Emile Zola - "The Three Cities Trilogy: Paris, Vol. 2"

C. E. Orr - "How to Live a Holy Life"

Gene Stratton Porter - "Moths of the Limberlost"

Sir Arthur Conan Doyle - "Micah Clarke"

New Philadelphia Book Publisher Highlights Local Talent
Book and Publishing News from Publishers Newswire(tm)

Looking for Child to be on Cover of a New Book, 'The Model Child'
PHILADELPHIA, Pa. -- The Philadelphia literary world will celebrate the launch of two new players today, April 10th: Kay Square Press, a new publishing company focused on Philadelphia-area artists, their stories, and their art; and Kay Square's first release, 'With the Rich and Mighty: Emlen Etting of Philadelphia' (ISBN: 978-0-9815129-0-7), a critical biography by Kenneth C. Kaleta.

FlatSigned Press Alleges Don Imus Remarks Damage Legacy of President Gerald R. Ford
NEW YORK, N.Y. -- Nathan Yungerberg, an accomplished model scout and professional child photographer is launching a nation-wide casting call to find the cover model for his highly anticipated book release, 'The Model Child: A Parents Guide to the Child Modeling Industry' (ISBN: 978-0-9817018-0-6).

Books: Nature and Human Nature

T >> Thomas Chandler Haliburton >> Nature and Human Nature




"Come, Sorrow," I said, "I am tired of all this foolery; either tell
me how you propose to cook the clams, or substitute something else in
their place."

"Well, Massa," he said, "I will; but railly now when I gits talkin'
bout my dear ole missus, pears to me as if my tongue would run for
ebber. Dis is de last voyage I ebber make in a fishin' craft. I is
used to de first society, and always moved round wid ladies and
gentlemen what had 'finement in 'em. Well, Massa, now I comes to de
clams. First of all, you must dig de clams. Now dere is great art in
diggin' clams.

"Where you see little hole like worm hole dere is de clam. He breathe
up tru dat, and suck in his drink like sherry-cobbler through a straw.
Whar dere is no little air holes, dere is no clam, dat are a fac. Now,
Massa, can you tell who is de most knowin' clam-digger in de worl? De
gull is, Massa; and he eat his clam raw, as some folks who don't know
nuffin' bout cookin' eat oysters. He take up de clam ebber so far in
de air, and let him fall right on de rock, which break shell for him,
and down he goes and pounces on him like a duck on a June bug.
Sometimes clam catch him by de toe though, and hold on like grim death
to a dead niggar, and away goes bird screamin' and yellin', and clam
sticking to him like burr to a hosses tail. Oh, geehillikin, what fun
it is. And all de oder gulls larf at him like any ting; dat comes o'
seezin' him by de mout instead ob de scruff ob de neck.

"Well, when you git clam nuff, den you must wash 'em, and dat is more
trouble dan dey is worth; for dey is werry gritty naturally, like
buckwheat dat is trashed in de field--takes two or tree waters, and
salt is better dan fresh, cause you see fresh water make him sick.
Well, now, Massa, de question is, what will you ab; clam soup, clam
sweetbread, clam pie, clam fritter, or bake clam?"

"Which do you tink best, Sorrow?" sais I.

"Well, Massa, dey is all good in dere way; missus used to fection
baked clams mighty well, but we can't do dem so tip-top at sea; clam
sweetbread, she said, was better den what is made ob oyster; and as to
clam soup, dat pends on de cook. Now, Massa, when missus and me went
to wisit de president's plantation, I see his cook, Mr Sallust, didn't
know nuffin' bout parin' de soup. What you tink he did, Massa? stead
ob poundin' de clams in a mortar fust, he jist cut 'em in quarters and
puts 'em in dat way. I nebber see such ignorance since I was raised.
He made de soup ob water, and actilly put some salt in it; when it was
sarved up--it was rediculous disgraceful--he left dem pieces in de
tureen, and dey was like leather. Missus said to me:

"'Sorrow,' sais she, 'I shall starve here; dem military men know
nuffin' but bout hosses, dogs, and wine; but dey ain't delicate no way
in dere tastes, and yet to hear 'em talk you'd be most afeered to
offer 'em anyting, you'd tink dey was de debbel and all.'"

"Did she use those words, Sorrow?"

"Well, not zactly," he said, scratching his head, "dey was dicksionary
words and werry fine, for she had great 'finement bout her; but dat
was de meanin' ob 'em.

"'Now, Sorrow,' she said, 'tell me de trut, wasn't dat soup now made
of water?'

"'Yes, Missus, it was,' said I, 'I seed it wid my own eyes.'

"'I taut so,' she said, 'why dat cook ain't fit to tend a bear trap,
and bait it wid sheep's innerds.'"

"Did she use those words?"

"Why laws a massy, Massa! I can't swear to de identical words; how can
I? but as I was a sayin', dere was 'finement in 'em, werry long, werry
crooked, and werry pretty, but dat was all de sense ob 'em.

"'Now, Sorrow,' said she, 'he ought to ab used milk; all fish soups
ought to be made o' milk, and den tickened wid flour.'

"'Why in course, Missus,' sais I, 'dat is de way you and me always
likes it.'

"'It has made me quite ill,' said she.

"'So it ab nearly killed me, Missus,' sais I, puttin' my hand on my
stomach, 'I ab such a pain down here, I tink sometimes I shall die.'

"'Well, you look ill, Uncle Sorrow,' she said, and she went to her
dressin'-case, and took a little small bottle (covered ober wid
printed words), 'Take some o' dis,' said she, and she poured me out
bout dis much (filling his glass again), 'take dat, it will do you
good.'

"'Is it berry bad to swaller,' sais I, 'Missus? I is most afeard it
will spile the 'finement of my taste.'

"'Try it,' sais she, and I shut to my eyes, and made awful long face,
and swallowed it jist dis way.

"'By golly,' sais I, 'Missus, but dat is grand. What is dat?'

"'Clove, water,' said she.

"'Oh, Missus,' sais I, 'dat is plaguy trong water, dat are a fac, and
bery nice flavoured. I wish in my heart we had a nice spring ob it to
home. Wouldn't it be grand, for dis is a bery thirsty niggar, dat are
a fac. Clam pie, Massa, is first chop, my missus ambitioned it some
punkins.'

"Well, how do you make it?"

"Dere is seberal ways, Massa. Sometime we used one way and sometime
anoder. I do believe missus could do it fifty ways."

"Fifty ways!" said I, "now Sorrow, how can you lie that way? I shall
begin to think at last you never had a mistress at all."

"Fifty ways! Well, Massa, goodness gracious me! You isn't goin' to tie
me down to swear to figures now, any more nor identical words, is you?
I ab no manner o' doubt she could fifty ways, but she only used eight
or ten ways which she said was de best. First dere is de clam bake."

"Well, I know that," sais I, "go on to the clam pie."

"What is it?" said the doctor, "for I should like to know how they are
prepared."

"This," said I, "is the most approved mode. A cavity is dug in the
earth, about eighteen inches deep, which is lined with round stones.
On this a fire is made; and when the stones are sufficiently heated, a
bushel or more of clams (according to the number of persons who are to
partake of the feast) is thrown upon them. On this is put a layer of
rock-weed, gathered from the beach, and over this a second layer of
sea-weed. This prevents the escape of the steam, and preserves the
sweetness of the fish. Clams baked in this manner are preferred to
those cooked in the usual way in the kitchen. On one occasion, that of
a grand political mass-meeting in favour of General Harrison on the
4th of July, 1840, nearly 10,000 persons assembled in Rhode Island,
for whom a clambake and chowder was prepared. This was probably the
greatest feast of the kind that ever took place in New England."

"Zactly," said Sorrow, "den dere is anoder way."

"I won't hear it," said I, "stiver now, make the pie any way you
like."

"Massa," said he, "eber since poor missus died from eaten hogs wid
dere heads on, I feel kinder faint when I sees clams, I hab neber
swallowed one since, and neber will. De parfume gits into my stomach,
as it did when de General's cook used water instead of milk, in his
soup. I don't spose you ab any clove-water, but if you will let me
take jist a tumblerfull ob dis, I tink it would make me survive a
little," and without waiting for leave he helped himself to a bumper.
"Now, Massa," he said, "I show you what cookin' is, I know," and
making a scrape of his leg, he left the cabin.

"Doctor," said I, "I am glad you have seen this specimen of a southern
negro. He is a fair sample of a servant in the houses of our great
planters. Cheerful, grateful, and contented, they are better off and
happier than any portion of the same race I have met with in any part
of the world. They have a quick perception of humour, a sort of
instinctive knowledge of character, and great cunning, but their
reasoning powers are very limited. Their appetites are gross, and
their constitutional indolence such that they prefer enduring any
suffering and privation to regular habits of industry.

"Slavery in the abstract is a thing that nobody approves of, or
attempts to justify. We all consider it an evil--but unhappily it was
entailed upon us by our forefathers, and has now grown to be one of
such magnitude that it is difficult to know now to deal with it--and
this difficulty is much increased by the irritation which has grown
out of the unskilful and unjustifiable conduct of abolitionists. The
grossest exaggerations have been circulated as to the conduct and
treatment of our slaves, by persons who either did not know what they
were talking about, or who have wilfully perverted facts. The devil we
have painted black, and the negro received the same colour from the
hand of his Maker. It only remained to represent the planter as of a
deeper dye than either. This picture however wanted effect, and
latterly lights and shades have been judiciously introduced, by
mingling with these groups eastern abolitionists, white overseers, and
English noblemen, and ladies of rank. It made a clever caricature--had
a great run--has been superseded by other follies and extravagancies,
and is now nearly forgotten. The social evil still remains, and ever
will, while ignorant zeal, blind bigotry, hypocrisy, and politics,
demand to have the exclusive treatment of it. The planter has rights
as well as the slave, and the claims of both must be well weighed and
considered before any dispassionate judgment can be formed.

"In the mean time invective and misrepresentation, by irritating the
public, disqualify it for the deliberate exercise of its functions. If
the slaves have to mourn over the want of freedom, the planters may
lament the want of truth in their opponents; and it must be admitted
that they have submitted to the atrocious calumnies that have been so
liberally heaped upon them of late years, with a contempt that is the
best refutation of falsehood, or a meekness and forbearance that
contrast very favourably with the violence and fury of their
adversaries."

My object however, Squire, is not to write a lecture on emancipation,
but to give you a receipt for cooking "a dish of clams."



CHAPTER XXIII.

THE DEVIL'S HOLE; OR, FISH AND FLESH.


"Sorrow," said the doctor, "seems to me to consider women, from the
way he flatters his mistress, as if she was not unlike the grupers at
Bermuda. There is a natural fish-pond there near Flats Village, in
which there is a great lot of these critters, which are about the size
of the cod. They will rise to the surface, and approach the bank for
you to tickle their sides, which seems to afford them particular
delight."

"It is what you would call, I suppose, practical soft sawdering."

"But it is an operation of which the rest are exceedingly jealous, and
while you are thus amusing one of them, you must take care others do
not feel offended, and make a dash at your fingers. With true feminine
jealousy too they change colour when excited, for envy seems to
pervade all animate nature."

"It's called the Devil's Hole where they are, ain't it?" sais I.

"Yes," said he, "it is, and it is situated not far from Moore's
favourite tree, under whose shade he used to recline while writing his
poetry, at a time when his deputy was equally idle, and instead of
keeping his accounts, kept his money. Bermuda is a fatal place to
poets. Moore lost his purse there, and Waller his favourite ring; the
latter has been recently found, the former was never recovered. In one
thing these two celebrated authors greatly resembled each other, they
both fawned and flattered on the great."

"Yes," said Cutler, "and both have met their reward. Everybody regrets
that anything was known of either, but his poetry--"

"Well," sais I, "I am glad I am not an Englishman, or as true as the
world, a chap like Lord John Russell would ruin me for ever. I am not
a poet, and can't write poetry, but I am a Clockmaker, and write
common sense. Now a biographer like that man, that knows as little of
one as he does of the other, would ruin me for everlastingly. It ain't
pleasant to have such a burr as that stick on to your tail, especially
if you have no comb to get it off, is it? A politician is like a bee;
he travels a zig-zag course every way, turnin' first to the right and
then to the left, now makin' a dive at the wild honeysuckle, and then
at the sweet briar; now at the buck-wheat blossom, and then at the
rose; he is here and there and everywhere; you don't know where the
plague to find him; he courts all and is constant to none. But when
his point is gained and he has wooed and deceived all, attained his
object, and his bag is filled, he then shows plain enough what he was
after all the time. He returns as straight as a chalk line, or as we
say, as the crow flies to his home, and neither looks to the right or
to the left, or knows or cares for any of them who contributed to his
success. His object is to enrich himself and make a family name. A
politician therefore is the last man in the world to write a
biography. Having a kind of sneakin' regard for a winding, wavy way
himself, he sees more beauty in the in and out line of a Varginny
fence, than the stiff straight formal post and rail one of New
England. As long as a partizan critter is a thorn in the flesh of the
adverse party, he don't care whether he is Jew or Gentile. He
overlooks little peccadilloes, as he calls the worst stories, and
thinks everybody else will be just as indulgent as himself. He uses
romanists, dissenters, republicans, and evangelicals at his own great
log-rolling1 frollicks, and rolls for them in return.


1 Log-rolling.--In the lumber regions of Maine, it is customary for
men of different logging camps to appoint days for helping each other
in rolling the logs to the river after they are felled and trimmed,
this rolling being about the hardest work incident to the business.
Thus the men of three or four different camps will unite, say on
Monday, to roll for camp No. 1, on Tuesday, for camp No. 2, on
Wednesday, for camp No. 3, and so on through the whole number of camps
within convenient distance of each other. The term has been adopted in
legislation to signify a little system of mutual co-operation. For
instance, a member from St Lawrence has a pet bill for a plank-road
which he wants pushed through. He accordingly makes a bargain with a
member from Onondaga, who is coaxing along a charter for a bank, by
which St Lawrence agrees to vote for Onondaga's bank if Onondaga will
vote St Lawrence's plank-road. This is legislative log-rolling, and
there is abundance of it carried on at Albany every winter. Generally
speaking, the subject of the log-rolling is some merely local project,
interesting only to the people of a certain district; but sometimes
there is party log-rolling, where the Whigs, for instance, will come
to an understanding with the Democrats that the former shall not
oppose a certain democratic measure merely on party grounds, provided
the Democrats will be equally tender to some Whig measure in
return.--J. INMAN.


"Who the plague hain't done something, said something, or thought
something he is sorry for, and prays may be forgot and forgiven; big
brag as I am, I know I can't say I haven't over and over again
offended. Well, if it's the part of a friend to go and rake all these
things up, and expose 'em to the public, and if it's agreeable to my
wife, sposin' I had one, to have 'em published because the stained
paper will sell, all I can sais is, I wish he had shown his regard for
me by running away with my wife and letting me alone. It's astonishing
how many friends Moore's disloyalty made him. A seditious song or a
treasonable speech finds more favour with some people in the old
country than building a church, that's a fact. Howsomever, I think I
am safe from him, for first, I am a Yankee, secondly, I ain't married,
thirdly, I am a Clockmaker, and fourthly, my biography is written by
myself in my book, fifthly, I write no letters I can help, and never
answer one except on business."

"This is a hint father gave me: 'Sam,' said he, 'never talk to a
woman, for others may hear you; only whisper to her, and never write
to her, or your own letters may rise up in judgment against you some
day or another. Many a man afore now has had reason to wish he had
never seen a pen in his life;' so I ain't afeard therefore that he can
write himself up or me down, and make me look skuywoniky, no how he
can fix it. If he does, we will declare war again England, and blow
the little darned thing out of the map of Europe; for it ain't much
bigger than the little island Cronstadt is built on after all, is it?
It's just a little dot and nothin' more, dad fetch my buttons if it
is.

"But to go back to the grupers and the devil's hole; I have been there
myself and seen it, Doctor," sais I, "but there is other fish besides
these in it; there is the parrot-fish, and they are like the feminine
gender too; if the grupers are fond of being tickled, parrots are fond
of hearing their own voices. Then there is the angel-fish, they have
fins like wings of a pale blue colour; but they must be fallen angels
to be in such a place as that hole too, musn't they? and yet they are
handsome even now. Gracious! what must they have been before the fall!
and how many humans has beauty caused to fall, Doctor, hasn't it? and
how many there are that the sound of that old song, 'My face is my
fortune, Sir, she said,' would make their hearts swell till they would
almost burst.

"Well, then there is another fish there, and those Mudians sartainly
must have a good deal of fun in them, to make such a capital and
comical assortment of queer ones for that pond. There is the
lawyer-fish--can anything under the sun be more appropriate than the
devil's hole for a lawyer? What a nice place for him to hang out his
shingle in, ain't it? it's no wonder his old friend the landlord finds
him an office in it--rent free, is it? What mischief he must brood
there; bringing actions of slander against the foolish parrot-fish
that will let their tongues run, ticklin' the grupers, and while they
are smirking and smiling, devour their food, and prosecute the fallen
angels for violating the Maine law and disturbing the peace. The
devil's hole, like Westminster Hall, is a dangerous place for a fellow
of substance to get into, I can tell you; the way they fleece him is a
caution to sinners.

"My dog fell into that fish-pond, and they nearly fixed his flint
before I got him out, I tell you; his coat was almost stripped off
when I rescued him."

"Why, Mr Slick," said the doctor, "what in the world took you to
Bermuda?"

"Why," sais I, "I had heard a great deal about it. It is a beautiful
spot and very healthy. It is all that has ever been said or sung of
it, and more too, and that's sayin' a great deal, for most celebrated
places disappoint you; you expect too much, and few crack parts of the
world come up to the idea you form of them beforehand. Well, I went
down there to see if there was anything to be done in the way of
business, but it was too small a field for me, although I made a spec
that paid me very well too. There is a passage through the reefs
there, and it's not every pilot knows it, but there was a manuscript
chart of it made by a captain of a tradin' vessel. When he died his
widow offered it to the government, but they hummed and hawed about
the price, and was for gitting it for half nothing, as they always do.
So what does I do, but just steps in and buys it, for in war time it
is of the greatest importance to know this passage, and I sold it to
our navy-board, and I think if ever we are at loggerheads with the
British, we shall astonish the weak nerves of the folks at the summer
islands some fine day.

"I had a charming visit. There are some magnificent caves there, and
in that climate they are grand places, I do assure you. I never saw
anything so beautiful. The ceiling is covered with splendiferous
spary-like icicles, or chandelier drops. What do you call that word,
Doctor?"

"Stalactites."

"Exactly, that's it, glorious stalactites reaching to the bottom and
forming fluted pillars. In one of those caves where the water runs,
the admiral floored over the bottom and gave a ball in it, and it was
the most Arabian Night's entertainment kind of thing that I ever saw.
It looked like a diamond hall, and didn't it show off the Mudian galls
to advantage, lick! I guess it did, for they are the handsomest
Creoles in all creation. There is more substance in 'em than in the
tropical ladies. I don't mean worldly (though that ain't to be sneered
at, neither, by them that ain't got none themselves). When the people
used to build small clippers there for the West Indian trade, cedar
was very valuable, and a gall's fortune was reckoned, not by pounds,
but by so many cedars. Now it is banana trees. But dear me, somehow or
another we have drifted away down to Bermuda, we must stretch back
again to the Nova Scotian coast east of Chesencook, or, like Jerry
Boudrot, we shall be out of sight of land, and lost at sea."

On going up on the deck, my attention was naturally attracted to my
new purchase, the Canadian horse.

"To my mind," said the doctor, "Jerry's knee action does not merit the
extravagant praise you bestowed upon it. It is not high enough to
please me."

"There you are wrong," sais I, "that's the mistake most people make.
It is not the height of the action, but the nature of it, that is to
be regarded. A high-stepping horse pleases the eye more than the
judgment. He seems to go faster than he does. There is not only power
wasted in it, but it injures the foot. My idea is this; you may
compare a man to a man, and a woman to a woman, for the two, including
young and old, make the world. You see more of them and know more
about 'em than horses, for you have your own structure to examine and
compare them by, and can talk to them, and if they are of the feminine
gender, hear their own account of themselves. They can speak, for they
were not behind the door when tongues were given out, I can tell you.
The range of your experience is larger, for you are always with them,
but how few hosses does a man own in his life. How few he examines,
and how little he knows about other folk's beasts. They don't live
with you, you only see them when you mount, drive, or visit the
stable. They have separate houses of their own, and pretty buildings
they are too in general, containin' about as much space for sleepin'
as a berth on board a ship, and about as much ventilation too, and the
poor critters get about as little exercise as passengers, and are just
about worth as much as they are when they land for a day's hard tramp.
Poor critters, they have to be on their taps most all the time.1 The
Arab and the Canadian have the best horses, not only because they have
the best breed, but because one has no stalls, and t'other has no
stable treatment.


1 On their feet.


"Now in judging of a horse's action, I compare him not with other
horses, but with animals of a different species. Did you ever know a
fox stumble, or a cat make a false step? I guess not; but haven't you
seen a bear when chased and tired go head over heels? A dog in a
general way is a sure-footed critter, but he trips now and then, and
if he was as big as a horse, would throw his rider sometimes. Now then
I look to these animals, and I find there are two actions to be
combined, the knee and the foot action. The fox and the cat bend the
knee easy and supply, but don't arch 'em, and though they go near the
ground, they don't trip. I take that then as a sort of standard. I
like my beast, especially if he is for the saddle, to be said to trot
like a fox. Now, if he lifts too high, you see, he describes half a
circle, and don't go ahead as he ought, and then he pounds his frog
into a sort of mortar at every step, for the horny shell of a foot is
just like one. Well then, if he sends his fore leg away out in front,
and his hind leg away out behind like a hen scratchin' gravel, he
moves more like an ox than anything else, and hainte sufficient power
to fetch them home quick enough for fast movement. Then the foot
action is a great point, I looked at this critter's tracks on the
pasture and asked myself, Does he cut turf, or squash it flat? If he
cuts it as a gardener does weeds with his spade, then good bye, Mr
Jerry, you won't suit me, it's very well to dance on your toes, but it
don't convene to travel on 'em, or you're apt to make somersets.

"Now, a neck is a valuable thing. We have two legs, two eyes, two
hands, two ears, two nostrils, and so on, but we have only one neck,
which makes it so easy to hang a fellow, or to break it by a chuck
from your saddle; and besides, we can't mend it, as we do a leg or an
arm. When it's broken it's done for; and what use is it if it's
insured? The money don't go to you, but to your heirs, and half the
time they wouldn't cry, except for decency sake, if you did break it.
Indeed, I knew a great man once, who got his neck broke, and all his
friends said, for his own reputation, it was a pity he hadn't broke it
ten years sooner. The Lord save me from such friends, I say. Fact is,
a broken neck is only a nine days' wonder after all, and is soon
forgotten.