THE DREAM OF BETSEY CLARK.
"Madame, awake, it will be remembered, had come to the conclusion to
settle Tom's coffee--and hash, at the same time, with a dose or two of
ratsbane, or some similar delicate condiment; and now, in her dream, she
thought all her plans were so well and surely made as to defy detection,
and laugh outright at failure.
"In California there is a small but very troublesome rodent known to
Science as '_Pseudo-stoma bursarius_,' and to the vulgar world as
'gopher'--a sort of burrowing rat, nearly as mischievous and quite as
wicked, for the little wretches have a settled and special penchant for
boring holes in the ground, particularly in the vicinity of fruit trees.
My friend, Mr. Rumford, who has a very fine orchard in Fruit Vale,
Contra Costa, just across the bay from Santa Blarneeo, recently assured
me that the rascals make it a point to destroy young trees, not only
without compunction, but even without saying, 'By your leave.' Now it so
happened that Clark's place was overstocked with the pestilent animals
alluded to, and the proprietors had, time and again, threatened the
whole race with extermination, by means of arsenic, phosphor-paste, or
some other effective poison, but had never carried the resolution into
practice. This fact was seized on by Mrs. Clark, as a capital _point
d'appui_. Accordingly, with a dull hand-saw, the lady hacked a few dozen
of the very choicest young trees, in such a way as to make them look
like unmistakable gopher-work, thus subjecting the brutes to charges
whereof they were as innocent as _two_ unborn babes. Gophers and the
Devil have to answer for a great deal that properly belong to other
parties. Her act was a grand stroke of policy. She meant that Tom should
voluntarily get the poison, which she intended he--not the
gophers--should take at the very earliest possible opportunity. _She_
didn't mean to purchase arsenic--oh, no, she knew too much for _that_!
The ravage was speedily discovered by Clark. He raved, stamped his foot
in his wrath, turned round on his heel, pulled his cap over his eyes,
ejaculated, 'Dod dern 'em!' started for the city, and that very night
returned, bearer of six bits' worth of the strongest and deadliest kind
of poison--quite as deadly, almost as strong, as that which stupid fools
drink in corner stores at six cents a glass.
"That night about half the poison was mixed and set. Twelve hours
thereafter there was great tribulation and mourning in Gopherdom; for
scores of the little gentry ate of it, liked the flavor, tried a little
more--got thirsty--they drank freely (most fools do!), felt
uncomfortable, got angry, swelled--with indignation and poisoned meal!
and not a few of them immediately (to quote Mr. Clark), 'failed in
business; that is to say, they burst--burst all to thunder! Alas, poor
rodents!
"Next morning Tom's coffee was particularly good. Betsey fairly
surpassed herself, in fact she came it rather too strong. About ten
o'clock he felt thirsty, and inclined toward cold water; for the weather
was hot, and so were his 'coppers,' to quote the Ancient Mariner. He
would have taken much water, only that Betsey dissuaded him, and said:
'It was just like him, to go and get sick by drinking ever so much cold
water! Why didn't he take switchel, or, what was much better, cold
coffee, with plenty of milk in it--and sugar, of course;' and so he
(Tom) tried her prescription, liked it, took a little more, and that
night followed the Gophers!
"Three days afterwards a kindly neighbor handed Mrs. Clark a fresh copy
of the 'Santa Blarneeo Looking Glass,' wherein she read, with tearful
eyes, the following true and veracious account of
"'A MOST DISTRESSING AND FATAL SUICIDE!
"'We regret to announce the fearful suicide, while laboring
under a fit of temporary insanity, caused by the bite of a
gopher, of Mr. Thomas W. Clark. It appears, that in order to
destroy the vermin, he purchased some arsenic, gave some to the
animals, got bitten by them, ran stark mad in consequence, and
then swallowed the balance (about a pound) himself. His
unfortunate wife now lies at the point of death, by reason of
the dreadful shock. She is utterly distracted by the
distressing and heart-rending event, which is all the more
poignant from the fact, that probably no married pair that ever
lived were more ardently and devotedly attached than were they.
The coroner and a picked jury of twelve men sat for two hours
in consultation, after which they found a verdict of "Death by
his own act, while insane from the bite of a gopher!"'
* * * *
"In due time the body of the victim who had been killed so exceedingly
dead, by cruel, cold poison--(if it had been warm he might have stood
it, but cold!)--was consigned to the grave--and forgetfulness at the
same time; and after a brief season of mourning, materially assisted
before company by a peeled onion (one of the rankest kind) in a
handkerchief, applied to the eyes--my Lady Gay, our disconsolate
relict--fair, forty, and somewhat fat--gave tokens, by change of dress,
that she was once more in the market matrimonial,
"'With her tacks and sheets, and her bowlines, too,
And colors flying--red, white, and blue,'
She was once more ready to dare and do for husband number three. To do
her justice, she _was_ good-looking--all women are, when they choose to
be. Her face was fair and intelligent; she possessed a voluptuous degree
of what Monsieur de Fillagre calls 'om-bong-pong' (_embonpoint_), could
sing--at a mark; and if not O fat! was _au fait_--a little of both,
perhaps--on the light, fantastic toe--of the California Order; while as
an invaluable addition, there was no woman on the coast who could equal
her in getting up either linen, a dinner, or a quarrel. She excelled all
rivals in the really divine art of cooking a husband--beefsteak, I mean.
Her pastry and bread were excellent, her tea was fine, and her coffee
was all that man could wish, and more so, for it was good--perfectly
killing--as we have seen.
"Betsey took matters coolly; was in no apparent hurry, for she had
resolved to shoot only at high game, and, accordingly, after a time,
deigned to smile upon the Reverend Doctor Dryasdust, the honored head of
the new sect recently sprung up in the land, and which was known as the
'Wotcher Kawlums,' and who rejoiced in repudiating everything over five
years old in the shape of doctrine, tenet and discipline, but who went
in strongly for Progress and pantaloons--for women; for Honduras and the
_naked_ truth; for Socialism and sugar estates; mahogany and
horticulture--a patent sort.
"Now, the pastor of this promising body felt that it was not good for
man to be alone, and therefore cast about for a rib whereof to have
fashioned a help meet unto him. He saw the widow, fell in love,
proposed, was accepted, and in due time she became the wife of the
Newlight preacher. I like the old lights best; she didn't.
"Betsey achieved a 'position'--a thing for which her sex almost
proverbially sacrifice all they have on earth--happiness, health, long
life, usefulness. She enjoyed herself quite well, and only two things
disturbed her peace of mind: First, she could not bear the smell or
sight of coffee, which drink her new lord was strongly addicted to, and
insisted on her making for him with her own hands; thereby inflicting
daily tortures upon her, compared to which all physical pain was
pleasure. The second disturbing cause was this: by a very strange
fatality their house was overrun with rats, and their garden fairly
swarmed with gophers--which, with infernal malice and pertinacity,
became quite tame, semi-domesticated, and intruded themselves upon her
notice a dozen times a day, thereby fetching up from memory's storehouse
fearful reminiscences of other days--horrible recollections of the
gophers of the long-agone. It is hard to be weaned of your fears;
nevertheless, after a while she conquered herself, brazened down her
horrors, weighed herself, applied a false logic, tried herself by it,
and returned a clear verdict of 'Justifiable all the way,' and concluded
that her present happiness, what there was of it, fairly outweighed the
crime by which it had been reached. She was materially justified in her
conclusions by an accidental development of character on the part of her
present husband, who had, in a fit of petulance, unfolded a leaf from
the inner volume of the soul within.
"Not caring to recapitulate the whole story (for reticence is sometimes
wisdom), I will merely observe that at the end of a somewhat heated
controversy, her husband had smashed a mirror, with one of Webster's
quarto dictionaries, and roundly declared that he 'preached for pay.
Hang it, Madame, the salary's the thing!--you _Bet_! How can souls be
saved without a salary? That's a plain question. They are not now, at
all events, whatever may have been the case with the Old Lights, who
had a great deal more zeal than discretion--more fools they! It can't be
done in these days of high prices and costly raiment--with the
obligation of feeding well and dressing better. What's life without
money? What's talent without brass? What's genius without gold? They
won't pay! No, no, Madame; in the game of life, diamonds are always
trumps, and hearts are bound to lose. What's the result?
"'Listen! Five years ago, up in the mountains, I thought I had
a call. I did, and went--and preached the new doctrines of
Do-as-you-feel-a-mind-to-provided-you-don't-get-catched-at-it-ism--the
regular out and out All-Right-ite-provided-you-don't-tread-on-my-corns
religion. Well, I preached it, had large houses, converted many--and
nearly starved! What's the consequence? Why, I left, and now hear only
the loudest kind of calls! What's the loudest call? Why, the biggest
salary! that's what's the matter! Do you see the point--the place where
the laugh comes in? It's as plain as A B C to me, or any other man! and
all the rest is leather and prunella--stuff, fudge--Hum!'
"Honest, out-spoken Dryasdust! How many of the world's teachers sail in
the same boat! His eloquence--not all false, perhaps--was not lost upon
his wife. The Dryasdusts are not all dead; there's a few more left of
the same sort--only they keep their own counsel, even from their wives.
New Lights!
"As a result of this conversation, Madame became a sort of cross between
an Atheist and--God knows what; for she was neither one thing nor
'tother, but a sort of pseudo-philosophical nondescript, without any set
principle of belief whatever. Her conscience froze.
"'Who knoweth the spirit of a man that it goeth upward, or of a beast
that it goeth downward? The Spiritualists?--a pack of fanatics! I don't
believe in ghosts'--but she shuddered as she gave utterance to the
words, and her hair crawled upon her head as if touched with spectral
fingers. No man disbelieves his immortality--the thing is impossible,
_per se_; for although he may differ with that class of people who
pretend to very extensive ghostly acquaintanceship and commerce, as many
do--yet he doubtless always whistles as he passes a graveyard in the
night! I certainly do! Why? Because I disbelieve in ghosts!--of course.
"She resumed her soliloquy: 'I'm nervous--that's all! I mean to eat,
drink and be merry, for to-morrow I die--DIE! What of it--isn't Death an
eternal sleep? My husband says that it is, to all except the New Lights;
but he's a fool, in some things, that's certain.... And after death the
_Judgement_!' And she shuddered again, for a cold wind passed by her,
and she thought it best to light two more candles and run her fingers
over the piano, and take a glass of Sainsevain's best Angelica. 'Bah!
who knows anything about a judgment? There's no such thing. He's dead.
What of it? He can't talk! If he could, what of it? Ghosts can't testify
in court! Besides, it was to be--and it's done. Fate is responsible, not
I--
"'In spite of Reason, erring Reason's spite,
One truth is clear, Whatever _is_ is right.'
"'Tom was to die. The conditions that surrounded him were just such as
had determined the results that followed. I was but the proxy of eternal
Fate. Am I to blame? Certainly _not_, for I acted in precise accordance
with the conditions that surrounded me--that made me do as I
did--tempted me beyond my strength; and, for that reason, the crime, if
crime it be, was a foregone conclusion from the foundation of the world!
Hereafter?
"'Come from the grave to-morrow with that story,
And I may take some softer path to glory.'
"'Parrhasius was a true philosopher--or Willis. Pshaw! I guess I'll take
another drop of Angelica!'
"Poor Betsey! she had been reading Pope and Leibnitz, and Ben
Blood--bad, worse and worst, unfairly interpreted; good, better and
best, rightly understood--and as the respective writers probably meant.
Weak people read a book as children do Swift's Gulliver--on the surface;
others read the great book whose letters are suns, whose words are
starry systems, in the self-same manner; and there is still a greater
volume--the first edition, to be continued--the Human Soul--which they
never read at all. All of these must go to school; they will graduate
by-and-by, when Death turns over a new leaf. It is best to study
now--there may not be so good a chance presently.
"Betsey Clark believed, or thought she did, that because God made all
things, therefore there could be no wrong in all the world. She accepted
Pope's conclusions literally, misread them, and totally overlooked the
sublime teachings of the third author named; and her mind went to rest,
and her conscience slumbered under the sophisms--for such they are, from
one point of view. The opiate acted well. And so she slept for
years--long years of peace, wealth, all the world could give her--slept
in the belief that there would never be a waking. Was she right? Wait.
Let us see.
"We are still in the little chamber, near the window--the little window
at the foot of the bed--whose upper sash was down."