“Halloo! Who stands guard here? Is the doorkeeper asleep?” cried I, approaching a ladder of two or three steps which was let down from the wagon.
The music ceased at my summons, and there appeared at the door, not the sort of figure that I had mentally assigned to the wandering showman, but a most respectable old personage whom I was sorry to have addressed in so free a style. He wore a snuff-colored coat and small-clothes, with white top-boots, and exhibited the mild dignity of aspect and manner which may often be noticed in aged18 schoolmasters, and sometimes in deacons, selectmen or other potentates19 of that kind. A small piece of silver was my passport within his premises20, where I found only one other person, hereafter to be described.
“This is a dull day for business,” said the old gentleman as he ushered21 me in; “but I merely tarry here to refresh the cattle, being bound for the camp-meeting at Stamford.”
Perhaps the movable scene of this narrative23 is still peregrinating New England, and may enable the reader to test the accuracy of my description. The spectacle — for I will not use the unworthy term of “puppet-show” — consisted of a multitude of little people assembled on a miniature stage. Among them were artisans of every kind in the attitudes of their toil24, and a group of fair ladies and gay gentlemen standing25 ready for the dance; a company of foot-soldiers formed a line across the stage, looking stern, grim and terrible enough to make it a pleasant consideration that they were but three inches high; and conspicuous26 above the whole was seen a Merry Andrew in the pointed27 cap and motley coat of his profession. All the inhabitants of this mimic28 world were motionless, like the figures in a picture, or like that people who one moment were alive in the midst of their business and delights and the next were transformed to statues, preserving an eternal semblance29 of labor30 that was ended and pleasure that could be felt no more. Anon, however, the old gentleman turned the handle of a barrel-organ, the first note of which produced a most enlivening effect upon the figures and awoke them all to their proper occupations and amusements. By the selfsame impulse the tailor plied31 his needle, the blacksmith’s hammer descended32 upon the anvil33 and the dancers whirled away on feathery tiptoes; the company of soldiers broke into platoons, retreated from the stage, and were succeeded by a troop of horse, who came prancing34 onward with such a sound of trumpets35 and trampling36 of hoofs37 as might have startled Don Quixote himself; while an old toper of inveterate38 ill-habits uplifted his black bottle and took off a hearty39 swig. Meantime, the Merry Andrew began to caper40 and turn somersets, shaking his sides, nodding his head and winking42 his eyes in as lifelike a manner as if he were ridiculing44 the nonsense of all human affairs and making fun of the whole multitude beneath him. At length the old magician (for I compared the showman to Prospero entertaining his guests with a masque of shadows) paused that I might give utterance45 to my wonder.
“What an admirable piece of work is this!” exclaimed I, lifting up my hands in astonishment46.
Indeed, I liked the spectacle and was tickled47 with the old man’s gravity as he presided at it, for I had none of that foolish wisdom which reproves every occupation that is not useful in this world of vanities. If there be a faculty48 which I possess more perfectly49 than most men, it is that of throwing myself mentally into situations foreign to my own and detecting with a cheerful eye the desirable circumstances of each. I could have envied the life of this gray-headed showman, spent as it had been in a course of safe and pleasurable adventure in driving his huge vehicle sometimes through the sands of Cape41 Cod50 and sometimes over the rough forest-roads of the north and east, and halting now on the green before a village meeting-house and now in a paved square of the metropolis51. How often must his heart have been gladdened by the delight of children as they viewed these animated53 figures, or his pride indulged by haranguing54 learnedly to grown men on the mechanical powers which produced such wonderful effects, or his gallantry brought into play — for this is an attribute which such grave men do not lack — by the visits of pretty maidens56! And then with how fresh a feeling must he return at intervals57 to his own peculiar58 home! “I would I were assured of as happy a life as his,” thought I.
Though the showman’s wagon might have accommodated fifteen or twenty spectators, it now contained only himself and me and a third person, at whom I threw a glance on entering. He was a neat and trim young man of two or three and twenty; his drab hat and green frock-coat with velvet59 collar were smart, though no longer new, while a pair of green spectacles that seemed needless to his brisk little eyes gave him something of a scholar-like and literary air. After allowing me a sufficient time to inspect the puppets, he advanced with a bow and drew my attention to some books in a corner of the wagon. These he forthwith began to extol61 with an amazing volubility of well-sounding words and an ingenuity62 of praise that won him my heart as being myself one of the most merciful of critics. Indeed, his stock required some considerable powers of commendation in the salesman. There were several ancient friends of mine — the novels of those happy days when my affections wavered between the Scottish Chiefs and Thomas Thumb — besides a few of later date whose merits had not been acknowledged by the public. I was glad to find that dear little venerable volume the New England Primer, looking as antique as ever, though in its thousandth new edition; a bundle of superannuated63 gilt64 picture-books made such a child of me that, partly for the glittering covers and partly for the fairy-tales within, I bought the whole, and an assortment65 of ballads66 and popular theatrical67 songs drew largely on my purse. To balance these expenditures68, I meddled70 neither with sermons nor science nor morality, though volumes of each were there, nor with a Life of Franklin in the coarsest of paper, but so showily bound that it was emblematical71 of the doctor himself in the court-dress which he refused to wear at Paris, nor with Webster’s spelling-book, nor some of Byron’s minor72 poems, nor half a dozen little Testaments73 at twenty-five cents each. Thus far the collection might have been swept from some great bookstore or picked up at an evening auction-room, but there was one small blue-covered pamphlet which the pedler handed me with so peculiar an air that I purchased it immediately at his own price; and then for the first time the thought struck me that I had spoken face to face with the veritable author of a printed book.
The literary-man now evinced a great kindness for me, and I ventured to inquire which way he was travelling.
“Oh,” said he, “I keep company with this old gentlemen here, and we are moving now toward the camp-meeting at Stamford.”
He then explained to me that for the present season he had rented a corner of the wagon as a book-store, which, as he wittily75 observed, was a true circulating library, since there were few parts of the country where it had not gone its rounds. I approved of the plan exceedingly, and began to sum up within my mind the many uncommon76 felicities in the life of a book-pedler, especially when his character resembled that of the individual before me. At a high rate was to be reckoned the daily and hourly enjoyment77 of such interviews as the present, in which he seized upon the admiration78 of a passing stranger and made him aware that a man of literary taste, and even of literary achievement, was travelling the country in a showman’s wagon. A more valuable yet not infrequent triumph might be won in his conversations with some elderly clergyman long vegetating79 in a rocky, woody, watery80 back-settlement of New England, who as he recruited his library from the pedler’s stock of sermons would exhort81 him to seek a college education and become the first scholar in his class. Sweeter and prouder yet would be his sensations when, talking poetry while he sold spelling-books, he should charm the mind, and haply touch the heart, of a fair country schoolmistress, herself an unhonored poetess, a wearer of blue stockings which none but himself took pains to look at. But the scene of his completest glory would be when the wagon had halted for the night and his stock of books was transferred to some crowded bar-room. Then would he recommend to the multifarious company, whether traveller from the city, or teamster from the hills, or neighboring squire82, or the landlord himself, or his loutish83 hostler, works suited to each particular taste and capacity, proving, all the while, by acute criticism and profound remark, that the lore17 in his books was even exceeded by that in his brain. Thus happily would he traverse the land, sometimes a herald84 before the march of Mind, sometimes walking arm in arm with awful Literature, and reaping everywhere a harvest of real and sensible popularity which the secluded85 bookworms by whose toil he lived could never hope for.
“If ever I meddle69 with literature,” thought I, fixing myself in adamantine resolution, “it shall be as a travelling bookseller.”
Though it was still mid-afternoon, the air had now grown dark about us, and a few drops of rain came down upon the roof of our vehicle, pattering like the feet of birds that had flown thither86 to rest. A sound of pleasant voices made us listen, and there soon appeared halfway87 up the ladder the pretty person of a young damsel whose rosy88 face was so cheerful that even amid the gloomy light it seemed as if the sunbeams were peeping under her bonnet89. We next saw the dark and handsome features of a young man who, with easier gallantry than might have been expected in the heart of Yankee-land, was assisting her into the wagon. It became immediately evident to us, when the two strangers stood within the door, that they were of a profession kindred to those of my companions, and I was delighted with the more than hospitable90 — the even paternal91 — kindness of the old showman’s manner as he welcomed them, while the man of literature hastened to lead the merry-eyed girl to a seat on the long bench.
“You are housed but just in time, my young friends,” said the master of the wagon; “the sky would have been down upon you within five minutes.”
The young man’s reply marked him as a foreigner — not by any variation from the idiom and accent of good English, but because he spoke74 with more caution and accuracy than if perfectly familiar with the language.
“We knew that a shower was hanging over us,” said he, “and consulted whether it were best to enter the house on the top of yonder hill, but, seeing your wagon in the road — ”
“We agreed to come hither,” interrupted the girl, with a smile, “because we should be more at home in a wandering house like this.”
I, meanwhile, with many a wild and undetermined fantasy was narrowly inspecting these two doves that had flown into our ark. The young man, tall, agile92 and athletic93, wore a mass of black shining curls clustering round a dark and vivacious94 countenance95 which, if it had not greater expression, was at least more active and attracted readier notice, than the quiet faces of our countrymen. At his first appearance he had been laden96 with a neat mahogany box of about two feet square, but very light in proportion to its size, which he had immediately unstrapped from his shoulders and deposited on the floor of the wagon.
The girl had nearly as fair a complexion97 as our own beauties, and a brighter one than most of them; the lightness of her figure, which seemed calculated to traverse the whole world without weariness, suited well with the glowing cheerfulness of her face, and her gay attire98, combining the rainbow hues99 of crimson100, green and a deep orange, was as proper to her lightsome aspect as if she had been born in it. This gay stranger was appropriately burdened with that mirth-inspiring instrument the fiddle101, which her companion took from her hands, and shortly began the process of tuning102. Neither of us the previous company of the wagon needed to inquire their trade, for this could be no mystery to frequenters of brigade-musters, ordinations103, cattle-shows, commencements, and other festal meetings in our sober land; and there is a dear friend of mine who will smile when this page recalls to his memory a chivalrous104 deed performed by us in rescuing the show-box of such a couple from a mob of great double-fisted countrymen.
“Come,” said I to the damsel of gay attire; “shall we visit all the wonders of the world together?”
She understood the metaphor105 at once, though, indeed, it would not much have troubled me if she had assented106 to the literal meaning of my words. The mahogany box was placed in a proper position, and I peeped in through its small round magnifying-window while the girl sat by my side and gave short descriptive sketches107 as one after another the pictures were unfolded to my view. We visited together — at least, our imaginations did — full many a famous city in the streets of which I had long yearned108 to tread. Once, I remember, we were in the harbor of Barcelona, gazing townward; next, she bore me through the air to Sicily and bade me look up at blazing ?tna; then we took wing to Venice and sat in a gondola109 beneath the arch of the Rialto, and anon she set me down among the thronged110 spectators at the coronation of Napoleon. But there was one scene — its locality she could not tell — which charmed my attention longer than all those gorgeous palaces and churches, because the fancy haunted me that I myself the preceding summer had beheld111 just such a humble112 meeting-house, in just such a pine-surrounded nook, among our own green mountains. All these pictures were tolerably executed, though far inferior to the girl’s touches of description; nor was it easy to comprehend how in so few sentences, and these, as I supposed, in a language foreign to her, she contrived113 to present an airy copy of each varied114 scene.
When we had travelled through the vast extent of the mahogany box, I looked into my guide’s face.
“‘Where are you going, my pretty maid?’” inquired I, in the words of an old song.
“Ah!” said the gay damsel; “you might as well ask where the summer wind is going. We are wanderers here and there and everywhere. Wherever there is mirth our merry hearts are drawn115 to it. To-day, indeed, the people have told us of a great frolic and festival in these parts; so perhaps we may be needed at what you call the camp-meeting at Stamford.”
Then, in my happy youth, and while her pleasant voice yet sounded in my ears, I sighed; for none but myself, I thought, should have been her companion in a life which seemed to realize my own wild fancies cherished all through visionary boyhood to that hour. To these two strangers the world was in its Golden Age — not that, indeed, it was less dark and sad than ever, but because its weariness and sorrow had no community with their ethereal nature. Wherever they might appear in their pilgrimage of bliss116, Youth would echo back their gladness, care-stricken Maturity117 would rest a moment from its toil, and Age, tottering118 among the graves, would smile in withered119 joy for their sakes. The lonely cot, the narrow and gloomy street, the sombre shade, would catch a passing gleam like that now shining on ourselves as these bright spirits wandered by. Blessed pair, whose happy home was throughout all the earth! I looked at my shoulders, and thought them broad enough to sustain those pictured towns and mountains; mine, too, was an elastic120 foot as tireless as the wing of the bird of Paradise; mine was then an untroubled heart that would have gone singing on its delightful121 way.
“Oh, maiden,” said I aloud, “why did you not come hither alone?”
While the merry girl and myself were busy with the show-box the unceasing rain had driven another wayfarer122 into the wagon. He seemed pretty nearly of the old showman’s age, but much smaller, leaner and more withered than he, and less respectably clad in a patched suit of gray; withal, he had a thin, shrewd countenance and a pair of diminutive123 gray eyes, which peeped rather too keenly out of their puckered124 sockets125. This old fellow had been joking with the showman in a manner which intimated previous acquaintance, but, perceiving that the damsel and I had terminated our affairs, he drew forth60 a folded document and presented it to me. As I had anticipated, it proved to be a circular, written in a very fair and legible hand and signed by several distinguished126 gentlemen whom I had never heard of, stating that the bearer had encountered every variety of misfortune and recommending him to the notice of all charitable people. Previous disbursements had left me no more than a five-dollar bill, out of which, however, I offered to make the beggar a donation provided he would give me change for it. The object of my beneficence looked keenly in my face, and discerned that I had none of that abominable127 spirit, characteristic though it be, of a full-blooded Yankee, which takes pleasure in detecting every little harmless piece of knavery128.
“Why, perhaps,” said the ragged129 old mendicant130, “if the bank is in good standing, I can’t say but I may have enough about me to change your bill.”
“It is a bill of the Suffolk Bank,” said I, “and better than the specie.”
As the beggar had nothing to object, he now produced a small buff leather bag tied up carefully with a shoe-string. When this was opened, there appeared a very comfortable treasure of silver coins of all sorts and sizes, and I even fancied that I saw gleaming among them the golden plumage of that rare bird in our currency the American eagle. In this precious heap was my bank-note deposited, the rate of exchange being considerably131 against me.
His wants being thus relieved, the destitute132 man pulled out of his pocket an old pack of greasy133 cards which had probably contributed to fill the buff leather bag in more ways than one.
“Come!” said he; “I spy a rare fortune in your face, and for twenty-five cents more I’ll tell you what it is.”
I never refuse to take a glimpse into futurity; so, after shuffling134 the cards and when the fair damsel had cut them, I dealt a portion to the prophetic beggar. Like others of his profession, before predicting the shadowy events that were moving on to meet me he gave proof of his preternatural science by describing scenes through which I had already passed.
Here let me have credit for a sober fact. When the old man had read a page in his book of fate, he bent135 his keen gray eyes on mine and proceeded to relate in all its minute particulars what was then the most singular event of my life. It was one which I had no purpose to disclose till the general unfolding of all secrets, nor would it be a much stranger instance of inscrutable knowledge or fortunate conjecture11 if the beggar were to meet me in the street today and repeat word for word the page which I have here written.
The fortune-teller, after predicting a destiny which time seems loth to make good, put up his cards, secreted136 his treasure-bag and began to converse137 with the other occupants of the wagon.
“Well, old friend,” said the showman, “you have not yet told us which way your face is turned this afternoon.”
“I am taking a trip northward138 this warm weather,” replied the conjurer, “across the Connecticut first, and then up through Vermont, and maybe into Canada before the fall. But I must stop and see the breaking up of the camp-meeting at Stamford.”
I began to think that all the vagrants139 in New England were converging140 to the camp-meeting and had made this wagon, their rendezvous141 by the way.
The showman now proposed that when the shower was over they should pursue the road to Stamford together, it being sometimes the policy of these people to form a sort of league and confederacy.
“And the young lady too,” observed the gallant55 bibliopolist, bowing to her profoundly, “and this foreign gentleman, as I understand, are on a jaunt142 of pleasure to the same spot. It would add incalculably to my own enjoyment, and I presume to that of my colleague and his friend, if they could be prevailed upon to join our party.”
This arrangement met with approbation143 on all hands, nor were any of those concerned more sensible of its advantages than myself, who had no title to be included in it.
Having already satisfied myself as to the several modes in which the four others attained144 felicity, I next set my mind at work to discover what enjoyments145 were peculiar to the old “straggler,” as the people of the country would have termed the wandering mendicant and prophet. As he pretended to familiarity with the devil, so I fancied that he was fitted to pursue and take delight in his way of life by possessing some of the mental and moral characteristics — the lighter146 and more comic ones — of the devil in popular stories. Among them might be reckoned a love of deception147 for its own sake, a shrewd eye and keen relish148 for human weakness and ridiculous infirmity, and the talent of petty fraud. Thus to this old man there would be pleasure even in the consciousness — so insupportable to some minds — that his whole life was a cheat upon the world, and that, so far as he was concerned with the public, his little cunning had the upper hand of its united wisdom. Every day would furnish him with a succession of minute and pungent149 triumphs — as when, for instance, his importunity150 wrung151 a pittance152 out of the heart of a miser153, or when my silly good-nature transferred a part of my slender purse to his plump leather bag, or when some ostentatious gentleman should throw a coin to the ragged beggar who was richer than himself, or when — though he would not always be so decidedly diabolical154 — his pretended wants should make him a sharer in the scanty155 living of real indigence156. And then what an inexhaustible field of enjoyment, both as enabling him to discern so much folly157 and achieve such quantities of minor mischief158, was opened to his sneering159 spirit by his pretensions160 to prophetic knowledge.
All this was a sort of happiness which I could conceive of, though I had little sympathy with it. Perhaps, had I been then inclined to admit it, I might have found that the roving life was more proper to him than to either of his companions; for Satan, to whom I had compared the poor man, has delighted, ever since the time of Job, in “wandering up and down upon the earth,” and, indeed, a crafty161 disposition162 which operates not in deep-laid plans, but in disconnected tricks, could not have an adequate scope, unless naturally impelled163 to a continual change of scene and society.
My reflections were here interrupted.
“Another visitor!” exclaimed the old showman.
The door of the wagon had been closed against the tempest, which was roaring and blustering164 with prodigious165 fury and commotion166 and beating violently against our shelter, as if it claimed all those homeless people for its lawful167 prey168, while we, caring little for the displeasure of the elements, sat comfortably talking. There was now an attempt to open the door, succeeded by a voice uttering some strange, unintelligible169 gibberish which my companions mistook for Greek and I suspected to be thieves’ Latin. However, the showman stepped forward and gave admittance to a figure which made me imagine either that our wagon had rolled back two hundred years into past ages or that the forest and its old inhabitants had sprung up around us by enchantment170. It was a red Indian armed with his bow and arrow. His dress was a sort of cap adorned171 with a single feather of some wild bird, and a frock of blue cotton girded tight about him; on his breast, like orders of knighthood, hung a crescent and a circle and other ornaments172 of silver, while a small crucifix betokened173 that our father the pope had interposed between the Indian and the Great Spirit whom he had worshipped in his simplicity174. This son of the wilderness175 and pilgrim of the storm took his place silently in the midst of us. When the first surprise was over, I rightly conjectured him to be one of the Penobscot tribe, parties of which I had often seen in their summer excursions down our Eastern rivers. There they paddle their birch canoes among the coasting-schooners, and build their wigwam beside some roaring mill-dam, and drive a little trade in basket-work where their fathers hunted deer. Our new visitor was probably wandering through the country toward Boston, subsisting176 on the careless charity of the people while he turned his archery to profitable account by shooting at cents which were to be the prize of his successful aim.
The Indian had not long been seated ere our merry damsel sought to draw him into conversation. She, indeed, seemed all made up of sunshine in the month of May, for there was nothing so dark and dismal177 that her pleasant mind could not cast a glow over it; and the wild man, like a fir tree in his native forest, soon began to brighten into a sort of sombre cheerfulness. At length she inquired whether his journey had any particular end or purpose.
“I go shoot at the camp-meeting at Stamford,” replied the Indian.
“And here are five more,” said the girl, “all aiming at the camp-meeting too. You shall be one of us, for we travel with light hearts; and, as for me, I sing merry songs and tell merry tales and am full of merry thoughts, and I dance merrily along the road, so that there is never any sadness among them that keep me company. But oh, you would find it very dull indeed to go all the way to Stamford alone.”
My ideas of the aboriginal178 character led me to fear that the Indian would prefer his own solitary179 musings to the gay society thus offered him; on the contrary, the girl’s proposal met with immediate10 acceptance and seemed to animate52 him with a misty180 expectation of enjoyment.
I now gave myself up to a course of thought which, whether it flowed naturally from this combination of events or was drawn forth by a wayward fancy, caused my mind to thrill as if I were listening to deep music. I saw mankind in this weary old age of the world either enduring a sluggish181 existence amid the smoke and dust of cities, or, if they breathed a purer air, still lying down at night with no hope but to wear out tomorrow, and all the tomorrows which make up life, among the same dull scenes and in the same wretched toil that had darkened the sunshine of today. But there were some full of the primeval instinct who preserved the freshness of youth to their latest years by the continual excitement of new objects, new pursuits and new associates, and cared little, though their birthplace might have been here in New England, if the grave should close over them in Central Asia. Fate was summoning a parliament of these free spirits; unconscious of the impulse which directed them to a common centre, they had come hither from far and near, and last of all appeared the representatives of those mighty182 vagrants who had chased the deer during thousands of years, and were chasing it now in the spirit-land. Wandering down through the waste of ages, the woods had vanished around his path; his arm had lost somewhat of its strength, his foot of its fleetness, his mien183 of its wild regality, his heart and mind of their savage184 virtue185 and uncultured force, but here, untamable to the routine of artificial life, roving now along the dusty road as of old over the forest-leaves, — here was the Indian still.
“Well,” said the old showman, in the midst of my meditations186, “here is an honest company of us — one, two, three, four, five, six — all going to the camp-meeting at Stamford. Now, hoping no offence, I should like to know where this young gentleman may be going?”
I started. How came I among these wanderers? The free mind that preferred its own folly to another’s wisdom, the open spirit that found companions everywhere — above all, the restless impulse that had so often made me wretched in the midst of enjoyments, — these were my claims to be of their society.
“My friends,” cried I, stepping into the centre of the wagon, “I am going with you to the camp-meeting at Stamford.”
“But in what capacity?” asked the old showman, after a moment’s silence. “All of us here can get our bread in some creditable way. Every honest man should have his livelihood187. You, sir, as I take it, are a mere22 strolling gentleman.”
I proceeded to inform the company that when Nature gave me a propensity188 to their way of life she had not left me altogether destitute of qualifications for it, though I could not deny that my talent was less respectable, and might be less profitable, than the meanest of theirs. My design, in short, was to imitate the story-tellers of whom Oriental travellers have told us, and become an itinerant novelist, reciting my own extemporaneous189 fictions to such audiences as I could collect.
“Either this,” said I, “is my vocation190, or I have been born in vain.”
The fortune-teller, with a sly wink43 to the company, proposed to take me as an apprentice191 to one or other of his professions, either of which undoubtedly192 would have given full scope to whatever inventive talent I might possess. The bibliopolist spoke a few words in opposition193 to my plan — influenced partly, I suspect, by the jealousy194 of authorship, and partly by an apprehension195 that the viva-voce practice would become general among novelists, to the infinite detriment196 of the book trade.
Dreading197 a rejection198, I solicited199 the interest of the merry damsel.
“‘Mirth,’” cried I, most aptly appropriating the words of L’Allegro, “‘to thee I sue! Mirth, admit me of thy crew!’”
“Let us indulge the poor youth,” said Mirth, with a kindness which made me love her dearly, though I was no such coxcomb200 as to misinterpret her motives201. “I have espied202 much promise in him. True, a shadow sometimes flits across his brow, but the sunshine is sure to follow in a moment. He is never guilty of a sad thought but a merry one is twin-born with it. We will take him with us, and you shall see that he will set us all a-laughing before we reach the camp-meeting at Stamford.” Her voice silenced the scruples203 of the rest and gained me admittance into the league; according to the terms of which, without a community of goods or profits, we were to lend each other all the aid and avert204 all the harm that might be in our power.
This affair settled, a marvellous jollity entered into the whole tribe of us, manifesting itself characteristically in each individual. The old showman, sitting down to his barrel-organ, stirred up the souls of the pigmy people with one of the quickest tunes205 in the music-book; tailors, blacksmiths, gentlemen and ladies all seemed to share in the spirit of the occasion, and the Merry Andrew played his part more facetiously207 than ever, nodding and winking particularly at me. The young foreigner flourished his fiddle-bow with a master’s hand, and gave an inspiring echo to the showman’s melody. The bookish man and the merry damsel started up simultaneously208 to dance, the former enacting209 the double shuffle210 in a style which everybody must have witnessed ere election week was blotted211 out of time, while the girl, setting her arms akimbo with both hands at her slim waist, displayed such light rapidity of foot and harmony of varying attitude and motion that I could not conceive how she ever was to stop, imagining at the moment that Nature had made her, as the old showman had made his puppets, for no earthly purpose but to dance jigs212. The Indian bellowed213 forth a succession of most hideous214 outcries, somewhat affrighting us till we interpreted them as the war-song with which, in imitation of his ancestors, he was prefacing the assault on Stamford. The conjurer, meanwhile, sat demurely215 in a corner extracting a sly enjoyment from the whole scene, and, like the facetious206 Merry Andrew, directing his queer glance particularly at me. As for myself, with great exhilaration of fancy, I began to arrange and color the incidents of a tale wherewith I proposed to amuse an audience that very evening; for I saw that my associates were a little ashamed of me, and that no time was to be lost in obtaining a public acknowledgment of my abilities.
“Come, fellow-laborers,” at last said the old showman, whom we had elected president; “the shower is over, and we must be doing our duty by these poor souls at Stamford.”
“We’ll come among them in procession, with music and dancing,” cried the merry damsel.
Accordingly — for it must be understood that our pilgrimage was to be performed on foot — we sallied joyously216 out of the wagon, each of us, even the old gentleman in his white top-boots, giving a great skip as we came down the ladder. Above our heads there was such a glory of sunshine and splendor217 of clouds, and such brightness of verdure below, that, as I modestly remarked at the time, Nature seemed to have washed her face and put on the best of her jewelry218 and a fresh green gown in honor of our confederation. Casting our eyes northward, we beheld a horseman approaching leisurely219 and splashing through the little puddle220 on the Stamford road. Onward he came, sticking up in his saddle with rigid221 perpendicularity222, a tall, thin figure in rusty223 black, whom the showman and the conjurer shortly recognized to be what his aspect sufficiently224 indicated — a travelling preacher of great fame among the Methodists. What puzzled us was the fact that his face appeared turned from, instead of to, the camp-meeting at Stamford. However, as this new votary225 of the wandering life drew near the little green space where the guide-post and our wagon were situated226, my six fellow-vagabonds and myself rushed forward and surrounded him, crying out with united voices, “What news? What news from the camp-meeting at Stamford?”
The missionary227 looked down in surprise at as singular a knot of people as could have been selected from all his heterogeneous228 auditors229. Indeed, considering that we might all be classified under the general head of Vagabond, there was great diversity of character among the grave old showman, the sly, prophetic beggar, the fiddling230 foreigner and his merry damsel, the smart bibliopolist, the sombre Indian and myself, the itinerant novelist, a slender youth of eighteen. I even fancied that a smile was endeavoring to disturb the iron gravity of the preacher’s mouth.
“Good people,” answered he, “the camp-meeting is broke up.”
So saying, the Methodist minister switched his steed and rode westward231. Our union being thus nullified by the removal of its object, we were sundered232 at once to the four winds of heaven. The fortune-teller, giving a nod to all and a peculiar wink to me, departed on his Northern tour, chuckling233 within himself as he took the Stamford road. The old showman and his literary coadjutor were already tackling their horses to the wagon with a design to peregrinate south-west along the sea-coast. The foreigner and the merry damsel took their laughing leave and pursued the eastern road, which I had that day trodden; as they passed away the young man played a lively strain and the girl’s happy spirit broke into a dance, and, thus dissolving, as it were, into sunbeams and gay music, that pleasant pair departed from my view. Finally, with a pensive234 shadow thrown across my mind, yet emulous of the light philosophy of my late companions, I joined myself to the Penobscot Indian and set forth toward the distant city.
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1
rambling
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| adj.[建]凌乱的，杂乱的 | |
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lengthened
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| （时间或空间）延长，伸长( lengthen的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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3
celebrated
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| adj.有名的，声誉卓著的 | |
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4
mansion
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| n.大厦，大楼；宅第 | |
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wagon
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| n.四轮马车，手推车，面包车；无盖运货列车 | |
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munching
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| v.用力咀嚼（某物），大嚼( munch的现在分词 ) | |
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provender
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| n.刍草；秣料 | |
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muzzled
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| 给（狗等）戴口套( muzzle的过去式和过去分词 )； 使缄默，钳制…言论 | |
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9
delectable
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| adj.使人愉快的；美味的 | |
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10
immediate
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| adj.立即的；直接的，最接近的；紧靠的 | |
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conjecture
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| n./v.推测，猜测 | |
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12
conjectured
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| 推测，猜测，猜想( conjecture的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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13
itinerant
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| adj.巡回的；流动的 | |
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14
confluence
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| n.汇合，聚集 | |
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15
intercept
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| vt.拦截，截住，截击 | |
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16
onward
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| adj.向前的，前进的；adv.向前，前进，在先 | |
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17
lore
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| n.传说；学问，经验，知识 | |
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18
aged
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| adj.年老的，陈年的 | |
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19
potentates
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| n.君主，统治者( potentate的名词复数 )；有权势的人 | |
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20
premises
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| n.建筑物，房屋 | |
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21
ushered
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| v.引，领，陪同( usher的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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22
mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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23
narrative
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| n.叙述，故事；adj.叙事的，故事体的 | |
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24
toil
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| vi.辛劳工作，艰难地行动；n.苦工，难事 | |
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25
standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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26
conspicuous
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| adj.明眼的，惹人注目的；炫耀的，摆阔气的 | |
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27
pointed
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| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
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28
mimic
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| v.模仿，戏弄；n.模仿他人言行的人 | |
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29
semblance
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| n.外貌，外表 | |
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30
labor
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| n.劳动，努力，工作，劳工；分娩；vi.劳动，努力，苦干；vt.详细分析；麻烦 | |
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31
plied
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| v.使用（工具）( ply的过去式和过去分词 )；经常供应（食物、饮料）；固定往来；经营生意 | |
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32
descended
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| a.为...后裔的，出身于...的 | |
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33
anvil
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| n.铁钻 | |
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34
prancing
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| v.（马）腾跃( prance的现在分词 ) | |
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35
trumpets
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| 喇叭( trumpet的名词复数 )； 小号； 喇叭形物； （尤指）绽开的水仙花 | |
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36
trampling
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| 踩( trample的现在分词 )； 践踏； 无视； 侵犯 | |
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37
hoofs
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| n.（兽的）蹄，马蹄( hoof的名词复数 )v.（兽的）蹄，马蹄( hoof的第三人称单数 ) | |
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38
inveterate
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| adj.积习已深的，根深蒂固的 | |
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39
hearty
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| adj.热情友好的；衷心的；尽情的，纵情的 | |
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40
caper
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| v.雀跃，欢蹦；n.雀跃，跳跃；续随子，刺山柑花蕾；嬉戏 | |
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41
cape
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| n.海角，岬；披肩，短披风 | |
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42
winking
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| n.瞬眼，目语v.使眼色( wink的现在分词 )；递眼色（表示友好或高兴等）；（指光）闪烁；闪亮 | |
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43
wink
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| n.眨眼，使眼色，瞬间；v.眨眼，使眼色，闪烁 | |
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44
ridiculing
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| v.嘲笑，嘲弄，奚落( ridicule的现在分词 ) | |
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45
utterance
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| n.用言语表达，话语，言语 | |
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46
astonishment
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| n.惊奇，惊异 | |
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47
tickled
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| （使）发痒( tickle的过去式和过去分词 )； （使）愉快，逗乐 | |
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48
faculty
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| n.才能；学院，系；(学院或系的)全体教学人员 | |
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49
perfectly
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| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
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50
cod
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| n.鳕鱼；v.愚弄；哄骗 | |
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51
metropolis
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| n.首府；大城市 | |
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52
animate
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| v.赋于生命，鼓励；adj.有生命的，有生气的 | |
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53
animated
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| adj.生气勃勃的，活跃的，愉快的 | |
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54
haranguing
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| v.高谈阔论( harangue的现在分词 ) | |
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55
gallant
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| adj.英勇的，豪侠的；(向女人)献殷勤的 | |
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56
maidens
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| 处女( maiden的名词复数 )； 少女； 未婚女子； （板球运动）未得分的一轮投球 | |
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57
intervals
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| n.[军事]间隔( interval的名词复数 )；间隔时间；[数学]区间；（戏剧、电影或音乐会的）幕间休息 | |
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58
peculiar
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| adj.古怪的，异常的；特殊的，特有的 | |
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59
velvet
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| n.丝绒，天鹅绒；adj.丝绒制的，柔软的 | |
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60
forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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61
extol
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| v.赞美，颂扬 | |
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62
ingenuity
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| n.别出心裁；善于发明创造 | |
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63
superannuated
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| adj.老朽的，退休的；v.因落后于时代而废除，勒令退学 | |
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64
gilt
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| adj.镀金的；n.金边证券 | |
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65
assortment
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| n.分类，各色俱备之物，聚集 | |
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66
ballads
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| 民歌，民谣，特别指叙述故事的歌( ballad的名词复数 )； 讴 | |
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67
theatrical
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| adj.剧场的，演戏的；做戏似的，做作的 | |
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68
expenditures
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| n.花费( expenditure的名词复数 )；使用；（尤指金钱的）支出额；（精力、时间、材料等的）耗费 | |
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69
meddle
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| v.干预，干涉，插手 | |
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70
meddled
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| v.干涉，干预（他人事务）( meddle的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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71
emblematical
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| adj.标志的，象征的，典型的 | |
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72
minor
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| adj.较小(少)的，较次要的；n.辅修学科；vi.辅修 | |
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73
testaments
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| n.遗嘱( testament的名词复数 )；实际的证明 | |
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74
spoke
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| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
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75
wittily
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| 机智地，机敏地 | |
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76
uncommon
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| adj.罕见的，非凡的，不平常的 | |
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77
enjoyment
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| n.乐趣；享有；享用 | |
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78
admiration
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| n.钦佩，赞美，羡慕 | |
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79
vegetating
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| v.过单调呆板的生活( vegetate的现在分词 )；植物似地生长；（瘤、疣等）长大 | |
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80
watery
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| adj.有水的，水汪汪的；湿的，湿润的 | |
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81
exhort
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| v.规劝，告诫 | |
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82
squire
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| n.护卫, 侍从, 乡绅 | |
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83
loutish
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| adj.粗鲁的 | |
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84
herald
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| vt.预示...的来临，预告，宣布，欢迎 | |
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85
secluded
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| adj.与世隔绝的；隐退的；偏僻的v.使隔开，使隐退( seclude的过去式和过去分词) | |
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86
thither
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| adv.向那里；adj.在那边的，对岸的 | |
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87
halfway
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| adj.中途的，不彻底的，部分的；adv.半路地，在中途，在半途 | |
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88
rosy
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| adj.美好的，乐观的，玫瑰色的 | |
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89
bonnet
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| n.无边女帽；童帽 | |
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90
hospitable
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| adj.好客的；宽容的；有利的，适宜的 | |
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91
paternal
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| adj.父亲的，像父亲的，父系的，父方的 | |
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92
agile
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| adj.敏捷的，灵活的 | |
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93
athletic
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| adj.擅长运动的，强健的；活跃的，体格健壮的 | |
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vivacious
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| adj.活泼的，快活的 | |
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95
countenance
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| n.脸色，面容；面部表情；vt.支持，赞同 | |
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96
laden
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| adj.装满了的；充满了的；负了重担的；苦恼的 | |
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97
complexion
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| n.肤色；情况，局面；气质，性格 | |
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98
attire
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| v.穿衣，装扮[同]array；n.衣着；盛装 | |
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99
hues
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| 色彩( hue的名词复数 )； 色调； 信仰； 观点 | |
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100
crimson
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| n./adj.深(绯)红色(的)；vi.脸变绯红色 | |
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101
fiddle
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| n.小提琴；vi.拉提琴；不停拨弄，乱动 | |
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102
tuning
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| n.调谐，调整，调音v.调音( tune的现在分词 )；调整；（给收音机、电视等）调谐；使协调 | |
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103
ordinations
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| n.授予神职( ordination的名词复数 )；授圣职 | |
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104
chivalrous
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| adj.武士精神的；对女人彬彬有礼的 | |
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105
metaphor
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| n.隐喻，暗喻 | |
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106
assented
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| 同意，赞成( assent的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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107
sketches
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| n.草图( sketch的名词复数 )；素描；速写；梗概 | |
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108
yearned
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| 渴望，切盼，向往( yearn的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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109
gondola
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| n.威尼斯的平底轻舟；飞船的吊船 | |
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110
thronged
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| v.成群，挤满( throng的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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111
beheld
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| v.看，注视( behold的过去式和过去分词 )；瞧；看呀；（叙述中用于引出某人意外的出现）哎哟 | |
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112
humble
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| adj.谦卑的，恭顺的；地位低下的；v.降低，贬低 | |
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113
contrived
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| adj.不自然的，做作的；虚构的 | |
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114
varied
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| adj.多样的，多变化的 | |
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115
drawn
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| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
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116
bliss
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| n.狂喜，福佑，天赐的福 | |
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117
maturity
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| n.成熟；完成；(支票、债券等)到期 | |
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118
tottering
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| adj.蹒跚的，动摇的v.走得或动得不稳( totter的现在分词 )；踉跄；蹒跚；摇摇欲坠 | |
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119
withered
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| adj. 枯萎的，干瘪的，（人身体的部分器官）因病萎缩的或未发育良好的 动词wither的过去式和过去分词形式 | |
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120
elastic
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| n.橡皮圈，松紧带；adj.有弹性的；灵活的 | |
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121
delightful
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| adj.令人高兴的，使人快乐的 | |
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122
wayfarer
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| n.旅人 | |
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123
diminutive
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| adj.小巧可爱的，小的 | |
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124
puckered
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| v.（使某物）起褶子或皱纹( pucker的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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125
sockets
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| n.套接字，使应用程序能够读写与收发通讯协定(protocol)与资料的程序( Socket的名词复数 )；孔( socket的名词复数 )；（电器上的）插口；托座；凹穴 | |
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126
distinguished
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| adj.卓越的，杰出的，著名的 | |
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127
abominable
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| adj.可厌的，令人憎恶的 | |
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128
knavery
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| n.恶行，欺诈的行为 | |
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129
ragged
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| adj.衣衫褴褛的，粗糙的，刺耳的 | |
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130
mendicant
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| n.乞丐；adj.行乞的 | |
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131
considerably
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| adv.极大地；相当大地；在很大程度上 | |
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132
destitute
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| adj.缺乏的；穷困的 | |
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133
greasy
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| adj. 多脂的，油脂的 | |
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134
shuffling
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| adj. 慢慢移动的, 滑移的 动词shuffle的现在分词形式 | |
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135
bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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136
secreted
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| v.（尤指动物或植物器官）分泌( secrete的过去式和过去分词 )；隐匿，隐藏 | |
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137
converse
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| vi.谈话，谈天，闲聊；adv.相反的，相反 | |
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138
northward
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| adv.向北；n.北方的地区 | |
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139
vagrants
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| 流浪者( vagrant的名词复数 )； 无业游民； 乞丐； 无赖 | |
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140
converging
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| adj.收敛[缩]的，会聚的，趋同的v.（线条、运动的物体等）会于一点( converge的现在分词 )；（趋于）相似或相同；人或车辆汇集；聚集 | |
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141
rendezvous
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| n.约会，约会地点，汇合点；vi.汇合，集合；vt.使汇合，使在汇合地点相遇 | |
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142
jaunt
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| v.短程旅游；n.游览 | |
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143
approbation
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| n.称赞；认可 | |
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144
attained
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| （通常经过努力）实现( attain的过去式和过去分词 )； 达到； 获得； 达到（某年龄、水平、状况） | |
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145
enjoyments
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| 愉快( enjoyment的名词复数 )； 令人愉快的事物； 享有； 享受 | |
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146
lighter
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| n.打火机，点火器；驳船；v.用驳船运送；light的比较级 | |
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147
deception
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| n.欺骗，欺诈；骗局，诡计 | |
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148
relish
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| n.滋味，享受，爱好，调味品；vt.加调味料，享受，品味；vi.有滋味 | |
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149
pungent
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| adj.（气味、味道）刺激性的，辛辣的；尖锐的 | |
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150
importunity
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| n.硬要，强求 | |
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151
wrung
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| 绞( wring的过去式和过去分词 )； 握紧（尤指别人的手）； 把（湿衣服）拧干； 绞掉（水） | |
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152
pittance
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| n.微薄的薪水，少量 | |
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153
miser
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| n.守财奴，吝啬鬼 (adj.miserly) | |
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154
diabolical
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| adj.恶魔似的，凶暴的 | |
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155
scanty
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| adj.缺乏的，仅有的，节省的，狭小的，不够的 | |
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156
indigence
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| n.贫穷 | |
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157
folly
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| n.愚笨，愚蠢，蠢事，蠢行，傻话 | |
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158
mischief
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| n.损害，伤害，危害；恶作剧，捣蛋，胡闹 | |
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159
sneering
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| 嘲笑的，轻蔑的 | |
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160
pretensions
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| 自称( pretension的名词复数 )； 自命不凡； 要求； 权力 | |
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161
crafty
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| adj.狡猾的，诡诈的 | |
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162
disposition
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| n.性情，性格；意向，倾向；排列，部署 | |
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163
impelled
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| v.推动、推进或敦促某人做某事( impel的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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164
blustering
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| adj.狂风大作的，狂暴的v.外强中干的威吓( bluster的现在分词 )；咆哮；（风）呼啸；狂吹 | |
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165
prodigious
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| adj.惊人的，奇妙的；异常的；巨大的；庞大的 | |
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166
commotion
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| n.骚动，动乱 | |
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167
lawful
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| adj.法律许可的，守法的，合法的 | |
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168
prey
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| n.被掠食者，牺牲者，掠食；v.捕食，掠夺，折磨 | |
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169
unintelligible
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| adj.无法了解的，难解的，莫明其妙的 | |
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170
enchantment
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| n.迷惑，妖术，魅力 | |
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171
adorned
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| [计]被修饰的 | |
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172
ornaments
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| n.装饰( ornament的名词复数 )；点缀；装饰品；首饰v.装饰，点缀，美化( ornament的第三人称单数 ) | |
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173
betokened
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| v.预示，表示( betoken的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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174
simplicity
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| n.简单，简易；朴素；直率，单纯 | |
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175
wilderness
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| n.杳无人烟的一片陆地、水等，荒漠 | |
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176
subsisting
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| v.（靠很少的钱或食物）维持生活，生存下去( subsist的现在分词 ) | |
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177
dismal
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| adj.阴沉的，凄凉的，令人忧郁的，差劲的 | |
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178
aboriginal
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| adj.（指动植物）土生的，原产地的，土著的 | |
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179
solitary
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| adj.孤独的，独立的，荒凉的；n.隐士 | |
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180
misty
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| adj.雾蒙蒙的，有雾的 | |
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181
sluggish
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| adj.懒惰的，迟钝的，无精打采的 | |
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182
mighty
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| adj.强有力的；巨大的 | |
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183
mien
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| n.风采；态度 | |
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184
savage
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| adj.野蛮的；凶恶的，残暴的；n.未开化的人 | |
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185
virtue
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| n.德行，美德；贞操；优点；功效，效力 | |
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186
meditations
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| 默想( meditation的名词复数 )； 默念； 沉思； 冥想 | |
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187
livelihood
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| n.生计，谋生之道 | |
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188
propensity
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| n.倾向；习性 | |
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189
extemporaneous
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| adj.即席的，一时的 | |
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190
vocation
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| n.职业，行业 | |
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191
apprentice
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| n.学徒，徒弟 | |
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192
undoubtedly
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| adv.确实地，无疑地 | |
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193
opposition
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| n.反对，敌对 | |
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194
jealousy
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| n.妒忌，嫉妒，猜忌 | |
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195
apprehension
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| n.理解，领悟；逮捕，拘捕；忧虑 | |
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196
detriment
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| n.损害；损害物，造成损害的根源 | |
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197
dreading
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| v.害怕，恐惧，担心( dread的现在分词 ) | |
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198
rejection
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| n.拒绝，被拒，抛弃，被弃 | |
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199
solicited
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| v.恳求( solicit的过去式和过去分词 )；（指娼妇）拉客；索求；征求 | |
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200
coxcomb
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| n.花花公子 | |
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201
motives
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| n.动机，目的( motive的名词复数 ) | |
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202
espied
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| v.看到( espy的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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203
scruples
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| n.良心上的不安( scruple的名词复数 )；顾虑，顾忌v.感到于心不安，有顾忌( scruple的第三人称单数 ) | |
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204
avert
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| v.防止，避免；转移(目光、注意力等) | |
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205
tunes
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| n.曲调，曲子( tune的名词复数 )v.调音( tune的第三人称单数 )；调整；（给收音机、电视等）调谐；使协调 | |
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206
facetious
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| adj.轻浮的，好开玩笑的 | |
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207
facetiously
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| adv.爱开玩笑地；滑稽地，爱开玩笑地 | |
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208
simultaneously
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| adv.同时发生地，同时进行地 | |
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209
enacting
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| 制定（法律），通过（法案）( enact的现在分词 ) | |
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210
shuffle
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| n.拖著脚走，洗纸牌；v.拖曳，慢吞吞地走 | |
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211
blotted
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| 涂污( blot的过去式和过去分词 )； （用吸墨纸）吸干 | |
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212
jigs
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| n.快步舞（曲）极快地( jig的名词复数 )；夹具v.（使）上下急动( jig的第三人称单数 ) | |
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213
bellowed
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| v.发出吼叫声，咆哮（尤指因痛苦）( bellow的过去式和过去分词 )；（愤怒地）说出（某事），大叫 | |
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214
hideous
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| adj.丑陋的，可憎的，可怕的，恐怖的 | |
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215
demurely
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| adv.装成端庄地，认真地 | |
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216
joyously
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| ad.快乐地, 高兴地 | |
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217
splendor
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| n.光彩；壮丽，华丽；显赫，辉煌 | |
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218
jewelry
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| n.（jewllery）（总称）珠宝 | |
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219
leisurely
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| adj.悠闲的；从容的，慢慢的 | |
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220
puddle
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| n.(雨)水坑，泥潭 | |
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221
rigid
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| adj.严格的，死板的；刚硬的，僵硬的 | |
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222
perpendicularity
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| n.垂直，直立；垂直度 | |
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223
rusty
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| adj.生锈的；锈色的；荒废了的 | |
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224
sufficiently
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| adv.足够地，充分地 | |
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225
votary
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| n.崇拜者；爱好者；adj.誓约的，立誓任圣职的 | |
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226
situated
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| adj.坐落在...的，处于某种境地的 | |
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227
missionary
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| adj.教会的，传教(士)的；n.传教士 | |
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228
heterogeneous
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| adj.庞杂的；异类的 | |
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229
auditors
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| n.审计员，稽核员( auditor的名词复数 )；（大学课程的）旁听生 | |
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230
fiddling
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| 微小的 | |
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231
westward
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| n.西方，西部；adj.西方的，向西的；adv.向西 | |
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232
sundered
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| v.隔开，分开( sunder的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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233
chuckling
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| 轻声地笑( chuckle的现在分词 ) | |
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234
pensive
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| a.沉思的,哀思的,忧沉的 | |
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