Conversations at the River Philip.
It was late before we arrived at Pugnose's Inn--the
evening was cool, and a fire was cheering and comfortable.
Mr. Slick declined any share in the bottle of wine, he
said he was dyspeptic; and a glass or two soon convinced
me, that it was likely to produce in me something worse
than dyspepsy. It was speedily removed and we drew up to
the fire. Taking a small penknife from his pocket, he
began to whittle a thin piece of dry wood, which lay on
the hearth; and, after musing some time said, I guess
you've never been in the States. I replied that I had
not, but that before I returned to England I proposed
visiting that country. There, said he, you'll see the
great Daniel Webster--he's a great man, I tell you; King
William, number 4, I guess, would be no match for him as
an orator--he'd talk him out of sight in half an hour.
If he was in your house of Commons, I reckon he'd make
some of your great folks look pretty streaked--he's a
true patriot and statesman, the first in our country,
and a most particular cute Lawyer. There was a Quaker
chap too cute for him once tho'. This Quaker, a pretty
knowin' old shaver, had a cause down to Rhode Island; so
he went to Daniel to hire him to go down and plead his
case for him; so says he, Lawyer Webster what's your fee?
Why, says Daniel, let me see, I have to go down south to
Washington, to plead the great Insurance case of the
Hartford Company--and I've got to be at Cincinnati to
attend the Convention, and I don't see how I can go to
Rhode Island without great loss and great fatigue; it
would cost you may be more than you'd be willing to give.
Well, the Quaker looked pretty white about the gills, I
tell you, when he heard this, for he could not do without
him no how, and he did not like this preliminary talk of
his at all--at last he made bold to ask him the worst of
it, what he would take; why, says Daniel, I always liked
the Quakers, they are a quiet peaceable people who never
go to law if they can help it, and it would be better
for our great country if there were more such people in
it. I never seed or heerd tell of any harm in em except
going the whole figure for Gineral Jackson, and that
everlastin almighty villain, Van Buren; yes, I love the
Quakers, I hope they'll go the Webster ticket yet--and
I'll go for you as low as I can any way afford, say 1,000
dollars. The Quaker well nigh fainted when he heerd this,
but he was pretty deep too: so, says he, Lawyer, that's
a great deal of money, but I have more causes there, if
I give you the 1000 dollars will you plead the other
cases I shall have to give you? Yes, says Daniel, I will
to the best of my humble abilities; so down they went to
Rhode Island, and Daniel tried the case and carried it
for the Quaker. Well, the Quaker he goes round to all
the folks that had suits in court, and says he what will
you give me if I get the great Daniel to plead for you?
It cost me 1000 dollars for a fee, but now he and I are
pretty thick, and as he is on the spot, I'd get him to
plead cheap for you--so he got three hundred dollars from
one, and two from another and so on, until he got eleven
hundred dollars, jist one hundred dollars more than he
gave. Daniel was in a great rage when he heerd this;
what, said he, do you think I would agree to your letting
me out like a horse to hire? Friend Daniel, said the
Quaker, didst thou not undertake to plead all such cases
as I should have to give thee? If thou wilt not stand to
thy agreement, neither will I stand to mine. Daniel
laughed out ready to split his sides at this. Well, says
he, I guess I might as well stand still for you to put
the bridle on this time, for you have fairly pinned me
up in a corner of the fence any how--so he went good
humouredly to work and pleaded them all.
This lazy fellow, Pugnose, continued the Clockmaker; that
keeps this inn, is going to sell off and go to the States;
he says he has to work too hard here; that the markets
are dull, and the winters too long; and he guesses he
can live easier there; I guess he'll find his mistake
afore he has been there long. Why our country aim to be
compared to this, on no account whatever; our country
never made us to be the great nation we are, but we made
the country. How on airth could we, if we were all like
old Pugnose, as lazy as ugly, make that cold thin soil
of New-England produce what it does? Why, Sir, the land
between Boston and Salem would starve a flock of geese;
and yet look at Salem, it has more cash than would buy
Nova Scotia from the King. We rise early, live frugally,
and work late: what we get we take care of. To all this
we add enterprise and intelligence--a feller who finds
work too hard here, had better not go to the States. I
met an Irishman, one Pat Lannigan, last week, who had
just returned from the States; why, says I, Pat, what on
airth brought you back? Bad luck to them, says Pat, if
I warn't properly bit. What do you get a day in Nova
Scotia? says Judge Beler to me. Four shillings, your
Lordship, says I. There are no Lords here, says he, we
are all free. Well, says he, I'll give you as much in
one day as you can earn there in two; I'll give you eight
shillings. Long life to your Lordship, says I. So next
day to it I went with a party of men a-digging a piece
of canal, and if it wasn't a hot day my name is not Pat
Lannigan. Presently I looked up and straightened my
back; says I to a comrade of mine, Mick, says I, I'm very
dry; with that, says the overseer, we don't allow gentlemen
to talk at their work in this country. Faith, I soon
found out for my two days' pay in one, I had to do two
days' work in one, and pay two weeks' board in one, and
at the end of a month, I found myself no better off in
pocket than in Nova Scotia; while the devil a bone in my
body that didn't ache with pain: and as for my nose, it
took to bleeding, and bled day and night entirely. Upon
my soul, Mr. Slick, said he, the poor labourer does not
last long in your country: what with new rum, hard labor,
and hot weather, you'll see the graves of the Irish each
side of the canals, for all the world like two rows of
potatoes in a field that have forgot to come up. It is
a land, Sir, continued the Clockmaker, of hard work. We
have two kind of slaves, the niggers and the white slaves.
All European laborers and blacks, who come out to us, do
our hard bodily work, while we direct it to a profitable
end; neither rich nor poor, high nor low, with us, eat
the bread of idleness. Our whole capital is in active
operation, and our whole population is in active
employment. An idle fellow, like Pugnose, who runs away
to us, is clapt into harness afore he knows where he is,
and is made to work; like a horse that refuses to draw,
he is put into the Team-boat; he finds some before him
and others behind him, HE MUST EITHER DRAW, or be DRAGGED
TO DEATH.