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THE 
 
 CLODPOLE PAPERS, 
 
 CONTAINING THE 
 
 INCIDENTS, ADVENTURES, WISE SAYINGS, SHREWD REMARKS, 
 
 PHILOSOPHICAL DISQUISITIONS, POLITICAL OPINIONS, 
 
 AND THEOLOGICAL LECTURES, OP 
 
 CHRISTOPHER CLODPOLE, ESQ. FARMER. 
 
 Oo it "Dobbin" S!! 
 
 " Aut viam inveniam aut faciara. n 
 
 B ALT IMORE: 
 PARSONS &, PRESTON, NO. 5 PRATT STREET, 
 
 1844- 
 
,C7(* 
 
 
GO IT OLD DOBBIN!!! 
 
 "Bucephalus, equus Alexandri," &c. 
 
 Which means in plain English that "Bucephalus, the horse of 
 Alexander, would suffer no rider but his master.'' 
 
 Every school boy remembers that sentence. Now for the Clodpole 
 translation and commentary. Old Dobbin, the literary Bucephalus of 
 the Author, allows no rider but his master, so stand back all ye mus- 
 keto critics, quacks of the grey goose quill, (or duck's quill.) literary 
 goslins, and long-eared editors, or my steed may chance to trample 
 you in the mud or snort you into nonentity. 
 
 Here comes my horse rearing and kicking, running and jumping, 
 bare backed, head up, with ears erect and nostrils wide distended, 
 going ahead like a stream of fire over the land ocean of prairies, flash- 
 ing from his eyes and breathing from his mouth these words : 
 
 OLD CLODPOLE'S DEDICATION. 
 
 Says I to a whole-souled, noble-hearted friend, Mr. Nimrod Name- 
 less, "shall I dedicate my book to the hospitable, chivalrous citizens 
 of good old Baltimore, in a direct address from the Author, "in per- 
 sona propria" — or shall I inscribe it to the "Farmers of the United 
 States" — the millions of Clodpoles? "Hang the dedication," says 
 he, and all the miserable flip-flappery and clap-trappery of mousing 
 authors, publishers, editors and puffers. It's all literary gammon and 
 humbug. Hang it all, says he, don't have any dedication — throw out 
 your book on its merits, to break its own way un-shod through tho 
 rotten soil of public sentiment and opinion. Let it loose in the streets, 
 parlors and counting-houses of the city, like a wild horse from the 
 western prairies, without saddle, bridle, rein, whip, spur or martin- 
 gale, all snorting and cavorting, and then see the fire flash from the 
 pavements." 
 
 "So I will, says I— that's a fact." 
 
 Squire Clodpole, Farmer. 
 
CLODPOLE PAPERS; 
 
 Containing the Letters, Speeches, Delates, Incidents, Adventures, 
 "wise Cogitations, learned Criticisms, shrewd Remarks, pithy Puns, 
 close Observations, dry Jokes, crusty Replies, severe Rebukes, scorch- 
 ing Sarcasms, philosophical Disquisitions, political Opinions, and 
 theological Lectures of the Author ; besides, Tales, Anecdotes, Tradi- 
 tions, and blowing up of sundry Humbugs, with various other interest- 
 ing matters too tedious to enumerate, all of which will be found by 
 the reader in the right place. — The whole forms one of the drollest, 
 most curious, queer, quizzical, odd and strange, as well as sensible 
 and scientific literary productions that have ever astonished, delighted, 
 ediBed, or puzzled, quizzed and electrified the natives of this world. 
 Wooden Nutmegs, Southern Chivalry, John Bull and Brother Jona- 
 than, Popery, Pussyism, Ultraistn, Radicalism, Whiggery, Locofocoism 
 all get a severe poke under the fifth rib in the Author's own peculiarly 
 original, eccentric and concentric, galvanic-battery sort of style ; a 
 style earnestly desired and eagerly sought after by literary quacks, 
 but which remains perfectly inimitable and unattainable. 
 
 By CHBISTOPHER CLODPOLE, ESQ. 
 
 " Inveniam viam aut faciam. v 
 
 " Mind not high things, but condescend to men of low estate.' 5 
 
 ,( Fortunatos nimium, si sua bona norint, 
 Agricolas I" 
 
HUMBUG? 
 
 "Well, old Clodpole, what in the name of cabbages, turnips and 
 market wagons are you driving at this time ?" Thus I fancy I hear 
 some of my neighbors say, who are plain farmers like myself, and I 
 suppose I must say something in explanation of my conduct, in hav- 
 ing the audacity to attempt to write a book in the face and eyes of 
 the learned world, and teach folks what I think the right way in 
 regard to many important matters that concern us all in this life, and 
 that which is to come. I am willing to explain these things to my 
 farmer neighbors, as I confess with pleasure and gratitude that many 
 of them have been in the habit of looking to me for advice and coun- 
 sel in many things, and I trust my labors among them as a peace- 
 maker have been of some use in promoting their individual happiness 
 and the prosperity of the community, — but to the point. I have no 
 apology to offer; I write not hastily, but from long consideration. I 
 believe it both my duty and my privilege. If, in the course of my life, 
 I have gathered up any stores of valuable experience and useful 
 knowledge, however small, I feel impelled by feelings of benevolent 
 patriotism to diffuse the same abroad for the good of the world in 
 general, and of my farmer brethren in particular. I honestly confess 
 I have little expectation or desire of pleasing that class who are called 
 the "upper crust'' — the "big bugs"' — the "fashionables." I court 
 not their smiles ; I fear not their frowns. — I most heartily despise their 
 idiotic, baboon-like fantastics which they call gentility, etiquette, and 
 all that sort of stuff and flummery. But I tremble for the final deci- 
 sion of their eternal destiny when called to give an account of their 
 stewardship ; of the prodigal manner in which they have squandered 
 the gifts of a bountiful Providence, and perverted them to the destruc- 
 tion of themselves and their children, instead of their education and 
 salvation from sin. What silly capers — what absurd fantastic tricks 
 are perpetrated before heaven and earth, in the name of fashion, 
 which indeed would be no sin in any of the harmless monkey tribe, 
 but the thought of which will sting the souls of rational, accountable 
 being in the most terrible manner at the great day of retribution. 
 Shall professed christians, in this free, enlightened and happy 
 country, as we call it — shall the self-styled disciples of our infinite 
 Redeemer disgrace themselves and libel (he name of our holy Christi- 
 anity, by such extravagance, avarice, gluttony and foolish dissipation, 
 as inevitably to extort the cry of shame ! hypocrisy ! from the mouths 
 of infidels, heathens and savages ! I hope indeed to please and 
 instruct that class of my fellow men to which I belong, the whole 
 Clodpole tribe; the bright-eyed, rosy-faced, cherry-lipped, healthy 
 
6 
 
 lovers of rustic life and rural pursuits, who breathe the pure air of 
 heaven, and drink the " mountain distilled liquid'' of Eden — the 
 draught of Paradise, good cold water. If I gain their good feelings, 
 and we jog along in pleasant, social chat together I shall be satisfied 
 to let philosophers, statesmen, literati and divines — and even the ex- 
 quisites of folly and fashion all go to grass to eat mullein together, and 
 pass me by with cold neglect. If indeed any of these who think 
 themselves grandees should condescend to take a peep into my pages, 
 my pleasure will be increased should such facts come to my know- 
 ledge. As that event may possibly take place, it becomes me to take 
 off my broad-rim, and make my profound bow to one class, for whom 
 I entertain the highest respect, — I mean preachers of the Gospel. 
 Some of them may say, ''Squire Clodpole I admire your benevo- 
 lence, patriotism and good sense ; I respect your talents, wisdom and 
 strong confidence in the power of Christianity to renovate this dark 
 world. But how can you gain your own consent to write such 
 trifles — such nonsense? You, who might by your peculiar elo- 
 quence, charm a listening audience, and thrill our Legislature — or, 
 with your pen, carry pungent conviction to the minds of grave sena- 
 tors, profound philosphers and learned divines themselves ?" To this 
 question I beg leave to reply, that my self-esteem has full often sug- 
 gested the same train of thought to my mind, but has not become so 
 inflated with vanity, as to delude my judgment into the belief that I 
 possess any powers of that high order, however much I might desire it, 
 under the prompting of the love of approbation, or how much soever I 
 might be gratified with the consciousness of such a truth. But are 
 you not slyly complimenting your own modesty, 'Squire?" some one 
 whispers. Possibly it may be so, for the human heart is a curious 
 thing, and self-love will spring up unawares and in a small crevice. 
 Be it even so then : I will do like the snail or turtle — draw in my 
 head for the sake of safety, and run the risk of complimenting myself 
 for modesty, rather than strut with the vanity of a peacock, and expose 
 myself to the shots of sharp-shooting critics. 
 
 I am conscious, however, of possessing in some degree those facul- 
 ties called humorous, besides some of a graver cast, and 1 believe it 
 the duty of every man to "stir up the gift that is within him," whe- 
 ther " grave or gay, lively or severe," — to use and not abuse it. I have 
 yet to learn that serious thinking, solemn meditations, and prayer- 
 ful feelings, however important, are the only valuable exercises of the 
 mind, even for christians and ministers of the gospel. We are often 
 told, and most truly too, that we are immortal and accountable beings ; 
 hence one's thoughts should be occupied with those high and holy 
 themes which pertain to our immovtality, 
 
 We are also social beings, dependent on each other in a large 
 degree not only for our actual animal existence, its continuance and 
 comfortable support, but for the pleasure and happiness which our 
 minds are capable of enjoying in the present world. Hence the im- 
 portance of cultivating our colloquial powers, our faculties of wit, 
 humor, and all that give zest and vivacity to social life, and consti- 
 tute its charm, which hold spell-bound the fire-side circle. 
 
I may here pertinently inquire why the great Author of our being 
 has given us the faculties of wit and humor if they are of no use ? 
 Shall we stifle a part of our powers, and deem them worthless, be- 
 cause, perchance, some men have abused such powers ; and cultivate 
 those only which we deem most valuable ?— or shall we rather im- 
 prove and invigorate all our powers of body and mind, producing har- 
 mony of action, making each an aid to the rest, and using all in the 
 best possible manner for our own and others happiness ? The ques- 
 tion admits of but one answer: "be sure you are right, then go 
 ahead." This characteristic motto of the comical western statesman 
 is in perfect accordance with the injunction of the great apostle — 
 "forgetting the things which are behind, we press forward." 
 
 If then we are conscious of purity of purpose, it is our duty to push 
 on in the path which our most enlightened convictions point out as 
 the highway of usefulness and happiness ; the whining and cant of 
 pretended philosophers and reformers, whether in church or state, to 
 the contrary notwithstanding. To our great Master alone are we all 
 and each accountable. Ft is time for the human mind to arise in the 
 native freedom and strength stamped on it by the Creator, and shake 
 off the trammels of all schools, cliques, sects, parties and nations, and 
 stand forth in the dignity of a moral and intellectual manhood, bowing 
 to the say so of no man or set of men without asking the reason why ? 
 
 In order to bring about this state of things, the great mass of men 
 must be induced to read and think ; society must be suffused with a 
 pure, healthy literature. The ocean of polluting trash that floods the 
 land, "casting up mire and dirt," must be driven out. Sound reli- 
 gious, political and scientific truth must be scattered over the land, 
 numerous as autumn leaves, but with the freshness and beauty of 
 spring, in the form of a light, humorous and chaste literature. Noth- 
 ing less than the attainment of this object will satisfy the writer. He 
 has not taken up his pen merely to amuse the butterflies' of fashion, 
 who seem to view this life as did the thoughtless poet when he wrote 
 his own epitaph. 
 
 " Life's a farce, and all things show it, 
 I thought so once, but now I know it." 
 
 Far different are his views of the nature and objects of the great 
 drama of life — this solemn mystery of existence. It was said by an 
 excellent writer, in reference to the productions of Miss Edgworth, 
 "She has indeed stretched forth a powerful hand in the cause of edu- 
 cation ; if she had added, 'in the name of Jesus of Nazareth,' we 
 should almost have expected miracles from its touch." Here we ap- 
 prehend is a distinct, though slight allusion to the spirit of cold moral- 
 ity, or semi-infidelity which too much pervades the writings of the 
 talented lady. Alas ! that it should be thus with so many of the 
 favored sons and daughters of genius, who might well nigh have moved 
 the world for good, with the mighty magic of their pens. How long is 
 the dark catalogue of those who have abused their wonderful powers ! 
 
 In connexion with this train of thought, it has occurred to the 
 writer, that had the author of the "Pickivick Papers' and other 
 
8 
 
 highly attractive works, which have pleased and deeply interested so 
 many thousands of readers, within the last ten years — had this highly 
 gifted son of genius have written in that great Name, which is above 
 every other name, "in hell, or earth, or sky," what an endless influ- 
 ence for good would not his pen have exerted? But are we not com- 
 pelled to believe that he too, like the vast army of his "illustrious 
 predecessors," has written solely lor money and fame ? for the praise 
 of men and the bread that perisheth ? And is it not a notorious and 
 sorrowful truth, that poor "Boz" is more of a genteel rowdy, than of 
 a humble Christian ? 
 
 Perhaps some grave moralist or dignified christian may start at the 
 absurd notion, as he will think it, of infusing the spirit and doctrines 
 of the Bible into comical and humorous, productions, such as those of 
 Dickens' are. We must "become all things to all men, so that we 
 may save some.'' 
 
 I shall now conclude my prefatory remarks, which are rather pro- 
 lix and discursive; they may also be deemed of a graver cast than 
 the title page holds out. I shall, therefore, in the first chapter of my 
 work, plunge at once, "in medias res," and dash off at full gallop in 
 my own unrivalled style, like a wild horse over the prairies — or a 
 herd of buffaloes trampling all before them, or like forty locomotives 
 coming in at once, puffing and snorting, attracting the attention of 
 every body, so that the cry will be, " Who in the world is coming 
 now?" And the answer shall be from ten thousand voices, like the 
 shouts from a vast multitude of Erin's Repealers, "And surely, who 
 should it be, but ould Clodpole himself. 
 
 Snooksville, February 15th, 1844, 
 
CHAPTER I. 
 
 Wherein old Christopher talks more about himself than about other 
 folks, and tells how he came to think of writing a book, and other 
 interesting matters that can't be known without reading them. 
 
 As I find I am destined to figure extensively on paper, here in my 
 own book if no where else in this world besides in my own cornfield 
 and cabbage-garden, I think I may as well " begin at the beginning," 
 and tell all the world at once, just who and what I am, which will be 
 something of a long yarn, as the sailors say. And in telling all about 
 myself, I shall have to say something about my good old daddy, and 
 great grand-daddies who helped to give John Bull such a thrashing, 
 when our great grand-marms would drink his tea that he sent over 
 to them. I was born down East from here, but not away down North 
 East in the State of Maine, where Jack Downing wrote his famous 
 letters. By the way, it was a Yankee lady who wrote those letters, 
 though the Major pretended he was the real author, and the lady 
 being modest, I suppose did not well like to dispute publicly with the 
 Major about it. 1 understand that after Gen. Jackson went homo to 
 Tennessee, he gave the Major a situation as sort of clerk to attend to 
 his business. I am glad of it, for as I intend to write for the Farmer 
 of Ashland, I hope he will remember me in the same way when we 
 boost him into the big-arm chair to superintend Uncle Sam's large 
 plantation. But where am I going to? I began to tell about myself, 
 and all at once I catch myself running away from the point, like a 
 young duck into the water, or a wild partridge into the woods. I was 
 born in old Massachusetts, twenty-five miles from Plymouth Rock; 
 my father's ancestors were soldiers in the war of the Revolution, 
 descendants in a direct line from the Pilgrims, and hard fisted old kU 
 lows of the right stamp. They were all either farmers, blacksmiths, 
 carpenters, or some kind of hard working men, and I never heard 
 that any of them ever got drunk, stole, was stingy, or wore a ruffled 
 shirt, or any sort of flummery. They worked hard, drank cold water, 
 read their Bibles, kept the Sabbath holy, and educated their children. 
 They always built school-houses, and paid their school-masters cheer- 
 fully. Such a people will have prosperity and happiness in any 
 country, in any clime. The learned Blacksmith of old Massachusetts 
 is a sort of sixteenth cousin to one of my great grand-marms. My 
 great grand daddy, Peter Clodpole, was a soldier under old General 
 Putnam in the Revolutionary War, and also helped him hunt the old 
 Aic wolf in the land of wooden nut-megs. My good father, Thomas 
 3 
 
10 
 
 Clodpole, or Uncle Tommy, as he was familiarly called by his neigh- 
 bors, when he was one and twenty, was presented by his father with 
 a new suit of clothes, called a " freedom suit," a strong iron bar to 
 dig stones with, a pick-axe and a spade ; and was told by the old man 
 to go out into the wide world and dig for his grub ! These tools, with 
 habits of hardy industry, a good constitution, not injured by laziness 
 or dissipation, a good character for steadiness and sobriety, with a 
 tolerable education,, such as the common district schools afforded in 
 those days, constituted his whole fortune, except a Bible, given to 
 him by his mother, and a few other books which he had bought for 
 himself. Thus equipped, he started out to dig and hack his way 
 through this rough world. 
 
 All my grand-father's famity, and my ancestors before them, were 
 of the " old standing order," right old fashioned, rigid Calvinists to 
 the back bone. They had the real Puritan stamp. That denomina- 
 tion now call themselves "Orthodox Congregationalists," in distinc- 
 tion from the Unitarians, whom they consider, of course, heterodox. 
 
 The first year my father hired out on a farm, at digging stones and 
 laying stone wall, grubbing up briars, raising corn, potatoes, cabbage, 
 and all other kinds of hard work on a farm. In the fall, having a 
 little money ahead, he went to the Academy for one quarter, and kept 
 a school the following winter in his native town. In this way he went 
 on a few years, until he bought a small farm, got married to Patience 
 Plod well, the daughter of a forehanded old farmer in the town of 
 Digwell, and settled down in life, as happy as a clam at high-water 
 mark. 
 
 In due time, that is, in the course of the following year, their eyes 
 were blessed with the sight of a plump, hearty looking boy, who has 
 always maintained the reputation he then promised to his delighted 
 parents, that of enjoying good health; for he has now for fifty years 
 generally been good for his allowance of mush and milk, pork and 
 beans, codfish and potatoes, cabbage and sauer krout, and other sub- 
 stantiate of life, that stick to the ribs, and give life to the inner man. 
 This promising son of the sod, my parents named Christopher, in 
 honor of Christopher Columbus, the great navigator, and discoverer of 
 the new world. 
 
 And, dear reader, here I am. I was born in the year 1794, in 
 the town of Digwell, and was brought up to my father's business, 
 that of digging the sod, to see what I could find under it. When I 
 was twelve years of age, my father sold his farm, and moved down 
 East, into the District, now State of Maine, and settled us in the town 
 of Bloomfield, on the Kennebec river. The country at that time was 
 comparatively new ; at present it is one of the most beautiful and 
 prosperous sections of that noble State, and the town of Bloomfield in 
 particular contains many fine farms, with wealthy owners. When I 
 became of age, I had as good an education as the town schools and 
 Academy afforded ; having* acquired beside the English branches 
 some knowledge of mathematics, and of the Latin and Greek lan- 
 guages. My parents were desirous that I should study one of the 
 learned professions as they are called, they having the same vanity 
 
11 
 
 that is so common to people, of desiring their sons to become mer- 
 chants, professional men, gentlemen, dandies, or any thing but hard 
 fisted vvorkies like themselves. But I told them at once, that I would 
 never be any thing but a Clodpole, both in name and profession ; I 
 cared not how learned I misht be, and resolved to cultivate my mind 
 all in my power, and then devote myself with all my energies to the 
 mental and moral improvement of the honest sons of the sod, one of 
 whom I should always rejoice to be. 
 
 "Ah, Cris, you great land-lubber, I don't know what upon airth 
 to think of you," says my good mother. "1 always told your father 
 that you would be good for somelhin' or nothin'— but hardly know 
 how it will turn out. I am puzzled all to pieces about it — that's a 
 positive fact. I'm afeer'd you will never be any thing but a rusty 
 plough-jogger all your born days." 
 
 "Very well, mother," says I, "so be it; I am determined to go it 
 while 1 am young, and then I shall know how when I am old — a? 
 Shakspeare or somebody says. And I shall yet live to see the day, 
 when third rate petty lawyers, half starved doctors, broken backed 
 merchants, counter-hoppers, tape-cutters, genteel loafers, and the 
 monkeys of fashion, will all stare at me like a wild 'coon fresh from 
 the woods, and snort like a horse eating thistles, when they read my 
 Clodpole papers, and find that I am living like a pig in the clover, on 
 my small farm, while half of them are starving in the midst of their 
 gentility and fashionable humbug." 
 
 "O, Cris, what nonsense," says my mother, "that's all froth aud 
 scum." 
 
 "Very well, mother, if we all live long enough, we'll see about it. 
 I feel the rising up of genius within me, like a toad under the sod, or 
 a turtle in the mud — and it must come out, and blaze forth." 
 
 " Yes, we shall see, my son. When the sky falls, we shall catch 
 larks," says she, with a significant nod of her head. 
 
 From what I have said, it will be easily perceived that I am no 
 common genius ; that 1 am strongly tinctured with wooden nutmeg 
 and Yankee ingenuity ; and having lived many years in Maryland, I 
 have a mixture of Southern chivalry also. In short, I have a strong 
 touch of down East, like Jack Downing; something of the droll, half- 
 horse, half-alligator nature of Davy Crockett, with a spice of Sam 
 Slick and the snapping-turtle. Take me out and out, ladies and gen- 
 tlemen, the world must concede that I am a downright curious old 
 fellow, as the rest of my book will plainly shew. As I have spun out 
 rather a long yarn^ at the first hitch, bragging about myself, I shall 
 stop short, as my old horse Heavyshins did, when he iun a race in 
 the field, and brought up all at once against the stone wall. 
 
12 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 Wherein I tell something about my neighbor, Ben Bobkins, and my 
 publishers. ♦ 
 
 One morning Ben Bobkins came to my house, and says he, 'Squire 
 here's a letter I brot up from town yesterday. I went into a book- 
 store to buy a spelling-book for little Benny, and the gentlemen got 
 to talking with me, and when they found out I was from Snooksville, 
 they looked mighty glad, and axed me if I node "Squire Clodpole. I 
 telled 'em I did for sarlin, as well as the next one; that he was my 
 neighbor, and our village 'Squire. They axed me to bring up this 
 letter to you, and so 1 did." I then opened the letter and read it. 
 
 Baltimore, January 10//*, 1844. 
 
 Squire Clodpole, 
 
 Dear Sir :— We beg leave to remind you of the con- 
 versation we had with you in the fall, about writing a book for us to 
 publish, and hope you have the manuscript nearly ready, as we are 
 desirous of publishing the work as soon as possible. 
 
 Respectfully, 
 
 John Bookman & Company. 
 
 " Well 'Squire," says Ben, "that's queer indeed ; I oilers node as 
 how you was mighty fond of books and all sort's o' larnin ; but I had 
 no idee that you had gumpshun enufT to rite a book, that's a fact." 
 I felt rather curious at this sudden left-handed compliment of my 
 neighbour, who is an honest, clever fellow, tho' illiterate. So I just 
 shuttled the matter off as best I might. I immediately wrote to Mr. 
 Bookman as follows : 
 
 Snooksville, January, 1844. 
 
 Messrs. J. Bookman & Company . 
 
 In answer to yours of the 10th inst. 'I have only to say, 
 that in accordance with the agreement with you in the fall, I have 
 employed my leisure hours this winter in writing, and shall visit the 
 city in a short time, and bring you my manuscript. We farmers 
 have some spare time in the winter, to be sure ; but we also have 
 many cares. Beside my home business on the farm, going to market, 
 
13 
 
 getting up wood, taking care of the cattle, fixing oven- wood and 
 various other little matters for the comfort and convenience of the 
 good woman I call aunt Polly, I find the education of my children 
 an important matter, which engrosses much of my time and attention. 
 My ideas of education are not like those of many persons at the pre- 
 sent day as you well know. 
 
 These fashionable boarding schools squeeze up young girls in the 
 waist like a hornet, dress them up in artificials, drive all the com- 
 mon sense out of their noddles, learn them tricks and capers like a 
 monkey, and when they dance, bow, scrape, smile and grin according 
 to fashion ; murder a few tunes on the forty-penujah, then forsooth 
 their headlcdiiion is pronounced finished, and they are turned loose in 
 the wide world to catch husbands, if they can find any fool enough 
 like themselves to have them. This they can generally do if they 
 have fashionable mammas to fish for them, and rich old daddies to 
 write a few thousand dollars on a ticket, and, pin it on their dress, by 
 way of advertisement. There are a plenty of money hunters in the 
 shape of genteel loafers, frost-bitten lawyers, and half starved doctors, 
 who are ready to jump at such a prize, like a duck at a June-bug, 
 live stock and all. But if my son Tom is caught going after such 
 shallow-pates, I'll just limber his shins with the essential oil of a good 
 stout hickory switch — that's all. I have taught him better than that 
 comes to. 
 
 Yes, gentlemen, these fashionable schools are a grand engine of the 
 devil, for sending thousands of innocent children to tee-total ruination 
 of body and mind — health and happiness. They are real gull-traps 
 (many of them I mean, not all) to humbug weak-minded silly mothers, 
 who have more pride and vanity than common sense, and rich, hen- 
 pecked husbands, whose wives spend money as fast as they can 
 make it, while the humbugger is all the while laughing in his sleeve, 
 and feeding richly on the spoils he has won. 
 
 The right way to train children according to my notion is to make 
 them work hard — this is good for soul and body both. It makes 
 their brains strong, and shakes all the cob-webs out of them. It gives 
 them strong minds and healthy bodies, beside habits of industry and 
 self-dependence. We ought to have a* Professor of hard-work in all 
 our schools and colleges, and then we should have less of the dumps., 
 humfiuggins and hobgoblins among students. We should have less 
 laziness and sickness among them ; consequently more healthy ener- 
 getic men, among our doctors, lawyers, and parsons too. If I was the 
 Professor in that department, I would have this motto, "Labor omnia 
 vincit — blue devils and horrors !'' which may be thus translated — 
 "hard work and temperance is sure death to horrors, whether blue or 
 black." If my writings should help to bring about a better state of 
 things in relation to this important subject of education, as you do me 
 the honor to suggest, I shall be amply paid for my labors. I can then 
 draw up myself on my reserved dignity on my snug little farm, as 
 quiet and happy as a "possum in his gum log," or "coon in a hollow 
 tree." 
 
 I am, gentlemen, with due regard, your friend and humble servant, 
 
 Christopher Clodpole, Farmer. 
 
14 
 
 This letter I sent off by the mail next clay, and then set myself 
 about preparing my manuscript and fixing things at home, so that I 
 could leave a few weeks and go the city, and superintend the printing 
 of my book. 
 
 My wife (bless her dear heart) who has been worth more than a 
 farm to me, and who has tugged on with me faithfully through all my 
 troubles and difficulties, and rejoiced affectionately in all my pros- 
 perity — my good wife, I say, begins to look pleased and has a little 
 sort of innocent pride, maybe, at the idea of my becoming an author, 
 and getting up in the world, and making money by writing, as we 
 have always had to work so hard for our living, and all the money 
 we have ever earned. 
 
 "Mr. Clodpole, how long do you expect to be gone to town?" says 
 aunt Polly to me. 
 
 " I expect about a month," says I, putting on a long face, and look- 
 ing very cool and indifferent, but watching her face slyly to see what 
 she thought of it ; for I can read her phiz like a book. 
 
 "A whole month," says she, looking up to me with that mixed up 
 expression of surprise, affection and regret, which always m-ikes the 
 woman we love look so interesting — whether young or old, widow, 
 wife or maid, mother or daughter. " You will not stay away from 
 me a whole month, old Clodpole, I know, or else you are a different 
 man from what you ever was yet, and I don't believe your getting to 
 be an author and talking with lamt men and wiseacres in Baltimore 
 town will make you forget Aunt Polly like that. I know you better 
 than that my jolly old plough-jogger." 
 
 "May be you do, Aunt Polly,'' says I; feeling young again all at 
 once, and jumping up from the table where I was writing, and giving 
 her as hearty a buss as I ever did in all my life, not excepting the 
 moonshine times of our courtship. 
 
 " Is Tom going with you so as to come home with the wagon ?'' 
 says she. 
 
 " Yes, my dear, that is the arrangement I have made ; we can take 
 down a load of marketing, sell out, and let Tom come home with the 
 horses and wagon, while I stay in town and fix up my business. If 
 things sell well, I intend to buy you a new calico dress, and send 
 home by Tom; if I cant do it now, I will take the first money I get 
 from selling my book,'' says I, putting my finger across my nose, and 
 looking wondrous wise. 
 
 Aunt Polly smiled, but said nothing, and kept on knitting very 
 busily. I suppose she thought it would be very acceptable, when it 
 come, whether paid for in books or butter. 
 
15 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 A description of my neighbor Sam Skinflint, who makes his first ap- 
 pearance in my book, and other little matters thrown in to boot. 
 
 Sam Skinflint was a man, (or something in the shape of one done 
 up in clothing) who was too stingy to eat enough to make him fat, so 
 he always kept himself poor as a scare-crow, or the ghost of famine ; 
 he was so miserly selfish as to cheat himself (what a bull) and family 
 out of the comforts of life. He was such a pinch-fist as to bite oif his 
 own nose in many things, figuratively speaking, and he could almost 
 do it literally, his face had such a long proboscis for a handle. His 
 face looked sharp enough to split the North-east wind into shavings, 
 and his forehead was so hard you could almost grind your axe on it ; 
 in fact he had ground the faces of the poor so long, and rich too when 
 he could drive a good trade, that it became a common saying among 
 his neighbors, "Sam's face is as hard as a Grind-stone." His eye- 
 brows too looked hard and flinty. It was said he would skin two 
 fleas for the hide and tallow of one, and take the hide off a gun-flint 
 for three cents, and run the risk of spoiling a jack-knife worth a levy 
 in the operation. 
 
 Sam began life by hiring out to a tavern-keeper to attend to the 
 horses and stables ; here he got fond of a dram whenever he could 
 drink at others' expense, but was never known to treat or spend the 
 first red cent for grog. He afterwards drove the stage for some years, 
 then bought a small farm and went to work on it. He also opened a 
 store and grog shop, and made money hand over fist in ruining his 
 neighbors with rum and whiskey. His wife would tend the store, 
 ■while Sam was farming and going to market. 
 
 Ben Bobkins was a very different man ; he was a poor hard-working 
 honest fellow, who hired out by the day or by the job among his 
 neighbors, just as he could get a chance. He was a generous good- 
 hearted fellow as we say; and though he had but a poor education 
 when a boy, he had good common sense, and a strong desire to edu- 
 cate his children. Such are the characters that for a time will figure 
 before the reader. 
 
 One evening while I was sitting with my family reading the Satur- 
 day Visiter and the Baltimore Clipper, Ben Bobkins and Sam Skin- 
 flint both came in. 
 
 " Evenin, Squire," says Ben. 
 
 "Good evening, neighbors," says I, laying down the paper, and 
 taking oft' my specks. 
 
16 
 
 " You are oilers a redin Squire," says Sam. " It's no wonder your 
 head is so full of all sorts o' wise notions and larned idees, I snore, is 
 it Ben ! A feller's got to set up oil nite, and get up afore day, if he 
 catches you noddin, eh ? I say, Squire. Aint he Ben ? 
 
 "That's a fact," says Ben ; no two ways about that Sam, no how 
 you can fix it — chicken fixins or corn dodgers, its all the same to 
 Squire Clod pole." 
 "In a horn,'' says I. 
 "With both eends open," says Sam. 
 
 "Yes," says Ben, "yes, and stopped up with a wooden cob, too; 
 open or shut, the Squire can see through a horn, — a ram's horn at 
 that, all crooked as it is, from one eend to tother, or a mill stone ither, 
 just as cute as the next one, I go security." 
 
 " Come," says I, " none of that soft soap and nonsense ; don't be 
 stuffing me in that way, I beg of you. I am rather fond of reading, 
 it is true. After a hard day's work, when I sit down at night by my 
 comfortable fire-side, with Aunt Polly there, in the corner knitting, 
 with the school master and my children around me with their books, 
 it seems to rest me to read and converse at the same time that I im- 
 prove my mind, and gather instruction and amusement." 
 
 "I can't afford no tu dollers to take a paper these hard limes, no 
 how," says Sam. " Times is so desput tuff.'' 
 
 " You can afford it if you would,'' says Ben, but you are so oil-fired 
 stingy you wont, that's the upshot of it." 
 
 " Sam, how can a poor fellow like I afford it, — I like the Saturday 
 Visiter so well for my children, that I would give tu dollers more, 
 rather nor be without it for their sake. I can't rede nor rite a blessed 
 bit, but my boys and gals can rede rite smart since they all have been 
 gwine to skule to the ' Yankee Schoolmaster? what rites them stories 
 for the paper. I like to hear 'em read. As Squire says, it kind o' 
 rests me." 
 
 "A body has to be dredful savin these desput times," says Sam, 
 to make both eends o' the year meet, and jist lap over a leetle. I 
 don't know what in nater folks will do, if guverment don't du sumthin 
 or anuther to make times better soon ; that's my candid idees about 
 these things; no mistake. Taxes and one thing anuther comes peksy 
 tite on us." 
 
 " Well Sam, I do declare,'' says Ben, " it's enuff to make a hoss laff 
 eenjist to hear you talk about hard times. I'll bet a goose egg, poor as 
 I am, that you have got hard cash tied up in some old stockin or 
 anuther, that you don't pay no taxes for — come now, not the first brass 
 copper." 
 
 Sam smiled a little at this hard hit, and I dare say he laughed hard 
 enough in his sleeve at the time, and may be roared out a real horse 
 laugh afterwards, when alone by himself, for it was all true enough. 
 '"Squire," says Sam, "neighbor Bobkins here tells me as how you 
 ar a gwine to rite a book, and you have been such an all-fired, rum- 
 hating,, ungumcious, obstinate old feller agin all likker sellin and. lik- 
 ker drinkiu, that I'm afeerd you will go to ritin some terrible stuff or 
 uther agin me that will poke mc like pitch-forks, and put it in yer 
 
. 17 
 
 book, and if you tlu that thar 'Squire, blow me it' i aint used up and 
 tee-totally ruinated as ever Van Buren was at the last 'lection, it' you 
 do that 'Squire I dont think as how it will be naberly to du that thai- 
 thing no how, as we want to live here in peese together as naburs 
 like, yu no, 'Squire, — Eh?" 
 
 ''Well now, Sam," says I, "what in the name of common sense 
 put it into your noddle that I was going to write any thing in my 
 book about you? The fact is, Sam, it is conscience that is haunting 
 you like the night-mare. You know you have done a great deed of 
 mischief by selling grog in that store of yours, and in that tavern too 
 which you own, and which you rented to neighbor Bobkins some 
 years ago. Now, after you have ruined your neighbors — made wives 
 miserable and broken-hearted, and children starved, hungry and rag- 
 ged — after having caused fights, stiife and misery in so many fami- 
 lies — now, forsooth, you talk as harmless as a sucking dove about 
 peace and quietness among neighbors. You can't come it over me 
 with your blarney in that way, Sam. I shall go ahead in the path of 
 my duty, boldly, fearlessly, in spite of all opposition, whether from 
 rum-sellers, rum-suckers, horned devils, black shpooks, or what not. 
 As to putting you down in my book, perhaps I shall if I think proper 
 to do so.'' 
 
 "Squire," says Ben, "I wish you would jist rede that drole peese 
 you made up about the Devil a comin arter the rum-sellers ; if that 
 don't eenamost make Sam's hair stand on eend like hog's bristles or 
 jLwA>o-pine kwills, my name ain't Ben Bobkins, that's all. That 
 dream is what I call a raal snorter ; its got the fire and spunk of na- 
 tive genus gumpshun in it, that are a fact." 
 
 " Yes," says Sam, " I wish you wood rede it Squire, I want to hear 
 it, but Ben needent think I am a gwine to be skeered so easy as he 
 makes out. I've seen tu many rum suckers a bavin the horrers and 
 thinkin the devil with the poker arter 'em, and all that sort o' thing, 
 to be skeered with trifles — eh? I say, Squire." 
 
 " Well, Sam," says I, "you seem to care but little about it; but I 
 can tell you it's no small matter in my humble opinion, to sell as 
 much grog as you have in your life. I would not wonder if you and 
 many others who have made and sold whiskey, and done so much 
 mischief — I would not wonder, I say, if you and thousands like you, 
 would be kidnapped and carried off by Old Scratch, down to the dark 
 regions of perdition, and 'have hot shins when you can't sit back.' 
 Sam you are a clever neighbor in many respects, and I wi.sh you no 
 harm; but you have persevered so long in selling grog, and injuring 
 our temperance society in this place, that it seems you would sell 
 your soul to the devil for three cents and throw in your body for 
 nothing. Sam, its awful serious business, if that good old Book is 
 true, and you will find it out yet, perhaps when it is too late. Sam, 
 remember what I say, and as you have heard me spout my cold-water 
 speeches at our meetings so many times, I shall not say much more 
 to you, for it seems to do no more good than boiling gun flints to try to 
 make them soft." 
 
 "Come, now Squire, you are tu pesky hard on me, aint he Ben? 
 3 
 
IS 
 
 a feller has tu du sumthin or anuther tu try tu make an honest livin, 
 and I keep store, and sell what folks want; and if they luill buy grog 
 and get drunk, why I jist lets 'em, that's all ; its a free country you 
 no, and if I don't sell, some body else will, and I mite as well make 
 monev out of it as any body else, I reckon.' 5 
 
 "Don't talk about sellin grog to make an honest livin, says Ben. 
 There is no honesty about it. It's a mean, low-lived, nasty, noisey, 
 smoky business, the whole consarn of rum-sellin, smelling or suckin, 
 as I no by bilter experience. Did'nt I keep your nasty rum tavern 
 there for three years, where Simon Sucker is now, and did'nt I get to 
 drinkin hard, and almost ruined ? I got in debt to you for rent, and 
 you wood uv skinned me alive all but and sold every thing I had, if I 
 had'nt jist a jined the cold-water society rite strate, at wonst, and quit 
 the dirty rum hole less than no time at all amost. The Squire, he 
 and a lew of tho sober folks lent me some money and helped me out 
 o' the scrupe, or you wood a ne.ar but uv taken my hide off o' me, 
 Sam. You no that, don't you now?" 
 
 " hang it, Ben, what in natur is the use a gwine to rakin up that 
 old hatchet," says Sam, very much nettled at Ben's plain, home-thrust. 
 "All I wanted was my own Ben ; a feller has to be careful and savin 
 you no, to see that his family has their just due. But J say, Squire, 
 lets hear that piece read, that Ben telled about, I want to hear it.'' 
 
 So I just drew out the paper from a budget I had, and read it to 
 them. I will here give it to my readers. I call this piece 
 
 "THE RUM-SELLER'S DREAM," OR "THE VISIT OF THE 
 DEVIL TO THE RUM-SELLER." 
 
 One night I went to-bed rather later than usual, for it was Saturday 
 night, and there had been, as usual, a large company at my house 
 that afternoon and evening, and I had taken in at the bar for liquor 
 ten dollars and a half, and considered my clear profits out of it eight 
 dollars. So you see what an eftormous profit there is in selling liquor 
 by the glass. When my neighbors came in for a glass of grog, those 
 that went on tick, I had a piece of chalk, and every time they took a 
 glass I just chalked down one mark in this way. My bar-room in- 
 side was all filled up with chalk marks, containing the grog scores of 
 my neighbors. Once a week I cast up the accounts, and entered 
 them in my Day-book. The accounts then read somewhat as follows : 
 
 Tom Tippler, dr. 19 glasses whiskey at three cents 57 
 
 Simon Sucker, dr. 7 " " " 21 
 
 Sam Swilltub, dr. 25 " " » 75 
 
 Jim Upstart, dr. 8 glasses wine at 6| cents 50 
 
 Jemmy Diddler, dr. one glass grog 03 
 
 206 
 
 In this way my weekly account would be from $5 to #10, and con- 
 sidering that four-fifths of this was clear profit, this with my travelling 
 eustem, in grog selling, gave me a constant income ; and though not 
 
19 
 
 large, it helped me along mightily. My weekly income from my 
 neighbors would pay for my provisions, groceries and wood. In fact, 
 the yearly grog bill of my best customer, Jim Guzzleall, paid my rent 
 regularly every year. It is true, when Jim settled up with me once 
 in three months, I pitied his wife and children, to think how he was 
 cheating them out of their honest bread and butter, and feeding my 
 children with it — but, then you know, that was his business, not 
 mine. 
 
 Well, as I was saying, it was quite late that night when I went 
 to-bed, and my head was so full of grog bills, rattling glasses, bar- 
 room noise and slang— cigar smoke, horse laughs, and that sort of 
 nonsense, that I tumbled into bed without saying a word of prayer; 
 in fact, 1 felt ashamed, and too guilty to try to pray. I lay awake 
 sometime, in a restless, confused state of mind, and finally got to 
 sleep. I dreamed that I heard a noise down in my bar-room, and 
 getting up, I lighted a candle and went down there to see if any tra- 
 veller was at the door, which I had fastened as usual that night. 
 
 When I entered the bar-room, I was much surprised to see a stran- 
 ger there of a very uncommon appearance. He had large whiskers, 
 a fierce black eye, a cloak wrapped around him, a pipe three feet long 
 in his mouth, and a huge cane in his hand. He pufTed out volumes 
 of smoke from his mouth that seemed a compound of tobacco smoke, 
 gunpowder, brandy and brimstone. I was half frightened out of my 
 wits. 
 
 "Ah! my honey," says the stranger, "you are not quite ready yet 
 to pay up, are you ?" 
 
 " Pay what ?'' says I. 
 
 " Oh,'' says he, "don't understand, do you? why, my share of the 
 profits, to-be-sure; have not you and I been in close partnership this 
 long time ? — didn't we enter into a league long time ago?" 
 
 " What league ?" says I, "I never entered into partnership with any 
 body that I know of; I never saw nor heard of you before, at any 
 rate. Who in the name of common sense, are you, sir?'' 
 
 "Aha, my dear fellow, you have been diddling with whiskey all 
 this long time, and don't know me? that's very queer indeed. I 
 shall enlighten your mind directly. I am the patron of rumsellers, 
 rumdrinkers and sots; the Prince of Darkness, the King of Pandemo- 
 niam, old Satan himself. Look here,'' said he, throwing open his 
 cloak. 
 
 1 looked and saw his body, which seemed to be all afire ; Says he, 
 " Landlord, there are a great many things in earth, and hell too. that 
 you don't know yet. Give me something to drink," says he, in a 
 gruff, surly voice. 
 
 " What'll you take," says I " Mr. Belzebub?" 
 
 " Set out all your decanters here," says he. 
 
 I was so scared I dared not disobey, and set them all out. He then 
 took them and swallowed them all down — liquor and decanters all at 
 once, and then swallowed all my tumblers on top of them. He then 
 puffed out of his mouth volumes of fire, smoke, brimstone, burning 
 
20 
 
 alcohol, and broken glass ground all into atoms, which shone very 
 brightly. 
 
 He then came into my bar, and says, ■'' Landlord, what are all 
 these little white chalk marks?" 
 
 I felt guilty, and was silent. 
 
 " Come," says he. "no snivelling, let's know all about it." 
 
 So I told him. He then run his finger along over the white marks, 
 and every one of them changed into a letter, as if written with fire ; 
 and then I read these fearful words — 
 
 Drunkenness, Crime, Poverty, Broken-hearted Wives, Ragged, 
 Cold, Half-starved Children, Misery, Ruin, Eternal Woe ! 
 
 "Landlord, where are your whiskey barrels ?" says he. 
 
 "There in the corner of the room." 
 
 "Hold the candle here." says he. 
 
 The Devil then marked on the barrel heads as if writing with his 
 fingers, and then ] saw these words in letters of fire as before ; — Rum 
 and Rain, Starvation, Hell-fire, Wickedness and Woe, Devil Traps, 
 Bait to catch Drunkards. 
 
 " my!'' says I, " Mr. Satan, I didn't know all this before. O 
 hoiror of horrors ! what will become of me ? Please let me off, Mr. 
 Satan, and I never will sell any more grog. I'll saw wood, black 
 boots, dig stones, raise potatoes, or any thing that's honest for a living." 
 
 " 0, no, Mr. Landlord, you needn't think to cheat old Nick in that 
 way. I must have my share of the profits, J have helped you make 
 mone)' a long time, and now you want to back out; no, no. The 
 Old Boy knows his business better. You must go with me now, Mr. 
 Landlord. 
 
 Saying this, the old fellow caught me under his arm, and sunk 
 down through the floor, amidst a terrible crashing noise, fire and 
 smoke, that almost suffocated and stupified me. When I came to my 
 senses, I found myself in the strangest place I ever saw. 
 
 "This place," says Belzebub, "is my dominion; now come with 
 me, and I will shew you the destiny of drunkards and rumsellers. 
 Do you see this wheel here with a man lashed to it? That is a rum- 
 seller. We call it Ixion's Wheel, because it turns forever; and these 
 two men who turn the cranks of the wheel are drunkards. 
 
 "Do you see that long hill, where the man is rolling up a large 
 stone ? As soon as he reaches the top of the hill, the stone rolls 
 down again, and Tie. has all his task to do over again — and so he tugs 
 forever. He too is a rumseller. Here, men," says he, " take this 
 landlord, and tie him to Ixion's Wheel." 
 
 T turned round and saw half a dozen horrid looking fiends just 
 ready to grab me. I made one desperate leap to run away, and woke 
 up all in a sweat, with a horrid screech that scared my wife. And 
 says she, "Husband, what's the matter?" 
 
 ' Matter enough," says I. "Such an awful dream !" 
 
 1 took a good drink of water, and it never tasted better in all my 
 life. I then resolved, if I lived till the next Temperance meeting, I 
 would join the Society, for let me tell you, there is nothing like cold 
 water! 
 
21 
 
 Rumseller! go ahead, if you will, in the path of hell-fire, but think 
 of the consequences, and remember the words of the poet: 
 
 "Do this, and Heaven's frown — thy country's ruse. 
 
 Guilt's fiery tortures ever burning; — 
 
 The quenchless thirst of Tantalus, 
 
 And Ixion's Wheel forever turning; 
 
 A name for which the pain'dest fiend 
 
 Below — his own would barter never, 
 
 This shall be thine unto the end, 
 
 Thy damning heritage forever!" 
 
 After I had read it, Sam looked very long-faced, and I began to 
 think the fellow was going to have a serious thought for once in his 
 life, at least, if he never did again. 
 
 " What du you think uv that, Sam?" says Ben ; " aint that a whop- 
 per?" 
 
 "I was jist a thinkin," says he. 
 
 "Thinkin? was yon," says Ben. "Are you sure of that, Sam? 
 was you actilly a thinkin? cause if you was I begin to have some hope 
 of you." 
 
 "Why, Ben,'' says I, "what do you mean? are you crazy, man? 
 do explain yourself." 
 
 " Why, Squire, I thought if Sam actilly had a thought, or even 
 half an idee; a sober one I mean, may be you cood spiice on another 
 half, and then he would have a hull idee; and then if he would let 
 that one go to seed, he might raise a crop on 'em in course o' time.' - 
 
 " Ben, git out doors with your nonsense, or up chimney if you 
 like, I don't care which;" says Sam. "I was a thinkin, Squire, 
 whether Ben had that dream when he kept my tavern there, and got 
 you to word it like, and kind o' dress it up in larned idees, or whether 
 you actilly made it up out of your own head, eh? F-say, Squire, how 
 was it?'' • 
 
 " I can't say any thing more about it now," says I. 
 
 "Squire jist leave Sam to find that out by his larnin, and let him 
 keep up a sharp look out that Old Scratch dont cum arter him in a 
 hurry too," says Ben. 
 
 " Well neighbors, we had some talk about going to town together 
 next week, you know," says I. What do you intend to do? I ex- 
 pect to be ready next Monday morning, and want to start immedi- 
 ately after breakfast, say at seven o'clock, if you will both be ready 
 with your wagons, and be here at that time, we wid all start off to- 
 gether." This arrangement being made, I bade my neighbors good 
 night, and they went home. 
 
 "Father," says my son Tom, I would not wonder if Sam Skinflint 
 would have the night-horse after him this very night, and the hum- 
 fluggins for a week to come, after hearing that Rum Seller's dream 
 read ; he need not pretend to stout it out so, and talk of his courage 
 and firmness, for I know him to be a great coward, after all. He has 
 courage enough to make money, and that's about all." 
 
 " Well, my son, we shall see ; Sam is a hard case I know. I wish 
 we could get all the neighbors to join our temperance society and 
 
2-2 
 
 then we would starve out him and Smon Sucker, who keeps the tav- 
 ern; but it is a very difficult matter to do this." 
 
 The next Monday morning, we got ourselves ready to start ofF for 
 the city. 
 
 "Come, Mother," says Tom, "have you got our things ready? We 
 shall want some cold victuals put up, to eat on the way-, for it's no use 
 to stop at the taverns on expense ; we want some cold boiled beef, 
 and pork, some, bread, butter, pickles and apples. If you have some 
 mince pies mother, we should like some of them put up t<>0, for father 
 will do justice to them and spare not, and what he don't eat, I can — 
 that's all." 
 
 "Turn," says I, '-be sure and not forget my trunk, for that has my 
 clothes and budget of papers in it; you know my son, }'ou would be 
 liable to forget it, for we don't take a trunk every time we go to 
 market." 
 
 " Very well, father, I will try to be particular about that, and take 
 care of the trunk on the journey too." 
 
 At about seven o'clock, the appointed time, my two neighbors Skin- 
 flint and Bobkins, drove their wagons along before my door. Sam, 
 from sheer selfishness, fed his horses well, and kept them in good 
 order for hard work, so they looked wcdl fed and strong; but he was 
 too stingy to keep his wagon and harness in good repair. When a 
 buckle was gone, he would fix up his "tacklin," as he called it, with 
 an old ru^ty nail and a tow string, or piece of twine. When Sam 
 carried chickens to market, he would take out the giblets, that is the 
 gizzard and pluck, and keep them at home, and save so much. If he 
 found a dead mouse in a flour barrel in his store, he would pick him 
 up, shake the flour from him, and save so much. Sam built a 
 house that cost him five hundred dollars to rent out. " There's a 
 house," says he, " that I built on half cents." His meaning was, 
 that since.he had been in trade, for twenty years or more, that he had 
 saved enough, by taking care to get the half cent in trade, to build 
 that house. When he took in butter into his store from the country 
 people, he would mix up the bad with the good, and put in some lard 
 slyly too, and then bring it to market. lie would buy eggs, and keep 
 them in his store a long time, till they were spoiled, and then bring 
 them to town to market. This is the way the city people get cheated 
 and imposed upon by the. country people in pay foK city rascality. 
 Dust in sugar, water in milk, and lard in butter, is all bad business. 
 
 After a pleasant journey, we all arrived safely in town, and put up 
 at Dunning's Hotel; here we found many of our neighbors from the 
 country, who like ourselves had come to market. If I can find a 
 temperance tavern in the city, I shall go there to board, though I like 
 Mr. Dunning and his house all but his selling grog. He has good ac- 
 commodation for wagons and horses, and as I came to town with my 
 market wagon, and brought some plunder to sell, such as potatoes 
 oats, chickens and other fixins, I drove up to his hotel in Oldtown 
 where a large portion of the farmers and wagoners from Baltimore 
 county and Pennsylvania always stop. Mr. Dunning, the landlord 
 takes great pleasure in waiting on his customers and pleasing them 
 
23 
 
 His house is kept in plain style for plain country travellers anil farmers 
 like myself. 
 
 Those dandy gentlemen who think nothing short of Barnum's or 
 some of the splendiferous grandee taverns would suit, I suppose would 
 not feel at home as [ do at Dunning' s house; but I doubt whether 
 there is any better living for the price, in any tavern or boarding 
 house in good old Baltimore, than can b^ found at the well spread 
 table of mine host of the Pennsylvania Hotel. 
 
 Mind now, I do not say there is not more flummery and nick-nacks 
 boiled frogs, fried nonsense, baked humbugs and one bothered thing, 
 and another. But for downright wholesome food — good, solid eating, 
 that kind that sticks to the ribs, and cheers up a body's spirits, and 
 makes him feel in a good humor with every body and every thing — 
 for this kind of living commend me and all Clodpoles to landlord Dun- 
 ning, and your very genteel folks and big-whiskered dandies, double- 
 refined exquisites, and all them queer critters may live on frog soups, 
 tadpole puddings, flie's tongues, musketoe's toe nails and slices of 
 nothing fried in the essence of wind instead of beef-steaks, and I have 
 no objection at all. Go it ye cripples, while your mo'ney lasts — and 
 then — what then? why then, go to work. 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 Which strings out like pumpkins on a bean-pole, a long mess of con- 
 fabs happenments and observations of various kinds, as Sam Weller 
 'would say, pertaining to men, matters and things in general, and 
 women in particular. 
 
 t( Squire, are you gwine down town," says Ben Bobkins, "dressed 
 as you are now? I wonder you did'nt bring your go-to-meetino- 
 clothes to wear in the city." 
 
 "Yes, Ben;" says f, " I am going through the city just as I am, 
 and if people don't like my dress, they can just do that other thin^ 
 you know." °' 
 
 " That's a fact, Squire, so they can. As for me I am nothing when 
 I am at home, but plain Ben Bobkins, a hard working man, who 
 
24 
 
 makes no pretensions to laruin or ettiket, as you call it ; but you are 
 one of our big folks, up in Snooksville, and you have so many ac- 
 quaintances here among city gentlemen, that I did 'spect you would 
 slick up a leelle. Your long tail blue coat, broad brim, and calf 
 skin boots, look middlin well." 
 
 " Why, Ben, the truth is, nine-tenths of what is called fashionable 
 life and etiquette, is mere moon-shine and humbug. Men of good 
 sense will esteem you or me, or any body else just as well, for dress- 
 ing plain and being economical. In fact, they think all the better of 
 us for it. Many of the most industrious wealthy, business men in 
 this city, are distressed with the folly and extravagance of their 
 wives and daughters, and their purses are lightened no little by their 
 expensive living. Some of these fashionable ladies will give as much 
 for a pocket handkerchief, Ben, as would buy you a good cow." 
 
 " O my stars, Squire, you don't say so; such a woman would ruin 
 all Snooksville in six weeks." 
 
 "True as codfish and pumpkins, Ben, that's a true bill," says I. 
 
 I will here give a description of my person and appearance. Im- 
 agine to yourself, kind reader, a man fifty years of age, six feet high, 
 neither too fat or too lean, a hard-fisted, grey eyed, shrewd looking old 
 fellow, with a good education, and a very good opinion of himself, 
 and you have the idee exactly. Then there's my broad rim hat, drab 
 box coat, corduroy indispensables, and thick cow-hide boots pulled on 
 over my trowsers, and stout hickory cane, to keep off the dogs, and 
 two-legged brutes. In this style you may see me poking about town, 
 with my head down, making " Pickwickian obsenrations," and ruarious 
 cogitations on men, matters and things in general. 
 
 After we had sold our things in the Bel-Air market, Ben Bobkins 
 and I and little Benny toou: a walk down Gay street, and there we saw 
 some people staring at a fine looking wide awake, live Rackoon in a 
 wagon, which a man held by a chain, and exhibited to the surround- 
 ing multitude, who were gaping with eager curiosity. 
 
 " I declare, dad/' says little Benny, "there's that same old Coon 
 what made such a fuss, in the times of hard cider, log-cabins, bum- 
 ble-bees and humbugs." 
 
 "Hush, boy," says Bobkins, " may be that's the young one; for 
 you no the papers said the old Coon was kilt dead as a door nail, 
 Squire. I seen a picter on 'im flat on his back, with his paws strate 
 up, sartin." 
 
 Crossing over to the other side of the street, we met my old gentle- 
 manly grandee friend, Colonel Tallman, a rich, polite man. 
 
 " How do you find yourself this time? Squire Clodpole,'' says he, 
 as polite as a basket of chips. 
 
 " Some how or other my dear sir, it always does me good to see 
 you and your farmer neighbors from the country, you always look so 
 healthy and cheerful. Your children too are all so plump and heartv, 
 when compared with many of our puny, pale-faced darlings in the 
 city. Here is Mr. Bobkins and his son now — I dare say they work 
 hard, and think some times their lot in life is not so easy as mine and 
 some others , but let me tell you all my friends, that you eat many a 
 
f 
 
 25 
 
 hearty dinner, and sleep away in peace many a sweet nap and happy 
 hour, when some of us who live in great houses, and ride in our 
 costly carriages, have many a head-ache, heart-ache, and poor appetite 
 even for a costly dinner, that you know nothing of. I think very 
 often, my dear sir, that there is not so much difference between the 
 rich and the poor, as many people imagine. I mean as to the amount 
 of real comfort and happiness, for that is what we all desire, Squire. 
 What is the use of all our houses, stores, lands, money or ships, if we 
 have not good health and peace Of mind? Ah sir, that good book 
 tells the whole truth about these things. "How hardly shall they 
 that have riches enter into the kingdom of heaven." And again — 
 'Hhey that will be rich, fall into temptation and a snare." Why sir, 
 if the city could speak out in a voice of power, like one of our big 
 guns, and tell the guilt, the sins and sufferings of only twenty-four 
 hours, of the thousands who have fallen into a snare, into utter misery 
 and despair, in consequence of their eager haste to get rich, the tale 
 of wo would make all quake and shiver with utter horror." 
 
 " Colonel, you talk old fashioned sober truth now — forgive me for 
 saying so to your face, if you please sir, but your eloquent ideas 
 chime in exactly with my homely notions, and therefore 1 feel pleased. 
 Believe me, sir, I would not move to this good city to live, and I 
 know it is one of the best places on the turtle shell of this round 
 world — by the way, Colonel, I believe some fool-osophers are of the 
 candid opinion that this world is not exactly round, but long-ish like, 
 and a little slanting at both ends like a goose egg, more than like an 
 orange. But that's nothing here or there, as a body may say. As I 
 was going on to observe, I would not be obligated to live here in this 
 city, cooped up like an old gobler in a sugar box, right in the midst of 
 dust, smoke, dirty air, and poor pump water, for that noble mansion 
 house of yours, as you call it, and all your block of ware houses, and 
 ships. What would be the use for a rusty, hard-fisted old codger 
 like me to try to live in that bursting great house of yours ? In the 
 first place, when I got to the door steps, I'd have to take out my big 
 jack knife, or pick up a chip and scrape the mud and dust off my 
 thick, clumsy clodhopper old cow-hide boots, and then I must march 
 up those nice, white marble steps, and then walk on your rich grandee 
 carpets. O no Colonel, bother my old pate, I can't stand that. I 
 was there once, and the women and girls looked so droll, as if they 
 were just ready to titter all out together, that I thought then you 
 should never catch me in that pen again very soon." 
 
 "Friend Clodpole, 1 am very sorry indeed," says the Colonel, "if 
 my wife and daughters were at all rude, or did not treat you with 
 proper respect and due consideration, as the worthy, though plain ag- 
 ricultural friend of their husband and father, for they certainly know 
 my opmions, feelings and wishes on all these matters." 
 
 "O, no Colonel, no such thing as that; don't misunderstand me, 
 my dear sir. Your wife was as lady-like as a Queen, and so smooth 
 spoken and said every thing so easy like, as if butter would'nt melt 
 on her tongue, and your girls were all so nice and proper, and walked 
 about so like cats watching mice, so soft and quiet, that it did make 
 4 
 
26 
 
 me feel kind of droll and awkward. The dinner was so good too, and 
 all that; but you can't wonder that I lost my appetite almost, when 
 you just think for a moment how different it was from what my plain 
 home is in every thing about it, up there in the country. There is 
 my plain two-story house, built with hewn logs you know, and my 
 small fifty acre farm, snug little barn, wagon house, garden, well, and 
 other things — and there's my son ploughing, going to mill, hauling 
 lime-stone, and all that kind of thing, as our out-door business; no 
 servants or hirelings, you know. Tom and I carry on the whole con- 
 cern ourselves. Then if you pass into our house, there's Aunt Polly 
 in the kitchen, with her two girls, cooking, washing, making sausages, 
 putling up pickles, and all them sort o' combustibles, as a body may 
 say, to kindle up the internal fires of animal life, and give vital energy 
 to this machine we all carry about with us. There's my home, Colo- 
 nel, and it's good enough for me ; for as the old saw has it, " home's 
 home, if it is ever so homely" — and I have always found it so. Give 
 me the country, where I can breathe the pure air of heaven as God 
 made it, drink cold water, and enjoy the freedom to rove in the woods 
 when and where I please — give me the health, happiness and peace 
 of a farmer's life, and your rich, grandee and quality gentlemen, may 
 have the city with all its artificials, fandangles, flummeries, dandy- 
 jacks, dancing monkeys, Mammy-diddles, birds in little hen coops, 
 forty-penujahs, what-nots, and what-d'ye call 'ems." 
 
 " Yes, Squire, I know all about it; what you say has volumes of 
 truth in it. And, sir, when people get up in the world as they call 
 it, even by hard work and industrious attention to business, they are 
 never satisfied, but are continually aping those above them in rank or 
 riches — those who they suppose above them as the world goes. 
 There now was an instance I will relate to you for illustration. 
 Mr. Simon Squeezehard began life by sawing peg-wood ; he then 
 went to peddling tin ware. After making money a few years, he 
 went into merchandising, and got rich. His whole soul was bent on 
 money and dashing splendor. Then he fancied he could associate 
 with the tallest aristocracy — the 'royal bloods' — those who pride 
 themselves on, not only their wealth, but their pedigree-, their stock 
 and family name, and their wealth obtained, not by vulgar labor, but 
 royal inheritance. Mr. Squeezehard imagined the moment he was a 
 hundred thousander, he could just go where he pleased, among any 
 aristocrats and nabobs whatever. But he found his mistake. At 
 every attempt he made to squeeze himself in among the lords, he 
 was repulsed, frowned down, and kicked out. 
 
 "Passing along one day, a knot of these big fellows were standing 
 at the corner of the street, and Squeezehard thought they knew him, 
 and wished to be recognised by them, as they had bought goods of 
 him frequently. So says he, 'Good morning, gentlemen — fine wea- 
 ther.' No body spoke; the nabobs were dumb as beetles. 
 
 l 'A mutual acquaintance present introduced him. 'Mr. Squeeze- 
 hard, gentlemen.' 
 
 '"Ah! hum, Mr. Squeezehard. Who is he? O yes, I see,' bring- 
 ing up their quizzing-glasses to the eye in an insulting manner. 'Why, 
 Mr. Squeezehard, I imagined I had settled your account, sir.' 
 
27 
 
 "Tnis was a terrible cut." 
 
 " Colonel, what is a quizzing-glass, sir? for I do not know, myself, 
 though 1 have often heard or read of them.'' 
 
 " Why, Squire, it is a small glass, originally designed to be used 
 by near-sighted people, to help them see persons and objects at some 
 distance ; but they are often used in these days of fashion and folly, 
 just to insult or quiz people as the name indicates." 
 
 " I thank you, sir, for the explanation. Well, now, this Mr. Squeeze- 
 hard must be very unhappy, after toiling to get rich, and now be 
 spurned by the very men whom he most desires to please. ! ' 
 
 "Yes, Squire, he is galled miserably; and stung to madness, in- 
 creases his efforts to make a grand display, as much as to say to 
 them, 'Gentlemen, I will let you all see what a grand house I can 
 build, and what a spla?h I can make.' He made a costly preparation 
 for a splendid party, invited two hundred of the quality, and only 
 about twenty-five came." 
 
 " Why, sir," says I, u the poor sinner must feel like Hainan. Now 
 what a pitiful farce all this is; it makes me laugh when I think of it, 
 and more than ever feel contented with my own humble lot. These 
 lovers of fashion are devoured with the fires of passion and folly." 
 " Yes, Squire, but it is very difficult to make fashionable people 
 believe these doctrines, especially the women; they are naturally 
 fond of dress and show, and they will be gratified, in one way or 
 another, in spite of husbands, fathers, hard times, politics, Clodpoles 
 or Parsons. There is nothing like the will of a head-strong woman, 
 if her husband is able to pay her bills — nothing like it, not even the 
 dogged obstinacy of the duellist and demagogue." 
 
 " Well, Colonel, this living in in great cities makes women prouder 
 than nature itself made them, and that is needless ; so you see a 
 country life is good on the score of economy, even for rich men, as 
 well as poor men." 
 
 "So it i*, Squiie, no doubt about it, sir, at all in my mind, though 
 some of us must live in cities to carry on the various kinds of busi- 
 ness that seem necessary, even for the comfort and convenience of 
 you farmers, as well as for our own. Where would you buy your 
 cloths, calicoes, molasses, suyar, salt and other things, if we all lived 
 in the country ? Town and country both have their advantages. I 
 love the city in the winter, and the country in the summer. There 
 are many comforts and privileges here in this great city which cannot 
 be had in the country with all its good air, good water, and other 
 healthy, quiet and peace-giving influences. Now for instance, in the 
 winter we have so many valuable, instructive lectures, from men of 
 highly cultivated minds, from all parts of the country, and sometimes 
 from other countries. Now, sir, it is my humble opinion, that we 
 not only need religious, moral and literary instruction, but relaxation 
 and amusement also. Yes, I say, amusement; so that if we wish to 
 put down theatres, balls, and circusexhibitions, and build up a system 
 that gives us rational amusement, with useful knowledge and profita- 
 ble instruction the best thing in this world we can do, is to patronize 
 these lectures. There our children too are assisted in their education.'' 
 
28 
 
 " Yes, Colonel, these lectures are very good for you and all who 
 have time and money to enjoy them ; — but how many poor men 
 there are, who seek in vain for the poor, pitiful privilege of obtaining 
 hard work to do, that they may have bread for their wives and chil- 
 dren, while their rich relations and neighbors are wasting thousands 
 of dollars in luxury and dissipation ; how many broken-hearted 
 widows,, and cold, hungry, suffering children — destitute of good food 
 and schools too — how many foolish, giddy-headed girls, and half 
 grown rowdies and vagabonds there are in this city, who will never 
 enjoy these lectures. Then again, I don't know where the vast ben- 
 efit is, any how you can fix it. We that live in the country, can 
 have our books to read, as well as you in the city; children in the 
 country are more talented and studious, more moral and iudustrious, 
 than in the city. It is as much as a boy's neck is worth to bring him up 
 in this great town. Here are fires, rows, grog shops, billiards, gambling, 
 bad houses of every vile, filthy grade, so that temptation and damna- 
 tion go hand in hand through the streets, ready to devour their victims 
 like sharks and alligators. Ah, sir, it makes my bones quake when I 
 ponder over these things in my midnight cogitations, and wide-awake, 
 daylight reflections. 1 tremble for the safety of my children, even where 
 they are, and have no desire that they should ever see this city at all, 
 in al! their lives. It makes me serious as any parson, but not wise as a 
 philosopher, (or the contemplation of these things puts me to my wits* 
 end, and no doubt has puzzled wiser men than either of us, Colonel, 
 to provide a remedy for such evils, saving your presence, sir." 
 
 "Squire, I tell you what it is; our preachers, school masters, news- 
 papers, temperance societies, and other institutions, do much good. 
 But the whole country has been thrown into a state of excitement 
 during the last fifteen years, that has almost ruined us as a nation. 
 Our business, our currency and credit have all been prostrated— tramp- 
 led in the dust. Our affairs will never be settled down and regulated, 
 until Henry Clay is elected President of the United States. Ever 
 since Old Hickory first came into power, what have we had but one 
 continued series of demagogues, destructives, defalcations, (brgeries, 
 bankruptcies, duels, murders, and all the species of crime that curse 
 nnd afflict the human race. People may vote politics a humbug, and 
 all of no use ; but sir, if our free institutions are of such great value 
 and paramount importance, it is as much the duty of all good men to 
 vote and use all proper means to elect good men to office, as it is to 
 read their bibles, provide for their families the com'brts of life, and 
 educate their children. Just think of the thousands who have been 
 ruined in business, morals and reputation since the United States 
 Bank was destroyed, and so many crazy banks sprung up in place of 
 it, making pap r mot ey as plenty as mushrooms and toad-stools, and 
 about as worthless. Look at the whole race of rag money and shin- 
 plasters; and all this outrageous and abominable humbuggery perpe- 
 trated and palmed off on the honest, hard-working, debt paying me- 
 chanics, farmers, tradesmen, and other industrious classes of society, in 
 the sacred name of Democracy. Squire, we must have a peaceful, polit- 
 ical revolution, bring the Whig party into power, and I believe it will 
 
29 
 
 be a great national blessing. I have no party hatred or unkind feelings 
 to indulge against those of our fellow sitizens who differ with me in 
 political opinion. I agree with the Democrats in some of their prin- 
 ciples, but not in all. I believe the great mass of our countrymen of 
 all political parties are honest, and sincere lovers of their country and 
 its institutions. But I am afraid many of the leaders, office-holders 
 and office-seekers are full of deception. It seems as if such men, 
 under the influence of a towering ambition — an overwhelming passion, 
 not so much to do some great act, as to be something — as if, in the 
 pursuit of their superlatively selfish and aggrandizing designs, would sell 
 themselves, soul and body to this spirit of pride, and throw in their 
 families and their country for nothing; a mere feather in the balance. 
 1 look upon the elevation of Henry Clay to the Presidency, by the 
 voice of his countrymen, a majority of them, as a desirable object, and 
 worth all our honorable efforts to achieve. I will not use the heathen 
 terms — destiny and fate — but 1 say Providence seems to be directing 
 and overruling events to bring about Clay's election. Patriotism, elo- 
 quence, poetry and music, will pour out their treasures in his cause. 
 Christians will pray for him. . Prayer and devotion will be enlisted in 
 his behalf, and praise will go up to heaven for his success, 1 trust and 
 believe.'' 
 
 Here Ben Bobkins, who had now been standing with us during (his 
 long confab, and who gaped with earnest curiosity at the Colonel du- 
 ring his out-pouring of Whiggery and Clay shots — not mud cannon 
 balls — Ben, 1 say, began to feel his whiskers, hitch and wiggle about 
 like a hen on a hot griddle, or a tadpole in muddy water, and drawing 
 up near to us, showed evident signs of firing off' a few hard hickory- 
 nuts at the Colonel, to pay for his soft, but heavy Clay cannon balls. 
 In other words, being a warm-hearted, honest Loker foker, he seemed 
 to have a nest of ideas in his noddle, that seemed to be raising a re- 
 bellion like five mice in a stocking, and stru^clingf for utterance. 
 
 "So" says he, " Kurnel, I can't pretend tu talk ekwull tu such gen- 
 tlemen as yourself and other men of much larnin and slick words, 
 that slip off uv their tungs like butter from a hot nife, or little round 
 shot from a shovel. But if you will allow me tu give my noshuns about 
 these State's affairs, J will jist observate that I think Gineral Jackson 
 one of the tuffest old fellers for haid fitin that I ever hearn tell on in 
 this ere diggins or any uther. The way he run agin the wild Simmy- 
 nole Injuns and gave 'em a likin was a caution to double headed 
 Dutchmen, who shet up both pepers when they shoot at any thing at 
 all. Then agin, ony see as as how. the old weteran soger piled up 
 the cotton bags down in them sugar swamps at Nu-Orryleans, and gin 
 Jonny Bull's lubberly calves such anuther drubbin as they did'nt get, 
 nor had'nt had for many a day. Dear me, Kurnel, did'nt he rout 'cm 
 out, pop 'em over like shootin ducks, lords, ginerals, sassy nabobs and 
 what-nots, and send 'em back (what was left on 'em) to old Ingland 
 with a jlea in their ears, and a terrible yankee hummin in their heads. 
 Hurra for Jackson and democracy, the hero of Nu-Orryleans, the man 
 what used up that awful monster, the great Bank, where the Britishers 
 had hid so much gold and silver, to buy up the poor white fokes of 
 
30 
 
 this free country, and make 'em all slaves, worse agin nor niggers; ha, 
 ha, ha. If it hadn't a been for good old Hickory with his heavy 
 heeled boot to crush the foul monster, Nick Biddle, Webster and Clay 
 would have had a king and queen over us poor, hard working fellers 
 long afore this time, 1 tell you, no mistake, Kurnel." 
 
 " Well, well, friend Bobkins, 5 T ou are an honest well-meaning man, 
 and I presume you think all you say is true. But it is a most laugh- 
 able farce, that furious, swearing, rum-steaming country politicians, in 
 their windy stump-speeches, lies, flattery, threats, bombast and brag- 
 gings, should deceive thousands of plain, honest, industrious and 
 christian men, and make them believe any tale, however false, absurb 
 and ridiculous, if it. is well spiced with Jackson democracy. British 
 Bank and Bcntonian yellow jackets. We must have the 'Schoolmaster 
 abroad," to teach the next generation better things." 
 
 "Colonel," says I, "how can you wonder at my abhorrence of all 
 party politics — the whole boodle of it, when I hear such droll talk. 
 Now here is neighbor Bobkins, who owns that he can't read or write 
 an atom, tho' he can thin/:, and hear other folks talk, spout their stump 
 speeches, preach, sing, and all that sort of thing; and Ben has a tol- 
 erable good knowledge box in common, every-day things, and that 
 kind of common sense which fits him well for his duties to his family 
 and the community, of which he is a member. But, my dear sir, 
 with all due respect for yourself and other genllemen who have 
 studied these things, I ask, in the name of common sense, what is the 
 use of such men as Ben and I, and thousands of others like us, to be 
 bothering our heads with politics, quarelling with our neighbors about 
 Hickory poles and Clay clubs, hard cider, log-cabins, Van Buren, cab- 
 bage and sour-krout, till the whole neighborhood is as sour as a swill- 
 tub, all in a ferment like Aunt Polly's jug of yeast, and all by the 
 ears, as if a barrel of mad hornets were turned loose among them. 
 We men that have to work for our living, have no time to waste in 
 such tom-foolery and nonsense. We had better be studying the tic- 
 tics of our own moral conduct — the tactics of animals and insects, or 
 even the philosophy of sheep-tics, so as to destroy them, rather than 
 to be blowing up these soap-bubbles of poliiics, just to see other folks 
 blow them down again.'' 
 
 " Why, Squire," says lie, "as things are, we must have parties in 
 politics 1 suppose, it is a good thing for the country ; one party 
 watches the other, and in that way, a constant vigilance is kept up 
 over the whole nation."" . 
 
 "Aye, Colonel; would it not be vastly better if 'all hands and the 
 cook,' as they say a'board a vessel, would just turn to, and watch 
 themselves; and then watch their business and their families. Let all 
 farmers especially, and other classes of working men, attend to this. 
 We had better watch the worms, bugs and gra c s-hoppers in our fields 
 and gardens, and see that they don't get' more than their share of the 
 cro p — we allow them a little,' as they all must have a living as well as 
 other folks. We had better watch our cattle, hogs and horses, and 
 try to improve the breed, make them more useful and profitable, watch 
 the weeds about our gardens and farms, and keep them down, and cul- 
 
81 
 
 tivate the minds of our children, that the weeds of ignorance, briars of 
 passion, and thistle-down of fashion, humbug and blathering, windy 
 party politics, be kept out of them. That is my way of looking at all 
 these things. 
 
 " How many people have left their business and '.neglected their 
 families, to go loafing, drinking, smoking and jawing together at nasty 
 low-lived rum taverns, bawling, blathering, swearing, betting and 
 gambling, filling the place with noise and confusion, worse than Bed- 
 lam ; getting into fights, riots and mobs, under the diabolical influence 
 of whiskey, and angry passions, stirred up by pride, laziness, office- 
 hunting, and the petty despotism of third-rate county politicians, and 
 impudent, mischief-making demagogues in little villages, who aspire 
 to be the great men of the place — raise a tempest in a tea-pot, or a 
 whirlwind in a tea-kettle; threaten all the ignorant men who wont 
 bow down to and vote for them : scare all the old women, talk soft 
 sawder and blarney to the young ones, to get the votes of their 
 sweet-hearts, and praise up all the children to flatter their mammas. 
 
 " Out upon all this I say, Colonel. I tell you, sir, of all the tyrants 
 in this land of freedom as we call it, the most heartless and unrelent- 
 ing is your little three-fip village demagogue, who rules the whole 
 roost with brazen impudence, if the people are soft sawny enough to 
 let him, and kicks up a row if any body is manly enough to oppose 
 him. We have plenty of these little-great men all over the country, 
 who dispute with the parson, kick the school-master out of his do- 
 minions and cow-hide him, or threaten to without doing it, like other 
 cowards ; bully the whole people if they wont vote for them, and 
 threaten to shoot all political opponents who come in contact with 
 their vain, pompous, bombastical royal highness. 
 
 " We want the curry-comb and scrubbing-brush of education, com- 
 mon sense and true patriotism, to put down all such stuff and non- 
 sense, and teach such impudent upstarts better manners and beha- 
 viour — to settle them down to their proper level in society, and com- 
 pel them by the force of a wholesome public opinion, to go to work 
 at some honest business, and be of some use to themselves and others. 
 Mr. Van Buren's experience might be of use to them ; he says that 
 since he quit politics and went to raising cabbage, he has been a hap- 
 pier man. That's the best thing Martin ever said. 
 
 " Nothing like farming, sir, to cool men down, be they used up 
 politicians, bankrupt merchants, starving lawyers, doctors, parsons, 
 poets, authors, school-masters, crazy philosophers, infidels, sceptics 
 with the higk-po or /ow-po. humfluggins or what-not, hard-work with 
 an honest heart, brings on a wholesome perspiration, gives a man a 
 sharp appetite, makes his knowledge-box bright ajid clear as a glass 
 house, and strong'as granite; makes him see things through the me- 
 dium of common sense, improves his health, puts new life and vigor 
 into him, and makes him quiet, peaceful and happy, if he attends to 
 all other duties also — cceterls paribus, as the college men say. 
 
 " O sir, there is nothing like old mother earth for us all. She gave 
 us birth — gives us food and drink, and will cradle and harvest us all 
 at last. Why need we bother our heads about any other planet ? 
 
32 
 
 why fret away our seven senses with moon-struck poets', in gazing at 
 the sun, moon and stars ? Perhaps in a future and happier state of 
 existence, we may be mercifully permitted with nobler intellectual 
 powers, to know more of tho other planets', and the illimitable uni- 
 verse, spread out by the hand of the Creator in boundless space. But 
 T think all men, however wi-se and learned, in their own eyes, or 
 those of others, may find room for all science to operate in, in the 
 wide fields of agriculture, mechanics, education, morals and religion, 
 without wasting so much time, ta'ents and energy, at much other 
 expense, in the study of ten thousand things which man in this life can 
 never know, and which would do no good if they were known. 
 
 '' How much better it is for us to stick to the plain, easy path of 
 duty, and move straight along in the good old way in which all 
 honest, sensible men have always tried to do, than to soar upward on 
 the wings of imagination, in our foolish, ambitious aspirings, till we 
 fly like a blind bat into the dark regions of mysticism, doubt and 
 despair — run ourselves against the breakers and sand-bars of destruc- 
 tion, and plunge into the deep, overwhelmed by the waves that break 
 over the ocean of time, and be buried forever in gloom from the 
 sight of men, leaving them no bright beacon, glittering in the rain- 
 bow of hope — but clouds and storms and dread dismay ! 
 
 " How much better is it that we plod along in the path of common 
 sense, than tread the high-way of science, 'falsely so called,' and 
 wear the names of wise men and philosophers — so that we lead others 
 in the paths of honest peace of mind, and rational happiness, rather 
 than blind, dazzle and bewilder, as many of these pretended systems 
 of philosophy do? You may as well hunt for a fine cambric needle 
 in a hay-stack — try to fish up tad-poles from the Atlantic ocean with 
 a salmon net, or try to raise corn on the paved streets, as to try to 
 find good thoughts in some of the writings of our most learned col- 
 lege men. 
 
 " Sir, these colleges ought to be looked into, ploughed up, harrowed 
 down, raked and sifted by the common people, the mechanics and 
 farmers. What is the use in having mills to grind out so many law- 
 yers, doctors, and classical chaps, to talk soft sawder to the women, 
 and gull their living out of other folks, when they would be of more 
 use at the pick-axe, fore-plane, or blacksmith's forge? The hard- 
 fists in this land must wake up, take hold of the breaking up plow of 
 public opinion, hitch on a strong team of free presses, and press 
 through and break up this rotten mass of society, turn over the sod of 
 hard 'upper crust,' and bring up the sub-soil to the light of meridian 
 day. Then will brainless fops, strut-bugs, tape-cutters*, counter-hop- 
 pers, genteel loafers, polite vagabonds, quacks, empirics, gullers and 
 humbugs, sink to their proper level, and black boots, scrape streets, 
 saw wood, cut hoop-poles, or dig at some useful employment for their 
 grub. Then will the science of moonshine, the philosophy of soft 
 soap and gullibility, the windy declamation of stumping ranters, give 
 place to common sense and right eloquence with true love of country.'' 
 
 While I was spinning out this long fuzz-ball as we stood in the 
 street, a gentleman near by, who stood in the door of his store, and 
 
33 
 
 seemed to be attracted with our conversation, came up and invited us 
 into his store to take a seat. The Colonel introduced me to this gen- 
 tleman as Mr. Reuben Radical, merchant. J found him a whole-hog 
 Jackson Democrat. 
 
 " Squire Clodpole," says he, (< my worthy friend here, the Colonel, 
 has been laying down his opinions in a very emphatic and strong 
 manner, and I respect both him and his opinions, and you too, sir. 
 But, sir, we must hear both sides and then judge each for ourselves. 
 I look upon the Whig party as the real nabobs and aristocracy of the 
 nation. Look at the United States Bank, with all its moneyed power, 
 with a rich, talented man like Nicholas Biddle at the head of it, to 
 wield its immense power — a power in the hands of one man to raise 
 up or crush down the prosperity of the whole nation — make or break 
 its business by one scrape of his monarch pen. Is such a money- 
 king, such a money-power a safe institution in this country ? Sir, I 
 believe its more dangerous than a standing army. I rejoice that the 
 old Hero had moral principle and nerve enough to crush the mam- 
 moth money-monster under the heel of his executive veto. His 
 fame will brighten through all coming time as the very Napoleon of 
 democracy, the unconquerable hero in the cause of the poor man, of 
 down-trodden and oppressed humanity. The career of Jackson is 
 one of the brightest and most glorious in the annals of the human 
 race ! And let me tell you, Squire, that Tom Benton is the only 
 man in this nation lit to tread in the footsteps of his 'illustrious pre- 
 decessor' — the immortal hero of New Orleans." 
 
 While Mr. Radical was pouring out this jug full of hickory nuts, 
 like a bag of humble-bees, or a leather stocking full of yellow wasps 
 and hornets, in answer to the Colonel's Whiggery, and to my no-patty, 
 mind-your business, and stay-at-home politics, Ben Bobkins gaped 
 and stared at him with delight, and his eyes brightened up, and stuck 
 out so, you could almost hang your hat on 'em, as they say sometimes 
 down East. 
 
 The fact is; that Ben was mightily pleased to hear his democratic 
 friend crow so loud, and hurrah for Jackson the hero of New Orleans, 
 in such a talented eloquent manner; and I could see by his move- 
 ments that he thought the Colonel was middling well used up. After 
 some general conversation among us all, about the weather, farming, 
 killing bed-bugs, catching grass-hoppers to feed chickens with, shooting 
 musketoes and other varminls, we all separated, and Ben Bobkins and 
 I with Benny, pushed on in our perambulations about town, poking 
 our long noses into one bothered place or another, to see what sort of 
 critters there are in the world. 
 
 We went into rum-taverns, grog-shops, billiard-rooms, and other 
 places, where we saw gamblers, idlers, drunkards, and all sorts of lazy 
 loafers, from the genteel, big-whiskered monkey tribe, who strut about 
 town, cheating their living out of tailors, hatters, shoe-makers and 
 honest, hard working women, who keep boarding houses, down to 
 fie toper who lounges about all day, ragged and half-starved to death, 
 and sleeps in an old hogshead or lime box at' night, or under a pile of 
 boards, just as he can get a chance. 
 
34 
 
 •' O daddy," says little Benny, "jes look thar, what kind o' critter* 
 is them ar, what looks so much like rats a peekin out uv a bunch of 
 moss or horse hair? ony see 'em dad. Their faces look so like hu- 
 mans, but hair all round 'em, like them thar monkeys what we seen up 
 to our diggins, when the grand caravan come along, you no, eh ? 
 
 "Why, boy," says Ben, "them fellers is what they call dandies 
 and fashionable gentlemen ; some on 'em has rich daddies and mam- 
 mas, so they jist goes about town, drinkin grog, smokin cigars, lookin 
 at the city gals, laffin, talkin nonsense, and doin nothin for a livin at 
 all. Some on 'em aint got no rich relations, 'cause they have spent 
 all their money, and as these big, lazy lubbers once had rich 
 friends, now they have f oled away all their money, they jis go 
 about doin nothin, ony gunnin, playin billiards, ridin out in carriages, 
 and pretendin to be rich and genteel, when they aint worth a leather 
 jacknife to their names. They runs in debt for their clothes and never 
 pays ; they gits other fokes to invite 'em home to dinner, and by wis- 
 iting and spungin on every body as won't kick 'em out of their houses 
 they manage to get along, and live without workin. They calls it 
 wulgar to woik, Benny, because as how they say it makes their hands- 
 look hard and dirty, and they say all gentlemen should wear gloves 
 on their hands, and keep them clean and white, all nice to shake 
 hands with the ladies. I expect these fellers when they gits so hard 
 up for the want of cash, when they borrows all they can and never 
 pays, when they gambles and loses, and nobody won't give 'em no- 
 thin, and they wont go to work and aim nothin, cause they are 
 too proud and lazy. I expects it is then that they goes to hooken 
 things as what don't belong to 'em, and sells 'em to raise the 
 wind; right down stealin, that is Benny. And when these fellers 
 once begins to steal, Benny, the owdacious willins grows wurser 
 and wurser, till they robs and shoots fokes for (heir money, and 
 has to go the prison or the gallus. O, Benny, its a dreadful thing 
 to think on, my boy, we are poor, and have to work hard for our 
 livin, but we git it honestly, and that makes us comfortable and happy. 
 But them willins as what never was brot up to any kind of honest 
 hard work, and cheats fokes, they are dreadful guilty, miserable 
 wretches upon airth. Ah, my boy, I hope you will always be honest, 
 industrious and sober, and then you will do well, be prosperous and 
 happy, and honest fokes will all like you, and help you along." 
 
 I was very much amused with this confab between my neighbor 
 Bobkins and his little boy, and was glad to hear him talk so to him. 
 This conversation was caused by our meeting several young men of 
 the dandy order, and little Benny had never seen any of the curious 
 critters before in his life. 
 
 "Squire," says Ben to me, "your grandee friend, Colonel Tallman, 
 talks like a book, dont he? did you twig what he said about women 
 tho'? so airnest, and plain spoken too. Squire, I would' nt a mite 
 wonder if he node by bitter experience, something about headstrong, 
 extravagant women; maybe his wife and galls too, who look so dred- 
 ful nice" spend his money, and run in debt owdaciously, and then you 
 no he has got to pay the bills, and maybe have a botherashun and 
 blow-up with 'em at home, and a real hurra. That's what the rich 
 fokes calls the billy up fever I reckon; ain't it Squire?" 
 
35 
 
 i( I expect it is Ben," says I, " for these rich men have to pay 
 some most abominable bills, where their women run in debt, Why 
 Ben, some of them think nothing of giving twenty dollars for a pocket 
 handkerchief, fifty to a hundred dollars for a shawl or a cloak, and 
 every thing else in proportion. One of these fashionable women will 
 wear enough on her back at once, to buy a farm. These rich men 
 and fashionable women have a heap of trouble and botheration, jaw- 
 ing and quarreling in their families, among their proud, dissipated sons, 
 and foolish, vain and scornful daughters, that you and I know nothing 
 about. But they have money, and can hush up, and cover over these 
 things, when if they happened in a poor man's family, it would be 
 the town's talk, and the people would almost tar and feather 'em. 
 But riches cover up a multitude of sins and iniquity." 
 
 "Yes, Squire," says Ben, "riches and rich men, proud extravagant 
 women, and lyin lawyers, with the help of wicked, unjust judges on 
 the bench, kiver up a heap of sins. If a poor feller, half starved to 
 death, hooks a fip, or a loaf of bread, to keep his poor soul from jum- 
 pin out of his feeble body, the law jumps on him like a tiger or a 
 bloody bull-dog in a minit, and they use him up at wunst, no mercy 
 on the poor miserable, no more nor if he was a nigger at auction. But 
 if one of them ar gamblin loafers, what wears fine cloth, and has rich 
 relations, if he steals a few hundred dollars in broad day light to spend 
 on a spree, and happens to get caught, then the law, all at wunst is 
 as crooked as a ram's horn, as snarly as the odds and eends of tangled 
 nittin work, as full of sharp pints as a nest of hornets and lamed 
 lawyers and long headed judges will bring the rich feller out of the big 
 eend of the horn, as slick as a lizzard. Squire, there's a great deal 
 of humbug mixed up with eenamost every thing now-adays that hu- 
 mans has enny thing to do with — and I sumtimes think larned men 
 with all their big talk and slick words, sharp eyes and noin looks; 
 these doctors, lawyers, judges, college larned parsons, and full-oso- 
 fers, are the biggest humbugs of all, 'cept human nalur itself, which I 
 believe is greatest of all, where it runs wild, without regulation — it's 
 worse nor a wild hoss, the big bug of all — the perMfiz grand-daddy of 
 all humbugs. Dear me, Squire, what a terrible hummin and buzzin 
 they alldw make in the world, tu be shure." 
 
 " Ben," say I. " if you don't quit thinking about those matters, you 
 will get as crazy as a bed-bug, or a raving distracted hand-saw. You 
 talk about hummins; why man, if such a shallow pate as you are, get 
 to bothering your noddle about Millerism, Mesmerism, Metaphysics, 
 old side and new side, radicalism, reform, and all those things, with a 
 thousand other isms, your head will gel like what the old woman who 
 had the hypo told the quack doctor — or the doctor told her, I guess — 
 no matter much which." 
 
 Says he, "Madam, the sery bellum of your knowledge-box, in 
 consequence of a serious and decided concussion of the nocturnal 
 membrane in contact with inanity has suffered a most violent lapsus 
 linkum! — there is something in your head, that continually goes tiz- 
 arizzum, tiz-arizzum, like wagon wheels when they want greasing!" 
 
 " O doctor, doctor," says she, "what a dreadful larned man you are, 
 
36 
 
 for you are the only one that has described my feellns exactly, better 
 nor I could do it myself, by half. You must be one of them are tran- 
 sendenters I hearn tell on, what we poor common people can't tell 
 what they mean, when we hear 'em talk.'' 
 
 " Yes, madam,'' says he, " 1 am a transcendentalism I soar on the 
 wings of fancy into the sublime regions of never-catch-me, the clouds 
 and mists of incomprehensiuility, like a wildgoose in a whirlwind of 
 mental and moral midnights, and perch on the mountain summits of 
 cant-see-me-no-how-you can-fix-it, like a blind gobler on a hen roost! 
 I dive into the depths profound of learned profundity, like a tad-pole 
 in the ocean, a terrapin in the mud, or a flea in a bag of feathers, and 
 am forever lost in wise and learned meditation, like a blind bat in the 
 fathomless void of empty space." 
 
 "Dear me; doctor, aintit shockin hard work? I should much rather 
 wash or knit all day myself, and I should think that would be a tuff 
 job for men, sayin nothin about women's divin so deep; for my old man 
 wunst went down in a divin bell, and he come pretty near never seein 
 day light agin; and there was my son Sam, the harum-scarum feller, 
 he tried to make a machine to fly — soaring up, I think he called it. 
 Wal, the critter gets up on the pig pen with his fly in consarn, and 
 when he was jist ready to soar, he fell whack into the pig pen among 
 the hogs, got a sore head, and like to broke his neck." 
 
 "Now Ben, I want you to put that in your pipe and smoke it. It's 
 no sort of use for you and me to trouble ourselves with every thing 
 that's going on in the world. Our great business in this world is to 
 follow the teachings of the good book, do our duty to our families and 
 every body else, be honest, industrious, humble and prayerful, and 
 then we will have peace, plenty, health and happiness, as a genejal 
 thing. We know indeed, that all these comforts and blessings are 
 liable to interruption, change, loss and disappointment. But what of 
 that? all these trials and losses shall prove to us most glorious bless- 
 ings, if we all live right. that all men would simply remember 
 those two short words, — live right. How easy to do that. But you 
 say, " how shall we live right? that is the very thing we wish to 
 know." Here is the rule. "Be diligent in business, fervent in 
 spirit, serving the Lord." What a glorious consolation it is to be en- 
 abled through grace to bear all our trials as blessings, as the needed 
 corrections of our Father in heaven, who loves us better than all 
 earthly friends possibly can, and who knows what is best for us. 
 Ben, there is a great deal of deception, injustice and cruelty, in the 
 world, as you suppose. It makes me sad and heavy hearted when I 
 think of it. But let us remember those things about which there is 
 no deception. Our farming is a reality; no mistake here. By our 
 labor we obtain an honest living. The bible is a reality; a present, a 
 glorious, an eternal reality. There is no mistake here! O that I could 
 engrave the line on every human heart, with the pencil of truth, 
 there is no mistake here! Let us then walk in the straight and narrow 
 way pointed out to us in its pages, by the Saviour of men, that so we 
 may happily find our way through this world of trouble, to the better 
 world, 
 
37 
 
 11 Where sickness, sorrow, pain and death,. 
 Are felt and feared no more." 
 
 " Squire, you talk so like our good minister, parson Preach well, that 
 it makes me feel as sober as a deacon. You cant wonder, Squire, that 
 there has bin so much noise and fuss in our village, and talk and hub- 
 bub among the neighbors, about religious things, because Millerism, 
 old side and new side, mesmerism, and what-not, has set the people 
 all by the ears, and turned our happy little village almost up-side 
 down. I have been so discomboberated about these things, thai half 
 the time I did'nt no what to 'blieve, and what not, that's a fact. I've 
 bin real bothered and sometimes felt dredful unhappy, Squire, worse 
 nor you or mv family node enny thing about — I tell you.'' 
 
 "I know all about it, Ben, I understand all these things from Ion* 
 and bitter experience. I have felt much for you, and for others of 
 our neighbors, in the midst of all this excitement, turmoil and both- 
 eration. My own mind has never been at all excited or troubled 
 about Millerism ; tho' I certainly esteem and respect highly some of 
 those who have believed and preached the doctrines; they seem to 
 have studied their bibles more faithfully than any body else I have 
 met with of late. 1 feel reproved by them myself. I abhor the con- 
 duct, however, of some cowardly papers, now the time is past, who 
 turn round and scoff at the Millerites, whose editors probably prav and 
 read their bibles but little, altho' they profess to be luminaries to" light 
 the world, on many matters. May heaven have merey on us, and 
 save us all from being led astray by the false light of all these self- 
 styled luminaries, whose brightest sheen is reflected from the altar of 
 Mammon, be they sun, moon or stars in the world's firmament, and 
 send us celestial Visiters, free as the wind, unen&laved by a corrupt 
 public opinion, glittering with diamonds from the rain-bow of Hope, 
 and scattering life, light and freedom every where. But I see I am 
 rather running off the plain track, Ben, as I want to talk plain Eng- 
 lish to you, as that suits my notions best, and no doubt you under- 
 stand that kind of talk the easiest." 
 
 "That's a fact, Squire; you genprally talk so that any body at all 
 can tell what you mean. But jest now, when you got on your hio-h 
 heels, and begun to talk about sky-scrapers, and all them stars and 
 things, 1 cant follow you; that kind of talk must be kept for poets as 
 you call 'em, and other larnt men." 
 
 " Well Ben; I will try to keep in the plain way; but I guess some- 
 body will understand that, if you don't. It takes philosophers, with 
 a good telescope, to see spots on the Sun, and sights in other planets. 
 Ben, the great idea I wished to impress on your mind, was this; now 
 that you have become temperate and reformed, be thankful; take 
 another step. Become a man of prayer, a humble, faithful, bible 
 christian, and leaving all these Isms, and politics too, move straight- 
 along, fix your eye on the Lord Jesus, trust in Him, and you will 
 find that wisdom, knowledge, peace and happiness, which is worth 
 more than all the philosophy, eloquence, poetry and learned wisdom 
 of all the men of talents, genius and wit, that ever lived, without 
 
38 
 
 that one treasure, the pearl of great price. The religion of the bible 
 is worth more than all other things, and it is freely offered to all men. 
 O, take it my friend, and let all eise go, for go they must very soon; 
 all our treasures, our homes, friends, farms or other possessions — yea, 
 even our lives too, all must be swept away by Time, the great de- 
 stroyer, and we ourselves, our immortal spirits, be wafted to the un- 
 known, untried world. ; let us all be wise enough to secure the 
 best treasure in the Universe, the Religion of the Bible." 
 
 "Squire, I know I've bin a poor miserable sinner, — a drinkin, 
 swearin man, and its truly an astonishin wonder thai I've not bin cut 
 down in all my misery and sins like many other poor, degraded sots. 
 Its a mercy that I'm alive this day. I've mourned and cried and suf- 
 fered much. But its dredful uphill bizness to get good, when a feller 
 has sunk so low as I have ; but I thank God I am not as bad off as I 
 have bin, and I hope in his mercy, and mean to try hard to do better, 
 and grow better. When I see the awful wickedness of this great 
 city, I'm glad that I've lived in the country, and that my family are 
 there. Dear me, if I had bin raised in this place, I'm afeard I would 
 have bin ruined teetotally long afore this." 
 
 •* Well, my dear fellow, trust in that good Providence that has 
 rescued you from the vileness of drunkenness, and made you a sober, 
 industrious and happy man, in a good degree, and made you once 
 more a comfort and blessing to your neighborhood and family. Re- 
 solve daily in the strength of God to do your duty, to seek salvation, 
 and push your onward way to heaven, and I hope and trust we may 
 finally meet there the millions of happy redeemed souls, who have 
 gone up through great tribulation, and triumphed over all affliction — 
 the blessed 'spirits of just men made perfect,' who join in the glorious 
 anthems of heaven, and unite th ir voices with angels, in the celes- 
 tial music of that bright and glorious world, which 'eye hath not seen, 
 nor ear heard.' " 
 
39 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 Containing a variety of matters on various subjects, which will be 
 found interesting to parsons, poets, philosophers, fools and silly- 
 putes of all kinds, as well as to clod hoppers and other honest hard- 
 working: folks. 
 
 I went to my hotel, and left Ben after the conversation and very 
 serious interview contained in the last chapter; here I found the 
 Yankee schoolmaster, Mr. Timothy Tutorall, who teaches our school 
 in Snooksville, and boards with my family. The writings of this 
 gentleman in the Saturday Visiter have been generally admired. He 
 brought a letter to me from home, which I will give here, in explana- 
 tion of matters and things, at this stage of the proceedings about this 
 book of mine. 
 
 " Snooksville, April 1st, 1844. 
 
 " My Dear Father, — This is all fools' day, but 1 am not going to 
 try to make a fool of you, my dear old daddy, because I love and 
 respect you too much, and you are such a shrewd, knowing old fel- 
 low, it wouldn't be any use for me to try — and then again 1 have too 
 important matters to write about. Father, you must hurry home as 
 fast as you can. Mother and the girls are half crazy to see you, and 
 I feel lonesome myself; besides that, old Dobbin has kicked Long- 
 shanks and lamed him badly, and he wants seeing too. The grain 
 looks well. 1 have ploughed up the corn ground, and am hauling out 
 the lime. Old Brindle's calf is near a month old, and ought to be 
 killed and sent to market. The old Berkshire sow has ten pigs; 
 there are six broods of chickens hatched out. The goose and turkey 
 have been settng three weeks, and the gander is missing — gone off 
 on a fox-chase I expect. 
 
 Your loving son, 
 
 Thomas Clodpole." 
 
 When I read this letter from my dear Tom, it made me as uneasy 
 as a hen on a hot griddle. I flew round like a pea in a hot skillet, or 
 parched corn in a Dutch oven. I fizzed, and fussed and figetted till 
 I come near going off the handle. I was afraid to lose that o-ood 
 horse, old Longshanks, and that would sink all the profits of my book, 
 and then I should almost wish I had never touched the thing, or bo- 
 thered my head with literature, but staid at home and minded my 
 own business, and let the booksellers go to grass. However, thinks 
 I, old Clodpole, now don't act like a fool, but shew your philosophy, 
 and keep calm as a summer's evening, and cool as a cucumber. 
 
40 
 
 I invited the schoolmaster up to my chamber, and sitting down 
 very composedly, took up my manuscript and read it all very care- 
 fully to him, and asked him to make such suggestions and alterations 
 as he thought proper, as a learned critic and classical scholar, because 
 I know his taste and style are more of the modern date than mine — 
 because I am an old fashioned, rough, unfashionable rustic codger, 
 the best way you can fix it. But Mr. Tutorall, the schoolmaster, is a 
 gentleman and a scholar, as the editors say, and his writings have 
 gone all over the land, and been copied into other papers, so that it 
 can truly be said of him, " the schoolmaster is abroad." 
 
 When we had got through, I said to him, "Now, Mr. Pedagogue, 
 you are a man I know well, and you know me. I want you to tell 
 me candidly what you think of my writings. Don't poke any soft 
 soap in my face, but if you think it all a heap of nonsense, just say so, 
 and I will poke the whole concern into the fire at once, and clear out 
 for home directly." 
 
 " Well, Squire Clodpole," says he, "I shall endeavor to speak my 
 honest opinions as you have requested me, and I thank you kindly 
 for the confidence you repose in my judgment. It is true, Squire, 
 that many worthy, religious people will think some of your writings 
 to be nothing but nonsense, when they would at the same time 
 greatly admire the writings of many philosophers and metaphysicians, 
 simple because they are clothed in high sounding, beautiful language, 
 although they cannot understand a word scarcely of it at all. Your 
 ridicule of philosophy run mad, of useless learning and the humbugs 
 of fashionable life, I admire, and think they will do good. Your de- 
 scriptions of country life, and domestic, rural scenes are graphic, 
 humorous and attractive. I think the book will succeed well, please, 
 instruct, and edify thousands, and put money in your pocket and into 
 the coffers of your publishers. Sir, I most heartily wish you all 
 success.'' 
 
 "Mr. Pedagogue," says I, ''I thank you most kindly for all your 
 good feelings and wishes. And now my dear sir, I have one more 
 favor to ask of you, if I may presume on so doing. I must go home 
 this day by the cars, and attend to my farm ; Tom wants my assist- 
 ance. I wish you, sir, to write a few pieces to fill out my book, go 
 and see my publishers, superintend the printing and all that sort of 
 thing, and you will place me under lasting obligations." 
 
 "Why, Squire,'' says Mr. Tutorall, "I am willing to do any thing 
 in the world to accommodate you, sir, but it is a very delicate thing 
 you ask, and the responsibility is great indeed." 
 
 " No excuse, sir," says I, "you can fix every thing all right, a heap 
 better than I can do it myself. No mistake ; so just go ahead, if you 
 please. You understand!" 
 
 Mr. Public: — As my worthy friend, Squire Clodpole, has urged me 
 into this business nolens volens, and as it is impossible for me to refuse 
 any thing the old gentleman asks of me, T will now introduce myself 
 as Timothy Tutorall, the author of "Recollections of a Yankee 
 Schoolmaster," and Principal of the Snooksville Academy, in Balti- 
 more County, Maryland, near the Pennsylvania line. Squire Clod- 
 
41 
 
 pole has left town, and I am now occupying his room at Running's 
 hotel. I find the country people who stop here at the hotel, are very 
 anxious to see his book published, and I shall finish it, and try to 
 have it ready by the first of May, when the great conventions meet. 
 I anticipate a rapid sale, and should be sorry to insert any of my own 
 writings, that would have any tendency to diminish the popularity of 
 Squire Clodpole himself. I will here insert some articles selected 
 from his own papers which he left with me, to finish out this chapter, 
 and then give my own writings in the next chapter. Here is a letter 
 which was published in that popular newspaper, the "Baltimore 
 Saturday Visiter,'" which may well be styled the " Lterary Journal 
 of the United States." This letter was very popular at the time of its 
 publication, especially among the farmers, and I think it a pity it 
 should be lost. 
 
 Letter from Squire Clodpole to his son Tom. 
 
 Baltimore, July 3d, 1843. 
 
 Dear Tommy, — You know the other day I had old Dobbin Gray 
 and Long Shanks harnessed up in our market wagon, and that I come 
 off to town, early in the morning, having left Snooksville at half past 
 three o'clock. Ben Bobkins came along with me, as times being 
 dull in the country, he wanted to get employment in the city. I sold 
 out my load over at the Bel-Air market, and came back to Dunning's 
 hotel, where we had stopped. Here I took off my old "rusticuffs" of 
 clothes, and put on a new suit. Thinks I, old Clodpole, you are now 
 going down into the busy part of the city, where you will see some 
 city gentlemen. So you must slick yourself up. So I just put on 
 my bran fire-new suit, corduroy breeches, and frock coat, stout cow- 
 hide boots pulled on over the bottom of m}' inexpressibles, my broad 
 rim white hat, drab wnist-coat, and no stock or handkerchief around 
 my neck, but in place of it, a piece of black ribbon. Accoutred and 
 equipped in this manner 1 took my stout old hickory cane, and started 
 with Ben Bobkins on our peregrinations. Little Ben came with his 
 daddy, too. As we came along one of the streets, we saw a drove 
 of fat porkers, that seemed tired with their journey. 
 
 " O dad. jist look a' there — what in the name o' natur, are the men 
 doing with that are hog — they are rolling him up into that Dutch 
 geboggin, or Yankee-jumper, as if he was a log o' wood." 
 
 Sure enough, one of the poor grunters, a very fat one, had laid 
 down in the street to rest, and the men could get him no further. So 
 some paddies had come with a dray, to pick him up like a log of 
 wood, and roll him on. When the men had got him fairly loaded, 
 poor porky tumbled off* into the dirt, and made a most laughable 
 scene. The people gathered round in large numbers. So they loted 
 porky on a second time — and a second time he tumbled off. Then 
 there was a roar of laughter They tugged away again, loaded him 
 up and drove off, the boys shouting as he went. 
 
 I then turned round and asked a gentleman if he would please tell ; 
 me where the office of the Saturday Visiter was. 
 6 
 
42 
 
 " flight there," bays he, " only a few steps. '' 
 
 So I stepped into the office, and saw a young looking gentlemarij 
 that f supposed- was the editor. 
 
 "Good morning, sir," says I. "Are you the editor of the Visiter.' 7 
 " Yes sir — walk in," said he. 
 
 "Well, I am old Clodpole, who wrote you that letter last summer, 
 and this is my neighbor, Ben Bobkins, who takes your paper, and 
 likes it mightily ; and this is little Ben who reads your paper a heap, 
 and is a right smart boy.' 7 
 
 The editor was very polite. 
 
 " Come, walk in gentlemen, 7 ' says he, ''take a seat Squire Clod- 
 pole, I am happy in making your acquaintance. 1 doubt not, sir, 
 your labors, your writings, and your industrious example, will do 
 much for the cause of agriculture, education, and good morals in this 
 country. That was a capital letter of yours ; and when the nabob, 
 the demagogue and humbugger has each sunk to eternal oblivion, 
 the venerated name of Clodpole shall be held in grateful recollection 
 by thousands of honest readers where my paper is read, throughout 
 the country. 77 
 
 Well, Tommy, you may suppose that I felt rather droll at this un- 
 expected burst of eloquence of my talented friend, so complimentary 
 to myself; and such was the fact. The doctor (for he is a doctor, as 
 they call him, I find,) then turned round, and says he, "Friend Bob- 
 kins, I am glad to see you, and all such honest, hard working men. 
 You are the real democracy of the nation. Give me a hearty shake 
 of your hard hand. It gives me more pleasure to greet you, than to 
 shake the delicate hand of those fops and dandies who loaf about 
 town, and spunge their living out of honest people. 7 ' 
 
 "Benny, 77 says he to Benny, ''come here my son. How old are 
 you?" 
 
 "Mama says I'll be sevin' years old next 'tatur diggin 7 time. 77 
 
 " Can you read and spell, my son? 7 ' 
 
 " Yes sir. I go to school to the 'Yankee Schoolmaster,' what writes 
 for you ; and the way he makes the boys git their lessons, and toe the 
 mark, it is a caution." 
 
 "Well, my son, you seem to be a good boy; here is a little book 
 for you. It will be of use to you. I like to see boys read !" says the 
 editor, handing him a nice book. 
 
 Just at that time a man stepped into the office, with a note to the 
 editor. After reading it, "Well, Squire," says he, "I have a polite 
 invitation to dine at two o'clock, with the new proprietors of that 
 favorite establishment, the Fountain Inn." 
 
 "Ah ! indeed. I have often heard of that famous tavern." 
 
 " Well, do you and neighbor Bobkins go and dine with me at the 
 hotel, as I am not going home to-day," says he. 
 
 "O, thank you, sir," says I, "we had better go back to our lodg- 
 ings, where the farmers and market men all stop, over in Old Town. 
 Why, the city gentlemen would all laugh at us so, we aie such rough 
 old fellows." 
 
43 
 
 4< never mind that, Sqnire," says he, "the real gentlemen have 
 all too much good sense' to do that — and there will be none but gen- 
 tlemen there." 
 
 But, Doctor," says I, " it would bo imposing on the landlord, for us 
 to go." 
 
 "O no, Squire," says he, ft they are noble souled, generous men, 
 fond of good company, and will be glad to see you." 
 
 ''Well, Doctor, I think we will go, and thank you loo," says I, ''for 
 maybe 1 can make a bargain to sell my butter and eggs to the land- 
 lord, when I come to market again." 
 
 Ben and I walked out awhile then, and agreed to come back at two 
 o'clock. 
 
 "Squire, what a mighty nice sort o' man that Doctor is?" says 
 Ben. " I'm sich an onlarnt sort of a feller myself, that I felt in there 
 as if 1 hadn't three idees above a tadpole. I felt so mighty droll, just 
 as if my head was growing small as a chinkypin shell, and empty as 
 a bag o' nolhin', and my thoughts leetler than the leetle end of no- 
 thin' at all, smoothed down with a currycomb. It makes me wish I 
 had good laming when I was a boy." 
 
 Just then we met some bad boys in the street, and one of them 
 bawled out : " Hurra boys, there goes a real jobunker from the back- 
 woods ; let's have sum fun out of him.'' 
 
 "Daddy," says he to neighbor Bobkins, "is your taturs dug yet." 
 
 Says I, ''Ben, just catch that impudent little varmint, and give him 
 as complete a switching with your whip, as his mamma ever did." 
 
 "That I will, Squire," says he. 
 
 So he just gave him a good drubbing, and the boys all scampered 
 home, as if the night-mare had been at their heels. I hope when 
 they got home that night their mammas spanked them all well, and 
 sent them to bed without their suppers. 
 
 My dear Tom, you can't think how many boys in (his great city 
 run about the streets like tumble bugs, bawling, swearing and idling 
 away their time, just growing up to be rovvdies,.or "soaplocks,'' and 
 all sorts o' scamps, to the tee total ruination of themselves, the dis- 
 grace of their daddies, and an expense and curse to society. Why, 
 Tom, I would sooner see you grubbing briars, sweeping the streets, 
 shovelling dirt or any thing of the sort, all your life, and be an honest 
 man, than to see you turn out to be such a scamp, and go to Old 
 Scratch at last, as I'm afeared them boys will do ! 
 
 At two o'clock we came back to meet the editor, and with him 
 marched down to the Fountain Inn. The Doctor introduced us to 
 one of the landlords, who is a nice gentleman, and we all sat down to 
 the grandest dinner I ever did see. I felt sort o' droll, myself, but 
 Ben, he felt worse ; he looked like a cat in a strange garret, every 
 thing was so new and strange to him. 
 
 "Squire," says he, u what in the name o' natur, shall I do with 
 that ar little towel, right on my plate there ; may-be they think we 
 old codgers ought to wash our hands 'fore eating such a splendiferous 
 good dinner." 
 
44 
 
 " I'll be tarred, Ben," says I, '■' if I know myself; just wait and let 
 us see what the Doctor and the other gentlemen do." Directly we 
 saw them take the nice little towel, and spread it in their lap; then 
 we did the same. Directly a black boy comes along and says, " Have 
 some soup, gentlemen?" We said yes ! So he brings us soup plates. 
 Ben tastes of it, and kind o' puckers up his mouth, and says he, 
 "Squire, no doubt this is mighty nice soup, for gentlemen what likes 
 it, but I can't go it, no how." 
 
 For my part, I liked it mighty well. Then the waiter boy comes 
 again, and says, "What'll you have, gentlemen?" 
 
 Says Ben, " Have you got any pork and baked beens ?'' 
 "No, sir," fcays he, and looked as if he would burst his biler 
 laughing. 
 
 " Cod-fish and taturs ?" says Ben. 
 
 Then the chap laughed out for sure, and all the gentlemen looked 
 round and laughed too; and poor Ben looked all teetotally used up, 
 and iittle enough to crawl through a knot hole. However, the land- 
 lord seeing his trouble, stepped along, and says he, " May be you 
 will take some roast beef, fir?'' 
 
 " If you please. I only axed for cod fish," says he, "for I never 
 seed any in all my born days, but I have hearn of 'em, and I tho't 
 may be, as how you had some here." 
 
 The fact is, Bobkins did'nt know what he was saying, he was so 
 confused, seeing all the gentlemen winking and blinking at one 
 another, like the girls in the country used to do when I was a boy, 
 when they got hold of a real greenhorn. 
 
 After getting on middling well for a while, Ben spoke to me again, 
 and says he, " Squire, bother me, if the men what keeps this all-fired 
 big tavern ain't Frenchmen, bekase I've heern as how the French 
 folks eats bull-frogs, and I 'bleve them critters on that plate over lhar, 
 is nothin' 'pon airth but baked frogs; I wonder how they do taste?" 
 "I don't know, Ben,'' says I, "you don't suppose I ever eat a bull- 
 frog, do you, Ben ? I would just as soon think of eating a tadpole pie." 
 "Let's ask the Doctor," says Ben, "for he is a larnt man, and 
 knows all about the way they does things, in sich grand taverns as 
 this ere." 
 
 So I turns round and whispers to the Doctor, and asks him what 
 sort of critters them was. 
 
 " Why, Squire Clodpole, those are nice soft crabs ; suppose you 
 take some," said he, polite as a Frenchman, and in a way that showed 
 he was'nt ashamed of such rough company. 
 "Well, I don't care if I do," says I. 
 
 So the Doctor he called one of the black boys, (for there was a 
 heap of them, dressed up nice, with clean white jackets and aprons, 
 and dreadful smart chaps too) and says to him, " Waiter, bring Squire 
 Clodpole some of those soft crabs." 
 
 So the fellow flew round mighty quick, and brought them along, and 
 
 Ben and I both eat some, and found they were right good, after all. 
 
 " Says I, " Ben," whispering to him, " when we go home, we'll go 
 
 down to the branch, below the spring-house, and get some of our 
 
45 
 
 crabs and bring them to market, for I hear they bring a right smar 
 price*" 
 
 "At length we topped off the dinner with strawberries, ice cream, 
 cherries, and other good knick-knacks, that will make your mouth 
 water again, when 1 get home and tell you all about it, and the other 
 cuiious sights Tve seen in this great city. 
 
 Tommy, tell your mamma I shall stay a week or two here, as I find 
 there is a real good chance to buy marketing — such as butter, eggs, 
 and chickens, to sell again — " huxtering," they call it. 
 
 Now, Tommy, don't neglect the corn-patch, the potato-patch, nor 
 the garden truck — and see that the cows and horses arc well led and 
 curried night and morning; and whatever you do. my son, don't let 
 the geese iuin the meadow. Moore soon from your affectionate 
 father. Christopher Clodpole. 
 
 N. B. — Tommy, be sure and keep the old sow and pigs shut up — 
 so that she can't eat up any more of the chickens. C. C. 
 
 Here comes a scrap, very characteristic of the author, and though 
 I do not agree with the Squire in his opinions on this subject, as f am 
 an ardent lover and admirer of classical lore, yet I wish the author to 
 speak for himself. 
 
 COLLEGE HUMBUGS. 
 
 By Squire Clodpole. 
 
 It is an outrageous humbug to compel innocent boys to pour over 
 crabbed Greek and stupid Latin for several years of the most valuable 
 part of their lives. The time thus spent, is vastly worse than wasted 
 with many — digging over and fumbling among the dry bones, dust 
 and corruption of the dead languages, and the drunken, licentious 
 literature of the ancient heathens. What young mind can come out 
 of such a scrape uncontaminated ? How strange that Christians tole- 
 rate — how passing strange that Christian ministers eagerly plunge 
 into such filthy literature, and exert the authority and vast moral 
 influence of their holy profession, to promulgate a system of heathen 
 education among the children of Christian lands. The time wasted 
 by many boys, from seven to ten years — the best in all their life — in 
 loafing over the dead languages and other mummeries, had infinitely 
 better be employed in learning some useful trade, or in farming; nay, 
 a boy had better learn to black boots, chop wood, curry horses, or 
 even saw peg-wood at the halves, tend a guide-board on shares, and 
 catch grass-hoppers to feed chickens with, than to grow up soft-con- 
 ceited, bombastic pedants, and be literary loafers the rest of their 
 lives, compelled to live on the labors of hard working, honest people, 
 or battle with starvation, inch by inch, a fifth-rate country doctor, 
 pettifogger, demagogue, or poor despised schoolmaster, not fit for a 
 scare-crow in the corn fields of rich, saucy farmers. 
 
 Shame on that system of education which sacrifices so many harm- 
 less youths in our colleges, poor fellows, sacrificed to glut the foo ish 
 pride of their parents, or victims of their own childish, romantic am- 
 bition. Only a precious few who enter college — a few only in the 
 
46 
 
 wide World even, become distinguished. But few have the mental 
 power and physical stamina. The great mass must stand back. Men 
 cannot all become Washingtons, Webster^, Clays and Jacksons. This 
 is the truth — whether welcome or not to the palates of my readers. 
 Why then are so many youth sent to college, and flattered with the 
 notion of becoming great- men? Why are they not trained in some 
 course of useful education-, or in a mechanical trade ? The reason is, 
 because we ail love to be gnlled, and will not believe many whole- 
 some truths till we learn from bitter experience. 
 
 Next, comes a droll affair, called a 
 
 I10G1SH INCIDENT. 
 
 "Uncle CriSj what upon atrth have you got in that bag?'' said 
 Aunt Betty Martin, as I drove old Dobbin a long by her house." 
 
 '! Whoh, Dobbin," says I. " What did yen say, Aunt Betty." 
 
 " I say what have you got in that meal-bag, squeeling and jumping 
 about in the wagon so?" 
 
 " Nothing but a young pig, one of the real Berkshire breed." 
 
 " Where did you buy it?'' 
 
 " Of neighbor Farmwell, he has raised a heap of 'em." 
 
 "What did you give for it?" 
 
 " Only ten dollars,'' says I, looking droll out of the north east cor- 
 ner of my left eye. 
 
 " Ten dollars!'' said Aunt Betty, opening her eyes wide. 
 
 "0 my, well, Squire, if you aint did for this time, my name aint 
 Betty Martin, that's all." 
 
 " How old is the pig?" 
 
 "Two months old." 
 
 " Well, Squire, you are generally putty cute at making bargains, 
 but mind what I say, you'll never see that ten dollars back again.'' 
 
 1 drove along towards home, and met neighbor Skinflint; a man 
 who would think himself ruined if called upon to pay two dollars 
 for a farming newspaper, and therefore never takes one. 
 
 " Morning Squire," says he. 
 
 " Good morning, neighbor Skinflint," says I; and then I had to go 
 all through the. explanation about the Berkshire pig. 
 
 " Congress all Jerusalem, Squire, if you aint a leeth the strangest 
 man I ever seed. Ten dollars for a suckin pig. That beats all natur. 
 I 'bleve its all speculation, but old Farmwell don't fool me out of no 
 ten dollars, nor nothin of that sort, Squire, so now." 
 
 "Neighbor Skinflint," says I, "only look at your critters there, 
 that you call hogs; see what sharp snouts, like a pick-axe, what long 
 le^s they have", real spindle shanks. What slab sides, and thin bo- 
 dies why man, it would take three of 'em to make one decent hog- 
 shadow. Iwould'nt have such hungry, starved to death looking anat- 
 omies about me. ? I tell you what, they cost more than they come to 
 Sam. How do you ever expect to make pork of such lean, lank, 
 wolfish looking savages ?" 
 
 "Squashes and pumpkins—I guess Squire, as how I'll make as 
 
47 
 
 much out on 'em as you will on your Barkshive, you brag no much 
 about, ony how." 
 
 " Very well, neighbor Skinflint, we shall see about that." 
 '•Yes, Squire, when it rains porridge, I shall get fat- — eh?" 
 After I got home and put my pig in a good pen, I went down to 
 the Post Office to get my paper — the American Farmer, in which I 
 had read so much about the Berkshire hogs. My neighbors began to 
 quiz me, and make all manner of fun about the ten dollar pig. I 
 said nothing, but screwed up my eye — put my finger across my nose, 
 and looked particularly wise — as much as to say, you can't come it 
 over this old child, my friends— mind now and see. When my pig 
 was six months old, I sold him for forty dollars cash; and then the 
 natives laughed out of the other side of their faces, at their own ex- 
 pense, not mine. 
 
 Suem,* ruremque, cano. can-e-oh! hie o-re. cur?t 
 Clodpole Translation.— \ sing of hogs, and country life. 0! hick- 
 ory is the stuff for canes and birchen switches'. 
 
 The classical-ore to be dug out of the above mine, may possibly 
 employ some curious foo I- osopher, and keep him from studying met- 
 aphysics and transcendentalism, which mode of wasting time, talents, 
 energies of body, mind and estate, has become an alarming evil, 
 especially in the land of wooden nutmegs, horn gun-flints, oak-leaf 
 cigars, hickory hams, and other notions.' In fact, Massachusetts, so 
 spiritedly styled by one of her ablest poets, the "pride of the Old 
 Thirteen," seems to be the great hot-bed of this modern form of 
 sceptical humbuggery, and learned nonsense. See the writings of 0. 
 A. Brownsor; — unquestionably one of the most remarkable men for 
 talents and depth of originality — aye, of what is perhaps still more 
 rare, of whole-souled patriotism, indomitable perseverance, and inex- 
 tinguishable honesty of purpose. His country should cherish him as 
 one of her brightest gems. But gems and diamonds may sometimes 
 be found in mud and mire. So with the writings of Browmson; many 
 of his brightest jewels of thought, are mixed up among the mud and 
 mire of confused ideas, inanity, incoherence, and philosophy run mad, 
 on a wild goose chase, fishing for the shad of true eloquence, the 
 salmon of poetry, or bobbing for the eels of common sense, in the 
 sloughs find frog ponds of universal scepticism! There now, ye stu- 
 pid theologians, and self styled philosophers, with hardly the vitality 
 in your heads, that h cabbage from the Dutchlands of Pennsylvania 
 has, take- that nut and crack it. Tell me whether it is a hickory-nut, 
 or a Coon's egg, for most likely your heads are so discomboberated by 
 staring so long into the world of mind, as you call it, that you can 
 hardly tell beans when the bag is open, but are almost like Hume, 
 ready to believe that every thing is nothing. Go, ye w r oukl-be wise- 
 acres ( you had all better be honestly tilling a few acres of solid land, 
 and earning your " bread in the sweat of your face," as the good 
 book teaches us all) go ye itinerating, scribbling loafers, and vaga- 
 
 *.This is hog latin. 
 tThat's Jog latin. 
 
48 
 
 bonds, who ravage and destroy the fair fields of science, religion and 
 common sense, who dupe, gull, delude, and set mankind in commo- 
 tion, like the stormy waves of old ocean, who disturb the peace of 
 families, terrify their minds, and plunder them of their property, 
 sending doubt, desolation, and despair over the fair portions of Earth; 
 go and read my harmless hog-latin, and these rough remarks, then 
 laugh heartily if you can, and learn wisdom. " jj hearty laugh is 
 sometimes an act of zuisdom." It shakes the cobwebs cut of the 
 brains, promotes digestion, puts a man into a good humor with himself, 
 his family, his neighbors and every body. It makes him look on the 
 bright side of the world and every thing else, and makes him see the 
 various beauties in the blessed rain bow of hope, that glorious arch 
 placed by the hand of Heaven ov&r our dark and sinful world. Go 
 cull the flowers and plants, the gems and jewels of a pure, chaste, 
 health-giving, peace-promoting, refreshing literature, from every 
 source. Pluck the stars from the firmament of poetry and eloquence, 
 if you please; dive deep into the ocean of true science, and bring up 
 the choicest pearls to bless mankind. Soar into the heavens of our 
 holy Christianity, portray the path to a blessed immortality, point to 
 the crowns of life,. the mansions of rest. Do all this, but forget not 
 that while we are all on this earth, we are men, not angels. We draw 
 our existence and our sustenance from the earth. Our bodies must be 
 fed, and kept in vigorous health. This we can, and mu?t do. It is 
 an imperious duty. An opposite course is suicidal. By directing all 
 our efforts to the cultivation of the mind, to the negleet of the body, 
 we destroy our bodily health, endanger our lives, embarrass the mind, 
 paralyze all its powers, impede its progress in improvement, stupify its 
 perceptions, and of course lose a vast amount of health and happi- 
 ness that we might enjoy, and, what is of infinitely more import, 
 eternally lose the time and privilege of doing something for the good of 
 our race. That time if lost, is gone forever. That something that we 
 might have done is undone; it might have had a great influence, per- 
 haps but little, we know not. But this we do know. Our duly wc 
 ought to have done, whether a matter of small or great importance in 
 our own estimation. If any of us are conscious of having erred 
 widely, of having come vastly short of our duty (and alas/ how many 
 of us have deeply sinned. O. who can tell that depth of foul iniquity; 
 none indeed, but our own conscience-smitten heart, and God above) 
 let us arouse ourselves to immediate and vigorous action. "Forget- 
 ting the things which are behind, let us press forward." Aim at the 
 right object, duty, happiness, and heaven. Go first to the book of all 
 books, that which is styled with emphatic energy, the book or bible. 
 Commune with this book, and its infinite Author, with all the earn- 
 estness, fervor and confidence that a thinking, rational, accountable 
 being can possibly do. Go secondly, to the great volume of Nature, 
 the book of Creation, wide spread, like a map, inviting all to read. 
 Go again to the treasured archives of science, the recorded thoughts, 
 opinions, sufferings, happiness and deeds of all great and good men. 
 Cull treasures from all the branches of true science. And what is 
 this true science, but the science or knowledge of truth? of all truth 
 
49 
 
 worth knowing? Science is a record of the facts spread out on the map 
 of the Universe. Here is a wide field indeed. We cannot range this 
 whole map in this life. Our powers are not competent, our time is 
 too short. When we get to that better land, our powers will be greater. 
 Our great business, in this world is to get there, and show others the 
 way. That great object being obtained, all else is safe. There "we 
 shall see as we are seen, and know as we are known." "We see now 
 through a glass darkly, but then, face to face." Once more. Go 
 forth into this bright and beautiful world, and with a thankful heart, a 
 joyous step, seek pleasure and amusement. Yes, take your fill of 
 rational, harmless, say rather greatly profitable, utilitarian amusement. 
 Go with me to the farm-house. Look round on the broad acres. See 
 vegetation spring'ng up into new life. Take off your coat, sir; yes, 
 you sleek parson, you lazy demagogue, you college man, the professor 
 of moonshine or brass money, and yon tinker in base metals, presi- 
 dent of some Bank, forsooth, as you call yourself, you financier and 
 shuffle-jacket of pewter dollars and shin-plasters, public licensed le- 
 gal robber of widows and orphans, you unhung wholesale swindler 
 of estates, " come one, come all," put your hands to the plough, bend 
 your backs to the task of scraping an acquaintance with your mother 
 earth, whom you have run from and forsaken. Put yourselves to the 
 task of honest labor, and once at least in your lives, earn your bread. 
 Work, sweat, and then eat; and you can do it with a zest, a relish 
 you never knew before. Go with me then to my well spread table — 
 see my happy family and cheerful fireside. Go to my little chamber, 
 my study-room, that looks out on my garden, and quiet retired, and 
 well cultivated, but small farm of fifty acres only. Here is my table 
 where I write my famous letters ; there is my book-case and library. 
 Here I am happy and satisfied. Now read my droll writings ; read 
 that hoggish incident, hog latin, disquisition, the sober preachment 
 and all — and (hen say, speak out in all honesty, in the fullness of your 
 souls (if you have any) and tell me, one and all, the truth, would you 
 not rather be Christopher Clodpole, Farmer, working hard, sunport- 
 Ing your families in health, peace and plenty, serving God in quiet- 
 ness and tranquility, than to be cooped up in cities, buried in colleges, 
 or hid up in a bank of rag money, or shin-plasters? Writino- 
 stories, tales, jokes, puzzles, riddles, or even dog-latin, is harmless of 
 itself, pleasant, laughable useful. Nay; the writing of jokes and droll 
 things to make angry disputants laugh and grow fat, shake their sides 
 till their ribs quake, and they sweat at the eyes — all this stamps me 
 as a benefactor of my race, in comparison with you fifth-rate fashion- 
 able parsons, who preach for money, tickle the delicate ears of rich 
 sinners, when you ought to s artle their consciences, and talk in 
 smooth accents to gay ladies, flatter their children, stupify the souls 
 of your flock, but fleece them well, and roll in luxurious ease. You 
 put on a long face — whine and cant about the vanities of life, then 
 raise a hubbub among mankind, tyrannize over those who are more 
 humble, holy, and devoted than you ever was — indulge in pride, love 
 o-f money, ease, unholy ambition and extravagance. You make a 
 great fuss about Pus.vjism — let off a bag of wind and poison gas—. 
 
50 
 
 bother the heads of honest people about one blarney and another— 
 high church and low church — bishop and no bishop, and keep up 
 such a continual cai-erwauling among well-meaning, straight-forward 
 christians, that I am in fear we shall not hear the last of this growling, 
 grumbling, clapper-clawing and scratching, till Doctor Pussy, and 
 some others are demolished, or some other caZ-astrophe is consum- 
 mated! 
 
 To all angry disputants, whether in Church or State — in literature, 
 science, or philosophy, we may say, very appropriately, in the follow- 
 ing Clodpole translation of the question of the great Roman orator, in 
 one of his most powerful speeches, — •' How long, O Cat-a-line! will 
 you abuse our patience, insult our common sense, and disturb our 
 peace?'' For in all your writings, nearly every line is spiced with 
 the cruelty of the Ca/-o-ninetails, or some fierce, war-like weapons, 
 bearing a strong analogy to the teeth, claws, and blood thirsty appe- 
 tite which characterize the whole Tiger tribe, the fit emblem of that 
 war spirit now ravaging the abodes of peace and love, under the 
 name of Pussyism, Popery, and other Isms. 
 
 Here is a short address to "Young Men." 
 
 To young men in these United States. — You are the hope and 
 strength of this nation. It is of infinite importance to your own hap- 
 piness, to the prosperity of this country and of the whole world, that 
 vou prepare yourselves for the duties of- manhood, which will soon 
 crowd upon you. Look at the moral corruption of .many of our 
 statesmen and public officers for twelve years past. Look at the past 
 extravagance and folly of our people, and our present embarrassments 
 and duties. Will you learn wisdom by these things, and do better? 
 Young farmers — yours is a noble calling. You labor hard, but what 
 of that? Your employment is the best food and medicine in the world 
 for # the mind, and the glorious scenes around you in the quiet of the 
 country, are worth more to please the ear, and cheer up one's spirits, 
 than all the flutes, fiddles, and concerts in town. You can commune 
 with nature in all her majesty and vastness. The wonderful mys- 
 teries of her store house, are open to you. Why need you envy the 
 happiness of others, when you have the choicest blessings of heaven, 
 scattered in rich profusion around you. " happy farmers, if they 
 knew full well, their own peculiar blessings." Your intercourse with 
 nature is well calculated to promote the cultivation of your minds, 
 especially in connexion with reading and study, for all of which you 
 have ample time, in the long evenings of winter. Improve your 
 minds, stick to your business, glory in it, take a bold independent 
 stand, and exert that influence to which you are entitled. Then you 
 will command that respect you deserve, and drive demagogues and 
 pettifoggers into their own native obscurity. 
 
 Young Mechanics! — Come up to the mark and assert your rights. 
 Your ingenuity, skill, and industry, render you one of the most use- 
 ful class of our citizens. Some of the most distinguished men in all 
 ages have arisen from your ranks. Why should you allow young 
 fops, dandies, and strut-bugs to ride rough-shod over you? Cultivate 
 your minds, and you will honor the profession to which you belong. 
 Hold up your heads, and go-a-head! 
 
51 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 The " Yankee, Schoolmaster's Budget." being a sort of dessert to the 
 first part of the " Clodpole Papers," written at the urgent request 
 of the talented Author, Squire Clodpole, by his friend Timothy 
 Tutorall. 
 
 Ladie9 and gentlemen, the first thing in my '■'■Budget,'' is the nar- 
 rative and experience of my brother pedagogue, Titus Teachwell, 
 Principal of the Snipestovvn Academy, in his efforts at authorship. I 
 call this story 
 
 TRIALS AND TRIUMPHS OF AUTHORSHIP;— OR DOWNS 
 AND UPS IN THE LIFE OF AN AUTHOR. 
 
 " Well, this seems to be fate of genius in all ages ; poetry and 
 poverty, stump-speeches and starvation, politics and empty pockets, 
 demagogues and duns seem doomed to go together. But I shall make 
 one more prodigious effort, and if I fail, i'll just go down East at 
 once, and dig clams at Sagadahoc, or go to Iowa and hunt coons and 
 possums." 
 
 Thus soliloquized Titus Teachwell, the school master, or, in other 
 terms, the pedagogue of Snipestown Academy. Titus had been for a 
 long time pouring over the mysteries of English grammar, and en- 
 deavoring to twist conjunctions and adverbs into some sort of simple 
 shape to be comprehended by children. At length he had succeeded 
 in producing a treatise on the subject, that was pronounced by all 
 competent judges to be a first rate thing; a decided improvement on 
 ail his predecessors. The trustees of the Academy examined the 
 manuscript; and as the youth had made excellent improvement 
 under Mr. Teachwell, in the said branch of education, they most 
 cheerfully gave him the following strong recommendation: 
 
 Snipe stow.x Academy, May 15th, 1842. 
 
 This may certify, that Titus Teachwell, Esq. has had charge of 
 this Institution for some years past, during which time his pupils have 
 generally made good progress in their studies, and especially in the 
 department of English grammar and composition. Mr. Teachwell 
 has given much time and attention to that subject, and has prepared 
 a manuscript which we deem valuable. As he intends to publish it, 
 we most cordially recommend the work to teachers and the friends of 
 education, generally, and wish him complete suceess in the prosecu- 
 tion of his design. 
 
 Samvel Lawful, A. M., Preset of the Board of Trustees. 
 
 Peter Penman, Secretary. 
 
52 
 
 Titus Teachwell thought most assuredly that any book-seller in the 
 land would look with approbation on any work, recommended as 
 above, and coming from an institution holding so high a rank as the 
 Academy over which he had the honor to be ihe presiding genius. 
 But he was destined to be most wofully mistaken. In order, how- 
 ever, to advance his project, he called on several experienced teach- 
 ers and other professional gentlemen to examine his book, and procure 
 their good opinions, if they thought proper to grant tl'em. Among 
 them was the following: 
 
 "Classical Institute. Science St., ) 
 March 21s/, 1842. $ 
 Having examined with much care the valuable manuscript of Mr. 
 Teachwell, it affords me much pleasure to add my testimonial of its 
 value, to that of the truste s of the Institution, in wheh the author 
 has been so successfully engaged in teaching for some years past. 
 The arrangement of the different parts of the work is natural, and 
 easy to be grasped by the pupil. Trie dt finitions of the different parts 
 of speech are unusually brief and simple; the various explanations 
 are lucid and comprehensive; the illustrations vivid and attractive; 
 the rules of systax full, precise, and much simplified in diction, signi- 
 fication and length. I shall forthwith, on the publicat'on of the work, 
 introduce it into my school. 
 
 Romulus Romantongue, A. M., Principal of the Institute.''' 
 
 " Bustletown, June 22, 1942. 
 We, the undersigned, professional teachers in this city, having ex- 
 amined Mr. Teachwell's Grammar, coincide in the opinions above 
 expressed, and cheerfully add our names to that of Mr. Romantongue. 
 George Greekhard, A. B., Classical Tutor. 
 Andrew Algebra, A. M., Mathematical Teacher. 
 Philemon Philosophy, L. L. P., Prof, of Nat. Sciences." 
 
 Mr. Teachwell related to me the following incident: — 
 "There was a teacher in the city of Bustletown, who by some sort 
 of hocus-pocus, had made a great deal of money out of the good 
 people, by a sly, secret kind of fashionable humbuggery. By fitting 
 up a large establishment with costly fixtures, and a glittering display 
 of apparatus, kept for show, rather than use, he gulled the rich fathers 
 and fashionable mothers who visited the place, and by a wonderful 
 foxy tact, rather than by talent and energy, he drummed up a great 
 school, at enormous prices. This man held no sort of communion 
 with other teachers. He was shunned by every one — and all other 
 teachers shunned him. He was a double-refined Yankee; dick, 
 sharp, shrewd and sly, with more of the snake and fox, than of tho 
 boldness and dignity of the lion. I called on this gentleman. After 
 looking at my book and the certificates above, he said, « Mr. Teach- 
 well, f would not give you a snap for your book or your recommen- 
 dations." At the same time giving his finger a twirl, and suiting the 
 action to the word. This chap's name was Hiram Humbug." 
 
 Titus Teachwell, Esq., who happened that day to come to town in 
 a market wagon with old Christopher Clodpble, now thought it about 
 
53 
 
 time to call on the book-sellers, and make some arrangement for 
 publishing his book. Accordingly he went into a fine looking place 
 on the great thoroughfare of the city, where literature is pded up 
 and sold by the cart-load. 
 
 "Good morning, sir," says he to a pert young fellow, who stood 
 there starched t/p, and strapped down. "Do you ever print and pub- 
 lish books here ? ' 
 
 "Sometimes we do, and sometimes we don't." says he. 
 
 " I have a grammar which I wish to get published, sir." 
 
 " Eh ! a grammar?'' 
 
 '•Yes, sir." 
 
 "You don't think to beat Murray and Kiikham. do you, mister?" 
 
 At this juncture my friend, Mr. Teachwell, felt his dignity insulted, 
 and took himself off directly. I will give what follows in his own 
 language. 
 
 "Just as I passed out of the book-store, I heard one of the young 
 men say to another, 'That clown talk about publishing a book. I 
 saw the fellow get out of old Clodpole's market wagon this very 
 morning. He need'nt think to come the scientifics over us city gents, 
 with his adverbs, conflnnctions and distractions.' 
 
 "Then I heard a great laugh and titteraiion among the young 
 squirts and flaunting belles that happened to be there. Well, thinks 
 1, what a set of boobies these young clerks, or young partners in bu- 
 siness perhaps, are. What a set of mules some of them must be. 1 
 then called on every bookseller in the city, and was treated very 
 coldly. I suppose they thought I was a poor, half-starved author, 
 and it seemed as if the}' were all under a conspiracy to starve me 
 the other half. That was not exactly the fact, however, for the in- 
 come of my school gave me a comfortable support, though I was 
 unable to publish my book. Faint, weary and di-gusted with three 
 days' fruitless efforts, I plodded my way back to my lodgings. 
 
 "The next morning, after having the night-mare, and dreaming 
 about cart-loads of grammars, and swarms of rich, hard-faced book- 
 sellers, poor authors, noble, generous souled literary men, etc., I 
 found myself once more wide awake. When I came down to break- 
 fast, a letter was handed to me, which was brought with the morning 
 paper by the carrier, from the publisher — the enterprizing, wholesale 
 publisher of the Bustletown Morning Herald. On opening the letter, 
 1 read as follows : 
 
 " 'My Dear Sir, — Although I have not the pleasure of a personal 
 acquaintance with you, which I hope soon to have, I have still some 
 knowledge of your character as an author and public instructor. I 
 have heard with regret and disgust the little interest our publishers 
 take in your book. Although I am not engaged yet in the book busi- 
 ness, I intend soon to commence. If you have not yet made any 
 satisfactory arrangement, I will take your manuscript and publish the 
 work for you. Respectfully, your obpdient servant, 
 
 Peter Pushahead. 
 
 To Titus Teachwell, Esq., at the Eagle Hotel, Busy Street.' 
 
54 
 
 "When I read this letter, I felt the thermometer of my intellectual 
 dignity and manly importance rise, at least one hundred and fifty 
 degrees. J turned round, looked into the glass, brushed up my hair, 
 and found my ideality decidedly booming up; in fact, I felt slick, 
 and looked slicker. I brushed my coat, strapped down my pants, 
 and all that sort of thing, and started off' to see my publisher. We 
 soon made a bargain ; my book was published, printed, and by men 
 of sense puffed, but picked at ;ind habberjacked by small potatoe 
 critics in the employ of other publishers. But all to no purpose — my 
 book went ahead like a locomotive, and spread like wild-fire. My 
 publisher has made money out of it, and so have I. It makes me 
 think of what the loafer said, — '•but genus ris.' 'Ah,' says I to myself, 
 'make hay while the sun shines— your time has come at last.' 
 
 " I have since written an arithmetic, which is going ahead too, and 
 I now writing a geography, which I expect will beat Davy Crockett 
 Peter Parley, and the whole squad. 
 
 "The other day 1 went into the store where the young man treated 
 me so rudely. Fie hung down his h< ad and looked sheepish. The 
 book-sellers now bow and scrape to me as I walk the streets ; but its 
 all no use. The way my publisher is making money in selling my 
 books, is gall and wormwood to them. Now I can hold up my head 
 in the world. I get toasted — invited to good dinners — bowed to by 
 the ladies, and puffed in the newspapers." 
 
 "Well," says I, "friend Teachwe-11, I nin glad to hear of your good 
 luck; but I am afraid some of the rest of us teachers and authors will 
 have to dig clams, or grub briars yet, before we do as well you have 
 done, unless our book-sellers have more of the go-ahead!" 
 
 Then comes a scrap, called 
 
 LIFE AND TIMES IN THE BACK- WOODS DOWN EAST. 
 
 When I first went into the new country to teach, my father told me 
 that my fare though plain, would be substantial, and tolerably good, 
 but that my lodging would be rather coarse. And so I found it. I 
 generally got enough to eat, of common, plain food, such as beef, 
 pork, potatoes, and baked beans, bread and milk, and sometimes pump- 
 kin pie, as a dessert. It was a common thing for the whole family to 
 eat bread-and-milk, or hasly-pudding and milk for supper Let me 
 here remark, that what the Yankees cdl hasty-pudding, is called 
 mush, at the South. The milk was generally well skimmed, to save 
 the cream for making butter, so that instead of being rich and yellow, 
 it was blue as a leather whelslone. I was not always so fortunate as to 
 get hasty-pudding even, for supper. One time in the fall of the year, 
 vvhen beech-nuts were plenty, on Saturday afternoon, one of the boys 
 went to mill to get some corn ground, \o make hasty pudding for sup- 
 per. We sat round the fire, as night came on, munching beech-nuts — 
 parents, pupils and pedagogue, all in company. Time passed on, and 
 no boy came from the mill, and no supper made its appearance. 
 There we sat, talking, and cracking beech-nuts, till a late hour, when 
 friend Spriggins says to me, "Timothy, did you ever go without your 
 
55 
 
 supper?'' I have forgotten what answer I made him at the time, but 
 I well recollect that we all went supperless to bed that lime, 
 after sitting up till a late hour. During the night the boy came 
 home from the mill, and the next morning we got plenty of mush 
 and milk for breakfast. 
 Here comes a story called 
 
 LOST IN THE WOODS; OR THE WIDOW'S SON. 
 
 A tale of icoe and mystery. 
 
 In the town of H. on the Penobscot river, there lived a widow who 
 was very poor indeed. The main dependence of her family was her 
 son, a young man eighteen or twenty years of age. He was a hard 
 working, worthy youth. He hired himself out among the neighbors 
 as a day laborer, and thus helped his poor mother support her family. 
 John Delano worked hard, and was poorly clothed. In a few years 
 however, John began to improve in his affairs. He was able to dress 
 himself better than usual, and attend school at the Academy, where, 
 besides other studies, he made excellent improvement in learning the 
 art of surveying. John was a very quick wilted youth. I will give 
 some specimens of his mental peculiarities. 
 
 When he accidentally hurt himself, and some one would say, 
 " John have you hurt yourself?" " Yes," said he, "hurt my feelings." 
 
 One time when John was helping some of the neighbors to plant 
 potatoes, the boy whose busines it was to drop them in the hills, put 
 some on a stone that came in his way. John was following with his 
 hoe to cover them up. When he came to those dropped on a stone, 
 as quick as wink he caught up aflat stone and clapped over them. 
 
 When he had acquired a good knowledge of surveying, he obtained 
 employment at the business of surveying land in the forests of Maine, 
 under Gen. Irish, who was at the head of the business. The poor 
 fellow now had more profitable employment than ever, was generally 
 esteemed for his industrious habits, and good chaiacter, and seemed 
 in a fair way to rise in the world, and better his condition. He was 
 said to be quite a favorite with Gen. Irish, and that he had a good 
 prospect of being promoted to some subordinate office in the business. 
 It was also said that the person who held the office, under Gen. Irish, 
 was jealous of being superseded by Delano. 
 
 It was in the summer of 1825, that John was thus employed. The 
 black flies and musketoes were very troublesome in the woods. When 
 Delano wrote home to some of his friends, he told them of the attack 
 made on their company by the armies of Gen. Black-fly, and Colonel 
 Musketo. One day a very strange message came from the party in 
 the woods. One of the men came and inquired if Delano had come 
 home, and found that he had not. He then stated that one day while 
 the party were engaged in surveying, Delano complained of being 
 sick — that accordingly he started to go back to their camp, where he 
 could take care of himself, and be more comfortable; that when the 
 men all returned to the camp Delano could not be found; that 
 search had been made, but all in vain. He said a tin dipper was 
 
56 
 
 found by a spring or stream, which belonged to Delano, and was used 
 to drink from. 
 
 This strange account from the messenger — the sudden and mys- 
 tcrious disappearance of the young man — the fruitless search, and all 
 the attendant circumstances, alarmed his friends and neighbors greatly, 
 and gave rise to a thousand conjectures. It was rationally supposed 
 that the young man, being sick, could not have wandered far out of 
 the way; for if he had become faint and weary, he would stop to rest, 
 or supposing his illness had even increased so rapidly as to cause his 
 death, the poor fellow could not have wandered far, and either men or 
 dogs could have found him, whether dead or alive. 
 
 His neighbors and friends took a great interest in his behalf, raised 
 a large company who went with dogs and trumpets, and scoured the 
 forest, but all in vain! Then some Indians were employed with their 
 dogs, that were considered sagacious animals, and particularly useful 
 in the woods, but their efforts were all in vain! There was a rumor 
 that the person who was jealous of being superseded by Delano — or 
 perhaps I should rather say, a suspicion propagated that this person 
 had put him out the way — caused his death some how. But the ques- 
 tion comes up, how could this have been done, and the whole party 
 not know it? — or could the unfortunate young man have been killed 
 and hastily buried in warm weather, beyond the search or scent of dogs 
 and men? These questions were all of an afflicting and agonizing 
 character to his friends. For months afterward, reports came that he 
 had been found; that he had wandered to a distant part of the coun- 
 try, but was now safe and coming home, but alas! he never came, and 
 all was enveloped in gloom and mystery. 
 
 It is readily supposed that all these troubles; the reports of his 
 coming home; the cruel suspense; must have been heart-rending to his 
 poor widowed mother. O, what pen can tell her woes ? 
 
 A young man who lived in H., a former acquaintance and friend 
 of the person who was said to be jealous of Delano, wrote him a 
 letter in a friendly wav, and told him of the suspicions and rumois 
 that were afloat, that it was feared he had been the cause of the death 
 of the young man Delano. This letter was never answered; the per- 
 son moved off to a distant part of the world, and the whole affair re- 
 mains enveloped in impenetrable gloom and mystery to this day, and 
 perhaps will till that great day, when the secrets of all human hearts 
 shall be spread out in dread array before an assembled universe. Then 
 shall the long-lost, forgotten son of the poor, destitute widow, reveal 
 his tale of woe, and receive at the hands of infinite love and mercy, 
 that joy and felicity, for which he toiled through the paths of virtue 
 and industry in this world of trouble, and which he left in a cloud of 
 dark affliction and solemn mystery ! 
 
57 
 
 Then come several scraps called ^The Boarding School Dunce, and 
 her silly Mother;" "-Dignity in School,"' and "Schoolmaster Humbugs." 
 
 A BOARDING SCHOOL DUNCE, AND HER SILLY MOTHER. 
 
 " Lor me, Miss Gad-about, you can't think what a wonderful heap 
 o' larnin my dear Angelina Rosetta has got, stowaed away in her 
 blessed little knowledge box, as the free-nolle-gists say. Why now, 
 the dear girl has been to Mrs. Gullemall's skeiole this three long 'ears, 
 and has cost me teio hundred dollars ev'ry single 'ear. She can count 
 the stars; the per-fessurs call that the science of moon-shine, I brieve. 
 She knows all about skim-islvy, fool-osophy, jog-rify, and humbug- 
 ollergy. I 'spose that means the nattermy of bugs and hum-birds!" 
 
 Miss Angelina Rosetta Snipsnap, whose mother was a fashionable, 
 vain woman, was herself, a dull, stupid girl. After fooling away her 
 time, for some years, and spending Pa's money rather freely, her head- 
 ication was pronounced finished by her mother. Then she was duly 
 brought out, and turned loose, " to catch a husband!" But it was all 
 no go. She was a dead set, a real choke-pear. Neither Pa*s money, 
 nor mother's pride, rings, gold watches, or parties, could do any thing 
 for her. She was a drug in the market. So after spinning street- 
 yam, and gossipping about for two years, to no purpose, she eloped 
 from her father's house at midnight, with a genteel drunken gambler, 
 and got married! In three years her miserable husband filled a drunk- 
 ard's grave, and she returned to her father's house, a widow. 
 
 Ye rich, indulgent fathers, and proud, extravagant mothers, will you 
 ever learn wisdom, by the example of ruined youth, who, by thou- 
 sands are slaughtered annually in all great cities, a cruel sacrifice to 
 the love of the world, the lust of the eye, and the pride of life; or will 
 you too victimize your innocent offspring ! 
 
 DIGNITY IN SCHOOL. 
 
 Teachers are told that they must maintain a proper dignity before 
 their pupils ; this no one will deny. But the question comes up, 
 what is dignity? The gravity of the judge on his bench; the solemnity 
 of the christian minister in the pulpit; the noble bearing of the military 
 chieftain; the lofty demeanor of a governor, president, king, or empe- 
 ror, are all very proper in their places. Yet who would think ol 
 obliging a teacher to observe the same carriage and conduct, in daily 
 intercourse with his pupils, as we expect to see in the above named 
 dignitaries? It is all judge to require any such thing. What we have 
 reason to expect of a Schoolmaster is, neither more nor less than 
 schoolmaster dignity. He has to do with children, of course he must 
 act accordingly. It is proper for him to have something of the solem- 
 nity of the preacher, the gravity of the judge, and the austerity of the 
 general; but with these must be mingled the mildness and pleasantry 
 of a familiar friend. To possess these ingredients of moral and intel- 
 lectual character in due quantity and proportion, is certainly a desi- 
 rable and somewhat rare attainment. VVit, humor, vivacity in con- 
 versation, anecdote and sprightly narrative, are not inconsistent with 
 
58 
 
 schoolmaster dignity, and have an influence on young minds, when 
 judiciously exercised, of course. 
 
 SCHOOLMASTER HUMBUGS. 
 
 One of the literary humbugs of this great country, is the habit of 
 calling schools and academies any thing else but schools. Here we 
 have the Snook street Institute, with a flaming sign, and very flaming 
 advertisement, in which we are told, in a long-faced manner, (while 
 the humbugger is all the time laughing in his sleeve,) that all the 
 graphies and ologles will be taught in the most scientific manner! 
 Mirabile diclu! What people of common sense want for their chil- 
 dren, is plain things taught in a plain, common sense way. The la- 
 bors of a faithful and honest teacher are useful, in making dark things 
 plain to the mind of his pupil. But the great object with some 
 teachers, seems to be to dazzle the minds of their patrons and pupils 
 with a gorgeous display of fixtures and costly apparatus — 'and to throw 
 dust in their eyes, by the use of pedantic and bombastic language, 
 instead of shedding light on their minds, by the use of simple words. 
 And what is this done for? To gull the good natured, generous peo- 
 ple of Baltimore, out of their money — not to benefit their children. 
 
 Then comes "A Serious Incident,''' the "Atheist," and n A Steam- 
 boat Adventure." 
 
 At an academy in New England, situated near the banks of a noble 
 river, were a large number of pupils one pleasant summer, among 
 whom were two little brothers, only sons of a preacher, one of the 
 most affectionate of fathers. Near the academy was a beautiful grove, 
 where the boys and young men frequently resorted in warm weather, 
 to get a drink from the spring. They also went to the river at noon 
 time to bathe — or as it was called to go in a swimming. The preacher 
 had peremptorily forbid his boys going into the water. But contrary 
 to parental instruction, they went one noon with the rest. The boys 
 and young men went in to swim, and some of them had come 
 out, while others were still at play in the water, and among the rest, 
 the younger son of the preacher, who had wafted beyond his depth, 
 and was in peril. One youth called out, "John, your brother is 
 drowning!'' At this critical moment, a strong young man plunged 
 into the liver with his clothes on, and pulled the boy out, and thus 
 saved his life. For some days after this, the little brothers suffered 
 muc!) from conscious guilt and disobedience, particularly the elder, 
 who was the most guilty, while they had reason to rejoice in the safe 
 escape they had made from imminent danger. During these few 
 days, the elder brother felt like a self-condemned criminal, dreading 
 every moment that the news would come to the ears of his godly fa- 
 ther, whom he had wickedly disobeyed, and periled the life of his only 
 brother. He strove, in contest with his own guilty heart, to be un- 
 commonly cheerful, and as his pious mother observed to him was very 
 light and trifling in his conduct. Every look — every word — every 
 movement of the father was watched with dread, lest the discovery 
 
59 
 
 should ba made, till some time passed away, and they hoped th i e- 
 cret was buried. One evening the good father came home, an., it 
 down with his little sons, and' us was usual with him, commenct 
 some familiar conversation with them on their studies, though in an 
 unusually solemn and thoughtful manner. He asked them numerous 
 questions on grammar, which they answered with promptness and 
 fluency; he also gave them some difficult words or sentences to parse. 
 At length coming to a solemn pause, he said, " I have a subject of a 
 very different description to parse — how do you think we would have 
 felt, if one of you had been brought home drowned the other day!" 
 The brothers were astounded with shame and sorrow, while their 
 dear father depicted the grief of the family, and the loneliness of the 
 surviving brother, stung with perpetual guilt, had the other been 
 brought home dead ! The next day, the father, as in solemn duty 
 bound, took his two sons away alone, and chastised them for their 
 disobedience, while he wept as if his heart would burst with grief, 
 while he thought, had not the unseen hand of Providence rescued 
 his boy from an untimely death, he might that moment have been 
 bending over his lifeless body, his soul wrung with agony and una- 
 vailing regret. He prayed with and for them, while they were hum- 
 bled and subdued. They loved him tenderly, and were heartily 
 sorry for their wickedness. It was the last time he chastised them. 
 The pious father is now in heaven; the sons are grown up to manhood, 
 trying to imitate the example of their earliest, best earthly friend, 
 while they cherish his image in their hearts with holy veneration. 
 
 THE ATHEIST. 
 
 Mr. R. was an open, undisguised atheist. Most of the incidents 
 here recorded, came under my own observation. R. once called on a 
 neighbor to make a coffin for one of his children who had died. Said 
 he, " I have planted one. and now I am going to plant another, v A 
 man once said to me, I have been to sea nine years, and have heard 
 much wicked language, but never heard any one talk so bad as R. 
 does. R's. house was near the church, on the east side of the river. 
 One day being on the west side of the river, a man asked him where 
 he lived. He pointed across the river to the church, and said, "Do 
 you see that large house?" Yes. "Well, that is God's house, and 
 the other house near it is my house; but there is no communication 
 between us." In speaking of the Deity, he would say, "I know 
 nothing about him — I don't know the gentleman." In speaking of the 
 immortality of the soul, and a future state of existence, he said — 
 "No — when we die, that will be the last o< us, just like blowing out 
 a candle." R. was intemperate, as well as a profane scoffer. His 
 sister was a pious devoted woman. She once said to a minister of the 
 gospel, there is only one person on earth of whose salvation I have no 
 hope— and that is my brother. One Saturday night R. was on the 
 west side of the river, where he had been at work that week, and 
 started to cross the river and go home. As he was intoxicated at the 
 time, some one told him he had better not attempt to go. He replied, 
 " I will go to-night, or warm my feet in hell!" He made the attempt, 
 
60 
 
 fell into the water, and was drowned ! ! " It is a fearful thing to fall 
 into the hands of the living God.' 1 
 
 A STEAMBOAT INCIDENT, 
 
 The day was dark and somewhat gloomy. The noble vessel laid 
 strongly lashed to the wharf, instead of being on her passage to the 
 deslined port. A heavy south east wind wrought up the face of the 
 sea, and dashed her foaming billows into the harbor, and rolled about 
 the various craft lying at anchor. Evening approached; night came 
 on; and all without was stormy. The company were seated in the 
 cabin, trying to enjoy themselves as well as they could, when one of 
 the number said he thought it bf.'st to have prayer. The suggestion 
 took well. A chairman was immediately appointed, and a committee 
 chosen to make arrangements for the evening exercises, of which the 
 gentleman who first made the proposal was one. They retired, and 
 returned, announcing the following order of exercises; that they 
 would sing, have a religious address from a young man named, and 
 close with prayer. The plan was adopted, the exercises performed; 
 and doubtless the serious minded enjoyed them. But alas! it was af- 
 terwards known that he who made the proposition, did it for sport. 
 
 Here is a conversation between Parson Meanwell and myself, 
 about "Education;" and a scrap about Kirkham's Grammar. 
 
 CONVERSATION BETWEEN REV. MR. MEANWELL, AND 
 TIMOTHY TUTORALL, THE SCHOOLMASTER- 
 
 " Brother Tutorall I am astonished at much of your conduct as a 
 teacher. You profess to be a christian; how then can you with any 
 sort of consistency, read such books as the Writings of Sam Slick, 
 and Charles Dickens? I consider it also highly improper for you to 
 write such foolish nonsensical stories as you do, and read them to 
 your scholars, as I am told you are in the constant habit of doing. 
 You also encourage your pupils to write composition full of laughable 
 nonsense. I cannot approve of your pitching quoits with your pupils, 
 and mingling with them in other amusements. How do these things 
 accord with the dignity of character which a teacher should observe 
 before his pupils?'' 
 
 " I am very glad, my dear sir, that you have introduced this sub- 
 ject, as it will give me a fair opportunity of expressing my opinion, 
 and vindicating my conduct. Tell me sir, have not your boys made 
 good improvement in their studies, since they have been under my 
 instruction?" 
 
 " Yes; they certainly have, much to my satisfaction; and it is be- 
 cause I esteem you so highly as a teacher, and have a sincere regard 
 for your reputation and usefulness, that I mention these things to you." 
 
 " Well, have not your boys also been pleased with their school, in- 
 terested in their studies and enjoyed good health?" 
 
 " Yes; they have." 
 
 "Now sir, my object is, to accomplish these very results. I con- 
 
 I 
 
61 
 
 sider them of no small importance. In the first place, when boys are 
 pnt to close and hard study, they will become weary and disgusted 
 with their lessons, unless they have some relaxation and variety of ex- 
 ercises. For this purpose 1 occasionally amuse them with some story 
 or lively anecdote. Sometimes I write a tale or sketch, and read it 
 to my pupils. This teaches them how to write composition. In this 
 way I keep them in good humor, please them, make the school room 
 an interesting place, and give their young minds that playful exercise, 
 and agreeable variety which tends to keep their powers of body and 
 mind in a lively, vigorous state. For the same reason, and for the 
 promotion of health, I go out with them to their play grounds, and 
 pitch quoits with them. So far from feeling that 1 am wrong in this, 
 I think it not only promotes their health of body and mind, but good 
 morals also. Boys will play— it is natural and right for them to do 
 so. You will not of course object to this yourself. When a teacher 
 mingles with his pupils as a friend in all their exercises and amuse- 
 ments, they will be restrained by his presence from saying and doing 
 many improper things which they would be opt to do in his absence. 
 I also need active exercise, and mental relaxation, as much as my pu- 
 pils do.'' 
 
 ' : Well, brother Tutorall, I expect, on the whole, you are about 
 right, though people will talk about these things, ar,d have different 
 opinions. Few think as you do on the subject.'' 
 
 ENGLISH GRAMMARS. 
 
 Murray's English Grammar is the orthodox standard as a text book, 
 and has been justly regarded by scholars and critics as a good book, 
 for a long time. Of late years, various authorlings have flooded this 
 country with a host of trash in the shape of Grammar Books, which, 
 like an army of locusts, threaten to desolate every thing before them. 
 We must say that next to Murray's Grammar, Kirkham's is the best. 
 Indeed we are by no means sure, that the labors of our American au- 
 thor, Kirkham, have not vastly exceeded those of Murray. We like 
 Kirkham's Grammar, because he has had the good sense to follow in 
 the wake ot Murray and other true Grammarians, sound headed 
 critics and philologists from time immemorial. We are also exceed- 
 ingly gratified that the author has met with an extensive patronage in 
 this country, especially in the great South and West. The notion 
 which has been too prevalent in the middle, southern and western 
 States, that all our School books must come from the North and East, 
 has greatly tended to inflate the already well developed organ of 
 self-esteem in our brethren of that section. Kirkham's Grammar is 
 evidence that a good book can be made south of " Mason's and Dix- 
 on's line." As no one has come up to the task to defend Murray, 
 Kirkham, and their legitimate followers from the army of locusts be- 
 fore alluded to, we have written this short notice. 
 
62 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 And last — Containing the winding up of the whole concern. As 1 
 am now acting as editor for Squire Clodpole, I will here insert his 
 second preface, which I find he left here in the drawer carefully 
 rolled up by itself, and tied up with a tow string. 
 
 A DROLL KIND OF PREFACE. 
 
 Whoever has read Sam Slick in England, or the Jilt ar- Shay, (I 
 think that is the way the French parley-voos pronounce that word) 
 whoever has read that last account of the Yankee Clockmaker, and 
 what monkey-shines he cut up in old England, will find in the wind- 
 ing up the clock, what. Sam calls an Irish preface. Now I am not 
 going to imitate Sam Slick, Thomas Poker, Esq., or even the wonder- 
 ful Boz, tho' it has already been very strongly hinted to me that I was 
 playing the very "Dickens v among the fashionables in this great city of 
 Baltimore, and that if I did'nt put out in a hurry for home, to see 
 Aunt Polly and the children, the genteel loafers and vagabonds, board- 
 ing house suckers, sneaks, squirts, shirks, and shuffle-jackets, would 
 have me soused into a hogshead of butter-milk, roll me over in Hour, 
 and drum me out of town. All 1 have to say to that squad of nuis- 
 ances — the white-livered, chicken-hearted set of snappish curs, who 
 snarl and bark, but have no pluck to bite, is — come on with your dj'e- 
 stuff, rotten eggs, tar and feathers, and all — I am ready for you. 1 
 shall grab them by their long ems, duck them at the first pump, hold 
 them till I spout a cold-water speech to them, and let them go to the 
 watch house for further orders. Well, I set out to make up a new 
 sort of preface, a sort of yoke-fe!low to the one in the first part of my 
 book, that will pull together in regular order, like my two good horses, 
 old Dobbin Gray and Long Shanks. I feel a strong propensity to 
 make an earnest appeal to the generosity of the fair sex, in behalf of 
 my book; but as I am rather n modest man withal, it makes me choke 
 and hesitate a little at the idea of divulging family affairs, which I shall 
 have to do, and then Aunt Polly and my sweet daughter Mary will 
 feel hurt maybe at my making so bold, without consulting them. For I 
 tak^ it no good husband and father, who has a sensible affectionate 
 wife, as I have, and lovely children too, will ever undertake any bu- 
 siness of importance which deeply concerns his family as much as 
 himself, without consulting his wife's judgment, and his children's 
 wishes and feelings, if they are old enough to have some tolerable idea 
 of the matter. Well then, as I am now writing this last part of my 
 book here in the city away from home, trusting to the goodness of my 
 cawse, I will just take the responsibility this time of saying my say-so 
 
63 
 
 to the fair ladies of the Monumental city and elsewhere, and run the 
 risk of getting my head combed, and a curtain lecture about it when I 
 get home, for I reckon Aunt Polly will be so glad to see this old cod- 
 ger that 1 expect she will think nothing about curtain lectures for 
 three days at least, and by that time it will be all blown over and for- 
 gotten; or if she should happen to call it up, I can just say as children 
 do when they get into a scrape — "O marm, that was done a good 
 while ago." I am going a-head now, to talk out above board ; and 
 tell the honest truth in my own homely, old fashioned way. I have 
 six good children — two boys and four nice, plump, hearty, industrious 
 girls. Well, last year some time, William Wagoner, a bluff, honest, 
 hard-working young man, up in our diggins, look a notion to fall in 
 love with my oldest daughter, our sweet, cherry-lipped, bright eyed 
 Mary. So after shinning round for some time, so that I thought there 
 was something in the. wind — Bill pops the question plump to the girl, 
 and then pops it to me and Aunt Polly; says I, "my boy, I like you 
 well enough — make up your mind right — be sure — then go a-head 
 like Davy Crockett." So Mary goes to work to get ready for making 
 Bdl comfortable and haiDpy. lie has been industrious and sober, and 
 has saved some money; he has bought a small farm of thirty acres, 
 with a snug house on it, and paid one half. Last fall I gave Mary a 
 good cow, and this spring the poor brute wandered down into the 
 swamp, got mired and lost, We looked for her a week in vain. At 
 last she was found dead. Poor Mary is in a heap of trouble about it, as 
 she meant to give Bill her hand and heart this spring, and she wanted 
 old Mully, the brindle cow, to furnish her with milk, cream, and but- 
 ter, so that she and Bill could have mush and milk as often as they 
 pleased. My taxes have pushed me rather hard, as I go the entire 
 swine a g a ' ns t a 'l repudiation and swindling, and dishonesty of every 
 kind, ana * nave taken my leisure hours for some time past, in writing 
 this book, that j£ it sells well, T may buy my daughter another good 
 cow. Now ladies, you have the whole story. If you buy this book, 
 you will cheer up my old heart, call down Aunt Polly's blessing, and 
 make my lovely daughter delighted and happy. So mote it be ! 
 Ben, drive down a chesnut stake here, and stop till we take breath ! 
 
 Cristopher Clodpole, Farmer. 
 
 THE AUTHORS ;FAREWELL ! 
 
 My kind-hearted reader — fellow-countryman, or fellow man, of 
 whatever clime, color or condition---! thank you heartily for following 
 me through these pages, and hope our journey .together may do us 
 good, and be remembered with pleasure. I have \ labored to convey 
 some wholesome truths in politics, religion, literature and the pursuit, 
 of business and human happiness, under the guise of a a quaint and 
 humorous style, and some in a more serious vein. The love of man, 
 the fear of God and a sense of duty, have impelled me. I honestly 
 confess too, that ambition, a patriotic, warm desire, an unquenchable 
 thirst for moral and intellectual excellence; a hope to help build up a 
 nation's literature, has ever fired my soul, and nerved my pen, in all 
 
64 
 
 past time, since first I roved, an innocent child, a happy school boy, 
 in the woods and fields of Maine ; climbed its rough hills, tumbled in 
 its snow bank?, and braved its cold but healthy north winds. I plead 
 guilty to such a charge, in all its for^e, and r «ivill bide the test. And 
 now in the ardent hope that this mite, thrown into the tide of native 
 literature, may contribute at least a pebble, if not -a diamond to the 
 cabinet of letters, to please the lovers thereof, the author will drop into 
 'his own humble sphere, a blessed obscurity, and praying that the 
 winds of charity and benevolence may blow away the chaff and 
 husks of his book, and leave the good seed in some fruitful soil of 
 human breasts, that shall "bring forth some thirty, some sixty, and 
 some an hundred fold;'' he now takes his reader by the hand, and 
 bids him an affectionate farewell ! 
 
 "• In the morning sow thy seed, and in the evening withhold not 
 thy hand."— Bible. 
 
 c 32 89 >4 
 

 
 
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