THE RECALL.
In compiling this Journal, Squire, my object has been less to give you
the details of my cruise, than to furnish you with my remarks on men
and things in general. Climate, locality, and occupation form or vary
character, but man is the same sort of critter everywhere. To know him
thoroughly, he must be studied in his various aspects. When I learned
drawing, I had an India-rubber figure, with springs in it, and I used
to put it into all sorts of attitudes. Sometimes it had its arms up,
and sometimes down, now a-kimbo, and then in a boxing posture. I stuck
out its legs or made it stand bolt upright, and put its head every way
I could think of, and so on. It taught me to draw, and showed me the
effect of light and shade. So in sketching human character, feelings,
prejudices, and motives of action, I have considered man at one time as
a politician, a preacher, or a trader, and at another as a countryman
or a citizen, as ignorant or wise, and so on. In this way I soon
learned to take his gauge as you do a cask of spirits, and prove his
strength or weakness by the bead I could raise on him.
If I know anything of these matters, and you seem to consait I do, why
I won’t act “Peter Funk”1 to myself, but this I will say, “Human natur
is my weakness.” Now I think it best to send you only such portions of
my Journal as will interest you, for a mere diary of a cruise is a mere
nothing. So I skip over my sojourn at Canzeau, and a trip the doctor
and I took to Prince Edward’s Island, as containing nothing but a sort
of ship’s log, and will proceed to tell you about our sayings and
doings at that celebrated place Louisburg, in Cape Breton, which was
twice besieged and taken, first by our colony-forefathers from Boston,
and then by General Wolfe, the Quebec hero, and of which nothing now
remains but its name, which you will find in history, and its harbour,
which you will find in the map. The French thought building a fortress
was colonization, and the English that blowing it up was the right way
to settle the country. The world is wiser now.
1 At petty auctions in the States, a person is employed to bid up
articles, in order to raise their price. Such a person is called a
_Peter Funk,_ probably from that name having frequently been given when
things were bought in. In short, it is now used as a
“puffer.”—BARTLETT.
As we approached the place the Doctor said, “You see, Mr Slick, the
entrance to Louisburg is pointed out to voyagers coming from the
eastward, by the ruins of an old French lighthouse, and the lantern of
a new one, on the rocky wall of the north shore, a few minutes after
approaching which the mariner shoots from a fretful sea into the smooth
and capacious port. The ancient ruins display even yet the most
attractive object to the eye. The outline of these neglected mounds,
you observe, is boldly marked against the sky, and induces a visit to
the spot where the fortress once stood. Louisburg is everywhere covered
with a mantle of turf, and without the assistance of a native it is not
easy to discover even the foundations of the public buildings. Two or
three casemates still remain, appearing like the mouths of huge ovens,
surmounted by a great mass of earth and stone. These caverns,
originally the safeguards of powder and other combustible munitions of
war, now serve to shelter the flocks of sheep that graze upon the grass
that conceals them. The floors are rendered nearly impassable by the
ordure of these animals, but the vaulted ceilings are adorned by
dependent stalactites, like icicles in shape, but not in purity of
colour, being of a material somewhat similar to oyster shells. The mass
of stone1 and brick that composed the buildings, and which is now swept
so completely from its site, has been distributed along the shores of
America, as far as Halifax and Boston, having been successively carried
away for the erections in those places and the intermediate coast,
which contains many a chimney bearing the memorials of Louisburg. The
remains of the different batteries on the island and round the harbour
are still shown by the inhabitants, as well as of the wharves,
stockade, and sunken ships of war. On gaining the walls above the town,
they are found to consist of a range of earthen fortifications with
projecting angles, and extending as already mentioned from the harbour
to the sea, interrupted at intervals by large pits, said to have been
produced by the efforts of the captors to blow up the walls. From these
heights, the glacis slopes away to the edge of the bog outside, forming
a beautiful level walk, though now only enjoyed by the sheep, being,
like the walls, carpeted by short turf. At the termination of this line
of fortification on the sea-shore, is a huge and uncouth black rock,
which appears to have been formerly quarried for building stone, large
quantities ready hewn being still scattered round it, and gathered in
masses as if prepared for that use.
1 See Haliburton’s “History of Nova Scotia.”
“The prospect from the brow of the dilapidated ramparts is one of the
most impressive that the place affords. Looking to the south-west over
the former city, the eye wanders upon the interminable ocean, its blue
rolling waves occupying three-fourths of the scene, and beyond them, on
the verge of the horizon, a dense bank of fog sweeps along with the
prevailing S.W. wind, precluding all hopes of discerning any vista
beyond that curtain. Turning landwards towards the south-west, over the
spacious bog that lies at the foot of the walls, the sight is met by a
range of low wood in the direction of Gabarus, and can penetrate no
further. The harbour is the only prospect to the northward, and
immediately in its rear the land rises so as to prevent anymore distant
view, and even the harbour appears dwindled to a miniature of itself,
being seen in the same picture with the mighty ocean that nearly
surrounds the beholder. The character of the whole scene is melancholy,
presenting the memorials of former life and population, contrasted with
its present apparent isolation from the natives of the earth. The
impression is not weakened by the sight of the few miserable huts
scattered along the shores of the port, and the little fishing vessels,
scarcely perceptible in the mountain-swell of the ocean; they serve but
to recall painfully the images of elegant edifices that once graced the
foreground, and of proud flags that waved upon the face of that heaving
deep.
“It is not easy to give a reason for the continued desolation of
Louisburg. A harbour opening directly upon the sea, whence egress is
unobstructed and expeditious, and return equally convenient at all
seasons; excellent fishing grounds at the very entrance; space on shore
for all the operations of curing the fish; every advantage for trade
and the fisheries is offered in vain. The place would appear to be
shunned by tacit consent. The shallops come from Arichet and St Peter’s
Bay to fish at its very mouth, but no one sets up his establishment
there. The merchants resort to every station in its vicinity, to
Main-a-Dieu, the Bras d’Or, St Anne, Inganish, nay, even Cape North,
places holding out no advantage to compare with those of Louisburg, yet
no one ventures there. The fatality that hangs over places of fallen
celebrity seems to press heavily on this once valued spot.”
“Massa Doctor,” said Sorrow, when he heard this description, “peers to
me, dem English did gib de French goss widout sweetenin’, most
particular jess dat are a nateral fac. By golly, but dey was strange
folks boff on ’em. Ki dey must been gwine stracted, sure as you born,
when dey was decomposed (angry) wid each other, to come all de way out
here to fight. Lordy gracious, peers to me crossin’ de sea might a
cooled them, sposin’ dar hair was rumpled.”
“You are right, Sorrow,” said I; “and, Doctor, niggers and women often
come to a right conclusion, though they cannot give the right reasons
for it, don’t they?”
“Oh, oh, Mr Slick,” said he, “pray don’t class ladies and niggers
together. Oh, I thought you had more gallantry about you than that.”
“Exactly,” sais I, “there is where the shoe pinches. You are a so far
and no further emancipationist. You will break up the social system of
the south, deprive the planter of his slave, and set the nigger free;
but you will not admit him to your family circle, associate with him,
or permit him to intermarry with your daughter. Ah, Doctor, you can
emancipate him, but you can’t emancipate yourself. You are willing to
give him the liberty of a dog; he may sleep in your stable, exercise
himself in the coachyard, and may stand or run behind your carriage,
but he must not enter the house, for he is offensive, nor eat at your
table, for the way he devours his food is wolfish; you unchain him, and
that is all. But before the collar was unfastened he was well and
regularly fed, now he has to forage for it; and if he can’t pay for his
grub, he can and will steal it. Abolition has done great things for
him. He was once a life-labourer on a plantation in the south, he is
now a prisoner for life in a penitentiary in the north, or an idle
vagrant, and a shameless, houseless beggar. The fruit of cant is indeed
bitter. The Yankees emancipated their niggers because it didn’t pay to
keep slaves. They now want the southern planters to liberate theirs for
conscience sake. But here we are on the beach; let us land.”
After taking a survey of the scene from the sight of the old town, we
sat down on one of the eastern mounds, and the doctor continued his
account of the place. “It took the French twenty-fire years to erect
Louisburg,” he said, “and though not completed according to the
original design, it cost not less than thirty millions of livres. It
was environed, two miles and a half in circumference, with a stone wall
from thirty to thirty-six feet high, and a ditch eighty feet wide.
There was, as you will see, six bastions and eight batteries, with
embrasures for 148 cannon. On the island at the entrance of the
harbour, which we just passed, was a battery of thirty twenty-eight
pounders, and at the bottom of the port another mounting thirty-eight
heavy guns. In 1745, a plan for taking it was conceived by a
colonial-lawyer, a Governor of Massachusetts, and executed by a body of
New England volunteers, led on by a country trader. History can hardly
furnish such another instance of courage and conduct in an
undisciplined body, laying siege to a regular constructed fortress like
this. Commodore Warren, when first applied to for assistance, declined
to afford it, as well because he had no orders as that he thought the
enterprise a rash one. He was however at last instructed from home to
co-operate with the Yankee troops, and arrived in season to witness the
progress of the siege, and receive the whole of the honour which was so
exclusively due to the Provincials. This act of insolence and injustice
on the part of the British was never forgotten by your countrymen, but
the memory of favours is short-lived, and a similar distribution of
rewards has lately surprised and annoyed the Canadians. The colonist
who raised the militia and saved Canada, as you have justly remarked
elsewhere, was knighted, while he who did no more than his duty as an
officer in the army, was compensated for two or three little affairs in
which the soldiers were engaged by a coronet and a pension.”
“Exactly,” sais I, “what’s sauce for the goose ought to be sauce for
the gander; but it seems English geese are all swans.”
“Well, in 1758, it was again taken by the English, who attacked it with
an immense and overpowering armament, consisting of 151 sail, and
14,000 men. Profiting by the experience of the Provincials, they soon
reduced the place, which it is astonishing could have made any
resistance at all against such an overwhelming force. Still, this
attack was mostly an English one; and though it dwindles into utter
insignificance when compared with the previous capture by the
colonists, occasioned a great outbreak of national pride. The French
colours were carried in pompous parade, escorted by detachments of
horse and foot-guards, with kettle-drums and trumpets, from the palace
of Kensington to St Paul’s Cathedral, where they were deposited as
trophies, under a discharge of cannon, and other noisy expressions of
triumph and exultation. Indeed, the public rejoicings for the conquest
of Louisburg were diffused through every part of the British dominions;
and addresses of congratulation were presented to the king by a great
number of flourishing towns and corporations.”
“Twenty-five years afterwards the colonists, who were denied the credit
of their gallant enterprise, made good their claim to it by conquering
those who boasted that they were the conquerors themselves.”
“I am glad to hear you say so, Doctor,” said I, “for I concur in it
all. The English are liberal, but half the time they ain’t just.
Spendin’ money in colonies is one thing, but givin’ them fair play is
another. The army complains that all commendation and promotion is
reserved for the staff. Provincials complain of similar injustice, but
there is this wide difference, the one has the ‘Times’ for its
advocate, the other is unheard or unheeded. An _honest_ statesman will
not refuse to do justice—a _willy_ poilitician will concede with grace
what he knows he must soon yield to compulsion. The old Tory was a man
after all, every inch of him.”
“Now,” sais the doctor, “that remark reminds me of what I have long
intended to ask you if I got a chance. How is it, Mr Slick, that you,
who are a republican, whenever you speak of England are so
conservative? It always seemed to me as if it warn’t quite natural. If
I didn’t know you, I should say your books were written by a colonist
who had used your name for a medium for giving his own ideas.”
“Well,” sais I, “Doctor, I am glad you asked me, for I have thought
myself it wasn’t unlikely some folks would fall into that mistake. I’ll
tell you how this comes, though I wouldn’t take the trouble to
enlighten others, for it kinder amuses me to see a fellow find a mare’s
nest with a tee-hee’s egg in it. First, I believe that a republic is
the only form of government suited to us, or practicable in North
America. A limited monarchy could not exist in the States, for royalty
and aristocracy never had an original root there. A military or
despotic one could be introduced, because a standing army can do
anything, but it couldn’t last long. Liberty is too deeply seated, and
too highly prized, to be suppressed for any length of time.
“Now, I like a republic, but I hate a democracy. The wit of man never
could have devised anything more beautiful, better balanced, and more
skilfully checked, than our constitution is, or rather was; but every
change we make is for the worse. I am therefore a conservative at home.
On the other hand, the English constitution is equally well suited to
the British. It is admirably adapted to the genius, traditions, tastes,
and feelings of the people. They are not fitted for a republic. They
tried it once, and it failed; and if they were to try it again it would
not succeed. Every change _they_ make is also for the worse. In talking
therefore as I do, I only act and talk consistently, when I say I am a
conservative abroad also.
“Conservatism, both in the States and in Great Britain, when rightly
understood, has a fixed principle of action, which is to conserve the
constitution of the country, and not subvert it. Now, liberalism
everywhere is distinguished by having no principle. In England it longs
for office, and sacrifices everything to it. It does nothing but
pander. It says religion is a matter of taste, leave it to itself and
it will take care of itself; now that maxim was forced on us by
necessity, for at the Revolution we scarcely had an Episcopal church,
it was so small as hardly to deserve the name. But in England it is an
unconstitutional, irrational, and monstrous maxim. Still it suits the
views of Romanists (although they hold no such doctrine themselves),
for it is likely to hand over the church revenues in Ireland to them.
It also suits Dissenters, for it will relieve them of church rates; and
it meets the wishes of the republican party, because they know no
church and no bishop will soon lead to no monarch. Again, it says,
enlarge the franchise, so as to give an increase of voters; that
doctrine suits all those sections also, for it weakens both monarchy
and aristocracy. Then again, it advocates free-trade, for that weakens
the landed interest, and knocks from under nobility one of its best
pillars. To lower the influence of the church pleases all political
Come-outers, some for one, and some for another reason. Their views are
not identical, but it is for their interest to unite. One advocates it
because it destroys Protestantism as a principle of the constitution,
another because the materials of this fortress, like those of
Louisburg, may be useful for erecting others, and among them
conventicles.
“Then there is no truth in liberalism. When Irish emancipation was
discussed, it was said, Pass that and you will hear no more grievances,
it will tend to consolidate the church and pacify the people. It was no
sooner granted, than ten bishopricks were suppressed, and monster
meetings paraded through and terrified the land. One cardinal came in
place of ten Protestant prelates, and so on. So liberalism said Pass
the Reform Bill, and all England will be satisfied; well, though it has
not worked well for the kingdom, it has done wonders for the radical
party, and now another and more extensive one is promised. The British
Lion has been fed with living raw meat, and now roars for more victims.
It ain’t easy to onseat liberals, I tell you, for they know how to
pander. If you promise power to those who have none, you must have the
masses with you. I could point you out some fellows that are sure to
win the dead1 heads, the dough2 boys, the numerous body that is on the
fence,3 and political come-outers.4 There is at this time a postponed
Reform Bill. The proposer actually cried when it was deferred to
another session. It nearly broke his heart. He couldn’t bear that the
public should have it to say, ‘They had seen the elephant.’”
1 Dead heads may perhaps be best explained by substituting the words
“the unproductive class of operatives,” such as spend their time in
ale-houses; demagogues, the men who, with free tickets, travel in
steam-boats, frequent theatres, tavern-keepers, &c.
2 Pliable politicians, men who are accessible to personal influences or
considerations.
3 A man is said _to be on a fence_ who is ready to join the strongest
party because he who sits on a fence is in a position to jump down,
with equal facility, on either side of it.
4 “Political come-outers” are the loose fish of all parties. Dissenters
from their own side.—See Bartlett’s definitions.
“Seeing the elephant,” said the doctor, “was he so large a man as
that?”
“Lord bless you,” sais I, “no, he is a man that thinks he pulls the
wires, like one of Punch’s small figures, but the wires pull him and
set him in motion. It is a cant term we have, and signifies ‘going out
for wool and coming back shorn.’ Yes, he actually shed tears, like a
cook peelin’ onions. He reminded me of a poor fellow at Slickville, who
had a family of twelve small children. His wife took a day, and died
one fine morning, leaving another youngster to complete the baker’s
dozen, and next week that dear little innocent died too. He took on
dreadfully about it. He boo-hooed right out, which is more than the
politicioner did over his chloroformed bill.
“‘Why,’ sais I, ‘Jeddediah, you ought to be more of a man than to take
on that way. With no means to support your family of poor helpless
little children, with no wife to look after them, and no airthly way to
pay a woman to dry-nurse and starve the unfortunate baby, it’s a mercy
it did die, and was taken out of this wicked world.’
“‘I know it and feel it, Mr Sam,’ said he, lookin’ up in a way that
nobody but him could look, ‘but—’
“‘But what?’ sais I.
“‘Why,’ says he, ‘but it don’t do to say so, you know.’
“Jist then some of the neighbours came in, when he burst out wuss than
before, and groaned like a thousand sinners at a camp-meetin’.
“Most likely the radical father of the strangled Reform Bill comforted
himself with the same reflection, only he thought _it wouldn’t do to
say so._ Crocodiles can cry when they are _hungry,_ but when they do
it’s time to vamose the poke-loken,1 that’s a fact. Yes, yes, they
understand these things to England as well as we do, you may depend.
They warn’t born yesterday. But I won’t follow it out. Liberalism is
playing the devil both with us and the British. Change is going on with
railroad haste in America, but in England, though it travels not so
fast, it never stops, and like a steam-packet that has no freight, it
daily increases its rate of speed as it advances towards the end of the
voyage. Now you have my explanation, Doctor, why I am a conservative on
principle, both at home and abroad.”
1 Poke-loken, a marshy place, or stagnant pool, connected with a river.
“Well,” said the doctor,” that is true enough as far as England is
concerned, but still I don’t quite understand how it is, as a
republican, you are so much of a conservative at home, for your reasons
appear to me to be more applicable to Britain than to the United
States.”
“Why,” sais I, “my good friend, liberalism is the same thing in both
countries, though its work and tactics may be different. It is
destructive but not creative. It tampers with the checks and balances
of our constitution. It flatters the people by removing the restraints
they so wisely placed on themselves to curb their own impetuosity. It
has shaken the stability of the judiciary by making the experiment of
electing the judges. It has abolished equity, in name, but infused it
so strongly in the administration of the law, that the distinctive
boundaries are destroyed, and the will of the court is now substituted
for both. In proportion as the independence of these high officers is
diminished, their integrity may be doubted. Elected, and subsequently
sustained by a faction, they become its tools, and decide upon party
and not legal grounds. In like manner, wherever the franchise was
limited, the limit is attempted to be removed. We are, in fact, fast
merging into a mere pure democracy,1 for the first blow on the point of
the wedge that secures the franchise, weakens it so that it is sure to
come out at last. Our liberals know this as well your British
Gerrymanderers do.”
1 De Tocqueville, who has written incomparably the best work that has
ever appeared on the United States, makes the following judicious
remarks on this subject: “Where a nation modifies the elective
qualification, it may easily be foreseen, that sooner or later that
qualification will be abolished. There is no more invariable rule in
the history of society. The further electoral rights are extended, the
more is felt the need of extending them; for after each concession, the
strength of the democracy increases, and its demands increase with its
strength. The ambition of those who are below the appointed rate is
irritated, in exact proportion of the number of those who are above it.
The exception at last becomes the rule, concession follows concession,
and no step can be made, short of universal suffrage.”
“Genymanderers,”1 he said, “who in the world are they? I never heard of
them before.”
1 This term came into use in the year 1811, in Massachusetts, where,
for several years previous, the federal and democratic parties stood
nearly equal. In that year, the democratic party, having a majority in
the Legislature, determined so to district the State anew, that those
sections which gave a large number of federal votes might be brought
into one district. The result was, that the democratic party carried
everything before them at the following election, and filled every
office in the State, although it appeared by the votes returned, that
nearly two-thirds of the votes were Federalists. Elridge Gerry, a
distinguished politician at that period, was the inventor of that plan,
which was called Gerrymandering, after him.—Glossary of Americanisms.
“Why,” sais I, “skilful politicians, who so arrange the electoral
districts of a State, that in an election one party may obtain an
advantage over its opponent, even though the latter may possess a
majority of the votes in the State; the truth is, it would be a long
story to go through, but we are corrupted by our liberals with our own
money, that’s a fact. Would you believe it now, that so long ago as six
years, and that is a great while in our history seein’ we are growing
at such a rate, there were sixty thousand offices in the gift of the
general government, and patronage to the extent of more than forty
million of dollars, besides official pickings and parquisites, which
are nearly as much more in the aggregate? Since then it has grown with
our growth. Or would you believe that a larger sum is assessed in the
city of _New York,_ than would cover the expenses of the general
government at _Washington?_ Constructive mileage may be considered as
the principle of the party, and literally runs through everything.”
“What strange terms you have, Mr Slick,” said he; “do pray tell me what
that is.”
“Snooping and stool-pidgeoning,” sais I.
“Constructive mileage, snooping and stool-pidgeoning!” said he, and he
put his hands on his ribs, and running round in a circle, laughed until
he nearly fell on the ground fairly tuckered out, “what _do_ you mean?”
“Constructive mileage,” says I, “is the same allowance for journeys
_supposed_ to be performed as for those that are _actually_ made, to
and from the seat of government. When a new president comes into
office, Congress adjourns of course on the third of March, and his
inauguration is made on the fourth; the senate is immediately convened
to act on his nominations, and though not a man of them leaves
Washington, each is _supposed_ to go home and return again in the
course of the ten or twelve hours that intervene between the
adjournment and their reassembling. For this ideal journey the senators
are allowed their mileages, as if the journey was actually made. In the
case of those who come from a distance, the sum often amounts,
individually, to one thousand or fifteen hundred dollars.”
“Why, Mr Slick,” said he, “that ain’t honest.”
“Honest,” said I, “who the plague ever said it was? but what can you
expect from _red_ republicans? Well, snooping means taking things on
the sly after a good rumage; and stool-pidgeoning means plundering
under cover of law; for instance, if a judge takes a bribe, or a fellow
is seized by a constable, and the stolen property found on him is given
up, the merciful officer seizes the goods and lets him run, and that is
all that ever is heard of it—that is stool-pidgeoning. But now,” sais
I, “sposin’ we take a survey of the place here, for in a general way I
don’t affection politics, and as for party leaders, whether English
reformers or American democrats, critters that are dyed in the wool, I
hate the whole caboodle of them. Now, having donated you with my
reasons for being a conservative, sposin’ you have a row yourself. What
do you consider best worth seeing here, if you can be said to see a
place when it don’t exist? for the English did sartainly deacon the
calf1 here, that’s a fact. They made them smell cotton, and gave them
partikilar Moses, and no mistake.”
1 To deacon a calf, is to knock a thing on the head as soon as born or
finished.
“Of the doings of the dead,” he said, “all that is around us has a
melancholy interest; but of the living there is a most extraordinary
old fellow that dwells in that white house on the opposite side of the
harbour. He can tell us all the particulars of the two sieges, and show
us the site of most of the public buildings; he is filled with
anecdotes of all the principal actors in the sad tragedies that have
been enacted here; but he labours under a most singular monomania.
Having told these stories so often he now believes that he was present
at the first capture of the fortress, under Colonel Pepperal and the
New England militia in 1745, and at the second in 1754, when it was
taken by Generals Amherst and Wolfe. I suppose he may be ninety years
of age; the first event must have happened therefore nineteen and the
other six years before he was born; in everything else his accuracy of
dates and details is perfectly astonishing.”
“Massa,” said Sorrow, “I don’t believe he is nuffin’ but a
reeblushionary suspensioner (a revolutionary pensioner), but it peers
to me dem folks do libb for ebber. My poor old missus used to call ’em
King George’s hard bargains, yah, yah, yah. But who comma dere, Massa?”
said he, pointing to a boat that was rapidly approaching the spot where
we stood.
The steersman, who appeared to be the skipper of a vessel, inquired for
Cutler, and gave him a letter, who said as soon as he had read it,
“Slick, our cruise has come to a sudden termination. Blowhard has
purchased and fitted out his whaler, and only awaits my return to take
charge of her and proceed to the Pacific. With his usual generosity, he
has entered my name as the owner of one half of the ship, her tackle
and outfit. I must go on board the ‘Black Hawk’ immediately, and
prepare for departing this evening.”
It was agreed that he should land the doctor at Ship Harbour, who was
anxious to see Jessie, which made him as happy as a clam at high-water,
and put me ashore at Jordan, where I was no less in a hurry to see a
fair friend whose name is of no consequence now, for I hope to induce
her to change it for one that is far shorter, easier to write and
remember, and, though I say it that shouldn’t say it, one that I
consait she needn’t be ashamed of neither.
On our way back, sais the doctor to me:
“Mr Slick, will you allow me to ask you another question?”
“A hundred,” sais I, “if you like.”
“Well,” sais he, “I have inquired of you what you think of state
affairs; will you tell me what you think about the Church? I see you
belong to what we call the Establishment, and what you denominate the
American Episcopal Church, which is very nearly the same thing. What is
your opinion, now, of the Evangelical and Puseyite parties? Which is
right and which is wrong?”
“Well,” sais I, “coming to me about theology is like going to a goat’s
house for wool. It is out of my line. My views on all subjects are
practical, and not theoretical. But first and foremost, I must tell
you, I hate all nick-names. In general, they are all a critter knows of
his own side, or the other either. As you have asked me my opinion,
though, I will give it. I think both parties are wrong, because both go
to extremes, and therefore are to be equally avoided. Our Articles, as
dear old Minister used to say, are very wisely so worded as to admit of
some considerable latitude of opinion; but that very latitude naturally
excludes anything ultra. The Puritanical section, and the Newmanites
(for Pusey, so far, is stedfast), are not, in fact, real churchmen, and
ought to leave us. One are Dissenters and the other Romanists. The
ground they severally stand on is slippery. A false step takes one to
the conventicle and the other to the chapel. If I was an Evangelical,
as an honest man, I would quit the Establishment as Baptist Noel did,
and so I would if I were a Newmanite. It’s only rats that consume the
food and undermine the foundations of the house that shelters them. A
traitor within the camp is more to be dreaded than an open enemy
without. Of the two, the extreme low-churchmen are the most dangerous,
for they furnish the greatest number of recruits of schism, and,
strange to say, for popery too. Search the list of those who have gone
over to Rome, from Ahab Meldrum to Wilberforce, and you will find the
majority were originally Puritans or infidels—men who were restless,
and ambitious of notoriety, who had learning and talent, but wanted
common sense. They set out to astonish the world, and ended by
astonishing themselves. They went forth in pursuit of a name, and lost
the only one they were known by. Who can recognise Newman in Father
Ignatius, who, while searching for truth, embraced error? or Baptist
Noel in the strolling preacher, who uses a horse-pond instead of a
font, baptizes adults instead of infants, and, unlike his Master, ‘will
not suffer little children to come unto him?’ Ah, Doctor, there are
texts neither of these men know the meaning of, ‘Vanity of vanities,
all is vanity.’ One of them has yet to learn that pictures, vestments,
music, processions, candlesticks, and confessionals are not religion,
and the other that it does not consist in oratory, excitement,
camp-meetings, rant, or novelties. There are many, very many,
unobtrusive, noiseless, laborious, practical duties which clergymen
have to perform; what a pity it is they won’t occupy themselves in
discharging them, instead of entangling themselves in controversies on
subjects not necessary to salvation! But, alas! the Evangelical divine,
instead of combating the devil, occupies himself in fighting his
bishop, and the Newmanite, instead of striving to save sinners, prefers
to ‘curse and quit’ his church. Don’t ask me therefore which is
_right;_ I tell you, they are both _wrong_.”
“Exactly,” sais he.
“In medio tutissimus ibis.”
“Doctor,” sais I, “there are five languages spoke on the Nova Scotia
coast already: English, Yankee, Gaelic, French, and Indian; for
goodness gracious sake don’t fly off the handle that way now and add
Latin to them! But, my friend, as I have said, you have waked up the
wrong passenger, if you think I am an ecclesiastical Bradshaw. I know
my own track. It is a broad gauge, and a straight line, and I never
travel by another, for fear of being put on a wrong one. Do you take?
But here is the boat alongside;” and I shook him by the hand, and
obtained his promise at parting that he and Jessie would visit me at
Slickville in the autumn.
And now, Squire, I must write finis to the cruise of the “Black Hawk,”
and close my remarks on “Nature and Human Nature,” or, “Men and
Things,” for I have brought it to a termination, though it is a hard
thing to do, I assure you, for I seem as if I couldn’t say Farewell. It
is a word that don’t come handy, no how I can fix it. It’s like Sam’s
hat-band which goes nineteen times round, and won’t tie at last. I
don’t like to bid good-bye to my Journal, and I don’t like to bid
good-bye to you, for one is like a child and the other a brother. The
first I shall see again, when Hurst has a launch in the spring, but
shall you and I ever meet again, Squire? that is the question, for it
is dark to me. If it ever does come to pass, there must be a
considerable slip of time first. Well, what can’t be cured must be
endured. So here goes. Here is the last fatal word, I shut my eyes when
I write it, for I can’t bear to see it. Here it is—
_Ampersand._
THE END.