THE CONNECTICUT PEDDLER.
One day there came to Captain Lumsden's door that out-cast of New England—a tin-peddler. Western people had never heard of Yale College or any other glory of Connecticut or New England. To them it was but a land that bred pestilent peripatetic peddlers of tin-ware and wooden clocks. Western rogues would cheat you out of your horse or your farm if a good chance offered, but this vile vender of Yankee tins, who called a bucket a "pail," and said "noo" for new, and talked nasally, would work an hour to cheat you out of a "fipenny bit." The tin-peddler, one Munson, thrust his sharpened visage in at Lumsden's door and "made bold" to inquire if he could git a night's lodging, which the Captain, like other settlers, granted without charge. Having unloaded his stock of "tins" and "put up" his horse, the Connecticut peddler "made bold" to ask many leading questions about the family and personal history of the Lumsdens, collectively and individually. Having thus taken the first steps toward acquaintance by this display of an aggravating interest in the welfare of his new friends, he proceeded to give elaborate and truthful accounts—with variations—of his own recent adventures, to the boundless amusement of the younger Lumsdens, who laughed more heartily at the Connecticut man's words and pronunciation than at his stories. He said, among other things, that he had ben to Jinkinsville t'other day to what the Methodis' called a "basket meetin'." But when he had proceeded so far with his narrative, he prudently stopped and made bold to inquire what the Captain thought of these Methodists. The Captain was not slow to express his opinion, and the man of tins, having thus reassured himself by taking soundings, proceeded to tell that they was a dreffle craoud of folks to that meetin'. And he, hevin' a sharp eye to business, hed went forrard to the mourner's bench to be prayed fer. Didn't do no pertik'ler harm to hev folks pray fer ye, ye know. Well, ye see, the Methodis' they wanted to incourage a seeker, and so they all bought some tins. Purty nigh tuck the hull load offen his hands! (And here the peddler winked one eye at the Captain and then the other at Patty.) Fer they was seen a dreffle lot of folks there. Come to hear a young preacher as is 'mazin' elo'kent—Parson Goodwin by name, and he was a good one to preach, sartain.
This startled Patty and the Captain.
"Goodwin?" said the Captain; "Morton Goodwin?"
"The identikle," said the peddler.
"Raised only half a mile from here," said Lumsden, "and we don't think much of him."
"Neither did I," said the peddler, trimming his sails to Lumsden's breezes. "I calkilate I could preach e'en a'most as well as he does, myself, and I wa'n't brought up to preachin', nother. But he's got a good v'ice fer singin'—sich a ring to't, ye see, and he's got a smart way thet comes the sympathies over the women folks and weak-eyed men, and sets 'em cryin' at a desp'ate rate. Was brought up here, was he? Du tell! He's powerful pop'lar." Then, catching the Captain's eye, he added: "Among the women, I mean."
"He'll marry some shouting girl, I suppose," said the Captain, with a chuckle.
"That's jist what he's going to do," said the peddler, pleased to have some information to give. Seeing that the Captain and his daughter were interested in his communication, the peddler paused a moment. A bit of gossip is too good a possession for one to part with too quickly.
"You guessed good, that time," said the tinware man. "I heerd say as he was a goin' to splice with a gal that could pray like a angel afire. An' I heerd her pray. She nearly peeled the shingles off the skewl-haouse. Sich another excitement as she perjuced, I never did see. An' I went up to her after meetin' and axed a interest in her prayers. Don't do no harm, ye know, to git sich lightnin' on yer own side! An' I took keer to git a good look at her face, for preachers ginerally marry purty faces. Preachers is a good deal like other folks, ef they do purtend to be better, hey? Well, naow, that Ann Elizer Meacham is purty, sartain. An' everybody says he's goin' to marry her; an' somebody said the presidin' elder mout tie 'em up next Sunday at Quartily Meetin', maybe. Then they'll divide the work in the middle and go halves. She'll pray and he'll preach." At this the peddler broke into a sinister laugh, sure that he had conciliated both the Captain and Patty by his news. He now proposed to sell some tinware, thinking he had worked his audience up to the right state of mind.