 | CHAPTER X. Sketch of Connecticut, forty years since |  |
10. CHAPTER X.
The cheerful Sun, that thro' Earth's vitals pours
Delight, and health, and heat;—all,—all conspire
To raise, to sooth, to harmonize the mind,
And lift on wings of praise to the Great Sire
Of being, and of beauty.”
Warton.
The sway of Winter was now broken. His “ruffian
winds,” which had howled and moaned through the many
rocky defiles of N—, as if they were reverberating in
the cave of Eolus, subsided into fitful gales, or sighed in
humid breezes. The roads were no longer enlivened by
the sound of sleigh-bells, and the neighbouring farmers
exchanged the sled which had long conveyed their products
to market, for the heavy wheel'd, and creaking
wain. The boys, who had been seen, during the daily
school-intervals, descending with surprizing velocity the
steep, snowy declivities, or marking with “armed heel,”
graceful circles upon a surface of ice, now resigned the
instruments of their favourite sports. Those, who had
been nurtured in the economical habits of their fathers,
restored to the accustomed peg in the barn, or tool-house,
their sled and skates, carefully anointed with oil, as a preservative
of the wood, and the metal, which entered into
their composition, covered with paper, as an additional
security against rust. Some there are, in these modern
give a longer date to objects of such trifling value. Yet
those, who are most forward to tax with the name of meanness
that “saving knowledge” which they are too indolent
to practise, are not always more elevated above mercenary
motives, or more accessible to the claims of charity,
than those who, in a consistent economy, lay the foundation
of both justice and liberality.
But we return, from this digression, to our original plan
of attending Madam L— on an excursion to the house
of her agriculturist. The roads had not yet attained that
settled state, when a ride may be considered a pleasure;
yet she did not hesitate whether on that account she should
defer the business which she wished to transact. She
had not been educated when it was a test of sensibility to
be alarmed at every imaginary danger, or a mark of refinement
to magnify every trifling inconvenience.
It was one of those fine mornings, in which a softer season
makes its first effectual resistance against the lingering
claims of winter; like a buxom infant springing from the
arms of a wrinkled dame, whose caresses chill it. Still
the influence of the Sire of Storms was perceptible. The
small streams moved but torpidly, between margins of ice,
or beneath a thin veil which might have hidden their progress,
had it not been revealed by a cold, subterranean
murmuring. Over the larger rivers small boats were seen
gliding, while their cheerful navigators repelled with long
poles those masses of ice which essayed too near an approach;
collected the drift-wood which adhered to them.
Other labourers were busily employed in replacing
bridges, which the swollen waters had injured or destroyed;
for seldom did the spring-tide floods pass N—,
but the faces of the inhabitants gathered gloom from the
prospect of an additional weight of taxation. While the
solitary amateur admired the wrath of the resounding
streams, the richer, and less romantic burgher would
calculate the cost, like Marlow in the well-furnished inn,
apprehending, “how horridly a fine side-board, and marble
chimney-piece would swell the reckoning.” But the
labourers, who had nothing to pay, and foresaw gain from
being employed about broken bridges, and dilapidated
fences, contented themselves with lamenting, in a less
rueful tone, the evils of their almost insular situation. Considerable
loss and suffering had frequently been sustained
in the southern extreme of the town, which occupied the
ground at the junction of the two principal rivers. These
waters, when swollen by dissolving snows, and the increased
revenue of their tributaries, came rushing down
with great power. Inundated streets, merchants lamenting
the loss of their goods, and sometimes of the ware-houses
which contained them; or millers gazing with uplifted
hands after their floating fabrics, attested the ravages
of the triumphant flood. Here and there, the sharp eaves
of a fisherman's hut, or the upper story of some building
of larger dimensions would rise above the encompassing
windows the sick, or the softer sex, encountered continual
obstacles from trees partly immersed, and fences planted
like chevaux de frise, beneath the treacherous waters.
Occasionally, a bridge from some neighbouring town
has been borne along, a reluctant visiter: in one instance
a structure of this sort glided by, displaying in unbroken
majesty a toll-gate, upon whose topmost bar, a red-wing'd
cockerel was perched. Having evinced his fidelity to his
favourite roost, by adhering to it during all the shocks of
its midnight disruption, morn beheld the undaunted bird,
clapping his wings as he passed the town, and sending
forth shrill notes of triumph, from excitement at his extraordinary
voyage of discovery.
Once, an infant, in his cradle-ark, suddenly washed from
the cabin of his slumbering parents, glided over the bosom
of the pitiless surge. He was rescued—not by the daughter
of Pharoah, and her maidens, but by the father urging
on his light boat with eager strokes, while the mother,
not standing “among the flags by the river's brink,” but
wading unconsciously into the cold, slippery channel,
received with extended arms, the babe smiling as he
awoke.
But the Spring, which we describe, had witnessed no
uncommon accident. On the contrary, the breaking up
of the frosts of Winter had been peculiarly favourable.
The course of Madam L—, being directed toward the
west, led her gradually from the vicinity of the larger
winding streamlets. Already the turf, seen through melting
snows, shewed the first tints of its mantle of green,
seeming to promise early vegetation.
The trees with their swelling buds confessed the action
of genial warmth, and the squirrel issuing from his nest at
their roots, eyed the traveller for a moment, ere he commenced
his half aerial course. The blue-bird sent forth a
few clear notes, as if to remind his more tardy companions,
that the “time of the singing of birds had come.”
Madam L— was attentive to every change of nature,
whose works she loved. In her heart was a perpetual
spring of cheerfulness, which, throwing a charm over
every season, rendered her peculiarly susceptible to the
delights of that which was now unfolding, so redolent,
and full of the Creator's beauty. Her ride, which extended
to the distance of about five miles, and which it
has been mentioned was directed to the house of her farmer,
did not terminate until the sun had a little passed the
meridian. She had paused for some time at the abode of
good Mrs. Rawson, which was on the road; for, as usual,
charity constituted a part of the business which had led
her from home. Finding one of the children sick, she
had remained so long at the dwelling of poverty, that she
thought it probable she might reach Farmer Larkin's at
the time of his recess from labour at noon. Her equipage,
which moved rather slowly, was a chaise, whose
form displayed none of the light and graceful elegance of
and studded thick at the sides, and edges with brass nails.
This supported a top, whose wide and low dimensions
jutted over in so portentous a manner, that had a person
of the height of six feet essayed to be benefitted by its
shelter, he must have persisted in maintaining that altitude,
which Dr. Franklin recommended to those who
would enter his study. Its clumsy footstep, and uncurved
shaft was so near the ground, as greatly to facilitate the
exploit of ascending, and likewise to diminish the danger
of a fall, in case of accident. This vehicle, which was of
venerable antiquity, was the first of its kind which had
been seen in the streets of N—. In those early days, it was
viewed as a lamentable proof of aristocratic pride, particularly
as on the back might be traced the semblance of
a coat of arms. It was now so much reverenced by its
owner, that she could never consent to subject it to those
changes of fashion, which the taste of her younger friends
suggested. To her there was a sacredness, even in the
form of whatever had administered to the comfort of the
departed, and the beloved. She loved better to lay her
hand where theirs had laid, than to bury it amid the garniture
of a gorgeous coach. Such also was the good
sense of her cotemporaries, that they bowed not to her
with slighter respect, nor pointed her out to strangers with
less enthusiasm, because she declined to make her equipage
the herald of her wealth, or the sole interpreter of
her merit. It was drawn by a heavy black steed, who,
had as much the habit of stopping at the abodes of poverty,
as Peveril's Black Hastings had of turning towards the
window of mourning.
He also was cherished by his kind mistress, for the same
reason that she valued the vehicle to which he was harnessed.
“He is like me,” she would sometimes say, “in having
seen his best days, and I love to be reminded by that
faithful animal how deeply I have entered the vale of
years.”
Her attachment to this favoured servant seemed to be
reciprocal; for, when she occasionally visited him in his
abode, he would raise his long black visage from the
well-fill'd rack, and greet her with a loving sound, the
echo of the neigh of his better years. With his mane
some white hairs were mingling, and the elasticity of his
youthful step had changed into the heavy tramp of a loaded
dray-horse; yet he was still strong and sure-footed,
and his clumsiness seemed as much the result of full feeding,
and want of exercise, as of the weight of age. In
summer, he was carefully guarded from the depredations
of flies by a net made of twine, while one of bleached cotton
with tassels and balls, exquisitely white, overshadowed
his huge frame, when he bore his load on Sundays to
the house of God.
Such was the steed, and such the equipage, which now
approached the abode of Mr. Larkin. It was a long, low
half a mile from the main road. Near it was a substantial
barn, surrounded by a large yard, where a number
of animals assembled exhibited an appearance of comfort,
which denoted at once a kind and careful master.
Cuffee alighting, removed the bars, which formed, or rather
obstructed, the rustic entrance to the demesne; and
then addressed a few soothing words to his horse, who advanced
his head, and bent down his quivering ear, as if
the sounds of the human voice were either comprehended,
or beloved.
As Madam L— entered she heard, in the clattering
of knives and forks, the reason, why she was not as usual
welcomed at the door. Unwilling to interrupt the refection
of the family, she took a seat unobserved. She
found herself in the best room of the mansion, but to this
the inhabitants of the neighbouring villages would assign,
neither the name of “parlour, hall, or drawing-room,”
avoiding the example of their city acquaintance, as the
ancient reformers did the abominations of the Church of
Rome. Adhering to their habits of precision as tenaciously
as to their ideas of simplicity, they gave to this most
honourable room an appellation derived from its bearing
upon the cardinal points. The one under present consideration,
being visited by the latest beams of the setting sun,
and the first breathings of the summer breeze, was denominated
the “south-west room.” As the furniture of
this best apartment of Farmer Larkin may serve as a
of the better sort of agriculturists at that early period,
it may be well to add a brief description.
The bed, an indispensable appendage, was without either
curtains, or high posts, and decorated with a new
woollen coverlet, where the colour of red gorgeously predominated
over the white and green, with which it was
intermingled. So small a space did it occupy, that if,
like Og, king of Bashan, whose gigantic height was predicated
from his bedstead of nine cubits, the size of our
farmers should have been estimated by the dimensions of
their places of repose, posterity would do them immense
injustice.
A buffet, or corner-cupboard was a conspicuous article,
in which were arranged a set of bright, pewter plates,
some red and white cups and saucers, not much larger
than what now belong to a doll's equipage, and a pyramidal
block-tin tea-pot. The lower compartment of this repository,
which was protected by a door, furnished a receptacle
for the Sabbath-day hats and bonnets of the children,
each occupying its own place upon the shelves. In the
vicinity was what was denominated “a chist o' draws,”
namely, a capacious vault of stained pine, which, opening
like a chest, contained the better part of the wardrobe of
the master and mistress of the family; while, beneath,
space was left for two or three drawers, devoted to the
accommodation of the elder children. But the masterpiece
of finery was a tea-table, which, elevating its round
than use.
Its surface displayed a commendable lustre, protected
by a penal statute from the fingers of the children. But
an unruly kitten used to take delight in viewing, on the
lower extremity of that polished orb, a reflection of her
own round face, and formidable whiskers. Unhappily mistaking
the appearance of these for an adversary, she imprinted
thereon the marks of her claws, too deeply for all
the efforts of the good housewife to efface, and soon after
expiated her crime upon the scaffold. A looking-glass,
much smaller than the broad expansion of the Farmer's
face, hung against the roughly plastered, yet unsullied
wall. A few high, strait-back'd chairs, and a pair of
small andirons nicely black'd, whose heads bore a rude
resemblance to the “human form divine,” completed the
inventory of goods and chattels. Over the low, wide fire-place,
hung in a black frame, without the superfluity of
a glass, the family record, legibly penned, with a space
very considerately left for future additions. The apartment
had an air of neatness, beyond what was then generally
observed in the houses of those who made the dairy,
and spinning-wheel, their prime objects of attention.
The white floor was carefully sanded, and at each door a
broad mat, made of the husks of the Indian corn, claimed
tribute from the feet of those who entered. Where
Madam L— was seated, she had a full view of the family,
surrounding their peaceful board, and so cordially engaged
wandered to the spot which she occupied.
The table, covered with a coarse white cloth, bore at
the head a large supply of boiled beef, and pork, served
up in a huge dish of glazed ware, of a form between
platter and bowl, though it probably would rank with the
latter genus. A mass of very fine cabbage appeared in
the same reservoir, like a broad, emerald islet, flanked
with parsnips and turnips, the favourite “long and short
saace” of the day. At the bottom of the board was an
enormous pudding of Indian meal, supported by its legitimate
concomitants, a plate of butter, and jug of molasses.
Four brown mugs of cider, divided into equal
compartments the quadrangle of the board, and the wooden
trenchers, which each one manfully maintained, were
perfectly clean and comfortable.
Farmer Larkin, and his wife, not deeming it a point of
etiquette to separate as far as the limits of the table would
permit, shared together the post of honour by the dish of
meat. At the left hand of the father, sat his youngest son,
and at the right hand of the mother, her youngest daughter.
Thus the male line, beginning at Jehu, and touching
every one according to his age, passed over the heads of
Timothy and Jehoiakim, ending in Amariah, the nephew,
and would-be Methodist. On the other hand, the female
line, from the mother, who held in her lap the chubbed
Tryphosa, passed with geometrical precision through the
spaces allotted to Tryphena, Keziah, Roxey and Reuey,
of formidable size, but of just proportions, and employed
her brawny arm, in cutting slices from a large loaf of
brown bread, which she distributed with great exactness
by each trencher, as soon as her father had stocked it with
meat, and her mother garnished it with vegetables. There
was something pleasing in the sight of so many healthy
and cheerful faces, and in the domestic order which evidently
prevailed. The first course past in silence, except
that Farmer Larkin said to his wife,—
“Do pray, Mammy, put down Tryphosa on the floor,
and give her a crust o' bread to gnaw. I can't bear to
see ye always a carryin' some burden or other, so that ye
get no rest even at meal times.”
The wife obediently placed the plump infant in a humbler
station, who lifted up its broad blue eyes, as if it
thought itself aggrieved, until the father reaching it a piece
of bread, said,—“there, baby, larn to take care o' yourself.”
It soon became so much absorbed with its fragment of
the staff of life, as to make no overtures to return to the
arms of it mother. In a short time, each trencher, neatly
scraped, was presented to Molly for a slice of the pudding
in her vicinity, to which Amariah carefully added the usual
condiments. When Tim's plate, in due rotation, was
replenished, the farmer said,—
“Amariah, that boy did not do his ta-a-sk this mornin'.
Don't ye put any lasses on his puddin'. Lazy folks
an't it Tim, to larn ye to be industrious?”
“Yes Father,” said the boy, eating his dry pudding
without complaint, and with the air of one who intended
to profit by the justice which he acknowledged. The meal
was accompanied by a few questions from the parents, to
which the younger members returned brief answers; but
refrained from holding light conversation among themselves,
with far greater sense of propriety, than is always
witnessed at the tables of the professedly polite. At the
close of the repast, the Father, bowing his head, uttered
brief but hearty thanks to the Giver of all Mercies, during
which even the youngest children stood as if in an act of
devotion. They had been taught that the food of each
day, however homely, was a favour; that it was both a
duty and pleasure to thank Him who bestowed it; and
that it was sinful to do this with a light, irreverent deportment.
Madam L—, touched at this scene of domestic
order, harmony and devotion, thought that the careless,
the proud, or the epicure, who would scorn these humble
inmates, might still receive from them a salutary lesson.
Perchance, in her mind was a train of thought, similar to
what inspired the ploughman-poet, when he exclaimed—
Which makes her lov'd at home, rever'd abroad—
Princes and lords are but the breath of kings,
An honest man's the noblest work of God.”
remained unobserved, she was received with the most
approached with a fervent welcome tempered with respect,
and the matron with an apology for not having met
her at the door, little imagining that she had so long been
their guest. Bows and court'sies multiplied among the
junior class, as they were kindly addressed by the Lady.
Molly produced with great rapidity a plate of nut-cakes
and cheese, a basket of fine apples, and a glass of metheglin.
Roxey and Reuey ran to add a “saacer of presarved
barberries,” from the jar, which was filled with fruit
gathered and prepared by their own hands, for a dessert
on extraordinary occasions. Jehoiakim also hastened to
convey refreshments to Cuffee, who in turn presented him
with some grafts from the Vergaloue, the Bennet, and the
Winter Pear, eulogizing their respective merits; and not
forgetting to add, that his Mistress had “eight bery large
fine tree, most hundred year old.”
Mrs. Larkin, after the lady had concluded her business
with her husband, was anxious to shew her dairy, where
the large cheeses, turned and rubbed daily by her own
hands, and the stores of gold-coloured butter, arranged
with perfect neatness, attested her industry, and good
housewifery. Madam L— took pleasure in conversing
with this worthy family, where each fulfilled their part,
with such faithfulness, and harmony. She distributed to
each of the children some little present adapted to their
age. To the older ones she gave books, after questioning
them on the contents of those which she had last presented,
with so much attention. To Amariah she gave a
New Testament, saying with kindness, that she had
marked with a pencil some passages which she thought
applicable to him, and doubted not that he would perceive
that religion was confined to no particular sect, but
was valued in the eye of the Almighty according to its
effects upon the heart and life. Amid expressions of
sincere gratitude and affection from all, she took her
leave, with more heartfelt satisfaction than is found among
the courtly pomp of a ceremonious party;
The heart, distrusting asks, if this be joy?”
Such, forty years since, were most of the agriculturists,
who tenanted the lands of others in the villages of Connecticut.
Uncorrupt integrity, and reverence for religion
were their distinguishing characteristics; and their families
were nurtured in that industry, and subordination,
which are the germs of the strength and peace of communities.
By no profession might that beautiful passage of
inspiration be with more justice assumed as a motto, “in
simplicity, and godly sincerity we have our conversation
in the world.”
Since that period, those luxuries and refinements, which
spread so rapidly in our cities, have pervaded, in some
degree, the abodes of the tillers of the earth. They are
becoming a more enlightened race than their fathers, and
from their habitations have issued some of our most distinguished
have been distinguished in our seminaries of science, for
the zeal with which they have pursued knowledge, and
the indefatigable application with which they have supplied
the defects of early culture. When the sons of rich men,
languid from indulgence, have shrunk from mental effort
as insupportable hardship, and fallen a prey to those vices
which indolence creates, the offspring of those who hold
the plough have wrested from their feeble hands the prize
of honour, and pressed on in the path of their country's
praise and pride. There is, in the pursuits of agriculture,
a salutary discipline both for the body and mind, as they
are gradually developed. That hardihood of frame, which
despises privation, or change of elements, is more congenial
to elevation of character, than the enervating nurture
of patrician families, where animal tastes are pampered,
at the expense of vigour of intellect, and ease of body
promoted, even to the bondage of the free spirit. Possibly
also, in the simplicity of man's primeval occupation,
there may be, like the angels hovering over Eden, natural
and invisible guards around the avenues of innocence,
cheerfulness, and that religion which springs from a view
of the Creator in his works.
Agriculture has been, in the New-England States, a
source of wealth, less splendid indeed than some others,
but far less fluctuating. It has been a fountain, not always
as profuse in its streams as avarice or ambition might desire,
but perennial when sought by industry and prudence.
government, that a fortune, acquired by the economical
agriculturist, furnishes the means of vanity and pride to
his son; who, removing to the city, and educating his
children in indolence, prepares them to squander the inheritance
of their ancestors. The next generation, born
in poverty, seek an antidote in labour, and find that “tide
in the affairs of men, which taken at the flood leads on to
fortune.”
Many such instances had fallen under the observation
of Madam L—, and her silent reflections upon them
were not interrupted, until her approach to the Turnpike,
a few miles from her residence. There she saw an unusual
bustle, and heard the tones of the red-faced gate-keeper,
elevated like the hoarse croak of a raven. But
these were overpowered by the loud brogue of an Irishman
of enormous stature, who mounted on a pony ready
to sink beneath the weight of the rider, contested the rate
of toll:—
“I tell ye, I'll not be paying nine-pence for travelling
on such a confounded bog of a road, with the danger
of breaking my neck into the bargain.”
“Zounds!” roared the sturdy, square shouldered Englishman,
lifting up his shoemaker's hammer, by the aid of
which, with the profits of his gate, he earned a subsistence
for his family, “are ye not able to read the printed board
befor eyour face, or d'ye think ye're in Cork, where club-law
will silence the jailors.”
“Of what use, my dair,” said Paddy without regarding
the threat, “of what use is that sort of a whirligig
thing, which bears some indifferent likeness to the cross of
St. Patrick?”
“It is the wicket, where people on foot go through for
nothing,” replied the toll-keeper, approaching to shut the
gate, which, not apprehending any contention, he had
thrown open at the arrival of the passenger. But Paddy,
dismounting with as much haste, as Lord Marmion displayed
in clearing the falling portcullis of the indignant
Earl of Douglas, threw his arms round his shadow of a
steed, and lifted him fairly over the debateable ground.
Then turning about, he walked through the wicket, and
resuming his seat upon the wretched animal, shouted to
the amazed toll-keeper,—
“If a man may walk through your limboes by himself,
without any burden at all, for nothing, my jewel, should
not he be desarving of some pay, when he carries a
baste upon his shoulders? And so, ye're so covetous in
this beggarly country, as never to be giving so much as
a drop of drink to a friend, who has left the swatest island
in the world, just to be travelling through this wilderness
among thieves, and lubberly pickpockets.”
Without waiting to hear the torrent of recrimination,
which burst from the lips of the baffled toll-gatherer, he
pursued his journey, with a peal of laughter, which echoed
from the surrounding rocks and woods, as if a colony
of Hibernians were mocking from beneath their canopy.
enraged superintendant was preparing for pursuit. His
square, thick figure, bustling about with uncommon agility,
had a comic appearance, while on his brow was somewhat
of that eager impatience, with which he of Bosworth
field exclaimed, “My kingdom for a horse.” The Lady
suddenly changed the fierce expression of his countenance,
by putting into his hand, with her own toll, the sum
for which his recreant brother of Erin was indebted; and
kindly wishing him a good afternoon, departed with a
smile of that conciliating spirit, which prompted the patriarch's
exhortation to his kinsman, “let there be no
strife, I pray thee, between me and thee, and my herdsmen
and thy herdsmen, for we be brethren.”
| CHAPTER X. Sketch of Connecticut, forty years since | |