No. XXII A Cure for Conceit
“It’s a most curious, unaccountable thing, but it’s a fact,” said the Clockmaker, “the Bluenoses are so conceited, they think they know everything; and yet there ain’t a livin’ soul in Nova Scotia knows his own business real complete, farmer or fisherman, lawyer or doctor, or any other folk. A farmer said to me one day, up to Pugnose’s inn at River Philip, ‘Mr. Slick,’ says he, ‘I allot this ain’t “A BREAD COUNTRY;” I intend to sell off the house I improve, and go to the States.’ ‘If it ain’t a bread country,’ said I, ‘I never seed one that was. There is more bread used here, made of best superfine flour, and No. 1 Genesssee, than in any other place of the same population in the univarse. You might as well say it ain’t a clock country, when, to my sartin knowledge, there are more clocks than bibles in it. I guess you expect to raise your bread ready made, don’t you? Well there’s only one class of our free and enlightened citizens that can do that, and that’s them that are born with silver spoons in their mouths. It’s a pity you wasn’t availed of this truth, afore you up killoch and off; take my advice and bide where you be.’
“Well, the fishermen are jist as bad. The next time you go into the fish market at Halifax, stump some of the old hands; says you ‘how many fins has a cod, at a word?’ and I’ll liquidate the bet if you lose it. When I’ve been along-shore afore now, a-vendin’ of my clocks, and they began to raise my dander, by belittleing the Yankees, I always brought them up by a round turn by that requirement, ‘How many fins has a cod, at a word.’ Well, they never could answer it; and then, says I, ‘When you larn your own business, I guess it will be time enough to teach other folks their’n.’
“How different it is with our men folk, if they can’t get through a question, how beautifully they can go round it, can’t they? Nothin’ never stops them. I had two brothers, Josiah and Eldad, one was a lawyer, and the other a doctor. They were a-talkin’ about their examinations one night, at a huskin’ frolic, up to Governor Ball’s big stone barn at Slickville. Says Josy, ‘When I was examined, the judge axed me all about real estate; and, says he, “Josiah,” says he, “what’s a fee?” “Why,” says I, “Judge, it depends on the natur’ of the case. In a common one,” says I, “I call six dollars a pretty fair one; but lawyer Webster has got afore now, I’ve heerd tell, one thousand dollars, and that I DO CALL a fee.” Well, the judge he larfed ready to split his sides (thinks I, old chap, you’ll bust like a steam b’iler, if you hain’t got a safety valve somewhere or another), and says he, “I vow that’s superfine; I’ll indorse your certificate for you, young man; there’s no fear of you, you’ll pass the inspection brand anyhow.”
“‘Well,’ says Eldad, ‘I hope I may be skinned if the same thing didn’t e’enamost happen to me at my examination. They axed me a ’nation sight of questions, some on ’em I could answer, and some on ’em no soul could, right off the reel at a word, without a little cipherin’; at last they axed me, “How would you calculate to put a patient into a sweat, when common modes wouldn’t work no how?” “Why,” says I, “I’d do as Dr. Comfort Payne sarved father.” “And how was that?” said they. “Why,” says I, “he put him into such a sweat as I never seed him in afore, in all my born days, since I was raised, by sending him in his bill, and if that didn’t sweat him it’s a pity; it was an ACTIVE dose you may depend.” “I guess that ’ere chap has cut his eye-teeth,” said the President; “let him pass as approbated.”’
“They both knowed well enough; they only made as if they didn’t, to poke a little fun at them, for the Slick family were counted in a general way to be pretty considerable cute.
“They reckon themselves here a chalk above us Yankees, but I guess they have a wrinkle or two to grow afore they progress ahead on us yet. If they hain’t got a full cargo of conceit here, then I never seed a load, that’s all. They have the hold chock full, deck piled up to the pump handles, and scuppers under water. They larnt that of the British, who are actilly so full of it, they remind me of Commodore Trip. When he was about half-shaved he thought everybody drunk but himself. I never liked the last war, I thought it unnateral, and that we hadn’t ought to have taken hold of it at all, and so most of our New England folks thought; and I wasn’t sorry to hear Gineral Dearborne was beat, seein’ we had no call to go into Canada. But when the Guerriere was captivated by our old Ironsides, the Constitution, I did feel lifted up amost as high as a stalk of Varginny corn among Connecticut middlins; I grew two inches taller I vow, the night I heerd that news. Brag, says I, is a good dog, but Holdfast is better. The British navals had been a-braggin’ and a-hectorin’ so long, that when they landed in our cities, they swaggered e’enamost as much as Uncle Peleg (big Peleg as he was called), and when he walked up the centre of one of our narrow Boston streets, he used to swing his arms on each side of him, so that folks had to clear out of both foot paths; he’s cut, afore now, the fingers of both hands agin the shop windows on each side of the street. Many the poor feller’s crupper bone he’s smashed, with his great thick boots, a-throwin’ out his feet afore him e’enamost out of sight, when he was in full rig a-swigglin’ away at the top of his gait. Well, they cut as many shines as Uncle Peleg. One frigate they guessed would captivate, sink, or burn our whole navy. Says a naval one day, to the skipper of a fishing boat that he took, says he, ‘Is it true Commodore Decatur’s sword is made of an old iron hoop?’ ‘Well,’ says the skipper, ‘I’m not quite certified as to that, seein’ as I never sot eyes on it; but I guess if he gets a chance he’ll show you the temper of it some of these days, anyhow.’
“I mind once a British man-o’-war took one of our Boston vessels, and ordered all hands on board, and sent a party to skuttle her; well, they skuttled the fowls and the old particular genuine rum, but they obliviated their arrand and left her. Well, next day another frigate (for they were as thick as toads arter a rain) comes near her, and fires a shot for her to bring to. No answer was made, there bein’ no livin’ soul on board, and another shot fired, still no answer. ‘Why what on airth is the meanin’ of this,’ said the Captain; ‘why don’t they haul down that damn goose and gridiron?’ (That’s what he called our eagle and stars on the flag.) ‘Why,’ says the first leftenant, ‘I guess they are all dead men, that shot frightened them to death.’ ‘They are afeared to show their noses,’ says another, ‘lest they should be shaved off by our shots.’ ‘They are all down below “A-CALCULATIN’” their loss I guess,’ says a third. ‘I’ll take my davy,’ says the Captain, ‘it’s some Yankee trick—a torpedo in her bottom or some such trap; we’ll let her be;’ and sure enough, next day, back she came to shore of herself. ‘I’ll give you a quarter of an hour,’ says the Captain of the Guerriere to his men, ‘to take that ’ere Yankee frigate, the Constitution.’ I guess he found his mistake where he didn’t expect it, without any great sarch for it either. Yes (to eventuate my story), it did me good; I felt dreadful nice, I promise you. It was as lovely as bitters of a cold mornin’. Our folks beat ’em arter that so often, they got a little grain too much conceit also. They got their heels too high for their boots, and began to walk like uncle Peleg too, so that when the Chesapeake got whipped I warn’t sorry. We could spare that one, and it made our navals look round, like a feller who gets a hoist, to see who’s a-larfin’ at him. It made ’em brush the dust off, and walk on rather sheepish. It cut their combs that’s a fact. The war did us a plaguy sight of good in more ways than one, and it did the British some good too. It taught ’em not to carry their chins too high, for fear they shouldn’t see the gutters—a mistake that’s spoiled many a bran’ new coat and trousers afore now.
“Well, these Bluenoses have caught this disease, as folks do the Scotch fiddle, by shakin’ hands along with the British. Conceit has become here, as Doctor Rush says (you have heerd tell of him? he’s the first man of the age, and it’s generally allowed our doctors take the shine off of all the world), acclimated; it is citizenized among ’em; and the only cure is a real good quiltin’. I met a first chop Colchester gag this summer a-goin’ to the races to Halifax, and he knowed as much about racin’, I do suppose, as a Choctaw Ingian does of a railroad. Well, he was a-praisin’ of his horse, and runnin’ on like statiee. He was begot, he said, by Roncesvalles, which was better than any horse that ever was seen, because he was once in a duke’s stable in England. It was only a man that had blood like a lord, said he, that knew what blood in a horse was. Captain Currycomb, an officer at Halifax, had seen his horse and praised him; and that was enough—that stamped him—that fixed his value. It was like the President’s name to a bank note, it makes it pass current. ‘Well,’ says I, ‘I hain’t got a drop of blood in me, nothin’ stronger than molasses and water, I vow, but I guess I know a horse when I see him for all that, and I don’t think any great shakes of your beast, anyhow. What start will you give me,’ says I, ‘and I will run Old Clay agin you, for a mile lick right an eend.’ ‘Ten rods,’ said he, ‘for twenty dollars.’ Well, we run, and I made Old Clay bite in his breath and only beat him by half a neck. ‘A tight scratch,’ says I, ‘that, and it would have sarved me right if I had been beat. I had no business to run an old roadster so everlastin’ fast, it ain’t fair on him, is it?’ Says he, ‘I will double the bet and start even, and run you agin if you dare.’ ‘Well,’ says I, ‘since I won the last it wouldn’t be pretty not to give you a chance; I do suppose I oughtn’t to refuse, but I don’t love to abuse my beast by knockin’ him about this way.’
“As soon as the money was staked, I said, ‘Hadn’t we better,’ says I, ‘draw stakes? That ’ere blood horse of your’n has such uncommon particular bottom, he’ll perhaps leave me clean out of sight.’ ‘No fear of that,’ said he, larfin’, ‘but he’ll beat you easy, anyhow. No flinchin’,’ says he, ‘I’ll not let you go back of the bargain. It’s run or forfeit.’ ‘Well,’ says I, ‘friend, there is fear of it; your horse will leave me out of sight, to a sartainty, that’s a fact, for he CAN’T KEEP UP TO ME NO TIME. I’ll drop him, hull down, in tu tu’s.’ If Old Clay didn’t make a fool of him, it’s a pity. Didn’t he gallop pretty, that’s all? He walked away from him, jist as the Chancellor Livingston steamboat passes a sloop at anchor in the north river. Says I, ‘I told you your horse would beat me clean out of sight, but you wouldn’t believe me; now,’ says I, ‘I will tell you something else. That ’ere horse will help, you to lose more money to Halifax than you are a-thinkin’ on; for there ain’t a beast gone down there that won’t beat him. He can’t run a bit, and you may tell the British Captain I say so. Take him home and sell him, buy a good yoke of oxen; they are fast enough for a farmer, and give up blood horses to them that can afford to keep stable helps to tend ’em, and leave bettin’ alone to them, as has more money nor wit, and can afford to lose their cash, without thinkin’ agin of their loss.’ ‘When I want your advice,’ said he, ‘I will ask it,’ most peskily sulky. ‘You might have got it before you axed for it,’ said I, ‘but not afore you wanted it, you may depend on it. But stop,’ said I, ‘let’s see that all’s right afore we part;’ so I counts over the fifteen pounds I won of him, note by note, as slow as anything, on purpose to rile him; then I mounts Old Clay agin, and says I, ‘Friend, you have considerably the advantage of me this hitch, anyhow.’ ‘Possible!’ says he, ‘how’s that?’ ‘Why,’ says I, ‘I guess you’ll return rather lighter than you came, and that’s more nor I can say, anyhow;’ and then I gave him a wink and a jupe of the head, as much as to say, ‘do you take?’ and rode on and left him starin’ and scratchin’ his head like a feller who’s lost his road. If that citizen ain’t a born fool, or too far gone in the disease, depend on’t, he found ‘A CURE FOR CONCEIT.’”