“Ships are but boards, sailors but men: there be land-rats, and
water-rats, water-thieves, and land-thieves; I mean pirates; and
then, there is the peril of waters, winds and rocks: the man is,
notwithstanding, sufficient;--three thousand ducats;--I think I may
take his bond.”--_Shylock_.
I saw Grace, and Lucy, and Rupert, and good Mr. Hardinge, every day; but
I could not find time to call on the Mertons, until near the close of a
week. I then paid them a visit, and found them glad to see me, but not
at all in want of my attentions to make them comfortable. The Major had
exhibited his claims to the British consul, who happened to be a native
Manhattanese, and was well-connected, a circumstance that then gave
him an influence in society, that his commission alone would not have
conferred. Colonel Barclay, for so was this gentleman called, had taken
the Mertons by the hand, as a matter of course; and his example being
followed by others, I found that they were already in the best circle of
the place. Emily mentioned to me the names of several of those with whom
she had exchanged visits; and I knew at once, through Lucy's and Grace's
conversation, and from my own general knowledge of the traditions of the
colony and state, that they were among the leading people of the land,
socially if not politically; a class altogether above any with whom
I had myself ever associated. Now, I knew that the master of a
merchantman, whatever might be his standing with his owner, or
consignee, or the credit he had gained among his fellows, was not likely
to get admission into this set; and there was the comfortable prospect
before me, of having my own sister and the two other girls I admired
most and loved best in the world--next to Grace, of course--visiting
round in houses, of which the doors were shut against myself. This is
always unpleasant, but in my case it turned out to be more.
When I told Emily that Grace and Lucy were in town, and intended coming
to see her that very morning, I thought she manifested less curiosity
than would have been the case a month before.
“Is Miss Hardinge a relative of Mr. Rupert Hardinge, the gentleman
to whom I was introduced at dinner, yesterday,” she demanded, after
expressing the pleasure it would give her to see the ladies.
I knew that Rupert had dined out the day before, and, there being no one
else of the same name, I answered in the affirmative.
“He is the son of a respectable clergyman, and of very good connections,
I hear.”
“The Hardinges are so considered among us; both Rupert's father and
grandfather were clergymen, and his great-grandfather was a seaman--I
trust _you_ will think none the worse of him, for that.”
“A sailor! I had supposed, from what some of those present said--that
is, I did not know it.”
“Perhaps they told you that his great-grandfather was a _British
officer?_”
Emily coloured, and then she laughed faintly; admitting, however, that I
had guessed right.
“Well, all this was true,” I added, “though he was a sailor. Old Captain
Hardinge--or Commodore Hardinge, as he used to be called, for he once
commanded a squadron--was in the English navy.”
“Oh! that sort of a sailor!”--cried Emily, quickly--“I did not know that
it was usual to call gentlemen in the navy, seamen.”
“They would make a poor figure if they were not, Miss Merton--you might
as well say that a judge is no lawyer.”
This was enough, however, to satisfy me that Miss Merton no longer
considered the master of the Crisis the first man in the world.
A ring announced the arrival of the two girls. They were shown up, and
I soon had the satisfaction of seeing these three charming young women
together. Emily received her two guests very courteously, and was
frank--nay warm--in the expression of her gratitude for all that I had
done for herself and her father. She even went back so far as to speak
of the occurrence in the Park, at London, and was gracious enough to
declare that she and her parents owed their lives to my interference.
All this gave her listeners great pleasure, for I believe neither ever
tired of hearing my praises. After this opening, the conversation turned
on New York, its gaieties, and the different persons known to them
mutually. I saw that the two girls were struck with the set Miss Merton
was in, which was a shade superior even to that of Mrs. Bradfort's,
though the fusion which usually accompanies that sort of thing, brought
portions of each circle within the knowledge of the other. As the
persons named were utter strangers to me, I had nothing to say, and
sat listening in silence. The opportunity was improved by comparing the
girls with each other.
In delicacy of appearance, Grace and Lucy each had the advantage of the
English beauty. Their hands and feet were smaller, their waists finer,
and their _tournures_, generally, I thought the most pleasing. Emily
had the advantage in complexion, though her colour had less fineness and
delicacy. Perhaps her teeth were the most brilliant; though Grace and
Lucy, particularly the latter, had very fine teeth. The English girl's
shoulders and bust, generally, would have been more admired than those
of most American--particularly than most New York--girls; but it was not
possible to surpass those of Lucy. As a whole, Emily's countenance
had the most spirit, Lucy's the most finesse and feeling. I make
no comparison with the expression of Grace's countenance, which was
altogether too remarkable for its intellectual character, to be included
in anything like a national classification. I remember I thought, as
they sat there in a row conversing frankly and cheerfully together, Lucy
the handsomest, in her pretty neat morning-dress; while I had my doubts
whether Emily would not have extorted the most applause in a ball-room.
This distinction is mentioned, because I believe it national.
The visit lasted an hour; for I had expressed a wish to all parties that
they would become acquainted, and the girls seemed mutually pleased. As
they chatted, I listened to the tones of their voices, and fancied,
on the whole, that Emily had slightly the advantage in intonation and
accent; though it was scarcely perceptible, and it was an advantage that
was attended by a slight sacrifice of the charm of natural utterance.
She was a little more artificial in this respect than her companions,
and insomuch less pleasing though, had the comparison been made with the
Manhattan _style_ of the present day, the odds would have been immensely
in her favour. In 1802, however, some attention was still paid to the
utterance, tones of voice, and manner of speaking of young ladies. The
want of it all, just now, is the besetting vice of the whole of
our later instruction of the sex; it being almost as rare a thing
now-a-days, to find a young American girl who speaks her own language
gracefully, as it is to find one who is not of pleasing person.
When the young ladies parted, it was with an understanding that they
were soon to meet again. I shook hands with Emily, English fashion, and
took my leave at the same time.
“Well, Miles,” said Grace, as soon as we were in the street, “you have
certainly been of service to a very charming young woman--I like her,
excessively.”
“And you, Lucy--I hope you agree with Grace, in thinking my friend,
Emily Merton, a charming young woman.”
Lucy did not speak as frankly, or as decidedly as Grace, so far as
manner was concerned; though she coincided in words.
“I am of the same opinion,” she said, in a tone that was far less
cheerful than her usually very cheerful manner. “She is one of the
loveliest creatures I ever saw--and it is no wonder--”
“What is no wonder, dear?” asked Grace, observing that her friend
hesitated to proceed.
“Oh! I was about to say something silly, and had better not finish the
speech. But, what a finished manner Miss Merton possesses;--do you not
think so, Grace?”
“I wish she had a little less of it, dear; that is precisely what I
should find fault with in her deportment. It _is_ manner; and, though we
all must have some, it strikes me it ought not to be seen. I think all
the Europeans we saw in town, last winter, Lucy, had more or less of
this manner.”
“I dare say it would seem so to _us_; notwithstanding, it may be very
agreeable to those who are used to it--a thing to miss, when one gets
much accustomed to it.”
As Lucy made this remark, I detected a furtive and timid glance at
myself. I was mystified at the time, and was actually so silly as to
think the dear girl was talking at me, and to feel a little resentment.
I fancied she wished to say, “There, Master Miles, you have been in
London, and on a desert island in the South Seas--the very extremes
of human habits--and have got to be so sophisticated, so very
un-Clawbonnyish, as to feel the necessity of a _manner_, in the young
ladies with whom you associate.” The notion nettled me to a degree that
induced me to pretend duty, and to hurry down to the ship. Whom should
I meet, in Rector Street, but Mr. Hardinge, who had been across to the
Hudson in search of me.
“Come hither, Miles,” said the excellent old man, “I wish to converse
with you seriously.”
As Lucy was uppermost in my thoughts at the moment, I said to
myself--“What can the dear old gentleman have to say, now?”
“I hear from all quarters the best accounts of you, my dear boy,” Mr.
Hardinge continued, “and I am told you make a very superior seaman.
It is a feather in your cap, indeed, to have commanded an Indiaman a
twelve-month before you are of age. I have been conversing with my old
friend John Murray, of the house of John Murray and Sons, one of the
very best merchants in America, and he says 'push the boy ahead, when
you find the right stuff in him. Get him a ship of his own, and that
will put him on the true track. Teach him early to have an eye to his
own interests, and it will make a man of him, at once.' I have thought
the matter over, have had a vessel in my eye, for the last month, and
will purchase her at once, if you like the plan.”
“But, have I money enough for such a thing, my dear sir--after having
sailed in the John, and the Tigris, and the Crisis, I should not like to
take up with any of your B's, No. 2.”
“You have forgotten to mention the 'Pretty Poll,' Miles,” said the
divine, smiling. “Be under no fear, however, for your dignity; the
vessel I have in treaty, is all you could wish, they tell me, having
made but one voyage, and is sold on account of the death of her owner.
As for money, you will remember I have thirteen thousand dollars of your
income invested in stocks, and stocks that cost but ten. The peace has
brought everything up, and you are making money, right and left. How
have your own pay and private venture turned out?”
“Perfectly well, sir. I am near three thousand dollars in pocket, and
shall have no need to call on you, for my personal wants. Then I have
my prize-money to touch. Even Neb, wages and prize-money, brings me nine
hundred dollars. With your permission, sir, I should like to give the
fellow his freedom.”
“Wait till you are of age, Miles, and then you can do as you please. I
hold four thousand dollars of your invested money, which has been paid
in, and I have placed it in stocks. Altogether, I find we can muster,
in solid cash, more than twenty thousand dollars, while the price of the
ship, as she stands, almost ready for sea, is only fifteen. Now, go and
look at the vessel; if you like her, I will close the bargain at once.”
“But, my dear Mr. Hardinge, do you think yourself exactly qualified to
judge of the value of a ship?”
“Poh! poh! don't imagine I am so conceited as to purchase on my own
knowledge. I have taken some of the very best advice of the city.
There is John Murray, to begin with--a great ship-holder, himself--and
Archibald Gracie, and William Bayard--all capital judges, have taken an
interest in the affair. Three others of my friends have walked round to
look at the vessel, and all approve--not a dissenting voice.”
“May I ask, sir, who have seen her, besides the gentlemen you have
named? they, I admit, are, indeed, good judges.”
“Why?--why--yes--do you happen to know anything of Dr. Benjamin Moore,
now, Miles?”
“Never heard of him, sir, in my life; but a physician can be no great
judge of a ship.”
“No more of a physician than yourself, boy--Dr. Benjamin Moore, the
gentleman we elected Bishop, while you were absent--”
“Oh! he you wished to toast, instead of Miss Peggy Perott--” cried I,
smiling. “Well, what does the Bishop think of her--if he approve, she
_must_ be orthodox.”
“He says she is the handsomest vessel he ever laid eyes on, Miles; and
let me tell you, the favourable opinion of so good a man as Dr. Moore,
is of value, even though it be about a ship.”
I could not avoid laughing, and I dare say most of the readers will
also, at this touch of simplicity; and yet, why should not a Bishop know
as much of ships, as a set of ignoramuses who never read a theological
book in their lives, some of them not even the Bible, should know about
Bishops? The circumstance was not a tittle more absurd than many that
are occurring daily before our eyes, and to which, purely from habit, we
submit, very much as a matter of course.
“Well, sir,” I replied, as soon as I could, “I will look at the ship,
get her character, and give you an answer at once. I like the idea, for
it is pleasant to be one's own master.”
In that day, $15,000 would buy a very excellent ship, as ships went.
The vessel I was taken to see, was coppered and copper-fastened,
butt-bolted, and she measured just five hundred tons. She had a great
reputation as a sailer, and what was thought a good deal of in 1802,
was Philadelphia built. She had been one voyage to China, and was little
more than a year old, or the best possible age for a vessel. Her name
was the “Dawn,” and she carried an “Aurora” for her figure-head. Whether
she were, or were not inclined to Puseyism, I never could ascertain,
although I can affirm she had the services of the Protestant Episcopal
Catholic Church read on board her afterwards, on more than one occasion.
The result of my examination and inquiries was favourable, and, by the
end of the week, the Dawn was purchased. The owners of the Crisis were
pleased to express their regrets, for they had intended that I should
continue in the command of their vessel, but no one could object to
a man's wishing to sail in his own employment. I made this important
acquisition, at what was probably the most auspicious moment of American
navigation. It is a proof of this, that, the very day I was put in
possession of the ship, good freights were offered to no less than four
different parts of the world. I had my choice between Holland, France,
England, and China. After consulting with my guardian, I accepted that
to France, which not only paid the best, but I was desirous of seeing
more of the world than had yet fallen to my share. I could make a voyage
to Bordeaux and back in five months, and by the end of that time I
should be of age, and consequently my own master. As I intended to have
great doings at Clawbonny on that occasion, I thought it might be well
not to go too far from home. Accordingly, after shipping Talcott and the
Philadelphian, whose name was Walton, for my mates, we began to take in
cargo, as soon as possible.
In the meantime, I bethought me of a visit to the paternal home. It was
a season of the year, when most people, who were anybodies, left town,
and the villas along the shores of the Hudson had long been occupied.
Mr. Hardinge, too, pined for the country and his flock. The girls had
had enough of town, which was getting to be very dull, and everybody,
Rupert excepted, seemed anxious to go up the river. I had invited the
Mertons to pass part of the summer at the farm, moreover, and it was
time the invitation should be renewed, for the Major's physicians had
advised him to choose some cooler residence than the streets of a hot
close town could furnish, during the summer months. Emily had been
so much engrossed with the set into which she had fallen, since her
landing, and which it was easy for me to see was altogether superior
to that in which she had lived at home, that I was surprised at the
readiness with which she urged her father to redeem his promise.
“Mr. Hardinge tells me, sir, that Clawbonny is really a pretty spot,”
she said, “and the country around it is thought to be very healthy. You
cannot get answers from home (she meant England) for several months, and
I know Captain Wallingford will be happy to receive us. Besides, we are
pledged to accept this additional favour from him.”
I thought Major Merton felt some of my own surprise at Emily's
earnestness and manner, but his resistance was very feeble. The old
gentleman's health, indeed, was pretty thoroughly undermined, and I
began to have serious doubts of his living even to return to Europe. He
had some relatives in Boston, and had opened a correspondence with them,
and I had thought, more than once, of the expediency of apprising them
of his situation. At present however nothing better could be done than
to get him into the country.
Having made all the arrangements with the others, I went to persuade
Rupert to be of the party, for I thought it would make both Grace and
Lucy so much the happier.
“Miles, my dear fellow,” said the young student, gaping, “Clawbonny is
certainly a capitalish place, but, you will admit it is somewhat stupid
after New York. My good kinswoman, Mrs. Bradfort, has taken such a fancy
to us all, and has made me so comfortable--would you believe it, boy,
she has actually given me six hundred a year, for the last two years,
besides making Lucy presents fit for a queen. A sterling woman is she,
this cousin Margaret of ours!”
I heard this, truly, not without surprise; for, in settling with my
owners, I found Rupert had drawn every cent to which he was entitled,
under the orders I had left when I last went to sea.
As Mrs. Bradfort was more than at her ease, however, had no nearer
relative than Mr. Hardinge, and was much attached to the family, I had
no difficulty in believing it true, so far as the lady's liberality was
concerned. I heartily wished Rupert had possessed more self-respect; but
he was, as he was!
“I am sorry you cannot go with us,” I answered, “for I counted on you to
help amuse the Mertons--”
“The Mertons!--Why, surely, they are not going to pass the summer at
Clawbonny!”
“They quit town with us, to-morrow. Why should not the Mertons pass the
summer at Clawbonny?”
“Why, Miles, my dear boy, you know how it is with the world--how it is
with these English, in particular. They think everything of rank, you
know, and are devotees of style and appearance, and all that sort of
thing, you know, as no one understands better than myself; for I pass
most of my time in the English set, you know.”
I did not _then_ understand what had come over Rupert, though it is all
plain enough to me, _now_. He had, truly enough, got into what was then
called the English set. Now, there is no question, that, so far as the
natives, themselves, were concerned, this was as good a set as ever
existed in his country; and, it is also beyond all cavil, that many
respectable English persons, of both sexes, were occasionally found in
it; but, it had this great defect:--_every_ Englishman who wore a
good coat, and had any of the slang of society, made his way into the
outskirts, at least, of this set; and Rupert, whose own position was not
yet thoroughly confirmed, had fallen a great deal into the association
of these accidental comers and goers. They talked large, drank deep, and
had a lofty disdain for everything in the country, though it was very
certain they were just then in much better company where they were,
than they had ever been at home. Like most tyroes, Rupert fancied these
blustering gentry persons to imitate; and, as they seldom conversed
ten minutes without having something to say of my Lord A----or Sir John
B----, persons they had _read_ of, or seen in the streets, he was weak
enough to imagine they knew all about the dignitaries of the British
Empire. As Rupert was really a gentleman, and had good manners
naturally, it was a grievous thing to see him fashioning himself anew,
as it might be, on such very questionable models,
“Clawbonny is not a stylish place, I am ready to allow,” I answered,
after a moment of hesitation; “still it is respectable. There is a good
farm, a valuable mill, and a good, old, comfortable, straggling, stone
house.”
“Very true, Miles, my dear fellow, and all as dear to me, you know, as
the apple of my eye--but _farmish_--young ladies like the good
things that comes from farms, but do not admire the homeliness of the
residence. I speak of young English ladies, in particular. Now, you
see, Major Merton is a field-officer, and that is having good rank in a
respectable profession, you know--I suppose you understand, Miles, that
the king puts most of his sons into the army, or navy--all this makes a
difference, you understand?”
“I understand nothing about it; what is it to me where the king of
England puts his sons?”
“I wish, my dear Miles, if the truth must be said, that you and I had
been a little less boyish, when we were boys, than happened to be the
case. It would have been all the better for us both.”
“Well, I wish no such thing. A boy should be a boy, and a man a man. I
am content to have been a boy, while I was a boy. It is a fault in this
country, that boys fancy themselves men too soon.”
“Ah! my dear fellow, you _will_ not, or _do_ not understand me. What I
mean is, that we were both precipitate in the choice of a profession--I
retired in time, but you persevere; that is all.”
“You did retire in season, my lad, if truth is what you are after; for,
had you staid a hundred years on board ship, you never would have made a
sailor.”
When I said this, I fancied I had uttered a pretty severe thing. Rupert
took it so coolly, however, as to satisfy me at once, that he thought
differently on the subject.
“Clearly, it is not my vocation. Nature intended me for something
better, I trust, and I mistook a boyish inclination for a taste. A
little experience taught me better, and I am now where I feel I ought to
be. I wish, Miles, you had come to the study of the law, at the time you
went to sea. You would have been, by this time, at the bar, and would
have had a definite position in society.”
“I am very glad I did not. What the deuce should I have done as a
lawyer--or what advantage would it have been to me, to be admitted to
the bar?”
“Advantage!--Why, my dear fellow, every advantage in the world. You know
how it is, in this country, I suppose, in the way of society, my dear
Miles?”
“Not I--and, by the little I glean from the manner you sheer about in
your discourse, I wish to know nothing. Do young men study law merely to
be genteel?”
“Do not despise knowledge, my boy; it is of use, even in trifles. Now,
in this country, you know, we have very few men of mere leisure--heirs
of estates, to live on their incomes, as is done in Europe; but,
nine-tenths of us must follow professions, of which there are only
half-a-dozen suitable for a gentleman. The army and navy are nothing,
you know; two or three regiments scattered about in the woods, and
half-a-dozen vessels. After these, there remain the three learned
professions, divinity, law and physic. In our family, divinity has run
out, I fear. As for physic, 'throw physic to the dogs,' as Miss Merton
says--”
“Who?” I exclaimed, in surprise. “'Throw physic to the dogs'--why that
is Shakspeare, man!”
“I know it, and it is Miss Emily Merlon's, too. You have made us
acquainted with a charming creature, at least, Miles, by this going to
sea. Her notions on such subjects are as accurate as a sun-dial.”
“And, has Miss Emily Merton ever conversed with you, on the subject of
_my_ profession, Rupert?”
“Indeed, she has; and regretted it, again and again. You know as well
as I do, Miles, to be a sailor, other than in a navy, is not a _genteel_
profession!”
I broke out into a fit of laughter, at this remark. It struck me as
infinitely droll, and as somewhat silly. I knew my precise position
in society, perfectly; had none of the silly swaggering about personal
merit, and of “one man's being as good as another,” that has since got
into such general use among us; and understood perfectly the useful
and unavoidable classifications that take place in all civilized
communities, and which, while they are attended by certain disadvantages
as exceptions, produce great benefits as a whole, and was not disposed
at all to exaggerate my claims, or to deny my deficiencies. But, the
idea of attaching any considerations of _gentility_ to my noble, manly,
daring profession, sounded so absurd, I could not avoid laughing. In a
few moments, however, I became grave.
“Harkee, Rupert,” said I: “I trust Miss Merton does not think I
endeavoured to mislead her as to my true position, or to make her think
I was a greater personage than I truly am?”
“I'll not answer for that. When we were first acquainted, I found she
had certain notions about Clawbonny, and your _estate_, and all that,
which were rather English, you know. Now, in England an _estate_ gives a
man a certain consideration, whereas land is so plenty with us, that we
think nothing of the man who happens to own a little of it. _Stock_,
in America, as it is so much nearer ready-money, is a better thing than
land, you know.”
How true was this, even ten years since; how false is it to-day!
The proprietor of tens of thousands of acres, was, indeed, under the
paper-money _regime_, a less important man than the owner of a handful
of scrip, which has had all its value squeezed out of it, little by
little. That was truly the age when the representative of property was
of far more importance than the property itself; and all because the
country existed in a fever, that set everything in motion. We shall see
just such times, again, I fear.
“But what had Emily Merton to do with all this?”
“Miss Merton? Oh! she is English, you know, and felt as English persons
always do, at the sound of acres. I set it all right, however, and you
need be under no concern.”
“The devil you did! And, pray, in what manner was this done? _How_ was
the matter set right?”
Rupert took the segar from his mouth, suffered the smoke to issue, by
a small, deliberate jet, cocking his nose up at the same time as if
observing the stars, and then deigned to give me an answer. Your smokers
have such a disdainful, ultra-philosophical manner, sometimes!
“Why, just in this way, my fine fellow. I told her Clawbonny was a
_farm_, and not an _estate_, you know; that did a good deal, of itself.
Then, I entered into an explanation of the consideration of farmers
in this country, you know, and made it all as plain as A B C. She is a
quick girl, is Emily, and takes a thing remarkably soon.”
“Did Miss Merton say anything to induce you to suppose she thought the
less of me, for these explanations.”
“Of course not--she values you, amazingly--quite worships you, _as a
sailor_--thinks you a sort of merchant-captain Nelson, or Blake, or
Truxtun, and all that sort of thing. All young ladies, however, are
exceedingly particular about professions, I suppose you know, Miles, as
well as I do myself.”
“What, Lucy, Rupert?--Do you imagine Lucy cares a straw about my not
being a lawyer, for instance?”
“Do I?--out of all question. Don't you remember how the girls
wept--Grace as well as Lucy--when we went to sea, boy. It was all on
account of the _un_gentility of the profession, if a fellow can use such
a word.”
I did not believe this, for I knew Grace better, to say the least; and
thought I understood Lucy sufficiently, at that time, to know she wept
because she was sorry to see me go away. Still, Lucy had grown from a
very young girl, since I sailed in the Crisis, into a young woman, and
might view things differently, now, from what she had done three years
before. I had not time, however, for further discussion at that moment,
and I cut the matter short.
“Well, Rupert, what am I to expect?” I asked; “Clawbonny, or no
Clawbonny?”
“Why, now you say the Mertons are to be of the party I suppose I shall
have to go; it would be inhospitable else. I do wish, Miles, you would
manage to establish visiting relations with some of the families on the
other side of the river. There are plenty of respectable people within a
few hours' sail of Clawbonny.”
“My father, and my grandfather, and my great-grand-father, managed, as
you call it, to get along, for the last hundred years, well enough on
the west side; and, although we are not quite as genteel as the _east_,
we will do well enough. The Wallingford sails early in the morning, to
save the tide; and I hope your lordship will turn out in season, and not
keep us waiting. If you do, I shall be _ungenteel_ enough to leave you
behind.”
I left Rupert with a feeling in which disgust and anger were blended.
I wish to be understood, more particularly as I know I am writing for a
stiff-necked generation. I never was guilty of the weakness of decrying
a thing because I did not happen to possess it myself. I knew my own
place in the social scale perfectly; nor was I, as I have just said, in
the least inclined to fancy that one man was as good as another. I knew
very well that this was not true, either in nature or in the social
relations; in political axioms, any more than in political truths. At
the same time, I did not believe nature had created men unequal, in the
order of primogeniture from male to male. Keeping in view all the facts,
I was perfectly disposed to admit that habits, education, association,
and sometimes chance and caprice, drew distinctions that produced great
benefits, as a whole; in some small degree qualified, perhaps, by cases
of individual injustice. This last exception, however, being applicable
to all things human, it had no influence on my opinions, which were
sound and healthful on all these points; practical, common-sense-like,
and in conformity with the decisions of the world from the time of Moses
down to our own, or, I dare say, of Adam himself, if the truth could be
known; and, as I have said more than once in these rambling memoir's,
I was not disposed to take a false view of my own social position. I
belonged, at most, to the class of small proprietors, as they existed in
the last century, and filled a very useful and respectable niche between
the yeoman and gentleman, considering the last strictly in reference to
the upper class of that day. Now, it struck me that Emily Merton, with
her English notions, might very well draw the distinctions Rupert had
mentioned; nor am I conscious of having cared much about it, though she
did. If I were a less important person on _terra firma_, with all the
usages and notions of ordinary society producing their influence, than I
had been when in command of the Crisis, in the centre of the Pacific, so
was Miss Merton a less important young lady, in the midst of the beauty
of New York, than she had been in the isolation of Marble Land. This I
could feel very distinctly. But Lucy's supposed defection did more than
annoy me. I felt humbled, mortified, grieved. I had always known that
Lucy was better connected than I was myself, and I had ever given Rupert
and her the benefit of this advantage, as some offset to my own and
Grace's larger means; but it had never struck me that either the brother
or sister would be disposed to look down upon us in consequence. The
world is everywhere--and America, on account of its social vicissitudes,
more than most other countries--constantly exhibiting pictures of the
struggles between fallen consequence and rising wealth. The last may,
and does have the best of it, in the mere physical part of the strife;
but in the more moral, if such a word can be used, the quiet ascendency
of better manners and ancient recollections is very apt to overshadow
the fussy pretensions of the vulgar aspirant, who places his claims
altogether on the all-mighty dollar. It is vain to deny it; men ever
have done it, and probably ever will defer to the past, in matters of
this sort--it being much with us, in this particular, as it is with our
own lives, which have had all their greatest enjoyments in bygone
days. I knew all this--felt all this--and was greatly afraid that Lucy,
through Mrs. Bradfort's influence, and her town associations, might have
learned to regard me as Captain Wallingford, of the merchant-service,
and the son of another Captain Wallingford of the same line in life. I
determined, therefore, to watch her with jealous attention, during the
few days I was to remain at Clawbonny. With such generous intentions,
the reader is not to be surprised if I found some of that for which I so
earnestly sought--people being very apt to find precisely the thing for
which they look, when it is not lost money.
The next morning we were all punctual, and sailed at the proper hour.
The Mertons seemed pleased with the river, and, having a fresh southerly
wind in our favour, with a strong flood-tide, we actually landed at
the mill the same afternoon. Everything is apt to be agreeable when the
traveller gets on famously; and I thought I never saw Emily in better
spirits than she was when we first reached the top of the ascent that
lies above the landing. I had given her my arm, as due to hospitality,
while the others got up as they could; for I observed that Rupert
assisted no one. As for Lucy, I was still too much vexed with her, and
had been so all day, to be as civil as I ought. We were soon at a point
that commanded a view of the house, meadows, orchards and fields.
“This, then, is Clawbonny!” exclaimed Emily, as soon as I pointed
out the place to her. “Upon my word, a very pretty farm, Captain
Wallingford. Even prettier than you represented it to be, Mr. Rupert
Hardinge.”
“Oh! I always do justice to everything of Wallingford's, you know. We
were children together, and became so much attached in early life, that
it's no wonder we remain so in these our later days.”
Rupert was probably nearer the truth than he imagined, when he made this
speech; my regard for him, by this time, being pretty much reduced
to habit; and certainly it had no increase from any fresh supplies of
respect. I began to hope he might not marry Grace, though I had formerly
looked forward to the connection as a settled thing. “Let him get Miss
Merton, if he can,” I said to myself: “it will be no great acquisition,
I fancy, to either side.”
How different was it with his father, and, I may add, with Lucy! The old
gentleman turned to me, with tears in his eyes; pointed to the dear old
house, with a look of delight; and then took my arm, without reference
to the wants of Miss Merton, and led me on, conversing earnestly of my
affairs, and of his own stewardship. Lucy had her father's arm, on the
other side; and the good divine was too much accustomed to her, to mind
the presence of his daughter. Away we three went, therefore, leading the
way, while Rupert took charge of Emily and Grace. Major Merton followed,
leaning on his own man.
“It is a lovely--it is a lovely spot, Miles,” said Mr. Hardinge; “and
I do most sincerely hope you will never think of tearing down that
respectable-looking, comfortable, substantial, good old-fashioned house,
to build a new one.”
“Why should I, dear sir? The house, with an occasional addition, all
built in the same style, has served us a century, and may very well
serve another. Why should I wish for more, or a better house?”
“Why, sure enough? But, now you are a sort of a merchant, you may grow
rich, and wish to be the proprietor of a _seat_.”
The time had been, when such thoughts often crossed my mind; but I
cared less for them, then. To own a _seat_, was the great object of
my ambition in boyhood; but the thought had weakened by time and
reflection.
“What does Lucy think of the matter? Do I want, or indeed deserve, a
better house?”
“I shall not answer either question,” replied the dear girl, a little
saucily, I thought. “I do not understand your wants, and do not choose
to speak of your deservings. But I fancy the question will be settled
by a certain Mrs. Wallingford, one of these days. Clever women generally
determine these things for their husbands.”
I endeavoured to catch Lucy's eye, when this was said, by leaning a
little forward myself; but the girl turned her head in such a manner as
prevented my seeing her face. The remark was not lost on Mr. Hardinge,
however, who took it up with warmth, and all the interest of a most pure
and disinterested affection.
“I suppose you _will_ think of marrying one of these days, Miles,” he
said; “but, on no account, marry a woman who will desert Clawbonny, or
who would wish materially to alter it. No good-hearted woman, indeed--no
_true_-hearted woman--would ever dream of either. Dear me! dear me! the
happy days and the sorrowful days--the gracious mercies of Providence,
and the chastening afflictions--that I myself have seen, and felt, and
witnessed, under these same roofs!”
This was followed by a sort of enumeration of the events of the last
forty years, including passages in the lives of all who had dwelt at the
farm; the whole concluding with the divine's solemnly repeating--“No,
no! Miles; do not think, even, of marrying a woman who would wish you to
desert, or materially alter, Clawbonny.”