The New England Weekly Review

THE FAIRIES OF THE INN.

" There be no beggars in this country, but there

be witches, too many—bottle-bellied witches."—Joselyn's " Rarities of New-England."

More than half a century has elapsed since

the events, which we are about to relate occurred in the small, but somewhat famous town of

S—, in New Hampshire. The story indeed

comes to us with the twilight haze of tradition

lingering about it—but we have no doubt of its

correctness, having received it from the lips of

those who had an intimate concern with it.

Nehemiah — was the keeper of a

small tavern on the road leading from Boston to

Londonderry N. H.—a place famous in the olden time for its annual fair—its horse races, and

its huge Irishmen. He was a fat, indolent fellow—and in his matrimonial partnership, was,

to use a common but expressive phrase henpecked. Too cowardly to rebel against his domestic Jezebel he was compelled to smother his

wrath entirely, or vent it upon the heads of his

customers. These convenient appendages of a

tavern consequently dropped away from him

one by one, unwilling to encounter the splenetic

railings of "mine host"—for the sake of enjoying his beggarly accommodations, consisting, as

they did, of a leaky house, not remarkable for

its cleanliness, where the flea and the bug were

the constant bedfellows of the traveller; and

an old and wind-shaken stable, from which the

traveller's horse always came out half-starved,

with his ribs showing as plainly as the bars of

the naked rack to which he had been fastened.

In proportion as his guests diminished did

Nehemiah wax choleric and spiteful. If he furnished, by a rare chance, a mug of flip to some

thirsty teamster, he muttered of hard times,

miserable customers, and withal, seasoned his

murmurs with such oaths, and wore such a

fierce scowl upon his hard, ugly countenance,

that his guest incontinently shrunk from him,

as he received the foaming beverage, as if he

feared that the red hot flip iron would be plunged down his opening gullet. If, as was not

unfrequently the case, the harsh manners of

Nehemiah provoked the customer to retaliation,

the landlady, a large, plump-visaged, Irish woman, uniformly took the part of her husband.—

Like the rival factions in the besieged city of

the Jews, the hopeful pair could quarrel with

each other until the approach of a common enemy compelled them to unite for mutual defence.

The house at last became a private instead of

a public one. The loaded double sleighs of the

up-country farmers conveying pork and grain to

the Bay State passed on without stopping for a

moment, even to breathe their jaded horses.—

The pedestrian with his throat parching for the

lack of a drop of liquor, hurried onward, as he

passed the deserted tavern-house, as if he feared the evil spirit of Discord within its walls

would be dogging at his heels. Board after

board and shingle after shingle fell from the dilapidated stable, and pane after pane of window

glass in the wretched mansion gave place to rags,

dish cloths and discarded petticoats. The

whole establishment was in short a very picture

of ruin, and to complete the work of desolation

some mischievous roysterers from Derry Fair,

"Their hearts soft with whiskey—their heads soft with blows,"

upset the tavern sign post and prostrated its

painted honors in the dust.

By some strange disposition of matters, "the

lame and the lazy are always provided for."—

One Sunday evening a crowd of venerable gossips were seen, after church, entering the inhospitable inn of S—. It was noted that their

countenances betokened something of great

moment, for the significant wink—the intelligent nod, and the low, hoarse whisper, gave evidence of business of no trifling import. They returned, after an hour's stay, with faces wonderfully elongated, and proceeded straightway to the house of the Minister of the Parish, to whom,

as in duty bound, they imparted the secret of

their expedition; and, after charging one another for the fiftieth time to "say nothing about

it" they separated in different directions to

spread their marvellous intelligence, imparting

it to each individual as a very particular secret

Before ten o'clock that evening the whole matter was divulged to every man, woman and child

in the neighborhood.

And what think you reader was this secret?

Alas, for these degenerate days when every thing must be proved to mathematical exactness—

when nothing is taken upon trust—when the fiat of all the gossips, and the fulminations reverberated from the sounding-boards of every pulpit in Christendom, cannot turn one of our self-willed obstinate generation against his own established evidence of matters and things!—

Would it now be believed, although a dozen

goodly women, backed by their parson, asserted

it, that a company of fairies, or invisible spirits

had established themselves in a country inn to

hold marvellous converse with all who might

have the temerity to question them? Yet such

was substantially the tale which the good gossips, before mentioned, circulated, in their neighborhood and which was religiously believed by

the people of S—.

Early the next morning an unusual spectacle

was witnessed at the Tavern-house. Old and

young, the lame, the halt and the blind were

seen crowding into the narrow enclosure in front

of the decaying mansion. The owner of it

stood stiffly in the door way.



"Let us come in neighbor, and hear your little fairies," said a dozen voices.



"Not without paying 'for't" rejoined Nehemiah in a spiteful tone.



"No that you shan't, not a mother's son of you,"

cried the landlady thrusting her rubicund visage over the shoulder of her help mate. "You've

kept away, you spalpeens, a' purpose to starve

an honest family, depending on the like of you,

for a decent living'; and now you'd be after speaking with our sweet little fairies, without so

much as paying 'for't! Keep your distance you

reprobates!" The heavy handle of her birchen

broom protruded as she spoke, and the crowd

who knew full well the temperament of its owner, recoiled hastily from it.



"Let us send for the minister," whispered an

old lady in the ear of her companions. The

proposition was acceded to and a messenger was

forthwith despatched to the house of the clergyman.

The reverend gentleman accordingly made

his appearance—a plain, honest, really pious

man, generally intelligent, but exceedingly credulous upon subjects connected with demonology,

witchcraft and familiar dealing with the Prince

of Darkness. Even the inn keeper and his

termagant wife dared not resist his application;

and he was admitted with all due willingness

into the enchanted inn. The Clergyman passed

into the middle of the room, when a low squeaking, child like voice pronounced his name, and

demanded his errand. The good man startled,

but not dismayed, began to question the invisible speaker relative to some peculiar points of

faith. The voice was silent. "Hoo! Mr.

Minister," said the landlady, "do you think the

heathen little fairies know any thing about your

orthodoxy?" Admonished by this interrogation that his auditors were no Christians, the good

man proceeded to enquire who they were who

spoke, and what was their business, to all which

he received satisfactory answers. They were

fairies, who had come all the way from Fairy

land to talk with the people of S—. The

clergyman on his egress from the mansion, assured the crowd, who had waited his appearance with no little impatience, that he was perfectly satisfied that the voices he had heard were

none other than those of spirits from the Invisible World.
The good people without, more anxious than

ever to penetrate the mystery, readily agreed to

the payment of the price of admittance which

had been fixed upon by Nehemiah and his partner. The countenance of the inn keeper, as his

pockets received their unwonted visitation of

silver, brightened up, and something like a smile of good nature beamed over features which for

years could have been likened to nothing more

appropriate than those of an ill tempered

baboon.

The visitors were satisfied of the supernatural character of the voices which answered to

their interrogatories—they spread the wonderful news still further, and the before deserted inn

became thronged with visitants. Money poured

profusely into the pockets of the inn keeper;—

for nobody dreamed of passing his house without calling to hear the wonderful voices of the fairies. The teamster paused in his journey, and

paid without a scruple the price of admission to

the far-famed mystery—the young girls who

were, or imagined themselves, in love, visited

the little fairies to learn the dispositions of their

sweet hearts;—and, in short, all classes thronged to the inn of Nehemiah, insomuch that the

old people of the vicinity when speaking of

the subject, say that the house was as full of

heads, as Derry Common used to be in Fair

Time.

Nehemiah suddenly felt himself rising in the

world, and in despite of the remonstrances of

his wife—(money had made him in a degree independent of her)—he set about repairing his

house and stable, and his whole establishment

soon presented a neat and comfortable appearance. His good luck might have continued for

years, had not an unlucky quarrel with his "better half," revealed an all important secret to

the astonished ears of his customers in the new

and supernatural line of his business. An immediate search amidst the intricacies of an old

fashioned chimney discovered the fairy—the

wonderful and preternatural visitant—in the

shape of the hopeful daughter of the hopeful

couple—a mischievous witch of some eight or

ten years of age, who, at the suggestion of her

parents, had so successfully played the fairy

from her hiding place.