Nature and Human Nature

by Thomas Chandler Haliburton

Yes, such fellows as Von Sheik don’t call this ecclesiastical and civil contract, wedlock. They use a word that expresses their meaning better—matri-money. Well, even money ain’t all gold, for there are two hundred and forty nasty, dirty, mulatto-looking copper pennies in a sovereign; and they have the affectation to call the filthy incrustation, if they happen to be ancient coin, verd-antique. Well, fine words are like fine dresses; one often covers ideas that ain’t nice, and the other sometimes conceals garments that are a little the worse for wear. Ambition is just as poor a motive. It can only be gratified at the expense of a journey over a rough road, and he is a fool who travels it by a borrowed light, and generally finds he takes a rise out of himself.

Then there is a class like Von Sheik, “who feel so pig and so hugeaciously grandiferous,” they look on a wife’s fortune with contempt. The independent man scorns connection, station, and money. He has got all three, and more of each than is sufficient for a dozen men. He regards with utter indifference the opinion of the world, and its false notions of life. He can afford to please himself; he does not stoop if he marries beneath his own rank; for he is able to elevate any wife to his. He is a great admirer of beauty, which is confined to no circle and no region. The world is before him, and he will select a woman to gratify himself and not another. He has the right and ability to do so, and he fulfils his intention. Now an independent man is an immoveable one until he is proved, and a soldier is brave until the day of trial comes. He however is independent and brave enough to set the opinion of the world at defiance, and he marries. Until then society is passive, but when defied and disobeyed, it is active, bitter, and relentless.

The conflict is only commenced—marrying is merely firing the first gun. The battle has yet to be fought. If he can do without the world, the world can do without him, but, if he enters it again bride in hand, he must fight his way inch by inch, and step by step. She is slighted and he is stung to the quick. She is ridiculed and he is mortified to death. He is able to meet open resistance, but he is for ever in dread of an ambuscade. He sees a sneer in every smile, he fears an insult in every whisper. The unmeaning jest must have a hidden point for him. Politeness seems cold, even good-nature looks like the insolence of condescension. If his wife is addressed, it is manifestly to draw her out. If her society is not sought, it is equally plain there is a conspiracy to place her in Coventry. To defend her properly, and to put her on her guard, it is necessary he should know her weak points himself.

But, alas, in this painful investigation, his ears are wounded by false accents, his eyes by false motions and vulgar attitudes, he finds ignorance where ignorance is absurd, and knowledge where knowledge is shame, and what is worse, this distressing criticism has been forced upon him, and he has arrived at the conclusion that beauty without intelligence is the most valueless attribute of a woman. Alas, the world is an argus-eyed, many-headed, sleepless, heartless monster. The independent man, if he would retain his independence, must retire with his wife to his own home, and it would be a pity if in thinking of his defeat he was to ask himself, Was my pretty doll worth this terrible struggle after all? wouldn’t it? Well, I pity that man, for at most he has only done a foolish thing, and he has not passed through life without being a public benefactor. He has held a reversed lamp. While he has walked in the dark himself, he has shed light on the path of others.

Ah, Sophy, when you read this, and I know you will, you’ll say, What a dreadful picture you have drawn! it ain’t like you—you are too good-natured, I can’t believe you ever wrote so spiteful an article as this, and, woman like, make more complimentary remarks than I deserve. Well, it ain’t like me, that’s a fact, but it is like the world for all that. Well, then you will puzzle your little head whether after all there is any happiness in married life, won’t you?

Well, I will answer that question. I believe there may be and are many, very many happy marriages; but then people must be as near as possible in the same station of life, their tempers compatible, their religious views the same, their notions of the world similar, and their union based on mutual affection, entire mutual confidence, and what is of the utmost consequence, the greatest possible mutual respect. Can you feel this towards me, Sophy, can you, dear? Then be quick—“pick up chips and call your father to dinner.”

[CHAPTER XXII.]
A DISH OF CLAMS.

Eating is the chief occupation at sea. It’s the great topic as well as the great business of the day, especially in small sailing vessels like the “Black Hawk;” although anything is good enough for me when I can’t get nothin’ better, which is the true philosophy of life. If there is a good dish and a bad one set before me, I am something of a rat, I always choose the best.

There are few animals, as there are few men, that we can’t learn something from. Now a rat, although I hate him like pyson, is a travelling gentleman, and accommodates himself to circumstances. He likes to visit people that are well off, and has a free and easy way about him, and don’t require an introduction. He does not wait to be pressed to eat, but helps himself, and does justice to his host and his viands. When hungry, he will walk into the larder and take a lunch or a supper without requiring any waiting on. He is abstemious, or rather temperate in his drinking. Molasses and syrup he prefers to strong liquors, and he is a connoisseur in all things pertaining to the dessert. He is fond of ripe fruit, and dry or liquid preserves, the latter of which he eats with cream, for which purpose he forms a passage to the dairy. He prides himself on his knowledge of cheese, and will tell you in the twinkling of an eye which is the best in point of flavour or richness. Still he is not proud—he visits the poor when there is no gentlemen in the neighbourhood, and can accommodate himself to coarse fare and poor cookery. To see him in one of these hovels, you would think he never knew anything better, for he has a capital appetite, and can content himself with mere bread and water. He is a wise traveller, too. He is up to the ways of the world, and is aware of the disposition there is everywhere to entrap strangers. He knows now to take care of himself. If he is ever deceived, it is by treachery. He is seized sometimes at the hospitable board, and assassinated, or perhaps cruelly poisoned. But what skill can ensure safety, where confidence is so shamefully abused? He is a capital sailor, even bilge-water don’t make him squeamish, and he is so good a judge of the sea-worthiness of a ship, that he leaves her at the first port if he finds she is leaky or weak. Few architects, on the other hand, have such a knowledge of the stability of a house as he has. He examines its foundations thoroughly, and if he perceives any, the slightest chance of its falling, he retreats in season, and leaves it to its fate. In short, he is a model traveller, and much may be learned from him.

But, then, who is perfect? He has some serious faults, from which we may also take instructive lessons, so as to avoid them. He runs all over a house, sits up late at night, and makes a devil of a noise. He is a nasty, cross-grained critter, and treacherous even to those who feed him best. He is very dirty in his habits, and spoils as much food as he eats. If a door ain’t left open for him, he cuts right through it, and if by accident he is locked in, he won’t wait to be let out, but hacks a passage ship through the floor. Not content with being entertained himself, he brings a whole retinue with him, and actilly eats a feller out of house and home, and gets as sassy as a free nigger. He gets into the servant-gall’s bed-room sometimes at night, and nearly scares her to death under pretence he wants her candle; and sometimes jumps right on to the bed, and says she is handsome enough to eat, gives her a nip on the nose, sneezes on her with great contempt, and tells her she takes snuff. The fact is, he is hated everywhere he travels for his ugly behaviour as much as an Englishman, and that is a great deal more than sin is by half the world.