"And she hath smiles to earth unknown--
Smiles, that with motion of their own
Do spread, and sink, and rise:
That come and go with endless play
And ever, as they pass away,
Are hidden in her eyes."--WORDSWORTH.
I was early in costume the following morning. I question if my own
mother could have known me, had she lived long enough to see the
whiskers sprout on my cheeks, and to contemplate my countenance as a
man. I went into Dunning's library, drew the little hurdy-gurdy from its
hiding-place, slung it, and began to play "St. Patrick's Day in the
Morning," with spirit, and, I trust I may add, with execution. I was in
the height of the air, when the door opened, and Barney thrust his
high-cheeked-bone face into the room, his mouth as wide open as that of
a frozen porker.
"Where the divil did ye come from!" demanded the new footman, with the
muscles of that vast aperture of his working from grin to grim, and grim
to grin again. "Yee's wilcome to the tchune; but how comes ye here?"
"I coomes vrom Halle, in Preussen. Vat isht your vaterland?"
"Bee yees a Jew?"
"Nein--I isht a goot Christian. Vilt you haf Yankee Tootle?"
"Yankee T'under! Ye'll wake up the masther, and he'll be displaise'd,
else ye might work on that tchune till the end of time. That I should
hear it here, in my own liberary, and ould Ireland t'ree thousand
laigues away!"
A laugh from Dunning interrupted the dialogue, when Barney vanished, no
doubt anticipating some species of American punishment for a presumed
delinquency. Whether the blundering, well-meaning, honest fellow really
ascertained who we were that breakfasted with his master, I do not know;
but we got the meal and left the house without seeing his face again,
Dunning having a young yellow fellow to do the service of the table.
I need scarcely say that I felt a little awkward at finding myself in
the streets of New York in such a guise; but the gravity and
self-possession of my uncle were a constant source of amusement to me.
He actually sold a watch on the wharf before the boat left it, though I
imputed his success to the circumstance that his price was what a
brother dealer, who happened to be trading in the same neighborhood,
pronounced "onconscionably low." We took a comfortable state-room
between us, under the pretence of locking up our property, and strolled
about the boat, gaping and looking curious, as became our class.
"Here are at least a dozen people that I know," said my uncle, as we
were lounging around--loafing around is the modern Doric--about the time
that the boat was paddling past Fort Washington; "I have reconnoitred in
all quarters, and find quite a dozen. I have been conversing with an old
school-fellow, and one with whom I have ever lived in tolerable
intimacy, for the last ten minutes, and find my broken English and
disguise are perfect. I am confident my dear mother herself would not
recognize me."
"We can then amuse ourselves with my grandmother and the young ladies,"
I answered, "when we reach the Nest. For my part, it strikes me that we
had better keep our own secret to the last moment."
"Hush! As I live, there is Seneca Newcome this moment! He is coming this
way, and we must be Germans again."
Sure enough, there was 'Squire Seneky, as the honest farmers around the
Nest call him; though many of them must change their practices, or it
will shortly become so absurd to apply the term "honest" to them, that
no one will have the hardihood to use it. Newcome came slowly toward the
forecastle, on which we were standing; and my uncle determined to get
into conversation with him, as a means of further proving the virtue of
our disguises, as well as possibly of opening the way to some
communications that might facilitate our visit to the Nest. With this
view, the pretended pedler drew a watch from his pocket, and offering it
meekly to the inspection of the quasi lawyer, he said--
"Puy a vatch, shentlemans?"
"Hey! what? Oh a watch," returned Seneca, in that high, condescending,
vulgar key, with which the salt of the earth usually affect to treat
those they evidently think much beneath them in intellect, station, or
some other great essential, at the very moment they are bursting with
envy, and denouncing as aristocrats all who are above them. "Hey! a
watch is it? What countryman are you, friend?"
"A Charmans--ein Teutscher."
"A German--ine Tycher is the place you come from, I s'pose?"
"Nein--ein Teutscher isht a Charman."
"Oh, yes! I understand. How long have you been in Ameriky?"
"Twelf moont's."
"Why, that's most long enough to make you citizens. Where do you live?"
"Nowhere; I lifs jest asht it happens--soometimes here, ant soometimes
dere."
"Ay, ay! I understand--no legal domicile, but lead a wandering life.
Have you many of these watches for sale?"
"Yees--I haf asht many as twenty. Dey are as sheep as dirt, and go like
pig clocks."
"And what may be your price for this?"
"Dat you can haf for only eight tollars. Effery poty wilt say it is
golt, dat doesn't know petter."
"Oh! it isn't gold then--I swan!"--what this oath meant I never exactly
knew, though I suppose it to be a Puritan mode of saying "I swear!" the
attempts to cheat the devil in this way being very common among their
pious descendants, though even "Smith Thompson" himself can do no man
any good in such a case of conscience--"I swan! you come plaguy near
taking even me in! Will you come down from that price any?"
"If you wilt gif me some atfice, perhaps I may. You look like a goot
shentlemans, and one dat woultn't sheat a poor Charmans; ant effery poty
wants so much to sheat de poor Charmans, dat I will take six, if you
will drow in some atfice."
"Advice? You have come to the right man for that? Walk a little this
way, where we shall be alone. What is the natur' of the matter--action
on the case, or a tort?"
"Nein, nein! it isht not law dat I wants, put atfice."
"Well, but advice leads to law, ninety-nine times in a hundred."
"Ya, ya," answered the pedler, laughing; "dat may be so; put it isht not
vat I vants--I vants to know vere a Charman can trafel wit' his goots in
de country, and not in de pig towns."
"I understand you--six dollars, hey! That sounds high for such a looking
watch"--he had just before mistaken it for gold--"but I'm always the
poor man's friend, and despise aristocracy"--what Seneca hated with the
strongest hate he ever fancied he _despised_ the most, and by
aristocracy he merely understood gentlemen and ladies, in the true
signification of the words--"why, I'm always ready to help along the
honest citizen. If you could make up your mind, now, to part with this
one watch for nawthin', I think I could tell you a part of the country
where you might sell the other nineteen in a week."
"Goot!" exclaimed my uncle, cheerfully. "Take him--he ist your broberty,
and wilcome. Only show me de town where I canst sell de nineteen
udders."
Had my uncle Ro been a true son of peddling, he would have charged a
dollar extra on each of the nineteen, and made eleven dollars by his
present liberality.
"It is no town at all--only a township," returned the liberal Seneca.
"Did you expect it would be a city?"
"Vat cares I? I woult radder sell my vatches to goot, honest country
men, dan asht to de best burghers in de land."
"You're my man! The right spirit is in you. I hope you're no patroon--no
aristocrat?"
"I don't know vat isht badroon, or vat isht arishtocrat."
"No! You are a happy man in your ignorance. A patroon is a nobleman who
owns another man's land; and an aristocrat is a body that thinks himself
better than his neighbors, friend."
"Well, den, I isht no badroon, for I don't own no land at all, not even
mine own; and I ishn't petter asht no poty at all."
"Yes, you be; you've only to think so, and you'll be the greatest
gentleman of 'em all."
"Well, den, I will dry and dink so, and pe petter asht de greatest
shentlemans of dem all. But dat won't do, nudder, as dat vilt make me
petter dan you; for you are one of de greatest of dem all, shentlemans."
"Oh! as for me, let me alone. I scorn being on their level. I go for
'down with the rents!' and so'll you, too, afore you've been a week in
our part of the country."
"Vat isht de rent dat you vants to git down?"
"It's a thing that's opposed to the spirit of the institutions, as you
can see by my feelin's at this very moment. But no matter? I'll keep the
watch, if you say so, and show you the way into that part of the
country, as your pay."
"Agreed, shentlemans. Vat I vants is atfice, and vat you vants is a
watch."
Here uncle Ro laughed so much like himself, when he ought clearly to
have laughed in broken English, that I was very much afraid he might
give the alarm to our companion; but he did not. From that time the best
relation existed between us and Seneca, who, in the course of the day,
recognized us by sundry smiles and winks, though I could plainly see he
did not like the anti-aristocratic principle sufficiently to wish to
seem too intimate with us. Before we reached the islands, however, he
gave us directions where to meet him in the morning, and we parted, when
the boat stopped alongside of the pier at Albany that afternoon, the
best friends in the world.
"Albany! dear, good old Albany!" exclaimed my uncle Ro, as we stopped on
the draw of the bridge to look at the busy scene in the basin, where
literally hundreds of canal-boats were either lying to discharge or to
load, or were coming and going, to say nothing of other craft: "dear,
good old Albany! you are a town to which I ever return with pleasure,
for you at least never disappoint me. A first-rate country-place you
are; and, though I miss your quaint old Dutch church, and your
rustic-looking old _English_ church from the centre of your principal
street, almost every change _you_ make is respectable. I know nothing
that tells so much against you as changing the name of Market Street by
the paltry imitation of Broadway; but, considering that a horde of
Yankees have come down upon you since the commencement of the present
century, you are lucky that the street was not called the Appian Way.
But, excellent old Albany! whom even the corruptions of politics cannot
change in the core, lying against the hill-side, and surrounded with thy
picturesque scenery, there is an air of respectability about thee that I
admire, and a quiet prosperity that I love. Yet, how changed since my
boyhood! Thy simple stoops have all vanished; thy gables are
disappearing; marble and granite are rising in thy streets, too, but
they take honest shapes, and are free from the ambition of mounting on
stilts; thy basin has changed the whole character of thy once
semi-sylvan, semi-commercial river; but it gives to thy young manhood an
appearance of abundance and thrift that promise well for thy age!"
The reader may depend on it that I laughed heartily at this rhapsody;
for I could hardly enter into my uncle's feelings. Albany is certainly a
very good sort of a place, and relatively a more respectable-looking
town than the "_commercial_ emporium," which, after all, externally, is
a mere huge expansion of a very marked mediocrity, with the pretension
of a capital in its estimate of itself. But Albany lays no claim to be
anything more than a provincial town, and in that class it is highly
placed. By the way, there is nothing in which "_our_ people," to speak
idiomatically, more deceive themselves, than in their estimate of what
composes a capital. It would be ridiculous to suppose that the
representatives of such a government as this could impart to any place
the tone, opinions, habits and manners of a capital, for, if they did,
they would impart it on the novel principle of communicating that which
they do not possess in their own persons. Congress itself, though
tolerably free from most shackles, including those of the Constitution,
is not up to that. In my opinion, a man accustomed to the world might be
placed blindfolded in the most finished quarter of New York, and the
place has new quarters in which the incongruities I have already
mentioned do not exist, and, my life on it, he could pronounce, as soon
as the bandage was removed, that he was not in a town were the tone of a
capital exists. The last thing to make a capital is trade. Indeed, the
man who hears the words "business" and "the merchants" ringing in his
ears, may safely conclude, _de facto_, that he is not in a capital. Now
a New York village is often much less rustic than the villages of the
most advanced country of Europe; but a New York town is many degrees
below any capital of a large state in the old world.
Will New York ever be a capital? Yes--out of all question, yes. But the
day will not come until after the sudden changes of condition which
immediately and so naturally succeeded the Revolution, have ceased to
influence ordinary society, and those above again impart to those below
more than they receive. This restoration to the natural state of things
must take place as soon as society gets settled; and there will be
nothing to prevent a town living under our own institutions--spirit,
_tendencies_ and all--from obtaining the highest tone that ever yet
prevailed in a capital. The folly is in anticipating the natural course
of events. Nothing will more hasten these events, however, than a
literature that is controlled, not by the lower, but by the higher
opinion of the country; which literature is yet, in a great degree, to
be created.
I had dispensed with the monkey, after trying to get along with the
creature for an hour or two, and went around only with my music. I would
rather manage an army of anti-renters than one monkey. With the
hurdy-gurdy slung around my neck, therefore, I followed my uncle, who
actually sold another watch before we reached a tavern. Of course we did
not presume to go to Congress Hall, or the Eagle, for we knew we should
not be admitted. This was the toughest part of our adventures. I am of
opinion my uncle made a mistake; for he ventured to a second-class
house, under the impression that one of the sort usually frequented by
men of our supposed stamp might prove too coarse for us altogether. I
think we should have been better satisfied with the coarse fare of a
coarse tavern, than with the shabby-genteel of the house we blundered
into. In the former, everything would have reminded us, in a way we
expected to be reminded, that we were out of the common track; and we
might have been amused with the change, though it is one singularly hard
to be endured. I remember to have heard a young man, accustomed from
childhood to the better habits of the country, but who went to sea, a
lad before the mast, declare that the coarseness of his shipmates--and
there is no vulgarity about a true sailor, even when coarsest--gave him
more trouble to overcome, than all the gales, physical sufferings,
labor, exposures and dangers, put together. I must confess, I have found
it so, too, in my little experience. While acting as a strolling
musician, I could get along with anything better than the coarse habits
which I encountered at the table. Your silver-forkisms, and your purely
conventional customs, as a matter of course, no man of the world
attaches any serious importance to; but there are conventionalities that
belong to the fundamental principles of civilized society, which become
second nature, and with which it gets to be hard, indeed, to dispense. I
shall say as little as possible of the disagreeables of my new trade,
therefore, but stick to the essentials.
The morning of the day which succeeded that of our arrival at Albany, my
uncle Ro and I took our seats in the train, intending to go to Saratoga,
_via_ Troy. I wonder the Trojan who first thought of playing this
travestie on Homer, did not think of calling the place Troyville, or
Troyborough! That would have been semi-American, at least, whereas the
present appellation is so purely classical! It is impossible to walk
through the streets of this neat and flourishing town, which already
counts its twenty thousand souls, and not have the images of Achilles
and Hector, and Priam, and Hecuba, pressing on the imagination a little
Uncomfortably. Had the place been called Try, the name would have been a
sensible one; for it is trying all it can to get the better of Albany;
and, much as I love the latter venerable old town, I hope Troy may
succeed in its trying to prevent the Hudson from being bridged. By the
way, I will here remark, for the benefit of those who have never seen
any country but their own, that there is a view on the road between
Schenectady and this Grecian place, just where the heights give the
first full appearance of the valley of the Hudson, including glimpses of
Waterford, Lansingburg and Albany, with a full view of both Troys, which
gives one a better idea of the affluence of European scenery than almost
any other spot I can recall in America. To my hurdy-gurdy:
I made my first essay as a musician in public beneath the windows of the
principal inn of Troy. I cannot say much in favor of the instrument,
though I trust the playing itself was somewhat respectable. This I know
full well, that I soon brought a dozen fair faces to the windows of the
inn, and that each was decorated with a smile. Then it was that I
regretted the monkey. Such an opening could not but awaken the dormant
ambition of even a "patriot" of the purest water, and I will own I was
gratified.
Among the curious who thus appeared, were two whom I at once supposed to
be father and daughter. The former was a clergyman, and, as I fancied by
something in his air of "_the_ Church," begging pardon of those who take
offence at this exclusive title, and to whom I will just give a hint in
passing. Any one at all acquainted with mankind, will at once understand
that no man who is certain of possessing any particular advantage, ever
manifests much sensibility because another lays claim to it also. In the
constant struggles of the jealous, for instance, on the subject of that
universal source of jealous feeling, social position, that man or woman
who is conscious of claims never troubles himself or herself about them.
For them the obvious fact is sufficient. If it be answered to this that
the pretension of "_the_ Church" is exclusive, I shall admit it is, and
"conclusive" too. It is not exclusive, however, in the sense urged,
since no one denies that there are many branches to "the Church,"
although those branches do not embrace everything. I would advise those
who take offence at "our" styling "ourselves" "_the_ Church," to style
themselves "_the_ Church," just as they call all their parsons bishops,
and see who will care about it. That is a touchstone which will soon
separate the true metal from the alloy.
My parson, I could easily see, was a _Church_ clergyman--not a
_meeting_-house clergyman. How I ascertained that fact at a glance, I
shall not reveal; but I also saw in his countenance some of that
curiosity which marks simplicity of character: it was not a vulgar
feeling, but one which induced him to beckon me to approach a little
nearer. I did so, when he invited me in. It was a little awkward, at
first, I must acknowledge, to be beckoned about in this manner; but
there was something in the air and countenance of the daughter that
induced me not to hesitate about complying. I cannot say that her beauty
was so _very_ striking, though she was decidedly pretty; but the
expression of her face, eyes, smile, and all put together, was so
singularly sweet and feminine, that I felt impelled by a sympathy I
shall not attempt to explain, to enter the house, and ascend to the door
of a parlor that I saw at once was public, though it then contained no
one but my proper hosts.
"Walk in, young man," said the father in a benevolent tone of voice. "I
am curious to see that instrument; and my daughter here, who has a taste
for music, wishes it as much as I do myself. What do you call it."
"Hurty-gurty," I answered.
"From what part of the world do you come, my young friend?" continued
the clergyman, raising his meek eyes to mine still more curiously, "Vrom
Charmany; vrom Preussen, vere did reign so late de good Koenig Wilhelm."
"What does he say, Molly?"
So the pretty creature bore the name of Mary. I liked the Molly, too; it
was a good sign, as none but the truly respectable dare use such
familiar appellations in these ambitious times. Molly sounded as if
these people had the _aplomb_ of position and conscious breeding. Had
they been vulgar, it would have been Mollissa.
"It is not difficult to translate, father," answered one of the sweetest
voices that had ever poured its melody on my ear, and which was rendered
still more musical by the slight laugh that mingled with it. "He says he
is from Germany--from Prussia, where the good King William lately
reigned."
I liked the "father," too--that sounded refreshing, after passing a
night among a tribe of foul-nosed adventurers in humanity, every one of
whom had done his or her share toward caricaturing the once pretty
appellatives of "pa" and "ma." A young lady may still say "papa," or
even "mamma," though it were far better that she said "father" and
"mother;" but as for "pa" and "ma," they are now done with in
respectable life. They will not even do for the nursery.
"And this instrument is a hurdy-gurdy?" continued the clergyman. "What
have we here--the name spelt on it?"
"Dat isht de maker's name--_Hochstiel fecit_."
"Fecit?" repeated the clergyman; "is that German?"
"Nein--dat isht Latin; _facio_, _feci_, _factum_, _facere--feci_,
_fecisti_, FECIT. It means make, I suppose you know."
The parson looked at me and at my dress and figure with open surprise,
and smiled as his eye glanced at his daughter. If asked why I made this
silly display of lower-form learning, I can only say that I chafed at
being fancied a mere every-day street musician, that had left his monkey
at home, by the charming girl who stood gracefully bending over her
father's elbow, as the latter examined the inscription that was stamped
on a small piece of ivory which had been let into the instrument. I
could see that Mary shrunk back a little under the sensitive feeling, so
natural to her sex, that she was manifesting too much freedom of manner
for the presence of a youth who was nearer to her own class than she
could have supposed it possible for a player on the hurdy-gurdy to be. A
blush succeeded; but the glance of the soft blue eye that instantly
followed, seemed to set all at rest, and she leaned over her father's
elbow again.
"You understand Latin, then?" demanded the parent, examining me over his
spectacles from head to foot.
"A leetle, sir--just a ferry leetle. In my coontry, efery mans isht
obliget to be a soldier some time, and them t'at knows Latin can be made
sergeants and corporals."
"That is Prussia, is it?"
"Ya--Preussen, vere so late did reign de goot Koenig Wilhelm."
"And is Latin much understood among you? I have heard that, in Hungary,
most well-informed persons even speak the tongue."
"In Charmany it isht not so. We all l'arnts somet'ing, but not all dost
l'arn eferyt'ing."
I could see a smile struggling around the sweet lips of that dear girl,
after I had thus delivered myself, as I fancied, with a most accurate
inaccuracy; but she succeeded in repressing it, though those provoking
eyes of hers continued to laugh, much of the time our interview lasted.
"Oh! I very well know that in Prussia the schools are quite good, and
that your government pays great attention to the wants of all classes,"
rejoined the clergyman; "but I confess some surprise that _you_ should
understand anything of Latin. Now, even in this country, where we boast
so much----"
"Ye-e-s," I could not refrain from drawling out, "dey does poast a great
teal in dis coontry!"
Mary actually laughed; whether it was at my words, or at the somewhat
comical manner I had assumed--a manner in which simplicity was _tant
soit peu_ blended with irony--I shall not pretend to say. As for the
father, his simplicity was of proof; and, after civilly waiting until my
interruption was done, he resumed what he had been on the point of
saying.
"I was about to add," continued the clergyman, "that even in this
country, where we boast so much"--the little minx of a daughter passed
her hand over her eyes, and fairly colored with the effort she made not
to laugh again--"of the common schools, and of their influence on the
public mind, it is not usual to find persons of your condition who
understand the dead languages."
"Ye-e-e-s," I replied; "it isht my condition dat misleats you, sir. Mine
fat'er wast a shentlemans, and he gifet me as goot an etication as de
Koenig did gif to de Kron Prinz."
Here, my desire to appear well in the eyes of Mary caused me to run into
another silly indiscretion. How I was to explain the circumstance of the
son of a Prussian gentleman, whose father had given him an education as
good as that which the king of his country had given to its crown
prince, being in the streets of Troy, playing on a hurdy-gurdy, was a
difficulty I did not reflect on for a moment. The idea of being thought
by that sweet girl a mere uneducated boor, was intolerable to me; and I
threw it off by this desperate falsehood--false in its accessories, but
true in its main facts--as one would resent an insult. Fortune favored
me, however, far more than I had any right to expect.
There is a singular disposition in the American character to believe
every well-mannered European at least a count. I do not mean that those
who have seen the world are not like other persons in this respect; but
a very great proportion of the country never has seen any other world
than a world of "business." The credulity on this subject surpasseth
belief; and, were I to relate facts of this nature that might be
established in a court of justice, the very parties connected with them
would be ready to swear that they are caricatures. Now, well-mannered I
trust I am, and, though plainly dressed and thoroughly disguised,
neither my air nor attire was absolutely mean. As my clothes were new, I
was neat in my appearance; and there were possibly some incongruities
about the last, that might have struck eyes more penetrating than those
of my companions. I could see that both father and daughter felt a
lively interest in me, the instant I gave them reason to believe I was
one of better fortunes. So many crude notions exist among us on the
subject of convulsions and revolutions in Europe, that I dare say, had I
told any improbable tale of the political condition of Prussia, it would
have gone down; for nothing so much resembles the ignorance that
prevails in America, generally, concerning the true state of things in
Europe, as the ignorance that prevails in Europe, generally, concerning
the true state of things in America. As for Mary, her soft eyes seemed
to me to be imbued with thrice their customary gentleness and
compassion, as she recoiled a step in native modesty, and gazed at me,
when I had made my revelation.
"If such is the case, my young friend," returned the clergyman, with
benevolent interest, "you ought, and might easily be placed in a better
position than this you are now in. Have you any knowledge of Greek?"
"Certainly--Greek is moch study in Charmany."
"In for a penny, in for a pound," I thought.
"And the modern languages--do you understand any of them?"
"I speaks de five great tongues of Europe, more ast less well; and I
read dem all, easily."
"The _five_ tongues!" said the clergyman, counting on his fingers; "what
can they be, Mary?"
"French, and German, and Spanish, and Italian, I suppose, sir."
"These make but four. What can be the fifth, my dear?"
"De yoong laty forgets de Englisch. De Englisch is das funf."
"Oh! yes, the English!" exclaimed the pretty creature, pressing her lips
together to prevent laughing in my face.
"True--I had forgotten the English, not being accustomed to think of it
as a mere European tongue. I suppose, young man, you naturally speak the
English less fluently than any other of your five languages?"
"Ya!"
Again the smile struggled to the lips of Mary.
"I feel a deep interest in you as a stranger, and am sorry we have only
met to part so soon. Which way shall you be likely to direct your steps,
my Prussian young friend?"
"I go to a place which is callet Ravensnest--goot place to sell vatch,
dey tells me."
"Ravensnest!" exclaimed the father.
"Ravensnest!" repeated the daughter, and that in tones which put the
hurdy-gurdy to shame.
"Why, Ravensnest is the place where I live, and the parish of which I am
the clergyman--the Protestant Episcopal clergyman, I mean."
This, then, was the Rev. Mr. Warren, the divine who had been called to
our church the very summer I left home, and who had been there ever
since! My sister Martha had written me much concerning these people, and
I felt as if I had known them for years. Mr. Warren was a man of good
connections, and some education, but of no fortune whatever, who had
gone into _the_ Church--it was the church of his ancestors, one of whom
had actually been an English bishop, a century or two ago--from choice,
and contrary to the wishes of his friends. As a preacher, his success
had never been great; but for the discharge of his duties no man stood
higher, and no man was more respected. The living of St. Andrew's,
Ravensnest, would have been poor enough, had it depended on the
contributions of the parishioners. These last gave about one hundred and
fifty dollars a year, for their share of the support of a priest. I gave
another hundred, as regularly as clock-work, and had been made to do so
throughout a long minority; and my grandmother and sister made up
another fifty between them. But there was a glebe of fifty acres of
capital land, a wood-lot, and a fund of two thousand dollars at
interest; the whole proceeding from endowments made by my grandfather,
during his lifetime. Altogether, the living may have been worth a clear
five hundred dollars a year, in addition to a comfortable house, hay,
wood, vegetables, pasture, and some advantages in the way of small
crops. Few country clergymen were better off than the rector of St.
Andrew's, Ravensnest, and all as a consequence of the feudal and
aristocratic habits of the Littlepages, though I say it, perhaps, who
might better not, in times like these.
My letters had told me that the Rev. Mr. Warren was a widower; that Mary
was his only child; that he was a _truly_ pious, not a _sham_-pious, and
really zealous clergyman; a man of purest truth, whose word was
gospel--of great simplicity and integrity of mind and character; that he
never spoke evil of others, and that a complaint of this world and its
hardships seldom crossed his lips. He loved his fellow-creatures, both
naturally and on principle; mourned over the state of the diocese, and
greatly preferred piety even to high-churchism. High-churchman he was,
nevertheless; though it was not a high-churchmanship that outweighed the
loftier considerations of his Christian duties, and left him equally
without opinions of his own in matters of morals, and without a proper
respect, in practice, for those that he had solemnly vowed to maintain.
His daughter was described as a sweet-tempered, arch, modest, sensible,
and well-bred girl, that had received a far better education than her
father's means would have permitted him to bestow, through the
liberality and affection of a widowed sister of her mother's, who was
affluent, and had caused her to attend the same school as that to which
she had sent her own daughters. In a word, she was a most charming
neighbor; and her presence at Ravensnest had rendered Martha's annual
visits to the "old house" (built in 1785) not only less irksome, but
actually pleasant. Such had been my sister's account of the Warrens and
their qualities, throughout a correspondence of five years. I have even
fancied that she loved this Mary Warren better than she loved any of her
uncle's wards, herself of course excepted.
The foregoing flashed through my mind, the instant the clergyman
announced himself; but the coincidence of our being on the way to the
same part of the country, seemed to strike him as forcibly as it did
myself. What Mary thought of the matter, I had no means of ascertaining.
"This is singular enough," resumed Mr. Warren. "What has directed your
steps toward Ravensnest?"
"Dey tell mine ooncle 'tis goot place to sell moch vatch."
"You have an uncle, then? Ah! I see him there in the street, showing a
watch at this moment to a gentleman. Is your uncle a linguist, too, and
has he been as well educated as you seem to be yourself?"
"Certain--he moch more of a shentleman dan ast de shentleman to whom he
now sell vatch."
"These must be the very persons," put in Mary, a little eagerly, "of
whom Mr. Newcome spoke, as the"--the dear girl did not like to say
pedlers, after what I had told them of my origin; so she added--"dealers
in watches and trinkets, who intended to visit our part of the country."
"You are right, my dear, and the whole matter is now clear. Mr. Newcome
said he expected them to join us at Troy, when we should proceed in the
train together as far as Saratoga. But here comes Opportunity herself,
and her brother cannot be far off."
At that moment, sure enough, my old acquaintance, Opportunity Newcome,
came into the room, a public parlor, with an air of great
self-satisfaction, and a _nonchalance_ of manner that was not a little
more peculiar to herself than it is to most of her caste. I trembled for
my disguise, since, to be quite frank on a very delicate subject,
Opportunity had made so very dead a set at me--"setting a cap" is but a
pitiful phrase to express the assault I had to withstand--as scarcely to
leave a hope that her feminine instinct, increased and stimulated with
the wish to be mistress of the Nest house, could possibly overlook the
thousand and one personal peculiarities that must still remain about one
whose personal peculiarities she had made her particular study.