Occasions thought in him who lodges under.'
"Don't they, though? Not a deuced thing have I been able to do since that little gipsy took the room overhead, about a week ago! Pat—pat—pat, go those little feet over the floor, till I am as nervous as a cat in a china closet, (and confounded pretty they are, too, for I caught sight of 'em going up stairs.) Then I can hear her little rocking-chair creak, as she sits there sewing, and she keeps singing, 'Love not—love not,' (just as if a fellow could help it.) Wish she wasn't quite so pretty; it makes me decidedly uncomfortable. Wonder if she has any great six-footer of a brother, or cousin with a sledge-hammer fist? Wish I was her washerwoman, or the little nigger who brings her breakfast; wish she'd faint away on the stairs; wish the house would catch fire to-night! Here I am, in this great barn of a room (all alone;) chairs and things set up square against the wall; no little feminine fixins round; I shall have to buy a second-hand bonnet, or a pair of little gaiter-boots, to cheat myself into the delusion that there's two of us! Wish that little gipsy wasn't as shy as a rabbit? I can't meet her on the stairs if I die for it; I've upset my inkstand a dozen times, hopping up, when I thought I heard her coming. Wonder if she knows (when she sits vegetating there,) that Shakspeare, or Sam Slick, or somebody says, that 'happiness is born a twin?' 'cause if she don't, I'm the missionary that will enlighten her? Wonder if she earns her living, (poor little soul!) It's time I had a wife, by Christopher! (Sitting there, pricking her pretty little fingers with that murderous needle!) If she was sewing on my dickeys, it would be worth while now. That's it—by Jove! I'll get her to make me some dickeys—don't want 'em any more than Satan wants holy water, but that's neither here nor there. I shall insist upon her taking the measure of my throat (bachelors have a right to be fussy). There's a pretty kettle of fish, now; either she'll have to stand on a cricket, or I shall have to get on my knees to her! Solomon himself couldn't fix any thing better; deuce take me, if I couldn't say the right thing then! This fitting dickeys is a work of time, too. Dickeys isn't to be got up in a hurry.
"Halloo! there's the door-bell! there's a great big trunk dumped down in the entry! 'Is Mrs. Legare at home?' M-r-s. Legare?! I like that, now! Have I been in love a whole week with M-r-s. Legare? Never mind, may be she's a widow! Tramp, tramp, come those masculine feet up stairs—(handsome fellow, too!) N-e-b-u-c-h-a-d-n-ezzar! If I ever heard a kiss in my life, I heard one then! I won't stand it!—it's an invasion of my rights. I'll listen at the door, as I am a sinner! 'My dear husband!!!'—p-h-e-w! What right have sea-captains on shore, I'd like to know? Confound it all! Well, I always knew women weren't worth thinking of; a set of deceitful little monkeys; changeable as a rainbow, superficial as parrots, as full of tricks as a conjuror, stubborn as mules, vain as peacocks, noisy as magpies, and full of the 'old Harry' all the time! There's 'Delilah,' now; didn't she take the 'strength' out of Sampson?—and weren't 'Sisera' and 'Judith' born fiends? And didn't the little minx of an Herodias dance John the Baptist's head off? Didn't Sarah 'raise Cain' with Abraham, till he packed Hagar off? Then there was——(well, the least said about HER, the better!) but didn't Eve, the foremother of the whole concern, have one talk too many with the old 'serpent?' Of course; (she didn't do nothing else!!) Glad I never set my young affections on any of 'em! Where's my cigar-case! How tormented hot this room is!"
LXXXII.
A CHAPTER ON CLERGYMEN.
"Oh, walk in, Mr. Jones, walk in; a minister's time isn't of much account. He ought to expect to be always ready to see his parishioners. What's the use of having a minister, if you can't use him? Never mind scattering his thoughts to the four winds, just as he gets them glowingly concentrated on some sublime subject; that's a trifle. He's been through college, hasn't he? Then he ought to know a thing or two; and be able to take up the thread of his argument where he laid it down; else where's the almighty difference between him and a layman? If he can't make a practical use of his Greek and Latin and Theology, he had better strip off his black coat, unshake his 'right hand of fellowship,' and throw up his commission. Take a seat, Mr. Jones; talk to him about your crops; make him plough over a dozen imaginary fields with you; he ought to be able to make a quick transit from 'predestination' to potatoes. Why, just think of the man's salary—and you helping to pay it! Nebuchadnezzar! haven't you hired him, soul and body? He don't belong to himself at all, except when he's asleep. Mind and give him a little wholesome advice before you leave; inquire how many pounds of tea he uses per week, and ask him how he came to be so unclerical as to take a ride on horseback the other day; and how much the hostler charged him for the animal, and whether he went on a gallop, or a canter, or an orthodox trot? Let him know, very decidedly, that ministers are not expected to have nerves, or head-aches, or side-aches, or heart aches. If they get weary writing (which they've no business to,) let them go down cellar and chop some wood. As to relaxation suggestive of beautiful thoughts, which a gallop on a fleet horse through the country might furnish, where the sweet air fans the aching temples caressingly, where fields of golden grain wave in the glad sunlight, where the blended beauty of sky and sea, and rock and river, and hill and valley, send a thrill of pleasure through every inlet of the soul—pshaw! that's all transcendental nonsense, fit only for green boarding-school girls and silly scribbling women,—a minister ought to be above such things, and have a heart as tough as the doctrine of election. He ought to be a regular theological sledge-hammer, always sharpened up, and ready to do execution without any unnecessary glitter. That's it!
"Fact is, Mr. Jones, (between you and I and the vestry door,) it is lucky there are some philanthropic laymen like yourself who are willing to look after these ministers. It's the more generous in you because we are all aware it's a thing you don't take the slightest pleasure in doing(?) You may not get your reward for it in this world, but if you don't in the next, I shall make up my mind, that Lucifer is remiss in his duty."
LXXXIII.
FANNY FERN ON HUSBANDS.
"'Husbands should by all means assist their wives in making home happy, and strive to preserve the hearts they have won. When you return from your daily avocations, meet your beloved with a smile of joy and satisfaction—take her by the hand—imprint an affectionate kiss upon her lips.'
"Isn't that antimonial? Don't you do any such thing! If you've made a married woman of her, I'd like to know if that isn't an honor that she might spend a life-time trying to repay you for; and come out at the little end of the horn at that?