Yankee Eating and Horse Feeding.
Did you ever heer tell of Abernethy, a British doctor?
said the Clockmaker. Frequently, said I, he was an eminent
man, and had a most extensive practice. Well, I reckon
he was a vulgar critter that, he replied, he treated the
honble. Aiden Gobble, secretary to our legation at London,
dreadful bad once; and I guess if it had been me he had
used that way, I'd a fixed his flint for him, so that
he'd think twice afore he'd fire such another shot as
that are again. I'd a made him make tracks, I guess, as
quick as a dog does a hog from a potatoe field. He'd a
found his way out of the hole in the fence a plaguy sight
quicker than he came in, I reckon. Hits manner, said I,
was certainly rather unceremonious at times, but he was
so honest, and so straightforward, that no person was,
I believe, ever seriously offended at him. IT WAS HIS
WAY. Then his way was so plague rough, continued the
Clockmaker, that he'd been the better, if it had been
hammered and mauled down smoother. I'd a levelled him as
flat as a flounder. Pray what was his offence? said I.
Bad enough you may depend. The honble. Alden Gobble was
dyspeptic, and he suffered great on easiness arter eatin,
so he gees to Abemethy for advice. What's the matter with
you, said the Doctor? jist that way, without even passing
the time o' day with him--What's the matter with you?
said he. Why, says Alden, I presume I have the Dyspepsy.
Ah! said he, I see; a Yankee swallowed more dollars and
cents than he can digest I am an American citizen, says
Alden, with great dignity, I am Secretary to our Legation
at the Court of St. James. The devil you are, said
Abernethy, then you'll soon get rid of your dyspepsy. I
don't see that are inference, said Alden, it don't follow
from what you predicate at all--it ant a natural
consequence, I guess, that a man should cease to be ill,
because he is called by the voice of a free and enlightened
people to fill an important office. (The truth is, you
could no more trap Alden than you could an Indian. He
could see other folks' trail, and made none himself; he
was a real diplomatist, and I believe our diplomatists
are allowed to be the best in the world.) But I tell you
it does follow, said the Doctor; for in the company you'll
have to keep, you'll have to eat like a Christian. It
was an everlasting pity Alden contradicted him, for he
broke out like one ravin distracted mad. I'll be d--d,
said he, if ever I saw a Yankee that did'nt bolt his food
whole like a Boa Constrictor. How the devil can you
expect to digest food, that you neither take the trouble
to dissect, nor time to masticate? It's no wonder you
lose your teeth, for you never use them; nor your digestion,
for you overload it; nor your saliva, for you expend it
on the carpets, instead of your food. Its disgusting,
its beastly. You Yankees load your stomachs as a Devonshire
man does his cart, as full as it can hold, and as fast
as he can pitch it with a dung fork, and drive off; and
then you complain that such a load of compost is too
heavy for you. Dyspepsy, eh! infernal guzzling, you mean.
I'll tell you what, Mr. Secretary of Legation, take half
the time to eat, that you do to drawl out your words,
chew your food half as much as you do your filthy tobacco,
and you'll be well in a month. I don't understand such
language, said Alden. (for he was fairly ryled, and got
his dander up, and when he shows clear grit, he looks
wicked ugly, I tell you.) I don't understand such language.
Sir: I came here to consult you professionally, and not
to be ---. Don't understand! said the Doctor, why its
plain English: but here, read my book--and he shoved a
book into his hands and left him in an instant, standing
alone in the middle of the room. If the honble. Alden
Gobble had gone right away and demanded his passports,
and returned home with the Legation, in one of our first
class frigates, (I guess the English would as soon see
pyson as one o' them are Serpents) to Washington, the
President and the people would have sustained him in it,
I guess, until an apology was offered for the insult to
the nation. I guess if it had been me, said Mr. Slick,
I'd a headed him afore he slipt out o' the door, and
pinned him up agin the wall, and made him bolt his words
again, as quick as he throw'd 'em up, for I never see'd
an Englishman that didn't cut his words as short as he
does his horse's tail, close up to the stump. It certainly
was very coarse and vulgar language, and I think, said
I, that your Secretary had just cause to be offended at
such an ungentlemanlike attack, although he showed his
good sense in treating it with the contempt it deserved,
It was plaguy lucky for the doctor, I tell you, that he
cut stick as he did, and made himself scarce, for Alden
was an ugly customer; he'd a gin him a proper scalding
--he'd a taken the bristles off his hide, as clean as
the skin of a spring shote of a pig killed at Christmas.
The Clockmaker was evidently excited by his own story,
and to indemnify himself for these remarks on his
countrymen, he indulged for some time in ridiculing the
Nova Scotians.
Do you see that are flock of colts, said he, (as we passed
one of those beautiful prairies that render the vallies
of Nova Scotia so verdant and so fertile,) well, I guess
they keep too much of that are stock. I heerd an Indian
one day ax a tavern keeper for some rum; why, Joe Spawdeeck,
said he, I reckon you have got too much already. Too much
of any thing, said Joe is not good, but too much rum is
jist enough. I guess these Blue Noses think so bout their
horses, they are fairly eat up by them, out of house and
home, and they are no good neither. They beant good saddle
horses, and they beant good draft beasts--they are jist
neither one thing nor tother. They are like the drink of
our Connecticut folks. At mowing time they use molasses
and water, nasty stuff only fit to catch flies--it spiles
good water and makes bad beer. No wonder the folks are
poor. Look at them are great dykes; well, they all go to
feed horses; and look at their grain fields on the upland;
well, they are all sowed with oats to feed horses, and
they buy their bread from us: so we feed the asses, and
they feed the horses. If I had them critters on that are
marsh, on a location of mine, I'd jist take my rifle and
shoot every one on them; the nasty yo necked, cat hammed,
heavy headed, flat eared, crooked shanked, long legged,
narrow chested, good for nothin brutes; they aint worth
their keep one winter. I vow, I wish one of these Blue
Noses, with his go-to-meetin clothes on, coat tails pinned
up behind like a leather blind of a Shay, an old spur on
one heel, and a pipe stuck through his hat band, mounted
on one of these limber timbered critters, that moves its
hind legs like a hen scratchin gravel, was sot down in
Broadway, in New York, for a sight. Lord! I think I hear
the West Point cadets a larfin at him. Who brought that
are scare-crow out of standin corn and stuck him here?
I guess that are citizen came from away down east out of
the Notch of the White Mountains. Here comes the Cholera
doctor, from Canada--not from Canada, I guess, neither,
for he don't LOOK AS IF HE HAD EVER BEEN AMONG THE RAPIDS.
If they would'nt poke fun at him its a pity. If they'd
keep less horses, and more sheep, they'd have food and
clothing, too, instead of buying both. I vow I've larfed
afore now till I have fairly wet myself a cryin, to see
one of these folks catch a horse: may be he has to go
two or three miles of an arrand. Well, down he goes on
the dyke with a bridle in one hand, and an old tin pan
in another, full of oats, to catch his beast. First he
goes to one flock of horses, and then to another, to see
if he can find his own critter. At last he gets sight on
him, and goes softly up to him, shakin of his oats, and
a coaxin him, and jist as he goes to put his hand upon
him, away he starts all head and tail, and the rest with
him: that starts another flock, and they set a third
off, and at last every troop on 'em goes, as if Old Nick
was arter them, till they amount to two or three hundred
in a drove. Well, he chases them clear across the Tantramer
marsh, seven miles good, over ditches, creeks, mire holes,
and flag ponds, and then they turn and take a fair chase
for it back again seven miles more. By this time, I
presume, they are all pretty considerably well tired,
and Blue Nose, he goes and gets up all the men folks in
the neighborhood, and catches his beast, as they do a
moose arter he is fairly run down; so he runs fourteen
miles, to ride two, because he is in a tarnation hurry.
Its e'en a most equal to eatin soup with a fork, when
you are short of time. It puts me in mind of catching
birds by sprinkling salt on their tails; its only one
horse a man can ride out of half a dozen, arter all. One
has no shoes, tother has a colt, one arnt broke, another
has a sore back, while a fifth is so etarnal cunnin, all
Cumberland could'nt catch him, till winter drives him up
to the barn for food.
Most of them are dyke marshes have what they call 'HONEY
POTS' in 'em; that is a deep hole all full of squash,
where you can't find no bottom. Well, every now and then,
when a feller goes to look for his horse, he sees his
tail a stickin right out an eend, from one of these honey
pots, and wavin like a head of broom corn; and sometimes
you see two or three trapped there, e'en a most smothered,
everlastin' tired, half swimmin' half wadin, like rats
in a molasses cask. When they find 'em in that are
pickle, they go and get ropes, and tie 'em tight round
their necks, and half hang 'em to make 'em float, and
then haul 'em out. Awful looking critters they be, you
may depend, when they do come out; for all the world like
half drowned kittens--all slinkey--slimey--with their
great long tails glued up like a swab of oakum dipped in
tar. If they don't look foolish its a pity? Well, they
have to nurse these critters all winter, with hot mashes,
warm covering, and what not, and when spring comes, they
mostly die, and if they don't they are never no good
arter. I wish with all my heart half the horses in the
country were barrelled up in these here 'honey pots,'
and then there'd be near about one half too many left
for profit. Jist look at one of these barn yards in the
spring--half a dozen half starved colts, with their hair
lookin a thousand ways for Sunday, and their coats hangin
in tatters, and half a dozen good for nothin old horses,
a crowdin out the cows and sheep.
Can you wonder that people who keep such an unprofitable
stock, come out of the small eend of the horn in the long
run?