Nature and Human Nature

by Thomas Chandler Haliburton

Having sent Sorrow back in the boat with an injunction to watch our signal of recall, we proceeded further up the river, and commenced fishing. In a short time we killed two beautiful salmon, but the black flies and musquitoes were so intolerably troublesome, we were compelled to return to the log hut. I asked permission of our cheerful, tidy young hostess to broil a piece of the salmon by her fire, more for the purpose of leaving the fish with her than anything else, when she immediately offered to perform that friendly office for us herself.

“I believe,” she said, “I have a drawing of tea left,” and taking from the shelf a small mahogany caddy, emptied it of its contents. It was all she had. The flour-barrel was also examined and enough was gathered, as she said by great good luck, to make a few cakes. Her old man, she remarked, for so she termed her young husband, would be back in a day or two and bring a fresh supply. To relieve her of our presence, while she was busied in those preparations, we strolled to the bank of the river, where the breeze in the open ground swept away our tormentors, the venomous and ravenous flies, and by the time our meal was ready, returned almost loaded with trout. I do not know that I ever enjoyed anything more than this unexpected meal. The cloth was snowy white, the butter delicious, and the eggs fresh laid. In addition to this, and what rendered it so acceptable, it was a free offering of the heart.

In the course of conversation I learned from her, that the first year they had been settled there they had been burnt out, and lost nearly all they had, but she didn’t mind that she said, for, thank God, she had saved her children, and she believed they had originally put up their building in the wrong place. The neighbours had been very kind to them, helped them to erect a new and larger house, near the beautiful spring we saw in the green; and besides, she and her husband were both young, and she really believed they were better off than they were before the accident.

Poor thing, she didn’t need words of comfort, her reliance on Providence and their own exertions was so great, she seemed to have no doubt as to their ultimate success. Still, though she did not require encouragement, confirmation of her hopes, I knew, would be grateful to her, and I told her to tell her husband on no account to think of parting with or removing from the place, for I observed there was an extensive intervale of capital quality, an excellent mill privilege on the stream where I caught the salmon, and as he had the advantage of water carriage, that the wood on the place, which was of a quality to suit the Halifax market, would soon place him in independent circumstances.

“He will be glad to hear you think so, Sir,” she replied, “for he has often said the very same thing himself; but the folks at the settlement laugh at him when he talks that way, and say he is too sanguine. But I am sure he ain’t, for it is very much like my poor father’s place in Colchester, only it has the privilege of a harbour which he had not, and that is a great thing.”

The signal for Sorrow having been hung out for some time, we rose to take leave, and wishing to find an excuse for leaving some money behind me, and recollecting having seen some cows in the field, I asked her if she could sell me some of her excellent butter for the use of the cabin. She said she could not do so, for the cows all had calves, and she made but little; but she had five or six small prints, if I would accept them, and she could fill me a bottle or two with cream.

I felt much hurt—I didn’t know what to do. She had given me her last ounce of tea, baked her last cake, and presented me with all the butter she had in the house. “Could or would you have done that?” said I to myself, “come, Sam, speak the truth now.” Well, Squire, I only brag when I have a right to boast, though you do say I am always brim full of it, and I won’t go for to deceive you or myself either, I know I couldn’t, that’s a fact. I have mixed too much with the world, my feelings have got blunted, and my heart ain’t no longer as soft as it used to did to be. I can give, and give liberally, because I am able, but I give what I don’t want and what I don’t miss; but to give as this poor woman did all she had of these two indispensable articles, tea and flour, is a thing, there is no two ways about it, I could not.

I must say I was in a fix; if I was to offer to pay her, I knew I should only wound her feelings. She derived pleasure from her hospitality, why should I deprive her of that gratification? If she delighted to give, why should I not in a like feeling be pleased to accept, when a grateful reception was all that was desired—must I be outdone in all things? must she teach me how to give freely and accept gracefully?

She shall have her way this hitch, and so will I have mine bime by, or the deuce is in the die. I didn’t surely come to Liscombe Harbour to be taught those things.

“Tell your husband,” sais I, “I think very highly of his location, and if hard times continue to pinch him, or he needs a helping hand, I am both able and willing to assist him, and will have great pleasure in doing so for her sake who has so kindly entertained us in his absence. Here is my card and address, if he wants a friend let him come to me, and if he can’t do that, write to me, and he will find I am on hand. Any man in Boston will tell him where Sam Slick lives.”