"Do you recollect that 'ere tree I show'd you to Parrsboro', it was all covered with black knobs, like a wart rubbed with caustic. Well, the plum trees had the same disease a few years ago, and they all died, and the cherry trees I consait will go for it too. The farms here are all covered with the same 'black knobs,' and they do look like Old Scratch. If you see a place all gone to wrack and ruin, its mortgaged you may depend. The 'black knob' is on it. My plan, you know, is to ax leave to put a clock in a house, and let it be till I return. I never say a word about sellin' it, for I know when I come back, they won't let it go arter they are once used to it. Well, when I first came, I knowed no one, and I was forced to enquire whether a man was good for it, afore I left it with him; so I made a p'int of axin' all about every man's place that lived on the road. 'Who lives up there in the big house?' says I, 'it's a nice location that, pretty considerable improvements them.' 'Why sir, that's A. B.'s; he was well to do in the world once, carried a stiff upper lip and keerd for no one; he was one of our grand aristocrats, wore a long tailed coat, and a ruffled shirt, but he must take to ship buildin', and has gone to the dogs.' 'Oh,' said I, 'too many irons in the fire. Well, the next farm, where the pigs are in the potato field, whose is that?' 'Oh, sir, that's C. D's; he was a considerable fore-handed farmer, as any in our place, but he sot up for an Assembly-man, and opened a store, and things went agin him somehow; he had no luck arterwards. I hear his place is mortgaged, and they've got him cited in chancery.' 'The black knob' is on him, said I. 'The black what, sir?' says Bluenose. 'Nothin',' says I. 'But the next, who improves that house?' 'Why that's E. F.'s; he was the greatest farmer in these parts, another of the aristocracy; had a most a noble stock o' cattle, and the matter of some hundreds out in j'int notes. Well, he took the contract for beef with the troops; and he fell astarn, so I guess it's a gone goose with him. He's heavy mortgaged.' 'Too many irons agin,' said I. 'Who lives to the left there? That man has a most a special fine interval, and a grand orchard too; he must be a good mark, that.' 'Well he was once, sir, a few years ago; but he built a fullin' mill, and a cardin' mill, and put up a lumber establishment, and speculated in the West Indy line; but the dam was carried away by the freshets, the lumber fell, and faith he fell too; he's shot up, he hain't been seed these two years, his farm is a common, and fairly run out.' 'Oh,' said I, 'I understand now, my man; these folks had too many irons in the fire you see, and some on 'em have got burnt.' 'I never heerd tell of it,' says Bluenose; 'they might, but not to my knowledge;' and he scratched his head, and looked as if he would ask the meanin' of it, but didn't like too. Arter that I axed no more questions; I knew a mortgaged farm as far as I could see it. There was a strong family likeness in 'em all—the same ugly features, the same cast o' countenance. The "black knob" was discernible, there was no mistake: barn doors broken off, fences burnt up, glass out of windows; more white crops than green, and both lookin' poor and weedy; no wood pile, no sarse garden, no compost, no stock; moss in the mowin lands, thistles in the ploughed lands, and neglect every where; skinnin' had commenced—takin' all out and puttin' nothin' in—gittin' ready for a move, SO AS TO HAVE NOTHIN' BEHIND. Flittin' time had come. Foregatherin', for foreclosin'. Preparin' to curse and quit. That beautiful river we came up today, What superfine farms it has on both sides of it, hain't it? it's a sight to behold. Our folks have no notion of such a country so far down east, beyond creation most, as Nova Scotia is. If I was to draw up an account of it for the Slickville Gazette, I guess few would accept it as a bona fide draft, without some 'sponsible man to indorse it, that warn't given to flammin'. They'd say there was a land speculation to the bottom of it, or water privilege to put into the market, or a plaister rock to get off, or some such scheme. They would, I snore. But I hope I may never see daylight agin, if there's sich a country in all our great nation, as the VI-cinity of Windsor.

"Now it's jist as like as not, some goney of a Bluenose, that seed us from his fields, sailin' up full split, with a fair wind on the packet, went right off home and said to his wife, 'Now do for gracious' sake, mother, jist look here, and see how slick them folks go along; and that captain has nothin' to do all day, but sit straddle legs across his tiller, and order about his sailors, or talk like a gentleman to his passengers; he's got most as easy a time of it as Ami Cuttle has, since he took up the fur trade, a-snarin' rabbits. I guess I'll buy a vessel, and leave the lads to do the ploughin' and little chores; they've growed up now to be considerable lumps of boys.' Well, away he'll go, hot foot (for I know the critters better nor they know themselves), and he'll go and buy some old wrack of a vessel, to carry plaister, and mortgage his farm to pay for her. The vessel will jam him up tight for repairs and new riggin', and the sheriff will soon pay him a visit (and he's a most particular troublesome visitor that; if he once only gets a slight how-d'ye-do acquaintance, he becomes so amazin' intimate arterwards, a-comin' in without knockin', and a-runnin' in and out at all hours, and makin' so plaguy free and easy, it's about as much as a bargain if you can get clear of him afterwards). Benipt by the tide, and benipt by the sheriff, the vessel makes short work with him. Well, the upshot is, the farm gets neglected while Captain Cuddy is to sea a-drogin' of plaister. The thistles run over his grain fields, his cattle run over his hay land, the interest runs over its time, the mortgage runs over all, and at last he jist runs over to the lines to Eastport, himself. And when he finds himself there, a-standin' in the street, near Major Pine's tavern, with his hands in his trouser pockets, a-chasin' of a stray shillin' from one eend of 'em to another, afore he can catch it to swap for a dinner, won't he look like a ravin' distracted fool, that's all? He'll feel about as streaked as I did once, a-ridin' down the St. John river. It was the fore part of March—I'd been up to Fredericton a-speculatin' in a small matter of lumber, and was returnin' to the city, a-gallopin' along on one of old Buntin's horses, on the ice, and all at one I missed my horse, he went right slap in and slid under the ice out of sight as quick as wink, and there I was a-standin' all alone. Well, says I, what the dogs has become of my horse and port mantle? they have given me a proper dodge, that's a fact. That is a narrer squeak, it fairly bangs all. Well, I guess he'll feel near about as ugly, when he finds himself brought up all standin' that way; and it will come so sudden on him, he'll say, why, it ain't possible I've lost farm and vessel both, in tu tu's that way, but I don't see neither on 'em. Eastport is near about all made up of folks who have had to cut and run for it.

"I was down there last fall, and who should I see but Thomas Rigby, of Windsor. He knew me the minit he laid eyes upon me, for I had sold him a clock the summer afore. (I got paid for it, though, for I seed he had too many irons in the fire not to get some on 'em burnt; and besides, I knew every fall and spring the wind set in for the lines from Windsor very strong—a regular trade wind—a sort of monshune, that blows all one way, for a long time without shiftin'.) Well, I felt proper sorry for him, for he was a very clever man, and looked cut up dreadfully, and amazin' down in the mouth. 'Why,' says I, 'possible? is that you, Mr. Rigby? why, as I am alive! if that ain't my old friend—why, how do you do?' 'Hearty, I thank you,' said he, 'how be you?' 'Reasonable well, I give you thanks,' says I; 'but what on airth brought you here?' 'Why,' says he, 'Mr. Slick, I couldn't well avoid it; times are uncommon dull over the bay; there's nothin' stirrin' there this year, and never will I'm thinkin'. No mortal soul CAN live in Nova Scotia. I do believe that our country was made of a Sunday night, arter all the rest of the univarse was finished. One half of it has got all the ballast of Noah's ark thrown out there; and the other half is eat up by bankers, lawyers, and other great folks. All our money goes to pay salaries, and a poor man has no chance at all.' 'Well,' says I, 'are you done up stock and fluke—a total wrack?' 'No,' says he, 'I have two hundred pounds left yet to the good, but my farm, stock and utensils, them young blood horses, and the bran' new vessel I was a-buildin', are all gone to pot, swept as clean as a thrashin' floor, that's a fact; Shark and Co. took all.' 'Well,' says I, 'do you know the reason of all that misfortin'?' 'Oh,' says he, 'any fool can tell that; bad times to be sure—everything has turned agin the country, the banks have it all their own way, and much good may it do 'em.' 'Well,' says I, 'what's the reason the banks don't eat us up too, for I guess they are as hungry as your'n be, and no way particular about their food neither; considerable sharp set—cut like razors, you may depend. I'll tell you,' says I, 'how you get that 'ere slide, that sent you heels over head—YOU HAD TOO MANY IRONS IN THE FIRE. You hadn't ought to have taken hold of ship buildin' at all; you knowed nothin' about it. You should have stuck to your farm, and your farm would have stuck to you. Now go back, afore you spend your money, go up to Douglas, and you'll buy as good a farm for two hundred pounds as what you lost, and see to that, and to that only, and you'll grow rich. As for banks, they can't hurt a country no great, I guess, except by breakin', and I conceit there's no fear of your'n breakin'; and as for lawyers, and them kind o' heavy coaches, give 'em half the road, and if they run agin you, take the law of 'em. Undivided, unremittin' attention paid to one thing, in ninety-nine cases out of a hundred, will ensure success; but you know the old sayin' about "TOO MANY IRONS."

"'Now,' says I, 'Mr. Rigby, what o'clock is it?' 'Why,' says he, 'the moon is up a piece, I guess it's seven o'clock or thereabouts. I suppose it's time to be a-movin'.' 'Stop,' says I, 'jist come with me, I got a real nateral curiosity to show you—such a thing as you never laid your eyes on in Nova Scotia, I know.' So we walked along towards the beach. 'Now,' says I, 'look at that 'ere man, old Lunar, and his son, a-sawin' plank by moonlight, for that 'ere vessel on the stocks there; come agin tomorrow mornin', afore you can cleverly discarn objects the matter of a yard or so afore you, and you'll find 'em at it agin. I guess that vessel won't ruinate those folks. They know their business and stick to it.' Well, away went Rigby, considerably sulky (for he had no notion that it was his own fault, he laid all the blame on the folks to Halifax), but I guess he was a little grain posed, for back he went, and bought to Sowack, where I hear he has a better farm than he had afore.

"I mind once we had an Irish gal as a dairy help; well, we had a wicked devil of a cow, and she kicked over the milk pail, and in ran Dora, and swore the Bogle did it. Jist so poor Rigby, he wouldn't allow it was nateral causes, but laid it all to politics. Talkin' of Dora, puts me in mind of the gals, for she warn't a bad-lookin' heifer that. My! what an eye she had, and I consaited she had a particular small foot and ankle too, when I helped her up once into the hay mow, to sarch for eggs; but I can't exactly say, for when she brought 'em in, mother shook her head and said it was dangerous; she said she might fall through and hurt herself, and always sent old Snow afterwards. She was a considerable of a long-headed woman, was mother; she could see as far ahead as most folks. She warn't born yesterday, I guess. But that 'ere proverb is true as respects the gals too. Whenever you see one on 'em with a whole lot of sweethearts, it's an even chance if she gets married to any on 'em. One cools off, and another cools off, and before she brings any one on 'em to the right weldin' heat, the coal is gone and the fire is out. Then she may blow and blow till she's tired; she may blow up a dust, but the deuce of a flame can she blow up agin, to save her soul alive. I never see a clever lookin' gal in danger of that, I don't long to whisper in her ear, You dear little critter, you, take care! you have too many irons in the fire; some on 'em will get stone cold, and t'other ones will get burnt so, they'll never be no good in natur'."



No. XXXIII

Windsor and the Far West.

The next morning the Clockmaker proposed to take a drive round the neighbourhood. "You hadn't ought," says he, "to be in a hurry; you should see the VIcinity of this location; there ain't the beat of it to be found anywhere."

While the servants were harnessing Old Clay, we went to see a new bridge, which had recently been erected over the Avon River. "That," said he, "is a splendid thing. A New Yorker built it, and the folks in St. John paid for it."

"You mean of Halifax," said I; "St. John is in the other province."

"I mean what I say," he replied, "and it is a credit to New Brunswick. No, sir, the Halifax folks neither know nor keer much about the country—they wouldn't take hold on it, and if they had a waited for them, it would have been one while afore they got a bridge, I tell you. They've no spirit, and plaguy little sympathy with the country, and I'll tell you the reason on it. There are a good many people there from other parts, and always have been, who come to make money and nothin' else, who don't call it home, and don't feel to home, and who intend to up killoch and off, as soon as they have made their ned out of the Bluenoses. They have got about as much regard for the country as a peddler has, who trudges along with a pack on his back. He WALKS, 'cause he intends to RIDE at last; TRUSTS, 'cause he intends to SUE at last; SMILES, 'cause he intends to CHEAT at last; SAVES ALL, 'cause he intends to MOVE ALL at last. It's actilly overrun with transient paupers, and transient speculators, and these last grumble and growl like a bear with a sore head, the whole blessed time, at everything; and can hardly keep a civil tongue in their head, while they're fobbin' your money hand over hand. These critters feel no interest in anything but cent per cent; they deaden public spirit; they hain't got none themselves, and they larf at it in others; and when you add their numbers to the timid ones, the stingy ones, the ignorant ones, and the poor ones that are to be found in every place, why the few smart-spirited ones that's left are too few to do anything, and so nothin' is done. It appears to me if I was a Bluenose I'd—but thank fortin' I ain't, so I says nothin'; but there is somethin' that ain't altogether jist right is this country, that's a fact.

"But what a country this Bay country is, isn't it? Look at that medder, bean't it lovely? The prayer-eyes of Illanoy are the top of the ladder with us, but these dykes take the shine off them by a long chalk, that's sartin. The land in our far west, it is generally allowed, can't be no better; what you plant is sure to grow and yield well, and food is so cheap you can live there for half nothin'. But it don't agree with us New England folks; we don't enjoy good health there; and what in the world is the use of food, if you have such an etarnal dyspepsy you can't digest it? A man can hardly live there till next grass afore he is in the yaller leaf. Just like one of our bran' new vessels built down in Maine, of best hackmatack, or what's better still, of our real American live oak (and that's allowed to be about the best in the world); send her off to the West Indies, and let her lie there awhile, and the worms will riddle her bottom all full of holes like a tin cullender, or a board with a grist of duck shot through it, you wouldn't believe what a BORE they be. Well, that's jist the case with the western climate. The heat takes the solder out of the knees and elbows, weakens the joints and makes the frame ricketty.

"Besides, we like the smell of the salt water; it seems kinder nateral to us New Englanders. We can make more a-ploughin' of the seas, than ploughin' of a prayer-eye. It would take a bottom near about as long as Connecticut river, to raise wheat enough to buy the cargo of a Nantucket whaler, or a Salem tea ship. And then to leave one's folks, and naTIVE place where one was raised, halter broke, and trained to go in gear, and exchange all the comforts of the Old States for them are new ones, don't seem to go down well at all. Why the very sight of the Yankee gals is good for sore eyes, the dear little critters! They do look so scrumptious, I tell you, with their cheeks bloomin' like a red rose budded on a white one, and their eyes like Mrs. Adams's diamonds (that folks say shine as well in the dark as in the light), neck like a swan, lips chock full of kisses—lick! It fairly makes one's mouth water to think on 'em. But it's no use talkin', they are just made critters that's a fact, full of health and life and beauty. Now, to change them 'ere splendid white water-lillies of Connecticut and Rhode Island for the yaller crocusses of Illanoy, is what we don't like. It goes most confoundedly agin the grain, I tell you. Poor critters, when they get away back there, they grow as thin as a sawed lath; their little peepers are as dull as a boiled codfish; their skin looks like yaller fever, and they seem all mouth like a crocodile. And that's not the worst of it neither, for when a woman begins to grow saller it's all over with her; she's up a tree then you may depend, there's no mistake. You can no more bring back her bloom than you can the colour to a leaf the frost has touched in the fall. It's gone goose with her, that's a fact. And that's not all, for the temper is plaguy apt to change with the cheek too. When the freshness of youth is on the move, the sweetness of temper is amazin' apt to start along with it. A bilious cheek and a sour temper are like the Siamese twins, there's a nateral cord of union atween them. The one is a sign board, with the name of the firm written on it in big letters. He that don't know this, can't read, I guess. It's no use to cry over spilt milk, we all know, but it's easier said than done, that. Women kind, and especially single folks, will take on dreadful at the fadin' of their roses, and their frettin' only seems to make the thorns look sharper. Our minister used to say to sister Sall (and when she was young she was a real witch, a'most an everlastin' sweet girl), 'Sally,' he used to say, 'now's the time to larn when you are young; store your mind well, dear, and the fragrance will remain long arter the rose has shed its leaves. The otter of roses is stronger than the rose, and a plaguy sight more valuable.' Sall wrote it down; she said it warn't a bad idee that; but father larfed, he said he guessed minister's courtin' days warn't over, when he made such pretty speeches as that 'ere to the gals. Now, who would go to expose his wife or his darters, or himself, to the dangers of such a climate for the sake of thirty bushels of wheat to the acre instead of fifteen? There seems a kinder somethin' in us that rises in our throat when we think on it, and won't let us. We don't like it. Give me the shore, and let them that like the Far West go there, I say.

"This place is as fartile as Illanoy or Ohio, as healthy as any part of the Globe, and right along side of the salt water; but the folks want three things—INDUSTRY, ENTERPRISE, ECONOMY; these Bluenoses don't know how to vally this location; only look at it, and see what a place for bisness it is: the centre of the Province; the nateral capital of the Basin of Minas, and part of the Bay of Fundy; the great thoroughfare to St. John, Canada, and the United States; the exports of lime, gypsum, freestone and grindstone; the dykes—but it's no use talkin'; I wish we had it, that's all. Our folks are like a rock maple tree: stick 'em in anywhere, but eend up and top down, and they will take root and grow; but put 'em in a real good soil like this, and give 'em a fair chance, and they will go ahead and thrive right off, most amazin' fast, that's a fact. Yes, if we had it, we would make another guess place of it from what it is. IN ONE YEAR WE WOULD HAVE A RAILROAD TO HALIFAX, WHICH, UNLIKE THE STONE THAT KILLED TWO BIRDS, WOULD BE THE MAKIN' OF BOTH PLACES. I often tell the folks this, but all they can say is, 'Oh, we are too poor and too young.' Says I, 'You put me in mind of a great long legged, long tailed colt, father had. He never changed his name of colt as long as he lived, and he was as old as the hills; and though he had the best of feed, was as thin as a whippin' post. He was colt all his days—always young—always poor; and young and poor you'll be, I guess to the eend of the chapter.'"

On our return to the inn, the weather, which had been threatening for some time past, became very tempestuous. It rained for three successive days and the roads were almost impassible. To continue my journey was wholly out of the question. I determined therefore, to take a seat in the coach for Halifax, and defer until next year the remaining part of my tour. Mr. Slick agreed to meet me here in June, and to provide for me the same conveyance I had used from Amherst. I look forward with much pleasure to our meeting again. His manner and idiom were to me perfectly new and very amusing; while his good sound sense, searching observation, and queer humour, rendered his conversation at once valuable and interesting. There are many subjects on which I should like to draw him out; and I promise myself a fund of amusement in his remarks on the state of society and manners at Halifax, and the machinery of the local government, on both of which he appears to entertain many original and some very just opinions.

As he took leave of me in the coach, he whispered, "Inside of your great big cloak you will find wrapped up a box, containin' a thousand real genuine first chop Havanas—no mistake—the clear thing. When you smoke 'em think sometimes of your old companion, SAM SLICK THE CLOCKMAKER."

THE END