“The Gineral was takin’ a ride with a southerner one day over his farm to Bangor in Maine, to see his crops, fixin mill privileges and what not, and the southerner was a turning up his nose at every thing amost, proper scorney, and braggin’ how things growed on his estate down south. At last the Gineral’s ebenezer began to rise, and he got as mad as a hatter, and was intarmed to take a rise out of him.
“‘So,’ says he, ‘stranger,’ says he, ‘you talk about your Indgian corn, as if nobody else raised any but yourself. Now I’ll bet you a thousand dollars, I have corn that’s growd so wonderful, you can’t reach the top of it a standin’ on your horse.’
“‘Done,’ sais Southener, and ‘Done,’ sais the General, and done it was.
“‘Now,’ sais the Giniral, ‘stand up on your saddle like a circus rider, for the field is round that corner of the wood there.’ And the entire stranger stood up as stiff as a poker. ‘Tall corn, I guess,’ sais he, ‘if I can’t reach it, any how, for I can e’en a’most reach the top o’ them trees. I think I feel them thousand dollars of yourn, a marchin’ quick step into my pocket, four deep. Reach your corn, to be sure I will. Who the plague, ever see’d corn so tall, that a man couldn’t reach it a horseback.’
“‘Try it,’ sais the Gineral, as he led him into the field, where the corn was only a foot high, the land was so monstrous, mean and so beggarly poor.
“‘Reach it,’ sais the Gineral.
“‘What a damned Yankee trick,’ sais the Southener. ‘What a take in this is, ain’t it?’ and he leapt, and hopt, and jumped like a snappin’ turtle, he was so mad. Yes, common sense to Ireland, is like Indgian corn to Bangor, it ain’t overly tall growin’, that’s a fact. We must see both these countries together. It is like the nigger’s pig to the West Indies “little and dam old.”
“Oh, come back soon, Squire, I have a thousand things, I want to tell you, and I shall forget one half o’ them, if you don’t; and besides,” said he in an onder tone, “he” (nodding his head towards Mr. Hopewell,) “will miss you shockingly. He frets horridly about his flock. He says, ‘’Mancipation and Temperance have superceded the Scriptures in the States. That formerly they preached religion there, but now they only preach about niggers and rum.’ Good bye, Squire.”
“You do right, Squire,” said Mr. Hopewell, “to go. That which has to be done, should be done soon, for we have not always the command of our time. See your friend, for the claims of friendship are sacred; and see your family tomb-stones also, for the sight of them, will awaken a train of reflections in a mind like yours, at once melancholy and elevating; but I will not deprive you of the pleasure you will derive from first impressions, by stripping them of their novelty. You will be pleased with the Scotch; they are a frugal, industrious, moral and intellectual people. I should like to see their agriculture, I am told it is by far the best in Europe.
“But, Squire, I shall hope to see you soon, for I sometimes think duty calls me home again. Although my little flock has chosen other shepherds and quitted my fold, some of them may have seen their error, and wish to return. And ought I not to be there to receive them? It is true, I am no longer a labourer in the vineyard, but my heart is there. I should like to walk round and round the wall that encloses it, and climb up, and look into it, and talk to them that are at work there. I might give some advice that would be valuable to them. The blossoms require shelter, and the fruit requires heat, and the roots need covering in Winter. The vine too is luxuriant, and must be pruned, or it will produce nothing but wood. It demands constant care and constant labour; I had decorated the little place with flowers too, to make it attractive and pleasant.