"It strikes me," sais I to myself, for I thought, puttin' this and that together; "her rather likin' him, and her desire to see his house, and her tryin' to flatter me that I talked like him; that perhaps, like her young Gaelic friend's brother who dreamed of the silver dollars, she might have had a dream of him."

So, sais I, "I have an idea, Jessie, that there is a subject, if he talked to you upon, you could understand."

"Oh, nonsense," said she, rising and laughing, "now do you go on board and get me your book; and I will go and see about dinner for the Doc—for my father and you."

Well, I held out my hand, and said,

"Good-morning, Miss Jessie. Recollect, when I bring you the book that you must pay the forfeit."

She dropt my hand in a minute, stood up as straight as a tragedy actress, and held her head as high as the Queen of Sheby. She gave me a look I shan't very easily forget, it was so full of scorn and pride.

"And you too, Sir," said she, "I didn't expect this of you," and then left the room.

"Hullo!" sais I, "who's half-cracked now; you or the doctor? it appears to me it's six of one and half-a-dozen of the other;" and I took my hat, and walked down to the beach and hailed a boat.

About four I returned to the house, and brought with me, as I promised, the "Clockmaker." When I entered the room, I found Jessie there, who received me with her usual ease and composure. She was trimming a work-bag, the sides of which were made of the inner bark of the birch-tree, and beautifully worked with porcupine quills and moose hair.

"Well," sais I, "that is the most delicate thing I ever saw in all my born days. Creation, how that would be prized in Boston! How on earth did you learn to do that?" sais I.

"Why," said she, with an effort that evidently cost her a struggle, "my people make and barter them at the Fort at the north-west for things of more use. Indians have no money."

It was the first time I had heard so distinct an avowal of her American origin, and as I saw it brought the colour to her face, I thought I had discovered a clue to her natural pride, or, more properly, her sense of the injustice of the world, which is too apt to look down upon this mixed race with open or ill-concealed contempt. The scurvey opens old sores, and makes them bleed afresh, and an unfeeling fellow does the same. Whatever else I may be, I am not that man, thank fortune. Indeed, I am rather a dab at dressin' bodily ones, and I won't turn my back in that line, with some simples I know of, on any doctor that ever trod in shoe-leather, with all his compounds, phials, and stipties.

In a gineral way, they know just as much about their business as a donkey does of music, and yet both of them practise all day. They don't make no improvements. They are like the birds of the air, and the beasts of the forest. Swallows build their nests year after year and generation after generation in the identical same fashion, and moose winter after winter, and century after century, always follow in each other's tracks. They consider it safer, it ain't so laborious, and the crust of the snow don't hurt their shins. If a critter is such a fool as to strike out a new path for himself, the rest of the herd pass, and leave him to worry on, and he soon hears the dogs in pursuit, and is run down and done for. Medical men act in the same manner.

Brother Eldad, the doctor, used to say to me when riggin' him on the subject:

"Sam, you are the most conceited critter I ever knew. You have picked up a few herbs and roots, that have some virtue in them, but not strength enough for us to give a place to in the pharmacopia of medicine."

"Pharmacopia?" sais I, "why, what in natur is that? What the plague does it mean? Is it bunkum?"

"You had better not talk on the subject," said he, "if you don't know the tarms."

"You might as well tell me," sais I, "that I had better not speak English if I can't talk gibberish. But," sais I, "without joking, now, when you take the husk off that, and crack the nut, what do you call the kernel?"

"Why," sais he, "it's a dispensary; a book containin' rules for compoundin' medicines."

"Well then, it's a receipt-book, and nothin' else, arter all. Why the plague can't you call it so at once, instead of usin' a word that would break the jaw of a German?"

"Sam," he replied, "the poet says with great truth,

"'A little learning is a dangerous thing; Drink deep, or taste not the Pierian spring.'"

"Dear, dear," said I, "there is another strange sail hove in sight, as I am alive. What flag does 'Pierian' sail under?"

"The magpies," said he, with the air of a man that's a goin' to hit you hard. "It is a spring called Pierus after a gentleman of that name, whose daughters, that were as conceited as you be, were changed into magpies by the Muses, for challenging them out to sing. All pratin' fellows like you, who go about runnin' down doctors, ought to be sarved in the same way."

"A critter will never be run down," said I, "who will just take the trouble to get out of the way, that's a fact. Why on airth couldn't the poet have said Magpian Spring, then all the world would understand him. No, the lines would have had more sense if they had run this way:

"'A little physic is a dangerous thing; Drink deep, or drink not of the doctor's spring.'"

Well, it made him awful mad. Sais he, "You talk of treating wounds as all unskilful men do, who apply balsams and trash of that kind, that half the time turns the wound into an ulcer; and then when it is too late the doctor is sent for, and sometimes to get rid of the sore, he has to amputate the limb. Now, what does your receipt book say?"

"It sais," sais I, "that natur alone makes the cure, and all you got to do, is to stand by and aid her in her efforts."

"That's all very well," sais he, "if nature would only tell you what to do, but nature leaves you, like a Yankee quack as you are, to guess."

"Well," sais I, "I am a Yankee, and I ain't above ownin' to it, and so are you, but you seem ashamed of your broughtens up, and I must say I don't think you are any great credit to them. Natur, though you don't know it, because you are all for art, does tell you what to do, in a voice so clear you can't help hearing it, and in language so plain you can't help understandin' it. For it don't use chain-shot words like 'pharmacopia' and 'Pierian,' and so on, that is neither Greek nor Latin, nor good English, nor vulgar tongue. And more than that, it shows you what to do. And the woods, and the springs, and the soil is full of its medicines and potions. Book doctrin' is like book farmin', a beautiful thing in theory, but ruination in practice."

"Well," said he, with a toss of his head, "this is very good stump oratory, and if you ever run agin a doctor at an election, I shouldn't wonder if you won it, for most people will join you in pullin' down your superiors."

That word superiors grigged me; thinks I, "My boy, I'll just take that expression, roll it up into a ball, and shy it back at you, in a way that will make you sing out 'Pen and ink,' I know. Well," sais I, quite mild (I am always mild when I am mad, a keen razor is always smooth), "have you any other thing to say about natur?"

"Yes," sais he, "do you know what healin' by the first intention is, for that is a nateral operation? Answer me that, will you?"

"You mean the second intention, don't you?" sais I.

"No," he replied, "I mean what I say."

"Well, Eldad," sais I, "my brother, I will answer both. First about the election, and then about the process of healin', and after that we won't argue no more, for you get so hot always, I am afraid you will hurt my feelins. First," sais I, "I have no idea of runnin' agin a doctor either at an election or elsewhere, so make yourself quite easy on that score, for if I did, as he is my superior, I should be sure to get the worst of it."

"How," said he, "Sam?" lookin' quite pleased, seein' me kinder knock under that way.

"Why dod drot it," sais I, "Eldad, if I was such a born fool as to run agin a doctor, his clothes would fill mine so chock full of asafoetida and brimstone, I'd smell strong enough to pysen a poll-cat. Phew! the very idea makes me sick; don't come any nearer, or I shall faint. Oh, no, I shall give my superiors a wide berth, depend upon it. Then," sais I, "secondly, as to healin' by the first intention, I have heard of it, but never saw it practised yet. A doctor's first intention is to make money, and the second is to heal the wound. You have been kind enough to treat me to a bit of poetry, now I won't be in your debt, so I will just give you two lines in return. Arter you went to Philadelphia to study, Minister used to make me learn poetry twice a week. All his books had pencil marks in the margin agin all the tid bits, and I had to learn more or less of these at a time according to their length; among others I remember two verses that just suit you and me.

"'To tongue or pudding thou hast no pretence, Learning thy talent is, but mine is SENSE.'"

"Sam," said he, and he coloured up, and looked choked with rage, "Sam."

"Dad," sais I, and it stopped him in a minute. It was the last syllable of his name, and when we was boys, I always called him Dad, and as he was older than me, I sometimes called him Daddy on that account. It touched him, I see it did. Sais I, "Dad, give me your daddle, fun is fun, and we may carry our fun too far," and we shook hands. "Daddy," sais I, "since I became an author, and honorary corresponding member of the Slangwhanger Society, your occupation and mine ain't much unlike, is it?"

"How?" said he.

"Why, Dad," sais I, "you cut up the dead, and I cut up the livin."

"Well," sais he, "I give less pain, at any rate, and besides, I do more good, for I make the patient leave a legacy to posterity, by furnishing instruction in his own body."

"You don't need to wait for dissection for the bequest," said I, "for many a fellow after amputation has said to you, 'a-leg-I-see.' But why is sawing off a leg an unprofitable thing? Do you give it up? Because it's always bootless."

"Well," said he, "why is an author the laziest man in the world? Do you give that up? Because he is most of his time in sheets."

"Well, that is better than being two sheets in the wind," I replied. "But why is he the greatest coward in creation in hot weather? Because he is afraid somebody will quilt him."

"Oh, oh," said he, "that is an awful bad one. Oh, oh, that is like lead, it sinks to the bottom, boots, spurs, and all. Oh, come, that will do, you may take my hat. What a droll fellow you be. You are the old sixpence, and nothin' will ever change you. I never see a feller have such spirits in my life; do you know what pain is?"

"Oh," sais I, "Dad," and I put on a very sad look, "Daddy," sais I, "my heart is most broke, though I don't say anythin' about it. There is no one I can confide in, and I can't sleep at all. I was thinkin' of consultin' you, for I know I can trust you, and I am sure your kind and affectionate heart will feel for me, and that your sound, excellent judgment will advise me what is best to be done under the peculiar circumstances."

"Sam," said he, "my good fellow, you do me no more than justice," and he took my hand very kindly, and sat down beside me. "Sam, I am very sorry for you. Confide in me; I will be as secret as the grave. Have you consulted dear old Minister?"

"Oh, no," said I, "Minister is a mere child."

"True, true, my brother," said he, "he is a good worthy man, but a mere child, as you say. Is it an affair of the heart, Sam?"

"Oh, no," sais I, "I wish it was, for I don't think I shall ever die of a broken heart for any one, it don't pay."

"Is it a pecuniary affair?"

"No, no, if it was it might be borne, an artful dodge, a good spekelation, or a regular burst would soon cure that."

"I hope it ain't an affair of law," said he, lookin' frightened to death, as if I had done something dreadful bad.

"No, I wish it was, for a misnomer, an alibi, a nonjoinder, a demurrer, a nonsuit, a freemason or a know-nothin' sign to a juror, a temperance wink, or an orange nod to a partisan judge, or some cussed quirk or quibble or another, would carry me through it. No, it ain't that."

"What is it then?"

"Why," sais I, a bustin' out a larfin, "I am most dead sometimes with the jumpin' toothache."

"Well, well," said he, "I never was sold so before, I vow; I cave in, I holler, and will stand treat."

That's the way we ended our controversy about wounds.

But he may say what he likes. I consider myself rather a dab at healing bodily ones. As to those of the heart, I haven't had the experience, for I am not a father confessor to galls, and of course ain't consulted. But it appears to me clergymen don't know much about the right way to treat them. The heart is a great word. In itself it's nothin' but a thing that swells and contracts, and keeps the blood a movin; a sort of central post-office that communicates with all the great lines and has way stations to all remote parts. Like that, there is no sleep in it day or night. Love, hope, fear, despair, disappointment, ambition, pride, supplication, craft, cant, fraud, piety, speculation, secrets, tenderness, bitterness, duty, disobedience, truth, falsehood, gratitude, humbug, and all sorts of such things, pass through it or wait till called for; they "are thar." All these are dispersed by railways, expresses, fast and slow coaches, and carriers. By a figure of speech all these things are sumtotalized, and if put on paper, the depository is called the post-office, and the place where they are conceived and hatched and matured, the heart.

Well, neither the one nor the other has any feeling. They are merely the edifices respectively designed for these operations. The thing and its contents are in one case called the heart; but the contents only of the other are called the mail. Literally therefore the heart is a muscle, or some such an affair, and nothing more; but figuratively it is a general term that includes, expresses, and stands for all these things together. We talk of it therefore as a living, animated, responsible being that thinks for itself, and acts through its agents. It is either our spiritual part, or something spiritual within us. Subordinate or independent of us—guiding or obeying us—influencing or influenced by us. We speak of it, and others treat it, as separate, for they and we say our heart. We give it, a colour and a character; it may be a black heart or a base heart; it may be a brave or a cowardly one; it may be a sound or a weak heart also, and a true or a false one; generous or ungrateful; kind or malignant, and so on.

It strikes me natur would have been a more suitable word; but poets got hold of it, and they bedevil everything they touch. Instead of speaking of a critter's heart therefore, it would to my mind have been far better to have spoke of the natur of the animal, for I go the whole hog for human natur. But I suppose nobody would understand me if I did, and would say I had no heart to say so. I'll take it therefore, as I find it—a thing having a body or substance that can be hurt, and a spirit that can be grieved.

Well, as such, I don't somehow think ministers in a general way know how to treat it. The heart, in its common acceptation, is very sensitive and must be handled gently; if grief is there, it must be soothed and consoled, and hope called in to open views of better things. If disappointment has left a sting, the right way is to show a sufferer it might have been wuss, or that if his wishes had been fulfilled, they might have led to something more disastrous. If pride has been wounded, the patient must be humoured by agreeing with him, in the first instance, that he has been shamefully used (for that admits his right to feel hurt, which is a great thing); and then he may be convinced he ought to be ashamed to acknowledge it, for he is superior to his enemy, and in reality so far above him it would only gratify him to think he was of consequence enough to be hated. If he has met with a severe pecuniary loss in business, he ought to be told it's the fortune of trade; how lucky he is he ain't ruined, he can afford and must expect losses occasionally. If he frets over it, it will hurt his mercantile credit, and after all, he will never miss it, except in a figure in the bottom of his balance-sheet, and besides, riches ain't happiness, and how little a man can get out of them at best; and a minister ought to be able to have a good story to tell him, with some point in it, for there is a great deal of sound philosophy in a good anecdote.

He might say, for instance: "Did you ever hear of John Jacob Astor?"

"No, never."

"What not of John Jacob Astor, the richest man in all the unevarsal United States of America? The man that owns all the brown and white bears, silver-gray and jet-black foxes, sables, otters, stone martins, ground squirrels, and every created critter that has a fur jacket, away up about the North Pole, and lets them wear them, for furs don't keep well, moths are death on 'em, and too many at a time glut the market; so he lets them run till he wants them, and then sends and skins them alive in spring when it ain't too cold, and waits till it grows again?"

"No, never," sais the man with the loss.

"Well, if you had been stript stark naked and turned loose that way, you might have complained. Oh! you are a lucky man, I can tell you."

"Well," sais old Minus, "how in the world does he own all them animals?"

"If he don't," sais preacher, "perhaps you can tell me who does; and if nobody else does, I think his claim won't be disputed in no court under heaven. Don't you know him? Go and see him. He will make your fortune as he has done for many others. He is the richest man you ever heard of. He owns the Astor House Hotel to New York, which is bigger than some whole towns on the Nova Scotia coast." And he could say that with great truth, for I know a town that's on the chart, that has only a court-house, a groggery, a jail, a blacksmith's shop, and the wreck of a Quebec vessel on the beach.

"Well, a man went to him lately, and sais he: 'Are you the great John Jacob?'

"'I am John Jacob,' said he, 'but I ain't great. The sun is so almighty hot here in New York, no man is large; he is roasted down like a race-horse.'

"'I don't mean that,' said the poor man, bowin' and beggin' pardon.

"'Oh,' sais he, 'you mean great-grandfather,' laughing. 'No, I hante come that yet; but Astoria Ann Oregon, my grand-daughter, says I am to be about the fore part of next June.'

"Well, the man see he was getting rigged, so he came to the pint at once. Sais he, 'Do you want a clerk?'

"'I guess I do,' said he. 'Are you a good accountant?'

"'Have been accountant-book-keeper and agent for twenty-five years,' sais stranger.

"Well, John Jacob see the critter wouldn't suit him, but he thought he would carry out the joke. Sais he, 'How would you like to take charge of my almighty everlastin' property?'

"'Delighted!' says the goney.

"'Well,' said Mr Astor, 'I am tired to death looking after it; if you will relieve me and do my work, I'll give you what I get out of it myself.'

"'Done!' said the man, takin' off his hat, and bowin' down to the ground. 'I am under a great obligation to you; depend upon it you will get a good account of it.'

"'I have no doubt of it,' said John Jacob. 'Do your part faithfully' ('Never fear me,' said the clerk) 'and honestly, and I will fulfil mine. All I get out of it myself is my board and clothing, and you shall have the same."

"Ah! my friend," the preacher might say, "how much wisdom there is in John Jacob Astor's remark. What more has the Queen of England, or the richest peer in the land, out of all their riches than their board and clothing. 'So don't repine, my friend. Cheer up! I will come and fast on canvas-back duck with you to-morrow, for it's Friday; and whatever lives on aquatic food is fishy—a duck is twice-laid fish. A few glasses of champaine at dinner, and a cool bottle or two of claret after, will set you all right again in a jiffy."

If a man's wife races off and leaves him, which ain't the highest compliment he can receive, he should visit him; but it's most prudent not to introduce the subject himself. If broken-heart talks of it, minister shouldn't make light of it, for wounded pride is mighty tender, but say it's a dreadful thing to leave so good, so kind, so indulgent, so liberal, so confidin' a man as you, if the case will bear it (in a general way it's a man's own fault); and if it won't bear it, why then there really is a guilty man, on whom he can indulge himself, to expend a few flowers of speech. And arter restin' here awhile, he should hint at the consolation that is always offered, "of the sea having better fish than ever was pulled out of it," and so on.

Well, the whole catalogue offers similar topics, and if a man will, while kindly, conscientiously, and strictly sticking to the truth, offer such consolation as a good man may, taking care to remember that manner is everything, and all these arguments are not only no good, but do harm if the misfortunate critter is rubbed agin the grain; he will then prepare the sufferer to receive the only true consolation he has to offer—the consolation of religion. At least, that's my idea.

Now, instead of that, if he gets hold of a sinner, he first offends his delicacy, and then scares him to death. He tells him to confess all the nasty particulars of the how, the where, the when, and the who with. He can't do nothing till his curiosity is satisfied, general terms won't do. He must have all the dirty details. And then he talks to him of the devil, an unpronouncible place, fire and brimstone, and endless punishment. And assures him, if ever he hopes to be happy hereafter, he must be wretched for the rest of his life; for the evangelical rule is, that a man is never forgiven up to the last minute when it can't be helped. Well, every man to his own trade. Perhaps they are right and I am wrong. But my idea is you can coax, but can't bully folks. You can win sinners, but you can't force them. The door of the heart must be opened softly, and to do that you must be the hinge and the lock.

Well, to get back to my story, and I hardly know where I left off, I think the poor gall was speakin' of Indians in a way that indicated she felt mortified at her descent, or that somehow or somehow else, there was a sore spot there. Well, having my own thoughts about the wounds of the heart and so on, as I have stated, I made up my mind I must get at the secret by degrees, and see whether my theory of treatment was right or not.

Sais I, "Miss, you say these sort of things are bartered at the north-west for others of more use. There is one thing though I must remark, they never were exchanged for anything half so beautiful."

"I am glad you like it," she said, "but look here;" and she took out of her basket a pair of mocassins, the soles of which were of moose leather, tanned and dressed like felt, and the upper part black velvet, on which various patterns were worked with beads. I think I never saw anything of the kind so exquisite, for those nick-nacks the Nova Scotia Indians make are rough in material, coarse in workmanship, and ineligant in design.

"Which do you prefer?" said she.

"Well," sais I, "I ain't hardly able to decide. The bark work is more delicate and more tasteful; but it's more European in appearance. The other is more like our own country, and I ain't sure that it isn't quite as handsome as the other. But I think I prize the mocassins most. The name, the shape, and the ornaments all tell of the prairie."

"Well, then," she said, "it shall be the mocassins, you must have them, as the exchange for the book."

"Oh," said I, taking out of my pocket the first and second "Clockmakers," I had no other of my books on board, and giving them to her, "I am afraid, Miss, that I either said or did something to offend you this morning. I assure you I did not mean to do so, and I am very sorry for it."

"No, no," she said, "it was me; but my temper has been greatly tried since I came to this country. I was very wrong, for you (and she laid a stress on that word as if I was an exception) have been very kind to me."

"Well," sais I, "Miss, sometimes there are things that try us and our feelings, that we don't choose to talk about to strangers, and sometimes people annoy us on these subjects. It wouldn't be right of me to pry into any one's secrets, but this I will say, any person that would vex you, let him be who he will, can be no man, he'd better not do it while I am here, at any rate, or he'll have to look for his jacket very quick, I know."

"Mr Slick," she said, "I know I am half Indian, and some folks want to make me feel it."

"And you took me for one o' them cattle," said I, "but if you knew what was passin' in my mind, you wouldn't a felt angry, I know."

"What was it?" said she, "for I know you won't say anything to me you oughtn't to. What was it?"

"Well," sais I, "there is, between you and me, a young lady here to the southern part of this province I have set my heart on, though whether she is agoin' to give me hern, or give me the mitten, I ain't quite sartified, but I rather kinder sorter guess the first, than kinder sorter not so." I just throwed that in that she mightn't misunderstand me. "Well, she is the most splendiferous gall I ever sot eyes on since I was created; and," sais I to myself, "now, here is one of a different style of beauty, which on 'em is, take her all in all, the handsomest?"

Half Indian or half Gaelic, or whatever she was, she was a woman, and she didn't flare up this time, I tell you, but taking up the work-bag she said:

"Give this to her, as a present from me."

Thinks I, "My pretty brunette, if I don't get the heart opened to me, and give you a better opinion of yourself, and set you all straight with mankind in general, and the doctor in particular, afore I leave Ship Harbour, I'll give over for ever undervalyin' the skill of ministers, that's a fact. That will do for trial number one; by and by I'll make trial number two."

Taking up the "Clockmaker," and looking at it, she said: "Is this book all true, Mr Slick? Did you say and do all that's set down here?"

"Well," sais I, "I wouldn't just like to swear to every word of it, but most of it is true, though some things are embellished a little, and some are fancy sketches. But they are all true to nature."

"Oh, dear," said she, "what a pity! how shall I ever be able to tell what's true and what ain't? Do you think I shall be able to understand it, who know so little, and have seen so little?"

"You'll comprehend every word of it," sais I, "I wrote it on purpose, so every person should do so. I have tried to stick to life as close as I could, and there is nothin' like natur, it goes home to the heart of us all."

"Do tell me, Mr Slick," said she, "what natur is, for I don't know."

Well, now that's a very simple question, ain't it? and anyone that reads this book when you publish it, will say, "Why, everybody knows what natur is," and any schoolboy can answer that question. But I'll take a bet of twenty dollars, not one in a hundred will define that tarm right off the reel, without stopping. It fairly stumpt me, and I ain't easily brought to a hack about common things. I could a told her what natur was circumbendibusly, and no mistake, though that takes time. But to define it briefly and quickly, as Minister used to say, if it can be done at all, which I don't think it can, all I can say is, as galls say to conundrums, "I can't, so I give it up. What is it?"

Perhaps it's my own fault, for dear old Mr Hopewell used to say, "Sam, your head ain't like any one else's. Most men's minds resembles what appears on the water when you throw a stone in it. There is a centre, and circles form round it, each one a little larger than the other, until the impelling power ceases to act. Now you set off on the outer circle, and go round and round ever so often, until you arrive to the centre where you ought to have started from at first; I never see the beat of you."

"It's natur," sais I, "Minister."

"Natur," sais he, "what the plague has natur to do with it?"

"Why," sais I, "can one man surround a flock of sheep?"

"Why, what nonsense," sais he; "of course he can't."

"Well, that's what this child can do," sais I. "I make a good sizeable ring-fence, open the bars, and put them in, for if it's too small, they turn and out agin like wink, and they will never so much as look at it a second time. Well, when I get them there, I narrow and narrow the circle, till it's all solid wool and mutton, and I have every mother's son of them. It takes time, for I am all alone, and have no one to help me; but they are thar' at last. Now, suppose I went to the centre of the field, and started off arter them, what would it end in? Why, I'de run one down, and have him, and that's the only one I could catch. But while I was a chasin' of him, all the rest would disperse like a congregation arter church, and cut off like wink, each on his own way, as if he was afraid the minister was a-goin' to run after 'em, head 'em, and fetch 'em back and pen 'em up again."

He squirmed his face a little at that part about the congregation, I consaited, but didn't say nothin', for he knew it was true.

"Now, my reason," sais I, "for goin' round and round is, I like to gather up all that's in the circle, carry it with me, and stack it in the centre."

Lord! what fun I have had pokin' that are question of Jessie's sudden to fellows since then! Sais I to Brother Eldad once—

"Dad, we often talk about natur; what is it?"

"Tut," sais he, "don't ask me; every fool knows what natur is."

"Exactly," sais I; "that's the reason I came to you."

He just up with a book, and came plaguy near lettin' me have it right agin my head smash.

"Don't do that," sais I, "Daddy; I was only joking; but what is it?"

Well, he paused a moment and looked puzzled, as a fellow does who is looking for his spectacles, and can't find them because he has shoved them up on his forehead.

"Why," sais he, spreadin' out his arm, "it's all that you see, and the law that governs it."

Well, it warn't a bad shot that, for a first trial, that's a fact. It hit the target, though it didn't strike the ring.

"Oh," said I, "then there is none of it at night, and things can't be nateral in the dark."

Well, he seed he had run off the track, so he braved it out. "I didn't say it was necessary to see them all the time," he said.

"Just so," said I, "natur is what you see and what you don't see; but then feelin' ain't nateral at all. It strikes me that if—"

"Didn't I say," said he, "the laws that govern them?"

"Well, where are them laws writ?"

"In that are receipt-book o' yourn you're so proud of," said he. "What do you call it, Mr Wiseacre?"

"Then, you admit," sais I, "any fool can't answer that question?"

"Perhaps you can," sais he.

"Oh Dad!" sais I, "you picked up that shot and throwed it back. When a feller does that it shows he is short of ammunition. But I'll tell you what my opinion is. There is no such a thing as natur."

"What!" said he.

"Why there is no such a thing as natur in reality; it is only a figure of speech. The confounded poets got hold of the idea and parsonified it as they have the word heart, and talk about the voice of natur and its sensations, and its laws and its simplicities, and all that sort of thing. The noise water makes in tumblin' over stones in a brook, a splutterin' like a toothless old woman scoldin' with a mouthful of hot tea in her lantern cheek, is called the voice of natur speaking in the stream. And when the wind blows and scatters about all the blossoms from your fruit trees, and you are a ponderin' over the mischief, a gall comes along-side of you with a book of poetry in her hand and sais:

"'Hark! do you hear the voice of natur amid the trees? Isn't it sweet?'

"Well, it's so absurd you can't help laughin' and saying, 'No;' but then I hear the voice of natur closer still, and it says, 'Ain't she a sweet critter?'

"Well, a cultivated field, which is a work of art, dressed with artificial manures, and tilled with artificial tools, perhaps by steam, is called the smiling face of nature. Here nature is strong and there exhausted, now animated and then asleep. At the poles, the features of nature are all frozen, and as stiff as a poker, and in the West Indies burnt up to a cinder. What a pack of stuff it is! It is just a pretty word like pharmacopia and Pierian spring, and so forth. I hate poets, stock, lock, and barrel; the whole seed, breed, and generation of them. If you see a she one, look at her stockings; they are all wrinkled about her ancles, and her shoes are down to heel, and her hair is as tangled as the mane of a two-year old colt. And if you see a he one, you see a mooney sort of man, either very sad, or so wild-looking you think he is half-mad; he eats and sleeps on earth, and that's all. The rest of the time he is sky-high, trying to find inspiration and sublimity, like Byron, in gin and water. I like folks that have common-sense."

Well, to get back to my story. Said Jessie to me: "Mr Slick, what is natur?"

"Well," sais I, "Miss, it's not very easy to explain it so as to make it intelligible; but I will try. This world, and all that is in it, is the work of God. When he made it, he gave it laws or properties that govern it, and so to every living or inanimate thing; and these properties or laws are called their nature. Nature therefore is sometimes used for God himself, and sometimes for the world and its contents, and the secret laws of action imposed upon them when created. There is one nature to men (for though they don't all look alike, the laws of their being are the same), and another to horses, dogs, fish, and so on. Each class has its own nature. For instance, it is natural for fish to inhabit water, birds the air, and so on. In general, it therefore means the universal law that governs everything. Do you understand it?" says I.

"Not just now," she said, "but I will when I have time to think of it. Do you say there is one nature to all men?"

"Yes, the same nature to Indian as to white men—all the same."

"Which is the best nature?"

"It is the same."

"Indian and white, are they both equal?"

"Quite—"

"Do you think so?"

"Every mite and morsel, every bit and grain. Everybody don't think so? That's natural; every race thinks it is better than another, and every man thinks he is superior to others; and so does every woman. They think their children the best and handsomest. A bear thinks her nasty, dirty, shapeless, tailless cubs the most beautiful things in all creation."

She laughed at that, but as suddenly relapsed into a fixed gloom. "If red and white men are both equal, and have the same nature," she said, "what becomes of those who are neither red nor white, who have no country, no nation, no tribe, scorned by each, and the tents and the houses of both closed against them. Are they equal? what does nature say?"

"There is no difference," I said; "in the eye of God they are all alike."

"God may think and treat them so," she replied, rising with much emotion, "but man does not."

I thought it was as well to change the conversation, and leave her to ponder over the idea of the races which seemed so new to her. "So," sais I, "I wonder the doctor hasn't arrived; it's past four. There he is, Jessie; see, he is on the beach; he has returned by water. Come, put on your bonnet and let you and I go and meet him."

"Who, me!" she said, her face expressing both surprise and pleasure.

"To be sure," said I. "You are not afraid of me, Miss, I hope."

"I warn't sure I heard you right," she said, and away she went for her bonnet.

Poor thing! it was evident her position was a very painful one to her, and that her natural pride was deeply injured. Poor dear old Minister! if you was now alive and could read this Journal, I know what you would say as well as possible. "Sam," you would say, "this is a fulfilment of Scripture. The sins of the fathers are visited on the children, the effects of which are visible in the second and third generation."



CHAPTER VII. FIDDLING AND DANCING, AND SERVING THE DEVIL.

By the time we had reached the house, Cutler joined us, and we dined off of the doctor's salmon, which was prepared in a way that I had never seen before; and as it was a touch above common, and smacked of the wigwam, I must get the receipt. The only way for a man who travels and wants to get something better than amusement out of it, is to notch down anything new, for every place has something to teach you in that line. "The silent pig is the best feeder," but it remains a pig still, and hastens its death by growing too fat. Now the talking traveller feeds his mind as well as his body, and soon finds the less he pampers his appetite the clearer his head is and the better his spirits. The great thing is to live and learn, and learn to live.

Now I hate an epicure above all created things—worse than lawyers, doctors, politicians, and selfish fellows of all kinds. In a giniral way he is a miserable critter, for nothin' is good enough for him or done right, and his appetite gives itself as many airs, and requires as much waitin' on, as a crotchetty, fanciful, peevish old lady of fashion. If a man's sensibility is all in his palate he can't in course have much in his heart. Makin' oneself miserable, fastin' in sackcloth and ashes, ain't a bit more foolish than makin' oneself wretched in the midst of plenty, because the sea, the air, and the earth won't give him the dainties he wants, and Providence won't send the cook to dress them. To spend one's life in eating, drinking, and sleeping, or like a bullock, in ruminating on food, reduces a man to the level of an ox or an ass. The stomach is the kitchen, and a very small one too, in a general way, and broiling, simmering, stewing, baking, and steaming, is a goin' on there night and day. The atmosphere is none of the pleasantest neither, and if a man chooses to withdraw into himself and live there, why I don't see what earthly good he is to society, unless he wants to wind up life by writin' a cookery-book. I hate them—that's just the tarm, and I like tarms that express what I mean.

I shall never forget when I was up to Michelimackinic. A thunderin' long word, ain't it? We call it Mackinic now for shortness. But perhaps you wouldn't understand it spelt that way, no more than I did when I was to England that Brighton means Brighthelmeston, or Sissiter, Cirencester, for the English take such liberties with words, they can't afford to let others do the same; so I give it to you both ways. Well, when I was there last, I dined with a village doctor, the greatest epicure I think I ever see in all my born days. He thought and talked of nothing else from morning till night but eatin'.

"Oh, Mr Slick," said he, rubbin' his hands, "this is the tallest country in the world to live in. What a variety of food there is here,—fish, flesh, and fowl,—wild, tame, and mongeral,—fruits, vegetables, and spongy plants!"

"What's that?" sais I. I always do that when a fellow uses strange words. "We call a man who drops in accidently on purpose to dinner a sponging fellow, which means if you give him the liquid he will soak it up dry."

"Spongy plants," sais he, "means mushrooms and the like."

"Ah!" said I, "mushrooms are nateral to a new soil like this. Upstarts we call them; they arise at night, and by next mornin' their house is up and its white roof on."

"Very good," said he, but not lookin' pleased at havin' his oratory cut short that way. "Oh, Mr Slick!" said he, "there is a poor man here who richly deserves a pension both from your government and mine. He has done more to advance the culinary art than either Ude or Soyer."

"Who on earth now were they?" said I. I knew well enough who they were, for when I was to England they used to brag greatly of Soyer at the Reform Club. For fear folks would call their association house after their politics, "the cheap and dirty" they built a very splash affair, and to set an example to the state in their own establishment of economy and reform in the public departments, hired Soyer, the best cook of the age, at a salary that would have pensioned half-a-dozen of the poor worn-out clerks in Downing Street. Vulgarity is always showy. It is a pretty word, "Reformers." The common herd of them I don't mind much, for rogues and fools always find employment for each other. But when I hear of a great reformer like some of the big bugs to England, that have been grinning through horse-collars of late years, like harlequins at fairs, for the amusement and instruction of the public, I must say I do expect to see a super-superior hypocrite.

Yes, I know who those great artists Soyer and Ude were, but I thought I'd draw him out. So I just asked who on earth they were, and he explained at great length, and mentioned the wonderful discoveries they had made in their divine art.

"Well," sais I, "why on earth don't your friend the Mackinic cook go to London or Paris, where he won't want a pension, or anything else, if he excels them great men?"

"Bless you, Sir," he replied, "he is merely a voyageur."

"Oh dear," sais I, "I dare say then he can fry ham and eggs and serve 'em up in ile, boil salt beef and pork, and twice lay cod-fish, and perhaps boil potatoes nice and watery like cattle turnips. What discoveries could such a rough-and-tumble fellow as that make?"

"Well," said the doctor, "I didn't want to put myself forward, for it ain't pleasant to speak of oneself."

"Well, I don't know that," sais I, "I ain't above it, I assure you. If you have a horse to sell, put a thunderin' long price on him, and folks will think he must be the devil and all, and if you want people to vally you right, appraise yourself at a high figure. Braggin' saves advertising'. I always do it; for as the Nova Scotia magistrate said, who sued his debtor before himself, 'What's the use of being a justice, if you can't do yourself justice.' But what was you sayin' about the voyageur?"

"Why, Sir," said he, "I made the discovery through his instrumentality. He enabled me to do it by suffering the experiments to be made on him. His name was Alexis St Martin; he was a Canadian, and about eighteen years of age, of good constitution, robust, and healthy. He had been engaged in the service of the American Fur Company as a voyageur, and was accidentally wounded by the discharge of a musket, on the 9th of June, 1822. The charge, consisting of powder and duck-shot, was received in his left side; he being at a distance of not more than one yard from the muzzle of the gun. The contents entered posteriorly, and in an oblique direction, forward and inward, literally blowing off integuments and muscles, of the size of a man's hand, fracturing and carrying away the anterior half of the sixth rib, fracturing the fifth, lacerating the lower portion of the left lobe of the lungs, the diaphragm, and perforating the stomach."

"Good gracious!" sais I, "how plain that is expressed! It is as clear as mud, that! I do like doctors, for their talking and writing is intelligible to the meanest capacity."

He looked pleased, and went ahead agin.

"After trying all the means in my power for eight or ten months to close the orifice, by exciting adhesive inflammation in the lips of the wound, without the least appearance of success, I gave it up as impracticable, in any other way than that of incising and bringing them together by sutures; an operation to which the patient would not submit. By using the aperture which providence had supplied us with to communicate with the stomach, I ascertained, by attaching a small portion of food of different kinds to a string, and inserting it through his side, the exact time each takes for digestion, such as beef or pork, or mutton or fowl, or fish or vegetables, cooked in different ways.1 We all know how long it takes to dress them, but we did not know how long a time they required for digestion. I will show you a comparative table."

1 The village doctor appears to have appropriated to himself the credit due to another. The particulars of this remarkable case are to be found in a work published in New York in 1833, entitled "Experiments and observations on the gastric juices, and the physiology of digestion," by William Beaumont, M. D., Surgeon in the United States' Army, and also in the "Albion" newspaper of the same place for January 4, 1834.

"Thank you," sais I, "but I am afraid I must be a moving. "Fact is, my stomach was movin' then, for it fairly made me sick. Yes, I'd a plaguy sight sooner see a man embroidering, which is about as contemptible an accomplishment as an idler can have, than to hear him everlastingly smack his lips, and see him open his eyes and gloat like an anaconda before he takes down a bullock, horns, hair, and hoof, tank, shank, and flank, at one bolt, as if it was an opium pill to make him sleep.

Well, all this long lockrum arose out of my saying I should like to have the receipt by which Jessie's sister had cooked the salmon for dinner; and I intend to get it too, that's a fact. As we concluded our meal, "Doctor," sais I, "we have been meditating mischief in your absence. What do you say to our makin' a party to visit the 'Bachelor beaver's dam,' and see your museum, fixins, betterments, and what not?"

"Why," said he, "I should like it above all things; but—"

"But what?" said I.

"But I am afraid, as you must stay all night, if you go, my poor wigwam won't accommodate so many with beds."

"Oh! some of us will camp out," sais I, "I am used to it, and like it a plaguy sight better than hot rooms."

"Just the thing," said he. "Oh! Mr Slick, you are a man after my own heart. The nature of all foresters is alike, red or white, English or French, Yankee or Blue-nose."

Jessie looked up at the concidence of that expression with what I had said yesterday.

"Blue-nose," said I, "Doctor," to familiarize the girl's mind to the idea I had started of the mixed race being on a footing of equality with the other two, "Blue-nose ought to be the best, for he is half Yankee and half English; two of the greatest people on the face of the airth!"

"True," said he, "by right he ought to be, and it's his own fault he ain't."

I thought it would be as well to drop the allusion there, so I said, "That's exactly what mother used to say when I did anything wrong: 'Sam, ain't you ashamed.' 'No, I ain't,' said I. 'Then you ought to be,' she'd reply.

"It's a fixed fact, then," said I, "that we go to-morrow to the Beaver dam?"

"Yes," said he, "I shall be delighted. Jessie, you and your sister will accompany us, won't you?"

"I should be charmed," she replied.

"I think you will be pleased with it," he continued, "it will just suit you; it's so quiet and retired. But you must let Etienne take the horse, and carry a letter to my sergeant and his commanding officer, Betty, to give them notice of our visit, or he will go through the whole campaign in Spain before he is done, and tell you how ill the commissariat-people were used, in not having notice given to them to lay in stores. I never was honoured with the presence of ladies there before, and he will tell you he is broken-hearted at the accommodation. I don't know what there is in the house; but the rod and the gun will supply us, I think, and the French boy, when he returns, will bring me word if anything is wanted from the shore."

"Jessie," said I, "can't you invite the two Highland lassies and their brother that were here last night, and let us have a reel this evening?"

"Oh! yes," she said, and going into the kitchen, the message was despatched immediately. As soon as the guests arrived, Peter produced his violin, and the doctor waking out of one of his brown studies, jumped up like a boy, and taking one of the new-comers by the hand, commenced a most joyous and rapid jig, the triumph of which seemed to consist in who should tire the other out. The girl had youth and agility on her side; but the doctor was not devoid of activity, and the great training which his constant exercise kept him in, threw the balance in his favour; so when he ceased, and declared the other victorious, it was evident that it was an act of grace, and not of necessity. After that we all joined in an eight-handed reel, and eight merrier and happier people I don't think were ever before assembled at Ship Harbour.

In the midst of it the door opened, and a tall, thin, cadaverous-looking man entered, and stood contemplating us in silence. He had a bilious-looking countenance, which the strong light of the fire and candles, when thrown upon it, rendered still more repulsive. He had a broad-brimmed hat on his head, which he did not condescend to remove, and carried in one hand a leather travelling-bag, as lean and as dark-complexioned as himself, and in the other a bundle of temperance newspapers. Peter seeing that he did not speak or advance, called out to him, with a face beaming with good humour, as he kept bobbing his head, and keeping time with his foot (for his whole body was affected by his own music).

"Come in, friend, come in, she is welcome. Come in, she is playin' herself just now, but she will talk to you presently." And then he stamped his foot to give emphasis to the turn of the tune, as if he wanted to astonish the stranger with his performance.

The latter however not only seemed perfectly insensible to its charms, but immoveable. Peter at last got up from his chair, and continued playing as he advanced towards him; but he was so excited by what was going on among the young people, that he couldn't resist dancing himself, as he proceeded down the room, and when he got to him, capered and fiddled at the same time.

"Come," said he, as he jumped about in front of him, "come and join in;" and liftin' the end of his bow suddenly, tipt off his hat for him, and said, "Come, she will dance with you herself."

The stranger deliberately laid down his travelling-bag and paper parcel, and lifting up both hands said, "Satan, avaunt." But Peter misunderstood him, and thought he said, "Sartain, I can't."

"She canna do tat," he replied, "can't she, then she'll teach you the step herself. This is the way," and his feet approached so near the solemncolly man that he retreated a step or two as if to protect his shins. Everybody in the room was convulsed with laughter, for all saw what the intruder was, and the singular mistake Peter was making. It broke up the reel. The doctor put his hands to his sides, bent forward, and made the most comical contortions of face. In this position he shuffled across the room, and actually roared out with laughter.

I shall never forget the scene; I have made a sketch of it, to illustrate this for you. There was this demure sinner, standing bolt upright in front of the door, his hat hanging on the handle, which had arrested it in its fall, and his long black hair, as if partaking of his consternation, flowing wildly over his cheeks; while Peter, utterly unconscious that no one was dancing, continued playing and capering in front of him, as if he was ravin distracted, and the doctor bent forward, pressing his sides with his hands, as if to prevent their bursting, laughed as if he was in hysterics. It was the most comical thing I ever saw. I couldn't resist it no longer, so I joined the trio.

"Come, Doctor," sais I, "a three-handed reel," and entering into the joke, he seized the stranger by one hand, and I by the other, and before our silent friend knew where he was, he was in the middle of the floor, and though he was not made to dance, he was pushed or flung into his place, and turned and faced about as if he was taking his first lesson. At last, as if by common consent, we all ceased laughing, from sheer exhaustion. The stranger still kept his position in the centre of the floor, and when silence was restored, raised his hands again in pious horror, and said, in a deep, sepulchral voice:

"Fiddling and dancing, and serving the devil. Do you ever think of your latter end?"

"Thee had better think of thine, friend," I whispered, assuming the manner of a quaker for fun, "for Peter is a rough customer, and won't stand upon ceremony."

"Amhic an aibhisteir (son of the devil)," said Peter, shaking his fist at him, "if she don't like it, she had better go. It's her own house, and she will do what she likes in it. Faat does she want?"

"I want the man called Samuel Slick," said he.

"Verily," sais I, "friend, I am that man, and wilt thee tell me who thee is that wantest me, and where thee livest?"

"Men call me," he said, "Jehu Judd, and when to home, I live in Quaco in New Brunswick."

I was glad of that, because it warn't possible the critter could know anything of me, and I wanted to draw him out.

"And what does thee want, friend?" I said.

"I come to trade with you, to sell you fifty barrels of mackerel, and to procure some nets for the fishery, and some manufactures, commonly called domestics."

"Verily," sais I, "thee hast an odd way of opening a trade, methinks, friend Judd. Shaking quakers dance piously, as thee mayest have heard, and dost thee think thy conduct seemly? What mayest thee be, friend?"

"A trader," he replied.

"Art thee not a fisher of men, friend, as well as a fisher of fish?"

"I am a Christian man," he said, "of the sect called 'come-outers,'1 and have had experience, and when I meet the brethren, sometimes I speak a word in season."

1 Come-outers. This name has been applied to a considerable number of persons in various parts of the Northern States, principally in New England, who have recently come out of the various religious denominations with which they have been connected; hence the name. They have not themselves assumed any distinctive organization. They have no creed, believing that every one should be left free to hold such opinions on religious subjects as he pleases, without being held accountable for the same to any human authority—Bartlett's Americanisms.

"Well, friend, thee has spoken thy words out of season tonight," I said.

"Peradventure I was wrong," he replied, "and if so, I repent me of it."

"Of a certainty thee was, friend. Thee sayest thy name is Jehu; now he was a hard rider, and it may be thee drivest a hard bargain, if so, go thy ways, for thee cannot 'make seed-corn off of me;' if not, tarry here till this company goeth, and then I will talk to thee touching the thing called mackarel. Wilt thee sit by the fire till the quaker ceaseth his dancing, and perhaps thee may learn what those words mean, 'and the heart danceth for joy,' or it may be thee will return to thy vessel, and trade in the morning."

"No man knoweth," he said, "what an hour may bring forth; I will bide my time."

"The night is cold at this season," said Peter, who considered that the laws of hospitality required him to offer the best he had in his house to a stranger, so he produced some spirits, as the most acceptable thing he possessed, and requested him to help himself.

"I care not if I do," he said, "for my pledge extendeth not so far as this," and he poured himself out a tumbler of brandy and water, that warn't half-and-half, but almost the whole hog. Oh, gummy, what a horn! it was strong enough almost to throw an ox over a five-bar gate. It made his eyes twinkle, I tell you, and he sat down and began to look as if he thought the galls pretty.

"Come, Peter," said I, "strike up, the stranger will wait awhile."

"Will she dance," said he, "tam her."

"No," said I, but I whispered to the doctor, "he will reel soon," at which he folded his arms across his breast and performed his gyrations as before. Meanwhile Cutler and Frazer, and two of the girls, commenced dancing jigs, and harmony was once more restored. While they were thus occupied, I talked over the arrangements for our excursion on the morrow with Jessie, and the doctor entered into a close examination of Jehu Judd, as to the new asphalt mines in his province. He informed him of the enormous petrified trunks of palm-trees that have been found while exploring the coal-fields, and warmed into eloquence as he enumerated the mineral wealth and great resources of that most beautiful colony. The doctor expressed himself delighted with the information he had received, whereupon Jehu rose and asked him in token of amity to pledge him in a glass of Peter's excellent cognac, and without waiting for a reply, filled a tumbler and swallowed it at one gulp.

My, what a pull that was. Thinks I to myself, "Friend, if that don't take the wrinkles out of the parchment case of your conscience, then I don't know nothin', that's all." Oh dear, how all America is overrun with such cattle as this; how few teach religion, or practise it right. How hard it is to find the genuine article. Some folks keep the people in ignorance, and make them believe the moon is made of green cheese; others, with as much sense, fancy the world is. One has old saints, the other invents new ones. One places miracles at a distance, t'other makes them before their eyes, while both are up to mesmerism. One says there is no marryin' in Paradise, the other says, if that's true, it's hard, and it is best to be a mormon and to have polygamy here. Then there is a third party who says, neither of you speak sense, it is better to believe nothin' than to give yourself up to be crammed. Religion, Squire, ain't natur, because it is intended to improve corrupt natur, it's no use talkin' therefore, it can't be left to itself, otherwise it degenerates into something little better than animal instinct. It must be taught, and teaching must have authority as well as learning. There can be no authority where there is no power to enforce, and there can be no learning where there is no training. If there must be normal schools to qualify schoolmasters, there must be Oxfords and Cambridges to qualify clergymen. At least that's my idea. Well, if there is a qualified man, he must be supported while he is working. But if he has to please his earthly employer, instead of obeying his heavenly Master, the better he is qualified the more dangerous he is. If he relies on his congregation, the order of things is turned upside down. He serves mammon, and not God. If he does his duty he must tell unpleasant truths, and then he gets a walkin' ticket. Who will hire a servant, pay him for his time, find a house for him to live in, and provide him in board, if he has a will of his own, and won't please his employer by doin' what he is ordered to do? I don't think you would, Squire, and I know I wouldn't.

No, a fixed, settled church, like ourn, or yours, Squire, is the best. There is safe anchorage ground in them, and you don't go draggin' your flukes with every spurt of wind, or get wrecked if there is a gale that rages round you. There is something strong to hold on to. There are good buoys, known landmarks, and fixed light-houses, so that you know how to steer, and not helter-skelter lights movin' on the shore like will-o'-the whisps, or wreckers' false fires, that just lead you to destruction. The medium between the two churches, for the clergy, would be the right thing. In yours they are too independent of the people, with us a little too dependent. But we are coming up to the notch by making moderate endowments, which will enable the minister to do what is right, and not too large to make him lazy or careless. Well then, in neither of them is a minister handed over to a faction to try. Them that make the charges ain't the judges, which is a Magna Charta for him.

Yes, I like our episcopal churches, they teach, persuade, guide, and paternally govern, but they have no dungeons, no tortures, no fire and sword. They ain't afraid of the light, for, as minister used to say, "their light shines afore men." Just see what sort of a system it must be that produces such a man as Jehu Judd. And yet Jehu finds it answer his purpose in his class to be what he is. His religion is a cloak, and that is a grand thing for a pick-pocket. It hides his hands, while they are fumblin' about your waistcoat and trousers, and then conceals the booty. You can't make tricks if your adversary sees your hands, you may as well give up the game.

But to return to the evangelical trader. Before we recommenced dancing again, I begged the two Gaelic girls, who were bouncing, buxom lasses, and as strong as Shetland ponies, to coax or drag him up for a reel. Each took a hand of his and tried to persuade him. Oh, weren't they full of smiles, and didn't they look rosy and temptin'? They were sure, they said, so good-lookin' a man as he was, must have learned to dance, or how could he have given it up?

"For a single man like you," said Catherine.

"I am not a single man," said Old Piety, "I am a widower, a lonely man in the house of Israel."

"Oh, Catherine," sais I, a givin' her a wink, "take care of theeself, or thy Musquodobit farm, with its hundred acres of intervale meadow, and seventy head of horned cattle, is gone."

He took a very amatory look at her after that hint.

"Verily she would be a duck in Quaco, friend Jehu," said I.

"Indeed would she, anywhere," he said, looking sanctified Cupids at her, as pious galls do who show you the place in your prayer-book at church.

"Ah, there is another way methinks she would be a duck," said I, "the maiden would soon turn up the whites of her eyes at dancin' like a duck in thunder, as the profane men say."

"Oh, oh," said the doctor, who stood behind me, "I shall die, he'll kill me. I can't stand this, oh, how my sides ache."

"Indeed I am afraid I shall always be a wild duck," said Catherine.

"They are safer from the fowler," said Jehu, "for they are wary and watchful."

"If you are a widower," she said, "you ought to dance."

"Why do you think so?" said he; but his tongue was becoming thick, though his eyes were getting brighter.

"Because," she said, "a widower is an odd critter."

"Odd?" he replied, "in what way odd, dear?"

"Why," said the girl, "an ox of ourn lately lost his mate, and my brother called him the odd ox, and not the single ox, and he is the most frolicksome fellow you ever see. Now, as you have lost your mate, you are an odd one, and if you are lookin' for another to put its head into the yoke, you ought to go frolickin' everywhere too!"

"Do single critters ever look for mates?" said he, slily.

"Well done," said I, "friend Jehu. The drake had the best of the duck that time. Thee weren't bred in Quaco for nothin'. Come, rouse up, wake snakes, and walk chalks, as the thoughtless children of evil say. I see thee is warmin' to the subject."

"Men do allow," said he, lookin' at me with great self-complacency, "that in speech I am peeowerful."

"Come, Mary," said I, addressin' the other sister, "do thee try thy persuasive powers, but take care of thy grandmother's legacy, the two thousand pounds thee hast in the Pictou Bank. It is easier for that to go to Quaco than the farm."

"Oh, never fear," said she.

"Providence," he continued, "has been kind to these virgins. They are surprising comely, and well endowed with understanding and money," and he smirked first at one and then at the other, as if he thought either would do—the farm or the legacy.

"Come," they both said, and as they gave a slight pull, up he sprung to his feet. The temptation was too great for him: two pairs of bright eyes, two pretty faces, and two hands in his filled with Highland blood—and that ain't cold—and two glasses of grog within, and two fortunes without, were irresistible.

So said he," If I have offended, verily I will make amends; but dancing is a dangerous thing, and a snare to the unwary. The hand and waist of a maiden in the dance lead not to serious thoughts."

"It's because thee so seldom feels them," I said. "Edged tools never wound thee when thee is used to them, and the razor that cutteth the child, passeth smoothly over the chin of a man. He who locketh up his daughters, forgetteth there is a window and a ladder, and if gaiety is shut out of the house, it is pitied and admitted when the master is absent or asleep. When it is harboured by stealth and kept concealed, it loses its beauty and innocence, and waxeth wicked. The crowd that leaveth a night-meeting is less restrained than the throng that goeth to a lighted ball-room. Both are to be avoided; one weareth a cloak that conceals too much, the other a thin vestment that reveals more than is seemly. Of the two, it is better to court observation than shun it. Dark thoughts lead to dark deeds."

"There is much reason in what you say," he said; "I never had it put to me in that light before. I have heard of the shakers, but never saw one before you, nor was aware that they danced."

"Did thee never hear," said I, "when thee was a boy,

"'Merrily dance the quaker's wife, And merrily dance the quaker?'

and so on?"

"No, never," said he.

"Then verily, friend, I will show thee how a quaker can dance. They call us shakers, from shaking our feet so spry. Which will thee choose—the farm or the legacy?"

Mary took his hand, and led him to his place, the music struck up, and Peter gave us one of his quickest measures. Jehu now felt the combined influence of music, women, brandy, and dancing, and snapped his fingers over his head, and stamped his feet to mark the time, and hummed the tune in a voice that from its power and clearness astonished us all.

"Well done, old boy," said I, for I thought I might drop the quaker now, "well done, old boy," and I slapped him on the back, "go it while you are young, make up for lost time: now for the double shuffle. Dod drot it, you are clear grit and no mistake. You are like a critter that boggles in the collar at the first go off, and don't like the start, but when you do lay legs to it you certainly ain't no slouch, I know."

The way he cut carlicues ain't no matter. From humming he soon got to a full cry, and from that to shouting. His antics overcame us all. The doctor gave the first key-note. "Oh, oh, that man will be the death of me," and again rubbed himself round the wall, in convulsions of laughter. Peter saw nothing absurd in all this, on the contrary, he was delighted with the stranger.

"Oigh," he said, "ta preacher is a goot feller after all, she will tance with her hern ainsel;" and fiddling his way up to him again, he danced a jig with Jehu, to the infinite amusement of us all. The familiarity which Mr Judd exhibited with the steps and the dance, convinced me that he must have often indulged in it before he became a Christian. At last he sat down, not a little exhausted with the violent exertion, but the liquor made him peeowerful thick-legged, and his track warn't a bee line, I tell you. After a while a song was proposed, and Mary entreated him to favour us with one.

"Dear Miss," said he, "pretty Miss," and his mouth resembled that of a cat contemplating a pan of milk that it cannot reach, "lovely maiden, willingly would I comply, if Sall Mody (Psalmody) will do, but I have forgotten my songs."

"Try this," said I, and his strong, clear voice rose above us all, as he joined us in—

"Yes, Lucy is a pretty girl, Such lubly hands and feet, When her toe is in the Market-house, Her heel is in Main Street. "Oh take your time, Miss Lucy, Miss Lucy, Lucy Long, Rock de cradle, Lucy, And listen to de song."

He complained of thirst and fatigue after this, and rising, said, "I am peeowerful dry, by jinks," and helped himself so liberally, that he had scarcely resumed his seat before he was fast asleep, and so incapable of sustaining himself in a sitting posture, that we removed him to the sofa, and loosening his cravat, placed him in a situation where he could repose comfortably. We then all stood round the evangelical "Come-outer," and sang in chorus:

"My old master, Twiddledum Don, Went to bed with his trousers on, One shoe off, and the other shoe on— That's the description of Twiddledum Don."

"Oh, my old 'Come-outer,'" said I, as I took my last look at him for the night, "you have 'come-out' in your true colours at last, but this comes of 'fiddling and dancing, and serving the devil.'"



CHAPTER VIII. STITCHING A BUTTON-HOLE.

After the family had retired to rest, the doctor and I lighted our cigars, and discoursed of the events of the evening.

"Such men as Jehu Judd," he said, "do a monstrous deal of mischief in the country. By making the profession of piety a cloak for their knavery, they injure the cause of morality, and predispose men to ridicule the very appearance of that which is so justly entitled to their respect, a sober, righteous, and godly life. Men lose their abhorrence of fraud in their distrust of the efficacy of religion. It is a duty we owe to society to expose and punish such fellows."

"Well then, I will do my duty," said I, laughing, "he has fired into the wrong flock this time, I'll teach him not to do it again, or my name is not Sam Slick. I will make that goney a caution to sinners, I know. He has often deceived others so that they didn't know him, I will now alter him so he shan't know himself when he wakes up."

Proceeding to my bed-room, which, as I said before, adjoined the parlour, I brought out the box containin' my sketchin' fixins, and opening of a secret drawer, showed him a small paper of bronze-coloured powder.

"That," said I," is what the Indians at the Nor-west use to disguise a white man, when he is in their train, not to deceive their enemies, for you couldn't take in a savage for any length of time, no how you could fix it, but that his pale face might not alarm the scouts of their foes. I was stained that way for a month when I was among them, for there was war going on at the time."

Mixing a little of it with brandy I went to the sofa, where Mr Jehu Judd was laid out, and with a camel's hair brush ornamented his upper lip with two enormous and ferocious moustachios, curling well upwards, across his cheeks to his ears, and laid on the paint in a manner to resist the utmost efforts of soap and water. Each eye was adorned with an enormous circle to represent the effect of blows, and on his forehead was written in this indelible ink in large print letters, like those on the starn-board of a vessel, the words "Jehu of Quaco."

In the morning we made preparations for visiting the Bachelor Beaver. The evangelical trader awoke amid the general bustle of the house, and sought me out to talk over the sale of his mackarel.

"Fa is tat," said Peter, who first stared wildly at him, and then put himself in a posture of defence. "Is she a deserter from the garishon of Halifax?"

"I am a man of peace," said Jehu (who appeared to have forgotten the aberrations of the last evening, and had resumed his usual sanctimoniouslyfied manner). "Swear not, friend, it is an abomination, and becometh not a Christian man."

Peter was amazed, he could not trust his eyes, his ears, or his memory.

"Toctor," said he, "come here for heaven's sake, is she hern ainsel or ta tevil."

The moment the doctor saw him, his hands as usual involuntarily protected his sides, and he burst out a laughing in his face, and then describing a circle on the grass, fell down, and rolled over, saying, "Oh, oh, that man will be the death of me." The girls nearly went into hysterics, and Cutler, though evidently not approving of the practical joke, as only fit for military life, unable to contain himself, walked away. The French boy, Etienne, frightened at his horrible expression of face, retreated backwards, crossed himself most devoutly, and muttered an Ave Maria.

"Friend Judd," said I, for I was the only one who retained my gravity, "thee ought not to wear a mask, it is a bad sign."

"I wear no mask, Mr Slick," he said, "I use no disguises, and it does not become a professing man like you to jeer and scoff because I reprove the man Peter for his profaneness."

Peter stamped and raved like a madman, and had to resort to Gaelic to disburden his mind of his effervescence. He threatened to shoot him; he knew him very well, he said, for he had seen him before on the prairies. He was a Kentucky villain, a forger, a tief, a Yankee spy sent to excite the Indians against the English. He knew his false moustachios, he would swear to them in any court of justice in the world. "Deil a bit is ta loon Jehu Judd," he said, "her name is prayin' Joe, the horse-stealer."

For the truth of this charge he appealed to his daughters, who stood aghast at the fearful resemblance his moustachios had given him to that noted borderer.

"That man of Satan," said Jehu, looking very uncomfortable, as he saw Peter flourishing a short dirk, and the doctor holding him back and remonstrating with him. "That man of Satan I never saw before yesterday, when I entered his house, where there was fiddling and dancing, and serving the devil. Truly my head became dizzy at the sight, my heart sunk within me at beholding such wickedness, and I fell into a swoon, and was troubled with dreams of the evil one all night."

"Then he visited thee, friend," I said, "in thy sleep, and placed his mark upon thee—the mark of the beast, come and look at it in the glass."

When he saw himself, he started back in great terror, and gave vent to a long, low, guttural groan, like a man who is suffering intense agony. "What in the world is all this?" he said. He again approached the glass and again retreated with a look of unspeakable despair, groaning like a thousand sinners, and swelled out about the head and throat like a startled blauzer-snake. After which he put his hand to his lip and discovered there was no hair. He then took courage and advanced once more, and examined it carefully, and rubbed it, but it did not remove it.

"He has burned it into the skin," I said, "he hath made thee the image of the horse-stealer, and who knoweth whom else thou resemblest. Thee art a marked man verily. Thee said thee never used disguises."

"Never," he said, "never, Mr Slick."

"Hush," I said, "thee hast worn three disguises. First, thee wore the disguise of religion; secondly, thee were disguised in liquor; and thirdly, thee art now disguised with what fighting men call the moustachio."

"Oh, Mr Slick," said he, leaving off his cant, and really looking like a different man, "dod drot it, it is a just punishment. I knock under, I holler, I give in, have mercy on me. Can you rid me of this horrid mark, for I can't flunk out in the street in this rig."

"I can," sais I, "but I will do it on one condition only, and that is, that you give over canting that way, and coverin' tricks with long faces and things too serious to mention now, for that is doubly wicked. Cheatin' ain't pretty at no time, though I wouldn't be too hard on a man for only gettin' hold of the right eend of the rope in a bargain. I have done it myself. Or puttin' the leak into a consaited critter sometimes for fun. But to cheat, and cant to help you a doin' of it, is horrid, that's a fact. It's the very devil. Will you promise, if I take down that ornamental sign-board, that you will give up that kind o' business and set up a new shop?"

"I will," said he, "upon my soul—I'll be d—d if I don't. That ain't cant now, is it?"

"Well, now you never said a truer word," said I, "you will be d—d if you don't, that's a fact. But there is no use to run to the other extreme, neither."

"Are you a preacher?" said he, and I thought he gave me a sly look out of the corner of his eye, as much as to say, "how good we are, ain't we," as sin said when the devil was rebukin' of him. The fact is, the fellow was a thunderin' knave, but he was no fool, further than being silly enough to be a knave.

"No," sais I, "I ain't, I scorn a man dubbin' himself preacher, without the broughtens up to it, and a lawful warrant for being one. And I scorn cant, it ain't necessary to trade. If you want that proved to you, wait till I return to-morrow, and if you get to winderd of me in a bargain, I'll give you leave to put the moustachios on me, that's a fact. My maxim is to buy as low and sell as high as I can, provided the article will bear a large profit. If not, I take a moderate advance, turn the penny quick, and at it again. I will compound something that will take out your false hair, for I don't think it will be easy to shave it off. It all came of pretence. What in the world was the reason you couldn't walk quietly into the cantecoi, where people were enjoying themselves, and either join them, or if you had scruples, keep them to yourself and sit by. Nobody would have molested you. Nothing but cant led you to join temperance societies. A man ought to be able to use, not abuse liquor, but the moment you obligate yourself not to touch it, it kinder sets you a hankering after it, and if you taste it after that, it upsets you, as it did last night. It ain't easy to wean a calf that takes to suckin' the second time, that's a fact. Your pretence set folks agin you. They didn't half like the interruption for one thing, and then the way you acted made them disrespect you. So you got a most an all-fired trick played on you. And I must say it sarves you right. Now, sais I, go on board and—"

"Oh, Mr Slick," said he, "oh now, that's a good fellow, don't send me on board such a figure as this, I'd rather die fust, I'd never hear the last of it. The men would make me the laughing-stock of Quaco. Oh, I can't go on board."

"Well," sais I, "go to bed then, and put a poultice on your face, to soften the skin." That warn't necessary at all, but I said it to punish him. "And when I come back, I will give you a wash, that will make your face as white and as smooth as a baby's."

"Oh, Mr Slick," said he, "couldn't you—" but I turned away, and didn't hear him out.

By the time I had done with him, we were all ready to start for the Bachelor Beaver. Peter borrowed an extra horse and waggon, and drove his youngest daughter. Cutler drove Jessie in another, and the doctor and I walked.

"We can travel as fast as they can," he said, "for part of the road is full of stumps, and very rough, and I like the arrangement, and want to have a talk with you about all sorts of things."

After travelling about two miles, we struck off the main highway into a wood-road, in which stones, hillocks, and roots of trees so impeded the waggons, that we passed them, and took the lead.

"Are you charged?" said the Doctor, "if not, I think we may as well do so now."

"Perhaps it would be advisable," said I. "But where is your gun?"

"I generally am so well loaded," he replied, "when I go to the woods, I find it an encumbrance. In addition to my other traps, I find forty weight of pemican as much as I can carry."

"Pemican,"1 sais I, "what in natur is that?" I knew as well as he did what it was, for a man that don't understand how to make that, don't know the very abeselfa of wood-craft. But I tell you what, Squire, unless you want to be hated, don't let on you know all that a feller can tell you. The more you do know, the more folks are afeared to be able to tell you something new. It flatters their vanity, and it's a harmless piece of politeness, as well as good policy to listen; for who the plague will attend to you if you won't condescend to hear them? Conversation is a barter, in which one thing is swapped for another, and you must abide by the laws of trade. What you give costs you nothing; and what you get may be worth nothing; so, if you don't gain much, you don't lose, at all events. "So," sais I, "what in natur is pemican?"

1 See Dunn's "Oregon."

"Why," sais he, "it is formed by pounding the choice parts of venison or other meat very small, dried over a slack fire, or by the frost, and put into bags, made of the skin of the slain animal, into which a portion of melted fat is poured. The whole being then strongly pressed, and sewed up in bags, constitutes the best and most portable food known; and one which will keep a great length of time. If a dainty man, like you, wishes to improve its flavour, you may spice it."

"What a grand thing that would be for soldiers during forced marches, wouldn't it. Well, Doctor," sais I, "that's a wrinkle, ain't it? But who ever heard of a colonial minister knowing anything of colony habits?"

"If we have a chance to kill a deer," he said, "I will show you how to make it," and he looked as pleased to give me that information as if he had invented it himself. "So I use this instead of a gun," he continued, producing a long, thick-barreled pistol, of capital workmanship, and well mounted. "I prefer this, it answers every purpose: and is easy to carry. There are no wolves here, and bears never attack you, unless molested, so that the gun-barrel is not needed as a club; and if Bruin once gets a taste of this, he is in no hurry to face it again. The great thing is to know how to shoot, and where to hit. Now, it's no use to fire at the head of a bear, the proper place to aim for is the side, just back of the fore leg. Are you a good shot?"

"Well," said I, "I can't brag, for I have seen them that could beat me at that game; but, in a general way, I don't calculate to throw away my lead. It's scarce in the woods. Suppose though we have a trial. Do you see that blaze in the hemlock tree, there? try it."

Well, he up, and as quick as wink fired, and hit it directly in the centre.

"Well," sais I, "you scare me. To tell you the truth, I didn't expect to be taken up that way. And so sure as I boast of a thing, I slip out of the little eend of the horn." Well, I drew a bead fine on it, and fired.

"That mark is too small," said he (thinking I had missed it), "and hardly plain enough."

"I shouldn't wonder if I had gone a one side or the other," said I, as we walked up to it, "I intended to send your ball further in; but I guess I have only turned it round. See, I have cut a little grain of the bark off the right side of the circle."

"Good," said he, "these balls are near enough to give a critter the heart-ache, at any rate. You are a better shot than I am; and that's what I have never seen in this province. Strange, too, for you don't live in the woods as I do."

"That's the reason," said I, "I shoot for practice, you, when you require it. Use keeps your hand in, but it wouldn't do it for me; so I make up by practising whenever I can. When I go to the woods, which ain't as often now as I could wish, for they ain't to be found everywhere in our great country, I enjoy it with all my heart. I enter into it as keen as a hound, and I don't care to have the Clockmaker run rigs on. A man's life often depends on his shot, and he ought to be afraid of nothin'. Some men, too, are as dangerous as wild beasts; but if they know you can snuff a candle with a ball, hand runnin', why, they are apt to try their luck with some one else, that ain't up to snuff, that's all. It's a common feeling, that.

"The best shot I ever knew, was a tailor at Albany. He used to be very fond of brousin' in the forest sometimes, and the young fellows was apt to have a shy at Thimble. They talked of the skirts of the forest, the capes of the Hudson, laughing in their sleeve, giving a fellow a bastin, having a stitch in the side, cuffing a fellow's ears, taking a tuck-in at lunch, or calling mint-julip an inside lining, and so on; and every time any o' these words came out, they all laughed like anything.

"Well, the critter, who was really a capital fellow, used to join in the laugh himself, but still grinnin' is no proof a man enjoys it; for a hyena will laugh, if you give him a poke. So what does he do, but practise in secret every morning and evening at pistol-shooting for an hour or two, until he was a shade more than perfection itself. Well, one day he was out with a party of them same coons, and they began to run the old rig on him as usual. And he jumps up on eend, and in a joking kind o' way, said: 'Gentlemen, can any of you stitch a button-hole, with the button in it?' Well, they all roared out at that like mad.

"'No, Sirree,' sais they, 'but come, show us Thimble, will you? that's a good fellow. Tom, fetch the goose to press it when it's done. Dick, cabbage a bit of cloth for him to try it upon. Why, Tom, you are as sharp as a needle.'

"'Well,' sais he, 'I'll show you.'

"So he went to a tree, and took out of his pocket a fip-penny bit, that had a hole in the centre, and putting in it a small nail, which he had provided, he fastened it to the tree.

"'Now,' said he, taking out a pair of pistols, and lots of ammunition, from the bottom of his prog-basket, where he had hid them. 'Now,' said he, 'gentlemen, the way to stitch a buttonhole, is to put balls all round that button, in a close ring, and never disturb them; that's what we tailors call workmanlike:' and he fired away, shot after shot, till he had done it.