In the course of the evening, Mr. Hopewell adverted to his return as
a matter of professional duty, and spoke of it in such a feeling and
earnest manner, as to leave no doubt upon my mind, that we should not be
able to detain him long in this country, unless his attention should be
kept fully occupied by a constant change of scene.
Mr. Slick expressed to me the same fear, and, knowing that I had been
talking of going to Scotland, entreated me not to be long absent, for he
felt convinced that as soon as he should be left alone, his thoughts and
wishes would at once revert to America.
“I will try to keep him up,” said he, “as well as I can, but I can’t do
it alone. If you do go, don’t leave us long. Whenever I find him dull,
and can’t cheer him up no how I can fix it, by talk, or fun, or sight
seein’ or nothin’, I make him vexed, and that excites him, stirs him up
with a pot stick, and is of great sarvice to him. I don’t mean actilly
makin’ him wrathy in airnest, but jist rilin of him for his own good, by
pokin’ a mistake at him. I’ll shew you, presently, how I do it.”
As soon as Mr. Hopewell rejoined us, he began to inquire into the
probable duration of our visit to this country, and expressed a wish to
return, as soon as possible, to Slickville.
“Come, Minister,” said Mr. Slick, tapping him on the shoulder, “as
father used to say, we must ‘right about face’ now. When we are at home
let us think of home, when we are here, let us think of this place. Let
us look a-head, don’t let’s look back, for we can’t see nothin’ there.”
“Indeed, Sam,” said he, with a sad and melancholy air, “it would be
better for us all if we looked back oftener than we do. From the errors
of the past, we might rectify our course for the future. Prospective sin
is often clothed in very alluring garments; past sin appears in all its
naked deformity. Looking back, therefore--”
“Is very well,” said Mr. Slick, “in the way of preachin’; but lookin’
back when you can’t see nothin’, as you are now, is only a hurtin’ of
your eyes. I never hear that word, ‘lookin’ back,’ that I don’t think of
that funny story of Lot’s wife.”
“Funny story of Lot’s wife, Sir! Do you call that a funny story, Sir?”
“I do, Sir.”
“You do, Sir?”
“Yes, I do, Sir; and I defy you or any other man to say it ain’t a funny
story.”
“Oh dear, dear,” said Mr. Hopewell, “that I should have lived to see
the day when you, my son, would dare to speak of a Divine judgment as a
funny story, and that you should presume so to address me.”
“A judgment, Sir?”
“Yes, a judgment, Sir.”
“Do you call the story of Lot’s wife a judgment?”
“Yes, I do call the story of Lot’s wife a judgment; a monument of the
Divine wrath for the sin of disobedience.”
“What! Mrs. Happy Lot? Do you call her a monument of wrath? Well, well,
if that don’t beat all, Minister. If you had a been a-tyin’ of the
night-cap last night I shouldn’t a wondered at your talkin’ at that
pace. But to call that dear little woman, Mrs. Happy Lot, that dancin’,
laughin’ tormentin’, little critter, a monument of wrath, beats all to
immortal smash.”
“Why who are you a-talkin’ of, Sam?”
“Why, Mrs. Happy Lot, the wife of the Honourable Cranbery Lot, of
Umbagog, to be sure. Who did you think I was a-talkin’ of?”
“Well, I thought you was a-talkin’ of--of--ahem--of subjects too serious
to be talked of in that manner; but I did you wrong, Sam; I did you
injustice. Give me your hand, my boy. It’s better for me to mistake and
apologize, than for you to sin and repent. I don’t think I ever heard of
Mr. Lot, of Umbagog, or of his wife either. Sit down here, and tell me
the story, for ‘with thee conversing, I forget all time.’”
“Well, Minister,” said Mr. Slick, “I’ll tell you the ins and outs of it;
and a droll story it is too. Miss Lot was the darter of Enoch Mosher,
the rich miser of Goshen; as beautiful a little critter too, as ever
slept in shoe-leather. She looked for all the world like one of the
Paris fashion prints, for she was a parfect pictur’, that’s a fact.
Her complexion was made of white and red roses, mixed so beautiful, you
couldn’t tell where the white eended, or the red begun, natur’ had
used the blendin’ brush so delicate. Her eyes were screw augurs, I tell
_you_; they bored right into your heart, and kinder agitated you, and
made your breath come and go, and your pulse flutter. I never felt
nothin’ like ‘em. When lit up, they sparkled like lamp reflectors; and
at other tunes, they was as soft, and mild, and clear as dew-drops that
hang on the bushes at sun-rise. When she loved, she loved; and when she
hated, she hated about the wickedest you ever see. Her lips were like
heart cherries of the carnation kind; so plump, and fall, and hard, you
felt as if you could fall to and eat ‘em right up. Her voice was like a
grand piany, all sorts o’ power in it; canary-birds’ notes at one eend,
and thunder at t’other, accordin’ to the humour she was in, for she
was a’most a grand bit of stuff was Happy, she’d put an edge on a knife
a’most. She was a rael steel. Her figur’ was as light as a fairy’s, and
her waist was so taper and tiny, it seemed jist made for puttin’ an
arm round in walkin’. She was as ac_tive_ and springy on her feet as a
catamount, and near about as touch me-not a sort of customer too.
She actilly did seem as if she was made out of steel springs and
chicken-hawk. If old Cran, was to slip off the handle, I think I should
make up to her, for she is ‘a salt,’ that’s a fact, a most a heavenly
splice.
“Well, the Honourable Cranbery Lot put in for her, won her, and married
her. A good speculation it turned out too, for he got the matter of one
hundred thousand of dollars by her, if he got a cent. As soon as they
were fairly welded, off they sot to take the tour of Europe, and they
larfed and cried, and kissed and quarrelled, and fit and made up all
over the Continent, for her temper was as onsartain as the climate
here--rain one minit and sun the next; but more rain nor sun.
“He was a fool, was Cranbery. He didn’t know how to manage her. His
bridle hand warn’t good, I tell you. A spry, mettlesome hoss, and a dull
critter with no action, don’t mate well in harness, that’s a fact.
“After goin’ every where, and every where else amost, where should they
get to but the Alps. One arternoon, a sincerely cold one it was too, and
the weather, violent slippy, dark overtook them before they reached the
top of one of the highest and steepest of them mountains, and they had
to spend the night at a poor squatter’s shanty.
“Well, next mornin’, jist at day-break, and sun-rise on them everlastin’
hills is tall sun-rise, and no mistake, p’rhaps nothin was ever seen so
fine except the first one, since creation. It takes the rag off quite.
Well, she was an enterprisin’ little toad, was Miss Lot too, afeered of
nothin’ a’most; so nothin’ would sarve her but she must out and have a
scramb up to the tip-topest part of the peak afore breakfast.
“Well, the squatter there, who was a kind o’ guide, did what he could to
dispersuade her, but all to no purpose; go she would, and a headstrong
woman and a runaway hoss are jist two things it’s out of all reason to
try to stop; The only way is to urge ‘em on, and then, bein’ contr_ary_
by natur’, they stop of themselves.
“‘Well,’ sais the guide, ‘if you will go, marm, do take this pike staff,
marm,’ sais he; (a sort of walkin’-stick with a spike to the eend of
it), ‘for you can’t get either up or down them slopes without it, it is
so almighty slippy there.’ So she took the staff, and off she sot and
climbed and climbed ever so far, till she didn’t look no bigger than a
snowbird.
“At last she came to a small flat place, like a table, and then she
turned round to rest, get breath, and take a look at the glorious view;
and jist as she hove-to, up went her little heels, and away went her
stick, right over a big parpendicular cliff, hundreds and hundreds, and
thousands of feet deep. So deep, you couldn’t see the bottom for the
shadows, for the very snow looked black down there. There is no way in,
it is so steep, but over the cliff; and no way out, but one, and that
leads to t’other world. I can’t describe it to you, though. I have see’d
it since myself. There are some things too big to lift; some, too big
to carry after they be lifted; and some too grand for the tongue to
describe too. There’s a notch where dictionary can’t go no farther, as
well as every other created thing, that’s a fact. P’rhaps if I was to
say it looked like the mould that that ‘are very peak was cast in, afore
it was cold and stiff, and sot up on eend, I should come as near the
mark as any thing I know on.
“Well away she slid, feet and hands out, all flat on her face, right
away, arter her pike staff. Most people would have ginn it up as gone
goose, and others been so frightened as not to do any thing at all; or
at most only jist to think of a prayer, for there was no time to say
one.
“But not so Lot’s ‘wife. She was of a conquerin’ natur’. She never gave
nothin’ up, till she couldn’t hold on no longer. She was one o’ them
critters that go to bed mistress, and rise master; and just as she
got to the edge of the precipice, her head hangin’ over, and her eyes
lookin’ down, and she all but ready to shoot out and launch away into
bottomless space, the ten commandments brought her right short up. Oh,
she sais, the sudden joy of that sudden stop swelled her heart so big,
she thought it would have bust like a byler; and, as it was, the great
endurin’ long breath she drew, arter such an alfired escape, almost
killed her at the ebb, it hurt her so.”
“But,” said Mr. Hopewell, “how did the ten commandments save her? Do you
mean that figuratively, or literally. Was it her reliance on providence,
arising from a conscious observance of the decalogue all her life, or
was it a book containing them, that caught against some thing, and stopt
her descent. It is very interesting. Many a person, Sam, has been saved
when at the brink of destruction, by laying fast hold on the bible. Who
can doubt, that the commandments had a Divine origin? Short, simple and
yet comprehensive; the first four point to our duty to our Maker, the
last six, towards our social duties. In this respect there is a great
similarity of structure, to that excellent prayer given us--”
“Oh, Minister,” said Mr. Slick, “I beg your pardon, I do, indeed, I
don’t mean that at all; and I do declare and vow now, I wasn’t a playin’
possum with you, nother. I won’t do it no more, I won’t, indeed.”
“Well, what did you mean then?”
“Why I meant her ten fingers, to be sure. When a woman clapper claws her
husband, we have a cant tarm with us boys of Slickville, savin’ she gave
him her ten commandments.”
“And a very improper expression too, Sir,” said Mr. Hopewell; “a very
irreverent, indecent, and I may say profane expression; I am quite
shocked. But as you say you didn’t mean it, are sorry for it, and will
not repeat it again, I accept your apology, and rely on your promise. Go
on, Sir.”
“Well, as I was a savin’, the moment she found herself a coasting of it
that way, flounder fashion, she hung on by her ten com--I mean her ten
fingers, and her ten toes, like grim death to a dead nigger, and it
brought her up jist in time. But how to get back was the question? To
let go the hold of any one hand was sartain death, and there was nobody
to help her, and yet to hold on long that way, she couldn’t, no how she
could fix it.
“So what does she do, (for nothin’ equals a woman for contrivances), but
move one finger at a time, and then one toe at a time, till she gets
a new hold, and then crawls backward, like a span-worm, an inch at a
hitch. Well, she works her passage this way, wrong eend foremost, by
backin’ of her paddles for the matter of half an hour or so, till she
gets to where it was roughish, and somethin’ like standin’ ground, when
who should come by but a tall handsome man, with a sort of a half coat,
half cloak-like coverin’ on, fastened round the waist with a belt, and
havin’ a hood up, to ambush the head.
“The moment she clapt eyes on him, she called to him for help. ‘Oh,’
sais she, ‘for heaven’s sake, good man, help me up! Jist take hold of my
leg and draw me back, will you, that’s a good soul?’ And then she
held up fust one leg for him, and then the other, most beseechin’, but
nothin’ would move him. He jist stopt, looked back for a moment and then
progressed agin.
“Well, it ryled her considerable. Her eyes actilly snapped with fire,
like a hemlock log at Christmas: (for nothin’ makes a woman so mad as a
parsonal slight, and them little ankles of hern were enough to move the
heart of a stone, and make it jump out o’ the ground, that’s a fact,
they were such fine-spun glass ones), it made her so mad, it gave her
fresh strength; and makin’ two or three onnateral efforts, she got clear
back to the path, and sprung right up on eend, as wicked as a she-bear
with a sore head. But when she got upright agin, she then see’d what a
beautiful frizzle of a fix she was in. She couldn’t hope to climb far;
and, indeed, she didn’t ambition to; she’d had enough of that, for one
spell. But climbin’ up was nothin’, compared to goin’ down hill without
her staff; so what to do, she didn’t know.
“At last, a thought struck her. She intarmined to make that man help
her, in spite of him. So she sprung forward for a space, like a painter,
for life or death, and caught right hold of his cloak. ‘Help--help me!’
said she, ‘or I shall go for it, that’s sartain. Here’s my puss, my
rings, my watch, and all I have got; but oh, help me! for the love of
God, help me, or my flint is fixed for good and all.’
“With that, the man turned round, and took one glance at her, as if he
kinder relented, and then, all at once, wheeled back again, as amazed as
if he was jist born, gave an awful yell, and started off as fast as he
could clip, though that warn’t very tall runnin’ nother, considerin’ the
ground. But she warn’t to be shook off that way. She held fast to his
cloak, like a burr to a sheep’s tail, and raced arter him, screamin’ and
screechin’ like mad; and the more she cried, the louder he yelled, till
the mountains all echoed it and re-echoed it, so that you would have
thought a thousand devils had broke loose, a’most.
“Such a gettin’ up stairs you never did see.
“Well, they kept up this tantrum for the space of two or three hundred
yards, when they came to a small, low, dismal-lookin’ house, when
the man gave the door a kick, that sent the latch a flyin’ off to the
t’other eend of the room, and fell right in on the floor, on his face,
as flat as a flounder, a groanin’ and a moanin’ like any thing, and
lookin’ as mean as a critter that was sent for, and couldn’t come, and
as obstinate as a pine stump.
“‘What ails you?’ sais she, ‘to act like Old Scratch that way? You ought
to be ashamed of yourself, to behave so to a woman. What on airth is
there about me to frighten you so, you great onmannerly, onmarciful,
coward, you. Come, scratch up, this minute.’
“Well, the more she talked, the more he groaned; but the devil a word,
good or bad, could she get out of him at all. With that, she stoops
down, and catches up his staff, and says she, ‘I have as great a mind to
give you a jab with this here toothpick, where your mother used to spank
you, as ever I had in all my life. But if you want it, my old ‘coon, you
must come and get it; for if you won’t help me, I shall help myself.’
“Jist at that moment, her eyes being better accustomed to the dim light
of the place, she see’d a man, a sittin’ at the fur eend of the room,
with his back to the wall, larfin’ ready to kill himself. He grinned
so, he showed his corn-crackers from ear to ear. She said, he stript his
teeth like a catamount, he look’d so all mouth.
“Well, that encouraged her, for there ain’t much harm in a larfin’ man;
it’s only them that never larf that’s fearfulsome. So sais she ‘My good
man, will you he so kind as to lend me your arm down this awful peak,
and I will reward you handsomely, you may depend.’
“Well, he made no answer, nother; and thinkin’ he didn’t onderstand
English, she tried him in Italian, and then in broken French, and then
bungled out a little German; but no, still no answer. He took no more
notice of her and her mister, and senior, and mountsheer, and mynheer,
than if he never heerd them titles, but jist larfed on.
“She stopped a minit, and looked at him full in the face, to see what he
meant by all this ongenteel behaviour, when all of a sudden, jist as she
moved one step nearer to him, she saw he was a dead man, and had been so
long there, part of the flesh had dropt off or dried off his face; and
it was that that made him grin that way, like a fox-trap. It was the
bone-house they was in. The place where poor, benighted, snow-squalled
stragglers, that perish on the mountains, are located, for their friends
to come and get them, if they want ‘em; and if there ain’t any body that
knows ‘em or cares for ‘em, why they are left there for ever, to dry
into nothin’ but parchment and atomy, as it’s no joke diggin’ a grave in
that frozen region.
“As soon as she see’d this, she never said another blessed word, but
jist walked off with the livin’ man’s pike, and began to poke her way
down the mountain as careful as she cleverly could, dreadful tired, and
awful frighted.
“Well, she hadn’t gone far, afore she heard her name echoed all round
her--Happy! Happy! Happy! It seemed from the echoes agin, as if there
was a hundred people a yelling it put all at once.
“Oh, very happy,’ said she, ‘very happy, indeed; guess you’d find it
so if you was here. I know I should feel very happy if I was out of it,
that’s all; for I believe, on my soul, this is harnted ground, and the
people in it are possessed. Oh, if I was only to home, to dear Umbagog
agin, no soul should ever ketch me in this outlandish place any more,
_I_ know.’
“Well, the sound increased and increased so, like young thunder she was
e’en a’most skeared to death, and in a twitteration all over; and her
knees began to shake so, she expected to go for it every minute; when a
sudden turn of the path show’d her her husband and the poor squatter a
sarchin’ for her.
“She was so overcome with fright and joy, she could hardly speak--and it
warn’t a trifle that would toggle her tongue, that’s a fact. It was
some time after she arrived at the house afore she could up and tell the
story onderstandable; and when she did, she had to tell it twice over,
first in short hand, and then in long metre, afore she could make out
the whole bill o’ parcels. Indeed, she hante done tellin’ it yet, and
wherever she is, she works round, and works round, till she gets Europe
spoke of, and then she begins, ‘That reminds me of a most remarkable
fact. Jist after I was married to Mr. Lot, we was to the Alps.’
“If ever you see her, and she begins that way, up hat and cut stick,
double quick, or you’ll find the road over the Alps to Umbagog, a little
the longest you’ve ever travelled, I know.
“Well, she had no sooner done than Cranbery jumps up on eend, and sais
he to the guide, ‘Uncle,’ sais he, ‘jist come along with me, that’s a
good feller, will you? We must return that good Samaritan’s’ cane to
him; and as he must be considerable cold there, I’ll jist warm his hide
a bit for him, to make his blood sarculate. If he thinks I’ll put that
treatment to my wife, Miss Lot, into my pocket, and walk off with it,
he’s mistaken in the child, that’s all, Sir. He may be stubbeder than I
be, Uncle, that’s a fact; but if he was twice as stubbed, I’d walk
into him like a thousand of bricks. I’ll give him a taste of my breed.
Insultin’ a lady is a weed we don’t suffer to grow in our fields
to Umbagog. Let him be who the devil he will, log-leg or
leather-breeches--green-shirt or blanket-coat--land-trotter or
river-roller, I’ll let him know there is a warrant out arter him, I
know.”
“‘Why,’ sais the guide, ‘he couldn’t help himself, no how he could work
it. He is a friar, or a monk, or a hermit, or a pilgrim, or somethin’
or another of that kind, for there is no eend to them, they are so many
different sorts; but the breed he is of, have a vow never to look at a
woman, or talk to a woman, or touch a woman, and if they do, there is a
penance, as long as into the middle of next week.’
“‘Not look at a woman?’ sais Cran, ‘why, what sort of a guess world
would this be without petticoats?--what a superfine superior tarnation
fool he must be, to jine such a tee-total society as that. Mint julip I
could give up, I _do_ suppose, though I had a plaguy sight sooner not
do it, that’s a fact: but as for womankind, why the angeliferous
little torments, there is no livin’ without _them_. What do you think,
stranger?’
“‘Sartainly,’ said Squatter; ‘but seein’ that the man had a vow, why it
warn’t his fault, for he couldn’t do nothin’ else. Where _he_ did wrong,
was _to look back_; if he hadn’t a _looked back_, he wouldn’t have
sinned.’
“‘Well, well,’ sais Cran, ‘if that’s the case, it is a hoss of another
colour, that. I won’t look back nother, then. Let him he. But he is
erroneous considerable.’
“So you see, Minister,” said Mr. Slick, “where there is nothin’ to be
gained, and harm done, by this retrospection, as you call it, why I
think lookin’ a-head is far better than--_lookin’ back_.”