said Amos, in a coaxing whisper; “will you, my onydoney?”
“Ony fiddlestick! I wonder you repeat such vulgarisms. But if I must say
what I should like, I should like to travel.”
“Well, let us go and make a tour as far as Jamaica, or Hackensack, or
Spiking Devil. There is excellent fishing for striped bass there.”
“Spiking Devil!” screamed Mrs. Shuttle; “aren’t you ashamed to swear so,
you wicked mortal! I won’t go to Jamaica, nor Hackensack among the Dutch
Hottentots, nor to Spiking Devil to catch striped bass; I’ll go to
Europe!”
If Amos had possessed a soul it would have jumped out of its skin at the
idea of going beyond seas. He had once been on the sea-bass banks, and
gone seasoning there, the very thought of which made him sick. But as he
had no soul, there was no great harm done.
When Mrs. Shuttle said a thing, it was settled. They went to Europe.
Taking their only son with them, the lady ransacked all the milliners’
shops in Paris, and the gentleman visited all the restaurateurs. He
became such a desperate connoisseur and gourmand, that he could almost
tell an _omelette au jambon_ from a gammon of bacon. After consummating
the polish, they came home, the lady with the newest old fashions, and
the weaver with a confirmed preference of _potage à la turque_ over
pepper-pot. It is said the city trembled, as with an earthquake, when
they landed, but the notion was probably superstitious.
They arrived near the close of the year, the memorable year, the _annus
mirabilis_ one thousand seven hundred and sixty. Everybody that had ever
known the Shuttles flocked to see them, or rather to see what they had
brought with them; and such was the magic of a voyage to Europe, that
Mr. and Mrs. Amos Shuttle, who had been nobodies when they departed,
became somebodies when they returned, and mounted at once to the summit
of _ton_.
“You have come in good time to enjoy the festivities of the holydays,”
said Mrs. Hubblebubble, an old friend of Amos the weaver and his wife.
“We shall have a merry Christmas and a happy New Year,” exclaimed Mrs.
Doubletrouble, another old acquaintance of old times.
“The holydays,” drawled Mrs. Shuttle; “the holydays? Christmas and New
Year? Pray what are they?”
It is astonishing to see how people lose their memories abroad
sometimes. They often forget their old friends, old customs, and
occasionally themselves.
“Why, la! now, who’d have thought it?” cried Mrs. Doubletrouble; “why,
sure you haven’t forgot the oily cooks and the mince-pies, the merry
meetings of friends, the sleigh-rides, the Kissing Bridge, and the
family parties?”
“Family parties!” shrieked Mrs. Shuttle, and held her salts to her nose;
“family parties! I never heard of anything so Gothic in Paris or Rome;
and oily cooks—oh, shocking! and mince-pies—detestable! and throwing
open one’s doors to all one’s old friends, whom one wishes to forget as
soon as possible—oh! the idea is insupportable!” And again she held the
salts to her nose.
Mrs. Hubblebubble and Mrs. Doubletrouble found they had exposed
themselves sadly, and were quite ashamed. A real, genteel, well-bred,
enlightened lady of fashion ought to have no rule of conduct, no
conscience, but Paris—whatever is fashionable there is genteel—whatever
is not fashionable is vulgar. There is no other standard of right, and
no other eternal fitness of things. At least so thought Mrs.
Hubblebubble and Mrs. Doubletrouble.
“But is it possible that all these things are out of fashion abroad?”
asked the latter, beseechingly.
“They never were in,” said Mrs. Amos Shuttle. “For my part, I mean to
close my doors and windows on New Year’s Day—I’m determined.”
“And so am I,” said Mrs. Hubblebubble.
“And so am I,” said Mrs. Doubletrouble.
And it was settled that they should make a combination among themselves
and their friends, to put down the ancient and good customs of the city,
and abolish the sports and enjoyments of the jolly New Year. The
conspirators then separated, each to pursue her diabolical designs
against oily cooks, mince-pies, sleigh-ridings, sociable visitings, and
family parties.
Now the excellent St. Nicholas, who knows well what is going on in every
house in the city, though, like a good and honourable saint, he never
betrays any family secrets, overheard these wicked women plotting
against his favourite anniversary, and he said to himself—
“_Vuur en Vlammen!_ but I’ll be even with you, _mein vrouw_.” So he
determined he would play these conceited and misled women a trick or two
before he had done with them.
It was now the first day of the new year, and Mrs. Amos Shuttle, and
Mrs. Doubletrouble, and Mrs. Hubblebubble, and all their wicked
abettors, had shut up their doors and windows, so that when their old
friends called they could not get into their houses. Moreover, they had
prepared neither mince-pies, nor oily cooks, nor crullers, nor any of
the good things consecrated to St. Nicholas by his pious and
well-intentioned votaries, and they were mightily pleased at having been
as dull and stupid as owls, while all the rest of the city were as merry
as crickets, chirping and frisking in the warm chimney-corner. Little
did they think what horrible judgments were impending over them,
prepared by the wrath of the excellent St. Nicholas, who was resolved to
make an example of them for attempting to introduce their new-fangled
corruptions in place of the ancient customs of his favourite city. These
wicked women never had another comfortable sleep in their lives!
The night was still, clear, and frosty—the earth was everywhere one
carpet of snow, and looked just like the ghost of a dead world, wrapped
in a white winding-sheet; the moon was full, round, and of a silvery
brightness, and by her discreet silence afforded an example to the
rising generation of young damsels, while the myriads of stars that
multiplied as you gazed at them, seemed as though they were frozen into
icicles, they looked so cold and sparkled with such a glorious lustre.
The streets and roads leading from the city were all alive with sleighs
filled with jovial souls, whose echoing laughter and cheerful songs
mingled with a thousand merry bells, that jingled in harmonious
dissonance, giving spirit to the horses and animation to the scene. In
the licence of the season, hallowed by long custom, each of the sleighs
saluted the other in passing with a “Happy New Year,” a merry jest, or
mischievous gibe, exchanged from one gay party to another. All was life,
motion, and merriment; and as old frost-bitten Winter, aroused from his
trance by the rout and revelry around, raised his weather-beaten head to
see what was passing, he felt his icy blood warming and coursing through
his veins, and wished he could only overtake the laughing buxom Spring,
that he might dance a jig with her, and be as frisky as the best of
them. But as the old rogue could not bring this desirable matter about,
he contented himself with calling for a jolly bumper of cocktail, and
drinking a swinging draught to the health of the blessed St. Nicholas,
and those who honour the memory of the president of good-fellows.
[Illustration: “THE EXCELLENT ST. NICHOLAS OVERHEARD THESE WICKED
WOMEN.”]
All this time the wicked women and their abettors lay under the
malediction of the good saint, who caused them to be bewitched by an old
lady from Salem. Mrs. Amos Shuttle could not sleep, because something
had whispered in her apprehensive ear that her son, her only son, whom
she had engaged to the daughter of Count Grenouille, in Paris, then
about three years old, was actually at that moment crossing Kissing
Bridge in company with little Susan Varian, and some others besides. Now
Susan was the fairest little lady of all the land; she had a face and an
eye just like the widow Wadman in Leslie’s charming picture; a face and
an eye which no reasonable man under Heaven could resist, except my
uncle Toby—beshrew him and his fortifications, I say! She was, moreover,
a good little girl, and an accomplished little girl—but, alas! she had
not mounted to the step in Jacob’s ladder of fashion which qualifies a
person for the heaven of high _ton_, and Mrs. Shuttle had not been to
Europe for nothing. She would rather have seen her son wedded to
dissipation and profligacy than to Susan Varian; and the thought of his
being out sleigh-riding with her was worse than the toothache. It kept
her awake all the live-long night, and the only consolation she had was
scolding poor Amos, because the sleigh-bells made such a noise.
As for Mrs. Hubblebubble and Mrs. Doubletrouble, they neither of them
got a wink of sleep during a whole week for thinking of the beautiful
French chairs and damask curtains Mrs. Shuttle had brought from Europe.
They forthwith besieged their good men, leaving them no rest until they
sent out orders to Paris for just such rich chairs and curtains as those
of the thrice-happy Mrs. Shuttle, from whom they kept the affair a
profound secret, each meaning to treat her to an agreeable surprise. In
the meanwhile they could not rest for fear the vessel which was to bring
these treasures might be lost on her passage. Such was the dreadful
judgment inflicted on them by the good St. Nicholas.
The perplexities of Mrs. Shuttle increased daily. In the first place, do
all she could, she could not make Amos a fine gentleman. This was a
metamorphosis which Ovid would never have dreamed of. He would be
telling the price of everything in his house, his furniture, his wines,
and his dinners, insomuch that those who envied his prosperity, or
perhaps only despised his pretensions, were wont to say, after eating
his venison and drinking his old Madeira, “that he ought to have been a
tavern-keeper, he knew so well how to make out a bill.” Mrs. Shuttle
once overheard a speech of this kind, and the good St. Nicholas himself,
who had brought it about, almost felt sorry for the mortification she
endured on the occasion.
Scarcely had she got over this, when she was invited to a ball by Mrs.
Hubblebubble, and the first thing she saw on entering the drawing-room
was a suite of damask curtains and chairs, as much like her own as two
peas, only the curtains had far handsomer fringe. Mrs. Shuttle came very
near fainting away, but escaped for that time, determined to mortify
this impudent creature by taking not the least notice of her finery. But
St. Nicholas ordered it otherwise, so that she was at last obliged to
acknowledge they were very elegant indeed. Nay, this was not the worst,
for she overheard one lady whisper to another that Mrs. Hubblebubble’s
curtains were much richer than Mrs. Shuttle’s.
“Oh, I daresay,” replied the other—“I daresay Mrs. Shuttle bought them
second-hand, for her husband is as mean as pursley.”
This was too much. The unfortunate woman was taken suddenly ill—called
her carriage, and went home, where it is supposed she would have died
that evening had she not wrought upon Amos to promise her an entire new
suite of French furniture for her drawing-room and parlour to boot,
besides a new carriage. But for all this she could not close her eyes
that night for thinking of the “second-hand curtains.”
Nor was the wicked Mrs. Doubletrouble a whit better off when her friend
Mrs. Hubblebubble treated her to the agreeable surprise of the French
window curtains and chairs. “It is too bad—too bad, I declare,” she said
to herself; “but I’ll pay her off soon.” Accordingly she issued
invitations for a grand ball and supper, at which both Mrs. Shuttle and
Mrs. Hubblebubble were struck dumb at beholding a suite of curtains and
a set of chairs exactly of the same pattern with theirs. The shock was
terrible, and it is impossible to say what might have been the
consequences, had not the two ladies all at once thought of uniting in
abusing Mrs. Doubletrouble for her extravagance.
“I pity poor Mr. Doubletrouble,” said Mrs. Shuttle, shrugging her
shoulders significantly, and glancing at the room.
“And so do I,” said Mrs. Hubblebubble, doing the same.
Mrs. Doubletrouble had her eye upon them, and enjoyed their
mortification, until her pride was brought to the ground by a dead shot
from Mrs. Shuttle, who was heard to exclaim, in reply to a lady who
observed the chairs and curtains were very handsome—
“Why yes, but they have been out of fashion in Paris a long time; and,
besides, really they are getting so common that I intend to have mine
removed to the nursery.”
Heavens! what a blow! Poor Mrs. Doubletrouble hardly survived it. Such a
night of misery as the wicked woman endured almost made the good St.
Nicholas regret the judgment he had passed upon these mischievous and
conceited females. But he thought to himself he would persevere until he
had made them a sad example to all innovators upon the ancient customs
of our forefathers.
Thus were these wicked and miserable women spurred on by witchcraft from
one piece of extravagance to another, and a deadly rivalship grew up
between them which destroyed their own happiness and that of their
husbands. Mrs. Shuttle’s new carriage and drawing-room furniture in due
time were followed by similar extravagances on the part of the two other
wicked women who had conspired against the hallowed institutions of St.
Nicholas; and soon their rivalship came to such a height that neither of
them had a moment’s rest or comfort from that time forward. But they
still shut their door on the jolly anniversary of St. Nicholas, though
the old respectable burghers and their wives, who had held up their
heads time out of mind, continued the good custom, and laughed at the
presumption of these upstart interlopers who were followed only by a few
people of silly pretensions, who had no more soul than Amos Shuttle
himself. The three wicked women grew to be almost perfect skeletons, on
account of the vehemence with which they strove to outdo each other, and
the terrible exertions necessary to keep up the appearance of being the
best friends in the world. In short, they became the laughing-stock of
the town; and sensible, well-bred folks cut their acquaintance, except
when they sometimes accepted an invitation to a party, just to make
merry with their folly and conceitedness.
The excellent St. Nicholas, finding they still persisted in their
opposition to his rites and ceremonies, determined to inflict on them
the last and worst punishment that can befall the sex. He decreed that
they should be deprived of all the delights springing from the domestic
affections, and all taste for the innocent and virtuous enjoyments of a
happy fireside. Accordingly they lost all relish for home; they were
continually gadding about from one place to another in search of
pleasure, and worried themselves to death to find happiness where it is
never to be found. Their whole lives became one long series of
disappointed hopes, galled pride, and gnawing envy. They lost their
health, they lost their time, and their days became days of harassing
impatience, their nights nights of sleeplessness, feverish excitement,
ending in weariness and disappointment. The good saint sometimes felt
sorry for them, but their continued obstinacy determined him to
persevere in his plan to punish the upstart pride of these rebellious
females.
Young Shuttle, who had a soul, which I suppose he inherited from his
mother, all this while continued his attentions to little Susan Varian,
which added to the miseries inflicted on his wicked mother. Mrs. Shuttle
insisted that Amos should threaten to disinherit his son, unless he gave
up this attachment.
“Lord bless your soul, Abby!” said Amos. “What’s the use of my
threatening; the boy knows as well as I do that I’ve no will of my own.
Why, bless my soul, Abby——”
“Bless your soul!” interrupted Mrs. Shuttle; “I wonder who’d take the
trouble to bless it but yourself? However, if you don’t I will.”
Accordingly she threatened the young man with being disinherited unless
he turned his back on little Susan Varian, which no man ever did without
getting a heartache.
“If my father goes on as he has done lately,” sighed the youth, “he
won’t have anything left to disinherit me of but his affection, I fear.
But if he had millions I would not abandon Susan.”
“Are you not ashamed of such a low-lived attachment? You that have been
to Europe! But, once for all, remember this, renounce this low-born
upstart, or quit your father’s house for ever.”
“Upstart!” thought young Shuttle; “one of the oldest families in the
city.” He made his mother a respectful bow, bade Heaven bless her, and
left the house. He was, however, met by his father at the door, who said
to him—
“Johnny, I give my consent; but mind don’t tell your mother a word of
the matter. I’ll let her know I’ve a soul as well as other people,” and
he tossed his head like a war-horse.
The night after this Johnny was married to little Susan, and the
blessing of affection and beauty lighted upon his pillow. Her old
father, who was in a respectable business, took his son-in-law into
partnership, and they prospered so well that in a few years Johnny was
independent of all the world, with the prettiest wife and children in
the land. But Mrs. Shuttle was inexorable, while the knowledge of his
prosperity and happiness only worked her up to a higher pitch of anger,
and added to the pangs of jealousy perpetually inflicted on her by the
rivalry of Mrs. Hubblebubble and Mrs. Doubletrouble, who suffered under
the like affliction from the wrathful St. Nicholas, who was resolved to
make them an example to all posterity.
No fortune, be it ever so great, can stand the eternal sapping of
wasteful extravagance, engendered and stimulated by the baleful passion
of envy. In less than ten years from the hatching of the diabolical
conspiracy of these three wicked women against the supremacy of the
excellent St. Nicholas, their spendthrift rivalship had ruined the
fortunes of their husbands, and entailed upon themselves misery and
remorse. Rich Amos Shuttle became at last as poor as a church mouse, and
would have been obliged to take to the loom again in his old age, had
not Johnny, now rich, and a worshipful magistrate of the city, afforded
him and his better half a generous shelter under his own happy roof.
Mrs. Hubblebubble and Mrs. Doubletrouble had scarcely time to condole
with Mrs. Shuttle, and congratulate each other, when their husbands went
the way of all flesh—that is to say, failed for a few tens of thousands,
and called their creditors together to hear the good news. The two
wicked women lived long enough after this to repent of their offence
against St. Nicholas; but they never imported any more French curtains,
and at last perished miserably in an attempt to set the fashions in
Pennypot Alley.
Mrs. Abigail Shuttle might have lived happily the rest of her life with
her children and grand-children, who all treated her with reverent
courtesy and affection, now that the wrath of mighty St. Nicholas was
appeased by her exemplary punishment; but she could not get over her bad
habits and feelings, or forgive her lovely daughter-in-law for treating
her so kindly when she so little deserved it. She gradually pined away;
and though she revived at hearing of the catastrophe of Mrs.
Hubblebubble and Mrs. Doubletrouble, it was only for a moment. The
remainder of the life of this wicked woman was a series of
disappointments and heartburnings, and when she died, Amos tried to shed
a few tears, but he found it impossible, I suppose, because, as his wife
always said, “he had no soul.”
Such was the terrible revenge of St. Nicholas, which ought to be a
warning to all who attempt to set themselves up against the venerable
customs of their ancestors, and backslide from the hallowed institutions
of the blessed saint, to whose good offices, without doubt, it is owing
that this, his favourite city, has transcended all others of the
universe in beautiful damsels, valorous young men, mince-pies, and New
Year cookies. The catastrophe of these three wicked women had a
wonderful influence in the city, insomuch that from this time forward no
_grey mares_ were ever known, no French furniture was ever used, and no
woman was hardy enough to set herself up in opposition to the good
customs of St. Nicholas. And so wishing many happy New Years to all my
dear countrywomen and countrymen, saving those who shut their doors to
old friends, high or low, rich or poor, on that blessed anniversary
which makes more glad hearts than all others put together,—I say,
wishing a thousand happy New Years to all, with this single exception, I
lay down my pen, with a caution to all wicked women to beware of the
revenge of St. Nicholas.
DOMINIE NICHOLAS ÆGIDIUS OUDENARDE.
_James K. Paulding._
------------------------------------------------------------------------
_AN APHORISM AND A LECTURE._
ONE of the Boys mentioned, the other evening, in the course of a very
pleasant poem he read us, a little trick of the Commons table-boarders,
which I, nourished at the parental board, had never heard of. Young
fellows being always hungry——Allow me to stop dead-short, in order to
utter an aphorism which has been forming itself in one of the blank
interior spaces of my intelligence, like a crystal in the cavity of a
geode.
APHORISM BY THE PROFESSOR.
In order to know whether a human being is young or old, offer it food of
different kinds at short intervals. If young, it will eat anything at
any hour of the day or night. If old, it observes stated periods, and
you might as well attempt to regulate the time of high-water to suit a
fishing-party as to change these periods.
The crucial experiment is this. Offer a bulky and boggy bun to the
suspected individual just ten minutes before dinner. If this is eagerly
accepted and devoured, the fact of youth is established. If the subject
of the question starts back and expresses surprise and incredulity, as
if you could not possibly be in earnest, the fact of maturity is no less
clear.
* * * * *
—Excuse me,—I return to my story of the Commonstable. Young fellows
being always hungry, and tea and dry toast being the meagre fare of the
evening meal, it was a trick of some of the Boys to impale a slice of
meat upon a fork, at dinner-time, and stick the fork, holding it,
beneath the table, so that they could get it at tea-time. The dragons
that guarded this table of the Hesperides found out the trick at last,
and kept a sharp look-out for missing forks;—they knew where to find
one, if it was not in its place. Now the odd thing was that, after
waiting so many years to hear of this College trick, I should hear it
mentioned a _second time_ within the same twenty-four hours by a College
youth of the present generation. Strange, but true. And so it has
happened to me and to every person, often and often, to be hit in rapid
succession by these twinned facts or thoughts, as if they were linked
like chain-shot.