GRAHAM'S MAGAZINE. VOL. XXII. PHILADELPHIA: JUNE, 1843. No. 6. TOO LATE AND TOO EARLY. BY JAMES K. PAULDING, AUTHOR OF "THE DUTCHMAN'S FIRE-SIDE," "WESTWARD HO!" ETC. Not many years ago, there lived in the outskirts of a certain village of the New World, a wise man and a fool. There were plenty more of each of these classes among the inhabitants, but these two were pre-eminent in their way. The great leading maxim of one was, never to put off till to-morrow what could be done to-day; that of the other, never to do to-day - what could be put off till to-morrow. They had, however, pretty much the same opinion of each other. The wise man despised the fool because he never took time by the forelock; and the fool contemned the wise man for not letting the old gentleman pass on, that he might see what was behind him. The name of the sage was Solomon, the appropriate appellation of all wise men; and that of the simpleton, Ninny, or Squire Ninny, as he was called by his neighbors. They equally valued themselves on their wisdom, and were accustomed to meet together often; sometimes by accident, at others by design; on which occasions they seldom failed to enter into discussions which always confirmed each in his own theory more obstinately than before. At parting, nothing was more usual than for Solomon to predict that Squire Ninny would always lose the race by lagging behind till it was too late to enter at the starting-pole; and for the Squire to retort by foretelling that his wise neighbor would meet with the same catastrophe by tiring out his horse in his haste to be there too soon. "Why don't you," said Solomon, "why don't you learn wisdom from the birds, which are out by dayhight in the morning, taking time by the forelock, and catching insects and worms for their breakfast?" "Thank you," replied the squire; "I learn wisdom from the fate of the insects and worms, which might escape being devoured, perhaps, if they did not take time by the forelock, and venture out so early." "Plague take thee for a fool!" muttered the wise man. "Deuce take thee for an ass!" quoth the fool. And away they went their different ways; one to do all that was possible, the other to do nothing but what he was obliged to perform. It is singular enough-or rather it would be, were it not so common-that both these persons were entirely convinced, not only that they were right in the great maxim each had adopted, but that it was the result of reason and reflection, sanctioned by experience. Now, the fact is, it was no such thing. Nature had made one headlong and impatient; the other, lazy and deliberative-and they only followed their destiny. Even when boys, Solomon always ate his egg raw, because he could not wait its boiling; while Squire Ninny suffered it to boil as hard as a bullet, for sheer lack of energy to take off the skillet. In short, one could not bear to be idle, the other to be busy. These two worthy people were nearly of the same age, that is to say, some fifty years. One a married man, with a family, the other a bachelor. Solomon had taken time by the forelock, and wedded a shrew, solely because he did not choose to put off till tomorrow what could be done to-day; while Squire Ninny stuck close to his favorite maxim, which not exactly suiting the meridian of female vivacity, he somehow or other uniformly missed his mark, simply because the bird flew away before he could take aim. Some married, some died, and some waited so long for the squire to make up his mind, that they slipped down the hill of life before they became aware they had reached the top, and notwithstanding all their exertions were never able to recover their lost ground. In the mean time, the family of Solomons increased and multiplied, to the great satisfaction of the father, who never failed to crow over the squire, and, whenever they met, commiserate the fate of a poor forlorn bachelor, without a companion, a solace to his cares, a domestic fireside, or children to comfort him in his old age, and carry down his name to future generations. "Never mind," answered the squire, "there should always be at least one bachelor in a family to take care of the children of those who have married in too great a hurry." The squire had heard that Solomon's wife combed his hair sometimes, for the town was too little to contain a great secret, and, like a pistol, always went off with a great report when overcharged. On these occasions they would separate mutually pitying each other-Solomon, to worry himself for something to do; the squire, to smoke his pipe and ponder on the expediency of putting off something till to-morrow. Both followed the business of farming, that noble profession, which, upon the whole, is perhaps more favorable to human happiness and virtue than any other to which man becomes the slave. As may be supposed, each carried his favorite maxim into practice in this their daily occupation. Solomon was always beforehand with his neighbors; the squire represented the last spark of the burnt paper, and lingered till all the congregation departed. Yet, somehow or other, at the end of a few years, the account was pretty square between the wise man and the fool. One season the squire's wheat was destroyed by the Hessian fly, because it was planted too late, and came up so tender in the spring that the insect preferred it to that of all his neighbors. "Didn't I tell you so?" said Solomon; "next time I suppose you will take time by the forelock, and follow the wise maxim of never putting off till to-morrow what you can do to-day." The following year the squire had his revenge. He had as usual planted after every body else, and Solomon was still more beforehand, having the example of the last year before him. The winter set in severely, but scarcely any snow fell; the seed that had been early sown, and sprung up in the autumn, was scathed by the bitter blasts and nipping frosts, while that of the squire not having sprouted, escaped scot free, came up blithely in the spring, and produced a noble harvest. "Didn't I tell you so?" said he to Solomon; next time take my advice, and adopt the wise maxim of never doing to-day what you can put off till to-morrow." Solomon said nothing. He thought the squire as great a fool as ever; but there is no arguing against what turns out well. One day, the squire and Solomon had arranged to attend a meeting some few miles from town, which had been called by some public spirited busy bodies, who wanted better bread than can be made of wheat, and to improve their property at the expense of their neighbors. Solomon, of course, called before his time, and, equally as matter of course, the squire was not ready. "Don't you see," cried the former, "there is a thunder-shower rising behind the mountain? It will rain in less than an hour." "Well, let it rain," said the other; "it is very much wanted, and besides, my good friend, I can't prevent it by being in a hurry." 66 'Pshaw!" exclaimed Solomon, and, out of all patience, spurred his steed and galloped away. Before the squire got fairly ready, and by the time the other was half way to the place of meeting, he was overtaken by a pelting shower that in an instant wet him to the skin, and what was worse, there was no meeting, all the public spirited gentlemen being kept away by the prospect of a shower. “Well,” said Solomon, rather gruffly, on his next meeting with the squire, "I got finely peppered by waiting for you." "You mean by not waiting for me," replied the other, very coolly. "Pooh! I mean no such thing-I mean precisely what I said. If you had not been behindhand, as you always are, I should have escaped a ducking." "Yes-and if you had not been beforehand, as you always are, it would have come to just the same thing. But how did matters go on at the meeting?" "There was nobody there," said Solomon, rather sheepishly. Then, after all, you got a wet jacket for nothing?" "Yes-but then I had the satisfaction of being there in time." "And of being wet to the skin-while I had the satisfaction of staying at home, and being as dry as a biscuit. What a pity you are always in such a hurry, my good friend." "Pooh! it would be well if you were sometimes in a hurry, too. Didn't you lose the opportunity of buying old Martin's farm by coming after the sale was over?" "To be sure I did-and did it not ruin the purchaser? Didn't some of your public spirited friends, and be hanged to them, get a turnpike made quite in another direction, and draw off all the business from the store, which was worth more than the land?” "Hum-and didn't you lose your passage in the stage to New York, and get nonsuited in a trial, which had cost you more than a hundred dollars?" "To be sure I did-and was it not the luckiest thing that ever happened to me, for the stage broke down on the way, killing two passengers, besides breaking the bones of all the rest? and my lawsuit never cost me a dollar afterward, for I let it die a natural death." "And didn't you lose the opportunity of marrying Squire Silly's sister, who had ten thousand dollars in the Swindleburg Bank, by fixing the time of the wedding, and then, according to your wise maxim, putting off till to-morrow what you should do today?" "Yes! and didn't the bank blow up, the cashier run away to Texas, and the directors quarrel about whose fault it was, till the public thought they were all rogues together? And did n't the squire's sister turn out as great a scold as-as-the wives of some folks whose names I will not mention?" | although he took special little care to grub it up, somehow or other continued to keep pace with his rival in wealth, while he was always behindhand in time. In this process, however, he only furnished another example of that great truth which every body acknowledges, and nobody acts upon. He found, to his surprise, that his happiness by no means kept pace with his money. On the contrary, the acquisition of wealth only conjured up a new want. He had no child to inherit his property, and "Pooh! pshaw! you have wasted more time by his relatives were not only distant in blood, but being too late than-" "Not more than you have by being too early, and thus being obliged to wait for every body. The world has always dragged me along, because I have kept behind; while you have worried your life out in trying to pull it after you. You put me in mind of a pair of horses of mine. One is a quiet, sober creature, the other a fellow that never thinks he can get on fast enough, and always pulls horse, plough and all after him. The consequence is, one is like me, as plump as a partridge-the other skin and bones, just like you." "Pish! every body calls you a fool, squire!" "And you a wise man. The difference is, that I walk quietly and moderately behind Old Time, who never interferes with my loitering; while you take him by the beard, and often get a cut of his scythe for your pains." The conversation here ended, and the wise man and the fool parted, as heretofore, without either being a convert to the maxims of the other. The truth is, neither of them was entirely satisfied with the course he had adopted. Solomon so often found by experience that he might better have left undone many things he had done; and the squire had so frequently suffered by leaving things undone which ought to have been done, that in their hearts they mutually admired and envied each other. But they had so long pursued the path of direct contrast, and had so many discussions as to the advantages of the route each had chosen-that pride now supplied the place of conviction, and they continued to become only more obstinate as they advanced in years. space. He had, in truth, often thought of writing to a second cousin, of whom he had accidentally heard favorable accounts, and who he knew had several daughters, with a view of requesting him to send one of them to take care of his household, and minister to his growing infirmities. It is often thus with man. The hardened unbeliever through youth and manhood frequently, when old age brings him nigher to that dread hour which is to decide the great question of extinction or immortality, crouches at the shrine of the Being he has hitherto defied; and so, too, the sturdy old bachelor, when his infirmities thickly beset him, when hireling services become irksome, solitude misery, and affection a want of the heart, calls to his aid some gentle spirit of love, and installs her in his house as a beneficent divinity he has hitherto neglected or despised. The squire had, however, put off his letter to-day because he could write it to-morrow, and it is somewhat questionable whether it would ever have been written, had not some occasion arisen to call him to a visit at some little distance, where resided a worthy old man, a martyr to the rheumatism. Here he beheld the beautiful and affecting relation between father and daughter exemplified in a manner that deeply touched his heart. The mother had been long dead, but the daughter more than supplied her loss, for the tie between husband and wife is but artificial, while that which unites parent and child, not only springs from the living fountain of nature, but is rivetted by a thousand recollections of kindness on one hand, gratitude on the other. Filial and parental love are the fruit of the natural tree, on which conjugal affection is only engrafted. parent can ever replace a lost child, but there are millions of proofs how easy it is to forget a deceased wife or husband. There is less of selfishness in filial and parental love, than in any other feeling of the human heart, not excepting that of piety, When the squire saw with what tender, duteous devotion this amiable daughter administered to the infirmities and sufferings of her parent, and with what submissive patience, what gentle forbearance she bore the occasional expressions of impatience or dissatisfaction wrung from him by his agony, he could not help contrasting the spectacle with his own fireside, where no ministering angel ever soothed his pains, and he determined at once to send for his relative that very day. When, however, he got home, he felt so fa No It is remarkable enough, that notwithstanding the opposite ways they took, to woo her good graces, they continued equally the favorites of Fortune, who not unfrequently, in a fit of female caprice, is caught by neglect, rather than importunity. Indeed, if we look steadily around us, and watch her ever whirling wheel, we shall not fail of perceiving that quite as many fortunes are lost by grasping, overweening Avarice stretching his withered hands to snatch at the shadow while the substance escapes him, as by the most reckless prodigality, or the most careless disregard of the maxims of prudence. Solomon was not, however, a miser, though by no means insensible to that secret, never-failing source of delight arising from the consciousness of perpetual accumulation, which, were it not for the fortunate discovery of the bump of acquisitiveness, might otherwise puz-tigued, that, upon the whole, he concluded to put it zle the philosophers. As to the squire, he, too, had off till to-morrow. a sneaking kindness for the root of all evil; and Shortly afterward, he met his friend Solomon, who seemed in great dudgeon, having just had his head combed by his wife. He was in that state of fermentation when the feelings require a vent, and when, if the bung-hole is not freed, the barrel must explode. He accordingly opened his heart to the squire, lamented the perverse ill nature of his help mate, and concluded by exclaiming "Ah! squire, I wish I had followed your maxim of putting off things till to-morrow, and not married in such a hurry." | degrees became easy and familiar in his company She had been used to take turns with her sisters in housekeeping, according to a good old custom which has been somewhat impaired by the progress of the age, and the development of the human mind; and the squire soon began to feel that mysterious influence which the eye of a prudent, careful mistress exercises over her own proper dominion, the domestic circle. Fanny had never attended lectures on anatomy, physiology, or any other of the numerous The squire, who, to tell the truth, was so taken up family of ologies; nor had her head turned topsywith the thought of the kind-hearted daughter minis-turvy by those pestiferous declamations on the rights tering to the infirmities of her parent, and his own of women, which in these, our days, draw such forlorn state, that he had paid little attention to the numerous and approving audiences. The town she complaint of his friend, answered him accordingly-resided in had been indeed visited by one of these "Aye-yes-you are quite right, my friend; I disciples of insubordination, and Fanny was sorely wish I had taken time by the forelock, and not con- tempted by a Blue Stocking to attend one of them; sidered so very long about choosing a wife." but she only laughed, and said in a voice as soft as an echo Solomon was so tickled with this unexpected acknowledgment, that he forgot his own private griefs, and exclaimed with great glee "Good gracious! what do we women want? Don't we rule the hearts of men, and don't the heart "Well-I am glad you have come round to my rule every thing else? For my part, I am satisfied maxim at last." with this-but you may go if you please, and learn "Not I!" said the squire" you have come round how to govern kingdoms." to mine." "No such thing, sir, you have come round to mine. Didn't you just now acknowledge your regrets that you had not taken time by the forelock, and not considered so long about getting married? Answer me that, sir." "And didn't you just now express your sorrow that you had not followed my example, and not married in such a hurry? Answer me that, sir." Neither could deny the assertions of the other, nor was either inclined to give up a long cherished opinion on a subject they had been discussing for the last thirty years. The consequence was, this first coincidence produced an argument which ended in each one retracting his concession, and they parted worse friends than they ever had been before, one grumbling out "What an obstinate old blockhead!" The other "What a conceited, superannuated fool!" In good time the damsel the squire had sent for, to minister to his growing infirmities, arrived. Her name was Fanny Holliday. She was about seventeen, with hazel eyes, a pretty figure, and a mild, agreeable countenance. In short, though not beautiful, she was altogether a pleasing subject of contemplation for a young man who had nothing else to think about. The squire received her graciously, but was somewhat affronted at seeing that for the first few days she seemed rather melancholy, and her eyes sometimes red with weeping. This he thought very ungrateful in one whom he intended for his heiress; and, upon the whole, he wished he had considered a little longer before he took such a decisive step, which he considered almost equal to marrying outright. In the course of a month, however, Fanny got over her fit of home-sickness, and resumed her natural cheerfulness. She grew accustomed to look up to the squire as her protector and parent, and by | The Blue Stocking gave her a look that turned all the cider in the cellar sour, and Fanny skipped away with a heart as light as a feather, humming a blithesome song. She was a sensible, sweet tempered girl, and if the squire had known all, he would have stuck still closer to his old maxim of never doing today what can be put off till to-morrow, for his salutary delay in writing had saved him from the adop tion of Fanny's eldest sister, a tumultuous sort of lady, who fortunately married in the interim. The old gentleman fell ill, a few months after Fanny's arrival, and it was then that he congratulated himself on his happy selection. Most people are sufficiently irritable and troublesome when sick; but a hale, hearty old bachelor, who has never been broke in, is the quintessence of a refractory patient. The squire's maxim did not at all apply to his present case, and never man was so impatient to get rid of his pain off-hand, instead of postponing it to another time. "My dear father," so Fanny called him, "my dear father, have a little patience-the doctor says you will be better to-morrow.' "To-morrow-d-n to-morrow-and the doctor, too. He's always insisting on my taking physic today, and putting off getting well till to-morrow. I never saw such a pedantic, pragmatical blockhead in all my life. Oh! this infernal pain! Oh!-upon my word, Miss Fanny, you seem mighty easy all this time! Why the d- don't you get out of patience, like me? You have no more feeling than a dead pig!" What an odious comparison for the prettiest girl in a hundred miles round. It was enough to make a saint angry. But Fanny soon soothed the testy squire into a better frame of mind. The very manner in which she smoothed his pillow, carried with it a mysterious influence over his fretted mind; and her soft low voice giving utterance to words of unaffected sympathy cooed him to acquiescence, if not repose. There was nothing officious or intrusive in her attentions, and the squire more than once thought to himself "There is nothing interested in Fanny-I can see that with half an eye. It is all good, unaffected tenderness of heart, without one single thought about herself. What a lucky man was I, not to delay my letter any longer; and how different she is from that diabolical old nurse Mrs. Goggin, who always used to keep up my spirits by raising ghosts, and telling me of all the deaths in fifty miles round. I'm determined to make my will as soon as I am well enough, and leave her every shilling I'm worth." The good squire recovered in time, but did not make his will. He gathered himself together several times, but could never make up his mind whether to begin in the good old solemn style, "In the name of God, I, Hercules Ninny, being of sound mind," &c., or in the flippant slip-slop phrase which was then becoming fashionable, and has in all probability aided in producing that want of reverence to the will of the dead, now become as common as it is disgraceful. Let us now see what has become of Solomon, the wise. Though the last bout between him and the squire ended in the manner before related, it did not produce any permanent rupture. They had been differing all their lives, and the habit had softened the effect of contradiction in both. Solomon was hasty, but not ill-natured; and when he heard of Fanny's arrival, paid her a visit, accompanied by his son, a clever young fellow, about nineteen or twenty years old. He did not ask his wife to go with them, partly because he knew she would not go, and partly because he thought her room rather better than her company. He took Gideon, as he was called, there occasionally afterward to see the squire during his illness, and one day, on their return, opened his battery upon him, as follows: "That seems a nice girl the squire has adopted." "Very," replied his son. "Yes, boy, this very evening. How do we know what will happen between the going down and rising of the sun?" "Just as much as we know what will happen between this and sunset, or between this moment and the next, I believe, sir." "You do-do you? Well, there is some truth, after all, in what you say, but that don't prove it is not wise to take time by the forelock. So I insist that you go this very evening, and offer yourself." "But, sir, I have hardly spoken ten words to her since she came here. You know she has been always engaged in nursing the squire of late, and before that, I-I-somehow or other, I could not muster courage to look at her, except when her face was turned the other way." "What a gander you are, Gid? Why, I married your mother after only two meetings, and one of these was at a funeral." Solomon began this speech in a tone of triumph, but ended it with a sigh, perhaps on account of the person whose funeral he had attended, that being always a melancholy subject of recollection. The discussion continued all the way home, and ended in poor Gideon's submission, as the alternative of a lasting breach between himself and his father. He by no means demurred to Fanny; on the contrary, he felt a decided preference for her. But his heart revolted at this precipitation. That evening he went on his mission of duty and love, with feelings that can only be realized by a man just going to be hanged. He felt the preposterous folly, the consummate impudence of the offer he was about to make, for he was a youth of sense and modesty. But he had been brought up at the feet of the Gamaliel, his father, who, like many honest men, made himself amends for his abject submission to a wife, by tyrannizing over his children. Solomon's helpmate had the instinct of government about her, and never interfered with his dominion over others, so long as he submitted to her own. If Gideon had only carried a satchel at his back, he might have passed for an overgrown truant, going to school with a reasonable expectation of being flogged. He stopped every minute to look at no "She'll have a nice fortune, too. The squire, to my certain knowledge, is a warm fellow-though how he made his money, I can't conceive, in a man with such ridiculous notions of putting off everything, and went four times round the squire's lot, bething-and he told me just now he intended to leave her all he is worth." fore he could find the house. As he was proceeding to the fifth circuit, he was recognized in the moonlight by the squire, who brought him to, and called him into his presence. People may talk of wild partridges and prairie wolves, but these are nothing to the skittishness of a modest young fellow, compelled to make love on compulsion. If Solomon had only let his great enemy, Time, have his way, ten to one all would have happened just as he wished; but he brought his old maxim to bear on the castle Cupid was building, and demolished it before it was half finished. Gideon had already begun to have dreams and visions, and Fanny had more than once thought he was a handsome, well behaved, sensible young man, though they had, as poor Gideon said, hardly exchanged ten words. But folly is even worse than murder-it will not only out at last, but betray itself |