The Road to a Woman's Heart--The Broken Heart.
As we approached the Inn at Amherst, the Clockmaker grew
uneasy. Its pretty well on in the evening, I guess, said
he, and Marm Pugwash is as onsartain in her temper as a
mornin in April; its all sunshine or all clouds with her,
and if she's in one of her tantrums, she'll stretch out
her neck and hiss, like a goose with a flock of goslins.
I wonder what on airth Pugwash was a thinkin on, when he
signed articles of partnership with that are woman; she's
not a bad lookin piece of furniture neither, and its a
proper pity sich a clever woman should carry such a stiff
upper lip--she reminds me of our old minister Joshua
Hopewell's apple trees. The old minister had an orchard
of most particular good fruit, for he was a great hand
at buddin, graftin, and what not, and the orchard (it
was on the south side of the house) stretched right up
to the road. Well, there were some trees hung over the
fence, I never seed such bearers, the apples hung in
ropes, for all the world like strings of onions, and the
fruit was beautiful. Nobody touched the minister's
apples, and when other folks lost theirn from the boys,
hisn always hung there like bait to a hook, but there
never was so much as a nibble at em. So I said to him
one day, Minister, said I, how on airth do you manage to
keep your fruit that's so exposed, when no one else cant
do it nohow. Why, says he, they are dreadful pretty
fruit, ant they? I guess, said I, there ant the like on
em in all Connecticut. Well, says he, I'll tell you the
secret, but you need'nt let on to no one about it. That
are row next the fence, I grafted it myself, I took great
pains to get the right kind, I sent clean up to Roxberry,
and away down to Squaw-neck Creek, (I was afeared he was
agoin to give me day and date for every graft, being a
terrible long-winded man in his stories,) so says I, I
know that, minister, but how do you preserve them? Why
I was a goin to tell you, said he, when you stopped me.
That are outward row I grafted myself with the choicest
kind I could find, and I succeeded. They are beautiful,
but so etarnal sour, no human soul can eat them. Well,
the boys think the old minister's graftin has all succeeded
about as well as that row, and they sarch no farther.
They snicker at my graftin, and I laugh in my sleeve, I
guess, at their penetration.
Now, Marm Pugwash is like the Minister's apples, very
temptin fruit to look at, but desperate sour. If Pugwash
had a watery mouth when be married, I guess its pretty
puckery by this time. However, if she goes to act ugly,
I'll give her a dose of 'soft sawder,' that will take
the frown out of her frontispiece, and make her dial-plate
as smooth as a lick of copal varnish. Its a pity she's
such a kickin devil, too, for she has good points--good
eye--good foot--neat pastern--fine chest--a clean set
of limbs, and carries a good ---. But here we are, now
you'll see what' soft sawder' will do. When we entered
the house, the traveller's room was all in darkness, and
on opening the opposite door into the sitting room, we
found the female part of the family extinguishing the
fire for the night. Mrs. Pugwash had a broom in her hand,
and was in the act (the last act of female housewifery)
of sweeping the hearth. The strong flickering light of
the fire, as it fell upon her tall fine figure and
beautiful face, revealed a creature worthy of the
Clockmaker's comments. Good evening, Marm, said Mr. Slick,
how do you do, and how's Mr. Pugwash? He, said she, why
he's been abed this hour, you don't expect to disturb--him
this time of night I hope. Oh no, said Mr. Stick, certainly
not, and I am sorry to have disturbed you, but we got
detained longer than we expected; I am sorry that --. So
am I, said she, but if Mr. Pugwash will keep an Inn when
he has no occasion to, his family cant expect no rest.
Here the Clockmaker, seeing the storm gathering, stooped
down suddenly, and staring intently, held out his hand
and exclaimed, well if that aint a beautiful child--come
here, my little man and shake hands along with me--well
I declare if that are little feller aint the finest child
I ever seed--what, not abed yet? ah you rogue, where did
you get them are pretty rosy cheeks; stole them from
mamma, eh? Well, I wish my old mother could see that
child, it is such a treat In our country, said he, turning
to me, the children are all as pale as chalk, or as yeller
as an orange. Lord, that are little feller would be a
show in our country--come to me my man. Here the soft
sawder began to operate. Mrs. Pugwash said in a milder
tone than we had yet heard, 'go my dear to the gentleman,
go dear.' Mr. Slick kissed him, asked him if he would go
to the States along with him, told him all the little
girls there would fall in love with him, for they didn't
see such a beautiful face once in a month of Sundays.
Black eyes, let me see, ah mamma's eyes too, and black
hair also; as I am alive, why you are mamma's own boy,
the very image of mamma. Do be seated, gentlemen, said
Mrs. Pugwash--Sally make a fire in the next room. She
ought to be proud of you, he continued. Well, if I live
to return here, I must paint your face, and have it put
on my clocks, and our folks will buy the clocks for the
sake of the face. Did you ever see, said he, again
addressing me, such a likeness between one human and
another, as between this beautiful little boy and his
mother. I am sure you have had no supper, said Mrs.
Pugwash to me; you must be hungry and weary, too--I will
get you a cup of tea. I am sorry to give you so much
trouble, said I. Not the least trouble in the world,
she replied, on the contrary a pleasure. We were then
shown into the next room, where the fire was now blazing
up, but Mr. Slick protested he could not proceed without
the little boy, and lingered behind me to ascertain his
age, and concluded by asking the child if he had any
aunts that looked like mamma.
As the door closed, Mr. Slick said, it's a pity she don't
go well in gear. The difficulty with those critters is
to get them to start, arter that there is no trouble with
them if you don't check 'em too short If you do, they'll
stop again, run back and kick like mad, and then Old Nick
himself would'nt start 'em. Pugwash, I guess, don't
understand the natur of the critter; she'll never go kind
in harness for him. When I see a child, said the Clockmaker,
I always feel safe with these women folk; for I have
always found that the road to a woman's heart lies through
her child.
You seem, said I, to understand the female heart so well,
I make no doubt you are a general favorite among the fair
sex. Any man, he replied, that understands horses, has
a pretty considerable fair knowledge of women, for they
are jist alike in temper, and require the very identical
same treatment. Incourage the timid ones, be gentle and
steady with the fractious, but lather the sulky ones like
blazes. People talk an everlastin sight of nonsense about
wine, women and horses. I've bought and sold 'em all,
I've traded in all of them, and I tell you, there aint
one in a thousand that knows a grain about either on 'em.
You hear folks say, oh, such a man is an ugly grained
critter--he'll break his wife's heart; jist as if a
woman's heart was as brittle as a pipe stalk. The female
heart, as far as my experience goes, is just like a new
India Rubber Shoe; you may pull and pull at it, till it
stretches out a yard long, and then let go, and it will
fly right back to its old shape. Their hearts are made
of stout leather, I tell you; there's a plaguy sight of
wear in 'em, I never knowed but one case of a broken
heart, and that was in tother sex, one Washington Banks.
He was a sneezer. He was tall enough to spit down on the
heads of your grenadiers, and near about high enough to
wade across Charlestown River, and as strong as a tow
boat. I guess he was somewhat less than a foot longer
than the moral law and catechism too. He was a perfect
pictur of a man; you could'nt falt him in no particular;
be was so just a made critter; folks used to run to the
winder when he passed, and say there goes Washington
Banks, beant he lovely? I do believe there was'nt a gall
in the Lowell factories, that warnt in love with him.
Sometimes, at intermission, on Sabbath days, when they
all came out together, (an amasin hansom sight too, near
about a whole congregation of young galls) Banks used to
say, 'I vow, young ladies, I wish I had five hundred arms
to reciprocate one with each of you; but I reckon I have
a heart big enough for you all; its a whapper, you may
depend, and every mite and morsel of it at your service.'
Well, how you do act, Mr. Banks, half a thousand little
clipper clapper tongues would say, all at the same time,
and their dear little eyes sparklin, like so many stars
twinklin of a frosty night.
Well, when I last see'd him, he was all skin and bone,
like a horse turned out to die. He was tetotally defleshed,
a mere walkin skeleton. I am dreadful sorry, says I, to
see you, Banks, lookin so peecked; why you look like a
sick turkey hen, all legs; what on airth ails you? I am
dyin, says he, OF A BROKEN HEART. What, says I, have the
galls been jiltin you? No, no, says he, I beant such a
fool as that neither. Well, says I, have you made a bad
speculation? No, says he, shakin his head, I hope I have
too much clear grit in me to take on so bad for that.
What under the sun, is it, then? said I. Why, says he,
I made a bet the fore part of summer with Leftenant Oby
Knowles, that I could shoulder the best bower of the
Constitution frigate. I won my bet, but the Anchor was
so eternal heavy it broke my heart. Sure enough he did
die that very fall, and he was the only instance I ever
heerd tell of A BROKEN HEART.