NICHOLAS PELT, the worthy pedagogue, whose history was suspended
in the July number of his namesake, the 'Old KNICK.,' was not long
in establishing for himself a fair fame in all the region round
about Idleberg; nor was his attention exclusively devoted to the
monotonous duties of his profession. While he taught the young idea
'how to shoot,' a new and absorbing passion had taken deep root in
his own heart, and was now flourishing luxuriantly in the genial
soil. His fortunes had brought him to Idleberg, and thrown in his
path the lovely image of Ellen Van Dyke; and what poor mortal,
Yankee though he be, could resist her thousand fascinations? Every
day, at home, in the midst of her domestic duties and her ten
petticoats, she was beautiful enough, in all conscience; but when
on frequent occasions she braided her hair, and pinched her cheeks
for a bloom, and clasped around her neck that enchanting dove of jet
and gold, poor Nicholas looked and sighed, and sighed and looked, as
though his very existence depended on her smile.
Could you have witnessed the eccentric movements of the fair Ellen
and the sage Nicholas, you might have guessed the nature of their
mutual feelings. How he stood by while she milked, to keep the cow
from kicking, and how the cow _did_ kick, notwithstanding; how
he led the way to church, and how she followed on behind; such
smiling and blushing when they met thrice a day at table; such an
agitation of nerves whenever he clasped that small hand in his
own, that seemed just made for it; these were enough to show that
the schoolmaster's sojourn in the village was fraught with deep
interest to at least two persons more than the striplings who were
thriving on his instructions. Then when the school would be drawing
to a close, and the evening sun was growing drowsy together with
master and pupil, you might have seen the sage pedagogue forget
his official dignity so far as to smile and nod repeatedly at some
object over the way, which was no other than the cobbler's daughter,
who always happened just at that time to be taking the air from her
little gable-end window, and returned Nicholas's amorous glances
with such unequivocal symptoms of delight, as should have made any
lover's heart, if not his feet, dance for very joy.
But how fared the suit of Hans Keiser? Where were his organs of
sight and hearing while all Idleberg was gossiping about the amours
of Nicholas and Ellen? Hans seemed to possess the happy faculty of
contemplating, with the utmost indifference, spectacles of youth
and beauty, that would have driven many men to acts of desperation;
and but for the constant efforts of his father to remind him that
Ellen Van Dyke was living in constant expectation of seeing him
at her feet, pleading his cause with all the eloquence of a Dutch
lover, Hans would have quite forgotten the obligations of his
promise to Caleb Van Dyke. Stimulated at length by his father's
reiterated appeals and an extra tankard of beer, Hans one evening
about sunset suddenly plucked up the requisite courage, and after
arraying himself in the most glaring habiliments of his wardrobe,
started out on his pilgrimage of love. Never was lover so tricked
out with all the fascinations of dress, as was the young Dutchman
on that eventful evening. As he surveyed his enormous shoe-buckles,
glittering with the lustre of several hours' polish; his numerous
suits of breeches; his gaudy waistcoat and the broad-skirted garment
which completed his outer man; his imagination was agreeably
entertained with visions of bleeding arrows and broken hearts,
lighted halls, wedding cake, and honey-moons, all mingled in one
wild, brilliant, and enchanting panorama. Nor did this imaginary
prospect fade from his mental vision until he reached the scene
of action, and contemplated the reality with a fast breath and a
palpitating heart. Never was sanguine lover so non-plussed. The
first objects he saw at the cobbler's, were the forms of Nicholas
and Ellen sitting very close together and whispering in great
apparent delight. Cut short on the threshold of his adventure,
nipped in the very bud of his affections, Hans stumbled and
stammered, and could scarcely gain sufficient composure to bid the
company good evening, until he was reassured by Caleb, who, guessing
the object of his errand, offered him a stool and bade him be seated.
How many wild, bewildering thoughts scampered through poor Hans's
brain, like rats in a garret, while he sat there in silent
astonishment, listening to the suppressed whispers of the loving
pair! How heartily did he long to be away from such a place; and
how often did he think of his favorite idea of going down the
river on a flat-boat, or of his dog and gun, or rod and line, and
some quiet place in the woods or along the creeks, where woman's
image had never intruded to throw him in the shade of even a
Yankee schoolmaster! He would rather be a bar-keeper to retail
beer by the tankard, or an ostler to be be-Bob'd or be-Bill'd by
every traveller, than a lover, sitting up in fine clothes and a
straight-jacket, to win the favor of any woman under the sun, the
fair Ellen not excepted.
Such a state of things had never entered into Hans's calculations,
and he was consequently unprepared for the emergency. Encouraged
as he had been to hope that every preliminary arrangement had been
made by old Caleb; that at the mere mention of the subject the
lovely girl would fly to his embrace; that the wedding would come
off the next week, and after that every thing would go on in the
same easy, old-fashioned way, as though nothing had happened--Hans
found the cold reality inexpressibly chilling, and though neither
a poet nor philosopher, began to think of certain objects, such as
stars and bubbles, which greater men than he had often tried in
vain to grasp. For the first time in all his life Hans was growing
sentimental--nay, desperate; and while he was wishing that somebody
would call in and knock the Yankee down and then strangle him, the
object of his ire arose, and after a graceful bow to Hans, opened a
door in the wall, and retired. At this the young Dutchman breathed
somewhat more freely, but still as if laboring under great tightness
of jacket, when old Caleb addressed him, inquiring what disposition
he had made of his voice.
Hans's only reply was a sudden start as if from the sting of an
adder, accompanied by a series of awkward gestures, during which his
face grew crimson with embarrassment.
'You are not frightened at Mr. Pelt, I hope, Hans?' continued Caleb.
'Yes--no,' said Hans; 'that is--I----'
'For my part,' interposed Ellen, tossing a curl pettishly from her
forehead, 'I think Mr. Pelt a very handsome, clever young man, and
not an object to frighten boobies;' and with a single bound she
stood at the door of her chamber, and disappeared, before Hans or
her father could frame a reply.
'Never mind that, my boy,' said Caleb; 'that's the best sign in the
world. Cut and come again, Hans!'
'I tell you what, old fellow,' said Hans, rising and opening the
street-door; 'you've got this child into a tarnation scrape this
time; but if you ever catch me in these diggings again, I'll be
darned!'
'Hans! Hans! you are a fool. Good night!' And the amiable youth
departed, and in five minutes had doffed his finery, and was fast
drowning his sorrows in the flowing bowl.
Scarcely had he gone, leaving Caleb ruminating on a proper scold to
be administered to Ellen the next morning, when a step was heard in
the school-master's chamber, and that worthy made his appearance
before the cobbler, bearing a great board on his shoulder. Caleb
stared for some time at the quaint characters inscribed thereon. His
eyes had for the first time that evening been opened to the growing
intimacy between his daughter and Nicholas; and he was disposed to
consider the invention as little else than a 'Yankee notion.'
'And what do you call that?' he asked, gruffly.
'My dear Sir,' said Mr. Pelt, 'this is nothing more than a
sign-board. It is something new in town, and I think it will attract
attention, and may do you some service.' Then bringing the lamp to
bear on the board, he displayed to Caleb various devices, inscribed
on its surface, of boots and shoes of all sizes and fashions, the
whole illustrated with the words:
+--------------------+
| Caleb Van Dyke. |
| |
|MENS CONSCIA RECTI. |
+--------------------+
'And what is it for?' asked Caleb, trying in vain to interpret the
cabalistic words.
'It is intended, Mr. Van Dyke, to surmount your front door, to
notify the public that you are a good cobbler and an honest man;
that's all.'
'Do you mean to say, Sir, that you expect Caleb Van Dyke, after
living fifty years without any such bauble, to stick such a timber
as that over his door, to be laughed at for his pains? Why, what
would Karl Keiser say?--that old Caleb is turning Yankee in his old
age. Why, Sir, the town would burst its sides with laughter, and the
boys would throw all kinds of rocks and brickbats at it, and the
windows too. No, Sir!'
'Will you _try_ it, my good friend,' said Nicholas, 'if it is but
for a single week? And if it does not increase your business, you
may set me down for a Yankee tinker, beside expecting me to do all
the fighting necessary to sustain the dignity of the establishment.'
And the result was, after a long and animated discussion, that
Caleb consented that Nicholas might nail up the board that very
night, that the town might be surprised the next morning with the
suddenness of the apparition; for such it would be considered, as it
was the only specimen of a sign-board in the village, if we except
the yellow sky and blue stars of Karl Keiser. Caleb then retired to
rest to be visited by curious dreams about sign-boards in general;
and Nicholas could scarcely sleep at all, for the busy scenes which
he imagined were already advancing in the cobbler's shop, the
legitimate result of this invention of his skill.
Early next morning Caleb protruded his uncombed head from the
window, and, lo! all Idleberg seemed to be gathered at his door. His
first thought was that a mob of his fellow-citizens had assembled
there for some nefarious purpose, but he was speedily reässured
at seeing Nicholas Pelt standing in the midst of the crowd, and
expounding the mysteries of the sign-board to the great delight of
his astonished audience. Men, women, and children had gathered there
from all parts of the town, with as much intensity of curiosity as
if Caleb had caught a live elephant, and was exhibiting it _gratis_.
There were men without their hats, and women without their bonnets,
and children with little else than bountiful nature had given them.
The shop-keeper was there with his yard-stick, and the smith with
his sledge-hammer; and the little French tailor was there with his
Sacre Dieu's and his red-hot goose, which he flourished to the
infinite terror of the by-standers. But the principal figure in this
motley group was no less a personage than Jonas Jones, the rival
cobbler. Mr. Jones had of late grown too large for his trowsers.
His prosperity had been too great for his little soul. He had cut
the bench in person, leaving the drudgery of the business to the
Company. By the aid of the village tailor he had become quite
an exquisite, wore white kid gloves, and occasionally sported a
Spanish cigar. There he was promenading before the door, with an
ivory-headed cane, and an ogling-glass lifted to his eye; and every
few seconds he condescended to inform the crowd that 'he was from
Bosting, and the people were a set of demd fules to be making such a
racket about a cobbler's sign.'
While curiosity was at the highest pitch, the uproar was increased
by the sudden appearance of Hans Keiser, who came swaggering and
blustering into the group, elbowing his way along until he reached
the vicinity of the school-master. He who had been so diffident
in the presence of the gentler sex, was now as bold as any lion
need be among men. Smarting with the recollection of his recent
discomfiture, he commenced addressing the assembly in a very
rude, uncouth style, denouncing the sign as a Yankee contrivance,
insinuating that the inventor was no better than he should be, and
exhorting the good citizens of Idleberg to tear down the bauble as
the only means of securing their lives and property from the occult
witchcraft which he professed to believe lay at the bottom of it.
Caleb Van Dyke listened to this harangue with great attention,
for it presented the subject in a new light by appealing to his
hereditary superstitions; and it is not improbable that he would
have suffered Hans to proceed in his meditated outrage, but for the
intervention of Nicholas Pelt. Already had the sturdy young Dutchman
climbed to the board and made an effort to wrench it away, when he
was arrested by the stern voice of Nicholas, commanding him, as he
valued his life, to desist.
Hans threw at him a look of defiance, and informed him that if
he had the requisite physical strength, he might remove him;
otherwise, he should remain where he was until he had torn away
the board, or chose to come down of his own free will and accord.
This announcement was received by the crowd with loud bravos,
which however were immediately silenced when the school-master
deliberately approached Hans, and grasping his leg, hurled him to
the ground. Amid the flight of women and children and Mr. Jonas
Jones, who declared that in consequence of being near-sighted he
could see better from a distance, Hans scrambled to his feet, and
aimed a blow at Nicholas that might have felled a stouter man, but
for the skill with which he parried and returned it with interest.
With the generous aid of the by-standers, who were ripe for a
frolic, and expressed their anxiety on the subject by cries of
'Bravo!' 'Go it, Red-jacket!' 'Hurrah for Old Nick!' the combatants
were on the point of getting into a regular pitched battle, with the
usual adornments of bruised eyes and bleeding noses, when Caleb Van
Dyke, who had just succeeded in putting on his ten breeches, rushed
between them, and commanded them to desist. Another pacificator,
whose presence operated equally on both parties, was the fair
Ellen, who, having caught a glimpse of the fray from her window,
and entertaining an indefinite idea in the general confusion that
her father was on the point of being carried away by a press-gang,
rushed into the street before completing her toilet, and ran to
her father's side in all the beauty of her blooming cheeks and
flowing ringlets, to the admiration of the company in general, and
particularly of Mr. Jonas Jones, who, perched in safety on a barrel
hard by, reviewed the subsiding conflict, lifted his ogling-glass,
and beating his breast violently with his right hand in the region
of his stomach, exclaimed, 'My heart! my eyes! what a demd foine
ge-irl!'
Mean time another conspicuous object hove into sight, in the
portly person of Karl Keiser, who came ambling and waddling along,
supported by a gigantic hickory stick, to ascertain the occasion of
the unusual hubbub before the door of his friend the cobbler. The
first reply to his many inquiries revealed to him the active part
his son had taken in the fray. 'What, Hans! _my_ Hans!' exclaimed
the choleric old Dutchman; 'where is the dirty dog? Let me at him!'
And brandishing his club, he made his way through the retreating
crowd, when reaching his recreant son, he belabored him lustily over
the shoulders, and pointing significantly toward home, bade him be
gone. Crouching and howling with pain, the lusty Hans obeyed; and
it may be added in parenthesis, that hearing a vague rumor during
the day that he was in request by the worshipful corporation of the
town, to answer to certain grave charges preferred against him,
by authority of the statutes against riots, routs, and unlawful
assemblies, he decamped from Idleberg, and ere long was enjoying the
long-desired luxury of going down the river on a flat-boat.
The pacific parties had at length triumphed over the belligerent.
The fair Ellen, suddenly conscious of her generous and imprudent
haste in rushing to her father's side, made a precipitate retreat
into the house, not, however, without having first ascertained that
Nicholas was unharmed by the fray; and in a few minutes the scene
of such recent commotion was nearly deserted, save by an occasional
school-boy who glanced at the sign-board, committed to memory the
cabalistic words, _Mens conscia recti_, and went on, repeating them
at every step. Last of all remained Mr. Jonas Jones, promenading
in solitary grandeur before the house; now watching his elegant
shadow in the sun, now glancing at the window where Ellen Van Dyke
had first appeared to his enraptured vision, now bringing his glass
to bear upon the sign, and winding up the dumb show by producing
a white cambric handkerchief, somewhat soiled by use, with which
he wiped his eyes; and looking upward and apostrophizing a cluster
of invisible stars, he placed his hand on his breast, struck his
ivory-headed cane to the ground, and walked off with an air that
would have made him illustrious even in Broadway, Chestnut, or
Tremont.
Never did cobbler set to work with less confidence than did
Caleb Van Dyke on that day, and never was cobbler more agreeably
disappointed. Scarce half an hour had passed, when customer after
customer came flocking in, to purchase a pair of new boots or shoes,
distinguished by the original name of men's conscia recti. Never was
cobbler so complimented for his work: such capital leather! such
elegant stitches! such a capacity for making large feet small, and
small feet large! that every man who shod himself anew, declared
that Caleb had at length discovered the true philosophy of cobbling.
Conscious as Caleb was that the very articles now so highly
commended, were manufactured months previous, and had been lying by
in want of purchasers, he was forced to attribute this sudden change
in his fortunes to the magical effect of the sign-board. That was
a proud day for Nicholas Pelt. All this time he had been reviewing
from his loop-hole the busy scenes enacting at the cobbler's, and
when school was over, he hastened into the street in advance of his
eager pupils, and rushed to the cobbler's, where he was met at the
door by Caleb in a high glee, jingling the genuine coin in both
pockets, and declaring that he had realized more profit during that
single day than in the entire month preceding.
This seemed a prosperous tide in Caleb's fortunes. Cheerfulness
again lighted up his countenance, and competence and independence
seemed the sure and early rewards of his toil. Successful industry
never threw a brighter glow around any fire-side than was felt
at the humble hearth of the honest cobbler. Caleb was growing so
good-humored and facetious, had purchased of late so many dainties
from the village store, that the dame and the children were _not_
overwhelmed with astonishment, as they should have been, when one
morning at breakfast the old gentleman informed them that he was
going to devote that day to shopping, and would take them all with
him. Such piles of calicoes, cloths, and muslins, as the busy mercer
threw down on the counter with an air that said he didn't mind
it--he was quite used to it--he could put them all up again in five
minutes; such trinkets, toys, and fineries as were then and there
displayed, the little urchins had never dreamed of seeing, much less
of wearing. And then the old gentleman bought so much and so fast
that the clerk, a youth with a sleek head, and a pen behind each ear
and one in his fingers, was kept quite busy noting them down. There
was a new bonnet for the dame, and a new dress and a 'pink-red'
shawl for Ellen, and a hat for Rip, and a doll for the baby, and
trowsers and jackets for a dozen more, and stuff for a bran new suit
for Caleb, to be converted into fashionable shapes by that arch
knight of the shears, the little French tailor. And then you should
have seen them at church the next Sunday; how the dame sported her
new bonnet, and how Ellen sported _her_ new shawl, and how Rip kept
trying on his new hat right in the face of the minister, and how
young old Caleb looked in his new suit; and how the neighbors all
stared at them, and Nicholas Pelt chuckled in one corner, and the
minister preached to them about vanity, fine clothes, and all that!
ah, that was fine, and it all came from that _Mens conscia recti!_
No fear of poverty there; no dowdy hats nor ragged breeches, taxing
the needle and the patience of the dame; no thought of casting
Ellen into the embraces of such a graceless scamp as Hans Keiser.
All these thoughts and a thousand more passed rapidly through
the cobbler's mind; and when he remembered the kindness of the
school-master, he did not hesitate to forget his old prejudices,
so far as to admit that a Yankee might be both a gentleman and a
scholar.
While the honest Dutchman was thus inhaling the breezes of good
fortune, his rivals, Jonas Jones and Company, were fast sinking
into obscurity. The exquisite individual whose name gave title
and dignity to the firm, was fairly smitten, as we have seen,
with the charms of Ellen Van Dyke. For several weeks he devoted
himself to all the external blandishments his fancy could invent to
arrest the affections of his rival's daughter. These had failed,
and worse still, his customers were dropping off, one by one; his
supplies were suffering under a collapse. Mr. Jonas Jones soon grew
crest-fallen. His elegant form and fascinating attire ceased to be
visible on the public walks, as of yore when fortune smiled. His wit
had ceased to sparkle like champagne; his wares no longer dazzled
the credulous Idlebergers with their cheapness and durability.
Adversity had driven him to the bench, where he sat day after day,
waxing his ends, brooding over his reverses; now dreaming of Ellen
Van Dyke, and now moralizing on the vanity of earthly things in
general. Mr. Jonas Jones was evidently in a decline.
While Mr. Jones was sitting one day in this happy frame of mind,
tugging very hard at a most obdurate piece of leather, his
reflections were suddenly interspersed with a series of original
ideas. Unable to compete with his rival, he would call on him
immediately, and offer his services as a copartner in his business
and a husband for his daughter. Animated by these conceptions, Mr.
Jones leaped from his sitting posture with a degree of activity that
astonished the Company, threw aside the cumbersome rigging peculiar
to his craft, devoted a few minutes to his toilet, and with hasty
strides started out on his errand of love and copartnership. By one
of those fantastic freaks which Fancy sometimes plays, his first
step on the pavement was arrested by a new thought which flashed
through his mind, and suffused his weazen face with smiles; and
turning on his heel, he reëntered the shop, and walked deliberately
into a private apartment, where he remained for several days on
the plea of pressing and important business, secluded from the
observation even of the Company. He had procured an immense board,
and a great pot of black paint; and that was all they knew.
Sailing under a fair sky, with the wind all astern, and his canvass
swelling in the breeze, Caleb Van Dyke was little prepared for the
clouds that so soon lowered above his head. Early one morning, when
on the point of resuming his daily toil, he glanced carelessly up
the street, and beheld a great crowd before the Yankee's door,
staring at a gigantic sign-board inscribed in quaint characters:
+---------------------------------+
| Jonas Jones and Company. |
| |
|MEN'S AND WOMEN'S CONSCIA RECTI. |
+---------------------------------+
Adjusting his spectacles to reassure him that he was not dreaming,
and muttering something very dreadful to think of, he called the
school-master from the breakfast table, and directed his attention
to the rival sign-board.
'Well, well,' said Nicholas; 'nobody but a Yankee would ever have
thought of that. They are very bright over there; they have
translated a Latin inscription into English in a manner truly
original. I confess I never thought of _that_ before; we will see,
however; we will see.' And Nicholas went off in a brown study to his
school-room.
Caleb Van Dyke had good cause that day to know that the population
of Idleberg was as vacillating as an aspen-leaf, or any thing else
that may be shaken by a breath. Not a single customer called that
day, nor the next, nor the next. In addition to the crowds of male
customers who thronged Mr. Jones's establishment, he saw numbers
of the other sex on a similar errand, who were curious to see that
particular fashion of shoe called 'women's conscia recti.' Mean time
Nicholas Pelt was very grave, and spent all his leisure time in his
chamber; and at the end of a week, during which Caleb's shop had
been entirely deserted, Nicholas had the satisfaction of showing to
his host a sign-board larger, longer, and more imposing than all the
rest, inscribed: