On the tenth day after we landed at Liverpool, we arrived in London and
settled ourselves very comfortably in lodgings at No. 202, Piccadilly,
where every possible attention was paid to us by our landlord and his
wife, Mr. and Mrs. Weeks. We performed the journey in a post-chaise,
fearing that the rapid motion of a rail car might have an unpleasant
effect upon the health of Mr. Hope well.
Of the little incidents of travel that occurred to us, or of the various
objects of attraction on the route, it is not my intention to give
any account. Our journey was doubtless much like the journeys of other
people, and every thing of local interest is to be found in Guide Books,
or topographical works, which are within the reach of every body.
This book, however imperfect its execution may be, is altogether of
another kind. I shall therefore pass over this and other subsequent
journeys, with no other remark, than that they were performed, until
something shall occur illustrative of the objects I have in view.
On this occasion I shall select from my diary a description of the
labourer’s cottage, and the parish church; because the one shews the
habits, tastes, and condition of the poor of this country, in contrast
with that of America--and the other, the relative means of religious
instruction, and its effect on the lower orders.
On the Saturday morning, while preparing to resume our journey, which
was now nearly half completed, Mr. Hopewell expressed a desire to remain
at the inn where we were, until the following Monday. As the day was
fine, he said he should like to ramble about the neighbourhood, and
enjoy the fresh air. His attention was soon drawn to some very beautiful
new cottages.
“These,” said he, “are no doubt erected at the expense, and for the
gratification of some great landed proprietor. They are not the abodes
of ordinary labourers, but designed for some favoured dependant or aged
servant. They are expensive toys, but still they are not without their
use. They diffuse a taste among the peasantry--they present them with
models, which, though they cannot imitate in costliness of material or
finish, they can copy in arrangement, and in that sort of decoration,
which flowers, and vines, and culture, and care can give. Let us seek
one which is peculiarly the poor man’s cottage, and let us go in and see
who and what they are, how they live, and above all, how they think and
talk. Here is a lane, let us follow it, till we come to a habitation.”
We turned into a grass road, bounded on either side by a high straggling
thorn hedge. At its termination was an irregular cottage with a thatched
roof, which projected over the windows in front. The latter were
latticed with diamond-shaped panes of glass, and were four in number,
one on each side of the door and two just under the roof. The door was
made of two transverse parts, the upper half of which was open. On one
side was a basket-like cage containing a magpie, and on the other, a
cat lay extended on a bench, dozing in the warmth of the sun. The blue
smoke, curling upwards from a crooked chimney, afforded proof of some
one being within.
We therefore opened a little gate, and proceeded through a neat garden,
in which flowers and vegetables were intermixed. It had a gay appearance
from the pear, apple, thorn and cherry being all in full bloom. We were
received at the door by a middle-aged woman, with the ruddy glow of
health on her cheeks, and dressed in coarse, plain, but remarkably neat
and suitable, attire. As this was a cottage selected at random, and
visited without previous intimation of our intention, I took particular
notice of every thing I saw, because I regarded its appearance as a fair
specimen of its constant and daily state.
Mr. Hopewell needed no introduction. His appearance told what he was.
His great stature and erect bearing, his intelligent and amiable face,
his noble forehead, his beautiful snow-white locks, his precise and
antique dress, his simplicity of manner, every thing, in short, about
him, at once attracted attention and conciliated favour.
Mrs. Hodgins, for such was her name, received us with that mixture of
respect and ease, which shewed she was accustomed to converse with her
superiors. She was dressed in a blue homespun gown, (the sleeves of
which were drawn up to her elbows and the lower part tucked through her
pocket-hole,) a black stuff petticoat, black stockings and shoes with
the soles more than half an inch thick. She wore also, a large white
apron, and a neat and by no means unbecoming cap. She informed us her
husband was a gardener’s labourer, that supported his family by his
daily work, and by the proceeds of the little garden attached to the
house, and invited us to come in and sit down.
The apartment into which the door opened, was a kitchen or common room.
On one side, was a large fire-place, the mantel-piece or shelf, of
which was filled with brass candlesticks, large and small, some queer
old-fashioned lamps, snuffers and trays, polished to a degree of
brightness, that was dazzling. A dresser was carried round the wall,
filled with plates and dishes, and underneath were exhibited the
ordinary culinary utensils, in excellent order. A small table stood
before the fire, with a cloth of spotless whiteness spread upon it, as
if in preparation for a meal. A few stools completed the furniture.
Passing through this place, we were shewn into the parlour, a small room
with a sanded floor. Against the sides were placed some old, dark, and
highly polished chairs, of antique form and rude workmanship. The
walls were decorated with several coloured prints, illustrative of the
Pilgrim’s Progress and hung in small red frames of about six inches
square. The fire-place was filled with moss, and its mantel-shelf had
its china sheep and sheperdesses, and a small looking-glass, the whole
being surmounted by a gun hung transversely. The Lord’s Prayer and the
Ten Commandments worked in worsted, were suspended in a wooden frame
between the windows, which had white muslin blinds, and opened on
hinges, like a door. A cupboard made to fit the corner, in a manner
to economise room, was filled with china mugs, cups and saucers of
different sizes and patterns, some old tea-spoons and a plated tea-pot.
There was a small table opposite to the window, which Contained half
a dozen books. One of these was large, handsomely bound, and decorated
with gilt edged paper. Mr. Hopewell opened it, and expressed great
satisfaction at finding such an edition of a bible in such a house. Mrs.
Hodgins explained that this was a present from her eldest son, who had
thus appropriated his first earnings to the gratification of his mother.
“Creditable to you both, dear,” said Mr. Hopewell: “to you, because it
is a proof how well you have instructed him; and to him, that he so well
appreciated and so faithfully remembered those lessons of duty.”
He then inquired into the state of her family, whether the boy who was
training a peach-tree against the end of the house was her son, and many
other matters not necessary to record with the same precision that I
have enumerated the furniture.
“Oh, here is a pretty little child!” said he. “Come here, dear, and
shake hands along with me. What beautiful hair she has! and she looks
so clean and nice, too. Every thing and every body here is so neat, so
tidy, and so appropriate. Kiss me, dear; and then talk to me; for I love
little children. ‘Suffer them to come unto me,’ said our Master, ‘for of
such is the kingdom of Heaven:’ that is, that we should resemble these
little ones in our innocence.”
He then took her on his knee. “Can you say the Lord’s Prayer, dear?”
“Yes, Sir.”
“Very good. And the ten Commandments?”
“Yes, Sir.”
“Who taught you?”
“My mother, Sir; and the parson taught me the Catechism.”
“Why, Sam, this child can say the Lord’s Prayer, the ten Commandments,
and the Catechism. Ain’t this beautiful? Tell me the fifth, dear.”
And the child repeated it distinctly and accurately.
“Right. Now, dear, always bear that in mind, especially towards your
mother. You have an excellent mother; her cares and her toils are many;
and amidst them all, how well she has done her duty to you. The only way
she can be repaid, is to find that you are what she desires you to be,
a good girl. God commands this return to be made, and offers you the
reward of length of days. Here is a piece of money for you. And now,
dear,” placing her again upon her feet, “you never saw so old a man
as me, and never will again; and one, too, that came from a far-off
country, three thousand miles off; it would take you a long time to
count three thousand; it is so far. Whenever you do what you ought not,
think of the advice of the ‘old Minister.’”
Here Mr. Slick beckoned the mother to the door, and whispered something
to her, of which, the only words that met my ear were “a trump,” “a
brick,” “the other man like him ain’t made yet,” “do it, he’ll talk,
then.”
To which she replied, “I have--oh yes, Sir--by all means.”
She then advanced to Mr. Hopewell, and asked him if he would like to
smoke.
“Indeed I would, dear, but I have no pipe here.”
She said her old man smoked of an evening, after his work was done, and
that she could give him a pipe and some tobacco, if he would condescend
to use them; and going to the cupboard, she produced a long white clay
pipe and some cut tobacco.
Having filled and lighted his pipe, Mr. Hopewell said, “What church do
you go to, dear?”
“The parish church, Sir.”
“Right; you will hear Sound doctrine and good morals preached there. Oh
this a fortunate country, Sam, for the state provides for the religious
instruction of the poor. Where the voluntary system prevails, the poor
have to give from their poverty, or go without; and their gifts are so
small, that they can purchase but little. It’s a beautiful system, a
charitable system, a Christian system. Who is your landlord?”
“Squire Merton, Sir; and one of the kindest masters, too, that ever was.
He is so good to the poor; and the ladies. Sir, they are so kind, also.
When my poor daughter Mary was so ill with the lever, I do think she
would have died but for the attentions of those young ladies; and when
she grew better, they sent her wine and nourishing things from their own
table. They will be so glad to see you. Sir, at the Priory. Oh, I wish
you could see them!”
“There it is, Sam,” he continued “That illustrates what I always told
you of their social system here. We may boast of our independence, but
that independence produces isolation. There is an individuality about
every man and every family in America, that gives no right of inquiry,
and imposes no duty of relief on any one. Sickness, and sorrow, and
trouble, are not divulged; joy, success, and happiness are not imparted.
If we are independent in our thoughts and actions, so are we left to
sustain the burden of our own ills. How applicable to our state is
that passage of Scripture, ‘The heart knoweth its own bitterness, and a
stranger intermeddleth not with its joy.’
“Now, look at this poor family; here is a clergyman provided for them,
whom they do not, and are not even expected to pay; their spiritual
wants are ministered to, faithfully and zealously, as we see by the
instruction of that little child. Here is a friend upon whom they can
rely in their hour of trouble, as the bereaved mother did on Elisha.
‘And she went up and laid her child that was dead on the bed of the man
of God, and shut the door on him, and went out.’ And when a long train
of agitation, mis-government, and ill-digested changes have deranged
this happy country, as has recently been the case, here is an indulgent
landlord, disposed to lower his rent or give further time for payment,
or if sickness invades any of these cottages, to seek out the sufferer,
to afford the remedies, and by his countenance, his kindness, and
advice, to alleviate their trouble. Here it is, a positive duty arising
from their relative situations of landlord and tenant. The tenants
support the owner, the landlord protects the tenants: the duties are
reciprocal.
“With _us_ the duties, as far as Christian duties can be said to be
optional, are voluntary; and the voluntary discharge of duties, like
the voluntary support of religion, we know, from sad experience, to be
sometimes imperfectly performed, at others intermitted, and often wholly
neglected. Oh! it is a happy country this, a great and a good country;
and how base, how wicked, how diabolical it is to try to set such
a family as this against their best friends, their pastor and their
landlord; to instil dissatisfaction and distrust into their simple
minds, and to teach them to loathe the hand, that proffers nothing but
regard or relief. It is shocking, isn’t it?”
“That’s what I often say, Sir,” said Mrs. Hodgins, “to my old man, to
keep away from them Chartists.”
“Chartists! dear, who are they? I never heard of them.”
“Why, Sir, they are the men that want the five pints.”
“Five pints! why you don’t say so; oh! they are bad men, have nothing to
do with them. Five pints! why that is two quarts and a half; that is
too much to drink if it was water; and if any thing else, it is beastly
drunkenness. Have nothing to do with them.”
“Oh! no, Sir, it is five points of law.”
“Tut--tut--tut! what have you got to do with law, my dear?”
“By gosh, Aunty,” said Mr. Slick, “you had better not cut that pie: you
will find it rather sour in the apple sarce, and tough in the paste, I
tell _you_.”
“Yes, Sir,” she replied, “but they are a unsettling of his mind. What
shall I do? for I don’t like these night meetings, and he always comes
home from ‘em cross and sour-like.”
“Well, I am sorry to hear that,” said Mr. Hopewell, “I wish I could see
him; but I can’t, for I am bound on a journey. I am sorry to hear
it, dear. Sam, this country is so beautiful, so highly cultivated, so
adorned by nature and art, and contains so much comfort and happiness,
that it resembles almost the garden of Eden. But, Sam, the Serpent is
here, the Serpent is here beyond a doubt. It changes its shape, and
alters its name, and takes a new colour, but still it is the Serpent,
and it ought to be crushed. Sometimes it calls itself liberal, then
radical, then chartist, then agitator, then repealer, then political
dissenter, then anti-corn leaguer, and so on. Sometimes it stings the
clergy, and coils round them, and almost strangles them, for it knows
the Church is its greatest enemy, and it is furious against it. Then it
attacks the peers, and covers them with its froth and slaver, and then
it bites the landlord. Then it changes form, and shoots at the Queen, or
her ministers, and sets fire to buildings, and burns up corn to increase
distress; and, when hunted away, it dives down into the collieries, or
visits the manufactories, and maddens the people, and urges them on to
plunder and destruction. It’s a melancholy thing to think of; but he is
as of old, alive and active, seeing whom he can allure and deceive, and
whoever listens is ruined for ever.
“Stay, dear, I’ll tell you what I will do for you. I’ll inquire about
these Chartists; and when I go to London, I will write a little tract
so plain that any child may read it and understand it; and call it _The
Chartist_, and get it printed, and I will send you one for your husband,
and two or three others, to give to those whom they may benefit.
“And now, dear, I must go. You and I will never meet again in this
world; but I shall often think of you, and often speak of you. I shall
tell my people of the comforts, of the neatness, of the beauty of an
English cottage. May God bless you, and so regulate your mind as to
preserve in you a reverence for his holy word, an obedience to the
commands of your Spiritual Pastor, and a respect for all that are placed
in authority over you!”
“Well, it is pretty, too, is this cottage,” said Mr. Slick, as we
strolled back to the inn, “but the handsumestest thing is to hear that
good old soul talk dictionary that way, aint it? How nateral he is!
Guess they don’t often see such a ‘postle as that in these diggins. Yes,
it’s pretty is this cottage; but it’s small, arter all. You feel like a
squirrel in a cage, in it; you have to run round and round, and don’t go
forward none. What would a man do with a rifle here? For my part, I have
a taste for the wild woods; it comes on me regular in the fall, like the
lake fever, and I up gun, and off for a week or two, and camp out, and
get a snuff of the spruce-wood air, and a good appetite, and a bit of
fresh ven’son to sup on at night.
“I shall be off to the highlands this fall; but, cuss em, they hante got
no woods there; nothin’ but heather, and thats only high enough to tear
your clothes. That’s the reason the Scotch don’t wear no breeches, they
don’t like to get ‘em ragged up that way for everlastinly, they can’t
afford it; so they let em scratch and tear their skin, for that will
grow agin, and trowsers won’t.
“Yes, it’s a pretty cottage that, and a nice tidy body that too, is Mrs.
Hodgins. I’ve seen the time when I would have given a good deal to have
been so well housed as that. There is some little difference atween that
cottage and a log hut of a poor back emigrant settler, you and I know
where. Did ever I tell you of the night I spent at Lake Teal, with old
Judge Sandford?”
“No, not that I recollect.”
“Well, once upon a time I was a-goin’ from Mill-bridge to Shadbrooke,
on a little matter of bisness, and an awful bad and lonely road it was,
too. There was scarcely no settlers in it, and the road was all made
of sticks, stones, mud holes, and broken bridges. It was een amost
onpassible, and who should I overtake on the way but the Judge, and his
guide, on horseback, and Lawyer Traverse a-joggin’ along in his gig, at
the rate of two miles an hour at the fardest.
“‘Mornin,’ sais the Judge, for he was a sociable man, and had a kind
word for every body, had the Judge. Few men ‘know’d human natur’ better
nor he did, and what he used to call the philosophy of life. ‘I am
glad to see you on the road, Mr. Slick, sais he, ‘for it is so bad I
am afraid there are places that will require our united efforts to pass
‘em.’
“Well, I felt kinder sorry for the delay too, for I know’d we should
make a poor journey on’t, on account of that lawyer critter’s gig, that
hadn’t no more busness on that rough track than a steam engine had. But
I see’d the Judge wanted me to stay company, and help him along, and so
I did. He was fond of a joke, was the old Judge, and sais he,
“‘I’m afraid we shall illustrate that passage o’ Scriptur’, Mr. Slick,’
said he, ‘“And their judges shall be overthrown in stony places.” It’s
jist a road for it, ain’t it?’
“Well we chattered along the road this way a leetle, jist a leetle
faster than we travelled, for we made a snail’s gallop of it, that’s a
fact; and night overtook us, as I suspected it would, at Obi Rafuse’s,
at the Great Lake; and as it was the only public for fourteen miles, and
dark was settin’ in, we dismounted, but oh, what a house it was!
“Obi was an emigrant, and those emigrants are ginerally so fond of
ownin’ the soil, that like misers, they carry as much of it about ‘em
on their parsons, in a common way, as they cleverly can. Some on ‘em
are awful dirty folks, that’s a fact, and Obi was one of them. He kept
public, did Obi; the sign said it was a house of entertainment for man
and beast. For critters that ain’t human, I do suppose it spoke the
truth, for it was enough to make a hoss larf, if he could understand it,
that’s a fact; but dirt, wretchedness and rags, don’t have that effect
on me.
“The house was built of rough spruce logs, (the only thing spruce about
it), with the bark on, and the cracks and seams was stuffed with moss.
The roof was made of coarse slabs, battened and not shingled, and the
chimbly peeped out like a black pot, made of sticks and mud, the way
a crow’s nest is. The winders were half broke out, and stopped up with
shingles and old clothes, and a great bank of mud and straw all round,
reached half way up to the roof, to keep the frost out of the cellar. It
looked like an old hat on a dung heap. I pitied the old Judge, because
he was a man that took the world as he found it, and made no complaints.
He know’d if you got the best, it was no use complainin’ that the best
warn’t good.
“Well, the house stood alone in the middle of a clearin’, without an
outhouse of any sort or kind about it, or any fence or enclosure, but
jist rose up as a toodstool grows, all alone in the field. Close behind
it was a thick short second growth of young birches, about fifteen feet
high, which was the only shelter it had, and that was on the wrong side,
for it was towards the south.
“Well, when we alighted, and got the baggage off, away starts the guide
with the Judge’s traps, and ups a path through the woods to a settler’s,
and leaves us. Away down by the edge of the lake was a little barn,
filled up to the roof with grain and hay, and there was no standin’ room
or shelter in it for the hosses. So the lawyer hitches his critter to
a tree, and goes and fetches up some fodder for him, and leaves him for
the night, to weather it as he could. As soon as he goes in, I takes
Old Clay to the barn, for it’s a maxim of mine always to look out arter
number one, opens the door, and pulls out sheaf arter sheaf of grain as
fast as I could, and throws it out, till I got a place big enough for
him to crawl in.
“‘Now,’ sais I, ‘old boy,’ as I shot to the door arter him, ‘if that
hole ain’t big enough for you, eat away till it is, that’s all.’
“I had hardly got to the house afore the rain, that had threatened all
day, came down like smoke, and the wind got up, and it blew like a young
hurricane, and the lake roared dismal; it was an awful night, and it was
hard to say which was wus, the Storm or the shelter.
“‘Of two evils,’ sais I to the lawyer, ‘choose the least. It ain’t a bad
thing to be well housed in a night like this, is it?’
“The critter groaned, for both cases was so ‘bad he didn’t know which
to take up to defend, so he grinned horrid and said nothin’; and it was
enough to make him grin too, that’s a fact. He looked as if he had got
hold on a bill o’ pains and penalties instead of a bill of costs that
time, you may depend.
“Inside of the house was three rooms, the keepin’ room, where we was all
half circled round the fire, and two sleepin’ rooms off of it. One of
these Obi had, who was a-bed, groanin’, coughin’, and turnin’ over and
over all the time on the creakin’ bedstead with pleurisy; t’other was
for the judge. The loft was for the old woman, his mother, and the
hearth, or any other soft place we could find, was allocated for lawyer
and me.
“What a scarecrow lookin’ critter old aunty was, warn’t she? She was all
in rags and tatters, and though she lived ‘longside of the lake the
best part of her emigrant life, had never used water since she was
christened. Her eyes were so sunk in her head, they looked like two
burnt holes in a blanket. Her hair was pushed back, and tied so tight
with an eel-skin behind her head, it seemed to take the hide with it.
I ‘most wonder how she ever shot to her eyes to go to sleep. She had no
stockins on her legs, and no heels to her shoes, so she couldn’t lift
her feet up, for fear of droppin’ off her slippers; but she just shoved
and slid about as if she was on ice. She had a small pipe in her mouth,
with about an inch of a stem, to keep her nose warm, and her skin was
so yaller and wrinkled, and hard and oily, she looked jist like a dried
smoked red herrin’, she did upon my soul.
“The floor of the room was blacker nor ink, because that is pale
sometimes; and the utenshils, oh, if the fire didn’t purify ‘em now
and ag’in, all the scrubbin’ in the world wouldn’t, they was past that.
Whenever the door was opened, in run the pigs, and the old woman hobbled
round arter them, bangin’ them with a fryin’ pan, till she seemed out
o’ breath. Every time she took less and less notice of ‘em, for she
was ‘most beat out herself, and was busy a gettin’ of the tea-kettle to
bile, and it appeared to me she was a-goin’ to give in and let ‘em sleep
with me and the lawyer, near the fire.
“So I jist puts the tongs in the sparklin’ coals and heats the eends on
‘em red hot, and the next time they comes in, I watches a chance, outs
with the tongs, and seizes the old sow by the tail, and holds on till
I singes it beautiful. The way she let go ain’t no matter, but if she
didn’t yell it’s a pity, that’s all. She made right straight for the
door, dashed in atween old aunty’s legs, and carries her out on her
back, ridin’ straddle-legs like a man, and tumbles her head over heels
in the duck pond of dirty water outside, and then lays down along side
of her, to put the fire out in its tail and cool itself.
“Aunty took up the screamin’ then, where the pig left off; but her voice
warn’t so good, poor thing! she was too old for that, it sounded like a
cracked bell; it was loud enough, but it warn’t jist so clear. She came
in drippin’ and cryin’ and scoldin’; she hated water, and what was wus,
this water made her dirtier. It ran off of her like a gutter. The way
she let out agin pigs, travellers and houses of entertainment, was a
caution to sinners. She vowed she’d stop public next mornin’, and bile
her kettle with the sign; folks might entertain themselves and be hanged
to ‘em, for all her, that they might. Then she mounted a ladder and goes
up into the loft-to change.
“‘Judge’ sais I, ‘I am sorry, too, I singed that pig’s tail arter that
fashion, for the smell of pork chops makes me feel kinder hungry, and if
we had ‘em, no soul could eat ‘em here in such a stye as this. But, dear
me,’ sais I, ‘You’d better move, Sir; that old woman is juicy, and I
see it a comin’ through the cracks of the floor above, like a streak of
molasses.
“‘Mr. Slick,’ sais he, ‘this is dreadful. I never saw any thing so bad
before in all this country; but what can’t be cured must be endured, I
do suppose. We must only be good-natured and do the best we can, that’s
all. An emigrant house is no place to stop at, is it? There is a tin
case,’ sais he, ‘containin’ a cold tongue and some biscuits, in my
portmanter; please to get them out. You must act as butler to-night, if
you please; for I can’t eat any thing that old woman touches.’
“So I spreads one of his napkins on the table, and gets out the
eatables, and then he produced a pocket pistol, for he was a sensible
man was the judge, and we made a small check, for there warn’t enough
for a feed.
“Arter that, he takes out a night-cap, and fits it on tight, and then
puts on his cloak, and wraps the hood of it close over his head, and
foldin’ himself up in it, he went and laid down without ondressin’. The
lawyer took a stretch for it on the bench, with his gig cushions for a
pillar, and I makes up the fire, sits down on the chair, puts my legs up
on the jamb, draws my hat over my eyes, and folds my arms for sleep.
“‘But fust and foremost,’ sais I, ‘aunty, take a drop of the strong
waters: arter goin’ the whole hog that way, you must need some,’ and I
poured her out a stiff corker into one of her mugs, put some sugar and
hot water to it, and she tossed it off as if she railly did like it.
“‘Darn that pig,’ said she, ‘it is so poor, its back is as sharp as a
knife. It hurt me properly, that’s a fact, and has most broke my crupper
bone.’ And she put her hand behind her, and moaned piteous.
“‘Pig skin,’ sais I, ‘aunty, is well enough when made into a saddle, but
it ain’t over pleasant to ride on bare back that way,’ sais I, ‘is it?
And them bristles ain’t quite so soft as feathers, I do suppose.’
“I thought I should a died a holdin’ in of a haw haw that way. Stifling
a larf a’most stifles oneself, that’s a fact. I felt sorry for her, too,
but sorrow won’t always keep you from larfin’, unless you be sorry for
yourself. So as I didn’t want to offend her I ups legs agin to the jam,
and shot my eyes and tried to go to sleep.
“Well, I can snooze through most any thin’, but I couldn’t get much
sleep that night. The pigs kept close to the door, a shovin’ agin it
every now and then, to see all was right for a dash in, if the bears
came; and the geese kept sentry too agin the foxes; and one old feller
would squake out “all’s well” every five minuts, as he marched up and
down and back agin on the bankin’ of the house.
“But the turkeys was the wust. They was perched upon the lee side of the
roof, and sometimes an eddy of wind would take a feller right slap off
his legs, and send him floppin’ and rollin’ and sprawlin’ and screamin’
down to the ground, and then he’d make most as much fuss a-gettin’ up
into line agin. They are very fond of straight, lines is turkeys. I
never see an old gobbler, with his gorget, that I don’t think of a
kernel of a marchin’ regiment, and if you’ll listen to him and watch
him, he’ll strut jist like one, and say, ‘halt! dress!’ oh, he is a
military man is a turkey cock: he wears long spurs, carries a stiff
neck, and charges at red cloth, like a trooper.
“Well then a little cowardly good natured cur, that lodged in an empty
flour barrel, near the wood pile, gave out a long doleful howl, now and
agin, to show these outside passengers, if he couldn’t fight for ‘em, he
could at all events cry for ‘em, and it ain’t every goose has a mourner
to her funeral, that’s a fact, unless it be the owner.
“In the mornin’ I wakes up, and looks round for lawyer, but he was gone.
So I gathers up the brans, and makes up the fire, and walks out. The
pigs didn’t try to come in agin, you may depend, when they see’d me;
they didn’t like the curlin’ tongs, as much as some folks do, and pigs’
tails kinder curl naterally. But there was lawyer a-standin’ up by the
grove, lookin’ as peeked and as forlorn, as an onmated loon.
“‘What’s the matter of you, Squire?’ sais I. ‘You look like a man that
was ready to make a speech; but your witness hadn’t come, or you hadn’t
got no jury.’
“‘Somebody has stole my horse,’ said he.
“Well, I know’d he was near-sighted, was lawyer, and couldn’t see a pint
clear of his nose, unless it was a pint o’ law. So I looks all round and
there was his hoss, a-standin’ on the bridge, with his long tail hanging
down straight at one eend, and his long neck and head a banging down
straight at t’other eend, so that you couldn’t tell one from t’other or
which eend was towards you. It was a clear cold mornin’. The storm was
over and the wind down, and there was a frost on the ground. The critter
was cold I suppose, and had broke the rope and walked off to stretch his
legs. It was a monstrous mean night to be out in, that’s sartain.
“‘There is your hoss,’ sais I.
“‘Where?’ sais he.
“‘Why on the bridge,’ sais I; “he has got his head down and is a-lookin’
atween his fore-legs to see where his tail is, for he is so cold, I do
suppose he can’t feel it.’
“Well, as soon as we could, we started; but afore we left, sais the
Judge to me, ‘Mr. Slick,’ sais he, ‘here is a plaister,’ taking out
a pound note, ‘a plaister for the skin the pig rubbed off of the old
woman. Give it to her, I hope it is big enough to cover it.’ And he fell
back on the bed, and larfed and coughed, and coughed and larfed, till
the tears ran down his cheeks.
“Yes,” said Mr. Slick, “yes, Squire, this is a pretty cottage of Marm
Hodgins; but we have cottages quite as pretty as this, our side of the
water, arter all. They are not all like Obi Rafuses, the immigrant. The
natives have different guess places, where you might eat off the floor
a’most, all’s so clean. P’raps we hante the hedges, and flowers, and
vines and fixin’s, and what-nots.”
“Which, alone,” I said, “make a most important difference. No, Mr.
Slick’, there is nothing to be compared to this little cottage.
“I perfectly agree with you, Squire,” said Mr. Hopewell, “it is quite
unique. There is not only nothing equal to it, but nothing of its kind
at all like--_an English cottage_.”