Imágenes de páginas
PDF
EPUB

How silent all around us! the light breeze
But trembles o'er the yellow sheaves!
The soft murmur of the rill is mingled

With the slight rustle of the leaves!

The moon-the stars-the clouds, in silence glide;

While like a maid in mood of mirth,

Who gazes on her sleeping lover's face,

The Moon smiles on the silent Earth!

Δ.

VISIT OF THE PICKWICK CLUB TO THE WHITE MOUNTAINS.

"Strange countries for to see, see, see,
Strange countries for to see."

OLD SONG.

A MONTH or two since, I was induced to visit the White Mountains in search of health and amusement. The trip is at any time a delightful one. The scenery throughout the "Granite State" is far more romantic and interesting than that of any other section of New England, and although the inhabitants are somewhat uncouth, and bear no slight resemblance to what we naturally imagine the antediluvians to have been, still their honesty, hospitality, and good nature are justly proverbial. Stage traveling over a rough country, although an insufferable bore to the over-luxurious and effeminate, is yet the very thing to dissipate nervousness, dyspepsia, and the "hypo." Besides, the very atmosphere of a stage-coach breathes sociability; the moment we enter the door we feel a kindly yearning for all the inmates. Their fortune seems for the hour or day intimately linked with our own, and however ill-tempered we may feel, we find it impossible to quarrel with those connected with us by so close a tie-that of community of interest. Thrice fortunate is he whose coach-companions are agreeable, intelligent people. And thrice fortunate was I on the trip in question. For upwards of four hundred miles I traveled in the bonds of uninterrupted intimacy with the most illustrious, the PICKWICK CLUB! Aye, I ate at the same table and rode on the same seat with them! The object of their journey will be seen hereafter. Undoubtedly, kind reader, thou art on the tip-toe to hear something new of these eminent personages. Thou would'st fain know if their historian, Boz, has rightly described them, or if, as is usually the case with contemporaneous biographers, he has not done injustice to their merits. Be assured then, and I take upon

myself the responsibility of your belief, that I have been positively informed by their own lips that Mr. Dickens' papers are a perfect transcript of their lives and transactions. So accurate indeed, are his delineations of their personal appearance, that although several years have intervened since the publication of his book, I nevertheless recognized them immediately, before they introduced themselves. Mr. Pickwick is the same benevolent, philanthropic creature as ever. Mr. Tupman, although at times sorely affected by the gout, is the same ardent admirer of the ladies, as in his more youthful days. Mr. Snodgrass is, if possible, even more sentimental than formerly, and Mr. Winkle is no better sportsman than in the days of yore. Sam Weller, who, by the bye, left his wife and children at home, is the same old sixpence, with the exception of being perhaps a shade more reserved than formerly. He says that a married man should be more dignified than a single gemman.

Mr. Pickwick (with whom I became more intimate than with any of his associates) induced me to ride with him on the outside seat, and we almost invariably did so. He gave me five philosophical reasons for this step-they were as follows:Firstly, it afforded us excellent opportunities for seeing the country. Secondly, it enabled us to converse with the drivers, a class of men in whom Mr. P. and Sam took great interest. Thirdly, we could thus smoke with impunity-(Boz has forgotten to mention that Mr. P. puffs the weed.) Fourthly, the old gentleman felt inclined to have a fair view of all the pretty country girls. And fifthly, we avoided the babies in the inside. Mr. Pickwick is an open and avowed enemy to babies, inconsistent as it may seem with his general character. Indeed, the old gentleman spoke very severely on several occasions, of the habit peculiar to Yankee mothers, of carrying their babies with them wherever they go, because they cost nothing.. He was remarkably fortunate in being but little troubled by them during the whole trip. On one occasion, however, which I shall relate, he was placed for a short time in a perplexingly embarrassing position. It was as follows. All the club, with the exception of the leader, remained in Conway over night. He and myself went ahead to make preparations for the accommodation of the party at the White Mountain House. On entering the coach we discovered, much to our felicity, that there was not a single baby inside. Congratulating ourselves on our fortunate escape from nature's first invented musical instrument, we took our seats, anticipating a pleasant ride. How vain are human hopes! At the very first stopping place three ladies with four babies entered the stage. The one blessed with the twin responsibilities placed herself directly vis a vis to Mr.

To

Pickwick. The old gentleman literally trembled, with apprehension of being politely requested to hold one of them. his infinite satisfaction, a lady at his side volunteered her services and thus released him. For many a long mile, however, were his ears pierced by their shrill outcries, and his pantaloons daubed by their mumbled gingerbread.

Almost immediately after our arrival at the Mountains, the club ascended Mount Washington. Indisposition prevented me from accompanying them. Mr. Snodgrass, their scribe, wrote a full account of their adventures, and if you ever visit that famed resort you will find them inscribed in a blue covered album, in the parlor of Mr. Fabyan's hotel. To his courtesy I am indebted for a copy, which I shall presently lay before the reader.

At Littleton, with many regrets that we must so soon part, and with assurances of a grateful remembrance of the hours we spent together, we separated-the club going to Burlington, and I returning by the valley of the Connecticut. Mr. Pickwick promised to correspond with me, and faithful to his promise, I have already received two letters. In his last he informed me that he was about joining the Prince de Joinville on a trip to the Rocky Mountains, and that it may be long before I shall hear from him again. Success go with him!

X. Y. Z.

ASCENT TO THE SUMMIT OF MOUNT WASHINGTON.

On the 30th of August, 1841, the Pickwick club, accompanied by Alfred Jingle, Esq., whom they accidentally met in one of the Atlantic cities, arrived at the Mount Washington house. It is not perhaps, generally known, that their philanthropic leader, not satisfied with enlightening the understanding and ameliorating the condition of his English brethren, had determined with the co-operation of his devoted followers, in propria persona, to carry out his schemes of benevolence among the comparatively benighted inhabitants of this western world. It was chiefly in pursuit of this praise-worthy object that the distinguished strangers directed their course towards the White Mountains in New Hampshire. Mr. Pickwick had also heard exaggerated accounts of the beauty of the natural scenery in this remote corner of creation; and convinced, as he was, of the utter inability, both of the residents and of visitors, to appreciate the wonders of God's handiwork, it seemed well to him, that a man of his extensive information and reputation should direct his geological and antiquarian researches to this hitherto unexplored field. The morning of the 31st was dark and lowering. A thick

[blocks in formation]

and impenetrable mist enveloped the summits of the loftier eminences, and occasional drops of rain prognosticated a severe storm. Undaunted by the unfavorable aspect of the weather, the Pickwickians were up at an early hour, making their preparations to ascend Mount Washington. They all breakfasted very heartily, for long experience in traveling has made it a rule with Mr. Pickwick," always to lay in well in the morning, for you know not where you may be, or how you may be situated before night;" and of course the other members of the club could but follow the example of their sagacious leader.

The nags were soon saddled and brought to the door, and the gentlemen prepared to mount. Mr. Pickwick was accommodated with a gray mare, which, with the exception of a remarkable and unaccountable propensity to whisk her hind legs into the face of the horse behind her, was indeed as good a beast as one could wish to look upon. This single fault Mr. Pickwick regarded as no misfortune, since it enabled, as he asserted, both himself and his corpulent friend in the rear to display their horsemanship to the best advantage. After hemming twice, and adjusting his gold spectacles on his nasal protuberance, the old gentleman vaulted into his seat with all the alacrity of youth, and took his station as leader; a post assigned him both ex-officio, and on account of his seniority. Then came Tracy Tupman, Esq., who, after repeated injunctions from his reverend leader, never to be caught again winking at the pretty chambermaid in the second story window, (an occupation in which he had been amusing himself for some ten minutes,) was induced to perch himself upon a small bay horse almost as corpulent as himself. This noble animal exhibited a remarkable similarity both in appearance and gait to a well-fed cow, but as our friend T. T. is no cow-ard, he anticipated but little inconvenience from the diminutive specimen of horse flesh beneath him. Next in rank was found our co-laborer, Mr. Winkle, elevated upon a remarkably tall, brown horse, the very twinbrother of the animal on which Mr. W. had upon a former well known occasion exhibited his equestrian powers, to the amusement of the grinning post-boy, by attempting to mount on the wrong side, and with which he had met with so much inconvenience before arriving at his journey's end. Enquiring in pathetic tones, if brown horses are not usually vicious, and receiving from the leader a somewhat peremptory command to mount, with all the energy of despair, he made a desperate effort, and was successful in precipitating himself in true leap-frog style to the other side of the horse. Rising uninjured, he essayed again, reached his saddle, firmly clenched the bridle with both hands, and thrusting his boots up to the heel in the stirrups, persisted

in pointing them to the north and south points. An excellent idea, he assured us, since having no guide we might get lost, were it not for this never-failing compass. Following Mr. Winkle might be seen your humble servant, poet Snodgrass, seated on a noble charger of the true hunter breed. Modesty forbids me to say how well and gallantly he rode, and with what an air of sentiment and nonchalence he puffed his fragrant Havana. I doubt not that the kind reader will appreciate the motives of my silence, as egotistical boasting is vastly shocking to my tender and nicely strung nerves. Verbum sap. Finally the rear was brought up (Sam Weller remaining at home to play with the bear) by Alfred Jingle, Esq., his long, thin legs dangling at the sides of a pony stallion of uncommon beauty.

In this order, our friends at the house saluting us with cheers and waving their handkerchiefs, we started on a gentle trot, Mr. Pickwick assuring us, and Mr. Winkle reiterating the assertion, that good horsemen never ride fast at the commencement of a journey. Sam Weller shouted to Mr. Winkle, that his manner of bestriding was illegal, (ill-leg-all,) as Mr. Tyler said to the Fiscal Corporation Bill. Mr. W. was above replying to so ungenerous a thrust.

Suffice it to say then, (not to be too minute in our details,) that our noble chargers bore us without accident to the commencement of the wood. It was here that Mr. Pickwick fell in raptures with the apparently inexhaustible quantity of raspberries that gem the roadside. The old gentleman insisted on dismounting and tasting them, not that he was hungry, but to see if they were comparable in flavor to the fruit on the other side of the water. So well was he satisfied with the trial that he urged all his friends to imitate his example, that they might join their experience to his. They all did so, with the exception of Mr. Winkle, who assured us that berries always made him sick, and that it would therefore be useless for him to leave his saddle. Much refreshed, we proceeded on our way. No incident occurred worth mentioning until we had crossed two or three rivers, and were beginning to imagine ourselves near the end of our labor. The interim was filled up with interesting conversation, consisting of moral and scientific precepts from Mr. Pickwick, remarks on the beautiful black eyes of Yankee girls, from Mr. Tupman, wonderings of how much farther the summit of the mountain could be, from Mr. Winkle, poetically expressed admiration for the romantic scenery, from Mr. Snodgrass, and miscellaneous, abrupt exclamations from Mr. Jingle. I would that I could detail all these minutiæ for the edification of posterity, but unfortunately the space assigned me is limited. When we had arrived at the spot above alluded to, shameful

« AnteriorContinuar »