Now, I won't call these commandments, for the old man was right, it's no way to talk, I'll call them maxims. Now, we won't expect too much, nor fret over trifles, will we, Sophy? It takes a great deal to make happiness, for everything must be in tune like a piano; but it takes very little to spoil it. Fancy a bride now having a tooth-ache, or a swelled face during the honeymoon—in courtship she won't show, but in marriage she can't help it,—or a felon on her finger (it is to be hoped she hain't given her hand to one); or fancy now; just fancy, a hooping-cough caught in the cold church, that causes her to make a noise like drowning, a great gurgling in-draught, and a great out-blowing, like a young sporting porpoise, and instead of being all alone with her own dear husband, to have to admit the horrid doctor, and take draughts that make her breath as hot as steam, and submit to have nauseous garlic and brandy rubbed on her breast, spine, palms of her hands, and soles of her feet, that makes the bridegroom, every time he comes near her to ask her how she is, sneeze, as if he was catching it himself. He don't say to himself in an under-tone damn it, how unlucky this is. Of course not; he is too happy to swear, if he ain't too good, as he ought to be; and she don't say, eigh—augh, like a donkey, for they have the hooping-cough all the year round; "dear love, eigh—augh, how wretched this is, ain't it? eigh—augh," of course not; how can she be wretched? Ain't it her honeymoon? and ain't she as happy as a bride can be, though she does eigh—augh her slippers up amost. But it won't last long, she feels sure it won't, she is better now, the doctor says it will be soon over; yes, but the honeymoon will be over too, and it don't come like Christmas, once a-year. When it expires, like a dying swan, it sings its own funeral hymn.

Well, then fancy, just fancy, when she gets well, and looks as chipper as a canary-bird, though not quite so yaller from the effects of the cold, that the bridegroom has his turn, and is taken down with the acute rheumatism, and can't move, tack nor sheet, and has camphor, turpentine, and hot embrocations of all sorts and kinds applied to him, till his room has the identical perfume of a druggist's shop, while he screams if he ain't moved, and yells if he is, and his temper peeps out. It don't break out of course, for he is a happy man; but it just peeps out as a masculine he-angel's would if he was tortured.

The fact is, lookin' at life, with its false notions, false hopes, and false promises, my wonder is, not that married folks don't get on better, but that they get on as well as they do. If they regard matrimony as a lottery, is it any wonder more blanks than prizes turn up on the wheel? Now, my idea of mating a man is, that it is the same as matching a horse; the mate ought to have the same spirit, the same action, the same temper, and the same training. Each should do his part, or else one soon becomes strained, sprained, and spavined, or broken-winded, and that one is about the best in a general way that suffers the most.

Don't be shocked at the comparison; but to my mind a splendiferous woman and a first chop horse is the noblest works of creation. They take the rag off the bush quite; a woman "that will come" and a horse that "will go" ought to make any man happy. Give me a gall that all I have to say to is, "Quick, pick up chips and call your father to dinner," and a horse that enables you to say, "I am thar." That's all I ask. Now just look at the different sorts of love-making in this world. First, there is boy and gall love; they are practising the gamut, and a great bore it is to hear and see them; but poor little things, their whole heart and soul is in it, as they were the year before on a doll or a top. They don't know a heart from a gizzard, and if you ask them what a soul is, they will say it is the dear sweet soul they love. It begins when they enter the dancing-school, and ends when they go out into the world; but after all, I believe it is the only real romance in life.

Then there is young maturity love, and what is that half the time based on? vanity, vanity, and the deuce a thing else. The young lady is handsome, no, that's not the word, she is beautiful, and is a belle, and all the young fellows are in her train. To win the prize is an object of ambition. The gentleman rides well, hunts and shoots well, and does everything well, and moreover he is a fancy man, and all the girls admire him. It is a great thing to conquer the hero, ain't it? and distance all her companions; and it is a proud thing for him to win the prize from higher, richer, and more distinguished men than himself. It is the triumph of the two sexes. They are allowed to be the handsomest couple ever married in that church. What an elegant man, what a lovely woman, what a splendid bride! they seem made for each other! how happy they both are, eyes can't show—words can't express it; they are the admiration of all.

If it is in England, they have two courses of pleasure before them—to retire to a country-house or to travel. The latter is a great bore, it exposes people, it is very annoying to be stared at. Solitude is the thing. They are all the world to each other, what do they desire beyond it—what more can they ask? They are quite happy. How long does it last? for they have no resources beyond excitement. Why, it lasts till the first juicy day comes, and that comes soon in England, and the bridegroom don't get up and look out of the window, on the cloudy sky, the falling rain, and the inundated meadows, and think to himself, "Well, this is too much bush, ain't it? I wonder what de Courcy and de Lacy and de Devilcourt are about to-day?" and then turn round with a yawn that nearly dislocates his jaw. Not a bit of it. He is the most happy man in England, and his wife is an angel, and he don't throw himself down on a sofa and wish they were back in town. It ain't natural he should; and she don't say, "Charles, you look dull, dear," nor he reply, "Well, to tell you the truth, it is devilish dull here, that's a fact," nor she say, "Why, you are very complimentary," nor he rejoin, "No, I don't mean it as a compliment, but to state it as a fact, what that Yankee, what is his name? Sam Slick, or Jim Crow, or Uncle Tom, or somebody or another calls an established fact!" Her eyes don't fill with tears at that, nor does she retire to her room and pout and have a good cry; why should she? she is so happy, and when the honied honeymoon is over, they will return to town, and all will be sunshine once more.

But there is one little thing both of them forget, which they find out when they do return. They have rather just a little overlooked or undervalued means, and they can't keep such an establishment as they desire, or equal to their former friends. They are both no longer single. He is not asked so often where he used to be, nor courted and flattered as he lately was; and she is a married woman now, and the beaus no longer cluster around her. Each one thinks the other the cause of this dreadful change. It was the imprudent and unfortunate match did it. Affection was sacrificed to pride, and that deity can't and won't help them, but takes pleasure in tormenting them. First comes coldness, and then estrangement; after that words ensue, that don't sound like the voice of true love, and they fish on their own hook, seek their own remedy, take their own road, and one or the other, perhaps both, find that road leads to the devil.

Then, there is the "ring-fence match," which happens everywhere. Two estates, or plantations, or farms adjoin, and there is an only son in one, and an only daughter in the other; and the world, and fathers, and mothers, think what a suitable match it would be, and what a grand thing a ring-fence is, and they cook it up in the most fashionable style, and the parties most concerned take no interest in it, and, having nothing particular to object to, marry. Well, strange to say, half the time it don't turn out bad, for as they don't expect much, they can't be much disappointed. They get after a while to love each other from habit; and finding qualities they didn't look for, end by getting amazin' fond of each other.

Next is a cash match. Well, that's a cheat. It begins in dissimulation, and ends in detection and punishment. I don't pity the parties; it serves them right. They meet without pleasure, and part without pain. The first time I went to Nova Scotia to vend clocks, I fell in with a German officer, who married a woman with a large fortune; she had as much as three hundred pounds. He could never speak of it without getting up, walking round the room, rubbing his hands, and smacking his lips. The greatest man he ever saw, his own prince, had only five hundred a-year, and his daughters had to select and buy the chickens, wipe the glasses, starch their own muslins, and see the fine soap made. One half of them were Protestants, and the other half Catholics, so as to bait the hooks for royal fish of either creed. They were poor and proud, but he hadn't a morsel of pride in him, for he had condescended to marry the daughter of a staff surgeon; and she warn't poor, for she had three hundred pounds. He couldn't think of nothin' but his fortune. He spent the most of his time in building castles, not in Germany, but in the air, for they cost nothing. He used to delight to go marooning1 for a day or two in Maitland settlement, where old soldiers are located, and measured every man he met by the gauge of his purse. "Dat poor teevil," he would say, "is wort twenty pounds, well, I am good for tree hundred, in gold and silver, and provinch notes, and de mortgage on Burkit Crowse's farm for twenty-five pounds ten shillings and eleven pence halfpenny—fifteen times as much as he is, pesides ten pounds interest." If he rode a horse, he calculated now many he could purchase; and he found they would make an everlastin' cahoot.2 If he sailed in a boat, he counted the flotilla he could buy; and at last he used to think, "Vell now, if my vrow would go to de depot (graveyard) vat is near to de church, Goten Himmel, mid my fortune I could marry any pody I liked, who had shtock of cattle, shtock of clothes, and shtock in de Bank, pesides farms and foresht lands, and dyke lands, and meadow lands, and vind-mill and vater-mill; but dere is no chanse she shall die, for I was dirty (thirty) when I married her, and she was dirty-too (thirty-two). Tree hundred pounds! Vell, it's a great shum; but vat shall I do mid it? If I leave him mid a lawyer, he say, Mr Von Sheik, you gub it to me. If I put him into de pank, den de ting shall break, and my forten go smash, squash—vot dey call von shilling in de pound. If I lock him up, den soldier steal and desert away, and conetry people shall hide him, and I will not find him no more. I shall mortgage it on a farm. I feel vary goot, vary pig, and vary rich. If I would not lose my bay and commission, I would kick de colonel, kiss his vife, and put my cane thro' his vinder. I don't care von damn for nopoty no more."

1 Marooning differs from pic-nicing in this—the former continues several days, the other lasts but one.

2 Cahoot is one of the new coinage, and in Mexico, means a band or cavalcade.

Well, his wife soon after that took a day and died; and he followed her to the grave. It was the first time he ever gave her precedence, for he was a disciplinarian; he knew the difference of "rank and file," and liked to give the word of command, "Rear rank, take open order—march!" Well, I condoled with him about his loss. Sais he: "Mr Shlick, I did'nt lose much by her: the soldier carry her per order, de pand play for noting, and de crape on de arm came from her ponnet."

"But the loss of your wife?" said I.

Well, that excited him, and he began to talk Hessian. "Jubes renovare dolorem," said he.

"I don't understand High Dutch," sais I, "when it's spoke so almighty fast."

"It's a ted language," said he.

I was a goin' to tell him I didn't know the dead had any language, but I bit in my breath.

"Mr Shlick," said he, "de vife is gone" (and clapping his waistcoat pocket with his hand, and grinning like a chissy cat), he added, "but de monish remain."

Yes, such fellows as Von Sheik don't call this ecclesiastical and civil contract, wedlock. They use a word that expresses their meaning better—matri-money. Well, even money ain't all gold, for there are two hundred and forty nasty, dirty, mulatto-looking copper pennies in a sovereign; and they have the affectation to call the filthy incrustation, if they happen to be ancient coin, verd-antique. Well, fine words are like fine dresses; one often covers ideas that ain't nice, and the other sometimes conceals garments that are a little the worse for wear. Ambition is just as poor a motive. It can only be gratified at the expense of a journey over a rough road, and he is a fool who travels it by a borrowed light, and generally finds he takes a rise out of himself.

Then there is a class like Von Sheik, "who feel so pig and so hugeaciously grandiferous," they look on a wife's fortune with contempt. The independent man scorns connection, station, and money. He has got all three, and more of each than is sufficient for a dozen men. He regards with utter indifference the opinion of the world, and its false notions of life. He can afford to please himself; he does not stoop if he marries beneath his own rank; for he is able to elevate any wife to his. He is a great admirer of beauty, which is confined to no circle and no region. The world is before him, and he will select a woman to gratify himself and not another. He has the right and ability to do so, and he fulfils his intention. Now an independent man is an immoveable one until he is proved, and a soldier is brave until the day of trial comes. He however is independent and brave enough to set the opinion of the world at defiance, and he marries. Until then society is passive, but when defied and disobeyed, it is active, bitter, and relentless.

The conflict is only commenced—marrying is merely firing the first gun. The battle has yet to be fought. If he can do without the world, the world can do without him, but, if he enters it again bride in hand, he must fight his way inch by inch, and step by step. She is slighted and he is stung to the quick. She is ridiculed and he is mortified to death. He is able to meet open resistance, but he is for ever in dread of an ambuscade. He sees a sneer in every smile, he fears an insult in every whisper. The unmeaning jest must have a hidden point for him. Politeness seems cold, even good-nature looks like the insolence of condescension. If his wife is addressed, it is manifestly to draw her out. If her society is not sought, it is equally plain there is a conspiracy to place her in Coventry. To defend her properly, and to put her on her guard, it is necessary he should know her weak points himself.

But, alas, in this painful investigation, his ears are wounded by false accents, his eyes by false motions and vulgar attitudes, he finds ignorance where ignorance is absurd, and knowledge where knowledge is shame, and what is worse, this distressing criticism has been forced upon him, and he has arrived at the conclusion that beauty without intelligence is the most valueless attribute of a woman. Alas, the world is an argus-eyed, many-headed, sleepless, heartless monster. The independent man, if he would retain his independence, must retire with his wife to his own home, and it would be a pity if in thinking of his defeat he was to ask himself, Was my pretty doll worth this terrible struggle after all? wouldn't it? Well, I pity that man, for at most he has only done a foolish thing, and he has not passed through life without being a public benefactor. He has held a reversed lamp. While he has walked in the dark himself, he has shed light on the path of others.

Ah, Sophy, when you read this, and I know you will, you'll say, What a dreadful picture you have drawn! it ain't like you—you are too good-natured, I can't believe you ever wrote so spiteful an article as this, and, woman like, make more complimentary remarks than I deserve. Well, it ain't like me, that's a fact, but it is like the world for all that. Well, then you will puzzle your little head whether after all there is any happiness in married life, won't you?

Well, I will answer that question. I believe there may be and are many, very many happy marriages; but then people must be as near as possible in the same station of life, their tempers compatible, their religious views the same, their notions of the world similar, and their union based on mutual affection, entire mutual confidence, and what is of the utmost consequence, the greatest possible mutual respect. Can you feel this towards me, Sophy, can you, dear? Then be quick—"pick up chips and call your father to dinner."



CHAPTER XXII. A DISH OF CLAMS.

Eating is the chief occupation at sea. It's the great topic as well as the great business of the day, especially in small sailing vessels like the "Black Hawk;" although anything is good enough for me when I can't get nothin' better, which is the true philosophy of life. If there is a good dish and a bad one set before me, I am something of a rat, I always choose the best.

There are few animals, as there are few men, that we can't learn something from. Now a rat, although I hate him like pyson, is a travelling gentleman, and accommodates himself to circumstances. He likes to visit people that are well off, and has a free and easy way about him, and don't require an introduction. He does not wait to be pressed to eat, but helps himself, and does justice to his host and his viands. When hungry, he will walk into the larder and take a lunch or a supper without requiring any waiting on. He is abstemious, or rather temperate in his drinking. Molasses and syrup he prefers to strong liquors, and he is a connoisseur in all things pertaining to the dessert. He is fond of ripe fruit, and dry or liquid preserves, the latter of which he eats with cream, for which purpose he forms a passage to the dairy. He prides himself on his knowledge of cheese, and will tell you in the twinkling of an eye which is the best in point of flavour or richness. Still he is not proud—he visits the poor when there is no gentlemen in the neighbourhood, and can accommodate himself to coarse fare and poor cookery. To see him in one of these hovels, you would think he never knew anything better, for he has a capital appetite, and can content himself with mere bread and water. He is a wise traveller, too. He is up to the ways of the world, and is aware of the disposition there is everywhere to entrap strangers. He knows now to take care of himself. If he is ever deceived, it is by treachery. He is seized sometimes at the hospitable board, and assassinated, or perhaps cruelly poisoned. But what skill can ensure safety, where confidence is so shamefully abused? He is a capital sailor, even bilge-water don't make him squeamish, and he is so good a judge of the sea-worthiness of a ship, that he leaves her at the first port if he finds she is leaky or weak. Few architects, on the other hand, have such a knowledge of the stability of a house as he has. He examines its foundations thoroughly, and if he perceives any, the slightest chance of its falling, he retreats in season, and leaves it to its fate. In short, he is a model traveller, and much may be learned from him.

But, then, who is perfect? He has some serious faults, from which we may also take instructive lessons, so as to avoid them. He runs all over a house, sits up late at night, and makes a devil of a noise. He is a nasty, cross-grained critter, and treacherous even to those who feed him best. He is very dirty in his habits, and spoils as much food as he eats. If a door ain't left open for him, he cuts right through it, and if by accident he is locked in, he won't wait to be let out, but hacks a passage ship through the floor. Not content with being entertained himself, he brings a whole retinue with him, and actilly eats a feller out of house and home, and gets as sassy as a free nigger. He gets into the servant-gall's bed-room sometimes at night, and nearly scares her to death under pretence he wants her candle; and sometimes jumps right on to the bed, and says she is handsome enough to eat, gives her a nip on the nose, sneezes on her with great contempt, and tells her she takes snuff. The fact is, he is hated everywhere he travels for his ugly behaviour as much as an Englishman, and that is a great deal more than sin is by half the world.

Now, being fond of natur, I try to take lessons from all created critters. I copy the rat's travelling knowledge and good points as near as possible, and strive to avoid the bad. I confine myself to the company apartments, and them that's allotted to me! Havin' no family, I take nobody with me a-visitin', keep good hours, and give as little trouble as possible; and as for goin' to the servant-gall's room, under pretence of wanting a candle, I'd scorn such an action. Now, as there is lots of good things in this vessel, rat like, I intend to have a good dinner.

"Sorrow, what have you got for us to-day?"

"There is the moose-meat, Massa."

"Let that hang over the stern, we shall get tired of it."

"Den, Massa, dar is de Jesuit-priest; by golly, Massa, dat is a funny name. Yah, yah, yah! dis here niggar was took in dat time. Dat ar a fac."

"Well, the turkey had better hang over too."

"Sposin' I git you fish dinner to-day, Massa?"

"What have you got?"

"Some tobacco-pipes, Massa, and some miller's thumbs." The rascal expected to take a rise out of me, but I was too wide awake for him. Cutler and the doctor, strange to say, fell into the trap, and required an explanation, which delighted Sorrow amazingly. Cutler, though an old fisherman on the coast, didn't know these fish at all. And the doctor had some difficulty in recognising them, under names he had never heard of before.

"Let us have them."

"Well, there is a fresh salmon, Massa?"

"Let us have steaks off of it. Do them as I told you, and take care the paper don't catch fire, and don't let the coals smoke 'em. Serve some lobster sauce with them, but use no butter, it spoils salmon. Let us have some hoss-radish with it."

"Hoss-radish! yah, yah, yah! Why, Massa, whar under the sun does you suppose now I could git hoss-radish, on board ob dis 'Black Hawk?' De sea broke into my garden de oder night, and kill ebery created ting in it. Lord a massy, Massa, you know dis is notin' but a fishin'-craft, salt pork and taters one day, and salt beef and taters next day, den twice laid for third day, and den begin agin. Why, dere neber has been no cooking on board of dis here fore-and-after till you yourself comed on board. Dey don't know nuffin'. Dey is as stupid and ignorant as coots."

Here his eye rested on the captain, when with the greatest coolness he gave me a wink, and went on without stopping.

"Scept massa captain," said he, "and he do know what is good, dat ar a fact, but he don't like to be ticular, so he takes same fare as men, and dey isn't jealous. 'Sorrow,' sais he, 'make no stinction for me. I is used to better tings, but I'll put up wid same fare as men.'"

"Sorrow," said the captain, "how can you tell such a barefaced falsehood. What an impudent liar you are, to talk so before my face. I never said anything of the kind to you."

"Why, Massa, now," said Sorrow, "dis here child is wide awake, that are a fac, and no mistake, and it's onpossible he is a dreamin'. What is it you did say den, when you ordered dinner?"

"I gave my orders and said nothing more."

"Exactly, Massa, I knowed I was right; dat is de identical ting I said. You was used to better tings; you made no stinctions, and ordered all the same for boaf of you. Hoss-radish, Massa Slick," said he, "I wish I had some, or could get some ashore for you, but hoss-radish ain't French, and dese folks nebber hear tell ob him."

"Make some."

"Oh, Massa, now you is makin' fun ob dis poor niggar."

"I am not. Take a turnip, scrape it the same as the radish, into fine shaving, mix it with fresh mustard, and a little pepper and vinegar, and you can't tell it from t'other."

"By golly, Massa, but dat are a wrinkle. Oh, how missus would a lubbed you. It was loud all down sout dere was a great deal ob 'finement in her. Nobody was good nuff for her dere; dey had no taste for cookin'. She was mighty high 'mong de ladies, in de instep, but not a mossel of pride to de niggars. Oh, you would a walked right into de cockles ob her heart. If you had tredded up to her, she would a married you, and gub you her tree plantations, and eight hundred niggar, and ebery ting, and order dinner for you herself. Oh, wouldn't she been done, gone stracted, when you showed her how she had shot her grandmother?1 wouldn't she? I'll be dad fetched if she wouldn't."

1 Shooting one's granny, or grandmother, means fancying you have discovered what was well known before.

"Have you any other fish?" I said.

"Oh yes, Massa; some grand fresh clams."

"Do you know how to cook them?"

"Massa," said he, putting his hands under his white apron, and, sailor-like, giving a hitch up to his trousers, preparatory to stretching himself straight; "Massa, dis here niggar is a rambitious niggar, and he kersaits he can take de shine out ob any niggar that ever played de juice harp in cookin' clams. Missus structed me husself. Massa, I shall nebber forget dat time, de longest day I live. She sent for me, she did, and I went in, and she was lyin' on de sofa, lookin' pale as de inside of parsimmon seed, for de wedder was brilin' hot.

"'Sorrow,' said she.

"'Yes, Missus,' said I.

"'Put the pillar under my head. Dat is right,' said she; 'tank you, Sorrow.'

"Oh, Massa, how different she was from abulitinists to Boston. She always said Tankee, for ebery ting. Now ablutinists say, 'Hand me dat piller, you darned rascal, and den make yourself skase, you is as black as de debbil's hind leg.' And den she say—

"'Trow dat scarf over my ankles, to keep de bominable flies off. Tankee, Sorrow; you is far more handier dan Aunt Dolly is. Dat are niggar is so rumbustious, she jerks my close so, sometimes I tink in my soul she will pull 'em off.' Den she shut her eye, and she gabe a cold shiver all ober.

"'Sorrow,' sais she, 'I am goin' to take a long, bery long journey, to de far off counteree.'

"'Oh dear me! Missus,' says I; 'Oh Lord; Missus, you ain't a goin' to die, is you?' and I fell down on my knees, and kissed her hand, and said, 'Oh, Missus; don't die, please Missus. What will become oh dis niggar if you do? If de Lord in his goodness take you away, let me go wid you, Missus;' and I was so sorry I boohooed right out, and groaned and wipy eye like courtin' amost.

"'Why, Uncle Sorrow,' said she, 'I isn't a goin' to die; what makes you tink dat? Stand up: I do railly believe you do lub your missus. Go to dat closet, and pour yourself out a glass of whiskey;' and I goes to de closet—just dis way—and dere stood de bottle and a glass, as dis here one do, and I helpt myself dis fashen.

"'What made you tink I was a goin' for to die?' said she, 'do I look so ill?'

"'No, Missus; but dat is de way de Boston preacher dat staid here last week spoke to me,—de long-legged, sour face, Yankee villain. He is uglier and yallerer dan Aunt Phillissy Anne's crooked-necked squashes. I don't want to see no more ob such fellers pysonin' de minds ob de niggars here.'

"Says he, 'My man.'

"'I isn't a man,' sais I, 'I is only a niggar.'

"'Poor, ignorant wretch,' said he.

"'Massa,' sais I, 'you has waked up de wrong passenger dis present time. I isn't poor, I ab plenty to eat, and plenty to drink, and two great trong wenches to help me cook, and plenty of fine frill shirt, longin' to my old massa, and bran new hat, and when I wants money I asks missus, and she gives it to me, and I ab white oberseer to shoot game for me. When I wants wild ducks or wenson, all I got to do is to say to dat Yankee oberseer, 'Missus and I want some deer or some canvasback, I spect you had better go look for some, Massa Buccra.' No, no, Massa, I ain't so ignorant as to let any man come over me to make seed-corn out of me. If you want to see wretches, go to James Town, and see de poor white critters dat ab to do all dere own work deyselves, cause dey is so poor, dey ab no niggars to do it for 'em.'

"Sais he, 'Hab you ebber tort ob dat long journey dat is afore you? to dat far off counteree where you will be mancipated and free, where de weary hab no rest, and de wicked hab no labor?'

"'Down to Boston I spose, Massa,' sais I, 'mong dem pententionists and ablutionists, Massa; ablution is a mean, nasty, dirty ting, and don't suit niggars what hab good missus like me, and I won't take dat journey, and I hate dat cold counteree, and I want nottin' to do wid mansipationists.'

"'It ain't dat, said he, 'it's up above.'

"'What,' sais I, 'up dere in de mountains? What onder de sun should I go dere for to be froze to defth, or to be voured by wild beasts? Massa, I won't go nowhere widout dear missus goes.'

"'I mean Heaben,' he said, 'where all are free and all equal; where joy is, and sorrow enters not.'

"'What,' sais I, 'Joy in Heaben? I don't believe one word of it. Joy was de greatest tief on all dese tree plantations of missus; he stole more chicken, and corn, and backey, dan his great bull neck was worth, and when he ran off, missus wouldn't let no one look for him. Joy in Heaben, eh; and Sorrow nebber go dere! Well, I clare now! Yah, yah, yah, Massa, you is foolin' dis here niggar now, I know you is when you say Joy is dead, and gone to Heaben, and dis child is shot out for ebber. Massa,' sais I, 'me and missus don't low ablution talk here, on no account whatsomever, de only larnin' we lows of is whippin' fellows who tice niggars to rections, and de slaves of dis plantation will larn you as sure as you is bawn, for dey lub missus dearly. You had better kummence de long journey usself. Sallust, bring out dis gentleman hoss; and Plutarch, go fetch de saddle-bag down.'

"I led his hoss by where de dogs was, and, sais I, 'Massa, I can't help larfin' no how I can fix it, at dat ar story you told me about dat young rascal Joy. Dat story do smell rader tall, dat are a fac; yah, yah, yah,' and I fell down and rolled ober and ober on de grass, and it's lucky I did, for as I dodged he fetched a back-handed blow at me wid his huntin' whip, that would a cut my head off if it had tooked me round my neck.

"My missus larfed right out like any ting, tho' it was so hot, and when missus larf I always know she is good-natured.

"'Sorrow,' said missus, 'I am afraid you is more rogue dan fool.'

"'Missus,' sais I, 'I nebber stole the vally of a pin's head off ob dis plantation, I scorn to do such a nasty, dirty, mean action, and you so kind as to gib me more nor I want, and you knows dat, Missus; you knows it, oderwise you wouldn't send me to de bank, instead ob white oberseer, Mr Succatash, for six, seben, or eight hundred dollars at a time. But, dere is too much stealin' going on here, and you and I, Missus, must be more ticklar. You is too dulgent altogether.'

"'I didn't mean that, Sorrow,' she said, 'I don't mean stealin'.

"'Well, Missus, I's glad to hear dat, if you will let me ab permission den, I will drink you good helf.'

"'Why didn't you do it half an hour ago?' she said.

"'Missus,' sais I, 'I was so busy talkin', and so scared about your helf, and dere was no hurry,' and I stept near to her side, where she could see me, and I turned de bottle up, and advanced dis way, for it hadn't no more dan what old Cloe's thimble would hold, jist like dis bottle.

"'Why,' said she (and she smiled, and I knowed she was good-natured), 'dere is nottin' dere, see if dere isn't some in de oder bottle,' and I went back and set it down, and took it up to her, and poured it out dis way."

"Slick," said Cutler, "I am astonished at you, you are encouraging that black rascal in drinking, and allowing him to make a beast of himself," and he went on deck to attend to his duty, saying as he shut the door, "That fellow will prate all day if you allow him." Sorrow followed him with a very peculiar expression of eye as he retired.

"Massa Captain," said he, "as sure as de world, is an ablutionist, dat is just de way dey talk. Dey call us coloured breddren when they tice us off from home, and den dey call us black rascals and beasts. I wish I was to home agin, Yankees treat dere coloured breddren like dogs, dat is a fact; but he is excellent man, Massa Captain, bery good man, and though I don't believe it's a possible ting Joy is in heaben, I is certain de captain, when de Lord be good nuff to take him, will go dere."

"The captain is right," said I, "Sorrow, put down that bottle; you have had more than enough already—put it down;" but he had no idea of obeying, and held on to it.

"If you don't put that down, Sorrow," I said, "I will break it over your head."

"Oh! Massa," said he, "dat would be a sin to waste dis oloriferous rum dat way; just let me drink it first, and den I will stand, and you may break de bottle on my head; it can't hurt niggar's head, only cut a little wool."

"Come, no more of this nonsense," I said, "put it down;" and seeing me in earnest, he did so.

"Now," sais I, "tell us how you are going to cook the clams."

"Oh! Massa," said he, "do let me finish de story about de way I larned it.

"'Sorrow,' said missus, 'I am going to take a long journey all de way to Boston, and de wedder is so cold, and what is wus, de people is so cold, it makes me shudder,' and she shivered like cold ague fit, and I was afraid she would unjoint de sofa.

"'Don't lay too close to them, Missus,' sais I.

"'What,' said she, and she raised herself up off ob de pillar, and she larfed, and rolled ober and ober, and tosticated about almost in a conniption fit, 'you old goose,' said she, 'you onaccountable fool,' and den she larfed and rolled ober agin, I tought she would a tumbled off on de floor, 'do go way; you is too foolish to talk to, but turn my pillar again. Sorrow,' said she, 'is I showin' of my ankles,' said she, 'rollin' about so like mad?'

"'Little bit,' sais I, 'Missus.'

"'Den put dat scarf ober my feet agin. What on earth does you mean, Sorrow, bout not sleepin' too close to de Yankees?'

"'Missus,' sais I, 'does you recollect de day when Zeno was drownded off de raft? Well, dat day Plutarch was lowed to visit next plantation, and dey bring him home mazin' drunk—stupid as owl, his mout open and he couldn't speak, and his eye open and he couldn't see. Well, as you don't low niggar to be flogged, Aunt Phillissy Ann and I lay our heads together, and we tought we'd punish him; so we ondressed him, and put him into same bed wid poor Zeno, and when he woke up in de mornin' he was most frighten to def, and had de cold chills on him, and his eye stared out ob his head, and his teeth chattered like monkeys. He was so frighten, we had to burn lights for a week—he tought after dat he saw Zeno in bed wid him all de time. It's werry dangerous, Missus, to sleep near cold people like Yankees and dead niggars.'

"'Sorrow, you is a knave I believe,' she said.

"'Knave, knave, Missus,' I sais, 'I don't know dat word.'

"'Sorrow,' said she, 'I is a goin' to take you wid me.'

"'Tank you, Missus,' said I, 'oh! bless your heart, Missus.'"

"Sorrow," said I, sternly, "do you ever intend to tell us how you are going to cook them clams, or do you mean to chat all day?"

"Jist in one minute, Massa, I is jist comin' to it," said he.

"'Now,' sais missus, 'Sorrow, it's werry genteel to travel wid one's own cook; but it is werry ongenteel when de cook can't do nuffin' super-superior; for bad cooks is plenty eberywhere widout travellin' wid 'em. It brings disgrace.'

"'Exactly, Missus,' sais I, 'when you and me was up to de president's plantation, his cook was makin' plum pudden, he was. Now how in natur does you rimagine he did it? why, Missus, he actilly made it wid flour, de stupid tick-headed fool, instead ob de crumbs ob a six cent stale loaf, he did; and he nebber 'pared de gredients de day afore, as he had aughten to do. It was nuffin' but stick jaw—jist fit to feed turkeys and little niggeroons wid. Did you ebber hear de likes ob dat in all your bawn days, Missus; but den, Marm, de general was a berry poor cook hisself you know, and it stand to argument ob reason, where massa or missus don't know nuffin', de sarvant can't neither. Dat is what all de gentlemen and ladies says dat wisit here, Marm: 'What a lubly beautiful woman Miss Lunn is,' dey say, 'dere is so much 'finement in her, and her table is de best in all Meriky.'

"'What a fool you is, Uncle Sorrow,' she say, and den she larf again; and when missus larf den I know she was pleased. 'Well,' sais she, 'now mind you keep all your secrets to yourself when travellin', and keep your eyes open wide, and see eberyting and say nuffin'.'

"'Missus,' sais I, 'I will be wide awake; you may pend on me—eyes as big as two dog-wood blossoms, and ears open like mackarel.'

"'What you got for dinner to-day?' she say—jist as you say, Massa. Well, I tell her all ober, as I tells you, numeratin' all I had. Den she picked out what she wanted, and mong dem I recklect was clams.'"

"Now tell us how you cooked the clams," I said; "what's the use of standing chattering all day there like a monkey?"

"Dat, Massa, now is jist what I is goin' to do dis blessid minit. 'Missus,' sais I, 'talkin' of clams, minds me of chickens.'

"'What on airth do you mean,' sais she, 'you blockhead; it might as well mind you of tunder.'

"'Well, Missus,' sais I, 'now sometimes one ting does mind me of anoder ting dat way; I nebber sees you, Missus, but what you mind me ob de beautiful white lily, and dat agin ob de white rose dat hab de lubly color on his cheek.'

"'Do go away, and don't talk nonsense,' she said, larfing; and when she larfed den I know she was pleased.

"'So clams mind me of chickens.'

"'And whiskey,' she said.

"'Well, it do, Missus; dat are a fac;' and I helped myself agin dis way."

"Sorrow," said I, "this is too bad; go forward now and cut this foolery short. You will be too drunk to cook the dinner if you go on that way."

"Massa," said he, "dis child nebber was drunk in his life; but he is frose most to deaf wid de wretched fogs (dat give people here 'blue noses'), an de field ice, and raw winds: I is as cold as if I slept wid a dead niggar or a Yankee. Yah, yah, yah.

"'Well, Missus,' sais I, 'dem clams do mind me ob chickens. Now, Missus, will you skuse me if I git you the receipt Miss Phillis and I ab cyphered out, how to presarve chickens?'

"'Yes,' she said, 'I will. Let me hear it. Dat is sumthen new.'

"'Well, Missus, you know how you and I is robbed by our niggars like so many minks. Now, Missus, sposin' you and I pass a law dat all fat poultry is to be brought to me to buy, and den we keep our fat poultry locked up; and if dey steal de lean fowls, and we buy 'em, we saves de fattenin' of 'em, and gibs no more arter all dan de vally of food and tendin', which is all dey gits now, for dere fowls is always de best fed in course; and when we ab more nor we wants for you and me, den I take 'em to market and sell 'em; and if dey will steal 'em arter dat, Missus, we must try ticklin'; dere is nuffin' like it. It makes de down fly like a feather-bed. It makes niggars wery sarcy to see white tief punished tree times as much as dey is; dat are a fac, Missus. A poor white man can't work, and in course he steal. Well, his time bein' no airthly use, dey gib him six month pensiontary; and niggar, who can airn a dollar or may be 100 cents a day, only one month. I spise a poor white man as I do a skunk. Dey is a cuss to de country; and it's berry hard for you and me to pay rates to support 'em: our rates last year was bominable. Let us pass dis law, Missus, and fowl stealin' is done—de ting is dead.'

"'Well, you may try it for six months,' she say, 'only no whippin'. We must find some oder punishment,' she said.

"'I ab it,' sais I, 'Missus! Oh Lord a massy, Missus! oh dear missus! I got an inwention as bright as bran new pewter button. I'll shave de head of a tief close and smooth. Dat will keep his head warm in de sun, and cool at night; do him good. He can't go courtin' den, when he ab 'no wool whar de wool ought to grow,' and spile his 'frolicken, and all de niggaroons make game ob him. It do more good praps to tickle fancy ob niggars dan to tickle dere hide. I make him go to church reglar den to show hisself and his bald pate. Yah, yah, yah!'"

"Come, Sorrow," I said, "I am tired of all this foolery; either tell me how you propose to cook the clams, or substitute something else in their place."

"Well, Massa," he said, "I will; but railly now when I gits talkin' bout my dear ole missus, pears to me as if my tongue would run for ebber. Dis is de last voyage I ebber make in a fishin' craft. I is used to de first society, and always moved round wid ladies and gentlemen what had 'finement in 'em. Well, Massa, now I comes to de clams. First of all, you must dig de clams. Now dere is great art in diggin' clams.

"Where you see little hole like worm hole dere is de clam. He breathe up tru dat, and suck in his drink like sherry-cobbler through a straw. Whar dere is no little air holes, dere is no clam, dat are a fac. Now, Massa, can you tell who is de most knowin' clam-digger in de worl? De gull is, Massa; and he eat his clam raw, as some folks who don't know nuffin' bout cookin' eat oysters. He take up de clam ebber so far in de air, and let him fall right on de rock, which break shell for him, and down he goes and pounces on him like a duck on a June bug. Sometimes clam catch him by de toe though, and hold on like grim death to a dead niggar, and away goes bird screamin' and yellin', and clam sticking to him like burr to a hosses tail. Oh, geehillikin, what fun it is. And all de oder gulls larf at him like any ting; dat comes o' seezin' him by de mout instead ob de scruff ob de neck.

"Well, when you git clam nuff, den you must wash 'em, and dat is more trouble dan dey is worth; for dey is werry gritty naturally, like buckwheat dat is trashed in de field—takes two or tree waters, and salt is better dan fresh, cause you see fresh water make him sick. Well, now, Massa, de question is, what will you ab; clam soup, clam sweetbread, clam pie, clam fritter, or bake clam?"

"Which do you tink best, Sorrow?" sais I.

"Well, Massa, dey is all good in dere way; missus used to fection baked clams mighty well, but we can't do dem so tip-top at sea; clam sweetbread, she said, was better den what is made ob oyster; and as to clam soup, dat pends on de cook. Now, Massa, when missus and me went to wisit de president's plantation, I see his cook, Mr Sallust, didn't know nuffin' bout parin' de soup. What you tink he did, Massa? stead ob poundin' de clams in a mortar fust, he jist cut 'em in quarters and puts 'em in dat way. I nebber see such ignorance since I was raised. He made de soup ob water, and actilly put some salt in it; when it was sarved up—it was rediculous disgraceful—he left dem pieces in de tureen, and dey was like leather. Missus said to me:

"'Sorrow,' sais she, 'I shall starve here; dem military men know nuffin' but bout hosses, dogs, and wine; but dey ain't delicate no way in dere tastes, and yet to hear 'em talk you'd be most afeered to offer 'em anyting, you'd tink dey was de debbel and all.'"

"Did she use those words, Sorrow?"

"Well, not zactly," he said, scratching his head, "dey was dicksionary words and werry fine, for she had great 'finement bout her; but dat was de meanin' ob 'em.

"'Now, Sorrow,' she said, 'tell me de trut, wasn't dat soup now made of water?'

"'Yes, Missus, it was,' said I, 'I seed it wid my own eyes.'

"'I taut so,' she said, 'why dat cook ain't fit to tend a bear trap, and bait it wid sheep's innerds.'"

"Did she use those words?"

"Why laws a massy, Massa! I can't swear to de identical words; how can I? but as I was a sayin', dere was 'finement in 'em, werry long, werry crooked, and werry pretty, but dat was all de sense ob 'em.

"'Now, Sorrow,' said she, 'he ought to ab used milk; all fish soups ought to be made o' milk, and den tickened wid flour.'

"'Why in course, Missus,' sais I, 'dat is de way you and me always likes it.'

"'It has made me quite ill,' said she.

"'So it ab nearly killed me, Missus,' sais I, puttin' my hand on my stomach, 'I ab such a pain down here, I tink sometimes I shall die.'

"'Well, you look ill, Uncle Sorrow,' she said, and she went to her dressin'-case, and took a little small bottle (covered ober wid printed words), 'Take some o' dis,' said she, and she poured me out bout dis much (filling his glass again), 'take dat, it will do you good.'

"'Is it berry bad to swaller,' sais I, 'Missus? I is most afeard it will spile the 'finement of my taste.'

"'Try it,' sais she, and I shut to my eyes, and made awful long face, and swallowed it jist dis way.

"'By golly,' sais I, 'Missus, but dat is grand. What is dat?'

"'Clove, water,' said she.

"'Oh, Missus,' sais I, 'dat is plaguy trong water, dat are a fac, and bery nice flavoured. I wish in my heart we had a nice spring ob it to home. Wouldn't it be grand, for dis is a bery thirsty niggar, dat are a fac. Clam pie, Massa, is first chop, my missus ambitioned it some punkins.'

"Well, how do you make it?"

"Dere is seberal ways, Massa. Sometime we used one way and sometime anoder. I do believe missus could do it fifty ways."

"Fifty ways!" said I, "now Sorrow, how can you lie that way? I shall begin to think at last you never had a mistress at all."

"Fifty ways! Well, Massa, goodness gracious me! You isn't goin' to tie me down to swear to figures now, any more nor identical words, is you? I ab no manner o' doubt she could fifty ways, but she only used eight or ten ways which she said was de best. First dere is de clam bake."

"Well, I know that," sais I, "go on to the clam pie."

"What is it?" said the doctor, "for I should like to know how they are prepared."

"This," said I, "is the most approved mode. A cavity is dug in the earth, about eighteen inches deep, which is lined with round stones. On this a fire is made; and when the stones are sufficiently heated, a bushel or more of clams (according to the number of persons who are to partake of the feast) is thrown upon them. On this is put a layer of rock-weed, gathered from the beach, and over this a second layer of sea-weed. This prevents the escape of the steam, and preserves the sweetness of the fish. Clams baked in this manner are preferred to those cooked in the usual way in the kitchen. On one occasion, that of a grand political mass-meeting in favour of General Harrison on the 4th of July, 1840, nearly 10,000 persons assembled in Rhode Island, for whom a clambake and chowder was prepared. This was probably the greatest feast of the kind that ever took place in New England."

"Zactly," said Sorrow, "den dere is anoder way."

"I won't hear it," said I, "stiver now, make the pie any way you like."

"Massa," said he, "eber since poor missus died from eaten hogs wid dere heads on, I feel kinder faint when I sees clams, I hab neber swallowed one since, and neber will. De parfume gits into my stomach, as it did when de General's cook used water instead of milk, in his soup. I don't spose you ab any clove-water, but if you will let me take jist a tumblerfull ob dis, I tink it would make me survive a little," and without waiting for leave he helped himself to a bumper. "Now, Massa," he said, "I show you what cookin' is, I know," and making a scrape of his leg, he left the cabin.

"Doctor," said I, "I am glad you have seen this specimen of a southern negro. He is a fair sample of a servant in the houses of our great planters. Cheerful, grateful, and contented, they are better off and happier than any portion of the same race I have met with in any part of the world. They have a quick perception of humour, a sort of instinctive knowledge of character, and great cunning, but their reasoning powers are very limited. Their appetites are gross, and their constitutional indolence such that they prefer enduring any suffering and privation to regular habits of industry.

"Slavery in the abstract is a thing that nobody approves of, or attempts to justify. We all consider it an evil—but unhappily it was entailed upon us by our forefathers, and has now grown to be one of such magnitude that it is difficult to know now to deal with it—and this difficulty is much increased by the irritation which has grown out of the unskilful and unjustifiable conduct of abolitionists. The grossest exaggerations have been circulated as to the conduct and treatment of our slaves, by persons who either did not know what they were talking about, or who have wilfully perverted facts. The devil we have painted black, and the negro received the same colour from the hand of his Maker. It only remained to represent the planter as of a deeper dye than either. This picture however wanted effect, and latterly lights and shades have been judiciously introduced, by mingling with these groups eastern abolitionists, white overseers, and English noblemen, and ladies of rank. It made a clever caricature—had a great run—has been superseded by other follies and extravagancies, and is now nearly forgotten. The social evil still remains, and ever will, while ignorant zeal, blind bigotry, hypocrisy, and politics, demand to have the exclusive treatment of it. The planter has rights as well as the slave, and the claims of both must be well weighed and considered before any dispassionate judgment can be formed.

"In the mean time invective and misrepresentation, by irritating the public, disqualify it for the deliberate exercise of its functions. If the slaves have to mourn over the want of freedom, the planters may lament the want of truth in their opponents; and it must be admitted that they have submitted to the atrocious calumnies that have been so liberally heaped upon them of late years, with a contempt that is the best refutation of falsehood, or a meekness and forbearance that contrast very favourably with the violence and fury of their adversaries."

My object however, Squire, is not to write a lecture on emancipation, but to give you a receipt for cooking "a dish of clams."



CHAPTER XXIII. THE DEVIL'S HOLE; OR, FISH AND FLESH.

"Sorrow," said the doctor, "seems to me to consider women, from the way he flatters his mistress, as if she was not unlike the grupers at Bermuda. There is a natural fish-pond there near Flats Village, in which there is a great lot of these critters, which are about the size of the cod. They will rise to the surface, and approach the bank for you to tickle their sides, which seems to afford them particular delight."

"It is what you would call, I suppose, practical soft sawdering."

"But it is an operation of which the rest are exceedingly jealous, and while you are thus amusing one of them, you must take care others do not feel offended, and make a dash at your fingers. With true feminine jealousy too they change colour when excited, for envy seems to pervade all animate nature."

"It's called the Devil's Hole where they are, ain't it?" sais I.

"Yes," said he, "it is, and it is situated not far from Moore's favourite tree, under whose shade he used to recline while writing his poetry, at a time when his deputy was equally idle, and instead of keeping his accounts, kept his money. Bermuda is a fatal place to poets. Moore lost his purse there, and Waller his favourite ring; the latter has been recently found, the former was never recovered. In one thing these two celebrated authors greatly resembled each other, they both fawned and flattered on the great."

"Yes," said Cutler, "and both have met their reward. Everybody regrets that anything was known of either, but his poetry—"

"Well," sais I, "I am glad I am not an Englishman, or as true as the world, a chap like Lord John Russell would ruin me for ever. I am not a poet, and can't write poetry, but I am a Clockmaker, and write common sense. Now a biographer like that man, that knows as little of one as he does of the other, would ruin me for everlastingly. It ain't pleasant to have such a burr as that stick on to your tail, especially if you have no comb to get it off, is it? A politician is like a bee; he travels a zig-zag course every way, turnin' first to the right and then to the left, now makin' a dive at the wild honeysuckle, and then at the sweet briar; now at the buck-wheat blossom, and then at the rose; he is here and there and everywhere; you don't know where the plague to find him; he courts all and is constant to none. But when his point is gained and he has wooed and deceived all, attained his object, and his bag is filled, he then shows plain enough what he was after all the time. He returns as straight as a chalk line, or as we say, as the crow flies to his home, and neither looks to the right or to the left, or knows or cares for any of them who contributed to his success. His object is to enrich himself and make a family name. A politician therefore is the last man in the world to write a biography. Having a kind of sneakin' regard for a winding, wavy way himself, he sees more beauty in the in and out line of a Varginny fence, than the stiff straight formal post and rail one of New England. As long as a partizan critter is a thorn in the flesh of the adverse party, he don't care whether he is Jew or Gentile. He overlooks little peccadilloes, as he calls the worst stories, and thinks everybody else will be just as indulgent as himself. He uses romanists, dissenters, republicans, and evangelicals at his own great log-rolling1 frollicks, and rolls for them in return.

1 Log-rolling.—In the lumber regions of Maine, it is customary for men of different logging camps to appoint days for helping each other in rolling the logs to the river after they are felled and trimmed, this rolling being about the hardest work incident to the business. Thus the men of three or four different camps will unite, say on Monday, to roll for camp No. 1, on Tuesday, for camp No. 2, on Wednesday, for camp No. 3, and so on through the whole number of camps within convenient distance of each other. The term has been adopted in legislation to signify a little system of mutual co-operation. For instance, a member from St Lawrence has a pet bill for a plank-road which he wants pushed through. He accordingly makes a bargain with a member from Onondaga, who is coaxing along a charter for a bank, by which St Lawrence agrees to vote for Onondaga's bank if Onondaga will vote St Lawrence's plank-road. This is legislative log-rolling, and there is abundance of it carried on at Albany every winter. Generally speaking, the subject of the log-rolling is some merely local project, interesting only to the people of a certain district; but sometimes there is party log-rolling, where the Whigs, for instance, will come to an understanding with the Democrats that the former shall not oppose a certain democratic measure merely on party grounds, provided the Democrats will be equally tender to some Whig measure in return.—J. INMAN.

"Who the plague hain't done something, said something, or thought something he is sorry for, and prays may be forgot and forgiven; big brag as I am, I know I can't say I haven't over and over again offended. Well, if it's the part of a friend to go and rake all these things up, and expose 'em to the public, and if it's agreeable to my wife, sposin' I had one, to have 'em published because the stained paper will sell, all I can sais is, I wish he had shown his regard for me by running away with my wife and letting me alone. It's astonishing how many friends Moore's disloyalty made him. A seditious song or a treasonable speech finds more favour with some people in the old country than building a church, that's a fact. Howsomever, I think I am safe from him, for first, I am a Yankee, secondly, I ain't married, thirdly, I am a Clockmaker, and fourthly, my biography is written by myself in my book, fifthly, I write no letters I can help, and never answer one except on business."

"This is a hint father gave me: 'Sam,' said he, 'never talk to a woman, for others may hear you; only whisper to her, and never write to her, or your own letters may rise up in judgment against you some day or another. Many a man afore now has had reason to wish he had never seen a pen in his life;' so I ain't afeard therefore that he can write himself up or me down, and make me look skuywoniky, no how he can fix it. If he does, we will declare war again England, and blow the little darned thing out of the map of Europe; for it ain't much bigger than the little island Cronstadt is built on after all, is it? It's just a little dot and nothin' more, dad fetch my buttons if it is.

"But to go back to the grupers and the devil's hole; I have been there myself and seen it, Doctor," sais I, "but there is other fish besides these in it; there is the parrot-fish, and they are like the feminine gender too; if the grupers are fond of being tickled, parrots are fond of hearing their own voices. Then there is the angel-fish, they have fins like wings of a pale blue colour; but they must be fallen angels to be in such a place as that hole too, musn't they? and yet they are handsome even now. Gracious! what must they have been before the fall! and how many humans has beauty caused to fall, Doctor, hasn't it? and how many there are that the sound of that old song, 'My face is my fortune, Sir, she said,' would make their hearts swell till they would almost burst.

"Well, then there is another fish there, and those Mudians sartainly must have a good deal of fun in them, to make such a capital and comical assortment of queer ones for that pond. There is the lawyer-fish—can anything under the sun be more appropriate than the devil's hole for a lawyer? What a nice place for him to hang out his shingle in, ain't it? it's no wonder his old friend the landlord finds him an office in it—rent free, is it? What mischief he must brood there; bringing actions of slander against the foolish parrot-fish that will let their tongues run, ticklin' the grupers, and while they are smirking and smiling, devour their food, and prosecute the fallen angels for violating the Maine law and disturbing the peace. The devil's hole, like Westminster Hall, is a dangerous place for a fellow of substance to get into, I can tell you; the way they fleece him is a caution to sinners.

"My dog fell into that fish-pond, and they nearly fixed his flint before I got him out, I tell you; his coat was almost stripped off when I rescued him."

"Why, Mr Slick," said the doctor, "what in the world took you to Bermuda?"

"Why," sais I, "I had heard a great deal about it. It is a beautiful spot and very healthy. It is all that has ever been said or sung of it, and more too, and that's sayin' a great deal, for most celebrated places disappoint you; you expect too much, and few crack parts of the world come up to the idea you form of them beforehand. Well, I went down there to see if there was anything to be done in the way of business, but it was too small a field for me, although I made a spec that paid me very well too. There is a passage through the reefs there, and it's not every pilot knows it, but there was a manuscript chart of it made by a captain of a tradin' vessel. When he died his widow offered it to the government, but they hummed and hawed about the price, and was for gitting it for half nothing, as they always do. So what does I do, but just steps in and buys it, for in war time it is of the greatest importance to know this passage, and I sold it to our navy-board, and I think if ever we are at loggerheads with the British, we shall astonish the weak nerves of the folks at the summer islands some fine day.

"I had a charming visit. There are some magnificent caves there, and in that climate they are grand places, I do assure you. I never saw anything so beautiful. The ceiling is covered with splendiferous spary-like icicles, or chandelier drops. What do you call that word, Doctor?"

"Stalactites."

"Exactly, that's it, glorious stalactites reaching to the bottom and forming fluted pillars. In one of those caves where the water runs, the admiral floored over the bottom and gave a ball in it, and it was the most Arabian Night's entertainment kind of thing that I ever saw. It looked like a diamond hall, and didn't it show off the Mudian galls to advantage, lick! I guess it did, for they are the handsomest Creoles in all creation. There is more substance in 'em than in the tropical ladies. I don't mean worldly (though that ain't to be sneered at, neither, by them that ain't got none themselves). When the people used to build small clippers there for the West Indian trade, cedar was very valuable, and a gall's fortune was reckoned, not by pounds, but by so many cedars. Now it is banana trees. But dear me, somehow or another we have drifted away down to Bermuda, we must stretch back again to the Nova Scotian coast east of Chesencook, or, like Jerry Boudrot, we shall be out of sight of land, and lost at sea."

On going up on the deck, my attention was naturally attracted to my new purchase, the Canadian horse.

"To my mind," said the doctor, "Jerry's knee action does not merit the extravagant praise you bestowed upon it. It is not high enough to please me."

"There you are wrong," sais I, "that's the mistake most people make. It is not the height of the action, but the nature of it, that is to be regarded. A high-stepping horse pleases the eye more than the judgment. He seems to go faster than he does. There is not only power wasted in it, but it injures the foot. My idea is this; you may compare a man to a man, and a woman to a woman, for the two, including young and old, make the world. You see more of them and know more about 'em than horses, for you have your own structure to examine and compare them by, and can talk to them, and if they are of the feminine gender, hear their own account of themselves. They can speak, for they were not behind the door when tongues were given out, I can tell you. The range of your experience is larger, for you are always with them, but how few hosses does a man own in his life. How few he examines, and how little he knows about other folk's beasts. They don't live with you, you only see them when you mount, drive, or visit the stable. They have separate houses of their own, and pretty buildings they are too in general, containin' about as much space for sleepin' as a berth on board a ship, and about as much ventilation too, and the poor critters get about as little exercise as passengers, and are just about worth as much as they are when they land for a day's hard tramp. Poor critters, they have to be on their taps most all the time.1 The Arab and the Canadian have the best horses, not only because they have the best breed, but because one has no stalls, and t'other has no stable treatment.

1 On their feet.

"Now in judging of a horse's action, I compare him not with other horses, but with animals of a different species. Did you ever know a fox stumble, or a cat make a false step? I guess not; but haven't you seen a bear when chased and tired go head over heels? A dog in a general way is a sure-footed critter, but he trips now and then, and if he was as big as a horse, would throw his rider sometimes. Now then I look to these animals, and I find there are two actions to be combined, the knee and the foot action. The fox and the cat bend the knee easy and supply, but don't arch 'em, and though they go near the ground, they don't trip. I take that then as a sort of standard. I like my beast, especially if he is for the saddle, to be said to trot like a fox. Now, if he lifts too high, you see, he describes half a circle, and don't go ahead as he ought, and then he pounds his frog into a sort of mortar at every step, for the horny shell of a foot is just like one. Well then, if he sends his fore leg away out in front, and his hind leg away out behind like a hen scratchin' gravel, he moves more like an ox than anything else, and hainte sufficient power to fetch them home quick enough for fast movement. Then the foot action is a great point, I looked at this critter's tracks on the pasture and asked myself, Does he cut turf, or squash it flat? If he cuts it as a gardener does weeds with his spade, then good bye, Mr Jerry, you won't suit me, it's very well to dance on your toes, but it don't convene to travel on 'em, or you're apt to make somersets.

"Now, a neck is a valuable thing. We have two legs, two eyes, two hands, two ears, two nostrils, and so on, but we have only one neck, which makes it so easy to hang a fellow, or to break it by a chuck from your saddle; and besides, we can't mend it, as we do a leg or an arm. When it's broken it's done for; and what use is it if it's insured? The money don't go to you, but to your heirs, and half the time they wouldn't cry, except for decency sake, if you did break it. Indeed, I knew a great man once, who got his neck broke, and all his friends said, for his own reputation, it was a pity he hadn't broke it ten years sooner. The Lord save me from such friends, I say. Fact is, a broken neck is only a nine days' wonder after all, and is soon forgotten.

"Now, the fox has the right knee action, and the leg is 'thar.' In the real knee movement, there is a peculiar spring, that must be seen to be known and valued, words don't give you the idea of it. It's like the wire end of a pair of galluses—oh, it's charming. It's down and off in a jiffy, like a gall's finger on a piano when she is doin' chromatic runs. Fact is, if I am walking out, and see a critter with it, I have to stop and stare; and, Doctor, I will tell you a queer thing. Halt and look at a splendid movin' hoss, and the rider is pleased; he thinks half the admiration is for him, as rider and owner, and t'other half for his trotter. The gony's delighted, chirups his beast, gives him a sly touch up with the off heel, and shows him off to advantage. But stop and look at a woman, and she is as mad as a hatter. She don't care how much you look at her, as long as you don't stand still or turn your head round. She wouldn't mind slackin' her pace if you only attended to that.

"Now the fox has that special springy movement I speak of, and he puts his foot down flat, he bends the grass rather to him, than from him, if anything, but most commonly crumples it flat; but you never see it inclinin' in the line of the course he is runnin'—never. Fact is, they never get a hoist, and that is a very curious word, it has a very different meanin' at sea from what it has on land. In one case it means to haul up, in the other to fall down. The term 'look out' is just the same.

"A canal boat was once passing through a narrow lock on the Erie line, and the captain hailed the passengers and said, 'Look out.' Well, a Frenchman thinking something strange was to be seen, popt his head out, and it was cut off in a minute. 'Oh, mon Dieu!' said his comrade, 'dat is a very striking lesson in English. On land, look out means, open de window and see what you will see. On board canal boat it means, haul your head in, and don't look at nothin'.'

"Well, the worst hoist that I ever had was from a very high-actioned mare, the down foot slipped, and t'other was too high to be back in time for her to recover, and over both of us went kerlash in the mud. I was skeered more about her than myself, lest she should git the skin of her knee cut, for to a knowing one's eye that's an awful blemish. It's a long story to tell how such a blemish warn't the hoss's fault, for I'd rather praise than apologize for a critter any time. And there is one thing few-people knows. Let the cut come which way it will, the animal is never so safe afterwards. Nature's bandage, the skin, is severed, and that leg is the weakest.

"Well, as I was a sayin', Doctor, there is the knee action and the foot action, and then there is a third thing. The leg must be just thar."

"Where?" said the doctor.

"Thar," said I, "there is only one place for that, and that is 'thar,' well forward at the shoulder-point, and not where it most commonly is, too much under the body—for if it's too far back he stumbles, or too forward he can't 'pick chips quick stick.' Doctor, I am a borin' of you, but the fact is, when I get a goin' 'talkin' hoss,' I never know where to stop. How much better tempered they are than half the women in the world, ain't they? and I don't mean to undervally the dear critters neither by no manner of means, and how much more sense they have than half the men either, after all their cracking and bragging! How grateful they are for kindness, how attached to you they get. How willin' they are to race like dry dust in a thunder squall, till they die for you! I do love them, that is a fact, and when I see a feller a ill-usin' of one of 'em, it makes me feel as cross as two crooked gate-posts, I tell you.

"Indeed, a man that don't love a hoss is no man at all. I don't think he can be religious. A hoss makes a man humane and tender-hearted, teaches him to feel for others, to share his food, and be unselfish; to anticipate wants and supply them; to be gentle and patient. Then the hoss improves him otherwise. He makes him rise early, attend to meal hours, and to be cleanly. He softens and improves the heart. Who is there that ever went into a stable of a morning, and his critter whinnered to him and played his ears back and forward, and turned his head affectionately to him, and lifted his fore-feet short and moved his tail, and tried all he could to express his delight, and say, 'Morning to you, master,' or when he went up to the manger and patted his neck, and the lovin' critter rubbed his head agin him in return, that didn't think within himself, well, after all, the hoss is a noble critter? I do love him. Is it nothin' to make a man love at all? How many fellers get more kicks than coppers in their life—have no home, nobody to love them and nobody to love, in whose breast all the affections are pent up, until they get unwholesome and want ventilation. Is it nothin' to such an unfortunate critter to be made a stable help? Why, it elevates him in the scale of humanity. He discovers at last he has a head to think and a heart to feel. He is a new man. Hosses warn't given to us, Doctor, to ride steeple-chases, or run races, or brutify a man, but to add new powers and lend new speed to him. He was destined for nobler uses.

"Is it any wonder that a man that has owned old Clay likes to talk hoss? I guess not. If I was a gall I wouldn't have nothin' to say to a man that didn't love a hoss and know all about him. I wouldn't touch him with a pair of tongs. I'd scorn him as I would a nigger. Sportsmen breed pheasants to kill, and amature huntsmen shoot dear for the pleasure of the slaughter. The angler hooks salmon for the cruel delight he has in witnessing the strength of their dying struggles. The black-leg gentleman runs his hoss agin time, and wins the race, and kills his noble steed, and sometimes loses both money and hoss, I wish to gracious he always did; but the rail hossman, Doctor, is a rail man, every inch of him, stock, lock, and barrel."

"Massa," said Sorrow, who stood listenin' to me as I was warmin' on the subject. "Massa, dis hoss will be no manner of remaginable use under de blessed light ob de sun."

"Why, Sorrow?"

"Cause, Massa, he don't understand one word of English, and de French he knows no libbin' soul can understand but a Cheesencooker, yah, yah, yah! Dey called him a 'shovel,' and his tail a 'queue.' "

"What a goose you are, Sorrow," sais I.

"Fac, Massa," he said, "fac I do ressure you, and dey called de little piggy doctor fell over, 'a coach.' Dod drat my hide if they didn't yah, yah, yah!"

"The English ought to import, Doctor," sais I, "some of these into their country, for as to ridin' and drivin' there is nothin' like them. But catch Britishers admitting there is anything good in Canada, but the office of Governor-General, the military commands, and other pieces of patronage, which they keep to themselves, and then say they have nothing left. Ah me! times is altered, as Elgin knows. The pillory and the peerage have changed places. Once, a man who did wrong was first elevated, and then pelted. A peer is now assailed with eggs, and then exalted."

"Palmam qui meruit ferat," said the doctor.

"Is that the Latin for how many hands high the horse is?" sais I. "Well, on an average, say fifteen, perhaps oftener less than more. It's the old Norman horse of two centuries ago, a compound of the Flemish stock and the Barb, introduced into the Low Countries by the Spaniards. Havin' been transported to Canada at that early period, it has remained unchanged, and now may be called a distinct breed, differing widely in many respects from those found at the present day in the locations from which they originally came. But look at the amazin' strength of his hip, look at the lines, and anatomical formation (as you would say) of his frame, which fit him for both a saddle and a gig hoss. Look at his chest, not too wide to make him paddle in his gait, nor too narrow to limit his wind. Observe all the points of strength. Do you see the bone below the knee and the freedom of the cord there. Do you mark the eye and head of the Barb. Twig the shoulder, the identical medium for a hoss of all work, and the enormous power to shove him ahead. This fellow is a picture, and I am glad they have not mutilated or broken him. He is just the hoss I have been looking for, for our folks go in to the handle for fast trotters, and drive so much and ride so little, it ain't easy to get the right saddle beast in our State. The Cape Breton pony is of the same breed, though poor feed, exposure to the weather, and rough usage has caused him to dwindle in size; but they are the toughest, hardiest, strongest, and most serviceable of their inches, I know anywhere."

I always feel scared when I git on the subject of hosses for fear I should ear-wig people, so I stopt short; "And," sais I, "Doctor, I think I have done pretty well with the talking tacks, spose you give me some of your experience in the trapping line, you must have had some strange adventures in your time."

"Well, I have," said he, "but I have listened with pleasure to you, for although I am not experienced in horses, performing most of my journeys on foot, I see you know what you are talking about, for I am familiar with the anatomy of the horse. My road is the trackless forest, and I am more at home there than in a city. Like you I am fond of nature, but unlike you I know little of human nature, and I would rather listen to your experience than undergo the labour of acquiring it. Man is an artificial animal, but all the inhabitants of the forest are natural. The study of their habits, propensities, and instincts is very interesting, and in this country the only one that is formidable is the bear, for he is not only strong and courageous, but he has the power to climb trees, which no other animal will attempt in pursuit of man in Nova Scotia. The bear therefore is an ugly customer, particularly the female when she has her cubs about her, and a man requires to have his wits about him when she turns the table on him and hunts him. But you know these things as well as I do, and to tell you the truth there is little or nothing that is new to be said on the subject; one bear hunt is like another. The interest of these things is not so much in their incidents or accidents, as in the mode of telling them."

"That's a fact," sais I, "Doctor. But what do you suppose was the object Providence had in view in filling the world with beasts of prey? The east has its lions, tigers, and boa-constrictors; the south its panthers and catamounts; the north its bears and wolves; and the west its crocodiles and rattle-snakes. We read that dominion was given over the birds of the air, the fish of the sea, and the beast of the forest, and yet no man in a state of nature scarcely is a match for any one of these creatures; they don't minister to his wants, and he can't tame them to his uses."

"I have often asked myself, Slick," said he, "the same question, for nothing is made in vain, but it is a query not easy to answer. My own opinion is, they were designed to enforce civilisation. Without these terrors attending a sojourn in the wilderness, man would have wandered off as they do, and lived alone; he would have made no home, dwelt with no wife, and nurtured no children. His descendants would have done the same. When he encountered another male, he would have given him battle, perhaps killed and eat him. His very language would have perished, if ever he had any, and he would have been no better than an ourang-outang. The option was not given him. He was so constructed and so situated, he could not live alone. Individual strength was insufficient for independent existence. To preserve life he had to herd with his kind. Thus tribes were first formed, and to preserve one tribe from the violence of another, they again united and formed nations. This combination laid the foundation of civilisation, and as that extended, these beasts of prey retired to the confines of the country, enforcing while they still remain the observance of that law of nature which assigned to them this outpost duty.

"Where there is nothing revealed to us on the subject, all is left to conjecture. Whatever the cause was, we know it was a wise and a necessary one; and this appears to me to be the most plausible reason I can assign. Perhaps we may also trace a further purpose in their creation, in compelling by the terror they inspire the inferior animals to submit themselves to man, who is alone able to protect them against their formidable enemies, or to congregate, so that he may easily find them when he requires food; and may we not further infer that man also may by a similar sense of weakness be led to invoke in like manner the aid of Him who made all things and governs all things? Whatever is, is right," and then he quoted two Latin lines.

I hate to have a feller do that, it's like throwin' an apple into the water before a boy. He either has to lose it and go off disappointed, wonderin' what its flavour is, or else wade out for it, and like as not get out of his depth afore he knows where he is. So I generally make him first translate it, and then write it down for me. He ain't likely after that to do it a second time. Here are the words:

"Siquid novisti rectius istis Candidas imperti, si non his utere mecum."

CHAPTER XXIV. THE CUCUMBER LAKE.

"Here is a place under the lee bow," said the pilot, "in which there are sure to be some coasters, among whom the mate may find a market for his wares, and make a good exchange for his mackarel."

So we accordingly entered and cast anchor among a fleet of fore-and-afters in one of those magnificent ports with which the eastern coast is so liberally supplied.

"There is some good salmon-fishing in the stream that falls into the harbour," said the doctor, "suppose we try our rods;" and while Cutler and his people were occupied in traffic, we rowed up the river beyond the little settlement, which had nothing attractive in it, and landed at the last habitation we could see. Some thirty or forty acres had been cleared of the wood, the fields were well fenced, and a small stock of horned cattle, principally young ones, and a few sheep, were grazing in the pasture. A substantial rough log hut and barn were the only buildings. With the exception of two little children playing about the door, there were none of the family to be seen.

On entering the house, we found a young woman, who appeared to be its sole occupant. She was about twenty-five years of age; tall, well formed, strong, and apparently in the enjoyment of good health and spirits. She had a fine open countenance, an artless and prepossessing manner, and was plainly but comfortably clad in the ordinary homespun of the country, and not only looked neat herself, but everything around her was beautifully clean. It was manifest she had been brought up in one of the older townships of the province, for there was an ease and air about her somewhat superior to the log hut in which we found her. The furniture was simple and of rude manufacture, but sufficient for the wants of a small family, though here and there was an article of a different kind and old-fashioned shape, that looked as if it had once graced a substantial farm-house, probably a present from the inmates of the old homestead.

We soon found from her that she and her husband were as she said new beginners, who, like most persons in the wilderness, had had many difficulties to contend with, which from accidental causes had during the past year been greatly increased. The weavil had destroyed their grain crop and the rot their potatoes, their main dependence, and they had felt the pressure of hard times. She had good hopes however she said for the present season, for they had sowed the golden straw wheat, which they heard was exempt from the ravages of insects, and their potatoes had been planted early on burnt land without barn manure, and she was confident they would thereby be rescued from the disease. Her husband, she informed us, in order to earn some money to make up for their losses, had entered on board of an American fishing vessel, and she was in daily expectation of his arrival, to remain at home until the captain should call for him again, after he had landed his cargo at Portland. All this was told in a simple and unaffected manner, but there was a total absence of complaint or despondency, which often accompany the recital of such severe trials.

Having sent Sorrow back in the boat with an injunction to watch our signal of recall, we proceeded further up the river, and commenced fishing. In a short time we killed two beautiful salmon, but the black flies and musquitoes were so intolerably troublesome, we were compelled to return to the log hut. I asked permission of our cheerful, tidy young hostess to broil a piece of the salmon by her fire, more for the purpose of leaving the fish with her than anything else, when she immediately offered to perform that friendly office for us herself.

"I believe," she said, "I have a drawing of tea left," and taking from the shelf a small mahogany caddy, emptied it of its contents. It was all she had. The flour-barrel was also examined and enough was gathered, as she said by great good luck, to make a few cakes. Her old man, she remarked, for so she termed her young husband, would be back in a day or two and bring a fresh supply. To relieve her of our presence, while she was busied in those preparations, we strolled to the bank of the river, where the breeze in the open ground swept away our tormentors, the venomous and ravenous flies, and by the time our meal was ready, returned almost loaded with trout. I do not know that I ever enjoyed anything more than this unexpected meal. The cloth was snowy white, the butter delicious, and the eggs fresh laid. In addition to this, and what rendered it so acceptable, it was a free offering of the heart.

In the course of conversation I learned from her, that the first year they had been settled there they had been burnt out, and lost nearly all they had, but she didn't mind that she said, for, thank God, she had saved her children, and she believed they had originally put up their building in the wrong place. The neighbours had been very kind to them, helped them to erect a new and larger house, near the beautiful spring we saw in the green; and besides, she and her husband were both young, and she really believed they were better off than they were before the accident.

Poor thing, she didn't need words of comfort, her reliance on Providence and their own exertions was so great, she seemed to have no doubt as to their ultimate success. Still, though she did not require encouragement, confirmation of her hopes, I knew, would be grateful to her, and I told her to tell her husband on no account to think of parting with or removing from the place, for I observed there was an extensive intervale of capital quality, an excellent mill privilege on the stream where I caught the salmon, and as he had the advantage of water carriage, that the wood on the place, which was of a quality to suit the Halifax market, would soon place him in independent circumstances.

"He will be glad to hear you think so, Sir," she replied, "for he has often said the very same thing himself; but the folks at the settlement laugh at him when he talks that way, and say he is too sanguine. But I am sure he ain't, for it is very much like my poor father's place in Colchester, only it has the privilege of a harbour which he had not, and that is a great thing."

The signal for Sorrow having been hung out for some time, we rose to take leave, and wishing to find an excuse for leaving some money behind me, and recollecting having seen some cows in the field, I asked her if she could sell me some of her excellent butter for the use of the cabin. She said she could not do so, for the cows all had calves, and she made but little; but she had five or six small prints, if I would accept them, and she could fill me a bottle or two with cream.

I felt much hurt—I didn't know what to do. She had given me her last ounce of tea, baked her last cake, and presented me with all the butter she had in the house. "Could or would you have done that?" said I to myself, "come, Sam, speak the truth now." Well, Squire, I only brag when I have a right to boast, though you do say I am always brim full of it, and I won't go for to deceive you or myself either, I know I couldn't, that's a fact. I have mixed too much with the world, my feelings have got blunted, and my heart ain't no longer as soft as it used to did to be. I can give, and give liberally, because I am able, but I give what I don't want and what I don't miss; but to give as this poor woman did all she had of these two indispensable articles, tea and flour, is a thing, there is no two ways about it, I could not.

I must say I was in a fix; if I was to offer to pay her, I knew I should only wound her feelings. She derived pleasure from her hospitality, why should I deprive her of that gratification? If she delighted to give, why should I not in a like feeling be pleased to accept, when a grateful reception was all that was desired—must I be outdone in all things? must she teach me how to give freely and accept gracefully?