Part 14 (1/2)
Lake George has haunted me since I saw it. I thought to abide at peace in mine easy-chair this summer, but Lake George was not visible from my windows; and how could I let the summer days s.h.i.+ne on its beauty and I not by to see? and then that glorious Hudson! for a sight of which I am _always_ longing. There was no help for it; I went through the packing purgatory, and set sail. Commend me to steamboat travel over and above all the cars that ever screeched under and above ground; but, alas!
steamboats have a drawback which cars have not. You get a comfortable seat on deck, on the shady side; in a chair _with a back_ to it. You say this is pleasant, as you fold your hands--Ugh! So does a man, or a group of them near you, who have just lighted their cigars, or worse, their pipes. Puff--puff--puff; straight into your face; right and left; fore and aft. Is this the ”fresh air” for which you were travelling? You reluctantly change your place. You even take a seat in the sun, to rid yourself of the smoke. Puff--puff; another smoker sits, or stands, near you; you turn disgusted away, only to encounter another group, who evidently regard the beautiful Hudson only in the light of an enormous spittoon.
Now I protest against this lack of decency and chivalry. If no other woman dare brave these gentlemen, (?) I will, though I know well what anathemas I shall incur. I call, moreover, upon all _decent_ steamboat-captains to provide a den for these tobacco-absorbing, tobacco-emitting gentry, in some part of the boat where women are _not_.
If they must smoke, which point I neither deny nor admit, do not suffer them to expel ladies, to whom they are so profuse in----fine speeches--to the stifling air of the ladies' cabin, to avoid it. This at least seems but reasonable and fair. The only place where one is really in no danger of this nuisance at present is in church; though I am expecting every Sunday to see boots on the tops of pews, and lighted cigars behind them. Oh, I know very well that some ladies _pretend_ to ”like it,” because they had rather endure it than resign the attentions of a gentleman who don't know any better than to ask them ”if it is disagreeable.” _Of course_, it is disagreeable, for women are clean creatures; and if they tell you it is _not_, know that they tell you a good-natured but most unmitigated fib; and you should be ashamed of availing yourself of it to make yourselves such nuisances.
That lovely midnight glide up the Hudson! Lying dreamily on one's pillow; just asleep enough to know nothing disagreeable, and awake enough to see with half-closed eyes through your little window the white sails, and green sh.o.r.es, and listen to the plas.h.i.+ng water.
Daylight and Albany, with its noisy pier, seem an impertinence.
”Breakfast?” ah, yes--we are human, and love coffee; but the melancholy figures and faces, as we emerge from our state-room! Rosy mouths agape; bright eyes half-veiled with heavy lids; cloaks and mantles tossed on with more haste than taste; hair tumbled, bonnets awry. Pull down your veils, ladies, and prepare yourselves for a general dislocation of every bone in your body, as you thunder up to the hotel in _that_ omnibus, which is bound back again in exactly three seconds, for another hapless cargo.
Your ”unprotected female” is to be met everywhere. Is my countenance so benevolent that she should have singled me out, as I waited at the hotel for my breakfast? There she was--with spectacles on nose, carpet-bag in hand; alert--nervous--distracted.
”Was I travelling North or South?”
Was it for want of coffee, or geography, that I curtly replied: ”I haven't the least idea, Ma'am.”
”Was I alone, dear?”
”Husband, Ma'am.”
”Where's the ---- House, dear?”
”_This_ is it, Ma'am.”
”Lord bless me--I thought it was the Depot!”
There may be individuals existing who have not ridden in _that_ stage-coach from ”Moreau Station” to Lake George. If so, let him or her, particularly _her_, bear in mind, in selecting her att.i.tude on sitting down, that it is final and irrevocable, spite of cramps, for thirteen good miles of sunny, sandy, up-and-down-hill, b.u.mping, thumping travel.
However, there's fun even in that. Jolts bring out jokes. After punching daylight through the ribs of one's neighbor, one don't wait for an ”introduction.” Your Cologne bottle becomes common property, also your fan. If there is an unlucky wight on top, whose overhanging boots betoken a due respect for the eighth commandment, of course he can have the refusal of your sun umbrella to keep his brains from frying, particularly as you don't know what to do with it inside. Yes--on the whole, it is fun; but it isn't fun to arrive at a hotel faint, dusty, hungry, and hear, ”We are running over, but we can _feed_ you here, if you'll _lodge_ in the village.” May do for men, groan out the green veils; try at another house. Ah, now it is _our_ turn; installed by some hocus-pocus in two rooms commanding a magnificent view of the lake, we can afford to pity hungry wretches who can't get in. Now we breathe! Our feet and arms--yes, they are all right, for we just tried them. Now we toss off our bonnet, and gaze at those huge mountains and their dark shadows on the lake; now we see the little row-boats glide along, to the musical, sparkling dip of the oar; now we hear the merry laughs of the rowers, or perhaps a s.n.a.t.c.h of a song in a woman's voice. Now the clear, fresh breeze sweeps over the hills, and ruffles the lake, bringing us spicy odors. Oh, but this is delicious. Dress? What, _here_? No, indeed; enough of that in New York. Who wants to see dresses may look in our trunks. That hill is to be climbed, that sh.o.r.e to be reached, that boat to be sailed in, and how is that to be done if one ”dresses”? We are for a tramp, a sail, a drive--anything but dressing.
Lake George by moonlight, at midnight! oh, you should see it, with its s.h.i.+ning, quivering path of light, as if for angel footsteps. I know not whether another world is fairer than this; but I _do_ know that _there_ are no sighs, no weary outstretching of the hands for help, no smothered cry of despair.
SELF-HELP.--We pity those who do not and never have ”labored.” _Ennui_ and satiety sooner or later are sure to be their portion. Like the child who is in possession of every new toy, and who has snapped and broken them all, they stand looking about for something--_anything_ new and amusing; and like this child, they often stoop to the mud and the gutter for it. It is an understood principle of human nature, that people never value that which is easily obtained. Bread which has been purchased with unearned money has never the flavor and sweetness of that which is won by the sweat of one's own brow.
_COOKERY AND TAILORING._
When male writers have nothing else to say they fall ”afoul” of all women for not being adepts in cookery. Now, one might just as well insist that every man should know how to make his own trousers, as that every woman should be a cook.
Suppose reverses should come, and the man who don't know how should not be able to employ a tailor, where would he be then, not understanding how to make his own trousers? And suppose reverses should _not_ come, how much wiser and better for him to know practically all about tailoring, so that he might _with knowledge_ be able to direct his tailor? At present he thoughtlessly steps in and recklessly orders them.
How does he know whether the amount of cloth used is necessary, or the contrary? How does he know that he isn't swindled fearfully on b.u.t.tons, lappets, and facings, and even the padding inserted to make his rickety figure bewitching? I grieve when I think of this, and then of his asking his wife afterward, ”what she did with the twenty-five cents he gave her yesterday to go shopping with.” He ought to be master of tailoring in all its branches, before he links his destiny with a woman, or else he ought to wear a cloak, which, morally speaking, _is_ his normal condition.
He may reply that he don't like tailoring; that he has no gift for tailoring; that studying it ever so long he should only make a bad tailor, to spoil the making of a good lawyer or doctor. That's nothing to the purpose. I insist that he shall learn _tailoring_; not only that, but I insist that he shall _like_ it too. His lawyering and doctoring can come in afterward wheresoever the G.o.ds will, in the c.h.i.n.ks of his time, but breeches and coats he shall know how to make, or every editor in the land shall be down on him whenever they are hard up for an editorial, if, without this important branch of knowledge, he presumes to address a political meeting. For not understanding breeches, how the mischief can he understand politics, or be prepared to speak about them?
He may tell me that he don't intend to ”link his destiny with woman,”