, found their way to these
penetralia of Nature. Now and then, indeed, some wandering sportsman,
or some college student picturesquing during his fall vacation, or
perhaps a party of surveyors, rested for a night at the Moon and Seven
Stars; but usually, although those much bedaubed luminaries had given
place to "an exact likeness," as said Mr. Gridley, "of Giner'l
Lay-Fyette," with his name, as was most meet, in yellow letters below
the portrait, the house was as silent as if it had not borne the
ambitious title of an inn, and the farming business went on with
scarcely an occasional interruption. But now the aspect of things was
materially changed. Everard had signified his desire to remain in so
beautiful a spot for a week or two at least, provided Mr. Gridley could
board—himself "and—and—this lady," he added, for he could not call
Cora his wife, though he tried. The landlord, with a scrutinizing
glance at poor Cora, said he rather guessed he could accommodate them
for a spell; and then went to consult the other powers. Our "happy
pair," each tormented by an undefined sense of anxiety and conscious
wrong, which neither was willing to acknowledge to the other,awaited
the return of honest Bildad with a tremblement de cœur, which they in
vain endeavoured to overcome. At length his jolly visage reappeared,
and they were much relieved to hear him say in a more decided tone than
before, "Well, sir! I guess we can 'commodate ye." And here, how I
might moralize upon the humbling effects of being naughty, which could
make these proud young citizens, who had felt so wondrously
well-satisfied with their own dignity and consequence only a week
before, now await, with fearful apprehension, the fiat of a plain old
farmer, who, after all, was only to board and lodge them. The old
gentleman had such a fatherly look, that both Everard and Cora thought
of their own papas; and now began to reflect that may be these papas
might not after all see the joke in its true light. But neither of them
said such a word, and so I shall pass the occasion in silence. They
were shown to a small white-washed room on the second floor, possessing
one window, guiltless of the paint brush, now supported by means of
that curious notched fixture called a button, so different from the
article to which the title of right belongs. A bed adorned with a
covering on which the taste of the weaver had expatiated, in the
production of innumerable squares and oblongs of blue and white; a very
diminutive and exceedingly rickety table stained red; a looking-glass
of some eight inches breadth, framed in a strip of gorgeous mahogany,
and showing to the charmed gazer a visage curiously elongated
cross-wise, with two nondescript chairs, and an old hair trunk, bearing
the initials "B. G." described in brass nails on itsarched top,
constituted the furniture of the apartment. Cora busied herself in
arranging things as well as she could, Mr. Gridley called her "quite a
handy young woman, considering she had n't been brought up to nothing;"
and while this employment lasted, she managed to maintain a tolerable
degree of cheerfulness; but when all was done, and she paused to look
around her, such a tide of feelings rushed upon her, that her pride at
length gave way, and sitting down on the old trunk, she buried her face
in her lap, and burst into a passion of tears. Everard tried to
comfort her as well as he could, but his own heart was overcharged; and
after a few ineffectual efforts, he threw himself on the floor at her
side, and wept almost as heartily as she did. As soon as his feelings
were relieved by this overflowing of nature, he felt heartily ashamed
of himself, and lifting Cora to the window, insisted that she should
look out upon the glorious prospect which it commanded. She struggled
to regain her low seat, that she might indulge to the uttermost this
paroxysm of remorse and misgiving; but he pursued his advantage, and
held her before the window till the fresh breeze had changed the
current of her sad thoughts, and thrown her rich curls into a most
becoming confusion; and then, reaching the eight inch mirror, held it
suddenly before her still streaming eyes. And now, like true boy and
girl, they were both seized with incontrollable laughter, and sat down
and enjoyed it to the uttermost. "How foolish we look," said Cora at
length. Oh, Everard! if mamma—" but at that word her prettyeyes began
to fill again, and Everard declared she should not say another word.
"Let us take a walk," said he, one of your own long rambling walks.
You know we have yet to find a spot lovely enough for you to live in."
And the volatile girl was all gaiety in a moment. They were on their
return after a very long ramble, when they came to a dell deep enough
to make one think of listening to the talkers in Captain Symmes' world;
and this Cora declared to be the very home of her dreams. This and none
other should be her "forest sanctuary;"—Qu. What was she flying
from?— here should the cottage stand, under whose lowly roof was to be
realized, all of bliss that poet ever painted. "Mighty shades,
Weaving their gorgeous tracery over head, With the light melting
through their high arcades, As through a pillar'd cloister's." Oh? it
was too delicious! and all the good thoughts took flight again.
Gon. Here is every thing advantageous to life. Ant. True, save
means to live. — Tempest That evening after tea, Everard began
his negotiations with Mr. Gridley, for the purchase of the much-admired
glen. "Glen!" said honest Bildad, who sat as usual, pipe in mouth, by
the front window. Everard explained. "Why, Lord bless ye! yes, I own
two hundred and seventy-odd acres jist round there; and that 'ere gulf
is part on't. Ahasuerus began to make a clearin' there, but it 's so
plaguily lumber'd up with stuns, and so kind o' slantin' besides, that
we thought it would never pay for ploughin'. So Hazzy has gone to work
up north here, and gets along like smoke." "Would you be willing to
sell a small place there?" inquired Everard, who felt inexpressibly
sheepish when he set about buying this "stunny" spot. Mr. Gridley
stared at him in unfeigned astonishment. After a moment's pause, he
answered, after the manner of his nation, by asking, "Why, do you know
any body that wants to buy?" "I have some thoughts of settling here
myself," said his guest. Another stare, and the landlord fell to
smoking with all his might, looking withal, full of meditation. At
length—" You settle here!" he said; "what for, in all nature?" "I've
taken a fancy to the place," said Everard; "and if you choose to sell,
I may perhaps be a purchaser." "Well!" said the landlord, laying his
pipe on the window-sill, "if this aint the queerest—But I'll tell ye
what, Mr.—I never can think o'your name; if you really want the place,
why, I'll—" but here he stopt again. He fixed his eyes on Everard, as
if he would look through his mortal coil. "There's one thing,"
proceeded he again, "may I jist be so sa'acy as to ask you—I do n't
know as you'd think it a very civil question; but I do n't know as we
can get on without it. Are you sure," speaking very deliberately—" are
you sure that you 're married to this young gal?" "Married!" said
Everard, his fine eyes flashing lightning, while poor Cora, completely
humbled, felt ready to sink through the floor, "Married!" he repeated,
in high indignation, which an instant's pause served to calm. "I can
assure you—I can assure you—" And he was flying after Cora, who had
slipped out of the room, but the good man called him back. "No
'casion, no 'casion? you say you sartinly are, and that's enough; but
ra'ly you and your wife both look so young, that we 've been plaguily
puzzled what to make on 't." Everard, deeply mortified, reverted as
speedily as possible to his desired purchase; and after a few
observations as to the unprofitableness of the scheme, Mr. Gridley
concluded, with an air of kindness, which soothed the feelings of his
young auditor, "You know your own business best, I dare say; and if so
be you are determined upon it, you may have it, and make use of it as
long as you like; and I 'spose you wont think o' puttin' up much of a
house upon sich a place as that, when you are tired on 't, we 'll
settle the matter one way or 'tother." Everard readily agreed to this
proposition, for he knew himself the avowed heir of the rich bachelor
uncle whose name he bore, and he was little concerned about the
pecuniary part of his affairs. And there was a house to be built on a
green hill-side in the deep woods; and this grande opus fully absorbed
our friends until it was completed. In taking possession of it and in
arranging the simple requisites which formed its furniture, Cora found
herself happier than she had been since she left home. It must be
confessed that every day brought its inconveniences; one can't at first
snuff the candle well with the tongs. Here were neither papa's
side-boards nor mamma's dressing tables; but there was the charm of
house-keeping, and every young wife knows what a charm that is, for a
year or two at least; and then pride whispered, that whenever papa did
find them out, he would acknowledge how very well they had managed to
be happy in their own way. After all, it must be confessed, that the
fairy-footed Cora nourished in some unexplored nook of her warmlittle
heart, a fund of something which she dignified by the names of
resolution, firmness, perseverance, but which ill-natured and severe
people might perhaps have been disposed to call obstinacy, or
self-will. But she was a spoiled child, and her boy-husband the most
indulgent of human beings, so we must excuse her if she was a little
naughty as well as very romantic. The world's harshness soon cures
romance, as well as some other things that we set out with; but Cora
had as yet made no acquaintance with the world, that most severe of all
teachers. But no word yet of inquiries from home. No advertisements,
no rewards, "no afflicted parents." This was rather mortifying. At
length Everard ventured to propose writing to his uncle, and though
Cora pretended to be quite indifferent, she was right glad to have an
excuse for opening a communication with home. But no answer came. The
cold winds of autumn turned the maple leaves yellow, then scarlet, then
brown, and no letter! The whole face of the earth presented to the
appalled eye of the city-bred beauty, but one expanse of mud—deep,
tenacious, hopeless mud. No walks either by day or evening; books all
read and re-read; no sewing, for small change of dress suffices in the
woods; no company but squire Bildad or Mrs. Dart, (the squire's "gal"
was teaching school for the winter, and the interesting Hazzy thought
Everard "a queer stick to set all day in the house a readin," and did
not much affect his society.) Deep winter, and no word from New-York.
Everard now wrote to his father, the most indulgent of fathers; but
though he often saw the name of thewell-known firm in a stray
newspaper, no notice whatever was taken of his missives. This was a
turn of affairs for which he was entirely unprepared. Cora tossed her
pretty head, and then cried, and said she did not care, and cried
again. But now a new interest arose. The prospect of becoming a mother
awakened at once the most intense delight and a terror amounting almost
to agony; and Cora at length wrote to her mother. Spring came and with
the flowers a little daughter; and Cora found in the one-eyed,
odd-looking widow the kindest and most motherly of nurses, while Mr.
Gridley and his family kindly interested in their inexperienced
neighbours, were not lacking in aid of any sort. So Cora made out much
better than she deserved. When she was able to venture out, the good
squire came with his waggon to fetoh her to spend the day by way of
change; and Cora most thankfully accepted this and the other kindnesses
of her rustic friends. A short residence in the woods modifies most
surprisingly one's views on certain points. Some travellers emigrating
to far Michigan, had been resting at Mr. Gridley's when Cora spent her
day there, and it was to this unlucky encounter that we must ascribe
the sickening of Cora's darling, who was after some days attacked with
an alarming eruption. Mrs. Dart declared it the small-pox, and having
unfortunately less judgment than kindness, she curtained its little bed
from every breath of air, and fed it with herbteas and other rustic
stimulants, till the poor little thing seemed like to stifle; and just
at this juncture Everard was taken ill, with the same symptoms. Cora
bore up wonderfully for a few days, but the baby grew worse, and
Everard no better. Medical aid was sought, but the doctor proved quite
as much of an old woman as Mrs. Dart. The dear baby's strength was
evidently diminishing, the spots in its little cheeks assumed a livid
appearance; Mrs. Dart's pale face grew paler, and Cora awaited with an
agony which might be read in her wild and vacant eye, the destruction
of her hopes. The recollection of her own undutiful conduct towards her
parents was at her heart, weighing it down like a millstone. Everard
who might have assisted and comforted her was stretched helpless, and
at times slightly delirious. "I fear the baby is going," said the kind
widow with trembling lips. The wretched mother cast one look at its
altered countenance, and with a wild cry sunk senseless on the floor.
Her punishment was fulfilled.
On the breast That rock'd her childhood, sinking in soft rest;—
Sweet mother—gentlest mother! can it be? — Mrs. Hemans Pros.
If I have too austerely punish'd you Your compensation makes amends;
for I Have given you here a thread of mine own life— Here afore
Heaven I ratify this my rich gift. — Tempest Hath not old
custom made this life more sweet Than that of painted pomp? —
As you like it She became conscious of resting on a soft bosom— her
hands were gently chafed, and a whispering voice whose thrilling sounds
aroused her very soul, recalled her to a sense of her situation. She
looked first at her infant's little bed. It was empty. "My baby! my
baby!" she shrieked in agony. Her mother, her own dear mother, laid it
on her bosom without a word, but she saw that it breathed in a soft
sleep, and tears relieved her bursting heart. "O mother, mother, can
you forgive," was all that she could say, and it was enough. Her father
too was there and he took her in his arms, and weeping blest her and
forgave all. The crisis or turn of the disease, had been so severe as
to assume the aspect of approaching dissolution, andfrom that hour the
precious baby, (the wilderness is the place to love children,) began to
amend, and the young papa with it. And then came such long talks, about
the past, the present, and the future; such minute explanations of all
feelings and plans; Everard and Cora seemed to live a whole year extra
in these few weeks which succeeded the time of this sore trial. And
Cora was a new creature, a rational being, a mother, a matron, full of
sorrow for the past and of sage plans for the future. The silent
disregard of the letters had been systematic. The flying pair had been
recognized by some person on their journey westward; and the parents,
indulgent as they were, felt that some atonement was due for this cruel
disregard of their feelings, and forgetfulness of the common
obligations. When months passed on without any evidence of repentance
they felt still more deeply hurt, as well as seriously anxious; and
though Everard's letters relieved in some measure their solicitude for
the welfare of their undutiful children, it was not until Cora wrote to
her mother, that the visit was resolved on which proved so opportune
and so delightful. And there was more to be told. Fortune had become
weary of smiling on the long-established house of Hastings and
Mansfield, and heavy losses had much impaired the worldly means of
these worthy people. The summer-palaces on the Hudson were about to
pass into other hands, and great changes were to be made in many
particulars. And Everard must get his own living. This was a thing
which Cora at least, had never included in her plans. After much
consultation it was conceded on all hands that it would be rather
awkward returning to Mr. J.'s office after this little excursion. A
frolic is a frolic to be sure, but people do n't always take the view
we wish them to take of our vagaries. Mr. Mansfield proposed his
Michigan lands. And Everard and his subdued and humbled but happy
Cora, confessed that they had imbibed a taste for the wilderness, an
unfashionable liking for early rising and deshabille; a yearning,
common to those who have lived in the free woods, To forsake Earth's
troubled waters for a purer spring. Visionary still! says the reader.
Perhaps so, but to Michigan they came, and with a fine large fertile
tract, managed by a practical farmer and his family, they find it
possible to exist, and are, I had almost said the happiest people of my
acquaintance.
On ne doit pas juger du merite d' un homme par ses grandes qualités,
mais par l' usage qu' il en sait faire. — —Rochefoucault. Des
mots longs d' une toise, De grands mots qui tiendroient d' ici jusqu'
à Pontoise. — Racine—Les Plaideurs. But what he chiefly valued
himself on, was his knowledge of metaphysics, in which, having once
upon a time ventured too deeply, he came well nigh being smothered in a
slough of unintelligible learning. — —W.
Irving.—Knickerbocker. Mr. Simeon Jenkins entered at an early stage
of his career upon the arena of public life, having been employed by
his honoured mother to dispose of a basket full of hard-boiled eggs, on
election day, before he was eight years old. He often dwells with much
unction upon this his debût; and declares that even at that dawning
period, he had cut his eye-teeth. "There was n't a feller there," Mr.
Jenkins often says, "that could find out which side I was on, for all
they tried hard enough. They thought I was soft, but I let 'em know I
was as much baked as any on 'em. 'Be you a dimocrat?" says one. Buy
some eggs and I'll tell ye, says I; and by the time he'd bought his
eggs, I could tell well enough which side he belonged to, and I'd hand
him out a ticket according, for I had blue ones in one end o' my
basket, and white ones in the other, and whennight come, and I got off
the stump to go home, I had eighteen shillin' and four pence in my
pocket." From this auspicious commencement may be dated Mr. Jenkins'
glowing desire to serve the public. Each successive election day saw
him at his post. From eggs he advanced to pies, from pies to almanacs,
whiskey, powder and shot, foot-balls, playing-cards, and at length, for
ambition ever "did grow with what it fed on," he brought into the field
a large turkey, which was tied to a post and stoned to death at
twenty-five cents a throw. By this time the still youthful aspirant had
become quite the man of the world; could smoke twenty four cigars per
diem, if any body else would pay for them; play cards, in old Hurler's
shop, from noon till day-break, and rise winner; and all this with
suitable trimmings of gin and hard words. But he never lost sight of
the main chance. He had made up his mind to serve his country, and he
was all this time convincing his fellow-citizens of the disinterested
purity of his sentiments. "Patriotism," he would say, "patriotism is
the thing! any man that's too proud to serve his country aint fit to
live. Some thinks so much o' themselves, that if they can have jist
what they think they 're fit for, they wont take nothing; but for my
part, I call myself an American citizen; and any office that's in the
gift o' the people will suit me. I'm up to any thing. And as there aint
no other man about here,—no suitable man, I mean—that's got a horse,
why I'd be willing to be constable, if the people's a mind to, though
it would be a dead loss to me in my business, to be sure;but I could do
any thing for my country. Hurra for patriotism! them 's my sentiments."
It can scarcely be doubted that Mr. Jenkins became a very popular
citizen, or that he usually played a conspicuous part at the polls.
Offices began to fall to his share, and though they were generally such
as brought more honour than profit, office is office, and Mr. Jenkins
did not grumble. Things were going on admirably. The spoils of office
glitter in his eyes, He climbs, he pants, he grasps them— Or thought
he was just going to grasp them, when, presto! he found himself in the
minority; the wheel of fortune turned, and Mr. Jenkins and his party
were left undermost. Here was a delimma! His zeal in the public service
was ardent as ever, but how could he get a chance to show it unless his
party was in power? His resolution was soon taken. He called his
friends together, mounted a stump, which had fortunately been left
standing not far from the door of his shop, and then and there gave
"reasons for my ratting" in terms sublime enough for any meridian. "My
friends and feller-citizens," said this self-sacrificing patriot, "I
find myself conglomerated in sich a way, that my feelin's suffers
severely. I'm sitivated in a peculiar sitivation. O' one side, I see my
dear friends, pussonal friends—friends, that's stuck to me like wax,
through thick and thin, never shinnyin' off and on, but up to the
scratch, and no mistake. O' t' other side I behold my country, my
bleedin' country, the land that fetch'd me into this world o'
trouble.Now, sence things be as they be, and can't be no otherways as I
see, I feel kind o' screwed into an augerhole to know what to do. If I
hunt over the history of the universal world from the creation of man
to the present day, I see that men has always had difficulties; and
that some has took one way to get shut of 'em, and some another. My
candid and unrefragable opinion is, that rather than remain useless,
buckled down to the shop, and indulging in selfishness, it is my solemn
dooty to change my ticket. It is severe, my friends, but dooty is
dooty. And now, if any man calls me a turn-coat," continued the orator,
gently spitting in his hands, rubbing them together, and rolling his
eyes round the assembly, "all I say is, let him say it so that I can
hear him." The last argument was irresistible, if even the others
might have brooked discussion, for Mr. Jenkins stands six feet two in
his stockings, when he wears any, and gesticulates with a pair of arms
as long and muscular as Rob Roy's. So, though the audience did not
cheer him, they contented themselves with dropping off one by one,
without calling in question the patriotism of the rising statesman.
The very next election saw Mr. Jenkins justice of the peace, and it
was in this honourable capacity that I have made most of my
acquaintance with him, though we began with threatenings of a storm. He
called to take the acknowledgement of a deed, and I, anxious for my
country's honour, for I too am something of a patriot in my own way,
took the liberty of pointing out to his notice a trifling slip of the
pen; videlicet, "Justasof Piece," which manner of writing those words I
informed him had gone out of fashion. He reddened, looked at me very
sharp for a moment, and then said he thanked me; but subjoined,
"Book-learning is a good thing enough where there aint too much of it.
For my part, I've seen a good many that know'd books that did n't know
much else. The proper cultivation and edication of the human intellect,
has been the comprehensive study of the human understanding from the
original creation of the universal world to the present day, and there
has been a good many ways tried besides book-learning. Not but what
that's very well in its place." And the justice took his leave with
somewhat of a swelling air. But we are excellent friends,
notwithstanding this hard rub; and Mr. Jenkins favours me now and then
with half an hour's conversation, when he has had leisure to read up
for the occasion in an odd volume of the Cyclopedia, which holds an
honoured place in a corner of his shop. He ought, in fairness, to give
me previous notice, that I might study the dictionary a little, for the
hard words with which he arms himself for these "keen encounters,"
often push me to the very limits of my English. I ought to add, that
Mr. Jenkins has long since left off gambling, drinking, and all other
vices of that class, except smoking; in this point he professes to be
incorrigible. But as his wife, who is one of the nicest women in the
world, and manages him admirably, pretends to like the smell of
tobacco, and takes care never to look at him when he disfigures her
well-scoured floor, I am not without hopes of his thorough reformation.
Dandin. Ta, ta, ta, ta. Voilà bien instruire une affaire!
A-t-on jamais plaidé d' une telle méthode? Mais qu' en dit l'
assemblée? * * * * * Ma foi! je n' y conçois plus rien. De monde, de
chaos, j' ai la tête troublé. Hé! concluez. — Racine—Les
Plaideurs. It was "an honour that I dreamed not of," to be called
before this same squire Jenkins in his dignified capacity of "Justas."
I had not even heard a murmur of the coming storm, when I was served
with a subpœna, and learned at the same time the astounding fact, that
at least half the Montacute Female Beneficent Society were about to
receive a shilling's worth of law on the same occasion. A justice
court! My flesh did creep, and each particular hair Did stand on
end— but there was no remedy. The court was to be held at the
Squire's, and as Mrs. Jenkins was a particular friend of mine, I went
early, intending to make her a call before the awful hour should
approach, and hoping that in the interval I might be able to learn
something of the case in whichI was expected to play the important part
of witness. But good Mrs. Jenkins, who was in her Sunday gown and
looked very solemn, considered herself bound to maintain an official
mysteriousness of deportment, and she therefore declined entering upon
the subject which was so soon to come under the cognizance of "the good
people of this state." All she would be persuaded to say was, that it
was a slander suit, and that she believed "women-folks" were at the
bottom of it. But ere long the more prominent characters of the drama
began to drop in. Mrs. Flyter and her "old man," and two babies were
among the first, and the lady looked so prodigiously sulky, that I knew
she was concerned in the fray at least. Then entered Squire Jenkins
himself, clean shaved for once, and arrayed in his meetin' coat. He
asked his wife where the pen and ink was, and said he should want some
paper to write down the "dispositions." And the next comer was the
plaintiff, the Schneider of our village, no Robin Starveling he, but a
magnificent Hector-looking fellow, tall enough to have commanded
Frederick of Prussia's crack regiment; and so elegantly made, that one
finds it hard to believe his legs have ever been crossed on a
shop-board. The beetle-brows of this stitching hero were puckered like
the seams of his newest 'prentice, and he cast magnanimous glances
round the assembly, as who should say— Come one, come all! this rock
shall fly From its firm base as soon as I! Though the rock was but
slenderly represented by Mrs. Jenkins's bureau, against which he
leaned. The world now began to flock in. The chairs were soon filled,
and then the outer edges of the two beds. Three young pickles occupied
the summit of the bureau, to the imminent jeopardy of the mirrored
clock which shone above it. Boards were laid to eke out the chairs, and
when the room was packed so that not a chink remained, a sensation was
created by the appearance of Mrs. Nippers and Miss Clinch. Much turning
out and tumbling over was now to be done, although those active ladies
appeared less than usually desirous of attracting attention. All was
at length ready, and the squire opened the court by blowing his nose
without calling upon his pocket handkerchief. What was my surprise
when I learned that our "most magnanimous mouse," Mr. Shafton, the
tailor, had been set down a thief; and that Mr. Flyter had been called
on, by the majesty of law, to answer for the calumny; not that he had
ever thought of bringing such a charge against his neighbour, for he
was a silent man, who always had his mouth too full of tobacco to utter
slander, or any thing else; but that his lady, on a certain occasion
where women had convened in aid of one of the afflicted sisterhood,
had, most "unprudently," as she said herself, given vent to certain
angry feelings towards Mr. Shafton, "in manner as aforesaid." To think
of bringing a woman into trouble for what she happened to say after
tea! I began to consider Mr. Shafton as no more than the ninth part of
a man, after all. Things went on very quietly for a while. The
"dispositions" occupied a good deal of time, and a vast amount of
paper; the scribe finding the pen less germane to his fingers than the
plough, and making his lines bear no small resemblance to the furrows
made by a "breaking-up team." But when the ladies began to figure on
the stage, the aspect of affairs was altered. Each wished to tell "the
truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth;" and to ask one
question, elicited never less than one dozen answers; the said answers
covering a much larger ground than the suit itself, and bringing
forward the private affairs and opinions of half the village. In vain
did Mr. Jenkins roar "silence!" his injunctions only made the ladies
angry, and of course gave their tongues a fresh impetus. "Cabbage!
yes, you said he took a quarter of a yard of satinett, and that that
was as bad as stealing!" "Yes! and then Miss Flyter said he did steal
cloth, and thread and buttons too!" "Well, Miss Nippers told me so, and
she said she see a chair-cushion at Miss Shafton's, that was made all
out of great pieces of fulled cloth!" "Who? I? oh, mercy! I do n't
believe I ever said such a word!" "Oh you did, you did! I'm willin' to
take my afferdavy of it!" "Silence!" vociferated Squire Jenkins.
"Ladies," began Mr. Phlatt, the plaintiff's counsel, "if you would wait
a minute"— In vain—alas! in vain, ye gallant few! In vain do ye
assay to control The force of female lungs, Sighs, sobs and passions,
and the war of tongues. And Mr. Phlatt sat down in despair, looked out
of thewindow, and drummed on the table with his fingers, as if to pass
away the time till he could be heard. Squire Jenkins, who was but
newly dignified, and did not like to proceed to extremities, now
adjourned the court for one hour, a recess much needed by the exhausted
state of some of the witnesses. During this interval, and while the
wordy war was waxing stronger and stronger, Mr. Flyter and Mr. Shafton
very wisely withdrew, and in less than five minutes returned, and
informed the company that they had "settled it." Mr. Flyter was to pay
Mr. Shafton three dollars and fifty cents worth of lumber for his
character, with costs of suit; and Mrs. Flyter was to unsay all she had
said, and confess that three yards of satinett for a pair of
pantaloons, would leave the tailor no more than his regular cabbage.
So here was four hours' time of something near thirty people spent to
good purpose in chasing a Will-o'-the-wisp. And Montacute sees equally
important suits at law every few weeks; expensive enough, if "settled"
midway as they often are, between the parties themselves; still more so
if left to pursue the regular course, and be decided by the Justice.
The intelligence of the "settlement" was received with various aspects
by the persons concerned. The counsel on both sides were of course
disappointed, for they had calculated largely upon the spunk of the
splendid-looking son of the shears, and had counted on a jury-trial at
least, if not an appeal. Mrs. Flyter was evidently much relieved to
find that she had come off so easily; and sundry other ladies, who had
been trembling under the consciousness of conversational"sins unwhipped
of justice," shawled and India-rubbered with more than usual alacrity,
and I doubt not, made vows, sincere, whether well-kept or not, to let
their neighbours' business alone for some time. Mr. Jenkins was
evidently disappointed at the tame result of so much glorious
preparation. He had made up his own mind on the first statement of the
case, and had prepared his decision, with the addition of a concise
view of the universe from chaos to the present day. But that will do
for the next time, and he will not be obliged to reserve it long.
Bartholine Saddletree himself would weary of the "never-ending,
still-beginning" law-pleas of Montacute. Bad fences, missing dogs,
unruly cattle, pigs' ears, and women's tongues, are among the most
prolific sources of litigation; to say nothing of the satisfactory
amount of business which is created by the collection of debts, a
matter of "glorious uncertainty" in Michigan. These suits are so
frequent, that they pass as part and parcel of the regular course of
things; and you would find it impossible to persuade a thorough-bred
Wolverine, that there was any thing unfriendly in suing his next door
neighbour for a debt of however trifling amount. Actions for trespass
and for slander are rather more enjoyed, as being somewhat less
frequent; but any thing like a trial, will always be enough to keep
half a dozen unconcerned people idle for a day or more. Mr. Shafton's
spirited defence of his fair fame will, I see plainly, prove a lasting
benefit to the talking sex of Montacute. It is perfectly incredible how
much was done and how little said at the last week's meeting of the
Female Beneficent Society. Mrs. Nippers tobe sure had the ague, and did
her chattering at home, and Miss Clinch staid to take care of her, as
in duty bound. But I think that alone would not account for the
difference. We shall see next week.
See! sae close as they're written down to the very seal! and a' to
save postage! — — Antiquary. Ant. We sent our school-master—
Is he come back? — Antony and Cleopatra I have departed from
all rule and precedent in these wandering sketches of mine. I believe I
set out, a great many pages ago, to tell of the interesting changes,
the progressive improvements in this model of a village of ours. My
intention, as far as I had any, was to convey to the patient reader
some general idea of our way of life in these remote and forgotten
corners of creation. But I think I have discovered that the bent of my
genius is altogether towards digression. Association leads me like a
Will-o'-the-wisp. I can no more resist following a new train of
thought, than a coquette the encouraging of a new lover, at the expense
of all the old ones, though often equally conscious that the old are
most valuable. This attempt to write one long coherent letter about
Montacute, has at least been useful in convincing me that History is
not my forte. I give up the attempt in despair, and lower my ambition
to the collection of scattered materials for the use of the future
compiler of Montacutian annals. Yet it seems strange, even to my
desultory self, how I could have passed in silence the establishment of
aweekly mail, that sweetener of our long delicious winter
evenings—that rich atonement for all that we lack of fresh scandal and
new news. Since this treasure was ours, I have learned to pity most
sincerely those who get their letters and papers at all sorts of
unexpected and irregular times; a shower of scattering fire, feeble and
ineffectual—a dropping in at all hours, seasonable and unseasonable,
like some classes of visiters; coming often when one's mood is any
thing but congenial; and sure to stay away when one longs for
company—gay ones intruding when we had determined to be blue and
miserable, and sad ones casting their long shadows on our few sunny
hours. But a weekly mail! a budget that one waits and gets ready for;
a regularly-recurring delight, an unfailing pleasure, (how few such
have we!) hours, nay days, of delicious anticipation—sure harvest of
past care and toil, an inundation of happiness! Let no one think he has
exhausted all the sources of enjoyment till he has lived in the
back-woods and learned to expect a weekly mail with its lap-full of
letters and its tumulus of papers; a feast enjoyed by anticipation for
a whole week previous, and affording ample materials for resumées for
that which succeeds. This pleasure has become so sacred in my eyes,
that nothing vexes me so intolerably as seeing our lanky mail-bags
dangling over the bony sides of Major Bean's lame Canadian, and
bestridden and over-shadowed by the portly form of the one-eyed Major
himself, trotting or rather hobbling down Main-street on some
intermediate and unpremeditated day. Men of business are so
disagreeable and inconsiderate! To think of anybody's sending fourteen
interminable miles over bush and bog to B***, up hill both ways, as
every one knows, just to learn the price of flour or salt three days
sooner, and thereby spoiling the rest of the week, leaving an
objectless blank where was before a delicious chaos of hopes;
substituting dull certainty for the exquisite flutterings of that sort
of doubt which leaves us after all quite sure of a happy result. I have
often thought I would not open the treasures which reached me in this
unauthorized, over-the-wall sort of way. I have declared that I would
not have Saturday evening spoiled and the next week made ten days long.
But this proper and becoming spirit has never proved quite strong
enough to bear me through so keen a trial of all feminine qualities.
One must be more or less than woman to endure the sight of unopened
letters, longer than it takes to find the scissors. I doubt whether
Griselidis herself would not have blenched at such a requisition,
especially if she had been transplanted to the wilderness, and left
behind hosts of friends, as well as many other very comfortable things.
Another subject of the last interest which I have as yet wholly
neglected, is the new school-house, a gigantic step in the march of
improvement. This, in truth, I should have mentioned long ago, if I
could have found any thing to say about it. It has caused an infinity
of feuds, made mortal enemies of two brothers, and separated at least
one pair of partners. But the subject has been exhausted, worn to
shreds in my hearing; and whenever I have thought of searching for an
end of the tangled clew, in order to open its mazes for the benefit of
all future school-committees and their constituency, I have felt that
every possible view of the case had been appropriated, and therefore
must be borrowed or stolen for the occasion. I might indeed have given
a description of the building as it now smiles upon me from the
opposite side of the public square. But the reader may imagine St.
Paul's, St. Peter's, the Parthenon, the mosque of St. Sophia, or any
edifice of that character, and then think of the Montacute school-house
as something inexpressibly different, and he will have as good an idea
of it as I could give him in half a page. I think it resembles the
Temple of the Winds more nearly than any other ancient structure I have
read of; at least, I have often thought so in cold weather, when I have
beguiled the hours of a long sermon by peeping through the cracks at
the drifting snow; but it is built of unplaned oak-boards, and has no
under-pinning; and the stove-pipe, sticking out of one window, looks
rather modern; so the likeness might not strike every body. The
school-ma'am, Miss Cleora Jenkins, I have elsewhere introduced to the
reader. From April till October, she sways "the rod of empire;" and
truly may it be said, There through the summer-day Green boughs are
waving, though I believe she picks the leaves off, as tending to
defeat the ends of justice. Even the noon-spell shines no holiday for
the luckless subjects of her domination, for she carries her bread and
pickles rolled up in her pocket-handkerchief, and lunches where she
rules, reading the while "The Children of the Abbey,"—which took her
all summer,—and making one of the large girls comb her hair by the
hour. During the snowy, blowy, wheezy, and freezy months, the chair
has been taken—not filled—by Mr. Cyrus Whicher,—not Switcher,—a
dignitary who had "boarded round" till there was very little of him
left. I have been told, that when he first bore the birch,— in his own
hand I mean,—he was of a portly and rather stolid exterior; had good
teeth and flowing locks; but he was, when I knew him, a mere cuticle—a
"skellinton," as Mr. Weller would say—shaped like a starved greyhound
in the collapsed stage, his very eyes faded to the colour of the
skim-milk which has doubtless constituted his richest potation, since
he attained the empty honours of a district school. When he came under
my care, in the course of his unhappy gyrations, I did my best to
fatten him; and, to do him justice, his efforts were not lacking: but
one cannot make much progress in one week, even in cramming a turkey
poult, and he went as ethereal as he came. One additional reason for
his "lean and hungry" looks I thought I discovered in his gnawing
curiosity of soul—I suppose it would be more polite to say, his
burning thirst for knowledge. When he first glided into my one only
parlour, I asked him to sit down, expecting to hear his bones rattle as
he did so. To my astonishment he noticed not my civility, but, gazing
on the wall as who should say— "Look you, how pale he glares!" he
stood as one transfixed. At length—"Whose profile is that?" he
exclaimed, pointing to a portrait of my dear, cheerful-looking
grand-mamma—a half-length, by Waldo. I told all about it, as I
thought, but left room for a dozen questions at least, as to her
relationship—whether by father or mother's side—her age when the
picture was taken, and Mr. Whicher's concluding remark, as he doubled
up to sit down, was— "Well! she's a dreadful sober-lookin' old
critter, aint she now!" But ere he touched the chair, he opened again
like a folded rule out of a case of instruments, and stood erect save
head and shoulders. "Is that a pi-anner?" he asked with a sort of
chuckle of delight. "Well! I heard you had one, but I did n't hardly
believe it. And what's this thing?" twirling the music-stool with all
his might, and getting down on his poor knees to look underneath both
these curiosities. "Jist play on it, will you?" "Dinner is ready, Mr.
Whicher: I will play afterwards." He balanced for one moment between
inanition and curiosity; then, "with his head over his shoulder
turn'd," he concluded to defer pleasure to business. He finished his
meal by the time others had fairly begun; and then, throwing himself
back in his chair, said, "I'm ready whenever you be." I could not do
less than make all possible speed, and Mr. Whicher sat entranced until
he was late for school: not so much listening to the tinkling magic, as
prying into the nature and construction of the instrument,which he
thought must have taken "a good bunch o' cypherin'." That week's
sojourn added a good deal to the schoolmaster's stores of knowledge. He
scraped a little of the chrystallized green off my inkstand to find out
how it was put on; pulled up a corner of the parlour-carpet, to see
whether it was "wove like a bed-spread;" whether it was "over-shot or
under-shot;" and not content with ascertaining by personal inspection
the construction of every article which was new to him, he pumped dry
every member of the household, as to their past mode of life, future
prospects, opinion of the country, religious views, and thoughts on
every imaginable subject. I began to feel croupish before he left us,
from having talked myself quite out. One of his habits struck me as
rather peculiar. He never saw a letter or a sealed paper of any kind
that he did not deliberately try every possible method, by peeping,
squeezing, and poking, to get at its contents. I at first set this down
as something which denoted a more than usually mean and dishonest
curiosity; but after I had seen the same operation performed in my
presence without the least hesitation or apology, by a reverend
gentleman of high reputation, I concluded that the poor schoolmaster
had at least some excuse for his ill-breeding. Mr. Whicher had his own
troubles last winter. A scholar of very equivocal, or rather
unequivocal character, claimed admission to the school, and, of all
concerned, not one had courage or firmness to object to her reception.
She was the daughter of a fierce, quarrelsome man, who had already
injured, either by personalabuse, or by vexatious litigation, half the
people in the place; and though all-detested her, and dreaded
contamination for their daughters, not a voice was raised—not a girl
removed from the school. This cowardly submission to open and public
wrong seems hardly credible; but I have observed it in many other
instances, and it has, in most cases, appeared to arise from a distrust
in the protecting power of the law, which has certainly been hitherto
most imperfectly and irregularly administered in Michigan. People
suppress their just indignation at many abuses, from a fear that they
may "get into trouble;" i. e. be haled before an ignorant justice of
the peace, who will be quite as likely to favour the wrong as the
right, as interest or prejudice may chance to incline him. Thus a bad
man, if he have only the requisite boldness, may trample on the
feelings, and disturb the peace of a whole community. When Hannah
Parsons applied for admission to the district school, Mr. Whicher made
such objections as he dared in his timidity. He thought she was too
old— her mother said she was not nineteen, though she had a son of two
years and upwards. And she did not wish to study anything but
arithmetic and writing; so that there could be no objection as to
classes. And the wretched girl forced herself into the ranks of the
young and innocent, for what purpose or end I never could divine. From
this hour the unfortunate Whicher was her victim. She began by showing
him the most deferential attention, watching his looks, and asking his
aid in the most trivial matters; wanting her pen mended twenty times in
the course of one copy, and insisting upon the schoolmaster's showing
her again and again exactly how it should be held. She never went to
school without carrying a tribute of some sort, a custard, or an
apple,—apples are something with us,—or a geranium leaf at least. Now
these offerings are so common among school-children, that the wretched
master, though writhing with disgust, knew not how to refuse them, and
his life wore away under the anguish inflicted by his tormentor. At
length it was whispered that Hannah Parsons would again bring to the
eye of day a living evidence of her shame; and the unfortunate
schoolmaster saw himself the victim of a conspiracy. It needed but
this to complete his distraction. He fled in imbecile despair; and
after the wonder had died away, and the scandal had settled on the
right head, we heard no word of the innocent pedagogue for a long time.
But after that came news, that Cyrus Whicher, in the wretchedness of
his poverty, had joined a gang of idlers and desperadoes, who had made
a vow against honest industry; and it is not now very long since we
learned that he had the honour of being hanged at Toronto as a
"Patriot."
Go with speed To some forlorn and naked hermitage, Remote from all
the pleasures of the world; There stay until the twelve celestial
signs Have brought about their annual reckoning. If this austere,
insociable life— If frosts and fasts, hard lodging and thin weeds
Nip not the gaudy blossoms of your pride — — Love's Labour
Lost. They wear themselves in the cap of time there; do muster true
gait, eat, speak, and move, under the influence of the most received
star; and though the devil lead the measure, such are to be followed.
— — All's well that ends well. One must come quite away from
the conveniences and refined indulgences of civilized life to know any
thing about them. To be always inundated with comforts, is but too apt
to make us proud, selfish, and ungrateful. The mind's health, as well
as the body's, is promoted by occasional privation or abstinence. Many
a sour-faced grumbler I wot of, would be marvellously transformed by a
year's residence in the woods, or even in a Michigan village of as high
pretensions as Montacute. If it were not for casting a sort of
dishonour on a country life, turning into a magnificent "beterinhaus"
these "Haunts of deer, And lanes in which the primrose ere her time
Peeps through the moss." I should be disposed to recommend a course
of Michigan to the Sybarites, the puny exquisites, the worldworn and
sated Epicureans of our cities. If I mistake not, they would make
surprising advances in philosophy in the course of a few months'
training. I should not be severe either. I should not require them to
come in their strictly natural condition as featherless bipeds. I would
allow them to bring many a comfort—nay, even some real luxuries;
books, for instance, and a reasonable supply of New-York Safety-Fund
notes, the most tempting form which "world's gear" can possibly assume
for our western, wild-cat wearied eyes. I would grant to each Neophyte
a ready-made loggery, a garden fenced with tamarack poles, and every
facility and convenience which is now enjoyed by the better class of
our settlers, yet I think I might after all hope to send home a
reasonable proportion of my subjects completely cured, sane for life.
I have in the course of these detached and desultory chapters, hinted
at various deficiencies and peculiarities, which strike, with rather
unpleasant force, the new resident in the back-woods; but it would
require volumes to enumerate all the cases in which the fastidiousness,
the taste, the pride, the self-esteem of the refined child of
civilization, must be wounded by a familiar intercourse with the
persons among whom he will find himself thrown, in the ordinary course
of rural life. He is continually reminded in how great a variety of
particulars his necessities, his materials for comfort, andhis sources
of pain, are precisely those of the humblest of his neighbours. The
humblest, did I say? He will find that he has no humble neighbours. He
will very soon discover, that in his new sphere, no act of kindness, no
offer of aid, will be considered as any thing short of insult, if the
least suspicion of condescension peep out. Equality, perfect and
practical, is the sine qua non; and any appearance of a desire to avoid
this rather trying fraternization, is invariably met by a fierce and
indignant resistance. The spirit in which was conceived the motto of
the French revolution, "La fraternité ou la mort," exists in full force
among us, though modified as to results. In cities we bestow
charity—in the country we can only exchange kind offices, nominally at
least. If you are perfectly well aware that your nearest neighbour has
not tasted meat in a month, nor found in his pocket the semblance of a
shilling to purchase it, you must not be surprised, when you have sent
him a piece, to receive for reply, "Oh! your pa wants to change, does
he? Well, you may put it down." And this without the remotest idea that
the time for repayment ever will arrive, but merely to avoid saying, "I
thank you," a phrase especially eschewed, so far as I have had
opportunity to observe. This same republican spirit is evinced rather
amusingly, in the reluctance to admire, or even to approve, any thing
like luxury or convenience which is not in common use among the
settlers. Your carpets are spoken of as "one way to hide dirt;" your
mahogany tables, as "dreadful plaguy to scour;" your kitchen
conveniences, as "lumberin' up the house for nothin';"and so on to the
end of the chapter. One lady informed me, that if she had such a pantry
full of "dishes," under which general term is included every variety of
china, glass and earthenware, she should set up store, and "sell them
off pretty quick," for she would not "be plagued with them." Another,
giving a slighting glance at a French mirror of rather unusual
dimensions, larger by two-thirds, I verity believe, than she had ever
seen, remarked, "that would be quite a nice glass, if the frame was
done over." Others take up the matter reprovingly. They "do n't think
it right to spend money so;" they think too, that "pride never did
nobody no good;" and some will go so far as to suggest modes of
disposing of your superfluities. "Any body that's got so many dresses,
might afford to give away half on 'em;" or, "I should think you'd got
so much land, you might give a poor man a lot, and never miss it." A
store of any thing, however simple or necessary, is, as I have
elsewhere observed, a subject of reproach, if you decline supplying
whomsoever may be deficient. This simplification of life, this
bringing down the transactions of daily intercourse to the original
principles of society, is neither very eagerly adopted, nor very keenly
relished, by those who have been accustomed to the politer atmospheres.
They rebel most determinedly, at first. They perceive that the
operation of the golden rule, in circumstances where it is all give on
one side, and all take on the other, must necessarily be rather severe;
and they declare manfully against all impertinent intrusiveness. But,
soothto say, there are in the country so many ways of being made
uncomfortable by one's most insignificant enemy, that it is soon
discovered that warfare is even more costly than submission. And all
this forms part of the schooling which I propose for my spoiled child
of refined civilization. And although many of these remarks and
requisitions of our unpolished neighbours are unreasonable and absurd
enough, yet some of them commend themselves to our better feelings in
such a sort, that we find ourselves ashamed to refuse what it seemed at
first impertinent to ask; and after the barriers of pride and prejudice
are once broken, we discover a certain satisfaction in this homely
fellowship with our kind, which goes far towards repaying whatever
sacrifices or concessions we may have been induced to make. This has
its limits of course; and one cannot help observing that "levelling
upwards" is much more congenial to "human natur'," than levelling
downwards. The man who thinks you ought to spare him a piece of ground
for a garden, because you have more than he thinks you need, would be
far from sharing with his poorer neighbour the superior advantages of
his lot. He would tell him to work for them as he had done. But then
there are, in the one case, some absolute and evident superfluities,
according to the primitive estimate of these regions; in the other,
none. The doll of Fortune, who may cast a languid eye on this homely
page, from the luxurious depths of a velvet-cushioned library-chair,
can scarce be expected to conceive how natural it may be, for those who
possess nothing beyond the absolute requisites of existence, tolook
with a certain degree of envy on the extra comforts which seem to
cluster round the path of another; and to feel as if a little might
well be spared, where so much would still be left. To the tenant of a
log-cabin whose family, whatever be its numbers, must burrow in a
single room, while a bed or two, a chest, a table, and a wretched
handful of cooking utensils, form the chief materials of comfort, an
ordinary house, small and plain it may be, yet amply supplied, looks
like the very home of luxury. The woman who owns but a suit a-piece for
herself and her children, considers the possession of an abundant
though simple and inexpensive wardrobe, as needless extravagance; and
we must scarcely blame her too severely, if she should be disposed to
condemn as penurious, any reluctance to supply her pressing need,
though she may have no shadow of claim on us beyond that which arises
from her being a daughter of Eve. We look at the matter from opposite
points of view. Her light shows her very plainly, as she thinks, what
is our Christian duty; we must take care that ours does not exhibit too
exclusively her envy and her impertinence. The inequalities in the
distribution of the gifts of fortune are not greater in the country
than in town, but the country; yet circumstances render them more
offensive to the less-favoured class. The denizens of the crowded
alleys and swarming lofts of our great cities see, it is true, the
lofty mansions, the splendid equipages of the wealthy—but they are
seldom or never brought into contact or collision with the owners of
these glittering advantages. And the extreme width of the great gulf
between, is almost a barrier, even toall-reaching envy. But in the
ruder stages of society, where no one has yet begun to expend any thing
for show, the difference lies chiefly in the ordinary requisites of
comfort; and this comes home at once "to men's business and bosoms."
The keenness of their appreciation, and the strength of their envy,
bear a direct proportion to the real value of the objects of their
desire; and when they are in habits of entire equality and daily
familiarity with those who own ten or twenty times as much of the
matériel of earthly enjoyment as themselves, it is surely natural,
however provoking, that they should not be studious to veil their
longings after a share of the good, which has been so bounteously
showered upon their neighbours. I am only making a sort of apology for
the foibles of my rustic friends. I cannot say that I feel much respect
for any thing which looks like a willingness to live at others' cost,
save as a matter of the last necessity. I was adverting to a certain
unreservedness of communication on these points, as often bringing
wholesome and much-needed instruction home to those whom prosperity and
indulgence may have rendered unsympathizing, or neglectful of the
kindly feelings which are among the best ornaments of our nature. But
I am aware that I have already been adventurous, far beyond the bounds
of prudence. To hint that it may be better not to cultivate too far
that haughty spirit of exclusiveness which is the glory of the
fashionable world, is, I know, hazardous in the extreme. I have not so
far forgotten the rules of the sublime clique as not to realize, that
in acknowledging even a leaning toward the "vulgar" side, I place
myself forever beyond its pale. But I am now a denizen of the wild
woods—in my view, "no mean city" to own as one's home; and I feel no
ambition to aid in the formation of a Montacute aristocracy, for which
an ample field is now open, and all the proper materials are at hand.
What lack we? Several of us have as many as three cows; some few,
carpets and shanty-kitchens; and one or two, piano-fortes and silver
tea-sets. I myself, as dame de la seigneurie, have had secret thoughts
of an astral lamp! but even if I should go so far, I am resolved not to
be either vain-glorious or over-bearing, although this kind of
superiority forms the usual ground for exclusiveness. I shall visit my
neighbours just as usual, and take care not to say a single word about
dipped candles, if I can possibly help it.
Why, then, a final note prolong, Or lengthen out a closing song? The
growth of our little secluded village has been so gradual, its
prosperity so moderate, and its attempts so unambitious, that during
the whole three years which have flown since it knew "the magic of a
name," not a single event has occurred which would have been deemed
worthy of record by any one but a midge-fancier like myself. Our brief
annals boast not yet one page, enlivened by those attractive words,
"prodigious undertaking!" "brilliant success!" "splendid fortune!"
"race of enterprise!" "march of improvement!" "cultivation of taste!"
"triumph of art!" "design by Vitruvius!" "unequalled dome!" "pinnacle
of glory!" Alas! the mere enumeration of these magnificent expressions,
makes our insignificance seem doubly insignificant! like the joke of
our school-days—"Soared aloft on eagles' wings—then fell flat down,
on father's wood-pile." Irredeemably little are we; unless, which
Heaven forefend! a rail-road stray our way. We must content ourselves
with grinding the grists, trimming the bonnets, mending the ploughs,
and schooling the children, of a goodly expanse of wheat-fields, with
such other odd jobs as may come within the abilities of our various
Jacks-of-all-trades.We cannot be metropolitan, even in our dreams; for
Turnipdale has secured the County honours. We cannot hope to be
literary; for all the colleges which are to be tolerated in Michigan,
are already located. The State-Prison favours Jacksonburg; the
Salt-works some undistinguished place at the north-east; what is left
for Montacute? Alas for Tinkerville! less happy under the cruel blight
of her towering hopes, than we in our humble notelessness. She rose
like a rocket, only to fall like its stick; and baleful were the stars
that signalized her explosion. Mournful indeed are the closed windows
of her porticoed edifices. The only pleasurable thought which arises in
my mind at the mention of her name, is that connected with her whilome
president. Mrs. Rivers is coming to spend the summer with Mrs. Daker,
while Mr. Rivers departs for Texas with two or three semblables, to
attempt the carving out of a new home, where he need not "work." I
shall have my gentle friend again; and her life will not lack interest,
for she brings with her a drooping, delicate baby, to borrow health
from the sunny skies and soft breezes of Michigan. The Female
Beneficent Society grows, by dire experience, chary of news. The only
novel idea broached at our last meeting, was that of a nascent
tendresse between Mrs. Nippers and Mr. Phlatt, a young lawyer, whose
resplendent "tin," graces, within the last month, the side-post of
Squire Jenkins' door. I have my doubts. This is one of the cases
wherein much may be said on both sides. Mr. Phlatt is certainly a
constant visitor at Mrs. Nippers', but the knowing widowdoes not live
alone. He praises with great fervour, Mrs. Nippers' tea and biscuits,
but then who could do less? they are so unequivocally perfect—and
besides, Mr. Phlatt has not access to many such comfortable
tea-tables—and moreover, when he praises he gazes, but not invariably
on Mrs. Nippers. I am not convinced yet. Miss Clinch has a new French
calico, couleur de rose, and a pink lining to her Tuscan. And she is
young and rather pretty. But then, she has no money! and Mrs. Nippers
has quite a pretty little income—the half-pay of her deceased Mr.
Nippers, who died of a fever at Sackett's Harbour—and Mrs. Nippers has
been getting a new dress, just the colour of bluepill, Dr. Teeny says.
I waver, but time will bring all things to light. Mr. Hastings goes to
the Legislature, next winter; and he is beginning to collect materials
for a house, which will be as nearly as may be, like his father's
summer-palace on the Hudson. But he is in another county, so we do not
feel envious. Cora will never be less lovely, nor more elegant, nor
(whispered be it!) more happy than she is in her pretty log-house. And
the new house will be within the same belt of maples and walnuts which
now encircles the picturesque cottage; so that the roses and
honey-suckles will tell well; like their fair mistress, graceful and
exquisite any-where. Many new buildings are springing up in Montacute.
Mr. Doubleday has ensconced himself and his wife and baby, in a white
and green tenement, neat enough even for that queen of housewives; and
Betsy, having grown stout, scours the new white-wood floors, à
merveille.Loggeries are becoming scarce within our limits, and many of
our ladies wear silk dresses on Sunday. We have two physicians, and two
lawyers, or rather one and a half. Squire Jenkins being only an adopted
son of Themis. He thought it a pity his gift in the talking line should
not be duly useful to the public, so he acts as advocate, whenever he
is not on duty as judge, and thereby ekes out his bread and butter, as
well as adds to his reputation. And in addition to all the improvements
which I have recorded, I may mention that we are building a new
meeting-house, and are soon to have a settled minister. And now, why
do I linger? As some rustic damsel who has, in her simplicity, accepted
the hurried "Do call when you come to town," of a fine city guest,
finds that she has already outstaid the fashionable limit, yet
hesitates in her awkwardness, when and how to take leave; so
I—conscious that I have said forth my little say, yet scarce knowing
in what style best to make my parting reverence, have prolonged this
closing chapter—a "conclusion wherein nothing is concluded." But such
simple and sauntering stories are like Scotch reels, which have no
natural ending, save the fatigue of those engaged. So I may as well cut
short my mazy dance and resume at once my proper position as a
"wall-flower," with an unceremonious adieu to the kind and courteous
reader. THE END.