The Old DominionJames, G. P. R. (George Payne Rainsford)
General
The Old Dominion
James, G. P. R. (George Payne Rainsford)
Southampton Insurrection, 1831 -- Fiction
The fact is, that the people of this country are too thinly scattered
for anything like what we call attention and civility. There is no
competition amongst them. They feel that other men are more dependent
upon them than they upon other men, and they are determined to make
those whom they supply with anything feel that it is so. This is a
good deal the case in the cities, but ten times more so in remote
country places, where the solitary inn has the power of laying every
traveller under contribution, or inflicting upon him the penalty of a
long and inexpedient ride. I have come to this conclusion from
remarking that in spots where commerce is beginning to centre, and two
or three taverns have been set up side by side, the landlords,
yielding to circumstances, have put on as much civility, if not
obsequiousness, as any in the old world.
Nothing like competition, my dear friends. It is what bows down most
men to the worship of the golden calf, but is very comfortable and
convenient for travellers.
"Pray, sir, can I get any dinner here, to-day?"
"I dar say you can." Puff--puff--puff--not a word more.
"What's the dinner hour?"
"One o'clock, if the lads have come back." Puff--puff--puff.
"Can I get anything to drink? I am very thirsty."
"Just in there you'll find the whisky-bottle, on the shelf in the bar.
There's water in the pitcher, I think."
I was turning away, to satisfy my thirst, when my fat friend hallooed
after me--
"Hie! Will you jist hand me that newspaper off the bench."
With a smile I could not repress, I did what he required, observing,
in somewhat of the country language,--
"You seem somewhat troubled about the limbs, Mr. Gorbel."
"No, not a bit," said he; "my limbs is as strong as ever. It's what's
above 'em is the trouble; they have got too much to carry. It's all
come on in these cussed last three years, owing to the dry weather and
the weevil, I think."
I walked away, rather inclined to conclude it was the drought of his
own palate, rather than that of the weather, which had brought him
into that condition; and, with such an example before my eyes,
contented myself with the cold water, without troubling the whisky.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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