No. XXIII The Blowin’ Time
The long, rambling dissertation on conceit to which I had just listened, from the Clockmaker, forcibly reminded me of the celebrated aphorism “gnothi seauton,” know thyself, which, both from its great antiquity and wisdom, has been by many attributed to an oracle.
With all his shrewdness to discover, and his humour to ridicule the foibles of others, Mr. Slick was kind to the many defects of his own character; and while prescribing “a cure for conceit,” exhibited in all he said, and all he did, the most overweening conceit himself. He never spoke of his own countrymen, without calling them “the most free and enlightened citizens on the face of the airth,” or as “takin’ the shine off of all creation.” His country he boasted to be the “best atween the poles,” “the greatest glory under heaven.” The Yankees he considered (to use his expression) as “actilly the class-leaders in knowledge among all the Americans,” and boasted that they have not only “gone ahead of all others,” but had lately arrived at that most enviable NE PLUS ULTRA point, “goin’ ahead of themselves.” In short, he entertained no doubt that Slickville was the finest place in the greatest nation in the world, and the Slick family the wisest family in it.
I was about calling his attention to this national trait, when I saw him draw his reins under his foot (a mode of driving peculiar to himself, when he wished to economize the time that would otherwise be lost by an unnecessary delay), and taking off his hat (which, like a peddler’s pack, contained a general assortment), select from a number of loose cigars one that appeared likely “to go,” as he called it. Having lighted it by a lucifer, and ascertained that it was “true in draft,” he resumed his reins and remarked—
“This must be an everlastin’ fine country beyond all doubt, for the folks have nothin’ to do but to ride about and talk politics. In winter, when the ground is covered with snow, what grand times they have a-sleighin’ over these here marshes with the gals, or playin’ ball on the ice, or goin’ to quiltin’ frolics of nice long winter evenings, and then a-drivin’ home like mad, by moonlight. Natur’ meant that season on purpose for courtin’. A little tidy scrumptious lookin’ sleigh, a real clipper of a horse, a string of bells as long as a string of inions round his neck, and a sprig on his back, lookin’ for all the world like a bunch of apples broke off at gatherin’ time, and a sweetheart alongside, all muffled up but her eyes and lips—the one lookin’ right into you, and the other talkin’ right at you—is e’enamost enough to drive one ravin’ tarin’ distracted mad with pleasure, ain’t it? And then the dear critters say the bells make such a din there’s no hearin’ one’s self speak; so they put their pretty little mugs close up to your face, and talk, talk, talk, till one can’t help lookin’ right at them instead of the horse, and then whap you both go capsized into a snowdrift together, skins, cushions and all. And then to see the little critter shake herself when she gets up, like a duck landin’ from a pond, a-chatterin’ away all the time like a canary bird, and you a haw-hawin’ with pleasure, is fun alive, you may depend. In this way Bluenose gets led on to offer himself as a lovier, afore he knows where he bees.
“But when he gets married, he recovers his eyesight in little less than half no time. He soon finds he’s treed; his flint is fixed then, you may depend. She larns him how vinegar is made: ‘Put plenty of sugar into the water aforehand, my dear,’ says she, ‘if you want to make it real sharp.’ The larf is on the other side of his mouth then. If his sleigh gets upsot, it’s no longer a funny matter, I tell you; he catches it right and left. Her eyes don’t look right up to his’n any more, nor her little tongue ring, ring, ring, like a bell any longer, but a great big hood covers her head, and a whappin’ great muff covers her face, and she looks like a bag of soiled clothes a-goin’ to the brook to be washed. When they get out, she don’t wait any more for him to walk lock and lock with her, but they march like a horse and a cow to water, one in each gutter. If there ain’t a transmogrification it’s a pity. The difference atween a wife and a sweetheart is near about as great as there is between new and hard cider: a man never tires of puttin’ one to his lips, but makes plaguy wry faces at t’other. It makes me so kinder wamblecropt when I think on it, that I’m afeared to venture on matrimony at all. I have seen some Bluenoses most properly bit, you may depend. You’ve seen a boy a-slidin’ on a most beautiful smooth bit of ice, hain’t you, larfin’, and hoopin’, and hallooin’ like one possessed, when presently sowse he goes in over head and ears? How he outs, fins, and flops about, and blows like a porpoise properly frightened, don’t he? and when he gets out there he stands; all shiverin’ and shakin’, and the water a squish-squashin’ in his shoes, and his trousers all stickin’ slimsey-like to his legs. Well, he sneaks off home, lookin’ like a fool, and thinkin’ everybody he meets is a-larfin’ at him—many folks here are like that ’ere boy, afore they have been six months married. They’d be proper glad to get out of the scrape too, and sneak off if they could, that’s a fact. The marriage yoke is plaguy apt to gall the neck, as the ash bow does the ox in rainy weather, unless it be most particularly well fitted. You’ve seen a yoke of cattle that warn’t properly mated, they spend more strength in pullin’ agin each other, than in pullin’ the load. Well that’s apt to be the case with them as choose their wives in sleighin’ parties, quiltin’ frolics, and so on; instead of the dairies, looms, and cheese-houses.
“Now the Bluenoses are all a-stirrin’ in winter. The young folks drive out the gals, and talk love and all sorts of things as sweet as doughnuts. The old folks find it near about as well to leave the old women to home, for fear they shouldn’t keep tune together; so they drive out alone to chat about House of Assembly with their neighbours, while the boys and hired helps do the chores. When the Spring comes, and the fields are dry enough to be sowed, they all have to be ploughed, ‘CAUSE FALL RAINS WASH THE LANDS TOO MUCH FOR FALL PLOUGHIN’. Well, the ploughs have to be mended and sharpened, ‘CAUSE WHAT’S THE USE OF DOIN’ THAT AFORE IT’S WANTED? Well, the wheat gets in too late, and then comes rust; but whose fault is that? WHY, THE CLIMATE TO BE SURE, FOR NOVA SCOTIA AIN’T A BREAD COUNTRY.
“When a man has to run ever so far as fast as he can clip, he has to stop and take breath; you must do that or choke. So it is with a horse; run him a mile, and his flanks will heave like a Blacksmith’s bellows; you must slack up the rein and give him a little wind, or he’ll fall right down with you. It stands to reason, don’t it? Atwixt spring and fall work is ‘BLOWIN’ TIME.’ Then Courts come on, and Grand Jury business, and Militia trainin’, and Race trainin’, and what not; and a fine spell of ridin’ about and doin’ nothin’, a real ‘BLOWIN TIME.’ Then comes harvest, and that is proper hard work: mowin’ and pitchin’ hay, and reapin’ and bindin’ grain, and potato diggin’. That’s as hard as sole leather, afore it’s hammered on the lap stone; it’s a’most next to anything. It takes a feller as tough as Old Hickory (General Jackson) to stand that.
“Ohio is ‘most the only country I knew of where folks are saved that trouble; and there the freshets come jist in the nick of time for ’em, and sweep all the crops right up in a heap for ’em, and they have nothin’ to do but take it home and house it, and sometimes a man gets more than his own crop, and finds a proper swad of it all ready piled up, only a little wet or so; but all countries ain’t like Ohio. Well, arter harvest comes fall, and then there’s a grand ‘blowin’ time’ till spring. Now, how the Lord the Bluenoses can complain of their country, when it’s only one third work and two-thirds ‘blowin’ time,’ no soul can tell.
“Father used to say, when I lived on the farm along with him, ‘Sam,’ says he, ‘I vow I wish there was jist four hundred days in the year, for it’s a plaguy sight too short for me. I can find as much work as all hands on us can do for three hundred and sixty-five days, and jist thirty-five days more, if we had ’em. We hain’t got a minit to spare; you must shell the corn and winner the grain at night, and clean all up slick, or I guess we’ll fall astarn as sure as the Lord made Moses.’ If he didn’t keep us all at it, a-drivin’ away full chisel, the whole blessed time, it’s a pity. There was no ‘blowin’ time’ there, you may depend. We ploughed all the fall for dear life; in winter we thrashed, made and mended tools, went to market and mill, and got out our firewood and rails. As soon as frost was gone, came sowin’ and plantin’, weedin’ and hoein’; then harvest and spreadin’ compost; then gatherin’ manure, fencin’ and ditchin’; and then turn tu and fall ploughin’ agin. It all went round like a wheel without stoppin’, and so fast, I guess you couldn’t see the spokes, just one long everlastin’ stroke from July to etarnity, without time to look back on the tracks. Instead of racin’ over the country like a young doctor, to show how busy a man is that has nothin’ to do, as Bluenose does, and then take a ‘blowin’ time,’ we kept a rale travellin’ gait, an eight-mile-an-hour pace, the whole year round. THEY BUY MORE NOR THEY SELL, AND EAT MORE THAN THEY RAISE, in this country. What a pretty way that is, isn’t it? If the critters knew how to cipher, they would soon find out that a sum stated that way always eends in a naught. I never knew it to fail, and I defy any soul to cipher it so, as to make it come out any other way, either by Schoolmaster’s Assistant or Algebra. When I was a boy, the Slickville bank broke, and an awful disorderment it made, that’s a fact; nothin’ else was talked of. Well, I studied it over a long time, but I couldn’t make it out: so says I, ‘Father, how came that ’ere bank to break? Warn’t it well built? I thought that ’ere Quincy granite was so amazin’ strong all natur’ wouldn’t break it.’ ‘Why you foolish critter,’ says he, ‘it ain’t the buildin’ that’s broke, it’s the consarn that’s smashed.’ ‘Well,’ says I, ‘I know folks are plaguilly consarned about it, but what do you call folks’ “smashin’ their consarns”?’ Father, he larfed out like anything; I thought he never would stop; and sister Sall got right up and walked out of the room, as mad as a hatter. Says she, ‘Sam, I do believe you are a born fool, I vow.’ When father had done larfin’, says he, ‘I’ll tell you, Sam, how it was. They ciphered it so that they brought out nothin’ for a remainder.’ ‘Possible!’ says I; ‘I thought there was no eend to their puss. I thought it was like Uncle Peleg’s musquash hole, and that no soul could ever find the bottom of. My!’ says I. ‘Yes,’ says he, ‘that ’ere bank spent and lost more money than it made, and when folks do that, they must smash at last, if their puss be as long as the national one of Uncle Sam.’ This Province is like that ’ere Bank of our’n, it’s goin’ the same road, and they’ll find the little eend of the horn afore they think they are halfway down to it.
“If folks would only give over talkin’ about that everlastin’ House of Assembly and Council, and see to their farms, it would be better for ’em, I guess; for arter all, what is it? Why it’s only a sort of first chop Grand Jury, and nothin’ else. It’s no more like Congress or Parliament, than Marm Pugwash’s keepin’ room is like our State hall. It’s jist nothin’. Congress makes war and peace, has a say in all treaties, confarms all great nominations of the President, regilates the army and navy, governs twenty-four independent States, and snaps its fingers in the face of all the nations of Europe, as much as to say, who be you? I allot I am as big as you be. If you are six foot high, I am six foot six in my stockin’ feet, by gum, and can lambaste any two on you in no time. The British can whip all the world, and we can whip the British. But this little House of Assembly that folks make such a touss about, what is it? Why jist a decent Grand Jury. They make their presentments of little money votes, to mend these everlastin’ rottin’ little wooden bridges, to throw a poultice of mud once a year on the roads, and then take a ‘blowin’ time’ of three months and go home. The littler folks be, the bigger they talk. You never seed a small man that didn’t wear high heel boots, and a high-crowned hat, and that warn’t ready to fight most any one, to show he was a man every inch of him.
“I met a member the other day, who swaggered near about as large as Uncle Peleg. He looked as if he thought you couldn’t find his ‘ditto’ anywhere. He used some most particular educational words, genuine jaw-breakers. He put me in mind of a squirrel I once shot in our wood location. The little critter got a hickory nut in his mouth; well, he found it too hard to crack, and too big to swaller, and for the life and soul of him, he couldn’t spit it out agin. If he didn’t look like a proper fool, you may depend. We had a pond back of our barn about the bigness of a good sizeable wash-tub, and it was chock full of frogs. Well, one of these little critters fancied himself a bull-frog, and he puffed out his cheeks, and took a real ’blowin’ time’ of it; he roared away like thunder; at last he puffed and puffed out till he bust like a b’iler. If I see the Speaker this winter (and I shall see him to a sartainty if they don’t send for him to London, to teach their new Speaker; and he’s up to snuff, that ’ere man; he knows how to cipher), I’ll jist say to him, ‘Speaker,’ says I, ’if any of your folks in the House go to swell out like dropsy, give ’em a hint in time.’ Says you, ’if you have are a little safety valve about you, let off a little steam now and then, or you’ll go for it; recollect the Clockmaker’s story of the “Blowin’ time”.’”