No. XXXII

Too many Irons in the Fire

We had a pleasant sail of three hours from Parrsboro to Windsor. The arrivals and departures by water, are regulated at this place by the tide, and it was sunset before we reached Mrs. Wilcox's comfortable inn. Here, as at other places, Mr. Slick seemed to be perfectly at home; and he pointed to a wooden clock, as a proof of his successful and extended trade, and of the universal influence of "soft sawder," and a knowledge of "human natur." Taking out a pen knife, he cut off a splinter from a stick of firewood, and balancing himself on one leg of his chair, by the aid of his right foot, commenced his favorite amusement of whitling, which he generally pursued in silence. Indeed it appeared to have become with him an indispensible accompaniment of reflection. He sat in this abstracted manner, until he had manufactured into delicate shavings the whole of his raw materiel, when he very deliberately resumed a position of more ease and security, by resting his chair on two legs instead of one, and putting both his feet on the mantel piece. Then, lighting his cigar, he said in his usual quiet manner, there's a plaguy sight of truth in them are old proverbs. They are distilled facts steamed down to an essence. They are like portable soup, an amazin deal of matter in a small compass. They are what I valy most, experience. Father used to say I'd as lives have an old homespun self taught doctor as are a Professor in the College at Philadelphia or New York to attend me; for what they do know, they know by experience, and not by books; and experience is every thing, its hearin and seein and tryin, and arter that a feller must be a born fool if he don't know. That's the beauty of old proverbs; they are as true as a plum line, and as short and sweet as sugar candy. Now when you come to see all about this Country you'll find the truth of that are one—"A MAN THAT HAS TOO MANY IRONS IN THE FIRE, IS PLAGUY APT TO GET SOME ON 'EM BURNT."

Do you recollect that are tree I show'd you to Parrsboro', it was all covered with BLACK KNOBS, like a wart rubbed with caustic. Well, the plum trees had the same disease a few years ago, and they all died, and the cherry trees I concait will go for it too. The farms here are all covered with the same "black knobs," and they do look like old scratch. If you see a place all gone to wrack and ruin, its mortgaged you may depend. The "black knob" is on it. My plan, you know, is to ax leave to put a clock in a house, and let it be till I return. I never say a word about sellin it, for I know when I come back, they wont let it go arter they are once used to it. Well, when I first came, I knowed no one, and I was forced to enquire whether a man was good for it, afore I left it with him; so I made a pint of axin all about every man's place that lived on the road. Who lives up there in the big house, says I? its a nice location that, pretty considerable improvements them. Why Sir, that's A. B.'s; he was well to do in the world once, carried a stiff upper lip and keerd for no one; he was one of our grand aristocrats, wore a long tailed coat, and a ruffled shirt, but he must take to ship buildin, and has gone to the dogs. Oh, said I, too many irons in the fire. Well, the next farm, where the pigs are in the potatoe field, whose is that? Oh, Sir, that's C. D's. he was a considerable fore handed farmer, as any in our place, but he sot up for an Assembly-man, and opened a Store, and things went agin him some how, he had no luck arterwards. I hear his place is mortgaged, and they've got him cited in chancery. "The black knob" is on him, said I. The black what, Sir, says Blue Nose? nothin says I. But the next, who improves that house? Why that's E. F.'s he was the greatest farmer in these parts, another of the aristocracy, had a most a noble stock o' cattle, and the matter of some hundreds out in jint notes; well he took the contract for beef with the troops; and he fell astarn so, I guess its a gone goose with him. He's heavy mortgaged. "Too many irons" agin, said I. Who lives to the left there? that man has a most a special fine intervale, and a grand orchard too, he must be a good mark that. Well he was once, Sir, a few years ago; but he built a fullin mill, and a cardin mill, and put up a lumber establishment, and speculated in the West Indy line, but the dam was carried away by the freshets, the lumber fell, and faith he fell too; he's shot up, he hant been see'd these two years, his farm is a common, and fairly run out. Oh, said I, I understand now, my man, these folks had too many irons in the fire you see, and some on 'em have got burnt. I never heerd tell of it, says Blue Nose; they might, but not to my knowledge; and he scratched his head, and looked as if he would ask the meanin of it, but didn't like too. Arter that I axed no more questions; I knew a mortgaged farm as far as I could see it. There was a strong family likeness in 'em all—the same ugly featurs, the same cast o' countenance. The "black knob" was discernible—there was no mistake—barn doors broken off—fences burnt up—glass out of windows—more white crops than green—and both lookin poor and weedy—no wood pile, no sarse garden, no compost, no stock—moss in the mowin lands, thistles in the ploughed lands, and neglect every where—skinnin had commenced—takin all out and puttin nothin in—gittin ready for a move, SO AS TO HAVE NOTHIN BEHIND. Flittin time had come. Fore gatherin, for foreclosin. Preparin to curse and quit. —That beautiful river we came up to day, What superfine farms it has on both sides of it, hante it? its a sight to behold. Our folks have no notion of such a country so far down east, beyond creation most, as Nova Scotia is. If I was to draw up an account of it for the Slickville Gazette, I guess few would accept it as a bona fide draft, without some sponsible man to indorse it, that warnt given to flammin. They'd say there was a land speculation to the bottom of it, or water privilege to put into the market, or a plaister rock to get off, or some such scheme. They would, I snore. But I hope I may never see daylight agin, if there's sich a country in all our great nation, as the VI-cinity of Windsor.

Now its jist as like as not, some goney of a Blue Nose, that see'd us from his fields, sailin up full spirit, with a fair wind on the packet, went right off home and said to his wife, "now do for gracious sake, mother, jist look here, and see how slick them folks go along; and that Captain has nothin to do all day, but sit straddle legs across his tiller, and order about his sailors, or talk like a gentleman to his passengers; he's got most as easy a time of it as Ami Cuttle has, since he took up the fur trade, a snarin rabbits. I guess I'll buy a vessel, and leave the lads to do the plowin and little chores, they've growd up now to be considerable lumps of boys." Well, away he'll go, hot foot, (for I know the critters better nor they know themselves) and he'll go and buy some old wrack of a vessel, to carry plaister, and mortgage his farm to pay for her. The vessel will jam him up tight for repairs and new riggin, and the Sheriff will soon pay him a visit (and he's a most particular troublesome visitor that; if he once only gets a slight how-d'ye-do acquaintance, he becomes so amazin intimate arterwards, a comin in without knockin, and a runnin in and out at all hours, and makin so plaguy free and easy, its about as much as a bargain if you can get clear of him afterwards.) Benipt by the tide, and benipt by the Sheriff, the vessel makes short work with him. Well, the upshot is, the farm gets neglected, while Captain Cuddy is to sea a drogin of plaister. The thistles run over his grain fields, his cattle run over his hay land, the interest runs over its time, the mortgage runs over all, and at last he jist runs over to the lines to Eastport, himself. And when he finds himself there, a standin in the street, near Major Pine's tavern, with his bands in his trowser pockets, a chasin of a stray shillin from one eend of 'em to another, afore he can catch it to swap for a dinner, wont he look like a ravin distracted fool, that's all? He'll feel about as streaked as I did once, a ridin down the St. John river. It was the fore part of March—I'd been up to Fredericton a speculatin in a small matter of lumber, and was returnin to the city, a gallopin along on one of old Buntin's horses, on the ice, and all at one I missed my horse, he went right slap in and slid under the ice out of sight as quick as wink, and there I was a standin all alone. Well, says I, what the dogs has become of my horse and port mantle? they have given me a proper dodge, that's a fact. That is a narrer squeak, it fairly bangs all. Well, I guess he'll feel near about as ugly, when he finds himself brought up all standin that way; and it will come so sudden on him, he'll say, why it aint possible I've lost farm and vessel both, in tu tu's that way, but I don't see neither on 'em. Eastport is near about all made up of folks who have had to cut and run for it.

I was down there last fall, and who should I see but Thomas Rigby, of Windsor. He knew me the minit he laid eyes upon me, for I had sold him a clock the summer afore. (I got paid for it, though, for I see'd he had too many irons in the fire not to get some on 'em burnt; and besides, I knew every fall and spring the wind set in for the lines, from Windsor, very strong—a regular trade wind—a sort of monshune, that blows all one way, for a long time without shiftin.) Well, I felt proper sorry for him, for he was a very clever man, and looked cut up dreadfully, and amazin down in the mouth. Why, says I, possible! is that you, Mr. Rigby? why, as I am alive! if that aint my old friend—why how do you do? Hearty, I thank you, said he, how be you? Reasonable well, I give you thanks, says I; but what on airth brought you here? Why, says he, Mr. Slick, I couldn't well avoid it; times are uncommon dull over the bay; there's nothin stirrin there this year, and never will I'm thinkin. No mortal soul CAN live in Nova Scotia. I do believe that our country was made of a Saturday night, arter all the rest of the Universe was finished. One half of it has got all the ballast of Noah's ark thrown out there; and the other half is eat up by Bankers, Lawyers, and other great folks. All our money goes to pay salaries, and a poor man has no chance at all. Well, says I, are you done up stock and fluke—a total wrack? No, says he, I have two hundred pounds left yet to the good, but my farm, stock and utensils, them young blood horses, and the bran new vessel I was a buildin, are all gone to pot, swept as clean as a thrashin floor, that's a fact; Shark & Co. took all. Well, says I, do you know the reason of all that misfortin? Oh, says he, any fool can tell that; bad times to be sure—every thing has turned agin the country, the banks have it all their own way, and much good may it do 'em. Well, says I, what's the reason the banks don't eat us up too, for I guess they are as hungry as yourn be, and no way particular about their food neither; considerable sharp set—cut like razors, you may depend. I'll tell you, says I, how you get that are slide, that sent you heels over head—"YOU HAD TOO MANY IRONS IN THE FIRE." You hadn't ought to have taken hold of ship buildin at all, you knowed nothin about it; you should have stuck to your farm, and your farm would have stuck to you. Now go back, afore you spend your money, go up to Douglas, and you'll buy as good a farm for two hundred pounds as what you lost, and see to that, and to that only, and you'll grow rich. As for Banks, they can't hurt a country no great, I guess, except by breakin, and I conceit there's no fear of yourn breakin; and as for lawyers, and them kind o' heavy coaches, give 'em half the road, and if they run agin you, take the law of 'em. Undivided, unremittin attention paid to one thing, in ninety-nine cases out of a hundred, will ensure success; but you know the old sayin about "TOO MANY IRONS."

Now, says I, Mr. Rigby, what o'clock is it? Why, says he, the moon is up a piece, I guess its seven o'clock or thereabouts. I suppose its time to be a movin. Stop, says I, jist come with me, I got a real nateral curiosity to show you—such a thing as you never laid your eyes on in Nova-Scotia, I know. So we walked along towards the beach; now, says I, look at that are man, old Lunar, and his son, a sawin plank by moonlight, for that are vessel on the stocks there; come agin to morrow mornin, afore you can cleverly discarn objects the matter of a yard or so afore you, and you'll find 'em at it agin. I guess that vessel won't ruinate those folks. They know their business and stick to it. Well, away went Rigby, considerably sulky, (for he had no notion that it was his own fault, he laid all the blame on the folks to Halifax,) but I guess he was a little grain posed, for back he went, and bought to Sowack, where I hear he has a better farm than he had afore.

I mind once we had an Irish gall as a dairy help; well, we had a wicked devil of a cow, and she kicked over the milk pail, and in ran Dora, and swore the Bogle did it; jist so, poor Rigby, he wouldn't allow it was nateral causes, but laid it all to politics. Talkin of Dora, puts me in mind of the galls, for she warnt a bad lookin heifer that; my! what an eye she had, and I concaited she had a particular small foot and ankle too, when I helped her up once into the hay mow, to sarch for eggs; but I cant exactly say, for when she brought em in, mother shook her head and said it was dangerous; she said she might fall through and hurt herself, and always sent old Snow afterwards. She was a considerable of a long headed woman, was mother, she could see as far ahead as most folks. She warn't born yesterday, I guess. But that are proverb is true as respects the galls too. Whenever you see one on 'em with a whole lot of sweet hearts, its an even chance if she gets married to any on em. One cools off, and another cools off, and before she brings any one on em to the right weldin heat, the coal is gone and the fire is out. Then she may blow and blow till she's tired; she may blow up a dust, but the deuce of a flame can she blow up agin, to save her soul alive. I never see a clever lookin gall in danger of that, I dont long to whisper in her ear, you dear little critter, you, take care, you have too many irons in the fire, some on 'em will get stone cold, and tother ones will get burnt so, they'll never be no good in natur.