What to the Puddlefordians were the refinements of religious exercises? The wild wood was their "temple not made with hands," columned, and curtained, and festooned, and lit up by the sun at day, and the stars at night; and here, in this temple, day after day, the people camped; in the more immediate presence of the Most High built their watch-fires, that sent up long streams of smoke over the green canopy that sheltered them, and knelt down to pray.
The theology of Puddleford was brought out in strong relief at these meetings. They were business gatherings. The trials and crosses of every member were freely canvassed, and consolation administered. The "inner life" of each individual was thoroughly dissected—the spiritual condition of the vineyard in general carefully examined; sermons preached strong enough, both in voice and expression, to raise the dead; money was collected for benevolent purposes, and many more duties performed, which I cannot stop to mention.
The reader sees that these men and women were laying the foundation timbers of many sects that must follow them—follow them with their houses of worship, their intelligence, their refinement, and, I may say, their theological abstractions, their shadows, and shades, and points of distinction. Who is there that could do Bigelow's work better than he? Who is there that will ever toil and sweat more hours in his Master's vineyard? And to whom will the posterity of Puddleford be more indebted?
But, to drop the leading characters of Puddleford, let us go down a while among the rank and file; let us examine their condition. And here I may get into trouble. Comparisons are said to be odious. I do not know who said it, nor do I care; the motive which one has in view must determine the truth of the remark. There was a vast deal of happiness in Puddleford. I do not now remember one nervous woman in the place. Think of that. If refinement brings its joys, it often covers a delicate, sensitive nature; but there was nobody delicate or sensitive at Puddleford; nobody went into fits because a rat crossed the floor, or a spider swung itself down in their way. The evening air was never too damp, nor the morning sun too oppressive. Labor made the people hardy, and an over-taxed brain hatched no bugbears. I verily believe the nightmare was never known. There were no persons tired of time—not that they had so much to do—but they were all contented with time and things as they were.
You have discovered that there was no society in Puddleford; and when I say Society, I do not mean that there was no social intercourse, but society organized and governed by rules and regulations. Here was another blessing. Aunt Sonora never got into hysterics because Mrs. Beagles had not called on her for three weeks. Aunt Sonora would say, that "Mrs. Beagles might stay to hum as long as she was a min-ter." Aunt Sonora never worked herself up into a frustration because her gingerbread didn't rise when Squire Longbow took tea with her; but she just told the Squire, "he'd got-ter go it heavy, or go without." And then Aunt Sonora was under no obligation to make fashionable calls; she was not a fashionable lady; there was no fashion to call on. She did not go around and throw in a little very cold respect into her neighbor's parlor, because there were no parlors in Puddleford, and Aunt Sonora couldn't for the life of her do a formal thing if there had been. If she wanted to "blow out agin' any one," to use her language, why, she blew out, and in their faces, too, because the rules of her society had not taught her hypocrisy.
There was another blessing. Puddlefordians were not continually tempted to covet some new thing of their neighbors. A new bonnet now and then raised a breeze; but no one was under any obligation to purchase a similar one. In other words, the laws of society did not dictate what one should wear. Aunt Sonora had worn her old plaid cloak for twenty years, and yet remained in society. Mrs. Beagle's "Leghorn," which looked something like a corn-fan, and came into the country with her, was orthodox. Turtle had a pair of breeches old enough in all conscience, the legs cut off above the knees, and turned, as he said, "hind side afore, to hide the holes in front," which pettifogged as well as when they were new. Squire Longbow wore the same clouded-blue stockings that he did when first elected magistrate; but Mrs. Longbow had ravelled them up several times, and "footed them over." I dislike, reader, to go into particulars, and thus expose the wardrobe of the Puddlefordians, but I cannot express myself clearly on so important a point in any other way; and I promised at the commencement of this sketch to make it philosophical.
I do not know how the reader will look on the blessings which I have just enumerated. He may be a leader of fashion; the shade and tie of his neckcloth may be as weighty and important a matter with him as his reputation. He may be one of those who religiously believe that a man, at a party, without a white vest, is no gentleman, and ought forthwith to be kicked, in a genteel way, headlong into the street. He may think it vulgar to laugh, and that no smile but a fashionable smile should be tolerated. He may, I say—and may think me an ——. But just pause a moment. I am only writing the history of Puddleford, my friend; and, besides, just sit down coolly, and think of the luxury there must be in sojourning at a place where one can wear his old clothes year in and year out, preserve public respect, and cut and turn his breeches at that!
The household furniture of the Puddlefordians was always in fashion; in fact, there was a remarkable uniformity in this respect in all the cabins in the settlement. The white-wood table, wooden chairs, the dozen cups and saucers, the cook-stove and its furniture, bed and bedding, comprised the stock of nearly every family. Turtle often said that the people "didn't have as much furniter as the law allow'd 'em, and the state had got-ter make it up." It is discovered that this equality was productive of beneficial results. It was not possible for one Puddlefordian to envy another Puddlefordian. There was no fancy hundred-dollar rocking-chair exhibited to throw any one into spasms; there were no pianos bewitching the souls and purses of the community. (Reader, I have no spite against pianos.) Why, in short, there was not anything there that was not there when the pioneers first planted themselves on the soil. I recollect that Sile Bates owned a pinchbeck watch, and Squire Longbow was the proprietor of a "bull's-eye," and they were both wonders. The Squire and Sile once attempted an exchange of these articles, and the transaction was so momentous that all Puddleford was kept in excitement for three weeks. The bargain was as important and solemn as a treaty between two high contracting powers. There was one point in the trade that was positively exciting. Sile had offered five dollars to boot, payable in saw-logs (no person paid money at Puddleford, unless by special agreement, "'fore witness"), and here the parties "hung fire" for several days. Turtle said the Squire "orter to strike;" Beagles said, "he'd get skin'd if he did;" Bulliphant said, "the pinchbeck was worn out;" Aunt Sonora said, her husband "tell'd her, that a man tell'd him, that he know'd Longbow's bull's-eye forty years afore, and it could scase tick then;" and much more was said; but, alas! the trade, to use Ike's language, "fizzled out," and Puddleford settled down again into its usual tranquillity.
The philosophy of this attempted bargain is clear enough. There was nothing in Puddleford to excite envy. What there was, was old; no new thing was thrown in to tantalize. Longbow, it is true, once ventured upon a carpet, but, as he was a magistrate, the enterprise was deemed very proper. Do you not agree with me, that Puddleford had its blessings? Does not poverty often "bring healing on its wings"? How many are there in the world that would gladly flee from the chains of society, even to Puddleford, willing to fling themselves in some just such by-place of the world, where they could sit down perfectly independent, and take "their own ease in their own inn?" How many, reader?
I must not forget the charity of the Puddlefordians. Charity and hospitality are distinguishing characteristics of western people. However violent feuds might rage, suffering and want were relieved, so far as there was an ability to do it. I have seen another kind of charity, a fashionable article, used according to the laws of etiquette, and not according to the laws of heartfelt sympathy. I do not know that any person was ever neglected in Puddleford because he or she did not belong to a particular church. Mrs. A. never refused to assist Mrs. B. in sickness, because she and Mrs. B. did not visit, or because she did not know Mrs. B. (That word, don't "know," in finished society, simply means, reader, that the person holds no intercourse.) But everybody did know everybody in Puddleford; and when one of the number was stricken down by affliction, the remainder all "turned in," and "put their shoulders to the wheel." Why, bless you, reader, you ought to witness an eruption of Puddleford sympathy. You ought to see Aunt Sonora, with her apron loaded with boneset, sage, and a pail filled with gruel, hurrying along "for dear life," to relieve the distressed—Mrs. Swipes, with a little mustard, or a bit of "jel"; Mrs. Beagles, Aunt Graves, and Sister Abigail, with something else. Is not this something?