It was as good as a study of character, the varying fashions wherein
those interested received the story of Noah's clash with Catron. There
was nothing told of it in the paper, for the port wine Duff was wise
withal, and suppressed whatever of hunger may have possessed him to
print a palatable piece of news. The General might not approve such
type-freedoms; Eaton would doubtless distaste a notoriety of this hue
for Peg; indeed, there might be others of consequence whom it would
disturb. The port wine Duff carried a gulping appetite for public
printing; it might befall that to offend would get between the legs of
his anticipations and trip them up. Wherefore, neither Noah, Catron,
Pigeon-breast, nor myself, was granted the contemplation of his valor
by the pleasing light of ink; I, myself, did not consider this a
deprivation; nor did Noah; nor Catron, so far as one might hear. But the
chagrined Pigeon-breast bewailed it. He was quite crestfallen, and among
intimates talked of the call for a court journal which should, like a
similar imprint of St. James, delicately set forth the surprising deeds
of our nobility.
It was I who gave the tale of that ballroom fight at Gadsby's to the
General. He took it coolly; granted it, in sooth, a more quiet reception
than I had hoped. The fair truth is, I was prepared for an explosion. I
was pleasantly fooled; the General could not have displayed less
temper had I related the breaking of a horse. And yet he made claim for
slimmest detail; question after question on his part prolonged narration
for an hour.
“It was the best that could be,” said the General, revolving the tangle
in his mind. “The great thing is to stop folk's mouths; and a duel well
fought, and with the right individual, is, as Noah says, the way to
construct such condition. I've known the killing in proper form of one
man to remove a slander from the conversation of a whole county. Folk
let it fall of themselves and never took it up again.”
“This Catron,” said I, “was a noted fighter and had been out before.”
“Which is precisely,” responded the General, “what makes the work worth
while. Here was a berserk, celebrated as one most frothingly prompt for
blood. Now he is disposed of, it will tame your minor war-hawks. They'll
not be half so ready; they may even surprise themselves with what they
will hereafter forbear in favor of keeping the peace.”
Eaton, strange to tell, was moved of anger against Peg's champion.
“Sir,” said Eaton, bearing himself stiffly to Noah, “it is far to the
wrong side of the regular that you should defend my wife. That is my
privilege, sir; it does not rest with others.”
“And that is true,” returned Noah, politely; “but the situation was
unusual. It was of crying importance to get the thing off before the
President knew. Folk would criticise him sharply if he did not interfere
for peace. Besides, had you been brought into the business, your foes
would have torn your prospects to pieces with it. You must see, sir,
that however just your quarrel, you could not ride into the cabinet on
the back of a duel.”
“Sir, I can better be out of a cabinet,” said Eaton grimly, “than leave
my honor to the swords of other men.”
“You and I,” returned Noah, turning distant, “disagree extremely. I can
not charge myself with wrong. I should act my part again were occasion
to rise. You, however, are the judge of your own injuries. And I shall
be in town some time.”
“Sir, I am glad to be told so,” responded Eaton. “When I have more
considered, I may send a word to you.”
This wrong discourse I was ear-witness of, but in it bore no part. I was
so stung with anger against Eaton, for that he would act the boor, and
talk of calling folk out when he should be thanking them, I dared not
trust myself with a syllable. I would have spoken nothing pleasant for
Eaton, and that would be a wide flight from wise, and draw his horns
my way. We were both too near the General to talk of a difference that
would have broken everybody's dish. Moreover, Noah owned the wit and the
wrist to very well care for his own fortunes.
“Why, the man is clean beside himself!” exclaimed the General, when he
learned of Eaton's high heels. “What franchise could he pretend to for a
quarrel with Noah? Noah's right to fight with whom he will, and for any
reason good to his own eyes and those of his adversary, is not to be
impeached. Eaton has surprised me out of bounds! For myself, I'd as soon
think of stepping between a man and his wife, as a man and his enemy.
Sir, there are relations which are sacred! Eaton's great love for Peg
has blurred him; a husband is ever a bad judge of either his rights or
his wrongs. I'll set Eaton to the properest view in this when we meet.”
The General was scandalized in the face of Eaton's pose. But I did not
go with his theory of its being love for Peg. It was offspring rather of
a March-hare vanity that resented a good office for which it lacked the
generosity to be grateful.
It would seem, however, that the General read Eaton a right lesson, for
he made amends. He came blandly to Noah.
“I am told,” he said, “by one whose friendship and whose judgment I
never doubt, that I have behaved badly towards you. Permit me to offer
my apologies. Also, I am to thank you for your service against that
scoundrel.”
Noah took Eaton's explanation in courtly spirit, and so the wrinkles
were made smooth. I was relieved, though not pleased; I would have found
no fault with Noah had he gone a ruder course.
“Where is this Catron?” asked Noah.
“As to that,” replied Eaton, “I think myself qualified to answer. I sent
to learn his condition, and with some purpose, so soon as he was able,
of taking him up where you let go of him. The word came back that he had
quit the town.”
It was Peg, however, who minded her debt to Noah. She went to him with
wet eyes, and, without word, took his sword hand in both of hers and
kissed it. Noah started back.
“That is too much,” he cried. “It is I who will be now in arrears to you
for the balance of my days.”
It stood the day but one following the affair of Gadsby's, and I was
comfortably in my own room engaged about my letters. If I were to bide
with the General, and not immediately to see Nashville, then I must name
a manager and put my plantations in some kind of command. There were
to be missives from the General, also, and we had arranged to send them
west on the next day by hand of a special express. It would take him six
weeks, that horseman and his saddle-bags, with roads as they were, to
win to Tennessee; we were then at some fever, you will understand, to
have our mails concluded and riding on their way.
As I drove my quill rapidly across the pages, Jim was busy in the
adjoining bedroom, giving a polish to my boots. Jim cheered himself over
his labors with snatches of song.
As I wrote hard at my desk, I could hear him, in a most lugubrious
refrain:
Thar's a word to be uttered to d'rich man an' his pride;
(Which a man is frequent richest when it's jest befo' he died.)
Thar's a word to be uttered to d'hawg a-eatin' truck;
(Which a hawg is frequent fattest when it's jest befo' he's stuck.)
“Cease that outlandish howling,” I commanded furiously.
“Shore, Marse Major!” said Jim, coming into the room where I sat, and
bringing one of my high horseman boots on his arm, polishing it the
while with unabated ardor; “shore, Marse Major! An' yet, that's a mighty
well liked song up an' down d'Cumberland. Hit's been made, that song is,
by Miss Polly Hines; little Miss Polly who lives over on d'Possom Trot.
She makes it all about a villyun who comes fo'closin' 'round her paw's
betterments for what he owes that Dudleyville bank, an' sellin' 'em off
at public vandoo. Marse Major, you-all oughter listen to d'res' of that
roundelay; if you'd only hear it plumb through, Jim sort o' reckons
you'd like it.”
I made no response, but kept on with my work. I was not to be moved of
ballads as Jim rendered them, even though vouched to be the offput of
that Sappho of the 'Possom Trot.
Ten minutes went racing by and Jim reappeared in the door.
“Say, Marse Major, do you-all recollects that gentleman who comes
pesterin' about for them subscriptions, an' who d'Marse Gen'ral done
skeers off d' time you an' me is goin' down to d'parlor to meet dish
yere Missis Eaton?”
“Well, what about him?”
“He's been 'round ag'in to-day. It's this mornin' whiles you is sleepin',
an' I runs up on him outside in d'hall, kind o' ha'ntin' about our door.
I say: 'What you-all want?' He say: 'I want to see d'Marse Major.' With
that I ups an' admonishes him that you-all is soun' asleep. 'An',' I
says, 'it don't do to go keerlessly wakin' d'Marse Major up. He's got a
monstrous high temper, that a-way, d' Marse Major has, an' all you has
to do is rap on that door jes' once, an' he'll nacherally come boilin'
outen bed, an' be down on you like a failin' star; that's what he will.'
Then I tells him he can't get no subscriptions from you no how; that you
is a heap sight worse than d' Marse Gen'ral 'bout 'em. 'You hyar me!' I
expostulates; 'you-all is simply barkin' at a knot; thar aint no sign
of a raccoon up that tree at all. You-all might jes' as well try to get
sugar-sap outen a swamp-beech as subscriptions outen d'Marse Major!'
Shore, that's what Jim tell 'um.”
“And for that, you miscreant, I'll give him a hundred dollars when he
does come, to show him how little truth you tell.”
“Don't go blazin' off into a fandad, Marse Major,” said Jim,
reprovingly, “throwin' your money away. Dish yere gentleman 'sponds to
Jim, an' allows he aint aimin' at no subscriptions. But he do say he
want to see you; an' so I tell him to be back ag'in in five hours. He's
liable to come buttin' in yere any minute now, as d' time Jim sots is
done arriv'.”
As if for endorsement, a knock was heard at the door.
There were two to enter, a man and a woman. The man was huge of frame,
shambling, uncouth, with knobby joints and large uncertain feet; his
face flabby, sickly, with little greedy, shifty eyes, like the eyes of
swine; gross mouth, full lipped and coarse, and working and munching in
a full-fed way, engaging itself upon imaginary mouthfuls. The hands of
this individual were puffy, warty members, with palms as hot and wet and
soft as an August swamp, and, save for their temperature, much like the
belly of a toad to the feel. These hands were commonly in motion, making
plausible and deprecatory gestures. It was as though the world were a
cat and they would stroke its back by way of conciliation. Over all was
obsequiousness like a veil--my visitor seemed to sweat subserviency,
exhale abasement as an atmosphere. The woman, thin, and bird-faced, and
with beaky nose that looked as though the frost had pinched the neb, was
of the chattering, empty, magpie flock; she appeared as vulgar as
the man; albeit, not with his obsequiousness, since she affected the
girlish, and stood ready with giggle and gurgle and arch look, all of
which but poorly fitted with her sober fifty years. From an odor of
pulpits observable, I thought him a preacher; also, I took the woman to
be his wife.
The man--I will thus far defend him--was not, however, that subscription
person whom Jim remembered with the General.
“Dish yere's d'gentleman who is done been teeterin' 'round our door this
mornin',” said Jim, as he ushered the visitors.
“It is not the gentleman who called on the General,” I remarked.
“Well, what's d'diffrunce, anyhow?” asked Jim with mighty unconcern.
“He's a preacher, so it's all d'same.”
“No difference, perhaps,” I returned, “except to make plain how little
you are to be relied on.”
“I s'ppose Jim's as cap'ble of mistakes as anybody.” Here Jim lapsed
into the abused tone of one virtuous, and driven to the desperate by
ill-usage. “But I tells you-all, Marse Major; since you done locks up
that demijohn, Jim aint been d'same niggah. His mem'ry has sort o'
begun to bog down. No wonder Jim gets folks swapped 'round foolish in his
mind.”
While these reproofs were going, my callers stood by the door, inviting
consideration with much bending of the body and bowing of the head.
“I am the Reverend Campbell,” began the man; “I am pastor of a precious
flock in this town. And this is Deborah, my beloved consort. I trust I
find all well and holy here, and the blessing of the Spirit upon this
place?”
Then the Reverend Campbell re-began his abject bowing, while his magpie
wife smirked and giggled sociably.
It had been long since I met folk who more repelled me. For the sake of
his cloth, however, and the real respect I bore it, I required myself to
assume a manner of cordiality. I asked the purpose of the visit.
“It was my privilege,” responded the Reverend Campbell, with a
meeting-house snuffle that certain divines adopt as a professional
manner of articulation, “I may say it was my inestimable privilege
some years back, to behold in the body of the church, during many of my
preachments, that mighty man of war, our coming president, and his sweet
lady; although she--for flesh is as grass--has since perished and passed
over to dwell among the blest.”
“Mrs. Jackson was my nearest, dearest friend,” simpered the awful magpie
wife, interrupting. “It was when General Jackson had a seat in the
senate. We were like loving sisters, Mrs. Jackson and I.”
This last I distrusted, but I did not say so.
“You are the General's old preacher?” I said; the Reverend Campbell
meanwhile seesawing and bowing, and locking and unlocking his warty
fingers. “Have you been in to meet the General?”
“Not yet, good sir, not yet,” replied the Reverend Campbell. “That shall
be in good time. Since you abide on terms of intimacy with our coming
president, I deemed it prudent to first make myself known to you.
Knowing David, I would know Jonathan. There is a business--a piece of
sinful, worldly business--I would inquire of, a boon I would ask, and
ere I went to the transaction thereof, I held it sapient to call upon
you who will be so strong to bind or loose--so potent, as one might say,
in the coming dispensation of preferments.”
The Reverend Campbell--who should have been a mandarin for his
repulsiveness and talents to bow--kept up his bending, while the magpie
wife in vacuous vanity, beamed on like a tarnished sun. To put a stop
to the bowing, which began to grow on me nervously, I bade the pair be
seated. They would remain the longer, but I would save myself with less
of irritation.
“I do not come for myself,” observed the Reverend Campbell, snuffling,
and balancing uneasily on his chair's edge. His wife had taken her seat
with more of confidence; spreading her skirts to advantage, and leaning
back as one certain of results. “No, it is by request of a beloved
brother in Christ, the Reverend Doctor Ely of Philadelphia. Our great
Chief Magistrate knows him and loves him well.”
Then the Reverend Campbell went on in pulpit tones to elaborate his
mission. It soon declared itself to be the old Duff Green errand of
office angling. Also, it was a coincidence something strange, I thought,
when the Reverend Campbell, following in the very footprints of the
wine colored Duff, spoke of the Florida Governorship, and named the same
wealthy zany for its occupation.
“He is a Pennsylvania Westfall,” concluded the Reverend Campbell, his
breath bated and his air impressed, “he is a Pennsylvania Westfall, and
extremely rich of this world's goods. Doctor Ely desires this post for
him with all his heart; he believes, moreover, that his old friend, our
excellent president, who--and heaven be thanked!--is less than a scant
two weeks away from his inauguration, will be glad to pleasure him in
this regard. You might, sir, hint to that eminent statesman and soldier
how his friend, Doctor Ely, would profit by this selection, going, as
in that event he will, to St. Augustine, to be chaplain for the then
Governor Westfall.”
“And my husband, too, would be called to Dr. Ely's place in
Philadelphia,” gurgled the magpie wife; “it's a much richer church than
the one here.”
There, then, was the cat out of the bag; I had been guessing for some
moments in the dark, as to why the Reverend Campbell should so zealously
be fishing for office when he ought to be fishing for souls. The magpie
wife granted me a glint of his secret. It did not swell my fund of
respect for the Reverend Campbell, a fund nothing rotund as things
stood.
“You should see the General,” I said at last. “These are not my
affairs; I would not presume, wanting his invitation, to advise with
him concerning them. You should see him; or, if you will, you might wait
until Van Buren arrives.”
“Ah, yes; the coming Secretary of State,” remarked the Reverend
Campbell, while his thick lips munched unpleasantly. “Will Mr. Van Buren
make the Florida selection?”
I was driven to say I thought not; the General himself had been once
Governor of Florida; therefore, he might believe he was the one better
qualified to make such appointment.
Beholding the Reverend Campbell in the throes of doubt, tipping on
his chair, and looking with his black clothes not a little like a crow
hesitating on a fence-rail as to whether or no he will plump down among
the sprouting corn, I suggested,--to relieve myself, I fear--that now he
was come, he might better go in to the General and offer his request. I
entertained no thought of success for him; I had not forgotten the fate
in that connection of the pursy Duff--Duff of the ripe, ripe nose. But
I aimed at a riddance of the Reverend Campbell and his leering, bubbling
helpmeet; and I was not so loyal to the General as to prevent me from
earning my own release by betraying him into their talons.
“Do you deem it the part of sagacity,” said the Reverend Campbell,
following a thoughtful pause, “to crave this boon at once?”
“Sagacious? surely!” I would have given my word for anything to
work free of the Reverend Campbell and that magpie wife, the latter
gentlewoman being rusty of plume, strident, and of but a sorry favor
of face; to say nothing about her gigglings and chuck-lings; for that
vacant dame was like a parrot, with a running rattle of vocalisms, going
from gurgle to chirp, as an accompaniment to whatever was said by her
lord and master.
“Then let us repair to him,” said the Reverend Campbell, raising his
hands as if asking a benediction on me and my belongings; “let us hie
to him and unbosom ourselves, and may we find him in grace of spirit and
well of this mortal body.”
We discovered the General in his rooms. We found him in a rather merry
spirit for him. He was sitting by his fire, with Peg on a footstool at a
corner of the fireplace.
Hearing of the General's diet of rice, Peg's mother--she lived over to
the south, across that wooded strip, the Mall--holding herself to excel
in certain elixirs and cordials and draughts marvelous for maladies
stomachic, had sent to the General's relief a bottle of medicine
warranted of transcendent merit, and in which dandelion flourished a
dominant element. The good lady would trust her drugs to none save
Peg; there she was, then, the fairest foot and hand ever to be sent on
porter's work or to run an errand with a message.
The unexpected sight of Peg sent over me a wave of pleasure. I love
the beautiful, have an inborn joy of it, and who or what could be more
lovely than our Peg--Peg with her wildrose face?
The General glanced up through the tobacco smoke wherewith the rooms
were cloudy. Peg had said she loved smoke, and could stand to it like
a side of bacon. His look was of half-recognition as it settled upon my
company.
“The Reverend Campbell, is it not?” said he.
“The same, Mr. President,” returned the other, commencing again those
bowing motions which had so tortured my soul, his flabby cheeks
the while exuding a beady dew; “the same. And here is Deborah, my
well-beloved wife, Mr. President.”
The magpie one of rumpled feather gained indication by the Reverend
Campbell pointing to her with a bulbous forefinger that was somewhat
suffering about the nail for lack of care. The magpie one gave the usual
proof of her satisfaction with chirp and giggle.
“The last time I beheld you, Mr. President,” said the Reverend Campbell,
“you and your dear wife sat beneath my words.” The General flinched as
though a rude hand touched a wound. He gathered himself, however. “That
dear one, Mr. President, has gone from our midst. It is a chastening,
Mr. President. Whom the Lord loveth, He chasteneth. It is a loss, Mr.
President, but we must summon meekness of spirit. Blessed are the meek
in spirit, saith the singer, and they shall inherit the earth. Mr.
President, let us pray.”
The Reverend Campbell rolled forth the foregoing, and never halt or
pause; with the last word he was down upon his knees, expanding into a
gale of prayer.
It is not for me to pass upon such sacred petitions, but the Reverend
Campbell's effort grated on my conscience as crude, and, if the term
be not improper, vulgar. The General, who was still in his chair, bowed
head in hand and sat silent throughout. He made neither sign nor sound;
and yet it must have galled him like musketry, that prayer.
It was when the Reverend Campbell stood again on his feet, and the
magpie one had rearranged her feathers, that their glances took in Peg
where she now stood near the fire. She was silent, collected, and her
calm look rested upon the Reverend Campbell and the magpie one. It was a
steady glance of unseeing indifference and unacquaintance, and as though
the pair were strangers to her.
Their actions, however, would smack of something nearer. No sooner did
they behold Peg, than with one impulse they started towards her, faces a
garden of smiles.
“Why, my dear Mrs. Eaton!” cried the magpie one.
“My dear, recovered lamb!” exclaimed the Reverend Campbell.
The two made for Peg with exuberant hands extended. Peg waved them off.
“You make a mistake,” said Peg. Her words took flight evenly and with
nothing of disturbance. “I do not know you.” Then, as the Reverend
Campbell and his magpie love seemed but half checked: “And I will not
know you.”
These closing words were vibrant of a nipping vigor, and Peg's leopard
teeth came together with a click, and, as it were, for emphasis. Peg
turned to me:
“Will you take me to my carriage?”
With that, the General arose and cavaliered Peg to the door.
“Give my thanks to your good mother, child,” said the General, his fond
eye pleasant with the reflection of Peg's pretty face; “tell her I shall
profit by her kindness. I feel half restored with merely having the
Dandelion Water on my shelf.”
Closing the door after us, the General returned to the Reverend Campbell
and his magpie love.
“There is no story with it.” Peg replied, when I put those queries the
situation suggested. “They are folk of treachery; that is it. They have
been my persecutors as much as any. And with more shame for them, since
they have pretended friendship for my family, and had support from my
father for year piled upon year.”
“And is that the whole of it?” I asked.
“Truly, it is, my best dear friend.” Peg held up her pansy face, and
offered me a cheerful look by way of proof. “Nor am I even a trifle
provoked. For all that, I would not permit them because they found
me with the good General, and with you”--she gave my arm a little
pressure--“and doubtless would offer some request, to put on a false
face, and so use me for their interest. I owe them no such tenderness.
Besides, since I've found real friends,”--Peg crowded to my side more
closely, and bent upon me her kind, unfathomed eyes, as though admitting
my protection,--“since I've found real friends, I've no room in my heart
for mocking imitations.” Peg laughed her witch-laugh now, and stepped on
more quickly. “Don't let us talk of them,” she said, “don't let us talk
of such hollow folk!”
Peg's carriage stood at the curb. Indeed, she had but just arrived when,
as I piloted the Reverend Campbell and the magpie, I found her by the
General's fire.
“Some day you must go with me to meet my mother,” said Peg; “I've
promised her.” Then, as I lifted her into the carriage, “Mercy! you
should practice for a lighter hand. I feel as one in the paws of a
bear.”
With a wave of her hand, she was off for the President's Square where
her home stood; I, on my part, turned back to the General, walking
slowly, and seeing Peg's gentle eyes before me all the way to his door.
Sweet Peg! had it been I, no tawdry ambition of politics would have
divided my heart with you; you would have reigned over it alone; we
would have left Washington to the vermin who devoured it, and made our
kingdom in lands of peace and truth!
It was not without relief I discovered that the Reverend Campbell, with
his magpie mate, was gone.
“Assuredly, no!” exclaimed the General, when I inquired whether the name
of Doctor Ely, and the petition preferred of the Reverend Campbell,
had re-colored his thoughts touching St. Augustine and the Florida
Governorship; “assuredly, no! He who has that place from me must be
emphatically two things--a man and a friend. The creature, Westfall,
is emphatically neither. I can not guess, however, in what this sudden
office-hunting excitement of our ghostly fathers finds its source. I
asked the Reverend Campbell, was this Westfall known to him. He said,
only by repute; that he urged the case at the request of Doctor Ely.”
Clearing him on that question of purpose, I told the General of Doctor
Ely's arrangement to be a Governor's chaplain in St. Augustine; and
how, in a moment of gurgling exaltation concerning what might be, that
unguarded magpie exposed the scheme of “calling” our Reverend Campbell
to Doctor Ely's fat present pulpit, should it become vacant in favor of
palms and orange groves.
“And in that way runs the road!” exclaimed the General, full of leniency
and amusement. “The preachers are becoming better politicians every day.
Major, you and I must look to our lines, or some dominie may yet turn
our flanks.”
Then I gave the General what Peg had told of her attitude, like a
diminutive iceberg, towards the Reverend Campbell and his magpie
partner.
“They have done Peg no actual harm,” I said. “They passed her by one
day, like the Levites they were and are; and now she revenges herself.”
“One can always hear the savage stirring about in Peg,” commented the
General; “and I like her the better for it. I love your re-vegeful
soul--he who has a long knife, a long memory, and will go a long trail
to his feud.”
“And that is an excellent observe,” I said, teasing him a bit, “and you
a Christian and a president!”
“The observe, as you phrase it,” retorted the General, “is not only
excellent but earnest. Revenge is the fair counterpart of gratitude.
They are off the same bolt of cloth. Find me a soul for revenge, and
I'll find you a soul to be grateful. What are revenge and gratitude,
when one goes to the final word, but just a man paying his debts?”
“Who is this Doctor Ely?” I asked. “The Reverend Campbell described him
as your friend.”
“Doctor Ely is no more than an acquaintance, and hardly that. I met him
years ago in Philadelphia; and I've heard him preach. He is a showy,
fashionable figure of man; not deep, yet musical and fluent. The women,
I remember, liked his discourses right well. There were a beat and a
march to his periods; and albeit, while he talked, the wise ones went to
sleep, others with music-boxes for minds, and who mistook sensation for
sense, sat bolt upright, feeling the liveliest delight.”
“I've met the latter sort,” I assented; “the gentry who prefer rhyme to
reason.”
“Somehow,” observed the General, following an interval of silence, “I
ever fear I'll be unfair to your preachers. My inclination is to judge
them too harshly--estimate them below their worth. It has been ever the
fault of military men to do this, and, for myself, I would guard against
it.”
“And now will you explain what you are talking about?” I was in cold
earnest, for the General's remorse over an injustice to preachers was
clean beyond me and _apropos_ of nothing.
My own thought galloped to it--for his wife taught him that softness,
being as devout as an abbess, herself--that for the dominies, as an
order or trade among men, he carried more of charity than any whom I
knew. More by far than I could boast, or cared to. “Why do you reproach
yourself about the preachers?”
“It was this Doctor Ely,” returned the General, “of whom I was thinking.
I was remembering certain severities of judgment towards him long ago.
I heard him preach, yet could give him no credit for sincerity. He
impressed me as one who looked often in the glass and seldom from the
window. He was friendly, affable, and, I think, honest; and yet I liked
him no more than I like that reverend cringer who was just now here. I
well recall saying to this Doctor Ely--probably I had him in my mind's
eye at the time, and it hurt him, too--that he who was professionally
good would never be very good, nor he who was excellent for a salary
offer an example of the best excellence. It may be that my natural
distrust of preachers is, after all, nothing save my natural fear of
them. You have not forgotten how I told you I feared men of peace. That
is true; I fear folk who profess peace as a principle--your Quaker
and your preacher--as I fear and fall back before the inhuman, or as
children fear a ghost. It is all to be accounted for perhaps, in the
differing natures of folk. One man has a genius for peaceful while
another's bent is for war, and each will misunderstand the other's
motives. There can be little in common and less of trust between them,
since they will live as far apart as black and white. It is, I say,
quite natural--war and peace--wolf and sheep. I've no doubt, now,”
concluded the General, a smile beginning to show, “that to your wolf on
the hill, your grazing sheep down in the valley is a mighty suspicious
character.”