Part 11 (1/2)
anywhere. He used some most particular educational words, genuine jaw-breakers. He put me in mind of a squirrel I once shot in our wood location. The little critter got a hickory nut in his mouth; well, he found it too hard to crack, and too big to swaller, and for the life and soul of him, he couldn't spit it out agin. If he didn't look like a proper fool, you may depend. We had a pond back of our barn about the bigness of a good sizeable wash-tub, and it was chock full of frogs. Well, one of these little critters fancied himself a bull-frog, and he puffed out his cheeks, and took a real 'blowin'
time' of it; he roared away like thunder; at last he puffed and puffed out till he bust like a b'iler. If I see the Speaker this winter (and I shall see him to a sartainty if they don't send for him to London, to teach their new Speaker; and he's up to snuff, that 'ere man; he knows how to cipher), I'll jist say to him, 'Speaker,'
says I, 'if any of your folks in the House go to swell out like dropsy, give 'em a hint in time.' Says you, 'if you have are a little safety valve about you, let off a little steam now and then, or you'll go for it; recollect the Clockmaker's story of the ”Blowin'
time”.'”
No. XXIV
Father John O'Shaughnessy.
”Tomorrow will be Sabbath day,” said the Clockmaker; ”I guess we'll bide where we be till Monday. I like a Sabbath in the country; all natur' seems at rest. There's a cheerfulness in the day here, you don't find in towns. You have natur' before you here, and nothin' but art there. The deathy stillness of a town, and the barred windows, and shut shops, and empty streets, and great long lines of big brick buildin's look melancholy. It seems as if life had ceased tickin', but there hadn't been time for decay to take hold on there; as if day had broke, but man slept. I can't describe exactly what I mean, but I always feel kinder gloomy and wamblecropt there.
”Now in the country it's jist what it ought to be--a day of rest for man and beast from labour. When a man rises on the Sabbath, and looks out on the sunny fields and wavin' crops, his heart feels proper grateful, and he says, Come, this is a splendid day, ain't it? Let's get ready and put on our bettermost close, and go to meetin'. His first thought is prayerfully to render thanks; and then when he goes to wors.h.i.+p he meets all his neighbours, and he knows them all, and they are glad to see each other, and if any two on 'em hain't exactly gee'd together durin' the week, why they meet on kind of neutral ground, and the minister or neighbours make peace atween them. But it ain't so in towns. You don't know no one you meet there. It's the wors.h.i.+p of neighbours, but it's the wors.h.i.+p of strangers, too, for neighbours don't know nor care about each other. Yes, I love a Sabbath in the country.”
While uttering this soliloquy, he took up a pamphlet from the table, and turning to the t.i.tle page, said, ”Have you ever seen this here book on the 'Elder Controversy?' (a controversy on the subject of Infant Baptism). This author's friends say it's a clincher; they say he has sealed up Elder's mouth as tight as a bottle.”
”No,” said I, ”I have not; I have heard of it, but never read it.
In my opinion the subject has been exhausted already, and admits of nothing new being said upon it. These religious controversies are a serious injury to the cause of true religion; they are deeply deplored by the good and moderate men of all parties. It has already embraced several denominations in the dispute in this Province, and I hear the agitation has extended to New Brunswick, where it will doubtless be renewed with equal zeal. I am told all the pamphlets are exceptionable in point of temper, and this one in particular, which not only ascribes the most unworthy motives to its antagonist, but contains some very unjustifiable and gratuitous attacks upon other sects unconnected with the dispute. The author has injured his own cause, for an INTEMPERATE ADVOCATE IS MORE DANGEROUS THAN AN OPEN FOE.”
”There is no doubt on it,” said the Clockmaker, ”it is as clear as mud, and you are not the only one that thinks so, I tell you. About the hottest time of the dispute, I was to Halifax, and who should I meet but Father John O'Shaughnessy, a Catholic Priest. I had met him afore in Cape Breton, and had sold him a clock. Well, he was a-leggin' it off hot foot. 'Possible!' says I, 'Father John, is that you? Why, what on airth is the matter of you? What makes you in such an everlastin' hurry, driven away like one ravin' distracted mad?' 'A sick visit,' says he; 'poor Pat Lanigan--him that you mind to Bradore Lake--well he's near about at the p'int of death.' 'I guess not,'
said I, 'for I jist heerd tell he was dead.' Well, that brought him up all standin', and he 'bouts s.h.i.+p in a jiffy, and walks a little way with me, and we got a-talkin' about this very subject. Says he, 'What are you, Mr. Slick?' Well, I looks up to him and winks--'A Clockmaker,' says I. Well he smiled, and says he, 'I see;' as much as to say I hadn't ought to have axed that 'ere question at all, I guess, for every man's religion is his own, and n.o.body else's business. 'Then,' says he, 'you know all about this country. Who do folks say has the best of the dispute?' Says I, 'Father John, it's like the battles up to Canada lines last war, each side claims victory; I guess there ain't much to brag on nary way, damage done on both sides, and nothin' gained, as far as I can learn.' He stopped short, and looked me in the face, and says he, 'Mr. Slick you are a man that has seed a good deal of the world, and a considerable of an understandin' man, and I guess I can talk to you. Now,' says he, 'for gracious sake do jist look here, and see how you heretics--protestants I mean,' says he (for I guess that 'ere word slipped out without leave), 'are by the ears, a-drivin' away at each other, the whole blessed time, tooth and nail, hip and thigh, hammer and tongs, disputin', revilin', wranglin', and beloutin' each other, with all sorts of ugly names that they can lay their tongues to. Is that the way you love your neighbour as yourself? WE SAY THIS IS A PRACTICAL COMMENT ON SCHISM, and by the powers of Moll Kelly,' said he, 'but they all ought to be well lambasted together, the whole batch on 'em entirely.' Says I, 'Father John, give me your hand; there are some things, I guess, you and I don't agree on, and most likely never will, seein' that you are a Popish priest; but in that idee I do opinionate with you, and I wish with all my heart all the world thought with us.'
”I guess he didn't half like that 'ere word Popish priest, it seemed to grig him like; his face looked kinder riled, like well water arter a heavy rain; and said he, 'Mr. Slick,' says he, 'your country is a free country, ain't it?' 'The freest,' says I, 'on the face of the airth--you can't ”ditto” it nowhere. We are as free as the air, and when our dander's up, stronger than any hurricane you ever seed--tear up all creation 'most; there ain't the beat of it to be found anywhere.' 'Do you call this a free country?' said he. 'Pretty considerable middlin',' says I, 'seein' that they are under a king.'
'Well,' says he, 'if you were seen in Connecticut a-shakin' hands along with a Popish priest, as you are pleased to call me' (and he made me a bow, as much as to say mind your trumps the next deal), 'as you now are in the streets of Halifax along with me, with all your crackin' and boastin' of your freedom, I guess you wouldn't sell a clock agin in that State for one while, I tell you;' and he bid me good mornin' and turned away. 'Father John!' says I. 'I can't stop,'
says he; 'I must see that poor critter's family; they must be in great trouble, and a sick visit is afore controvarsy in my creed.'
'Well,' says I, 'one word with you afore you go; if that 'ere name Popish priest was an ongenteel one, I ax your pardon; I didn't mean no offence, I do a.s.sure you, and I'll say this for your satisfaction, tu; you're the first man in this Province that ever gave me a real right down complete checkmate since I first sot foot in it, I'll be skinned if you ain't.'
”Yes,” said Mr. Slick, ”Father John was right; these antagonizing chaps ought to be well quilted, the whole raft of 'em. It fairly makes me sick to see the folks, each on 'em a-backin' up of their own man. 'At it agin!' says one; 'Fair play!' says another; 'Stick it into him!' says a third; and 'That's your sort!' says a fourth.
Them are the folks who do mischief. They show such clear grit, it fairly frightens me. It makes my hair stand right up on eend to see ministers do that 'ere. IT APPEARS TO ME THAT I COULD WRITE A BOOK IN FAVOUR OF MYSELF AND MY NOTIONS WITHOUT, WRITIN' AGIN ANY ONE, AND IF I COULDN'T I WOULDN'T WRITE AT ALL, I SNORE. Our old minister, Mr.
Hopewell (a real good man, and a larned man too that), they sent to him once to write agin the Unitarians, for they are a-goin' ahead like statiee in New England, but he refused. Said he, 'Sam,' says he, 'when I first went to Cambridge, there was a boxer and wrastler came there, and he beat every one wherever he went. Well, old Mr. Possit was the Church of England parson at Charlestown, at the time, and a terrible powerful man he was--a real sneezer, and as ACTIVE as a weasel. Well, the boxer met him one day, a little way out of town, a-takin' of his evenin' walk, and said he, ”Parson,” says he, ”they say you are a most a plaguy strong man and uncommon stiff too.”
”Now,” says he, ”I never seed a man yet that was a match for me; would you have any objection jist to let me be availed of your strength here in a friendly way, by ourselves, where no soul would be the wiser; if you will I'll keep dark about it, I swan.” ”Go your way,” said the Parson, ”and tempt me not; you are a carnal-minded, wicked man, and I take no pleasure in such vain idle sports.” ”Very well,” said the boxer; ”now here I stand,” says he, ”in the path, right slap afore you; if you pa.s.s round me, then I take it as a sign that you are afeard on me, and if you keep the path, why then you must first put me out--that's a fact.” The Parson jist made a spring forrard, and kitched him up as quick as wink, and throwed him right over the fence whap on the broad of his back, and then walked on as if nothin' had happened--as demure as you please, and lookin' as meek as if b.u.t.ter wouldn't melt in his mouth. ”Stop,” said the boxer, as soon as he picked himself up, ”stop Parson,” said he, ”that's a good man, and jist chuck over my horse too, will you, for I swan I believe you could do one near about as easy as t'other. My!” said he, ”if that don't bang the bush; you are another guess chap from what I took you to be, anyhow.”
”'Now,' said Mr. Hopewell, says he, 'I won't write, but if ary a Unitarian crosses my path, I'll jist over the fence with him in no time, as the parson did the boxer; FOR WRITIN' ONLY AGGRAVATES YOUR OPPONENTS, AND NEVER CONVINCES THEM. I NEVER SEED A CONVERT MADE BY THAT WAY YET; BUT I'LL TELL YOU WHAT I HAVE SEED: A MAN SET HIS OWN FLOCK A DOUBTIN' BY HIS OWN WRITIN'. YOU MAY HAPPIFY YOUR ENEMIES, CANTANKERATE YOUR OPPONENTS, AND INJURE YOUR OWN CAUSE BY IT, BUT I DEFY YOU TO SARVE IT. These writers,' said he, 'put me in mind of that 'ere boxer's pupils. He would sometimes set two on 'em to spar; well, they'd put on their gloves and begin, larfin' and jokin' all in good humour. Presently one on 'em would put in a pretty hard blow; well, t'other would return it in airnest. ”Oh,” says the other, ”if that's your play, off gloves and at it;” and sure enough, away would fly their gloves, and at it they'd go tooth and nail.
”'No, Sam, the misfortin' is, we are all apt to think Scriptur'
intended for our neighbours, and not for ourselves. The poor all think it made for the rich. ”Look at that 'ere Dives,” they say, ”what an all-fired sc.r.a.pe he got into by his avarice, with Lazarus; and ain't it writ as plain as anything, that them folks will find it as easy to go to heaven, as for a camel to go through the eye of a needle?” Well, then, the rich think it all made for the poor--that they shan't steal nor bear false witness, but shall be obedient to them that's in authority. And as for them 'ere Unitarians,' and he always got his dander up when he spoke of them, 'why there's no doin'
nothin' with them,' says he. 'When they get fairly stumped, and you produce a text that they can't get over, nor get round, why they say ”It ain't in our varsion at all; that's an interpolation, it's an invention of them 'ere everlastin' monks;” there's nothin' left for you to do with them, but to sarve them as Parson Possit detailed the boxer--lay right hold of 'em, and chuck 'em over the fence, even if they were as big as all out doors. That's what our folks ought to have done with 'em at first, pitched 'em clean out of the state, and let 'em go down to Nova Scotia, or some such outlandish place, for they ain't fit to live in no christian country at all.
”'Fightin' is no way to make converts; THE TRUE WAY IS TO WIN 'EM.
You may stop a man's mouth, Sam,' says he, 'by a-crammin' a book down his throat, but you won't convince him. It's a fine thing to write a book all covered over with Latin, and Greek, and Hebrew, like a bridle that's real jam, all spangled with bra.s.s nails, but who knows whether it's right or wrong? Why, not one in ten thousand. If I had my religion to choose, and warn't able to judge for myself, I'll tell you what I'd do: I'd just ask myself WHO LEADS THE BEST LIVES? Now,'
says he, 'Sam, I won't say who do, because it would look like vanity to say it was the folks who hold to our platform, but I'll tell you who don't. IT AIN'T THEM THAT MAKES THE GREATEST PROFESSIONS ALWAYS; and mind what I tell you, Sam, when you go a-tradin' with your clocks away down east to Nova Scotia, and them wild provinces, keep a bright look out on them as cant too much, FOR A LONG FACE is plaguy apt to COVER A LONG CONSCIENCE--that's a fact.'”
No. XXV
Taming a Shrew.