Life in the Clearings versus the Bush Part 10

The stranger left me, and I saw no more of him, until I spied him in the concert-room, with a small family of ten or twelve. Presently, another man and a dog arrived. Says he to the doorkeeper, "What's a-goin on here?"

"It's a concert--admission, half-a-dollar."

"I'm not a-goin' to give half-a-dollar to go in here. I hire a pew in this here church by the year, and I've a right to go in whenever the door's open." So in he went with his dog.

The evening turned out very wet, and these people happened to form all my audience; and as I did not feel at all inclined to sing for their especial benefit, I returned to my lodgings. I learned from my doorkeeper the next morning, that my friends waited for an hour and a half for my reappearance, which could not reasonably have been expected under existing circ.u.mstances.

I thought I had got rid of the musical shoemaker for ever, but no such good luck. Before I was out of my bed, he paid me a visit.

"You will excuse my calling so early," says he, "but I was anxious to see you before you left the town."

Wis.h.i.+ng him at the bottom of the Mississippi, I put on my dressing gown, and slipped from my bed, whilst he continued his introductory address.

"I was very sorry that you had not a better attendance last night; and I s'pose that accounted for your leaving us as you did. We were all kinder disappointed. You'd have had a better house, only the people thought there was a _leetle_ humbug about this," and he handed me one of my programmes.

It is well known to most of my readers, that in writing these bills the name of the composer generally follows the song, particularly in any very popular compositions, such as

Grand Introduction to Pianoforte .............. HENRY HERTZ.

Life on the Ocean Wave ........................ HENRY RUSSELL.

Old English Gentleman ......................... Melody by MART. LUTHER.

"Humbug!" said I, attempting to take the bill, in order to see that no mistake had originated in the printing, but my tormentor held it fast.

"Look," said he; "Now where is Henry Hertz; and Henry Russell, where is he? And the Old English Gentleman, Martin Luther, what has become of him? The folks said that he was dead, but I didn't believe that, for I didn't think that you would have had the face to put his name in your bill if he was."

Thus ended my acquaintance with the enlightened shoemaker of the Mississippi. I was travelling in one of the western ca.n.a.l boats the same summer, and was sauntering to and fro upon the deck, admiring the beauty of the country through which we were pa.s.sing, when I observed a very tall, thin-laced, sharp looking man, regarding me with very fixed attention. Not knowing who or what he was, I was at last a little annoyed by the pertinacity of this steady stare. It was evident that he meditated an attack upon me in some shape or other. Suddenly he came up to me, and extending his hand, exclaimed,--

"Why, Mister H---, is this you? I have not seen you since you gave your _consort_ at N---; it seems a tarnation long while ago. I thought, perhaps, you had got blowed up in one of those exploded steam-boats.

But here you are as large as life--and that's not over large neither, (glancing at the slight dimensions of my figure,) and as ready to raise the wind as ever. I am highly gratified to meet with you, as I have one of the greatest songs you ever he'rd to show you. If you can but set it to music, and sing it in New York city, it will immortalize you, and immortalize me tew."

Amused at the earnestness with which the fellow spoke, I inquired the subject of his song.

"Oh, 'tis des-crip-tive; 'tis tre-men-dous. It will make a sensation all over the Union."

"But what is it about?--Have you got it with you?"

"No--no, mister; I never puts these things down on paper, lest other folk should find them and steal them. But I'll give you some _idee_ of what it is. Look you, mister. I was going from Syracuse to Rochester, on the ca.n.a.l-boat. We met on our way a tre-men-dous storm. The wind blew, and the rain came down like old sixty, and everything looked as black as my hat; and the pa.s.sengers got scared and wanted to get off, but the captain sung out, 'Whew--let 'em go, Jem!' and away we went at the rate of tew miles an hour, and they could not stop. By and by we struck a rock, and down we went."

"Indeed!" said I, "that's very unusual in a ca.n.a.l-boat; were any lives lost?"

"No, but we were all dreadfully sceared and covered with mud. I sat down by the _en-gine_ till I got dry, and then I wrote my pome. I will repeat what I can to you, and what I can't I will write right off when I gets hum.--Hold on--hold on--" he continued, beating his forehead with the back of his hand, as if to awaken the powers of memory--"I have it now--I have it now,--'tis tre-men-dous--"

"Oh Lord, who know'st the wants of men, Guide my hand, and guide my pen, And help me bring the truth to light, Of that dread scene and awful night, Ri, tu, ri, tu, ri, tu.

There was Mister Cadoga in years a-bud, Was found next morning in tew feet mud; He strove--he strove--but all in vain, The more he got up, he fell down again.

Ri, tu, ri, tu, ri, tu."

The poet paused for a moment to gain breath, evidently overcome by the recollection of the awful scene. "Is not that bee-u-tiful?" he exclaimed. "What a fine effect you could give to that on the pee-a-ne, humouring the keys to imitate his squabbling about in the mud. Let me tell you, mister, it would beat Russell's 's.h.i.+p on Fire' all hollow."

Wiping the perspiration from his face, he recommenced--

"The pa.s.sengers rushed unto the spot, Together with the crew; We got him safe out of the mud, But he had lost his shoe.

Ri, tu, ri, tu, ri, tu."

I could not listen to another line of this sublime effusion, the pa.s.sengers who had gathered around us drowning his nasal drawl in a complete roar of laughter. Seeing that I was as much infected as the rest, the poet turned to me, with an air of offended dignity,--

"I don't take the trouble, mister, to repeat any more of my _pomes_ to you; nor do I take it kind at all, your laughing at me in that ere way.

But the truth is, you can't comprehend nor appreciate anything that is sublime, or out of the common way. Besides, I don't think you could set it to music; it is not in you, and you can't fix it no-how."

This singular address renewed our mirth; and, finding myself unable to control my inclination to laugh, and not wis.h.i.+ng to hurt his feelings, I was about to leave him, when the man at the helm sung out, "Bridge!"

The pa.s.sengers lowered their heads to ensure their safety--all but my friend the poet, who was too much excited to notice the signal before he came in contact with the bridge, which sent him sprawling down the gangway. He picked himself up, clambered up the stairs, and began striding up and down the deck at a tremendous rate, casting from time to time indignant glances at me.

I thought, for my part, that the man was not in his right senses, or that the blow he had received had so dulled his b.u.mp of caution, that he could no longer take care of himself; for the next moment he stumbled over a little child, and would have been hurt severely if I had not broken his fall, by catching his arm before he again measured his length on the deck. My timely a.s.sistance mollified his anger, and he once more became friendly and confidential.

"Here, take this piece of poetry, Mister H---, and see if you can set _it_ to music. Mind you, it is none of mine; but though not _quite_ so good, it is som'at in my style. I cut it out of a newspaper down East. You are welcome to it," he continued, with a patronizing nod, "that is, if you are able to do justice to the subject."

I took the piece of dirty crumpled newspaper from his hand; and, struck with the droll quizzing humour of the lines, I have preserved them ever since. As I have never seen them before or since, I will give you them here.

To The Falls Of Niagara.

"I wonder how long you've been roarin'

At this infernal rate; I wonder if all you've been pourin'

Could be cipher'd on a slate.

"I wonder how such a thunderin' sounded When all New York was woods; 'Spose likely some Injins have been drownded, When the rains have raised your floods.

"I wonder if wild stags and buffaloes Have stood where now I stand; Well--s'pose being scared at first, they stubb'd their toes; I wonder where they'd land.

"I wonder if that rainbow has been s.h.i.+nin'

Since sun-rise at creation; And this waterfall been underminin'

With constant spatteration.

"That Moses never mention'd ye--I've wonder'd, While other things describin'; My conscience!--how ye must have foam'd and thunder'd When the deluge was subsidin'!

"My thoughts are strange, magnificent, and deep, When I look down on thee;-- Oh, what a glorious place for was.h.i.+ng sheep Niagara would be!

"And oh, what a tremendous water power Is wash'd over its edge; One man might furnish all the world with flour, With a single privilege.

"I wonder how many times the lakes have all Been emptied over here; Why Clinton did not feed the grand Ca.n.a.l Up here--I think is queer.

"The thoughts are very strange that crowd my brain, When I look up to thee; Such thoughts I never expect to have again, To all eternity."

After reading the lines, I begged my friend to excuse me, as I wanted to go below and take a nap. I had not been long in the cabin before he followed me. To get rid of him I pretended to be asleep. After pa.s.sing me two or three times, and leaning over me in the most inquisitive manner, until his long nose nearly went into my eye, and humming a bow-wow tune in my ear to ascertain if I were really napping, he turned from me with a dissatisfied grunt, flung himself into a settee, and not long after was puffing and blowing like a porpoise. I was glad of this opportunity to go on deck again, and "I left him alone in his glory."

But, while I was congratulating myself on my good fortune, I found him once more at my side.

Good heavens! how I wished him at the bottom of the ca.n.a.l, when he commenced telling me some _awful_ dream he had had. I was too much annoyed at being pestered with his company to listen to him, a circ.u.mstance I now rather regret, for had his dreams been equal to his poetry, they certainly must have possessed the rare merit of originality; and I could have gratified my readers with something entirely out of the common way.

Turning abruptly from him, I entered into conversation with another gentleman, and quite forgot my eccentric friend until I retired for the night, when I found him waiting for me in the cabin.

"Ho, ho, mister,--is that you? I was afear'd we had put you ash.o.r.e.