“Stay, dear, I’ll tell you what I will do for you. I’ll inquire about these Chartists; and when I go to London, I will write a little tract so plain that any child may read it and understand it; and call it The Chartist, and get it printed, and I will send you one for your husband, and two or three others, to give to those whom they may benefit.
“And now, dear, I must go. You and I will never meet again in this world; but I shall often think of you, and often speak of you. I shall tell my people of the comforts, of the neatness, of the beauty of an English cottage. May God bless you, and so regulate your mind as to preserve in you a reverence for his holy word, an obedience to the commands of your Spiritual Pastor, and a respect for all that are placed in authority over you!”
“Well, it is pretty, too, is this cottage,” said Mr. Slick, as we strolled back to the inn, “but the handsumestest thing is to hear that good old soul talk dictionary that way, aint it? How nateral he is! Guess they don’t often see such a ‘postle as that in these diggins. Yes, it’s pretty is this cottage; but it’s small, arter all. You feel like a squirrel in a cage, in it; you have to run round and round, and don’t go forward none. What would a man do with a rifle here? For my part, I have a taste for the wild woods; it comes on me regular in the fall, like the lake fever, and I up gun, and off for a week or two, and camp out, and get a snuff of the spruce-wood air, and a good appetite, and a bit of fresh ven’son to sup on at night.
“I shall be off to the highlands this fall; but, cuss em, they hante got no woods there; nothin’ but heather, and thats only high enough to tear your clothes. That’s the reason the Scotch don’t wear no breeches, they don’t like to get ‘em ragged up that way for everlastinly, they can’t afford it; so they let em scratch and tear their skin, for that will grow agin, and trowsers won’t.
“Yes, it’s a pretty cottage that, and a nice tidy body that too, is Mrs. Hodgins. I’ve seen the time when I would have given a good deal to have been so well housed as that. There is some little difference atween that cottage and a log hut of a poor back emigrant settler, you and I know where. Did ever I tell you of the night I spent at Lake Teal, with old Judge Sandford?”
“No, not that I recollect.”
“Well, once upon a time I was a-goin’ from Mill-bridge to Shadbrooke, on a little matter of bisness, and an awful bad and lonely road it was, too. There was scarcely no settlers in it, and the road was all made of sticks, stones, mud holes, and broken bridges. It was een amost onpassible, and who should I overtake on the way but the Judge, and his guide, on horseback, and Lawyer Traverse a-joggin’ along in his gig, at the rate of two miles an hour at the fardest.
“‘Mornin,’ sais the Judge, for he was a sociable man, and had a kind word for every body, had the Judge. Few men ‘know’d human natur’ better nor he did, and what he used to call the philosophy of life. ‘I am glad to see you on the road, Mr. Slick, sais he, ‘for it is so bad I am afraid there are places that will require our united efforts to pass ‘em.’
“Well, I felt kinder sorry for the delay too, for I know’d we should make a poor journey on’t, on account of that lawyer critter’s gig, that hadn’t no more busness on that rough track than a steam engine had. But I see’d the Judge wanted me to stay company, and help him along, and so I did. He was fond of a joke, was the old Judge, and sais he,
“‘I’m afraid we shall illustrate that passage o’ Scriptur’, Mr. Slick,’ said he, ‘“And their judges shall be overthrown in stony places.” It’s jist a road for it, ain’t it?’