VI. AN INTERESTING INTERVIEW.

I hope the day is not far distant, when drunkenness will be unknown in our highly-favoured country. The moral world is rising in its strength against the all-destroying vice, and though the monster still struggles, and stings, and poisons, with deadly effect, in many parts of our wide-spread territory, it is perceptibly wounded and weakened; and I flatter myself, if I should live to number ten years more, I shall see it driven entirely from the higher walks of life at least, if not from all grades of society. For the honour of my contemporaries, I would register none of its crimes or its follies; but, in noticing the peculiarities of the age in which I live, candour constrains me to give this vice a passing notice. The interview which I am about to present to my readers, exhibits it in its mildest and most harmless forms.

In the county of ——, and about five miles apart, lived old Hardy Slow and old Tobias Swift. They were both industrious, honest, sensible farmers, when sober; but they never visited their county-town without getting drunk; and then they were—precisely what the following narrative makes them.

They both happened at the Court-House on the same day, when I last saw them together; the former accompanied by his wife, and the latter by his youngest son, a lad about thirteen. Tobias was just clearly on the wrong side of the line, which divides drunk from sober; but Hardy was “royally corned” (but not falling) when they met, about an hour by sun in the afternoon, near the rack at which their horses were hitched.

They stopped about four feet apart, and looked each other full in the face for about half a minute, during all which time, Toby sucked his teeth, winked, and made signs with his shoulders and elbows to the by-standers that he knew Hardy was drunk, and was going to quiz him for their amusement. In the meantime, Hardy looked at Tobias, like a polite man dropping to sleep in spite of himself under a dull long story.

At length Toby broke silence:

“How goes it, Uncle Hardy?” (winking to the company, and shrugging his shoulders.)

“Why, Toby!—is that you? Well—upon my—why, Toby!——Lord—help—my—soul and——Why, Toby! what, in, the, worl’, set, you, to, gitt’n, drunk—this, time o’ day? Swear, poin’ blank, you’re drunk! Why—you—must be, an old, fool—to, get, drunk, right, before, all these, gentlemen——a’ready, Toby.”

“Well, but, now you see (winking), Uncle Hardy, a gill-cup an’t a quart-pot, nor a quart-pot an’t a two-gallon jug; and therefore (winking and chuckling), Uncle Hardy, a thing is a thing, turn it which way you will, it just sticks at what it was before you give it first ex—ex—ploit.”

“Well, the Lord, help, my——Why, Toby! what, is the reas’n, you, never, will, answer, me this, one—circumstance——and, that, is——I, always, find, you, drunk, when, I come, here.”

“Well, now, but Uncle Hardy, you always know circumstances alters cases, as the fellow said; and therefore, if one circumstance alters another circumstance——how’s your wife and children?”

“I, swear, poin’ blank, I shan’t tell you—because, you r’ally, is, too drunk, to know, my wife, when, you, meet, her, in the street, all, day, long, and, she’ll, tell, you, the, very, same, thing, as, all, these, gentlemen, can—testimony.”

“Well, but now you see, Uncle Hardy, thinking’s one thing and knowing’s another, as the fellow said; and the proof o’ the pudding’s chawin’ the bag, as the fellow said; and you see—toll-doll-diddle-de-doll-doll-day (singing and capering), you think I can’t dance? Come, Uncle Hardy, let’s dance.”

“Why, Toby!—you—come—to this? I didn’t make, you, drunk, did I? You, an’t, took, a drink, with, me, this, live, long, day—is you? I, say, is you, Toby?”

“No, Uncle Har—”

“Well, then, let’s go, take a drink.”

“Well, but you see, Uncle Hardy, drinkin’s drinkin’; but that’s neither here nor there, as the fellow said.

“ ‘Come (singing) all ye young sparkers, come listen to me,

And I’ll sing you a ditti, of a pretti ladee.’ ”

“Why, Toby! ha—ha—ha—Well, I r’ally, did, think, you, was, drunk, but, now I believe——blast the flies! I b’lieve, they, jest, as li’f, walk, in my, mouth, as, in, my nose. (Then looking with eyes half closed at Toby for several minutes.) Why, Toby, you, spit ’bacoo spit, all over, your jacket—and, that’s jist, the very, way, you, got, in your——fix.”

At this moment, Mrs. Slow came up, and immediately after, Swift’s son, William.

“Come,” said the good lady, “old man, let’s go home; it’s getting late, and there’s a cloud rising; we’ll get wet.”

“Why, Nancy! what in the worl’ has got into you! Is you drunk, too? Well, ’pon, my word, and honor, I, b’lieve, every body, in this town, is, got drunk to-day. Why, Nancy! I never, did, see, you, in, that fix, before, in, all, my, live, long, born, days.”

“Well, never mind,” said she, “come, let’s go home. Don’t you see the rain coming up?”

“Well, will, it rain, upon, my, corn-field, or my cotton-patch? Say, Nancy! which one, will it, rain on? But, Lord, help, my, soul, you are, too drunk, to tell me, any, thing, about it. Don’ my corn want rain, Nancy? Now, jist, tell me, that?”

“Yes; but let’s go home.”

“Then, why, upon, the face, of the earth, won’t you, let it, rain, then? I, rather, it, should rain, than not.”

“Come, old man,” said several by-standers, touched with sympathy for the good lady, “come, get on your horse and go home, and we will help you.”

“Oh yes, Uncle Hardy,” said Tobias, affecting to throw all humour aside, and to become very sober all at once, “go home with the old woman. Come, gentlemen, let’s help ’em on their horses—they’re groggy—mighty groggy. Come, old man, I’ll help you.” (staggering to Hardy.)

“Jist look at daddy now!” said Billy; “he’s going to help Mr. Swift, and he’s drunk as Mr. Swift is. Oh, daddy, come, let’s go home, or we’ll get mazin’ wet.”

Toby stooped down to help Hardy on his horse—before the horse was taken from the rack—and throwing his arm round Hardy’s legs, he fell backwards, and so did Hardy.

“Why—Lord, bless, my, soul,” said Hardy, “I b’lieve I’m drunk, too! What, upon the, face, of the earth, has got, into, all, of us, this day!”

“Why, Uncle Hardy,” said Toby, “you pull us both down together! The old man’s mighty groggy,” said Toby to me, in a half whisper, and with an arch wink and smile, as he rose up—I happening to be next to him at the moment—“s’pose we help him up, and get him off? The old woman’s in for it, too,” continued he, winking, nodding, and shrugging up his shoulders very significantly.

“Oh no,” said I, “the old woman is perfectly sober, and I never heard of her tasting a drop in all my life.”

“Oh,” said Toby, assuming the gravity of a parson, “loves it mightily, mightily! Monstrous woman for drinking!—at least that’s my opinion. Monstrous fine woman, though! monstrous fine!”

“Oh, daddy, for the Lord’s sake let’s go home; only see what a rain is coming?” said Billy.

“Daddy’ll go presently, my son.”

“Well, here’s your horse, git up and let’s go. Mammy’ll be sure to be sendin’ for us.”

“Don’t mind him,” said Toby, winking to me; “he’s nothing but a boy; I wouldn’t take no notice of what he said. He wants me (winking and smiling) to go home with him; now you listen.”

“Well, come,” said I to Uncle Toby, “get on your horse and go home, a very heavy rain is coming up.”

“I’ll go presently, but you just listen to Bill,” said he to me, winking and smiling.

“Oh, daddy, for the Lord’s sake let’s go home.”

Toby smiled archly at me, and winked.

“Daddy, are you going home or not? Jist look at the rain comin’.”

Toby smiled and winked.

“Well, I do think a drunken man is the biggest fool in the county,” said Bill, “I don’t care who he is.”

“Bill!” said the old man, very sternly, “ ‘honour thy father and thy mother,’ that—that the woman’s seed may bruise the serpent’s head.”

“Well, daddy, tell me if you won’t go home! You see it’s going to rain powerful. If you won’t go, may I go?”

“Bill; ‘Leave not thy father who begot thee; for thou art my beloved son Esau, in whom I am well pleased.’ ”

“Why, daddy, it’s dropping rain now.”

Here Bill was relieved from his anxiety by the appearance of Aaron, a trusty servant, whom Mrs. Slow had despatched for his master, to whose care Bill committed him, and was soon out of sight.

Aaron’s custom had long been to pick up his master without ceremony, put him on his horse, and bear him away. So used to this dealing had Toby been, that when he saw Aaron, he surrendered at discretion, and was soon on the road. But as the rain descended in torrents, before even Bill could have proceeded half a mile, the whole of them must have been drenched to the skin.

As to Hardy, whom in the proper order we ought to have disposed of first, he was put on his horse by main force, and was led off by his wife, to whom he was muttering as far as I could hear him:

“Why, Nancy! How, did, you, get, in, such a fix? You’ll, fall, off, your, horse, sure, as you’re born, and I’ll have to put you up again.”

As they were constrained to go in a walk, they too must have got wringing wet, though they had a quarter of an hour the start of Toby.