Taming a Shrew.
The road from Amherst to Parrsboro' is tedious and uninteresting. In
places it is made so straight that you can see several miles of it
before you, which produces an appearance of interminable length,
while the stunted growth of the spruce and birch trees bespeaks a
cold, thin soil, and invests the scene with a melancholy and sterile
aspect. Here and there occurs a little valley, with its meandering
stream, and verdant and fertile interval, which, though possessing
nothing peculiar to distinguish it from many others of the same kind,
strikes the traveller as superior to them all, from the contrast to
the surrounding country. One of these secluded spots attracted my
attention, from the number and neatness of the buildings, which its
proprietor, a tanner and currier, had erected for the purposes of his
trade. Mr. Slick said he knew him, and he guessed it was a pity he
couldn't keep his wife in as good order as he did his factory.
"They don't hitch their horses together well at all. He is properly
hen-pecked," said he; "he is afeerd to call his soul his own, and he
leads the life of a dog; you never seed the beat of it, I vow. Did
you ever see a rooster hatch a brood of chickens?"
"No," said I, "not that I can recollect."
"Well then I have," said he, "and if he don't look like a fool all
the time he is a-settin' on the eggs, it's a pity; no soul could help
larfin' to see him. Our old nigger, January Snow, had a spite agin
one of father's roosters, seein' that he was a coward, and wouldn't
fight. He used to call him Dearborne, arter our General that behaved
so ugly to Canada; and, says he one day, 'I guess you are no better
than a hen, you everlastin' old chicken-hearted villain, and I'll
make you a larfin' stock to all the poultry. I'll put a trick on you
you'll bear in mind all your born days.' So he catches old Dearborne,
and pulls all the feathers off his breast, and strips him as naked as
when he was born, from his throat clean down to his tail, and then
takes a bundle of nettles and gives him a proper switchin' that stung
him, and made him smart like mad; then he warms some eggs and puts
them in a nest, and sets the old cock right a top of 'em. Well, the
warmth of the eggs felt good to the poor critter's naked belly, and
kinder kept the itchin' of the nettles down, and he was glad to bide
where he was; and whenever he was tired and got off his skin felt so
cold, he'd run right back and squat down agin; and when his feathers
began to grow, and he got obstropolous, he got another ticklin' with
the nettles, that made him return double quick to his location. In a
little time he larnt the trade real complete. Now, this John Porter
(and there he is on the bridge, I vow; I never seed the beat o' that,
speak of old Satan and he's sure to appear), well, he's jist like old
Dearborne, only fit to hatch eggs."
When we came to the Bridge, Mr. Slick stopped his horse, to shake
hands with Porter, whom he recognized as an old acquaintance and
customer. He enquired after a bark-mill he had smuggled from the
States for him, and enlarged on the value of such a machine, and the
cleverness of his countrymen who invented such useful and profitable
articles; and was recommending a new process of tanning, when a
female voice from the house was heard, vociferating, "John Porter,
come here this minute." "Coming, my dear," said the husband. "Come
here, I say, directly, why do you stand talking to that Yankee
villain there." The poor husband hung his head, looked silly, and
bidding us good-bye, returned slowly to the house.