“Drink! drink! to whom shall we drink?
To a friend or a mistress?--Come, let me think!
To those who are absent or those who are here?
To the dead that we loved, or the living still dear?
Alas! when I look I find none of the last!
The present is barren--let's drink to the past.”
PAULDING.
Though strictly a Manhattanese as a sailor, I shall not run into
rhapsody on the subject of the beauties of the inner or outer bay of
this prosperous place. No man but one besotted with provincial conceit
could ever think of comparing the harbour of New York with the Bay of
Naples; nor do I know two places, that have the same great elements of
land and water that are less alike. The harbour of New York is barely
pretty; not a particle more, if quite as much; while the Bay of Naples
is almost what its owners so fondly term it, “a little bit of heaven,
fallen upon earth.” On the other hand, however, Naples, as a haven, is
not to be mentioned in the same breath with the great American mart,
which, _as a port_, has no competitor within the circle of my
knowledge, Constantinople alone excepted. I wish my semi-townsmen, the
Manhattanese, could be persuaded of these facts, as, when they _do_
brag, as the wisest of mortals sometimes will, they might brag of their
strong, and not of their weak points, as is now too often the case.
The Major, Emily and myself, stood on the poop, regarding the scene, as
the ship glided onward, before a good south-east breeze. I watched the
countenances of my companions with interest, for I had the nervousness
of a tyro and a provincial, on the subject of the opinions of the people
of other lands, concerning everything that affected my own. I could
see that the Major was not particularly struck; and I was disappointed,
_then_, whatever may be my opinion _now_. Emily better answered my
hopes. Whether the charming girl really felt the vast contrast between a
view of the unbroken expanse of the ocean, and the scene before her,
or was disposed to please her host, she did not hesitate to express
delight. I let her understand how much I was gratified; and thus
our long, long voyage, and that, so far as degrees of longitude were
concerned, nearly embraced the circuit of the earth, may be said to have
terminated with the kindest feelings.
The ship was off Bedlow's, and the pilot had begun to shorten sail,
when a schooner crossed our fore-foot, beating down. I had been too
much occupied with the general movement of the bay, to notice one small
craft; but, this vessel happening to tack quite near us, I could not but
turn my eyes in her direction. At that instant I heard a shout from Neb,
who was furling one of the royals. It was one of those irrepressible
“nigger gollies” that often escaped from the fellow involuntarily.
“What do you mean by that uproar, on the mizen-royal yard,” I called out
angrily--for the _style_ of my ship had now become an object of concern
with me. “Keep silence, sir, or I'll find a way to instruct you in the
art.”
“Lord!--masser Mile--” cried the negro, pointing eagerly towards the
schooner--“there go Pretty Poll.”
It was our old craft sure enough, and I hailed her, incontinently.
“Pretty Polly, ahoy!”
“Halloo!”
“Where are you bound, sir; and when did that schooner get in from the
Pacific?”
“We are bound to Martinique--The Poll got home from the South Seas about
six months since. This is her third voyage to the West Indies, since.”
Here then was the certainty that the cargo sent home, and the letter
with it, were all safe. I must be expected, and the owners would soon
hear of my arrival. We were not kept long in doubt; for, as the ship
entered the Hudson, a boat approached, and in her were two of the
principal members of our firm. I had seen them, and that is all; but
my own letters, and the report of the officer who brought home the
schooner, had told them all about me. Could Nelson, after his victory
of the Nile, have walked into the King of England's private cabinet
with the news of his own success, his reception would not have been more
flattering than that I now received. I was “Captain Wallingforded” at
every sentence; and commendations were so intermixed with inquiries
about the value of the cargo, that I did not know which to answer first.
I was invited to dine the very next day by both the gentlemen in the
same breath; and when I raised some objections connected with the duty
of the ship, the invitations were extended from day to day, for a week.
So very welcome is he who brings us gold!
We went alongside of a North River wharf, and had everything secure,
just as the sun was setting. The people were then allowed to go ashore
for the night. Not a soul of them asked for a dollar; but the men walked
up the wharf attended by a circle of admiring landlords, that put them
all above want. The sailor who has three years' pay under his lee, is
a sort of Rothschild on Jack's Exchange. All the harpies about our lads
knew that the Crisis and her teas, &c. were hypothecated to meet their
own ten and twenty dollar advances.
I dressed myself hurriedly, and ordered Neb to imitate my example. One
of the owners had kindly volunteered to see Major Merton and Emily to
a suitable residence, with an alacrity that surprised me. But the
influence of England, and Englishmen, in all America, was exceedingly
great forty years since. This was still more true in New York, than in
the country generally; and a half-pay English Major was a species of
nobleman among the better sort of Manhattanese of that day. How many of
these quasi lords have I seen, whose patents of nobility were merely
the commissions of captains and lieutenants, signed by the Majesty of
England! In that day--it is nonsense to deny it--the man who had served
_against_ the country, provided he was a “British officer,” was a better
man than he who had served in our own ranks. This was true, however,
only as regarded _society;_ the ballot-boxes, and the _people_, giving
very different indications of their sentiments on such subjects. Nor
is this result, so far as New York was concerned, as surprising as, at
first sight, it may possibly appear. Viewed as a class, the gentry of
New York took sides with the crown. It is true, that the portion of
this gentry which might almost be called _baronial_--it was strictly
_manorial_--was pretty equally divided, carrying with them their
collaterals; but the larger portions of this entire class of the elite
of society took sides with the crown; and the peace of '83 found no
small part of them in possession of their old social stations; the
confiscations affecting few beyond the most important, and the richest
of the delinquents. I can give an instance, within my own immediate
knowledge, of the sort of justice of these confiscations. The head of
one of the most important of all the colonial families, was a man of
indolent habits, and was much indisposed to any active pursuits. This
gentleman was enormously rich, and his estates were confiscated and
sold. Now this attainted traitor had a younger brother who was actually
serving in the British army in America, his regiment sharing in the
battles of Bunker Hill, Brandywine, Monmouth, &c. But the Major was a
younger son; and, in virtue of that republican merit, he escaped the
consequences of his adhesion to the service of the crown; and after
the revolution, the cadet returned to his native country, took quiet
possession of a property of no inconsiderable amount, while his senior
passed his days in exile, paying the bitter penalty of being rich in a
revolution. It was a consequence of the peculiarities first mentioned,
that the Manhattanese society set so high a value on English connection.
They still admired, as the provincial only can admire; and they
worshipped, as the provincial worships; or, at a safe distance. The
strange medley of truth, cant, selfishness, sophistry and good faith,
that founded the political hostility to the movements of the French
revolution, had as ardent believers in this country, as it had in
England itself; and this contributed to sustain the sort of feeling
I have described. Of the fact, there can be no doubt, as any one will
testify who knew New York society forty years ago.
No wonder then, that Major Merton and Emily fared well, on their sudden
arrival in the country. Some romance, moreover, was attached to their
adventures; and I had no great reason to give myself any anxiety on
their account. There was little doubt of their soon being much more at
home, than I could hope to be, though in my native land.
Neb soon reported himself ready for shore-duty, and I ordered him to
follow me. It was my intention to proceed to the counting-house of the
owners, to receive some letters that awaited me, and, after writing
short answers, to despatch the black at once to Clawbonny, with the
intelligence of my return. In 1802, the Battery was the court-end of
the town, and it was a good deal frequented by the better classes,
particularly at the hour at which I was now about to cross it. I have
never returned from a voyage, especially to Europe, without being
particularly struck with two things in the great Western Emporium--since
the common councils and the editors insist on the word--viz., the
provincial appearance of everything that meets the eye, and the beauty
of the younger females; meaning, however, by the last, the true, native,
portion of the population, and not the throng from Ireland and Germany,
who now crowd the streets; and who, certainly, as a body, are not in
the least remarkable for personal charms. But an American can tell an
American, man or woman, as soon as he lays eyes on either; and there
were few besides native girls on the Battery at the time of which I
am writing. As there were many children taking their evening walk,
and black servants were far more common than now, Neb had his share of
delights, too, and I heard him exclaim “Golly!” twice, before we reached
the centre of the Battery. This exclamation escaped him on passing as
many sable Venuses, each of whom bridled up at the fellow's admiration,
and doubtless was as much offended as the sex is apt to be on such
occasions.
I must have passed twenty young women, that evening, either of whom
would induce a youth to turn round to look again; and, for the moment, I
forgot my errand. Neither Neb nor I was in any hurry. We were strolling
along, in this manner, gazing right and left, when a party approached,
under the trees, that drew all my attention to itself. In front walked
a young man and young woman, who were dressed simply, but with a taste
that denoted persons of the better class. The former was remarkable for
nothing, unless it might be a rattling vivacity, of which large doses
were administered to his fair companion, who, seemingly, swallowed it
less reluctantly than doses of another sort are so often received. At
least, I thought so, while the two were at a distance, by the beautiful
glistening teeth that were shining like my own spotless pearls, between
lips of coral. The air, beauty, figure, and, indeed, all connected with
this singularly lovely young creature, struck my imagination at once. It
was not so much her beauty, though that was decided and attractive, as
the admixture of feminine delicacy with blooming health; the walk, so
natural and yet so full of lightness and grace; the laugh, so joyous
and still so quiet and suited to her sex; and the entire air and manner,
which denoted equally, buoyant health and happiness, the gracefulness
of one who thought not of herself, and the refinement which is quite as
much the gift of native sentiment, as the fruit of art and association.
I could not tell what her companion was saying; but, as they approached,
I fancied them acknowledged lovers, on whom fortune, friends, and
circumstances smiled alike. A glance aside told me that even Neb was
struck by the being before him, and that he had ceased looking at the
sable Venuses, to gaze at this.
I could not keep my gaze off the face of this lovely creature, who did
not let me get a good look of her dark-blue eyes, however, until I
was quite near, when they were naturally turned towards the form that
approached. For a few seconds, while in the very act of passing, we
looked intently at each other, and the charm said to be possessed by
certain animals, was not more powerful than was our mutual gaze. In this
manner we had actually passed each other, and I was still in a sort of
mystified prance, when I heard suddenly, in a voice and tone that caused
every nerve to thrill within me, the single word--
“Miles!”
Turning, and taking another look, it was impossible any longer to
mistake. Lucy Hardinge stood before me, trembling, uncertain, her face
now pale as death, now flushed to scarlet, her hands clasped, her look
doubting, eager, shrinking, equally denoting hope and fear, and all
so blended, as to render her the most perfect picture of female truth,
feeling, diffidence, and natural modesty, I had ever beheld.
“Lucy--is it--_can_ it be possible!--It is then _you_, I thought so
gloriously beautiful, and that without knowing you, too.”
I take it for granted, had I studied a week, I should not have composed
a more grateful salutation than this, which burst forth in a way that
set all the usual restraints of manners at defiance. Of course, I felt
bound to go through with the matter as prosperously as I had commenced,
and in spite of the publicity of the place, in spite of half a dozen
persons, who heard what passed, and had turned, smiling, to see what
would come next, in spite of the grave-looking gentleman who had so
lately been all vivacity and gaiety, I advanced, folded the dear girl to
my heart, and gave her such a kiss, as I'll take upon myself to say, she
had never before received. Sailors, usually, do not perform such
things by halves, and I never was more in earnest in my life. Such a
salutation, from a young fellow who stood rather more than six feet in
his stockings, had a pair of whiskers that had come all the way from the
Pacific with very little trimming, and who possessed a manliness about
him of which mere walking up and down Broadway would have robbed a young
Hercules, had the effect to cover poor Lucy with blushes and confusion.
“There--that will do, Miles,” she said, struggling to get free--“a
truce, I pray you. See, yonder are Grace and my father, and Rupert.”
There they all were, sure enough, the whole family having come out, to
take an evening walk, in company with a certain Mr. Andrew Drewett,
a young gentleman who was a fellow-student of Rupert's, and who, as I
afterwards ascertained, was a pretty open admirer of Rupert's sister.
There was a marked difference in the manner in which I was received by
Grace and Lucy. The first exclaimed “Miles!” precisely as the last had
exclaimed; her colour heightened, and tears forced themselves into her
eyes, but she could not be said to blush. Instead of first manifesting
an eagerness to meet my salute, and then shrinking sensitively from
it, she flung her delicate arms round my neck, without the slightest
reserve, both arms too, kissed me six or eight times without stopping,
and then began to sob, as if her heart would break. The spectators, who
saw in all this the plain, honest, natural, undisguised affection of
a sister, had the good taste to walk on, though I could see that their
countenances sympathised with so happy a family meeting. I had but a
moment to press Grace to my heart, before Mr. Hardinge's voice drew my
attention to him. The good old man forgot that I was two inches taller
than he was himself; that I could, with ease, have lifted him from the
earth, and carried him in my arms, as if he were an infant; that I
was bronzed by a long voyage, and had Pacific Ocean whiskers; for he
caressed me as if I had been a child, kissed me quite as often as Grace
had done, blessed me aloud, and then gave way to his tears, as freely
as both the girls. But for this burst of feeling on the part of a
grey-headed old clergyman, I am afraid our scene would not altogether
have escaped ridicule. As it was, however, this saved us. Clergymen were
far more respected in America, forty years ago, than they are to-day,
though I think they have still as much consideration here as in most
other countries; and the general respect felt for the class would have
insured us from any manifestations of the sort, without the nature and
emotion which came in its aid. As for myself, I was glad to take refuge
in Rupert's hearty but less sentimental shake of the hand. After this,
we all sought a seat, in a less public spot, and were soon sufficiently
composed to converse. As for the gentleman named Drewett, he waited long
enough to inquire of Lucy who I was, and then he had sufficient tact to
wish us all good evening. I overheard the little dialogue which produced
this explanation.
“A close friend, if not a near relation, Miss Hardinge?” he observed,
inquiringly.
“Oh, yes,” answered the smiling, weeping girl, with the undisguised
truth of her honest nature--“both friend and relative.”
“May I presume to ask the name?”
“The name, Mr. Drewett!--Why it is Miles--dear Miles--you surely have
heard us speak of Miles--but I forget; you never were at Clawbonny--is
it not a most joyful surprise, dearest, dearest Grace!”
Mr. Andrew Drewett waited, I thought, with most commendable patience for
Grace to squeeze Lucy's hand, and to murmur her own felicitations, when
he ventured to add--
“You were about to say something, Miss Hardinge?”
“Was I--I declare I have forgotten what it was. Such a surprise--such a
joyful, blessed surprise--I beg pardon, Mr. Drewett--ah. I remember now;
I was about to say that this is Mr. Miles Wallingford, of Clawbonny, the
gentleman who is my father's ward--Grace's brother, you know.”
“And how related to yourself, Miss Hardinge?” the gentleman continued, a
little perseveringly.
“To me! Oh! very, very near--that is--I forget so much this
evening--why, not at all.”
It was at this moment Mr. Drewett saw fit to make his parting
salutations with studied decorum, and to take his leave in a manner so
polite, that, though tempted, I could not, just at the moment, stop the
current of my feelings, to admire. No one seemed to miss him, however,
and we five, who remained, were soon seated in the spot I have
mentioned, and as much abstracted from the scene around us, as if we had
been on the rustic bench, under the old elm, on the lawn--if I dare
use so fine a word, for so unpretending a place--at Clawbonny. I had my
station between Mr. Hardinge and Grace, while Lucy sat next her
father, and Rupert next to my sister. My friend could see me, without
difficulty, owing to his stature, while I saw the glistening eyes of
Lucy, riveted on my face, as leaning on her father's knee, she bent her
graceful form forward, in absorbed attention.
“We expected you; we have not been taken _altogether_ by surprise!”
exclaimed good Mr. Hardinge, clapping his hand on my shoulder, as if
to say he could now begin to treat me like a man. “I consented to come
down, just at this moment, because the last Canton ship that arrived
brought the intelligence that the Crisis was to sail in ten days.”
“And you may judge of our surprise,” said Rupert, “when we read the
report in the papers, 'The Crisis, _Captain Wallingford_.'”
“I supposed my letters from the island had prepared you for this,” I
observed.
“In them, you spoke of Mr. Marble, and I naturally concluded, when it
came to the pinch, the man would resume the command, and bring the ship
home. Duty to the owners would be apt to induce him.”
“He did not,” I answered, a little proudly perhaps, forgetting poor
Marble's probable situation, for an instant, in my own vanity. “Mr.
Marble understood well, that if I knew nothing else, I knew how to take
care of a ship.”
“So it seems, my dear boy, indeed, so it doth seem!” said Mr. Hardinge,
kindly. “I hear from all quarters, you conduct commended; and the
recovery of the vessel from the French, was really worthy of Truxtun
himself.”
At that day, Truxtun was the great gun of American naval idolatry, and
had as much local reputation, as Nelson himself enjoyed in England. The
allusion was a sore assault on my modesty; but I got along with it, as
well as I could.
“I endeavoured to do my duty, sir,” I answered, trying not to look at
Lucy, and seem meek; “and it would have been a terrible disgrace to have
come home, and been obliged to say the French got the ship from us, when
we were all asleep.”
“But you took a ship from the French, in that manner, and kept her too!”
said a soft voice, every intonation of which was music to me.
I looked round and saw the speaking eyes of Lucy, just clear of the grey
coat of her father, behind which she instinctively shrank, the instant
she caught my glance.
“Yes,” I answered, “we did something of that sort, and were a little
more fortunate than our enemies. But, you will recollect we were much
favoured by the complaisance of poor Monsieur Le Compte, in leaving us a
schooner to work our mischief in.”
“I have always thought that part of your story, Miles, a little
extraordinary,” observed Mr. Hardinge; “though I suppose this
Frenchman's liberality was, in some measure, a matter of necessity, out
there, in the middle of the Pacific.”
“I hardly think you do Captain Le Compte justice, sir. He was a
chivalrous fellow, and every way a gallant seaman. It is possible,
he was rather more in a hurry than he might have been, but for his
passengers--that is all--at least, I have always suspected that the wish
to have Miss Merton all to himself, induced him to get rid of us as soon
as possible. He evidently admired her, and could have been jealous of a
dead-eye.”
“Miss Merton!” exclaimed Grace. “Jealous!”
“Miss Merton!” put in Rupert, leaning forward, curiously.
“Miss Merton! And jealous of dead-eyes, and wishing to get rid of us!”
said Mr. Hardinge, smiling. “Pray who is Miss Merton? and who are the
_us_? and what are the dead-eyes?”
Lucy was silent.
“Why, sir, I thought I wrote you all about the Mertons. How we met them
in London, and then found them prisoners to Monsieur Le Compte; and that
I intended to carry them to Canton, in the Crisis!”
“You told us some of this, certainly; but, though you may have written
'all about' a _Major_ Merton, you _forgot_ to tell us 'about _all_
the Mertons. This is the first syllable I have ever had about a _Miss_
Merton. How is it, girls--did Miles speak of any one but the Major, in
his letter?”
“Not a syllable to me, sir, of any young lady, I can assure you,”
replied Grace, laughing. “How was it to you, Lucy?”
“Of course he would not tell me that which he thought fit to conceal
from his own sister,” said Lucy, in a low voice.
“It is odd I should have forgotten to mention her,” I cried,
endeavouring to laugh it off. “Young men do not often forget to write
about young ladies.”
“This Miss Merton is young, then, brother?”
“About your own age, Grace.”
“And handsome--and agreeable--and accomplished?”
“Something like yourself, my dear.”
“But handsome, I take it for granted, Miles,” observed Mr. Hardinge,
“by the manner in which you have omitted to speak of her charms, in your
letters!”
“Why sir, I think most persons--that is the world in general--I mean
such as are not over-fastidious, would consider Miss Merton particularly
handsome--agreeable in person and features, I would be understood to
say.”
“Oh! you are sufficiently explicit; everybody can understand you,” added
my laughing guardian, who had no more thought of getting me married to
his own daughter, than to a German princess of a hundred and forty-five
quarterings, if there are any such things; “some other time we will have
the particulars of her eyes, hair, teeth, &c., &c.”
“Oh! sir, you may save me the trouble, by looking at her yourself,
to-morrow, since she and her father are both here.”
“_Here!_” exclaimed all four in a breath; Lucy's extreme surprise
extorting the monosyllable from her reserve, even a little louder than
from the rest.
“Certainly, here; father, daughter, and servants; I dare say I omitted
to speak of the servants in my letters, too; but a poor fellow who has
a great deal to do, cannot think of everything in a minute. Major Merton
has a touch of the liver complaint; and it would not do to leave him
in a warm climate. So, no other chance offering, he is proceeding to
England, by the way of America.”
“And how long had you these people on board your ship, Miles?” Grace
asked, a little gravely.
“Actually on board, with myself, about nine months, I should think; but
including the time in London, at Canton, and on the island, I should
call our acquaintance one of rather more than a year's standing.”
“Long enough, certainly, to make a young lady sufficiently obvious to a
young gentleman's memory, not to be forgotten in his letters.”
After this pointed speech, there was a silence, which Mr. Hardinge broke
by some questions about the passage home from Canton. As it was getting
cool on the Battery, however, we all moved away, proceeding to Mrs.
Bradfort's. This lady, as I afterwards discovered, was much attached to
Lucy, and had insisted on giving her these opportunities of seeing the
world. She was quite at her ease in her circumstances, and belonged to
a circle a good deal superior to that into which Grace and myself could
have claimed admission, in right of our own social position. Lucy had
been well received as her relative, and as a clergyman's daughter; and
Grace on her own account, as I afterwards learned. It would be attaching
too much credit to Clawbonny, to say that either of the girls had not
improved by this association; though it was scarcely possible to make
Grace more feminine and lady-like than she had been made by nature.
The effect on Lucy was simply to put a little reserve on her native
frankness, and sturdy honesty; though candour compels me to say, that
mingling with the world, and, especially the world to which they had
been introduced by Mrs. Bradfort, had certainly increased the native
charm of manner that each possessed. I began to think Emily Merton so
far from possessing any advantage over the two girls, might now improve
a little herself, by associating with them.
At the house, I had to tell my whole story, and to answer a multitude of
questions. Not a syllable more was said about Miss Merton; and even Lucy
had smiles to bestow and remarks to make, as before. When we got to the
lights, where the girls could remove their shawls and hats, I made each
of them stand before me, in order to ascertain how much time had altered
them. Grace was now nineteen; and Lucy was only six months her junior.
The greatest change was in the latter. Her form had ripened into
something as near as possible to girlish perfection. In this respect she
had the advantage of Grace, who was a little too slight and delicate;
whereas, Lucy, without any of the heaviness that so often accompanies
a truly rounded person, and which was perhaps a slight defect in
Emily Merton's figure, was without an angle of any sort, in her
entire outline. Grace, always so handsome, and so intellectual in the
expression of her countenance, had improved less in this respect, than
Lucy, whose eyes had obtained a tenderness and feeling that rendered
them, to me, even more attractive than those of my own dear sister. In
a word, any man might have been proud, at finding two such admirable
creatures interested in him, as interested, every look, smile, syllable,
and gesture of these dear girls, denoted they were in me.
All this time, Neb had been overlooked. He had followed us to the house,
however, and was already engaged in a dark-coloured flirtation with a
certain Miss Chloe Clawbonny, his own second-cousin, in the kitchen; a
lady who had attracted a portion of his admiration, before we sailed,
and who had accompanied her young mistress to town. As soon as it was
ascertained the fellow was below, Lucy, who was quite at home in her
kinswoman's house, insisted on his being introduced. I saw by the
indulgent smile of Mrs. Bradfort, that Lucy was not exceeding her
conceded privileges, and Neb was ordered up, forthwith. Never was there
a happier fellow than this 'nigger' appeared to be, on that occasion. He
kept rolling his tarpaulin between his fingers, shifting his weight from
leg to leg, and otherwise betraying the confusion of one questioned by
his betters; for, in that day, a _negro_ was ready enough to allow he
had his betters, and did not feel he was injured in so doing. At the
present time, I am well aware that the word is proscribed even in the
State's Prisons; everybody being just as good as everybody else; though
some have the misfortune to be sentenced to hard labour, while others
are permitted to go at large. As a matter of course, the selections made
through the ballot-boxes, only go to prove that “one man is as good as
another.”
Our party did not separate until quite late. Suppers were eaten in 1802;
and I was invited to sit down with the rest of the family, and a gay
set we were. It was then the fashion to drink toasts; gentlemen giving
ladies, and ladies gentlemen. The usage was singular, but very general;
more especially in the better sort of houses. We men drank our wine,
as a matter of course; while the ladies sipped theirs, in that pretty
manner in which females moisten their lips, on such occasions. After a
time, Mrs. Bradfort, who was very particular in the observance of forms,
gaily called on Mr. Hardinge for his toast.
“My dear Mrs. Bradfort,” said the divine, good-humouredly, “if it were
not in your own house, and contrary to all rule to give a person who is
present, I certainly should drink to yourself. Bless me, bless me, whom
shall I give? I suppose I shall not be permitted to give our new Bishop,
Dr. Moore?”
The cry of “No Bishop!” was even more unanimous than it is at this
moment, among those who, having all their lives dissented from episcopal
authority, fancy it an evidence of an increasing influence to join in a
clamour made by their own voices; and this, moreover, on a subject that
not one in a hundred among them has given himself the trouble even to
skim. Our opposition--in which Mrs. Bradfort joined, by the way--was of
a very different nature, however; proceeding from a desire to learn what
lady Mr. Hardinge could possibly select, at such a moment. I never saw
the old gentleman so confused before. He laughed, tried to dodge the
appeal, fidgeted, and at last fairly blushed. All this proceeded, not
from any preference for any particular individual of the sex, but from
natural diffidence, the perfect simplicity and nature of his character,
which caused him to be abashed at even appearing to select a female
for a toast. It was a beautiful picture of masculine truth and purity!
Still, we would not be put off; and the old gentleman, composing his
countenance five or six times in vain efforts to reflect, then looking
as grave as if about to proceed to prayer, raised his glass, and said--
“Peggy Perott!”
A general laugh succeeded this announcement, Peggy Perott being an
old maid who went about tending the sick for hire, in the vicinity of
Clawbonny, and known to us all as the ugliest woman in the county.
“Why do you first insist on my giving a toast, and then laugh at it
when given?” cried Mr. Hardinge, half-amused, half-serious in his
expostulations. “Peggy is an excellent woman, and one of the most useful
I know.”
“I wonder, my dear sir, you did not think of adding a sentiment!” cried
I, a little pertly.
“And if I had, it would have been such a one as no woman need be ashamed
to hear attached to her name. But enough of this; I have given Peggy
Perott, and you are bound to drink her”--that we had done already; “and
now, cousin, as I have passed through the fiery furnace--”
“Unscathed?” demanded Lucy, laughing ready to kill herself.
“Yes, unscathed, miss: and now, cousin, I ask of you to honour us with a
toast.”
Mrs. Bradfort had been a widow many years, and was fortified with the
panoply of her state. Accustomed to such appeals, which, when she was
young and handsome, had been of much more frequent occurrence than of
late, she held her glass for the wine with perfect self-possession,
and gave her toast with the conscious dignity of one who had often been
solicited in vain “to change her condition.”
“I will give you,” she said, raising her person and her voice, as if to
invite scrutiny, “my dear old friend, good Dr. Wilson.”
It was incumbent on a single person to give another who was also single;
and the widow had been true to the usage; but “good Dr. Wilson” was a
half-superannuated clergyman, whom no one could suspect of inspiring
anything beyond friendship.
“Dear me--dear me!” cried Mr. Hardinge, earnestly; “how much more
thoughtful, Mrs. Bradfort, you are than myself! Had I thought a moment,
_I_ might have given the Doctor; for I studied with him, and honour him
vastly.”
This touch of simplicity produced another laugh--how easily we all
laughed that night!--and it caused a little more confusion in the
excellent divine. Mrs. Bradfort then called on me, as was her right;
but I begged that Rupert might precede me, he knowing more persons, and
being now a sort of man of the world.
“I will give the charming Miss Winthrop,” said Rupert, without a
moment's hesitation, tossing off his glass with an air that said, “how
do you like _that?_”
As Winthrop was a highly respectable name, it denoted the set in which
Rupert moved; and as for the young lady I dare say she merited his
eulogium, though I never happened to see her. It was something, however,
in 1802, for a youngster to dare to toast a Winthrop, or a Morris, or
a Livingston, or a de Lancey, or a Stuyvesant, or a Beekman, or a Van
Renssellaer, or a Schuyler, or a Rutherford, or a Bayard, or a Watts, or
a Van Cortlandt, or a Verplanck, or a Jones, or a Walton, or any of
that set. They, and twenty similar families, composed the remnant of
the colonial aristocracy, and still made head, within the limits of
Manhattan, against the inroads of the Van--something elses. Alas! alas!
how changed is all this, though I am obliged to believe it is all for
the best.
“Do _you_ know Miss Winthrop?” I asked of Grace, in a whisper.
“Not at all; I am not much in that set,” she answered, quietly. “Rupert
and Lucy have been noticed by many persons whom I do not know.”
This was the first intimation I got, that my sister did not possess all
the advantages in society that were enjoyed by her friend. As is always
the case where it is believed to be our _loss_, I felt indignant at
first; had it been the reverse, I dare say I should have fancied it all
very right. Consequences grew out of these distinctions which I could
not then foresee, but which will be related in their place. Rupert now
called on Grace for her toast, a lady commonly succeeding a gentleman.
My sister did not seem in the least disconcerted: but, after a moment's
hesitation, she said--
“Mr. Edward Marston.”
This was a strange name to me, but I afterwards ascertained it belonged
to a respectable young man who visited Mrs. Bradfort's, and who stood
very well with all his acquaintances. I looked at Rupert, to note the
effect; but Rupert was as calm as Grace herself had been, when he gave
Miss Winthrop.
“I believe I have no one to call upon but you, Miles,” said Grace,
smiling.
“Me! Why, you all know I am not acquainted with a soul. Our Ulster
county girls have almost all gone out of my recollection; besides, no
one would know them here, should I mention twenty.”
“You strangely forget, brother, that most of us are Ulster county folk.
Try if you can recall no young lady--”
“Oh! easily enough, for that matter; a young fellow can hardly have
lived nine months in the same cabin with Emily, and not think of her,
when hard pushed; I will give you, Miss Emily Merton.”
The toast was drunk, and I thought Mr. Hardinge looked thoughtful, like
one who had a guardian's cares, and that Grace was even grave. I did
not dare look at Lucy, though I could have toasted her all night, had it
been in rule to drink a person who was present. We began to chat again,
and I had answered some eight or ten questions, when Mrs. Bradfort, much
too precise to make any omissions, reminded us that we had not yet been
honoured with Miss Lucy Hardinge's toast. Lucy had enjoyed plenty
of time to reflect; and she bowed, paused a moment as if to summon
resolution, and then mentioned--
“Mr. Andrew Drewett.”
So, then, Lucy Hardinge toasted this Mr. Drewett--the very youth with
whom she had been in such animated discourse, when I first met the
party! Had I been more familiar with the world, I should have thought
nothing of a thing that was so common; or, did I understand human nature
better, I might have known that no sensitive and delicate woman would
betray a secret that was dear to her, under so idle a form. But I
was young, and ready myself to toast the girl I preferred before the
universe; and I could not make suitable allowances for difference of sex
and temperament. Lucy's toast made me very uncomfortable for the rest
of the evening; and I was not sorry when Rupert reminded me that it was
eleven, and that he would go with me to a tavern, in order to look for a
room.
The next morning was passed in transacting the business of the ship. I
found myself much noticed among the merchants and ship-masters; and one
of my owners took me on 'Change, that I might see and be seen. As the
papers had spoken of the recapture of the Crisis, on the arrival of the
Pretty Poll, and had now each an article on the arrival of the ship,
I had every reason to be satisfied with my reception. There are men so
strong in principle, as well as intellect, I do suppose, that they can
be content with the approbation of their own consciences, and who can
smile at the praises or censure of the world, alike; but I confess to
a strong sympathy with the commendation of my fellow-creatures, and as
strong a distaste for their disapprobation. I know this is not the way
to make a very great man; for he who cannot judge, feel and act for
himself, will always he in danger of making undue sacrifices to the
wishes of others; but you can have no more of a cat than the skin; and
I was sufficiently proud at finding myself a miniature hero, about the
lower end of Wall-street, and in the columns of the newspapers. As for
these last, no one can complain of their zeal in extolling everything
national. To believe them, the country never was wrong, or defeated, or
in a condition to be defeated, except when a political opponent could be
made to suffer by an opposite theory; and then nothing was ever
right. As to fame, I have since discovered they consider that of each
individual to be public property, in which each American has a part and
parcel--the editors, themselves, more than the man who has thrown
the article into the common lot. But I was young in 1802, and even a
paragraph in my praise in a newspaper had a certain charm for me, that I
will not deny. Then I _had_ done well, as even my enemies, if I had any
must have admitted.