The black horse and carryall; or, Outdoor sights and indoor thoughts

Front matter

HIBilArtY OF CONGRESS, tmP imm^'^w i UNITED STATES OP AMERICA, f

Rev. J. HENDRICKSON M'CARTY, A. M.

For vie to live is Christ, and to die is gain. — St. Paul. It is by Ttatnre that we live ; but by 07ir philosophy that ive live w^//.— Seneca. There is nothing of which men know so little as ihenusel7Jes-—C h a^mung. N'il desperandum, Christo dicce. •'' ■ .\

Contents

PAGE.

I. The Black Horse and Carryall, . . 1 1

II. Ideal Recreations, 26

CHAPTER I. HE reader will not censure us, if we

devote the very first chapter of this

book to a description of our " stock in

/ " trade ;" namely, The Black Horse and

Carryall.

I We are not certain that the latter name ^ is found in any of the dictionaries ; and it I does not matter whether it is or not. We I have seen the rule laid down in some book 1 on criticism, that in coining a word, "first 1 let it be perspicuous ; and next, let it be in the tone of the language."

The morning our new vehicle was drawn into the yard by the side entrance, three pairs of feet came running, three pairs, of hands clapped with joy, and three pairs of eyes looked wondrous bright.

II

The vehicle had been contracted for early in the Winter, so as to be in readiness by the time the roads should become dry and the weather warm. We did not want a toplofty buggy, with square box-bed, made to keep people from getting into it ; and with hampered seat, into which only two persons could possibly be crowded ; and so high from the ground that a step-ladder would always be required to make the ascent to the seat. Nor did we want a phaeton, however cozy one may be for a single pair of human beings to jog around town in. We wanted a something with a standing top, with curtains which could be rolled up in dry, warm weather, and rolled down in wet or cold weather. We wanted it strong enough to carry at least four persons, if need be ; and yet light enough for one good stout horse to draw it anywhere, and over any ordinary roads, and in all weathers.

Our carriage-builder is a man whose round, ruddy face implies that he is patient with troublesome customers. But our order for such a carriage as we wanted seemed rather to puzzle him. He did not see how all these almost opposite qualities could be combined in one carriage. But, then, we have long since adopted the motto, that whatever ought to be done, can be done ; and inasmuch as there never was a time when any two of our family were willing to stay at home, while the other two were more than willing to go ; and as such a time never would come, in all probability, according to the maxim, that the only way we have of judging of the future is by the past ; and inasmuch as a common single-seated buggy could not carry four persons at once ; and, furthermore, inasmuch as we could not afford to keep a span, which would necessitate the employment of a regular driver, besides incurring the risk of being considered aristocratic, — we ordered a vehicle which, in our judgment, would meet our wants and come within our means. Thus assured, our coachmaker set to work at building it. Now, none such had ever been made in the place. By and by, our friends who saw it in process of construction, began to inquire of us what it was for ? Some thought it would be a capital milk-wagon ; others suggested that we might have a feather-renovating attachment put in, and thus utilize time and energy. Again, others suggested the propriety of petitioning the " city fathers" to have the streets widened, so we could clear the corners easily. But we bore all these implied impeachments of our judgment patiently and hopefully. We spoke of it as our "carryall." The use of the word was, of course, not original with us, though new in the community ; for, as yet, no such wagon had ever rolled along the streets of A .

Before bringing it home, we had spoken of these various suggestions of our friends occasionally, at the dinner-table, and all were anxious to see the thing "drag its slow length along." But no sooner did it stand on the beautiful grass-plat, than all proclaimed their satisfaction in the most enthusiastic language. We have a recollection of hearing such expressions as " splendid," " beautiful," "grand," "just the thing," "far nicer than I expected," etc.; such terms as women are in the habit of using when they wish to express surprise, or feeling, of which latter they have so much more than we men-folk, and know so much better how to express. Did you ever know a girl that did not call every thing that pleased her splendid ?

" There is the carryall," we said to the one who had journeyed by our side for a score of years, and who stood next to us on the grass-plat. " What do you think of it ?"

A smile was suggestive of the answer. Sure enough, there it was — the long-talked of vehicle, all done — varnish dry, spindles oiled, curtains rolled up, and in complete readiness for a ride ; save that, in the first place, the horse was not in the shafts ; and, secondly, the morning dishes were not washed, nor the house put in order for the day. The side-door of the carryall was opened, and in went the whole family, amused at their own childishness ; possibly the amusement, at the moment, of others, who may have been witnesses of these interesting domestic proceedings. There are times when one wishes to have a wall a hundred feet high around him, to shut off the gaze of the great outside criticising world from the little world within. All pronounced it a success, and all alighted but little " Peanut," who persisted in keeping her seat, and having a "dive." " Peanut" is the soicbriquet of one member of our household, to whom we are indebted for much good cheer.

But what would the carryall be without the black horse.'* Some firms we read of in the business world are made up of what people call " silent partners " and " business partners." The business partner does the hard work — the silent partner furnishing the capital, in whole or in part. Now, the black horse was, in this household firm, the business or working partner, and many hopes for the Summer depended much on his muscle, or his ability to do hard work ; and, while it took some of our hard earnings to pay for him, he yet represented a considerable capital in himself, and would sell, we thought, for more than he cost us, which was less than his intrinsic worth, if we should ever offer him in the horse-market. The thought of doing so, almost brings a tear. And that he was a " silent partner," we are quite sure; for he gave himself no trouble with the business. He seemed to care mainly for his oats, which were his " dividends " from the business, and which he received as eagerly as any miser ever drew his twenty-five per cent on stocks.

Buying a horse is not so difficult a task as to need give one any particular concern, as we found out by trial. We said to a number of gentlemen that we wanted a horse. We had not been an owner of one for a long time, and were not very capable of making a selection ; and now we remark that one should never pretend to know all things. It was Confucius who said, " The essence of knowledge is having it to apply it, not having it to confess your ignorance." It is at least honest for one to plead ignorance where ignorance does exist. A man may have read books on Chemistry and Geology, and yet not know much about the planting of wheat or pruning of apple-trees ; or one may be a good ethnologist, and yet not understand the "points" of a good horse. Therefore, we should always avail ourselves of the advice of others who know more than we do. A philosopher sat in a boat, giving an unlettered oarsman lectures on the science of navigation, the laws of action and reaction, and other learned subjects, when suddenly the boat sprang a leak ; but it happened that the oarsman could swim, and the philosopher could not. The oarsman knew something which the philosopher did not, and much to his disadvantage.

Well, to return to the horse. No sooner was the word out than every man we met had a horse to sell, or knew of one who had, or could tell us just where there was one which would suit us exactly. Then came the long procession to our door. P^irst, there was a bay mare, out of town two miles, that was just the thing. So off we went, and, luckily, found the owner at home.

After the accustomed salutations, we proceeded direct to business.

" Want to see your bay mare !"

" Yes : come with me. There she is. Very fine animal ; raised her from a colt ; women can drive her ; never ran away ; five years old ; kind as a kitten ; used to single harness ; easily kept ; has good eyes, good feet ; handsome as a picture ; fast walker ; good trotter. Would not sell her ; but — hard up."

We took advantage of a pause at the last word to put in an interrogation.

"What is the price?"

"She is worth two hundred and fifty dollars. Was offered that for her. Can get it of Mr. Grimes when he returns from the East. He wants her very much. Knows her well. She is so kind, you know. Yes ; but you can take her for two hundred and twenty-five dollars."

Just then we began to grow a little suspicious of the man, and a whole platoon of questions flashed through our mind. If she is worth so much, and Grimes wants her, why don't he take her, and why sell her for less.? etc. But one or two questions will settle the whole matter. And, turning from the mare to the man — from an honest beast to what we half suspected to be a dishonest owner, failing to see any defects in the outward appearance — we assaulted his bastions in three divisions, and asked :

"Do you own this farm .?"

"Yes."

" You know all about this mare }''

"Yes."

"Will you take two hundred dollars for her, in cash, on the spot .?"

After a survey of about two square feet of soil at his feet, and a look of most profound contemplation for one minute — it would not do to prolong the contemplation, for fear we

THE BLACK HORSE AND CARRYALL. I9

might change the offer — he raised his eyes and answered : ^

"Yes, she's yours."

"We repeat, two hundred dollars in cash — you to make a bill of sale, and warrant her entirely sound."

His eyes dropped, there came over his face a sober expression, and he said :

" She is all right, stranger ; nothing but a little touch of the heaves once in a while, which will not hurt her, you know."

"That is no fault of the poor beast; but we don't want her," we said. And, bidding "goodday" to the owner of the heavy mare, we were off, satisfied that dealing in horses might sometimes afford a man the opportunity of being dishonest, and, in buying a horse, one might happen to be cheated.

Then came one man with a large, raw-boned animal, which looked as if it had been made of saw-logs and covered with boiler-iron. Another with a small bay pony, about the size of a sack of wool, if the reader can imagine how large that is, which " never kicked," " never ran away," and which, in fact, always did run away, if it got even half a chance to become frightened ; and which, like Pat's belligerent creed, " Wherever you see a head, always hit it," never did allow a buggy to have a dash-board on it if it

Could possibly, by any plan, get its hind-feet through it. And the reader knows very well that, to have a horse's hind-feet thrust through the dash-board, in the direction of one's face, is productive of a series of sensations which rather tend to mar an otherwise enjoyable evening's ride. Next came a chestnut-sorrel colt ; and then a gray horse ; and then, within a week, a dozen or two other horses, of all colors, shapes, and

sizes. Why, it did seem as if all A thought

we were engaged in fitting out a cavalry regiment, for all the horses within a radius of four and three-quarter miles were for sale ; and, what struck us as a remarkable phenomenon, worthy of the investigation of a Pickwickian club, these horses were all sound, perfectly so, and none were over nine years old — a point beyond which you can not tell the age of a horse with any degree of certainty. It is the easiest thing in the world to buy a horse, the most difficult thing imaginable to buy a good one.

During all these Spring days, we did a good deal of coquetting and flirting with different members of the equine species. We were a little hard to suit; and why not.? We were choosing a partner in business, a companion for the whole family— not a dumb beast merely, whose only merit was that he could draw a

THE BLACK HORSE AND CARRYALL. 2 I

wagon-load of any thing, and eat his peck of oats. We wanted all this ability, but more. Our ideal horse must weigh not far from twelve hundred pounds ; for looks are something in this world. Even if a smaller animal could do the work, to have a small horse fastened to a great standing-top carryall, would have in it an appearance of indifference to good taste ; and, besides, one would not relish the idea of being arrested by a policeman for violating the statute against cruelty to animals, which, at least, should not be a dead-letter on the books. Besides, it tires one to see a small horse tugging at a big load. By a sort of sympathy, we feel for that which seems to be a great exertion. Who ever enjoyed the music of an organ, while watching the man in his shirt-sleeves pumping air into the bellows, as if he were trying to put out a fire with a hand-engine, or keep a ship from sinking with a hand-pump ? When the organ stops, we are always tired ; we have been pumping air, instead of enjoying the music. A friend of ours, who always entertains us splendidly, has on his mantel-piece a bronze figure supporting at arm'slength a globular clock. We do n't like it ; our arm always aches when we leave to go home. Then, our ideal horse must be of good size — that's a sine qiLa non.

We want a good-looking horse. An ugly, slovenly, ill-shaped, coarse-built, shaggy steed might draw the load as well, be just as safe and just as kind, but the question of looks can not very well be ignored.

A good-looking horse will not eat any more, nor require any more attention, than an ill-looking one. He will live just as long, and work just as well, and sell better in the market. Our carryall must not be drawn by any inferiorlooking horse. There must be a regard to the "fitness of things," as theologians say. There must be unity in appearance. With us, it resolved itself into a profound question, touching even the realm of metaphysics. We cogitated on the principles of aesthetics, thought of Ruskin and Kames, reasoned with ourselves on sundry questions of personal vanity, re-examined our belief in the dogmatics, and then said, coolly, deliberately, and of purpose, "We. must have a good-looking horse."

We were not like the man who inquired of the postmaster of the village about the price of a postage-stamp, and, on being told they were three cents a-piece, asked if there were not some cheaper.

" Yes," said the worthy Government official ; " we have them as low as one cent ; but it will take more of them, and won't look so well."

" Who cares for looks ?" cried the man ; " I '11 take three."

He wanted to get the worth of his money.

A good-looking horse is always cheapest in the end, other things being equal. Good looks are at a premium every-where, and should be.

Again, our ideal horse must be kind. We want to make him one of the family, to think about, care for, talk to, and enjoy. Now, horses differ in their temperaments just as people do. They have their way of talking, and their language is more easily learned than Greek or Hebrew. They have their way of expressing gratitude, their way of asking questions, their way of showing attachment, and of resenting insults. Horses have brains — they think, in their way. If you suppose your horse is simply so much of animated matter, you mistake. They may not have souls, but they have mind — horse-mind.

The "black horse," which we call "Dick," would not be just what a "fast man" would crave. We were lucky in finding him. He came just in the nick of time. That he is worthy of being enshrined in our story, the reader will admit when we say that "Dick" is our ideal horse, black as a raven, large enough for the carryall, gentle as a lamb, kind as a woman. His age is in his favor — he is at least nine years old. He has reached his majority, and put away coltish things.

He will take us over a railroad-bridge while the train is passing under it. He cares nothing for drums, fire-crackers, or velocipedes. His limbs are clean ; his tail long and graceful — a horse's tail is his glory. His eyes are large and benignant in expression. He is as broad between his eyes as a Greek sage. Horses, like men, can be judged of, in some degree, by their cranial development. Horse-phrenology is a science which will yet have its " professors." But, really, " Dick " is possessed of a good head. Beware of men or horses, with little, round, knotty heads, which are shaped like gourds. They will run against you, or something else, and do harm.

Over his body are sundry scars — marks which tell of hardship in early life. These marks excite our sympathy, and make us love him. On his left shoulder, seen quite dimly, are the significant letters, " U. S." Ah, that tells the whole story! "Dick" has seen service — is a veteran; was ridden to the Army of the Cumberland by a brave Michigan cavalryman ; was in several battles ; received sundry small wounds ; did honorable service ; shed his blood for his country. Dick, you 're a hero, we all say. Noble fellow! You helped quell the rebellion; you went on many a long raid, and had hard work even to obtain a good mouthful of grass, and which you had to confiscate, at that. You helped carry the stars and stripes. Noble fellow ! The country is yours. You 're a patriot. Now you shall be cared for. You shall be known in our book as the " Black Horse." We will give you the best of oats, corn, and hay. You shall have a good bed of straw at night, and a blanket in cold weather. Your feet shall not be pinched with poor shoes. Your harness shall not chafe you. You shall draw us on our trips of pleasure. We will let you have many a rollick in the pasture-field. You shall be treated with considerate kindness when you are sick ; and, when you die, we will see to it that the place where you lie shall be worthy of your dignified and noble horseship.

" What would you have ? Your gentleness shall force, More than your force move us to gentleness."

Chapter II

!HE reader will perceive, at once, the design of our book. The " Black Horse and Carryall" are a symbol. They are not mythical, however. The engraving which adorns the book, was made from a photograph, and is real. Yet they are symbolical, inasmuch as so many of our best thoughts, holiest purposes, happiest hours, most generous deeds, have been in some way connected with them.

Wherever we have gone, on many a Summer's ride, by the cooling lake-side or among the grainfields yielding their golden harvests, or where orchards were crowned with the rarest fruits, or by vineyards where the luscious grapes hung in Eshcolian clus-ters, or where the hill-sides were covered with cattle; in the brightness of the 26 morning, or in the deepening shadows of the evening, when

in all these Summer ramblings, the Black Horse and Carryall have been with us — a part of us. When we have said " let us go " here or there, our meaning was not limited to " us four and no more ;" hut we meant the whole family, which included the Black Horse and Carryall ; we adopted them into the family.

The human heart was made to love something — every thing. People love each other; we know men love their wives, or at least ought to do so, and vice versa. Parents love their children, and children their parents. It is quite unnatural not to love ; and one who has not loved has not really lived ; for love is the truest and most enduring life.

Old maids and old bachelors often assume to be quite stoical, to be sure ; and yet an old maid will devote herself to taking care of a cat, or poodle-dog, and be quite romantic about it too. And that only shows that the heart instinctively turns to some object, even though it be only a poodle.

It is somehow a belief we have, that God intended every human being to have a companion, not to hold off at arm's-length, but to take to the heart ; and, hence, to live the life of an old bachelor or an old maid, has in it an element of wrong.

Any man who will bolt the door of his heart against the entrance of the angel of the tender passion, or incase it in a shield of brass to ward off the arrows of Cupid, is an enemy to his race, and deserves the execration of all mankind. He ought to live in a garret, without fire to warm him in Winter, and with fire in Summer. He ought to sleep on straw, and feed on husks. 'O, that we could command language to express ourselves on this subject ! Courtesy — a delicate regard we have felt, from our childhood, for woman — will not allow us to say one word which could be in any way construed to her disadvantage ; all we can say is in the way of a paraphrase : " Pity the sorrows of a poor old maid!'

We were talking, just a moment ago, of the Black Horse and Carryall, and were going to say that inanimate things were made, at times, the objects of ou-r love. An engineer will walk around the great heartless, thoughtless locomotive, pat its iron ribs, and talk to it as if it could comprehend his meaning.

An old mountaineer once lay dying on his rude couch, and after bidding adieu to all his friends who stood weeping around, asked them to hand him his old rifle, which stood in the corner. Of course the dying man's request was heeded, and the old rifle was laid by his side. He spoke to it tenderly. He had borne it on his shoulders up many a steep hill, and held it above the waters while fording many a turbulent stream. He had camped out through many a wild, dark night, far from his lodge, by the smoldering fires his flint had kindled ; and though wolves had barked around him, and the panther's fierce growl had often stirred him from his dreams, yet the aim of the old rifle was deadly ; it had sent its ball to the heart of many a deer and bear. In the dark, wild mountain he felt secure against any foe, with such a trusty and powerful friend near him ; and, thanking the old rifle, scarred and battered from many a mishap, for the good it had done in expelling the wild beast, and providing food for a hungry household a thousand times; and, withal, conscious that his strength was gone, and he never again could raise it to his shoulder, or "draw a bead " on target, bear, or deer, — he bid it farewell as a friend parts from a friend, never to meet again ; and the old rifle went to its corner in the room, the spirit of the old hunter went to its mansion in the skies.

And so, if sea-captains love the ships which have borne them over many a stormy sea, and hunters love their rifles, and engineers their locomotives — because, by virtue of its natural impulses, the heart does sometimes personify even material things and their attributes — we shall not be deemed an outlaw by the judgments of society, if we, in a manner, express our affection for an inanimate companion, our carryall, which has carried us, and all the family, to and fro so faithfully. In our imagination, it is personified.

The imaginative powers, with which we are gifted by the Creator, were not designed to give pain, but pleasure. Pain is a something of the mind, rather than the body. We are taught in the books on Mental Science and Physiology, that it is not the physical eye that sees, but the mind (the eye is only the instrument through which the mind acts) ; that sound is an effect produced on the conscious soul by certain vibrations of the atmosphere. We object, and claim something more subtile than the common atmosphere — an ether of some kind, which pervades universal space, and whose operations set in motion the delicate organs of the ear, which act upon the brain, where the sound is produced. Hence it is said, if there were no ears, there could be no sound. The firing of a cannon only causes a vibration of some kind, which the intelligent faculty apprehends. So, when you burn your finger, that which comes of it, namely, pain, is not in- the finger, though it seems to be, but in the head or brain, the place which all accept as the seat of our intelligence. Hence, all pain is mental ; and, equally, all pleasure is mental. Intelligence is supreme.

It was Stewart, in his "Mental Philosophy," who said that the province of the imagination is " to make a selection of qualities and of circumstances from a variety of different objects, and by combining and disposing these, to form a new creation of its own." Now, though Addison defined it to be a product of the sense of sight only, we claim he was wrong, inasmuch as imagination is a mental operation, and the mind receives impressions from the outward world through ears, tongue, touch, and nose, as well as eyes. Addison was arbitrary in this, rather than reasonable.

We hold that, the intelligence in us being supreme, we have power to convert things over from one side to another ; to get sweet out of bitter, and good out of evil ; in the language of Stewart, "to form new creations." Lord Karnes says: "Man is endowed with a sort of creative power. He can fabricate images of things that have no existence." Then, if this be the case, we should use the power for our comfort. We should not always be expecting great evils to overtake us. Never borrow trouble from the future. " Sufficient unto the day is the evil thereof" The traveling companion of an old divine was once terribly uneasy about a bridge, which lay somewhere before them in their journey, and which was reputed to be very unsound, and was rebuked by the very philosophic statement that "a man never ought to cross a bridge until he comes to it." It was a very commonplace statement, that ; but, then, these commonplace sayings are often philosophy crystallized — not the crude carbon, but the real diamond of thought. A word " fitly spoken " is, indeed, an "apple of gold." The right word in the right place may do more execution than a whole lecture. The eccentric Dean Swift never preached a more eloquent charity sermon than when he rose and said to his congregation : " He that giveth to the poor lendeth to the Lord. Now, brethren, if you like the security, down with the dust !"

It is our prerogative and duty to imagine away evils as far as possible, not to see ghosts in every dark nook and cranny of life ; but, if there were such things, to convert them over into angels by our imagination.