THE NEW COMER.
The storm ceased its fury at four o'clock, and a cold, bright, and calm
morning succeeded. The hills stood out in sharp, clear outlines, mother
earth had put on her cleanest cap, and there was not a ripple on all the
Tappan Zee. Hanz Toodleburg was now the happiest man in Nyack, for
Heaven had blessed his house and heart during the morning with as plump
and healthy a boy as ever was seen. There was a fond mother and a happy
father in the little house now; and the sweet innocent babe, their first
born, was like flowers strewn along their road of life. It was something
to live for, something to hope for, something to brighten their hopes of
the future, and to sweeten their love-dream.
In spite of the snow drifts, news of this important event ran from one
end to the other of the settlement before the sun was an hour up, and
set it all aglow. The roadmaster was early at the door to warn Hanz out
to break roads, but excused him when he heard how happy a man he had
been made during the night. And when the merry men came along with their
oxen, and their sledges, and their drag-logs, ploughing through and
tossing the snow aside, and making a way for the traveller, there were
cheers given for honest Hanz and the little gentleman who had just come
to town. And as they ploughed along through the drifts, they struck up a
merry song, which so excited Hanz's emotions that he could not resist
the temptation to put on his coat and follow them. And when they reached
Titus Bright's inn that ruddy-faced host met them at the door and bade
them welcome under his roof, and invited them to drink flip at his
expense. Hanz was treated and complimented in steaming mugs, and the
health and happiness of mother and son were not forgotten. Even the
Dominie was sent for, and made to drink flip and tell a story, which he
did with infinite good humor. Then the school-master, who was not to be
behind any of them when there was flip in the wind, looked in to pay his
compliments to Hanz, for the snow had closed up his little school-house
for the day. But, in truth, the pedagogue had a weakness he could not
overcome, and when invited to take flip tossed off so many mugs as
completely to loose his wits, though his tongue ran so nimbly that he
was more than a match for the Dominie, who declined discussing a
question of religion with him, but offered to tell a story for every
song he would sing. Four mugs of flip and two songs and the
school-master went into a deep sleep in his chair, where he remained for
the rest of the day.
The question as to who should name the young gentleman at Hanz's house
was now discussed. The names of various great men were suggested, such
as George Washington and Thomas Jefferson. Hanz shook his head
negatively at the mention of these. "It vas not goot to give a poy too
pig a name; t-makes um prout ven da grows up," he said. It was finally
agreed that the young gentleman should be called Titus Bright, after the
little ruddy-faced inn-keeper. And the little man was so pleased with
the idea of having his name engrafted on that of the Toodleburg family,
that he promised a fat turkey and the best pig of the litter for the
christening dinner. More flip was now drank, and the merry party shook
hands and parted in the best of temper.
Hanz felt that as Heaven had blessed him and Angeline with this fine
boy, and so increased their joys, he must do something generous for his
friends. So, on the morning following he sent the Dominie a pig and a
peck of fine flour, for which that quaint divine thanked him and prayed
Heaven that he might send more. He gave the school-master a big pipe and
tobacco enough to last him a month. He also ordered the tailor to make
the pedagogue a new suit of homespun, something the poor man had not had
for many a day. School-mastering was not a business men got rich at in
those days, and poor Wiggins, for such was his name, had a hard time to
keep the wolf from his door. Indeed, he thought himself well paid with
four dollars a week and his victuals, which he got around among the
parents of his scholars. His worldly goods consisted of little else than
his birch and pipe, and the shabby clothes on his back. And as the
length of his engagements depended on his good behavior, which was none
of the best, he was frequently seen tramping from village to village in
search of a job.
As for Doctor Critchel, Hanz felt that he owed him a debt of gratitude
he could never pay, even were he to give him the farm. It was no use
offering the doctor a new suit of clothes, as he was never known to wear
such things. As for snuff-boxes, he had at least a dozen. Hanz sent him
a goose to roast for his dinner, a fat sheep, and a bag of extra flour,
just from the mill.
I may have been too particular in describing how and when this young
gentleman came into the world, but my reason for it is that there may
be those among my readers who will recognize the great and very
distinguished family of Von Toodleburg, which not many years ago amazed
New York with its brilliancy, and be anxious to know some of the ups and
downs of its early history.