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which, though essential to domestic comfort, will not add to the moneyed value of his farm, which he considers merely an article of trade, and which he knows his successor will look upon in the same light. I have sometimes thought that our neighbours forget that “the days of man's life are three score years and ten,” since they spend all their lives in getting ready to begin. J
Offer me no money, I pray you; that kills my heart. * *
Will you buy any tape
OUR return to Detroit was accomplished without any serious accident, although we were once overturned in consequence of my enthusiastic admiration of a tuft of splendid flowers in a marsh which we were crossing by the usual bridge of poles, or corduroy as it is here termed.
While our eyes were fixed upon it, and I was secretly determining not to go on without it, our sober steed, seeing a small stream at a little distance on one side, quietly walked towards it, and our attention was withdrawn from the contemplation of the object of my wishes by finding ourselves spilt into the marsh, and the buggy reposing on its side, while the innocent cause of, the mischief was fairly planted, fetlock deep, in the tenacious black-mud : I say the innocent cause, for who ever expected any proofs of education from a livery-stable beast !—and such was our brown friend.
'T were vain to tell how I sat on the high bog, (the large tufted masses in a marsh are so called in Michigan,) which had fortunately received me in falling, and laughed till I cried to see my companion hunting for his spectacles, and D'Orsay (whom I ought sooner to have introduced to my reader) looking on with a face of most evident wonder. D'Orsay, my beautiful greyhound, was our compagnon de voyage, and had caused us much annoyance by his erratic propensities, so that we were obliged to tie him in the back part of the buggy, and then watch very closely that he did not free himself of his bonds. Just at this moment a pedestrian traveller, a hardfeatured, yellow-haired son of New England, came up, with a tin trunk in his hand, and a small pack or knapsack strapped on his shoulders. “Well ! I swan l’” said he with a grim smile, “I never see any thing slicker than that ' Why, you went over jist as easy 1 You was goin’ to try if the mash wouldn’t be softer ridin', I s'pose.” Mr. Clavers disclaimed any intention of quitting the causeway, and pointed to my unfortunate pyramid of pale pink blossoms as the cause of our disaster. “What them posies Why, now, to my thinking, a good big double marygold is as far before them pink lilies as can be: but I’ll see if I can't get ’em for you if you want 'em.” By this time, the carriage was again in travelling trim, and D'Orsay tolerably resigned to his imprisoned state. The flowers were procured, and most delicately beautiful and fragrant they were. Mr. Clavers offered guerdon-remuneration, but our oriental friend seemed shy of accepting any thing of the sort.
“If you’ve a mind to trade, I’ve got a lot o' notions I’d like to sell you,” said he.
So my travelling basket was crammed with essences, pins, brass thimbles, and balls of cotton; while Mr. Clavers possessed himself of a valuable outfit of pocketcombs, suspenders, and cotton handkerchiefs — an assortment which made us very popular on that road for some time after.
We reached the city in due time, and found our hotel crowded to suffocation. The western fever was then at its height, and each day brought its thousands to Detroit. Every tavern of every calibre was as well filled as ours, and happy he who could find a bed any where. Fifty cents was the price of six feet by two of the bar-room floor, and these choice lodgings were sometimes disposed of by the first served at “thirty per cent. advance.” The country inns were thronged in proportion; and your horse's hay cost you nowhere less than a dollar per diem; while, throughout the whole territory west of Detroit, the only masticable articles set before the thousands of hungry travellers were salt ham and bread, for which you had the satisfaction of paying like a prince.
Notre sagesse n'est pas moins à la mercide la fortune que nos biens. Rochefoucault.
Your horse's hoof-tread sounds too rude,
OUR breakfast-table at House was surrounded by as motley a crew as Mirth ever owned. The standing ornament of the upper end was a very large light-blue crape turban, which turban surmounted the prolonged face of a lady, somewhere (it is not polite to be exact in these matters) between forty and fifty, and also partly concealed a pair of ears from which depended ear-rings whose pendants rested not far from the Apalachian collar-bones of the dignified wearer. This lady, turban and ear-rings, were always in their places before the eggs came, and remained long after the last one had disappeared—at least, I judge so; for I, who always take my chance (rash enough in this case) for a breakfast, never saw her seat vacant. Indeed, as I never met her anywhere else, I might have supposed her a fixture, the production of some American Maelzel, but that the rolling of her very light grey eyes was quite different from that of the dark Persian orbs of the chess-player; while an occasional word came to my ear with a sharp sound, even more startling than the “Echec ’’ of that celebrated personage.