p689-014 CHAPTER I. JOHN WADLEIGH'S TRIAL.

The Early Jurisprudence of New England, including a Sketch of
John Wadleigh's Trial before Squire Winslow, for Sleeping in
Meeting on the Lord's Day; with a brief Report of Lawyer
Chandler's memorable Speech on the occasion.

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The pilgrim fathers of New England, and their
children of the first and second generations, are justly
renowned for their grave character, their moral
uprightness, which sometimes was rather more than
perpendicular, and the vigilant circumspection which
each one exercised over his neighbor as well as himself.
It is true that Connecticut, from an industrious
promulgation of her “Blue Laws,” has acquired more
fame on this score than other portions of the “universal
Yankee nation,” but this negative testimony

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against the rest of New England ought not to be
allowed too much weight, for wherever the light of
history does gleam upon portions further “Down East,”
it shows a people not a whit behind Connecticut in
their resolute enforcement of all the decencies of life,
and their stern and watchful regard for the well-being
of society. The justice of this remark will sufficiently
appear by a few brief quotations from their
judicial records.

In the early court records of New Hampshire, in
the year 1655, may be found the following entry:

“The Grand Jury do present the wife of Mathew
Giles, for swearing and reviling the constable when he
came for the rates, and likewise railing on the
prudenshall men and their wives. Sentenced to be
whipped seven stripes, or to be redeemed with forty
shillings, and to be bound to her good behavior.”

Another entry upon the records the same year is as
follows:

“The Grand Jury do present Jane Canny, the wife
of Thomas Canny, for beating her son-in-law, Jeremy
Tibbetts, and his wife; and likewise for striking her
husband in a canoe, and giving him reviling speeches.
Admonished by the court, and to pay two shillings
and sixpence.”

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If it is consistent with rational philosophy to draw
an inference from two facts, we might here consider
it proved, that the pilgrim ladies of 1655 had considerable
human nature in them. And from the following
record the same year, it would appear also that there
were some of the male gender among them at that
day, who still exhibited a little of the old Adam.

“Philip Edgerly, for giving out reproachful
speeches against the worshipful Captain Weggen, is
sentenced by the court to make a public acknowledgement
three several days; the first day in the head of
the train band; the other two days are to be the most
public meeting days in Dover, when Oyster River
people shall be there present; which is to be done
within four months after this present day. And in
case he doth not perform as aforesaid, he is to be
whipped, not exceeding ten stripes, and to be fined
five pounds to the county.”

The reader cannot but notice in this case, last cited,
with what stern purpose and judicial acumen the
severity of the penalty is made to correspond with the
enormity of the offence. The crime, it will be seen,
was an aggravated one. The gentleman against whom
the reproachful speeches were uttered was a Captain;
and not only a Captain, but a Worshipful Captain.

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Whether Captain Weggen was the commanding officer
of the train band, or not, does not appear; but there
was an appropriate fitness in requiring, that the crime
of uttering reproachful speeches against any Captain,
should be publicly acknowledged at the head of the
train band. There the culprit would have to face all
the officers, from the captain down to the corporal, and
all the soldiers, from the top to the bottom of the company,
could point the finger of scorn at him.

But as the injured party in this case was a worshipful
captain, it was very proper that a penalty of a
higher grade should be affixed to the sentence. Hence
the withering exposure of the offender to make public
acknowledgments on two several occasions, “to be
the most public meeting days in Dover, when Oyster
River people shall be there present.”

Whatever may be said at the present day, as to the
temperance reformation being of modern origin, it
may be affirmed without hazard that the good people
of New England two hundred years ago, were decided
and strenuous advocates of temperance. They were
not tee-totallers; they did not prohibit the use of those
“creature comforts” altogether; but if any one among
them proved to be a wine-bibber, or abused his
privilege of drinking, woe be to him, he had to feel the

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force of the law and good government. Witness the
following court record in New Hampshire, in 1657:

“Thomas Crawlie and Mathew Layn, presented for
drinking fourteen pints of wine at one time. Fined
three shillings and fourpence, and two fees and
sixpence.”

The good people of the province of Maine in those
early days have also left proof, that they were on the
side of industrious and good habits and wholesome
instruction. Their Grand Juries present as follows:

“We present Charles Potum, for living an idle,
lazy life, following no settled employment. Major
Bryant Pembleton joined with the Selectmen of Cape
Porpus to dispose of Potum according to law, and to
put him under family government.”

So it seems there were some men, even in the early
days of the Pilgrims, who enjoyed that more prevalent
luxury of modern times, living under family
government.

Again say the Grand Jury, “We present the
Selectmen of the town of Kittery, for not taking care
that their children and youth be taught their catechism
and education according to law.”

They took good care in those good old times, that
the dealings between man and man should be on

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equitable and fair principles, and without extortion.
In 1640, the Grand Jury say—

“Imprimis, we do present Mr. John Winter, of
Richmond's Island, for extortion; for that Thomas
Wise, of Casco, hath declared upon his oath that he
paid unto Mr. John Winter a noble (six shillings and
eightpence), for a gallon of aqua vitæ, about two
months since; and further, he declareth that the said
Winter bought of Mr. George Luxton, when he was
last in Casco Bay, a hogshead of aqua vitæ for seven
pounds sterling.”

The punishment inflicted on Mr. John Winter, for
extorting from his customer two hundred per cent.
profit on his merchandise, is not stated; but if one
Thomas Warnerton, who flourished in the neighborhood
at that time, had any agency in fixing the
penalty, it probably went rather hard with him; for
this latter gentleman must have had a special interest
in keeping the price of the article down, inasmuch as
it is related of him, that in taking leave of a friend,
who was departing for England, “he drank to him a
pint of kill-devil, alias rum, at a draught.”

Juliana Cloyse, wife to John Cloyse, was “presented
for a talebearer from house to house, setting
differences between neighbors.” It was the

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misfortune of Juliana Cloyse that she lived at too early
an age of the world. Had her lot been cast in this
day and generation, she would probably have met
with no such trouble.

Thomas Tailor was presented “for abusing Captain
F. Raynes, being in authority, for thee-ing and thouing
of him, and many other abusive speeches.”

At a town meeting in Portsmouth, March 12, 1672,
“voted, that if any shall smoke tobacco in the meeting-house
at any public meeting, he shall pay a fine
of five shillings, for the benefit of the town.”

In a previous year, September 25th, at a town
meeting, it was “ordered that a cage be made, or
some other means be invented by the Selectmen, to
punish such as sleep or take tobacco on the Lord's
day, at meeting, in the time of the public exercise.”

It appears from this record that the town reposed
unlimited confidence in the inventive powers of the
Selectmen; and it appears also that the energetic
order of the town, passed on this occasion, was a few
years afterwards successfully carried into practical
operation. The following is preserved on the town
records, July 24, 1771.

“The Selectmen agree with John Pickering to build
a cage twelve feet square, with stocks within it, and a

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pillory on the top, a convenient space from the west
end of the meeting-house.”

Thus far we have confined ourselves to official
records; but some of the unofficial and unwritten
records of those days are of equal importance to be
transmitted to posterity, one of which it is our present
purpose to endeavor to rescue from oblivion.

The affair of the cage, with stocks inside, and a pillory
on the top, served to wake up the congregation
for a while, so that no one was caught napping or
chewing tobacco in the meeting-house during the
public exercises for several Sabbaths after this invention
of the Selectmen became a “fixed fact” at the
west end of the meeting-house. As the novelty of the
thing wore off, however, the terror in some degree
seemed to depart with it. There was a visible carelessness
on the part of several old offenders, who were
observed to relax their attention to the services, wearing
very sleepy looks, sometimes yawning, and occasionally
putting themselves into unseemly positions,
concealing their faces, so that the searching scrutiny
of old Deacon Winslow himself could not decide for
certainty whether they were asleep or not.

Among these delinquents, John Wadleigh seemed
to be the most conspicuous, often leaning his head so

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as to hide his eyes during half sermon time. He was
also gruff and stubborn when questioned on the subject.
So marked was the periodical reeling of his head,
that Deacon Winslow began to watch him as narrowly
as a cat would a mouse. Not that the Deacon
neglected the sermon; he always took care of that
matter, and for his own edification, as well as an example
to the congregation, he steadily kept one eye
on the minister, while the other was on John Wadleigh.
There began to be sundry shrugs of the shoulders
among the knowing ones of the congregation, and
remarks were occasionally dropt, such as “Don't you
believe John Wadleigh was asleep during half the
sermon yesterday?” with the reply, “Why yes, I
know he was; but he must look out, or he'll buy the
rabbit, for Deacon Winslow keeps his eye upon him,
and if he don't make an example of him before long,
I won't guess again.”

It was whispered by some, who were out of the pale
of the church, that the Deacon's watchful powers with
regard to Wadleigh were a little more acute in consequence
of Wadleigh's having over-reached him
somewhat in the sale of a cow, at which the Deacon,
who prided himself on his sound judgment, it was
alleged, always felt a little mortified. The Deacon

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however was a very upright specimen of the old
puritan race, and it is not probable his sense of justice
and right was much warped. True, he manifested considerable
zeal in looking after the delinquencies of
John Wadleigh, but his “zeal was according to knowledge;”
he knew Wadleigh to be a disregarder of the
Sabbath, sleepy-headed and profane, and he did therefore
feel a zealous and charitable desire to administer
to him a little wholesome reproof, provided it could
be done in a just, lawful, and Christian manner.

He even felt it excusable, to accomplish so good a
purpose, to enter into a pious fraud with Parson
Moody. He had observed that though Wadleigh
generally appeared to be asleep at the close of the
sermon, yet when the congregation immediately rose
up to prayers, he always managed some how or other
to be up with them, but with a flushed face and
guilty countenance. The Deacon believed, and it
was the general opinion, that Wadleigh was asleep
on these occasions, and that when the congregation
began to rise, it always awoke him. He therefore
suggested to Parson Moody, that on the next Sabbath,
at the close of the sermon, instead of immediately
commencing his prayers, he should sit quietly down
three or four minutes, as though he were a little

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fatigued, or had some notes to look over, and see
whether Wadleigh would not continue to sleep on,
while the attention of every one awake would of
course be attracted to the Parson. This little plan
was tried, but without any very satisfactory result.
It added something to the presumptive testimony in
the case, but nothing clear and positive. Wadleigh
held his head down about half a minute after the
monotonous tones of the preacher's voice had ceased
to fall upon his ear, when he started suddenly, rose to
his feet, looked round a moment confusedly, and sat
down again.

At last, however, repeated complaints having been
made to the Grand Jury, they saw fit to “present
John Wadleigh for a common sleeper on the Lord's
day, at the publique meeting,” a thing which Deacon
Winslow earnestly declared they ought to have done
weeks before they did.

The Deacon was in fact the most important personage
in town, being not only the first officer in the
church, but also a civil magistrate, before whom most
of the important causes in the place were tried. Of
course the offender Wadleigh, when the Grand Jury
had once caught him in their net, had a pretty fair
chance of having justice meted out to him. The

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jury met early on Monday morning, and the first
business before them was the case of Wadleigh,
against whom a fresh lot of complaints had come in.
They were not long in finding a bill against him as
above-mentioned, and a warrant was put into the
hands of Bill Cleaves, the constable, to hunt Wadleigh
up, and take him before Deacon 'Squire Winslow,
and summon in the witnesses for his trial.

Bill Cleaves tipped his hat to the 'Squire as he
went by upon his official duties, and gave him to
understand what was going on. Whereupon 'Squire
Winslow proceeded to put his house in court-order,
having the floor of his large open hall, where he generally
held his courts, swept and newly sanded, and
things all put to rights. One o'clock was the hour
appointed for the trial, for as the neighborhood all
dined at twelve, the 'Squire said that would give
them an opportunity to go to the work with a full
stomach and at their leisure.

Accordingly, at one o'clock the parties began to
assemble in the hall. 'Squire Winslow, who believed
that a pipe after dinner was a good settler to the
stomach, and always practised accordingly, came in
with a pipe in his mouth, his spectacles resting on the
top of his forehead, and taking a comfortable position

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in his chair, placed his feet, where he had a perfect
right to place them, being in a land of Liberty, and
in his own house, upon the top of the table. The
prisoner, who had been found asleep in his chair at
his own dinner table, was taken away suddenly, like
Cincinnatus or Putnam from the plough, and brought
into court, just as he was, in his shirt sleeves, and
placed at the other end of the table, opposite the feet
of Gamaliel. Lawyer Chandler, who was always on
hand to help the 'Squire along in all knotty cases,
appeared with book in hand ready to lay down the
law and testimony. Lawyer Stebbins was allowed
by the courtesy of the court to take his seat by the
side of the prisoner to see that he had fair play shown
him. Bill Cleaves, the constable, took his seat a
little behind the 'Squire, crossed his legs, and fell to
smoking a cigar with great composure.

'Squire Winslow's faithful bull dog, Jowler, whose
duty it was to keep order in the house, took his
watchful station under the table, directly under his
master's feet, ready for any emergency. While the
constable's dog, Trip, who had done his part in running
down the game and getting it housed, felt that
his duties were over, and caring but little for the
court scene, he had stretched himself upon the floor,

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and was as sound asleep as ever John Wadleigh was
in church. The other witnesses and spectators present
were too numerous to mention.

The indictment was read, and the prisoner called
upon to answer, who, at the suggestion of Lawyer
Stebbins, replied, “Not guilty;” at which Deacon
'Squire Winslow shook his head, and remarked in a
low tone, “We shall see about that.”

The first point made by Lawyer Chandler, was,
that the prisoner should prove his innocence; and he
argued the point with much force and eloquence. It
was no easy matter to prove that a man was actually
asleep, but it was easy enough for a man to prove
that he was awake. Therefore, from the nature of
the case, the burden of the proof ought to lay upon
the prisoner. “Now, we charge that on sundry occasions,
Wadleigh was asleep in church, against the
laws of the town and the well-being of society.
Now, if he was not so asleep, let him prove his alibi.
A criminal always has a right to an alibi if he can
prove it. May it please your honor, I take that
ground,” said Chandler, “and there I stick; I call
upon the prisoner to prove his alibi.”

Lawyer Stebbins stoutly contended that the alibi
could not apply in this case. He had never heard

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nor read of its being used in any case except murder.
And the wisdom of the court finally overruled that it
belonged to the prosecutors to prove the sleep.

“Well, if that be the case,” said Chandler, “I
move, your honor, that Solomon Young be sworn.
I had no idea the burden of proof was going to lay
on us, but still I've come prepared for it.”

Solomon Young was sworn, and took the stand.

Question by Chandler.—Do you know that John
Wadleigh sleeps in meeting?

Witness.—I guess taint no secret; I don't know
anybody but what does know it.

Chandler.—Well, do you know it? That's the
question.

Stebbins objected to the question. It was a leading
question, and they had no right to put leading
questions to the witness.

Chandler.—Well, then, let the court put the
questions.

Justice Winslow.— What do you know about
John Wadleigh's sleeping in meeting?

Witness.—I know all about it; taint no secret,
I guess.

Justice.—Then tell us all about it; that's just
what we want to know.

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Witness (scratching his head).—Well, the long
and short of it is, John Wadleigh is a hard worken
man. That is, he works mighty hard doing nothing;
and that's the hardest work there is done. It'll make
a feller sleepy quicker than poppy leaves. So it
stands to reason that Wadleigh would naterally be a
very sleepy sort of a person. Well, Parson Moody's
sarmons are sometimes naterally pretty long, and the
weather is sometimes naterally considerable warm,
and the sarmons is some times rather heavy-like.

“Stop, stop,” said 'Squire Winslow, “no reflections
upon Parson Moody; that is not what you were
called here for.”

Witness.—I don't cast no reflections on Parson
Moody. I was only telling what I know about John
Wadleigh's sleeping in meeting; and it's my opinion,
especially in warm weather, that sarmons that are
heavy-like and an hour long naterally have a
tendency—

“Stop, stop, I say,” said 'Squire Winslow, “if you
repeat any of these reflections on Parson Moody again,
I'll commit you to the cage for contempt of court.”

Witness.—I don't cast no reflections on Parson
Moody. I was only telling what I knew about John
Wadleigh's sleeping in meeting.

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'Squire Winslow.—Well, go on, and tell us all
about that; you want called here to testify about
Parson Moody.

Witness.—That's what I'm trying to do, if you
wouldn't keep putting me out. And its my opinion
in warm weather, folks is considerable apt to sleep in
meeting; especially when the sarmon—I mean
especially when they get pretty tired. I know I find
it pretty hard work to get by seventhly and eighthly
in the sarmon myself; but if I once get by there, I
generally get into a kind of waking train again, and
make out to weather it. But it isn't so with Wadleigh;
I've generally noticed if he begins to gape at
seventhly and eighthly, its a gone goose with him
before he gets through tenthly, and he has to look out
for another prop to his head somewhere, for his neck
isn't stiff enough to hold it up. And from tenthly up
to sixteenthly he's dead as a door nail; till the Amen
brings the people up to prayers, and then Wadleigh
comes up with a jerk, jest like opening a jack-knife.

Stebbins, cross-examining the witness.—Mr. Young,
how do you know that Wadleigh is asleep on these
occasions you speak of?

Witness.—Cause he is; everybody says he is.”

Stebbins.—That won't do; we don't want you to

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tell us what everybody says. You must tell how
you know he is asleep?

Witness.—Well, cause he begins to gape at seventhly
and eighthly, and props his head up at tenthly,
and don't stir again till the Amen.

Stebbins.—Well how do you know he is asleep at
that time?

Witness.—Cause when I see him settle down in
that kind of way, and cover his face up so I can't see
his eyes, I know he's asleep.

Stebbins.—That's no proof at all; the witness only
knows he was asleep because he couldn't see his eyes.

Chandler.—Well, this witness has proved that the
prisoner exhibited all the outward signs of sleep; now
I will introduce one to show that he also exhibited
internal evidence of being asleep. Your honor must
know that it is a law in physics and metaphysics, and
the universal science of medicine, that being deprived
of one sense sharpens the other senses in a most wonderful
degree. Now I move your honor that my
blind friend here behind me, Jonathan Staples, be
sworn.

Jonathan Staples was sworn accordingly.

Chandler.—Now, Staples, do you know that John
Wadleigh sleeps in meeting?

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Staples.—Yes, I du.

Chandler.—Do you know it?

Staples.—Yes, I know it.

Squire Winslow.—How do you know it?

Staples.—Why, don't I hear him sleep every Sabbath?

Chandler.—What is the state of your hearing?

Staples.—It is as sharp as a needle with two pints.

Chandler.—Can you always tell by a person's
breathing, whether he is asleep or awake?

Staples.—Jest as easy as I can tell whether I'm
asleep or awake myself.

Chandler.—Tell us where you sit in meeting, and
how you know Wadleigh is asleep.

Staples.—Well, I goes to meeting of a Sabbath,
and commonly takes my seat in the seventh seat at
the west end of the meeting-house. And John Wadleigh
he sets in the sixth seat, and that brings him
almost right afore me. All the first part of the exercises
he has a waking breath, till it gets along into
the sarmon, say about seventhly or eighthly, and then
he begins to have a sleepy breath; and when it gets
along into tenthly, he commonly goes it like a porpus.

Squire Winslow.—Do you know him to be asleep
at these times?

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Staples.—I guess I du; I dont see how I could help
it. I know him to be asleep jest as well as I know
I'm awake.

Squire Winslow.—Well, that's sufficient, unless
Mr. Stebbins wishes to ask any questions.

Stebbins.—Now, Staples, do you pretend to say that
you can tell John Wadleigh's breath from the breath
of any other person in meeting?

Staples.—Sartainly I do. Aint everybody's breath
pitched on a different key? There's as much difference
in breathing as there is in speaking.

Chandler.—I'm willing, your honor, to rest the
cause here. I have a plenty more witnesses as good
as these, but I consider the case so clearly proved that
it is hardly necessary to bring on any more unless my
friend Stebbins should offer anything on the other
side which may need to be answered.

Stebbins.—I dont consider it necessary, may it please
your honor, for me to say a single word. I dont consider
that there has been the least particle of evidence
offered here yet, to prove that John Wadleigh ever
slept a wink in meeting in all his life. And surely
your honor wont convict this man without any proof
at all against him. Look at the evidence, sir; what
does it amount to? One man has seen him lean his

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head, and another has heard him breathe; and that
is the sum total. Why, sir, if you convict a man on
such evidence as this, no man is safe. Every man, is
liable to lean his head and to breathe in meeting.
And if that is to be considered evidence of sleep, I
repeat, who is safe? No, sir; as I said before, I dont
consider it necessary for me to say one word on the
subject, for there has been no evidence offered to
prove the offence charged.

Here Lawyer Chandler rose with fire in his eyes
and thunder on his tongue.

May it please your honor, said he, I am astonished,
I am amazed at the hardihood and effrontery of my
learned friend, the counsel on the opposite side of this
cause. Why, sir, if there ever was a case made out
in any court under heaven, by clear, positive, and
irresistible evidence, it is this. Sir, I say, sir, evidence
as clear as sunshine and irresistible as thunder. Yes,
sir, as irresistible as thunder. First, sir, an unimpeachable
witness swears to you, that he sees the culprit
Wadleigh, the prisoner at the bar, gaping in meeting
and exhibiting all the signs of going to sleep;
then he sees him flatting away and muzzling about to
find a prop for his head. Now, sir, men don't want a
prop for their heads when they are awake. It's only

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when they are asleep they want a prop for their heads,
sir. Well, now sir, follow the prisoner along a little
further, and what do we find, sir? Do we find him
wide awake, sir, and attending to the services as a
Christian and as a man ought to do? No, sir. We
find him from tenthly up to sixteenthly, as dead as a
door nail. Them's the witnesses' words, sir, as dead
as a door nail. What next, sir? Why, then the witness
swears to you, that when the congregation rise
up to prayers, Wadleigh comes up with a jerk, jest
like opening a jack-knife. Them's the witnesses' very
words, sir. Now, sir, persons that's awake don't get
up in meeting in that kind of style. It's only them
that's waked up out of a sudden sleep, that comes up
with a jerk, like the opening of a jack-knife, sir.
What stronger proof do we need, or rather what
stronger proof could we have, of all the outward signs
of sleep, than we have from this witness? With regard
to the internal evidence of sleep, another witness
swears to you that he hears Wadleigh asleep every
Sabbath; that he can tell when a person is asleep
or awake by his breathing, as easily as he can tell
whether he's asleep or awake himself. This witness
swears to you that during the first part of the
exercises Wadleigh has a waking breath, and when

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the minister gets along to seventhly and eighthly he
begins to have a very sleepy breath. Well, sir, when
the minister gets to tenthly, the witness swears to you
that Wadleigh commonly goes it like a porpus. Yes,
sir, so sound asleep, that's the inference, so sound
asleep, that he goes it like a porpus.

Sir, I will not say another word. I will not waste
words upon a case so strong, so clear, and so perfectly
made out. If this evidence doesn't prove the culprit
Wadleigh to be a common sleeper in meetin on the
Lord's day, then there is no dependence to be placed
in human testimony. Sir, I have done. Whether
this man is to be convicted or not, I clear my skirts;
and when posterity shall see the account of this trial,
should the culprit go clear, they may cry out “judgment
has fled to brutish beasts and men have lost
their reason;” but they shall not say Chandler did
not do his duty.

The effect of this speech on the court and audience
was tremendous. It was some minutes before a word
was spoken, or any person moved. All eyes still seemed
to be rivetted upon Squire Chandler. At last
Squire Winslow spoke.

This is a very clear case, said he; there can be no
question of the prisoner's guilt; and he is sentenced

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to be confined in the cage four hours, and in the stocks
one hour. Constable Cleaves will take charge of the
prisoner, and see the sentence properly executed.

p689-038 CHAPTER II. YANKEE CHRISTMAS.

The autumnal holiday peculiar to New England is Thanksgiving,
while in the middle and southern States the great domestic festival
is more generally at Christmas or New Year's. Whether the
following historical sketch, therefore, applies with more propriety
to Christmas or Thanksgiving, must depend in some degree upon
the latitude in which Mr. Solomon Briggs resides.

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“Next Thursday is Christmas,” said Mrs. Briggs,
as she came bustling out of the kitchen into the long
dining-room, and took her seat at the breakfast table,
where her husband, Mr. Solomon Briggs, and all the
children, being ten in number, were seated before
her. If Mrs. Briggs was the last at the table, the
circumstance must not be set down as an index to
her character, for she was a restless, stirring body,
and was never the last anywhere, without good
cause. From childhood she had been taught to
believe that the old adage, “the eye of the master
does more work than both his hands,” applied
equally well to the mistress. Accordingly, she was

[figure description] Page 030.[end figure description]

in all parts of the house at once, not only working
with her own hands, but overseeing everything that
was done by others. Indeed, now that we have said
thus much in favor of Mrs. Briggs, a due regard to
impartial justice requires us to add, that Mr. Briggs
himself, though a very quiet sort of a man, and not
of so restless and mercurial a temperament as his
wife, could hardly be said to be less industrious.
His guiding motto through life had been—


“He that by the plough would thrive,
Himself must either hold or drive.”
And most literally had he been governed by the
precept. He was, in short, an industrious, thriving
New England farmer. His exact location it is not
our purpose here to disclose. We give our fair
readers, and unfair, if we have any, the whole range
of New England, from the shore of Connecticut to
the Green Mountains, and from Mount Hope to
Moosehead Lake, to trace him out. But we shall
not point to the spot, lest Mr. Solomon Briggs, seeing
his own likeness brought home to his own door,
might think us impertinent for meddling with family
affairs.

To go back to our starting point—Mrs. Briggs,
who had stopped in the kitchen till the last moment,

[figure description] Page 031.[end figure description]

in order to see the last dish properly prepared for
breakfast, came herself at last to the table.

“Next Thursday is Christmas,” said she, “and
nothing done yet to prepare for it. I do wish we
could ever have things in any sort of season.”

At the mention of Christmas the children's eyes
all brightened, from James, the eldest, who was
twenty-one, down to Mary, who was but two years
old, and who, of course, knew nothing about Christmas,
but looked smiling and bright because all the
rest did.

Mr. Briggs, however, who considered the last
remark as having a little bearing upon himself,
replied—“That he should think three days was time
enough to get a Christmas dinner or a Christmas
supper good enough for any common sort of folks.”

“It would be time enough to get it,” said Mrs.
Briggs, “if we had anything to get it with; but we
haven't a mite of flour in the house, nor no meat for
the mince pies, and there aint no poultry killed yet,
neither!”

“Well, well, mother,” said Mr. Briggs, very moderately,
and with a half smile, “just be patient a
little, and you shall have as much Christmas as you
want. There's a bushel of as good wheat as ever was

[figure description] Page 032.[end figure description]

ground, I put into a bag on Saturday; James can
take a horse and carry it to mill this morning, and
in two hours you may have a bushel of good flour.
You've got butter enough and lard enough in the
house, and if you want any plums or raisins, or any
such sort of things, James may call at Haskall's
store, as he comes home from mill, and get what
you want. Then Mr. Butterfield is going to kill a
beef critter this morning, and I'm going to have a
quarter, so that before noon you can have a hundred
weight of beef to make your mince pies of, and if
that aint enough, I'll send to Mr. Butterfield's for
another quarter. And then there is five heaping
cart loads of large yellow punkins in the barn, and
there is five cows that give a good mess of milk;
and you've got spices and ginger, and molasses, and
sugar enough in the house, so I don't see as there
need be any difficulty but what we might have
punkin pies enough for all hands. And as for the
poultry, it'll be time enough to kill that to-morrow
morning; and if two turkeys aint enough, I'll kill
four, besides a bushel basket full of chickens. So
now go on with your birds'-egging, and make your
Christmas as fast as you please, and as much of it.”

When this speech was ended, the children clapped

[figure description] Page 033.[end figure description]

their hands and laughed, and said, “never fear
father—he always brings it out right at last.”

From that hour forth, for three days, there was
unusual hurry and bustle throughout the house of
Solomon Briggs. In the kitchen particularly there
was constant and great commotion. The oven was
hot from morning till night, and almost from night
till morning. There was baking of pound cake, and
plum cake, and sponge cake, and Christmas cake,
and New Year's cake, and all sorts of cake that
could be found in the cook book. Then there
were ovens full of mince pies, and apple pies, and
custard pies, and all sorts of pies. The greatest
display of pies, however, was of the pumpkin tribe.
There were “punkin pies” baked on large platters for
Christmas dinner, and others on large plates for
breakfast and supper a month afterwards; and others
still, in saucers, for each of the small children. In
the next place, there was a pair of plum puddings,
baked in the largest sized earthen pots, and Indian
puddings and custard puddings to match. And then
the roastings that were shown up on the morning of
Christmas were in excellent keeping with the rest of
the preparations. Besides a fine sirloin of beef, two
fat turkeys were roasted, two geese, and a half a

[figure description] Page 034.[end figure description]

dozen chickens. And then another half dozen of
chickens were made into an enormous chicken pie,
and baked in a milk pan.

A query may arise, perhaps, in the mind of the
reader, why such a profusion of food should be
cooked up at once for a single family, and that
family, too, not unreasonably large, though respectable
in number, for it did not count over sixteen, including
domestics, hired help and all. This is a very
natural error for the reader to fall into, but it is an
error nevertheless. This array of food was not prepared
for a single family; but for a numerous
company, to be made up from many families in the
neighborhood. The truth was, Mr. Briggs was well
to do in the world, a circumstance owing to his long
course of patient industry and economical habits.
Several of his children were now nearly men and
women grown, full of life and fond of fun, as most
young folks are. Mrs. Briggs also was very fond of
society, and a little vain of her smart family of children,
as well as of her good cooking. From these
premises, a gathering of several of the neighbors at
Mr. Briggs's house, to eat a Christmas dinner, and a
still larger company of young folks towards night, to
spend a Christmas evening would not be a very

[figure description] Page 035.[end figure description]

unnatural consequence. Such was the consequence,
as we shall presently see.

We shall not stop to give a particular account of
the dinner, as that was a transaction performed in the
daytime, openly and above-board, and could be seen
and understood by everybody; but the evening
company, and the supper, and the frolic, as they
were hid from the world by the darkness of the night,
need more elucidation. We must not dismiss the
dinner, however, without remarking that it fullfilled
every expectation, and gave entire satisfaction to all
parties. A table of extra length was spread in the
long dining hall, which was graced by a goodly circle
of elderly people, besides many of the middle-aged
and the young. And when we state that the loin of
beef was reduced to a skeleton; that two turkeys, one
goose, and five chickens, vanished in the twinkling of
a case-knife; that the large milk pan, containing the
chicken-pie, was explored and cleared to the very
bottom; and that three or four large puddings and a
couple of acres of “punkin pie” were among the
things lost in the dessert, we think it has been sufficiently
shown that due respect was paid to Mrs.
Briggs's dinner, and that her culinary skill should not
be called in question.

[figure description] Page 036.[end figure description]

“Now, James, who's coming here to-night?” said
Susan, the eldest daughter, a bright, blue-eyed
girl of eighteen. “Who have you asked? Jest
name 'em over, will you?”

“Oh, I can't name 'em over,” said James; “jest
wait an hour or two and you'll see for yourself. I've
asked pretty much all the young folks within a mile
or two; as much as twenty of 'em I guess.”

“Well, have you asked Betsy Harlow?” said Susan.

“Yes, and Ivory too, if that's what you want to
know,” said James.

“Nobody said anything about Ivory,” said Susan,
as the color came to her cheek, and she turned to go
out of the room.

“Here, Suky, come back here,” said James, “I've
got something to tell you.”

“What is it?” said Susan, turning round at the
door, and waiting.

“They say Ivory is waiting on Harriet Gibbs;
what do you think of that?” said James.

“I don't believe a word of it,” said Susan, coloring
still more deeply.

“Well, Harriet will be here this evening,” said
James “and then may be you can judge for yourself.”

“Is her brother coming with her?” said Susan.

[figure description] Page 037.[end figure description]

“George is coming,” said James, “but whether
she will come with him, or with Ivory Harlow,
remains to be seen.”

That Christmas was rather a cold day, and as night
approached, it grew still colder.

“Pile on more wood,” said Mr. Briggs, “get your
rooms warm, so there shan't be no shiverin' or
huddling about the fire this evening.”

The boys were never more ready to start promptly
at their father's bidding than they were on this occasion.
The large fire-place in the long dining-room
was piled full of round sticks of heavy wood almost
up to the mantel; and the fires in the “fore room”
and in the end room were renewed with equal bounty.
By early candle-light, the company began to drop in
one after another, and by twos and threes in pretty
frequent succession. There were stout boys in round
jackets, and stouter boys in long-tailed coats, and
rosy-cheeked girls in shawls, and blankets, and
cloaks, and muffs, and tippets. Some of the middle-aged
and elderly people who had remained to pass
the evening, sat in the “fore room” with Mr. and
Mrs. Briggs, while the young folks were huddled into
the end room, till the supper table should be spread
in the long dining-hall.

[figure description] Page 038.[end figure description]

“There's Ivory Harlow's bells,” said James, as a
sleigh came with a merry gingle up to the door; and
instantly the windows were crowded with heads looking
out to see who had come with him. Ivory lived
about a mile and a half distant and was the only one
who came with a sleigh that evening, as most of the
others lived considerably nearer.

“Why, there's four of 'em, as true as I live,” said
Susan, as they crossed the stream of candle light,
that poured from the windows and spread across the
door yard. One of the younger boys had already
opened the door, and in a moment more the new
comers were ushered into the room, viz: Ivory Harlow
and his sister Betsy, and Harriet Gibbs, and a
strange gentleman, whom Ivory introduced to the
company as Mr. Stephen Long, the gentleman who
was engaged to keep the district school that winter.
And then he turned and whispered to James, and
told him that the master had arrived at their house
that afternoon, as he was to begin the school the next
day, so he thought he would bring him with him.

“That's jest right,” said James, “I'm glad you
did;” though at the same time his heart belied his
words, for he felt afraid it would spoil half the fun of
the evening. The boys and girls all at once put on

[figure description] Page 039.[end figure description]

long and sober faces, and sat and stood round the
room as quiet as though they had been at a funeral.
Presently Susan whispered to James and told him he
ought to take the master into the “fore room,” and
introduce him to father and mother and the rest of
the folks. “And I'd leave him there, if I was you,”
she added in a very suppressed whisper, lest she
should be overheard.

James at once followed the suggestion of Susan,
and took Mr. Stephen Long into the other room and
introduced him to Mr. and Mrs. Briggs and the rest
of the company, and a chair was of course set for
Mr. Long, and he of course sat down in it and began
to talk about the weather and other subjects of like
interest, while James retreated back into the end
room. The moment the master had left the room the
boys and girls all began to breathe more freely, and
to bustle about, and talk and laugh as merry as
crickets. Not a few regrets were thrown out from
one and another, that the school-master had been
brought there to spend the evening, and some of
them thought “Ive Harlow ought to a-known better,
for he might know it would spoil half their play.”
But it seems they had not rightly estimated Mr.
Stephen Long's social and youthful qualities, who,

[figure description] Page 040.[end figure description]

although two or three and twenty years old, was
almost as much of a boy as any in the room. He
had not been gone more than fifteen minutes before
he came back into the room with the young folks
again, much to the dismay of the whole company.

A cloud immediately settled upon their faces; all
were whist as mice, and sober as deacons, till Mr.
Stephen Long came across the room with an exceedingly
droll expression of merriment upon his face,
and gave James a hearty slap on the back, saying at
the same time:

“Well, now, what's the order of the day here
to-night? Dance, or forfeits, or blind man's bluff?
I'm for improving the time.”

At once the whole company burst out into a loud
laugh, and several of the juniors, feeling such a burden
suddenly removed from them, fell to pounding each
other's shoulders, probably to prevent them in their
lightness from flying of the handle.

“I guess we'll have something or other a going bime
by,” said James; “whatever the company likes best;
but I guess we'll have supper first, for that's about
ready.”

The words were but just uttered when the call for
supper was given, and the fore-room, and the end

[figure description] Page 041.[end figure description]

room poured out their respective companies into
the long dining-hall. It was soon perceived that, long
as the table was, they could not all be seated at once,
and there began to be some canvassing to determine
who should wait. The elderly people must of course
sit down, and the school-master must of course sit
at the first table, and then it was decided that the
youngest of the young folks should sit down too,
because the eldest of the young folks chose to wait and
eat by themselves. To this last arrangement there
was one exception; for Miss Harriet Gibbs, when she
saw the school-master seated on one side of the table,
had somehow or other, inadvertently of course, taken a
seat on the other side directly opposite to him. And
when, as the young folks were retiring from the room,
Ivory Harlow looked at her and saw she had concluded
to remain, Susan thought she saw considerable
color come into Ivory's face.

When the first company at the table had eaten up
two rows of pies clear round the board, including
mince, apple and custard, and “punkin pies,” of the
largest class, together with a reasonable portion of
various kinds of cakes and sweetmeats, and had given
place to the second company at the table, who had
gone through similar operations to a similar extent,

[figure description] Page 042.[end figure description]

the great dining-hall was speedily cleared of dishes,
and chairs, and tables, and all such sorts of trumpery,
that there might be nothing to impede the real business
of the evening.

The elderly people were again seated in the fore-room,
where a brisk fire was blazing so warmly that
they could sit back comfortably clear to the walls; and
around the hearth was a goodly array of mugs and
pitchers of cider, and bowls heaped with mellow
apples, red and yellow and green.

“Now, then, what shall we have to begin with?”
said James.

“Blind man's buff,” said George Gibbs.

“Suppose we have a quiet dance to begin with?”
said Susan.

“Oh, I'd rather have something that has more life
in it,” said Harriet Gibbs; “let's have `hunt the slipper,
' or `forfeits,' I don't care which.

“Oh get away with them small potatoes,” said Bill
Dingley; “let's go right into blind man's buff at
once; that's the stuff for Christmas.”

“You know we must please the ladies, Bill,” said
James Briggs, “I guess we'll have a sort of game at
forfeits first, as Miss Gibbs proposed it.”

“Well, agreed,” said all hands.

[figure description] Page 043.[end figure description]

Accordingly the company arranged themselves in a
circle round the large hall, holding the palms of their
hands together, and James took a piece of money
between his hands and passed round to each one of
the company, and made the motion to drop the money
into the hands of each.

“Button, button, who's got the button?” said James
to the head one, when he had been round the circle.

“Harriet Gibbs,” was the reply.

“Button, button, who's got the button?” said James
to the next.

“Betsey Harlow,” answered the next.

At last, when James had been clear round the circle
and questioned each one in like manner, he called out,

“Them that's got it, rise.”

At once up hopped Sam Nelson, a sly little redheaded
fellow about a dozen years old, whom no one
suspected of having it, and of course no one had
guessed him. Every one of the company, therefore,
had to pay a forfeit.

“I move we redeem, before we go any further,”
said Ivory Harlow.

The motion was seconded all round, and the forfeits
were accordingly collected, and James selecting a
couple, held them over Harriet Gibbs's head.

[figure description] Page 044.[end figure description]

“Whose two pawns are these?” said he, “and what
shall he and she do to redeem them?”

“The lady shall kiss the schoolmaster,” said Harriet,
“and the gentleman shall go into the fore-room
and kiss Mrs. Briggs.

“Miss Harriet Gibbs and Mr. Ivory Harlow go and
do it,” said James.

“Oh, la me! I shant do no sich thing,” said Harriet
with a half scream.

“Then you don't have your ring again,” said James.

“Well, then, I suppose I must do it, or I shall be
setting a bad example to the rest,” said Harriet. And
away she run across the room to Mr. Stephen Long,
and at once gave the whole company audible evidence
that she had fully redeemed her ring.

Ivory Harlow walked leisurely into the fore-room.
What he did there the young people could not certainly
say, but from the hearty laugh that came from the
elderly people there assembled, they inferred that he
did something, and on his return James gave him
up his pawn.

James then selected two more of the forfeits, and
held them over Bill Dingley's head.

“Whose two pawns are these, and what shall he
and she do to redeem them?” said James.

[figure description] Page 045.[end figure description]

“They shall kiss each other through a chair back,”
said Bill.

“Miss Susan Briggs and Mr. Stephen Long have
got to do it,” said James.

Whereupon Mr. Stephen Long readily took a chair
and approached Miss Susan Briggs. But Miss Susan,
when she saw the school-master coming towards her,
holding a chair up to his face, and his lips poking
through the back of it, colored up to the eyes and
turned away.

“Do it, do it!” cried half the company, “or you
shan't have your hankerchief.”

Mr. Stephen Long seemed bent upon redeeming his
pawn at any rate, and he followed Miss Susan with
the chair with an earnestness that showed he did not
mean to be baffled. When Miss Susan found herself
cornered, and could retreat no further, she kissed her
hand and tossed it at the chair.

“That wont do,” cried half a dozen voices.

“I had to redeem mine,” said Harriet Gibbs, “and
it's no more than fair that she should redeem hers.”

“Well, you may redeem mine too, if you are a
mind to,” said Susan, pushing the chair from her
with her hand.

When Mr. Stephen Long found he could not

[figure description] Page 046.[end figure description]

redeem his pawn through the chair, he declared he
would redeem it without the chair. So setting the
chair down, he commenced a fresh attack upon Miss
Susan, who held both hands tightly over her face.
After some violence, however, the company heard
the appropriate signal of triumph, but whether the
victory had been achieved upon cheek or hand,
always remained matter of doubt.

In redeeming the rest of the pawns, the penalties
were as various as the characters of the several persons
who stood judges. One had to measure half a
dozen yards of love ribbon. One had to hop across
the room on one foot backwards. Another had to
kneel to the prettiest, bow to the wittiest, and kiss
the one he loved best. But when Bill Dingley stood
as judge, he declared he wasn't in favor of any half-way
punishments, and he accordingly adjudged the
delinquents to kiss every lady and gentleman in the
room; that is, the lady to kiss the gentlemen, and the
gentleman to kiss the ladies, which penalties the
aforesaid delinquents performed according to the best
of their abilities.

When the game of pawns was over, the general
vote seemed to be in favor of blind man's buff.
James had to blind first, and he whirled about the

[figure description] Page 047.[end figure description]

room, and flew from side to side, and corner to corner,
with as much ease and boldness as though he had
nothing over his eyes; and he kept the company
continually flying from one end of the hall to the
other, like a flock of frightened pigeons. He, however,
killed them off pretty fast, by catching one
after another, and sending them into the end room.
While they were running for their lives, this way and
that, Ivory Harlow couldn't help noticing that, somehow
or other, Harriet Gibbs most always blundered
into the same corner where the school-master was;
and sometimes she would run right against him
before she saw him; and then sometimes she would
almost fall down, and the school-master would have to
catch hold of her to keep her from falling. More
than once that evening, Ivory wished he had not
brought her, and more than twice he wished Susan
Briggs might forget that he did bring her.

The brisk running and bustle at blind man's buff
drew the elderly people to the door of the fore room,
where they stood and looked on. When James had
caught about half the company, Mrs. Briggs could
not stand it any longer. She slipped off her shoes,
and in she went right among them, and joined in the
game; and she ran about lighter and quicker than

[figure description] Page 048.[end figure description]

any girl there. So much upon the alert was she, and
moved about with such noiseless and nimble footsteps,
that she was in fact the very last to be taken.
And when at last she was cornered and caught,
James was a little puzzled to know who it was, for
he felt almost sure he had caught all the large girls.
But when he put his hand upon her head, and face,
and neck, and shoulders, he exclaimed,

“Well done, mother; this is you. Now you shall
blind.”

“Oh, no, I can't do that, James,” said Mrs. Briggs,
retreating toward the fore-room.

“Yes, but you must,” said James, “you are the
last caught.”

“Yes, yes, you must, you must,” echoed the young
folks from all sides.

“Well,” said Mrs. Briggs at last, “if Mr. Briggs
and the rest of 'em will come out and run, I'll blind.”

The elderly people stood and looked at each other
a minute, and at last they haw hawed right out, and
then half a dozen of them came out upon the floor to
join the game. The handkerchief was put upon Mrs.
Briggs's eyes, and the old folks commenced running,
and the old folks stepped heavy, and the young folks
laughed loud, and there was a most decided racket.

[figure description] Page 049.[end figure description]

Mrs. Briggs, however, soon cleared the coast, for she
was spry as a cat, and caught her prey as fast as that
useful animal would do when shut up in a room with
a flock of mice.

When this run was over, the play went back again
exclusively into the hands of the young folks, and after
several of them had been blinded, it came at last
to Bill Dingley's turn. Bill went into it like a day's
work. He leaped upon his prey like a tiger among
sheep. He ran over one, and tripped up another,
knocked one this way and another that, and caught
three or four in his arms at once. He made very quick
work of it, and caught them all off, but when he got
through, two or three were rubbing the bruises on
their heads, and one was bleeding at the nose. This
wound up the blind man's buff.

Mrs. Briggs then came out and told Susan to get a
table out in the middle of the room. She then
brought forward a couple of nice little loaves of
Christmas cake, and placed them on a couple of plates,
and cut them up into as many slices as there were
young folks present, men and women grown.

“Now,” said Mrs. Briggs, “we'll see which of you
is going to be married first. These two cakes have
each of 'em a Christmas ring in them; and

[figure description] Page 050.[end figure description]

whichever gets the slice that has the ring in it, will be married
before the year is out. So all the gals over sixteen
years old stand up in a row on one side, and all
the young men over eighteen stand up in a row on
the other side, and I'll pass the cake round.”

She carried it round to the young men first, and
each took a slice and commenced eating to ascertain
who had the ring.

“By jings, I haven't got it,” said Billy Dingley,
swallowing his cake at three mouthfuls.

“May be you've swallowed it,” said George Gibbs.

“Well, them that's got it,” said Mrs. Briggs,
“please to keep quiet till we find out which of the
gals has the other.”

She then passed the cake round to the young ladies.
When she came to Susan, Harriet Gibbs, who was
standing by her side, said:

“It's no use for any of the rest of us to try, for
Susan knows which slice 'tis in, and she'll get it.”

“No, that isn't fair,” said Mrs. Briggs; “I put the
rings in myself, and nobody else knows anything
about it.”

The young ladies then took their slices, and Mrs.
Briggs passed on to Sally Dingley, Bill's sister, who
being on the wrong side of forty, did not stand in the

[figure description] Page 051.[end figure description]

row, and rather declined taking the cake. Mrs. Briggs
urged her, and told her she must take some; when
Bill suddenly called out:

“Take hold, Sal, take hold and try your luck; as
long as there's life there's hope.”

Miss Sally Dingley run across the room and boxed
Bill's ears, and then came back and said she'd take a
piece of cake.

“For who knows,” said she, “but what I shall get
the ring; and who knows but what I shall be married
before any of you, now?”

After the young ladies had eaten their cake, Mrs.
Briggs called upon them that had the rings to step
forward into the floor. Upon which, Ivory Harlow
stepped out on one side, and Harriet Gibbs on the
other.

“Ah, that ain't fair; that's cheatin, that's cheatin,”
cried out little Sam Nelson.

“Why, what do you mean by that, Sam?” said Mrs.
Briggs.

“Cause,” said Sam, “I see Susan, when she was
eating the cake, take the ring out of her mouth, and
slip it into Harriet Gibbs's hand.”

At this Susan blushed, Harriet looked angry, and
the company laughed.

[figure description] Page 052.[end figure description]

By this time it was twelve o'clock, and the elderly
people began to think it was time for them to be
moving homeward. And as soon as they were gone,
the young folks put on their shawls and cloaks and
hats, and prepared to follow them. Before they went,
however, Ivory Harlow got a chance to whisper to
Susan Briggs, and tell her, that he supposed he should
have to carry Harriet home this time, but it was the
last time he should ever carry her anywhere, as long
as his name was Ivory Harlow.

p689-062 CHAPTER III. THE TOUGH YARN:

[figure description] Page 053.[end figure description]

Major Grant of Massachusetts was returning home
from Moosehead Lake, where he had been to look
after one of his newly-purchased townships, and to
sell stumpage to the loggers for the ensuing winter,
when he stopped for the night at a snug tavern in one
of the back towns in Maine, and having been to the
stable, and seen with his own eyes that his horse was
well provided with hay and grain, he returned to the
bar-room, laid aside his cloak, and took a seat by the
box stove, which was waging a hot war with the cold
and raw atmosphere of November.

The major was a large, portly man, well to do in
the world, and loved his comfort. Having called for
a mug of hot flip, he loaded his long pipe, and prepared
for a long and comfortable smoke. He was
also a very social man, and there being but one person
in the room with him, he invited him to join him in
a tumbler of flip. This gentleman was Doctor Snow,

[figure description] Page 054.[end figure description]

an active member of a temperance society, and therefore
he politely begged to be excused; but having a
good share of the volubility natural to his profession,
he readily entered into conversation with the major,
answered many of his inquiries about the townships
in that section of the State, described minutely the
process of lumbering, explained how it might be made
profitable, and showed why it was often attended with
great loss. A half hour thus passed imperceptibly
away, and the doctor rose, drew his wrapper close
about him, and placed his cap on his head. The
major looked round the room with an air of uneasiness.

“What, going so soon, Doctor? No more company
here to-night, think? Dull business, Doctor, to sit
alone one of these long tedious evenings. Always
want somebody to talk with; man wasn't made to be
alone, you know.”

“True,” said the doctor, “and I should be happy
to spend the evening with you; but I have to go three
miles to see a patient yet to-night, and it's high time I
was off. But luckily, Major, you won't be left alone
after all, for there comes Jack Robinson, driving his
horse and wagon into the yard now; and I presume
he'll not only spend the evening with you, but stop
all night.”

[figure description] Page 055.[end figure description]

“Well, that's good news,” said the Major, “if he'll
only talk. Will he talk, Doctor?”

“Talk? yes! till all is blue. He's the greatest
talker you ever met. I'll tell you what 'tis, Major, I'll
bet the price of your reckoning here to-night, that
you may ask him the most direct simple question you
please, and you shan't get an answer from him under
half an hour, and he shall keep talking a steady stream
the whole time, too.”

“Done,” said the major; “'tis a bet. Let us understand
it fairly, now. You say I may ask him any
simple, plain question I please, and he shall be half
an hour answering it, and talk all the time too; and
you will bet my night's reckoning of it.”

“That's the bet exactly,” said the doctor.

Here the parties shook hands upon it, just as the
door opened, and Mr. Jack Robinson came limping
into the room, supported by a crutch, and with something
of a bustling, care-for-nothing air, hobbled along
toward the fire. The doctor introduced Mr. Jack
Robinson to Major Grant, and after the usual salutations
and shaking of hands, Mr. Robinson took his
seat upon the other side of the stove, opposite the
major.

Mr. Jack Robinson was a small, brisk man, with

[figure description] Page 056.[end figure description]

a grey twinkling eye, and a knowing expression of
countenance. As he carefully settled himself into his
chair, resting his lame limb against the edge of the
stove-hearth, he threw his hat carelessly upon the
floor, laid his crutch across his knee, and looked round
with a satisfied air, that seemed to say, “Now, gentlemen,
if you want to know the time of day, here's the
boy that can tell ye.”

“Allow me, Mr. Robinson, to help you to a
tumbler of hot flip,” said the major, raising the mug
from the stove.

“With all my heart, and thank ye too,” said
Robinson, taking a sip from the tumbler. “I believe
there's nothing better for a cold day than a hot flip.
I've known it to cure many a one who was thought to
be in a consumption. There's something so”—

“And I have known it,” said the doctor, shrugging
his shoulders, “to kill many a one that was
thought to have an excellent constitution and sound
health.”

“There's something so warming,” continued Mr.
Robinson, following up his own thoughts so earnestly
that he seemed not to have heard the remark of the
doctor, “there's something so warming and so nourishing
in hot flip, it seems to give new life to the

[figure description] Page 057.[end figure description]

blood, and puts the insides all in good trim. And as
for cold weather, it will keep that out better than any
double-milled kersey or fearnot great coat that I ever
see.

“I could drive twenty miles in a cold day with a
good mug of hot flip easier than I could ten miles
without it. And this is a cold day, gentlemen, a real
cold day, there's no mistake about it. This norwester
cuts like a razor. But tain't nothing near so cold as
'twas a year ago, the twenty-second day of this
month. That day, it seemed as if your breath would
freeze stiff before it got an inch from your mouth. I
drove my little Canada grey in a sleigh that day
twelve miles in forty-five minutes, and froze two of
my toes on my lame leg as stiff as maggots. Them
toes chill a great deal quicker than they do on t'other
foot. In my well days I never froze the coldest day
that ever blew. But that cold snap, the twenty-second
day of last November, if my little grey
hadn't gone like a bird, would have done the job for
my poor lame foot. When I got home I found two
of my sheep dead, and they were under a good shed,
too. And one of my neighbors, poor fellow, went
into the woods after a load of wood, and we found
him next day froze to death, leaning up against a

[figure description] Page 058.[end figure description]

beech tree as stiff as a stake. But his oxen was alive
and well. It's very wonderful how much longer a
brute critter will stan' the cold than a man will.
Them oxen didn't even shiver.”

“Perhaps,” said the doctor, standing with his
back towards Mr. Robinson, “perhaps the oxen had
taken a mug of hot flip before they went into the
woods.”

By this time Major Grant began to feel a little
suspicious that he might lose his bet, and was setting
all his wits to work to fix on a question so direct and
limited in its nature, that it could not fail to draw
from Mr. Robinson a pretty direct answer. He had
thought at first of making some simple inquiry about
the weather; but he now felt convinced that, with
Mr. Robinson, the weather was a very copious subject.
He had also several times thought of asking some
question in relation to the beverage they were drinking;
such as, whether Mr. Robinson preferred flip to
hot sling. And at first he could hardly perceive, if
the question were put direct, how it could fail to
bring out a direct yes or no. But the discursive
nature of Mr. Robinson's eloquence on flip had already
induced him to turn his thoughts in another direction
for a safe and suitable question. At last he thought

[figure description] Page 059.[end figure description]

he would make his inquiry in reference to Mr. Robinson's
lameness. He would have asked the cause of
his lameness, but the thought occurred to him that
the cause might not be clearly known, or his lameness
might have been produced by a complication of
causes, that would allow too much latitude for a reply.
He resolved, therefore, simply to ask him whether his
lameness was in the leg or in the foot. That was a
question which it appeared to him required a short
answer. For if it were in the leg, Mr. Robinson
would say it was in his leg; and if it were in his
foot, he would at once reply, in his foot; and if it
were in both, what could be more natural than that
he should say, in both? and that would seem to be
the end of the story.

Having at length fully made up his mind as to the
point of attack, he prepared for the charge, and
taking a careless look at his watch, he gave the
doctor a sly wink. Doctor Snow, without turning or
scarce appearing to move, drew his watch from
beneath his wrapper so far as to see the hour, and
returned it again to his pocket.

“Mr. Robinson,” said the major, “if I may presume
to make the inquiry, is your lameness in the
leg or in the foot?”

[figure description] Page 060.[end figure description]

“Well, that reminds me,” said Mr. Robinson,
taking a sip from the tumbler, which he still held in
his hand, “that reminds me of what my old father
said to me once when I was a boy. Says he, `Jack,
you blockhead, don't you never tell where anything
is, unless you can first tell how it come there.' The
reason of his saying it was this: Father and I was
coming in the steamboat from New York to Providence;
and they was all strangers on board—we
didn't know one of 'em from Adam; and on the
way, one of the passengers missed his pocket-book,
and begun to make a great outcry about it. He
called the captain, and said there must be a search.
The boat must be searched, and all the passengers
and all on board must be searched. Well, the captain
he agreed to it; and at it they went, and over-hauled
everything from one end of the boat to
t'other; but they couldn't find hide nor hair of it.
And they searched all the passengers and all the
hands, but they couldn't get no track on't. And the
man that lost the pocket-book took on and made a
great fuss. He said it wasn't so much on account of
the money, for there wasn't a great deal in it; but
the papers in it were of great consequence to him,
and he offered to give ten dollars to any body that

[figure description] Page 061.[end figure description]

would find it. Pretty soon after that, I was fixin' up
father's berth a little, where he was going to sleep,
and I found the pocket-book under the clothes at the
head of the berth, where the thief had tucked it
away while the search was going on. So I took it,
tickled enough, and run to the man, and told him I
had found his pocket-book. He catched it out of my
hands, and says he, `Where did you find it?' Says
I, `Under the clothes in the head of my father's
berth.'

“`In your father's berth, did you?' says he, and he
give me a look and spoke so sharp, I jumped as if I
was going out of my skin.

“Says he, `Show me the place.'

“So I run and showed him the place.

“`Call your father here,' says he. So I run and
called father.

“`Now Mister,' says he to father, `I should like to
know how my pocket-book come in your berth.'

“`I don't know nothin' about it,' says father.

“Then he turned to me and says he, `Young man,
how came this pocket-book in your father's berth?'

“Says I, `I can't tell. I found it there, and that's
all I know about it.'

“Then he called the captain and asked him if he

[figure description] Page 062.[end figure description]

knew us. The captain said he didn't. The man
looked at us mighty sharp, first to father, and then to
me, and eyed us from top to toe. We wasn't neither
of us dressed very slick, and we could tell by his looks
pretty well what he was thinking. At last he said
he would leave it to the passengers whether, under all
the circumstances, he should pay the boy the ten
dollars or not. I looked at father, and his face was
as red as a blaze, and I see his dander begun to rise.
He didn't wait for any of the passengers to give their
opinion about it, but says he to the man, “Dod-rot
your money! if you've got any more than you want,
you may throw it into the sea for what I care; but if
you offer any of it to my boy, I'll send you where a
streak of lightning wouldn't reach you in six
months.”

“That seemed to settle the business; the man didn't
say no more to father, and most of the passengers
begun to look as if they didn't believe father was
guilty. But a number of times after that, on the
passage, I see the man that lost the pocket-book whisper
to some of the passengers, and then turn and look
at father. And then father would look gritty enough
to bite a board-nail off. When we got ashore, as soon
as we got a little out of sight of folks, father catched

[figure description] Page 063.[end figure description]

hold of my arm and gave it a most awful jerk, and
says he, “Jack you blockhead, don't you never tell
where any thing is again, unless you can first tell how
it come there.”

“Now it would be about as difficult,” continued
Mr. Robinson after a slight pause, which he employed
in taking a sip from his tumbler, “for me to tell to a
certainty how I come by this lameness, as it was to
tel how the pocket-book come in father's berth.
There was a hundred folks aboard, and we knew some
of 'em must a put it in; but which one 'twas, it would
have puzzled a Philadelphia lawyer to tell. Well,
it's pretty much so with my lameness. This poor leg
of mine has gone through some most awful sieges,
and it's a wonder there's an inch of it left. But it's a
pretty good leg yet; I can almost bear my weight
upon it; and with the help of a crutch you'd be surprised
to see how fast I can get over the ground.”

“Then your lameness is in the leg rather than in
the foot?” said Major Grant, taking advantage of a
short pause in Mr. Robinson's speech.

“Well, I was going on to tell you all the particulars,”
said Mr. Robinson. “You've no idea what
terrible narrow chances I've gone through with this
leg.”

[figure description] Page 064.[end figure description]

“Then the difficulty is in the leg, is it not?” said
Major Grant.

“Well, after I tell you the particulars,” said Mr.
Robinson, “you can judge for yourself. The way it
first got hurt was going in a swimming, when I was
about twelve years old. I could swim like a duck,
and used to be in Uncle John's mill-pond along with
his Stephen half the time. Uncle John, he always
used to keep scolding at us and telling of us we should
get sucked into the floome bime-by, and break our
plaguy necks under the water-wheel. But we knew
better. We'd tried it so much we could tell jest how
near we could go to the gate and get away again without
being drawn through. But one day Steeve, jest to
plague me, threw my straw hat into the pond between
me and the gate. I was swimming about two rods from
the gate, and the hat was almost as near as we dared
to go, and the stream was sucking it down pretty fast;
so I sprung with all my might to catch the hat before
it should go through and get smashed under the water-wheel.
When I got within about half my length of
it, I found I was as near the gate as we ever dared to
go. But I hated to lose the hat, and I thought I might
venture to go a little nearer, so I fetched a spring with
all my might, and grabbed the hat and put it on my

[figure description] Page 065.[end figure description]

head, and turned back and pulled for my life. At
first I thought I gained a little, and I made my hands
and feet fly as tight as I could spring. In about a
minute I found I didn't gain a bit one way nor t'other;
and then I sprung as if I would a tore my arms off;
and it seemed as if I could feel the sweat start all over
me right there in the water. I begun to feel all at
once as if death had me by the heels, and I screamed
for help. Stephen was on the shore watching me, but
he couldn't get near enough to help me. When he
see I couldn't gain any, and heard me scream, he was
about as scared as I was, and turned and run towards
the mill, and screamed for uncle as loud as he could
bawl. In a minute uncle come running to the mill-pond,
and got there jest time enough to see me going
through the gate feet foremost. Uncle said, if he
should live to be as old as Methuselah, he should never
forget what a beseeching look my eyes had as I lifted
up my hands towards him and then sunk guggling
into the floome. He knew I should be smashed all to
pieces under the great water-wheel: but he run round
as fast as he could to the tail of the mill to be ready
to pick up my mangled body when it got through, so
I might be carried home and buried. Presently he
see me drifting along in the white foam that came out

[figure description] Page 066.[end figure description]

from under the mill, and he got a pole with a hook to
it and drawed me to the shore. He found I was not
jammed all to pieces as he expected, though he
couldn't see any signs of life. But having considerable
doctor skill, he went to work upon me, and rolled
me over, and rubbed me, and worked upon me, till
bime-by I began to groan and breathe. And at last
I come to, so I could speak. They carried me home
and sent for a doctor to examine me. My left foot and
leg was terribly bruised, and one of the bones broke,
and that was all the hurt there was on me. I must
have gone lengthways right in between two buckets
of the water-wheel, and that saved my life. But this
poor leg and foot got such a bruising I wasn't able to
go a step on it for three months, and never got entirely
over it to this day.”

“Then your lameness is in the leg and foot both, is
it not?” said Major Grant, hoping at this favorable
point to get an answer to this question.

“Oh, it wasn't that bruising under the mill-wheel,”
said Mr. Jack Robinson, “that caused this lameness,
though I've no doubt it caused a part of it and helps
to make it worse; but it wasn't the principal cause.
I've had tougher scrapes than that in my day, and I
was going on to tell you what I s'pose hurt my leg

[figure description] Page 067.[end figure description]

more than anything else ever happened to it. When
I was about eighteen years old I was the greatest
hunter there was within twenty miles round. I had
a first-rate little fowling-piece; she would carry as
true as a hair. I could hit a squirrel fifty yards
twenty times running. And at all the thanksgiving
shooting-matches I used to pop off the geese and
turkeys so fast, it spoilt all their fun; and they got so
at last they wouldn't let me fire till all the rest had
fired round three times a piece. And when all of
'em had fired at a turkey three times and couldn't
hit it, they would say, `well, that turkey belongs to
Jack Robinson.' So I would up and fire and pop it
over. Well, I used to be almost everlastingly a
gunning; and father would fret and scold, because
whenever there was any work to do, Jack was always
off in the woods. One day I started to go over Bear
Mountain, about two miles from home, to see if I
couldn't kill some raccoons; and I took my brother
Ned, who was three years younger than myself, with
me to help bring home the game. We took some
bread and cheese and doughnuts in our pockets, for
we calculated to be gone all day, and I shouldered
my little fowling-piece, and took a plenty of powder
and shot and small bullets, and off we started through

[figure description] Page 068.[end figure description]

the woods. When we got round the other side of
Bear Mountain, where I had always had the best luck
in hunting, it was about noon. On the way I had
killed a couple of grey squirrels, a large fat raccoon,
and a hedge-hog. We sot down under a large beech
tree to eat our bread and cheese. As we sot eating,
we looked up into the tree, and it was very full of
beechnuts. They were about ripe, but there had not
been frost enough to make them drop much from the
tree. So says I to Ned, Let us take some sticks and
climb this tree and beat off some nuts to carry home.
So we got some sticks, and up we went. We hadn't
but jest got cleverly up into the body of the tree,
before we heard something crackling among the
bushes a few rods off. We looked and listened, and
heard it again, louder and nearer. In a minute we
see the bushes moving, not three rods off from the
tree, and something black stirring about among them.
Then out come an awful great black bear, the ugliest-looking
feller that ever I laid my eyes on. He looked
up towards the tree we was on, and turned up his nose
as though he was snuffing something. I begun to
feel pretty streaked; I knew bears was terrible
climbers, and I'd a gin all the world if I'd only had
my gun in my hand, well loaded. But there was no

[figure description] Page 069.[end figure description]

time to go down after it now, and I thought the only
way was to keep as still as possible, and perhaps he
might go off again about his business. So we didn't
stir nor hardly breathe. Whether the old feller smelt
us, or whether he was looking for beechnuts, I don't
know; but he reared right up on his hind legs and
walked as straight to the tree as a man could walk.
He walked round the tree twice, and turned his great
black nose up, and looked more like Old Nick than
anything I ever see before. Then he stuck his sharp
nails into the sides of the tree, and begun to hitch
himself up. I felt as if we had got into a bad scrape,
and wished we was out of it. Ned begun to cry.
But, says I to Ned, `It's no use to take on about it;
if he's coming up we must fight him off the best way
we can.' We climb'd up higher into the tree, and
the old bear come hitching along up after us. I
made Ned go up above me, and, as I had a pretty
good club in my hand, I thought I might be able to
keep the old feller down. He didn't seem to stop for
the beechnuts, but kept climbing right up towards
us. When he got up pretty near I poked my club at
him, and he showed his teeth and growled. Says I,
`Ned, scrabble up a little higher.' We clim up two
or three limbs higher, and the old bear followed close

[figure description] Page 070.[end figure description]

after. When he got up so he could almost touch my
feet, I thought it was time to begin to fight. So I up
with my club and tried to fetch him a pelt over the
nose. And the very first blow he knocked the club
right out of my hand, with his great nigger paw, as
easy as I could knock it out of the hand of a baby a
year old. I begun to think then it was gone goose
with us. However, I took Ned's club, and thought
I'd try once more; but he knocked it out of my hand
like a feather, and made another hitch and grabbed
at my feet. We scrabbled up the tree, and he after
us, till we got almost to the top of the tree. At last
I had to stop a little for Ned, and the old bear
clinched my feet. First he stuck his claw into 'em,
and then he stuck his teeth into 'em, and begun to
naw. I felt as if 'twas a gone case, but I kicked and
fit, and told Ned to get up higher; and he did get up
a little higher, and I got up a little higher too, and
the old bear made another hitch and come up higher,
and begun to naw my heels again. And then the top
of the tree begun to bend, for we had got up so high
we was all on a single limb as 'twere; and it bent a
little more, and cracked and broke, and down we
went, bear and all, about thirty feet, to the ground.
At first I didn't know whether I was dead or alive. I

[figure description] Page 071.[end figure description]

guess we all lay still as much as a minute before we
could make out to breathe. When I come to my feeling
a little, I found the bear had fell on my lame leg,
and give it another most awful crushing. Ned wasn't
hurt much. He fell on top of the bear, and the bear
fell partly on me. Ned sprung off and got out of the
way of the bear; and in about a minute more the
bear crawled up slowly on to his feet, and began to
walk off, without taking any notice of us, and I was
glad enough to see that he went rather lame. When
I come to try my legs I found one of 'em was terribly
smashed, and I couldn't walk a step on it. So I told
Ned to hand me my gun, and to go home as fast as
he could go, and get the horse and father, and come
and carry me home.

“Ned went off upon the quick trot, as if he was after
the doctor. But the blundering critter—Ned always
was a great blunderer—lost his way and wandered
about in the woods all night, and didn't get home till
sunrise next morning. The way I spent the night
wasn't very comfortable, I can tell ye. Jest before
dark it begun to rain, and I looked round to try to
find some kind of a shelter. At last I see a great tree,
lying on the ground a little ways off, that seemed to
be holler. I crawled along to it, and found there

[figure description] Page 072.[end figure description]

was a holler in one end large enough for me to creep
into. So in I went, and in order to get entirely out
of the way of the spattering of the rain, and keep
myself dry, I crept in as much as ten feet. I laid
there and rested myself as well as I could, though my
leg pained me too much to sleep. Some time in the
night, all at once, I heerd a sort of rustling noise at
the end of the log where I come in. My hair stood
right on eend. It was dark as Egypt; I couldn't see
the least thing, but I could hear the rustling noise
again, and it sounded as if it was coming into the log.
I held my breath, but I could hear something breathing
heavily, and there seemed to be a sort of scratching
against the sides of the log, and it kept working
along in towards me. I clinched my fowling-piece
and held on to it. 'Twas well loaded with a brace of
balls and some shot besides. But whether to fire, or
what to do, I couldn't tell. I was sure there was some
terrible critter in the log, and the rustling noise kept
coming nearer and nearer to me. At last I heerd a
low kind of a growl. I thought if I was only dead
and decently buried somewhere I should be glad; for
to be eat up alive there by bears, or wolves, or catamounts,
I couldn't bear the idea of it. In a minute
more something made a horrible grab at my feet, and

[figure description] Page 073.[end figure description]

begun to naw 'em. At first I crawled a little further
into the tree. But the critter was hold of my feet
again in a minute, and I found it was no use for me
to go in any farther. I didn't hardly dare to fire; for
I thought if I didn't kill the critter, it would only be
likely to make him fight the harder. And then again
I thought if I should kill him, and he should be as
large as I fancied him to be, I should never be able
to shove him out of the log, nor to get out by him.
While I was having these thoughts the old feller was
nawing and tearing my feet so bad, I found he would
soon kill me if I laid still. So I took my gun and
pointed down by my feet, as near the centre of the
holler log as I could, and let drive. The report
almost stunned me. But when I come to my hearing
again, I laid still and listened. Everything round
me was still as death; I couldn't hear the least sound.
I crawled back a few inches towards the mouth of the
log, and was stopt by something against my feet. I
pushed it. 'Twould give a little, but I couldn't move
it. I got my hand down far enough to reach,
and felt the fur and hair and ears of some terrible
animal.

“That was an awful long night. And when the
morning did come, the critter filled the holler up so

[figure description] Page 074.[end figure description]

much, there was but very little light come in where
I was. I tried again to shove the animal towards the
mouth of the log, but I found 'twas no use,—I couldn't
move him. At last the light come in so much that I
felt pretty sure it was a monstrous great bear that I
had killed. But I begun to feel now as if I was buried
alive; for I was afraid our folks wouldn't find me,
and I was sure I never could get out myself. But
about two hours after sunrise, all at once I thought I
heered somebody holler “Jack.” I listened and I
heered it again, and I knew 'twas father's voice. I
answered as loud as I could holler. They kept hollering,
and I kept hollering. Sometimes they would go
further off and sometimes come nearer. My voice
sounded so queer they couldn't tell where it come from,
nor what to make of it. At last, by going round considerable,
they found my voice seemed to be some where
round the holler tree, and bime-by father come along
and put his head into the holler of the tree, and called
out, `Jack, are you here?' `Yes I be,' says I, `and I
wish you would pull this bear out, so I can get out
myself.' When they got us out, I was about as much
dead as alive; but they got me on to the horse, and
led me home and nursed me up, and had a doctor to
set my leg again; and it's a pretty good leg yet.”

[figure description] Page 075.[end figure description]

Here, while Mr. Robinson was taking another sip
from his tumbler, Major Grant glanced at his watch,
and, looking up to Doctor Snow, said, with a grave,
quiet air, “Doctor, I give it up; the bet is yours.”

p689-085 CHAPTER IV. CHRISTOPHER CROTCHET.

[figure description] Page 076.[end figure description]

Your New England country singing-master is a
peculiar character; who shall venture to describe
him? During his stay in a country village, he is the
most important personage in it. The common school-master,
to be sure, is a man of dignity and importance.
Children never pass him on the road without
turning square round, pulling off their hats, and
making one of their best and most profound bows.
He is looked up to with universal deference both by
young and old, and is often invited out to tea. Or,
if he “boards round,” great is the parade, and great
the preparation, by each family, when their “week
for boarding the master” draws near. Then not
unfrequently a well fatted porker is killed, and the
spare-ribs are duly hung round the pantry in readiness
for roasting. A half bushel of sausages are
made up into “links,” and suspended on a pole near
the ceiling from one end of the kitchen to the other.

[figure description] Page 077.[end figure description]

And the Saturday beforehand, if the school-master is
to come on Monday, the work of preparation reaches
its crisis. Then it is, that the old oven, if it be not
“heaten seven times hotter than it is wont to be,” is
at least heated seven times; and apple-pies, and
pumpkin-pies, and mince-pies are turned out by
dozens, and packed away in closet and cellar for
the coming week. And the “fore room,” which has
not had a fire in it for the winter, is now duly washed
and scrubbed and put to rights, and wood is heaped
on the fire with a liberal hand, till the room itself
becomes almost another oven. George is up betimes
on Monday morning to go with his hand-sled and
bring the master's trunk; Betsey and Sally are rigged
out in their best calico gowns, the little ones have their
faces washed and their hair combed with more than
ordinary care, and the mother's cap has an extra
crimp. And all this stir and preparation for the
common school-master. And yet he is but an everyday
planet, that moves in a regular orbit, and comes
round at least every winter.

But the singing-master is your true comet.
Appearing at no regular intervals, he comes suddenly,
and often unexpected. Brilliant, mysterious
and erratic, no wonder that he attracts all eyes, and

[figure description] Page 078.[end figure description]

produces a tremendous sensation. Not only the children,
but the whole family, flock to the windows
when he passes, and a face may be seen at every pane
of glass, eagerly peering out to catch a glimpse of
the singing-master. Even the very dogs seem to
partake of the awe he inspires, and bark with
uncommon fierceness whenever they meet him.

“O, father,” said little Jimmy Brown, as he came
running into the house on a cold December night,
with eyes staring wide open, and panting for breath.
“O, father, Mr. Christopher Crotchet from Quavertown,
is over to Mr. Gibbs' tavern, come to see about
keeping singing-school; and Mr. Gibbs, and a whole
parcel more of 'em, wants you to come right over
there, cause they're goin' to have a meeting this
evening to see about hiring of him.”

Squire Brown and his family, all except Jimmy,
were seated round the supper table when this interesting
piece of intelligence was announced. Every
one save Squire Brown himself, gave a sudden start,
and at once suspended operations; but the Squire,
who was a very moderate man, and never did anything
from impulse, ate on without turning his head,
or changing his position. After a short pause, however,
which was a moment of intense anxiety to some

[figure description] Page 079.[end figure description]

members of the family, he replied to Jimmy as
follows:—

“I shan't do no sich thing; if they want a singing-school,
they may get it themselves. A singing-school
won't do us no good, and I've ways enough to spend
my money without paying it for singing.” Turning
his head round and casting a severe look upon
Jimmy, he proceeded with increasing energy:

“Now, sir, hang your hat up and set down and
eat your supper; I should like to know what sent
you off over to the tavern without leave.”

“I wanted to see the singing-master,” said Jimmy.
“Sam Gibbs said there was a singing-master over to
their house, and so I wanted to see him.”

“Well, I'll singing-master you,” said the Squire,
“if I catch you to go off so again without leave.
Come, don't stand there; set down and eat your
supper, or I'll trounce you in two minutes.”

“There, I declare,” said Mrs. Brown, “I do think
it too bad. I do wish I could live in peace one
moment of my life. The children will be spoilt and
ruined. They never can stir a step nor hardly
breathe, but what they must be scolded and fretted
to death.”

Squire Brown had been accustomed to these

[figure description] Page 080.[end figure description]

sudden squalls about twenty-five years, they having
commenced some six months or so after his marriage;
and long experience had taught him, that the only
way to escape with safety, was to bear away immediately
and scud before the wind. Accordingly he
turned again to Jimmy, and with a much softened
tone addressed him as follows:—

“Come, Jimmy, my son, set down and eat your
supper, that's a good boy. You shouldn't go away
without asking your mother or me; but you'll try to
remember next time, won't you?”

Jimmy and his mother were both somewhat
soothed by this well-timed suavity, and the boy took
his seat at the table.

“Now, pa,” said Miss Jerusha Brown, “you will
go over and see about having a singing-school, won't
you? I want to go dreadfully?”

“Oh, I can't do anything about that,” said the
Squire; “it'll cost a good deal of money, and I can't
afford it. And besides, there's no use at all in it.
You can sing enough now, any of you; you are singing
half your time.”

“There,” said Mrs. Brown, “that's just the way.
Our children will never have a chance to be anything
as long as they live. Other folks' children have a

[figure description] Page 081.[end figure description]

chance to go to singing-schools, and to see young
company, and to be something in the world. Here's
our Jerusha has got to be in her twenty-fifth year
now, and if she's ever going to have young company,
and have a chance to be anything, she must have it
soon; for she'll be past the time bime-by for sich
things. 'Tisn't as if we was poor and couldn't afford
it; for you know, Mr. Brown, you pay the largest tax
of anybody in the town, and can afford to give the
children a chance to be something in the world, as
well as not. And as for living in this kind of way
any longer, I've no notion on't.”

Mrs. Brown knew how to follow up an advantage.
She had got her husband upon the retreat in the onset
a moment before, in reference to Jimmy's absence,
and the closing part of this last speech was uttered
with an energy and determination, of which Squire
Brown knew too well the import to disregard it.
Perceiving that a storm was brewing that would
burst upon his head with tremendous power, if he
did not take care to avoid it, he finished his supper
with all convenient despatch, rose from the table, put
on his grea coat and hat, and marched deliberately
over to Gibbs' tavern. Mrs. Brown knew at once
that she had won the victory, and that they should

[figure description] Page 082.[end figure description]

have a singing-school. The children also had become
so well versed in the science of their mother's tactics,
that they understood the same thing, and immediately
began to discuss matters preparatory to attending the
school.

Miss Jerusha said she must have her new calico
gown made right up the next day; and her mother
said she should, and David might go right over after
Betsey Davis to come to work on it the next
morning.

“How delightful it will be to have a singing
school,” said Miss Jerusha: “Jimmy, what sort of a
looking man is Mr. Crotchet?”

“Oh, he is a slick kind of a looking man,” said
Jimmy.

“Is he a young man, or a married man?” inquired
Miss Jerusha.

“Ho! married? no; I guess he isn't,” said Jimmy,
“I don't believe he's more than twenty years old.”

“Poh; I don't believe that story,” said Jerusha,
a singing-master must be as much as twenty-five
years old, I know! How is he dressed? Isn't he
dressed quite genteel?”

“Oh, he's dressed pretty slick,” said Jimmy.

“Well, that's what makes him look so young,” said

[figure description] Page 083.[end figure description]

Miss Jerusha; “I dare say he's as much as twenty-five
years old; don't you think he is, mother?”

“Well, I think it's pretty likely he is,” said Mrs.
Brown; “singing-masters are generally about that age.”

“How does he look?” said Miss Jerusha; “is he
handsome?”

“He's handsome enough,” said Jimmy, “only he's
got a red head and freckly face.”

“Now, Jim, I don't believe a word you say. You
are saying this, only just to plague me.”

To understand the propriety of this last remark of
Miss Jerusha, the reader should be informed, that for
the last ten years she had looked upon every young
man who came into the place, as her own peculiar
property. And in all cases, in order to obtain possession
of her aforesaid property, she had adopted
prompt measures, and pursued them with a diligence
worthy of all praise.

“No I ain't neither,” said Jimmy, “I say he has
got a red head and freckly face.”

“La, well,” said Mrs. Brown, “what if he has?
I'm sure a red head don't look bad; and one of the
handsomest men that ever I see, had a freckly face.”

“Well, Jimmy, how large is he? Is he a tall man
or a short man?” said Miss Jerusha.

[figure description] Page 084.[end figure description]

“Why, he isn't bigger round than I be,” said
Jimmy; “and I guess he isn't quite as tall as a haypole;
but he's so tall he has to stoop when he goes
into the door.”

So far from adding to the shock, which Miss Jerusha's
nerves had already received from the account of
the red head and freckly face, this last piece of intelligence
was on the whole rather consolatory; for she
lacked but an inch and a half of six feet in height
herself.

“Well, Jimmy,” said Miss Jerusha, “when he
stands up, take him altogether, isn't he a good-looking
young man?”

“I don't know anything about that,” said Jimmy;
“he looks the most like the tongs in the riddle, of
anything I can think of:

“There, Jim, you little plague,” said Miss Jerusha,
“you shall go right off to bed if you don't leave off
your nonsense. I won't hear another word of it.”

“I don't care if you won't,” said Jimmy, “it's all
true, every word of it.”

“What! then the singing-master hasn't got no eyes,
has he?” said Miss Jerusha; “that's a pretty story.”

[figure description] Page 085.[end figure description]

“I don't mean he hasn't got no eyes at all,” said
Jimmy, “only his eyes are dreadful little, and you
can't see but one of 'em to time neither, they're
twisted round so.”

“A little cross-eyed, I s'pose,” said Mrs. Brown,
“that's all; I don't think that hurts the looks of a
man a bit; it only makes him look a little sharper.”

While those things were transpiring at Mr. Brown's,
matters of weight and importance were being
discussed at the tavern. About a dozen of the
neighbors had collected there early in the evening,
and every one, as soon as he found that Mr. Christopher
Crotchet from Quavertown was in the village,
was for having a singing-school forthwith, cost what
it would. They accordingly proceeded at once to
ascertain Mr. Crotchet's terms. His proposals were,
to keep twenty evenings for twenty dollars and
“found,” or for thirty and board himself. The school
to be kept three evenings in the week. A subscription-paper
was opened, and the sum of fifteen dollars
was at last made up. But that was the extent to
which they could go; not another dollar could be
raised. Much anxiety was now felt for the arrival of
Squire Brown; for the question of school or no
school depended entirely on him.

[figure description] Page 086.[end figure description]

“Squire Brown's got money enough,” said Mr.
Gibbs, “and if he only has the will, we shall have a
school.”

“Not exactly,” said Mr. Jones; “if Mrs. Brown
has the will, we shall have a school, let the Squire's
will be what it may.”

Before the laugh occasioned by this last remark
had fully subsided, Squire Brown entered, much to
the joy of the whole company.

“Squire Brown, I'm glad to see you,” said Mr.
Gibbs; “shall I introduce you to Mr. Christopher
Crotchet, singing-master from Quavertown?”

The Squire was a very short man, somewhat
inclined to corpulence, and Mr. Crotchet, according
to Jimmy's account, was not quite as tall as a haypole;
so that by dint of the Squire's throwing his
head back and looking up, and Mr. Crotchet's canting
his head on one side in order to bring one eye to
bear on the Squire, the parties were brought within
each other's field of vision. The Squire made a bow,
which was done by throwing his head upward,
and Mr. Crotchet returned the compliment by
extending his arm downward to the Squire and shaking
hands.

When the ceremony of introduction was over, Mr.

[figure description] Page 087.[end figure description]

Gibbs laid the whole matter before Mr. Brown,
showed him the subscription-paper, and told him
they were all depending upon him to decide whether
they should have a singing-school or not. Squire
Brown put on his spectacles and read the subscription-paper
over two or three times, till he fully understood
the terms, and the deficiency in the amount
subscribed. Then without saying a word he took a
pen and deliberately subscribed five dollars. That
settled the business; the desired sum was raised, and
the school was to go ahead. It was agreed that
it should commence on the following evening, and
that Mr. Crotchet should board with Mr. Gibbs one
week, with the Squire the next, and so go round
through the neighborhood.

On the following day there was no small commotion
among the young folks of the village, in making preparation
for the evening school. New singing-books
were purchased, dresses were prepared, curling-tongs
and crimping-irons were put in requisition, and early
in the evening the long chamber in Gibbs' tavern,
which was called by way of eminence “the hall,”
was well filled by youth of both sexes, the old folks
not being allowed to attend that evening, lest the
`boys and gals” should be diffident about “

[figure description] Page 088.[end figure description]

sounding the notes.” A range of long narrow tables was
placed round three sides of the hall, with benches
behind them, upon which the youth were seated. A
singing-book and a candle were shared by two, all
round the room, till you came to Miss Jerusha Brown,
who had taken the uppermost seat, and monopolized
a whole book and a whole candle to her own use.
Betsey Buck, a lively, reckless sort of a girl of sixteen,
who cared for nobody nor nothing in this world, but
was full of frolic and fun, had by chance taken a seat
next to Miss Jerusha. Miss Betsey had a slight inward
turn of one eye, just enough to give her a
roguish look, that comported well with her character.

While they were waiting for the entrance of the
master, many a suppressed laugh, and now and then
an audible giggle, passed round the room, the mere
ebullitions of buoyant spirits and contagious mirth,
without aim or object. Miss Jerusha, who was trying
to behave her prettiest, repeatedly chided their
rudeness, and more than once told Miss Betsey Buck,
that she ought to be ashamed to be laughing so much;
“for what would Mr. Crotchet think, if he should
come in and find them all of a giggle?”

After a while the door opened, and Mr. Christopher
Crotchet entered. He bent his body slightly,

[figure description] Page 089.[end figure description]

as he passed the door, to prevent a concussion of his
head against the lintel, and then walked very erect
into the middle of the floor, and made a short speech
to his class. His grotesque appearance caused a slight
tittering round the room, and Miss Betsey was even
guilty of an incipient audible laugh, which, however,
she had the tact so far to turn into a cough as to save
appearances. Still it was observed by Miss Jerusha,
who told her again in a low whisper that she ought
to be ashamed, and added that “Mr. Crotchet was a
most splendid man; a beautiful man.”

After Mr. Crotchet had made his introductory
speech, he proceeded to try the voices of his pupils,
making each one alone follow him in rising and falling
the notes. He passed round without difficulty till
he came to Miss Betsey Buck. She rather hesitated
to let her voice be heard alone; but the master told
her she must sound, and holding his head down so
close to hers that they almost met, he commenced
pouring his faw, sole, law, into her ear. Miss Betsey
drew back a little, but followed with a low and somewhat
tremulous voice, till she had sounded three
or four notes, when her risible muscles got the
mastery, and she burst out in an unrestrained fit of
laughter.

[figure description] Page 090.[end figure description]

The master looked confused and cross; and Miss
Jerusha even looked crosser than the master. She
again reproached Miss Betsey for her rudeness, and
told her in an emphatic whisper, which was intended
more especially for the master's ear, “that such conduct
was shameful, and if she couldn't behave better
she ought to stay at home.”

Miss Jerusha's turn to sound came next, and she
leaned her head full half-way across the table to meet
the master's, and sounded the notes clear through,
three or four times over, from bottom to top and
from top to bottom; and sounded them with a
loudness and trength fully equal to that of the
master.

When the process of sounding the voices separately
had been gone through with, they were called upon
to sound together; and before the close of the evening
they were allowed to commence the notes of some
easy tunes. It is unnecessary here to give a detailed
account of the progress that was made, or to attempt
to describe the jargon of strange sounds, with which
Gibbs' hall echoed that night. Suffice it to say, that
the proficiency of the pupils was so great, that on the
tenth evening, or when the school was half through,
the parents were permitted to be present, and were

[figure description] Page 091.[end figure description]

delighted to hear their children sing Old Hundred,
Mear, St. Martin's, Northfield, and Hallowell, with so
much accuracy, that those who knew the tunes, could
readily tell, every time, which one was being performed.
Mrs. Brown was almost in ecstasies at
the performance, and sat the whole evening and
looked at Jerusha, who sung with great earnestness
and with a voice far above all the rest. Even
Squire Brown himself was so much softened that
evening, that his face wore a sort of smile, and he
told his wife “he didn't grudge his five dollars, a
bit.”

The school went on swimmingly. Mr. Crotchet
became the lion of the village; and Miss Jerusha
Brown “thought he improved upon acquaintance
astonishingly.” Great preparation was made at Squire
Brown's for the important week of boarding the singing-master.
They outdid all the village in the quantity
and variety of their eatables, and at every meal
Miss Jerusha was particularly assiduous in placing
all the good things in the neighborhood of Mr. Crotchet's
plate. In fact, so bountifully and regularly was
Mr. Crotchet stuffed during the week, that his lank
form began to assume a perceptible fulness. He evidently
seemed very fond of his boarding-place,

[figure description] Page 092.[end figure description]

especially at meal time; and made himself so much at
home, that Mrs. Brown and Jerusha were in a state
of absolute felicity the whole week. It was true he
spent two evenings abroad during the week, and it
was reported that one of them was passed at Mr.
Buck's. But Miss Jerusha would not believe a word
of such a story. She said “there was no young folks
at Mr. Buck's except Betsey, and she was sure Mr.
Crotchet was a man of more sense than to spend his
evenings with such a wild, rude thing as Betsey
Buck.” Still, however, the report gave her a little
uneasiness; and when it was ascertained, that during
the week on which Mr. Crotchet boarded at Mr.
Buck's he spent every evening at home, except the
three devoted to the singing-school, Miss Jerusha's
uneasiness evidently increased. She resolved to make
a desperate effort to counteract these untoward influences,
and to teach Miss Betsey Buck not to interfere
with other folk's concerns. For this purpose she
made a grand evening party, and invited all the young
folks of the village, except Miss Buck, who was pointedly
left out. The treat was elaborate for a country
village, and Miss Jerusha was uncommonly assiduous
in her attentions to Mr. Crotchet during the evening.
But to her inexpressible surprise and chagrin, about

[figure description] Page 093.[end figure description]

eight o'clock, Mr. Crotchet put on his hat and great
coat and bade the company good night. Mrs. Brown
looked very blue, and Miss Jerusha's nerves were in
a state of high excitement. What could it mean?
She would give anything in the world to know where
he had gone. She ran up into the chamber and
looked out from the window. The night was rather
dark, but she fancied she saw him making his way
toward Mr. Buck's. The company for the remainder
of the evening had rather a dull time; and Miss
Jerusha passed almost a sleepless night.

The next evening Miss Jerusha was early at the
singing-school. She took her seat with a disconsolate
air, opened her singing-book and commenced singing
Hallowell in the following words:

On former occasions, when the scholars were
singing before school commenced, the moment the
master opened the door they broke off short, even if
they were in the midst of a tune. But now, when
the master entered, Miss Jerusha kept on singing.
She went through the whole tune after Mr. Crotchet

[figure description] Page 094.[end figure description]

came in, and went back and repeated the latter half
of it with a loud and full voice, which caused a laugh
among the scholars, and divers streaks of red to pass
over the master's face.

At the close of the evening's exercises Miss Jerusha
hurried on her shawl and bonnet, and watched
the movements of the master. She perceived he
went out directly after Betsey Buck, and she hastened
after them with becoming speed. She contrived to
get between Miss Buck and the master as they
walked along the road, and kept Mr. Crotchet in close
conversation with her, or rather kept herself in close
conversation with Mr. Crotchet, till they came to the
corner that turned down to Mr. Buck's house. Here
Mr. Crotchet left her somewhat abruptly, and walked
by the side of Miss Betsey towards Mr. Buck's.
This was more than Miss Jerusha's nerves could well
bear. She was under too much excitement to proceed
on her way home. She stopped and gazed after
the couple as they receded from her; and as their
forms became indistinct in the darkness of the night,
she turned and followed them, just keeping them in
view till they reached the house. The door opened,
and to her inexpressible horror, they both went in.
It was past ten o'clock, too! She was greatly

[figure description] Page 095.[end figure description]

puzzled. The affair was entirely inexplicable to her.
It could not be, however, that he would stop many
minutes, and she waited to see the result. Presently
a light appeared in the “fore-room;” and from the
mellowness of that light, a fire was evidently kindled
there. Miss Jerusha approached the house and
reconnoitred. She tried to look in at the window,
but a thick curtain effectually prevented her from
seeing anything within. The curtain did not reach
quite to the top of the window, and she thought she
saw the shadows of two persons before the fire,
thrown against the ceiling. She was determined by
some means or other to know the worst of it. She
looked round the door-yard and found a long piece of
board. She thought by placing this against the house
by the side of the window, she might be able to
climb up and look over the top of the curtain. The
board was accordingly raised on one end and placed
carefully by the side of the window, and Miss Jerusha
eagerly commenced the task of climbing. She
had reached the top of the curtain and cast one
glance into the room, where, sure enough, she beheld
Mr. Crotchet seated close by the side of Miss Betsey.
At this interesting moment, from some cause or other,
either from her own trembling, for she was

[figure description] Page 096.[end figure description]

exceedingly agitated, or from the board not being properly
supported at the bottom, it slipped and canted, and in
an instant one half of the window was dashed with a
tremendous crash into the room.

Miss Jerusha fell to the ground, but not being
much injured by the fall, she sprang to her feet and
ran with the fleetness of a wild deer. The door
opened, and out came Mr. Crotchet and Mr. Buck,
and started in the race. They thought they had a
glimpse of some person running up the road when
they first came out, and Mr. Crotchet's long legs
measured off the ground with remarkable velocity.
But the fright had added so essentially to Miss Jerusha's
powers of locomotion, that not even Mr.
Crotchet could overtake her, and her pursuers soon
lost sight of her in the darkness of the night, and
gave up the chase and returned home.

Miss Jerusha was not seen at the singing-school
after this, and Mrs. Brown said she stayed at home
because she had a cough. Notwithstanding there
were many rumors and surmises afloat, and some
slanderous insinuations thrown out against Miss Jerusha
Brown, yet it was never ascertained by the
neighbors, for a certainty, who it was that demolished
Mr. Buck's window.

[figure description] Page 097.[end figure description]