LUCY D----. Aunt Sarah, did you ever read the Declaration of
Independence?
MRS. GRUNDY. What a question! In my youth it was read
regularly, once a year, at every Fourth of July celebration.
LUCY D----. Did you ever, when listening to it, consider that
your interest in its enunciation of principles was merely incidental,
not direct?
MRS. GRUNDY. How so?
LUCY D----. The 'all men' that are born 'equal,' and with an
'inalienable right to liberty,' does not include you, because, although
you are white, you are a woman.
MRS. GRUNDY. What covert heresy is this, Lucy, with which you
are endeavoring to mystify my old-fashioned notions?
LUCY D----. I advocate no theory. I merely state a fact. My own
belief is, that men are born very _unequal_ (I do not mean _legally_,
but _really_, as they stand in the sight of God), and that they, as well
as we, are free only to do what is right in the fulfilment of
_inalienable duties_. 'Life' and the 'pursuit of happiness' must both
yield to the exactions of such duties. I must confess, however, that,
let my abstract views be as they may, I have occasionally embraced in
their widest extent the generalizations of the Declaration of
Independence; and nowhere has the right of 'Life, Liberty, and the
Pursuit of Happiness' seemed to me so precious and delightful a
possession as, when seated on top of a stage coach, I have breathed the
exhilarating atmosphere of some elevated mountain region. As to
equality, I must also say, that _there_ especially do I feel my
inferiority to, and dependence on the driver, who, in his sphere, reigns
a king.
MRS. GRUNDY. In my day, _ladies_ were always expected to take
inside seats.
LUCY D----. Yes, and be shut up behind a great leather strap, so
that if anything happened, they would be the last to reach the door! I
have a few notes of a stage-coach journey, made last summer. If you
like, I will read it to you while you work on that interminable afghan.
By the way, Aunt Sarah, I do not think you have labored quite so
energetically since the late decision made by the Metropolitan Fair in
regard to raffling. How is that?
MRS. GRUNDY. My dear, I must acknowledge that my ardor is a
little lessened since I began this piece of work, for then I had not
only a vision of the poor soldiers to be aided by my labor, but I also
fancied that this warm wrapping, instead of adding a new lustre to the
carriage of some luxurious lady, might perchance fall to the share of
some poor widow; and these beautiful embroidered leaves and blossoms
might delight some sickly child, whose best covering had hitherto been a
faded blanket shawl, and whose mother was too poor to afford the
indulgence of real flowers, purchased from some collection of exotics,
or plucked by the pale fingers from some fragrant country wayside.
However, I know that was an idle fancy, and the imagination is a
dangerous guide. I surely would never call in question the soundness of
a decision made by so many excellent and respectable people. Read on, if
you please. You know me to be a patient listener.
LUCY D----. Yes, dear aunt, and I know, too, that charity--that
crown of virtues--can warm and expand the primmest conventionality, and
lend bright wings of beauty to the most commonplace conception. The same
Divine Love that fringes dusty highways with delicate, fragrant
blossoms, can cause even the arid soil of worldliness to teem with
lovely growths and refreshing fruits. But, a truce to this digression,
to which, as I foresaw, you give no heed; and now to my notes:
One cool, sunshiny morning in August, a lady traveller, bent for once on
gratifying the whim of seeing what lay beyond the blue hills in the far
distance, left the Laurel House (Catskill Mountains), and took her way
toward Tannersville. Two ladies, charming companions, accompanied her as
far as the bridge over the mill stream, where she struck into a
neglected byway, leading past a melancholy graveyard. The air was
delicious, the mountains were clear, but softened by a dreamy haze; each
cottage garden was bright with phlox, bergamot, mallows, and
nasturtiums, and the soul of the traveller was filled with gratitude
that this earth had been made so beautiful, and she had been given
health, strength, opportunity, and a stout heart to enjoy it.
Tannersville reached, an outside seat was secured on the Lexington
stage. The sharers of my lofty station were a gentleman on his way to
join wife and children at Hunter, and a tattered, greasy-looking
Copperhead.
The 'sunny hill' (Clum's) was soon left behind; the opening of the
Plattekill Clove, with its beautiful mountains and deep hollows (Mink
and Wildcat), passed, and the distant peaks beyond Lexington loomed up
fair as the enchanted borders of the land of Beulah. The hay was nearly
gathered in, and the oats were golden on the hillsides. Men for
farmwork were evidently scarce, and the driver said they had nearly all
gone to the war. The Copperhead remarked: 'I was always too smart for
that, I was.'
The driver told him his turn would come yet, for he would certainly be
drafted. Copperhead said he had the use of only one arm. Driver opined
that would make no difference; they took all, just as they came.
Copperhead grumbled out: 'Yes; I know we ha'n't got no laws nohow!'
At Hunter, the wife and two ruddy little boys came out to meet the
expected head of the family. A bright and happy meeting! The Copperhead
also got down, and took seat inside the stage, where he was soon joined
by a country lassie, whose merry voice speedily gave token of
acquaintance and satisfaction with her fellow traveller.
Opposite Hunter is the most beautiful view of the Stony Clove. The high
and narrow cleft opens to the south, and I thought of loved ones miles
and miles away.
Beyond Hunter, a long, straggling village, with some neat houses, the
road becomes smoother, and gradually descends along the east bank of the
Schoharie, which it rarely leaves. The meadow lands widen a little, and
the way is fringed by maples, beeches, alders, hemlocks, birches, and
occasional chestnuts. The stream is rapid, clear, and, though without
any noteworthy falls, a cheerful, agreeable companion. The mountains on
the left bank are steep and rugged; near Hunter, burnt over; afterward,
green to the top, and, while occasionally curving back from the stream,
and thus forming hollows or ravines, still presenting not a single cleft
between Stony Clove and the clove containing the West Kill, and opening
out from Lexington toward Shandaken. The West Kill enters the Schoharie
a little below Lexington, and the East Kill flows in above, near Jewett.
Every farm glittered with golden sunflowers. I saw one misguided blossom
obstinately turning its face away from the great source of light and
heat. Every petal was drooping, and I wondered if the dwellers in the
neighboring cot heeded the lesson. The buckwheat fields were snowy
with blossoms and fragrant as the new honey the bees were industriously
gathering.
Lexington is a lovely village, with pretty dwellings, soft meadows, and
an infinite entanglement of mountains, great and small, green and blue,
for background in every direction. I had already been warned that the
stage went no farther; and, as my destination that evening was
Prattsville, some means of conveyance was of course necessary. The
driver feared the horses would all be engaged haying, and asked what I
would do in case no wagon could be found. I replied that, as the
distance from Lexington to Prattsville was only seven miles, and I had
no luggage, it might readily be accomplished on foot. He opened his
eyes, and, perhaps, finding the Lexington hotel not likely to be
benefited by my delay, cast about for some way of obliging me. As we
drove up to the post office, the door was found locked, and Uncle
Samuel's agent absent, which circumstance, taken in connection with the
fact that the mail comes to Lexington only twice per week, struck me as
decidedly 'cool.'
By six o'clock I found myself seated in a comfortable buggy, behind a
sleek, fleet pony, and beside an old gentleman, whose upright mien and
pleasant talk added no little to the enjoyment of the hour. The evening
lights were charming, the hills wound in and out, the Schoharie rippled
merrily over the cobble stones or slate rocks forming its bed, and the
clematis and elder bushes gently waved their treasures of white
blossoms, silky seeds, or deepening berries, in the soft summer air. By
and by the slate cliffs rose precipitously from the river shore, leaving
only room sufficient for the road, which, is in fact, sometimes
impassable, when the rains or melting snows have swollen the singing
river to an angry, foaming, roaring flood. My companion told me of the
agriculture of the district, of the wild Bushnell Clove, of bees and
honey making, and of the Prattsville tanneries, which he stigmatized as
a curse to the country, cutting down all the trees, and leaving only
briers and brambles in their stead. He also told me of two brave sons in
the Union army, and of a married daughter far away. The oldest boy had
been wounded at Gettysburg, and all three children had recently been
home on a short visit. 'Children,' said the old man, 'are a heap more
trouble when they are grown than when they are little; for then they all
go away, and keep one anxious the whole time.'
We drove under the steep ledges, the hills of Beulah were passed, and
Prattsville reached.
The following morning was bright and clear, but warm. I rose early, and
went up on the high bluffs overlooking the town. Below was a pretty
pastoral view of stream, meadow, hop fields, pasture lands with cattle,
sundry churches, and neat white houses, shut in by great hills, many
bare, and a few still wooded. Passing beneath the highest ledge, I came
upon an old man, a second Old Mortality, chipping away at the background
for a medallion of the eldest son of Colonel Zadoc Pratt, a gallant
soldier, who fell, I believe, at the second battle of Manassas. On a
dark slab, about five hundred and fifty feet above the river, is a
profile in white stone of the great tanner himself. An honest countryman
had previously pointed it out to me, saying: 'A good man, Colonel
Pratt--but that looks sort of foolish; people will have their failings,
and vanity is not one of the worst!' On the above-mentioned ledges are
many curious carvings, a record of 'one million sides of leather tanned
with hemlock bark at the Pratt tanneries in twenty years,' and other
devices, such as niches to sit in, a great sofa wrought from the solid
rock, and a pretty spring.
At ten o'clock the stage came from Delhi, which place it had left at two
in the morning. Seventy miles from Delhi to Catskill--a good day's
journey! It was full, and our landlord put on an extra, giving me a seat
beside the driver, and filling the inside with men. Said driver was a
carpenter, and an excellent specimen of an American
mechanic--intelligent and self-respecting. This is a great cattle and
dairy region, and we passed several hundred lambs on their way to the
New York market. The driver pitied the poor creatures; and, when passing
through a drove, endeavored to frighten them as little as possible.
'Innocent things!' said he, 'they have just been taken from their
mothers, and know not which way to turn. I hate to think of their being
slaughtered, for what is so meek and so joyous as a young lamb!'