University of Virginia Library

30. CHAPTER XXX.

“Ah! who can tell how hard it is to” say—any
thing about an unpretending village like ours, in terms
suited to the delicate organization of “ears polite.”
How can one hope to find any thing of interest about
such common-place people? Where is the aristocratic
distinction which makes the kind visit of the great lady
at the sick-bed of suffering indigence so great a favour,
that all the inmates of the cottage behave picturesquely
out of gratitude—form themselves into tableaux, and
make speeches worth recording? Here are neither
great ladies nor humble cottagers. I cannot bring to
my aid either the exquisite boudoir of the one class,
with its captivating bijouterie—its velvet couches and
its draperies of rose-coloured satin, so becoming to the
complexions of one's young-lady characters—nor yet
the cot of the other more simple but not less elegant,

surrounded with clustering eglantine and clematis, and
inhabited by goodness, grace, and beauty. These materials
are denied me; but yet I must try to describe
something of Michigan cottage life, taking care to avail
myself of such delicate periphrasis as may best veil the
true homeliness of my subject.

Moonlight and the ague are, however, the same
every where. At least I meet with no description in
any of the poets of my acquaintance which might not
be applied, without reservation, to Michigan moonlight;
and as for the ague, did not great Cæsar shake “when
the fit was on him?”

And in this important particular poor Lorenzo Titmouse
was just like the inventor of the laurel crown. We—
Mrs. Rivers and I—went to his father's, at his urgent
request, on just such a night as is usually chosen for
romantic walks by a certain class of lovers. We waited
not for escort, although the night had already fallen,
and there was a narrow strip of forest to pass in our
way; but leaving word whither we had gone, we accompanied
the poor shivering boy, each carrying what
we could. And what does the gentle reader think we
carried? A custard or a glass of jelly each, perhaps;
and a nice sponge-cake, or something equally delicate,
and likely to tempt the faint appetite of the invalid.
No such thing. We had learned better than to offer
such nick-nacks to people who “a'n't us'd to sweetnin'.”
My companion was “doubly arm'd:” a small
tin pail of cranberry sauce in one hand, a bottle of
vinegar in the other. I carried a modicum of “hop
'east,” and a little bag of crackers; a scrap of Hyson,
and a box of quinine pills. Odd enough; but we had
been at such places before.

We had a delicious walk; though poor Lorenzo,
who had a bag of flour on his shoulders, was fain to
rest often. This was his “well day,” to be sure; but
he had had some eight or ten fits of ague, enough to
wither any body's pith and marrow, as those will say
who have tried it. That innate politeness which
young rustics, out of books as well as in them, are apt
to exhibit when they are in good humour, made Lorenzo
decline, most vehemently, our offers of assistance.
But we at length fairly took his bag from him,
and passing a stick through the string, carried it between
us; while the boy disposed of our various small
articles by the aid of his capacious pockets. And a
short half mile from the bridge brought us to his
father's.

It was an ordinary log house, but quite old and
dilapidated: the great open chimney occupying most
of one end of the single apartment, and two double-beds
with a trundle-bed, the other. In one of the
large beds lay the father and the eldest son; in the
other, the mother and two little daughters, all ill with
ague, and all sad and silent, save my friend Mrs. Titmouse,
whose untameable tongue was too much even
for the ague. Mrs. Titmouse is one of those fortunate
beings who can talk all day without saying any thing.
She is the only person whom I have met in these regions
who appears to have paid her devoirs at Castle
Blarney.

“How d'ye do, ladies,—how d'ye do? Bless my
soul! if ever I thought to be catch'd in sitch a condition,
and by sich grand ladies too! Not a chair for
you to sit down on. I often tell Titmouse that we
live jist like the pigs; but he ha' n't no ambition. I'm
sure I'm under a thousand compliments to ye for coming
to see me. We're expecting a mother of his'n to
come and stay with us, but she ha' n't come yet—and
I in sitch a condition; can't show ye no civility.
Do sit down, ladies, if you can sit upon a chest—ladies
like you. I'm sure I'm under a thousand compliments—”
and so the poor soul ran on till she was
fairly out of breath, in spite of our efforts to out-talk
her with our assurances that we could accommodate
ourselves very well, and could stay but a few minutes.

“And now, Mrs. Titmouse,” said Mrs. Rivers, in
her sweet, pleasant voice, “tell us what we can do for
you.”

“Do for me! Oh, massy! Oh, nothing, I thank
ye. There a'n't nothing that ladies like you can do
for me. We make out very well, and—”

“What do you say so for!” growled her husband
from the other bed. “You know we ha'n't tasted a
mouthful since morning, nor had n't it, and I sent
Lorenzo myself—”

“Well, I never!” responded his help-mate; “you're
always doing just so: troubling people. You never
had no ambition, Titmouse; you know I always said
so. To be sure, we ha'n't had no tea this good while,
and tea does taste dreadful good when a body's got the
agur; and my bread is gone, and I ha'n't been able to
set no emptins; but—”

Here we told what we had brought, and prepared at
once to make some bread; but Mrs. Titmouse seemed
quite horrified, and insisted upon getting out of bed,
though she staggered, and would have fallen if we had
not supported her to a seat.

“Now tell me where the water is, and I will get it
myself,” said Mrs. Rivers, “and do you sit still and see
how soon I will make a loaf.”

“Water!” said the poor soul; “I'm afraid we have
not water enough to make a loaf. Mr. Grimes
brought us a barrel day before yesterday, and we've
been dreadful careful of it, but the agur is so dreadful
thirsty—I'm afraid there a' n't none.”

“Have you no spring?”

“No, ma'am; but we have always got plenty of
water down by the mash till this dry summer.”

“I should think that was enough to give you the
ague. Do n't you think the marsh water unwholesome?”

“Well, I do n't know but it is; but you see he was
always a-going to dig a well; but he ha'n't no ambition,
nor never had, and I always told him so. And as
to the agur, if you've got to have it, why you can't get
clear of it.”

There was, fortunately, water enough left in the barrel
to set the bread and half-fill the tea-kettle; and we
soon made a little blaze with sticks, which served to
boil the kettle to make that luxury of the woods, a cup
of green tea.

Mrs. Titmouse did not need the tea to help her talking
powers, for she was an independent talker, whose
gush of words knew no ebb nor exhaustion.

Her few remaining teeth chattered no faster when she
had the ague than at any other time. The stream
flowed on

When we had done what little we could, and were
about to depart, glad to escape her overwhelming protestations
of eternal gratitude, her husband reminded
her that the cow had not been milked since the evening
before, when “Miss Grimes” had been there.
Here was a dilemma! How we regretted our defective
education, which prevented our rendering so simple yet
so necessary a service to the sick poor.

We remembered the gentleman who did not know
whether he could read Greek, as he had never tried;
and set ourselves resolutely at work to ascertain our
powers in the milking line.

But alas! the “milky mother of the herd” had small
respect for timid and useless town ladies.

In vain did Mrs. Rivers hold the pail with both hands,
while I essayed the arduous task. So sure as I succeeded
in bringing ever so tiny a stream, the ill-mannered
beast would almost put out my eyes with her
tail, and oblige us both to jump up and run away; and
after a protracted struggle, the cow gained the victory,

as might have been expected, and we were fain to
retreat into the house.

The next expedient was to support Mrs. Titmouse
on the little bench, while she tried to accomplish the
mighty work; and having been partially successful in
this, we at length took our leave, promising aid for the
morrow, and hearing the poor woman's tongue at intervals
till we were far in the wood.

“Lord bless ye! I'm sure I'm under an everlastin'
compliment to ye; I wish I know'd how I could pay
ye. Such ladies to be a waitin' on the likes of me;
I'm sure I never see nothing like it,” &c. &c.

And now we began to wonder how long it would be
before we should see our respected spouses, as poor
Lorenzo had fallen exhausted on the bed, and was in
no condition to see us even a part of the way home.
The wood was very dark, though we could see glimpses
of the mill-pond lying like liquid diamonds in the moonlight.

We had advanced near the brow of the hill which
descends toward the pond, when strange sounds met
our ears. Strange sounds for our peaceful village!
Shouts and howling—eldrich screams—Indian yells—
the braying of tin horns, and the violent clashing of
various noisy articles.

We hurried on, and soon came in sight of a crowd
of persons, who seemed coming from the village to the
pond. And now loud talking, threats—“Duck him!
duck the impudent rascal!” what could it be?

Here was a mob! a Montacute mob! and the cause?
I believe all mobs pretend to have causes. Could the
choice spirits have caught an abolitionist? which they

thought, as I had heard, meant nothing less than a
monster.

But now I recollected having heard that a ventriloquist,
which I believe most of our citizens considered
a beast of the same nature, had sent notices of an exhibition
for the evening; and the truth flashed upon us
at once.

“In with him! in with him!” they shouted as they
approached the water, just as we began to descend the
hill. And then the clear fine voice of the dealer in
voice was distinctly audible above the hideous din—

“Gentlemen, I have warned you; I possess the
means of defending myself, you will force me to use
them.”

“Stop his mouth,” shouted a well-known bully, “he
lies; he ha'n't got nothing! in with him!” and a
violent struggle followed, some few of our sober citizens
striving to protect the stranger.

One word to Mrs. Rivers, and we set up a united
shriek, a screech like an army of sea-gulls. “Help!
help!” and we stopped on the hill-side, our white
dresses distinctly visible in the clear, dazzling moonlight.

We “stinted not nor staid” till a diversion was
fairly effected. A dozen forms seceded at once from
the crowd, and the spirit of the thing was at an end.

We waited on the spot where our artifice began,
certain of knowing every individual who should approach;
and the very first proved those we most wished
to see. And now came the very awkward business
of explaining our ruse, and Mrs. Rivers was rather
sharply reproved for her part of it. Harley Rivers

was not the man to object to any thing like a lark,
and he had only attempted to effect the release of the
ventriloquist, after Mr. Clavers had joined him on the
way to Mr. Titmouse's. The boobies who had been
most active in the outrage, would fain have renewed
the sport; but the ventriloquist had wisely taken advantage
of our diversion in his favour, and was no
where to be found. The person at whose house he
had put up told afterwards that he had gone out with
loaded pistols in his pocket; so even a woman's shrieks,
hated of gods and men, may sometimes be of service.

Montacute is far above mobbing now. This was
the first and last exhibition of the spirit of the age.
The most mobbish of our neighbours have flitted westward,
seeking more congenial association. I trust they
may be so well satisfied that they will not think of returning;
for it is not pleasant to find a dead pig in one's
well, or a favourite dog hung up at the gate-post; to
say nothing of cows milked on the marshes, hen-roosts
rifled, or melon-patches cleared in the course of the
night.

We learned afterwards the “head and front” of the
ventriloquist's offence. He had asked twenty-five
cents a-head for the admission of the sovereign people.