CHAPTER VII. LIFE IN THE COUNTRY.
“Here,” said Mr. Sick, “is an invitation for you and me, and minister to go and visit Sir Littleeared Bighead, down to Yorkshire. You can go if you like, and for once, p’raps it’s worth goin’ to see how these chaps first kill time, and then how time kills them in turn. Eatin’, drinkin’, sleepin’, growlin’, fowlin’, and huntin’ kills time; and gout, aperplexy, dispepsy, and blue devils kills them. They are like two fightin’ dogs, one dies of the thrashin’ he gets, and t’other dies of the wounds he got a killin’ of him. Tit for tat; what’s sarce for the goose, is sarce for the gander.
“If you want to go, Minister will go with you; but hang me if I do. The only thing is, it’ll puzzle you to get him away, if he gets down there. You never see such a crotchical old critter in your life as he is. He flies right off the handle for nothin’. He goes strayin’ away off in the fields and gullies, a browsin’ about with a hammer, crackin’ up bits of stones like walnuts, or pickin’ up old weeds, faded flowers, and what not; and stands starin’ at ‘em for ever so long, through his eye-glass, and keeps a savin’ to himself, ‘Wonderful provision of natur!’ Airth and seas! what does he mean? How long would a man live on such provision, I should like to know, as them bitter yarbs.
“Well, then, he’ll jist as soon set down and jaw away by the hour together with a dirty-faced, stupid little poodle lookin’ child, as if it was a nice spry little dog he was a trainin’ of for treein’ partridges; or talk poetry with the galls, or corn-law with the patriots, or any thing. Nothin’ comes amiss to him.
“But what provokes me, is to hear him go blartin’ all over the country about home scenes, and beautiful landscape, and rich vardure. My sakes, the vardure here is so deep, it looks like mournin’; it’s actilly dismal. Then there’s no water to give light to the pictur, and no sun to cheer it; and the hedges are all square; and the lime trees are as stiff as an old gall that was once pretty, and has grow’d proud on the memory of it.
“I don’t like their landscape a bit, there ain’t no natur in it. Oh! if you go, take him along with you, for he will put you in consait of all you see, except reform, dissent, and things o’ that kind; for he is an out and out old Tory, and thinks nothin’ can be changed here for the better, except them that don’t agree with him.
“He was a warnin’ you t’other day not to take all I said for Gospel about society here; but you’ll see who’s right and who’s wrong afore you’ve done, I know. I described to you, when you returned from Germany, Dinin’ out to London. Now I’ll give you my opinion of “Life in the Country.” And fust of all, as I was a sayin’, there is no such thing as natur’ here. Every thing is artificial; every thing of its kind alike; and every thing oninterestin’ and tiresome.
“Well, if London is dull, in the way of West Eend people, the country, I guess, is a little mucher. Life in the country is different, of course, from life in town; but still life itself is alike there, exceptin’ again class difference. That is, nobility is all alike, as far as their order goes; and country gents is alike, as far as their class goes; and the last especially, when they hante travelled none, everlastin’ flat, in their own way. Take a lord, now, and visit him to his country seat, and I’ll tell you what you will find—a sort of Washington State house place. It is either a rail old castle of the genuine kind, or a gingerbread crinkum crankum imitation of a thing that only existed in fancy, but never was seen afore—a thing that’s made modern for use, and in ancient stile for shew; or else it’s a great cold, formal, slice of a London terrace, stack on a hill in a wood.
“Well, there is lawn, park, artificial pond called a lake, deer that’s fashionablized and civilized, and as little natur in ‘em as the humans have. Kennel and hounds for parsicutin’ foxes—presarves (not what we call presarves, quinces and apple sarce, and green gages done in sugar, but preserves for breedin’ tame partridges and peasants to shoot at), H’aviaries, Hive-eries, H’yew-veris, Hot Houses, and so on; for they put an H before every word do these critters, and then tell us Yankees we don’t speak English.