MRS. CHAPMAN CULTIVATES NEW ACQUAINTANCES.
It was spring-time of the year 1824. A new era in the history of the
nation's wealth and progress seemed to have fairly begun. Strong and
vigorous intellects ruled in the councils of the nation and inspired
confidence in the people. Science was breathing new life into our
enterprise, and leading us rapidly into new fields and richer prospects.
It was also brushing away the prejudices that had narrowed our thoughts
and confined our action to things of a past age. Steam was an adjustable
power now, a reality; still there were sensible men who shook their
heads in doubt; and the men who declared it would soon revolutionize the
commerce of the world were set down as not safe to do business with.
Steamboats of improved model and of increased size seemed to spring up
every day, and might be seen passing up and down the Hudson night and
morning. Now a company of reckless New Yorkers proposed to build a
steamboat two hundred feet long, and with an engine of one hundred and
fifty horse power, to navigate the Hudson to Albany at the rate of
thirteen miles an hour. This great experiment, regarded so hazardous at
that time, sent the honest and peace-loving Dutchmen along the banks of
the river into such a state of alarm that they called meetings, and in
the most solemn manner declared that no man's life would be safe while
sailing at such a dangerous rate of speed. And they further declared
that all these new-fashioned methods of putting an end to the lives of
honest people must be stopped. In fine, they predicted nothing but
distress and ruin on all who had anything to do with them.
It was at one of these meetings, held in Nyack about this time, and
presided over by the school-master, that a number of these honest and
peace-loving old settlers resolved, after much grave deliberation, that
a man who paid his debts and was contented with what he had was the only
true Christian. And it was further resolved, that the world was getting
to be very wicked and very full of foolish people, who were in such a
hurry to get to the devil before their time that they had devised these
steamboats to carry them. And seeing that it was neither wisdom nor
prudence for honest people to travel on such craft, they would also not
send their vegetables to market on them.
This resolution was kept good for a number of years, the honest people
who made it firmly believing that all good and prudent persons would
follow their example, and in that way drive the steamboats from the
river. Alarming as these things were, there were others which fairly
frightened these honest people out of all their courage. The gossips had
gathered in force at Titus Bright's inn one night, to enjoy a pipe and a
mug of his new ale. There was the school-master, and Doctor Critchel,
and Hanz Toodleburg, and other choice spirits, who knew all about the
affairs of the nation. When they had discussed all manner of subjects,
Titus drew from his pocket a newspaper and read, to the astonishment and
evident alarm of his guests, that a man in England had invented a
machine to do away with horses. The doctor set down his ale and adjusted
his spectacles, and gazed at the speaker with an air of surprise and
astonishment, while Hanz and the school-master suddenly ceased smoking.
"Now don't get alarmed, my friends," said Titus, watching with evident
delight the increasing alarm of his guests. "It is all here, and true.
He has invented a steam-horse, with an iron stomach and wheels; and the
animal can, with good management, be made to run over a road at the rate
of twenty miles an hour. Yes," added Titus, with a look of great
seriousness, "people are already risking their lives by riding in this
way."
The doctor heaved a sigh, and, half raising his pipe, gave it as his
opinion that a man who would invent such dangerous machines must be in
league with the devil. This profound opinion was endorsed by both Hanz
and the school-master. The latter, in short, suggested that such men
were generally vagabonds, whom it were well to throw into the Tappan
Zee, with stones around their necks.
"If the world was going to the devil in this way, what was the use of
living in it," inquired the school-master, finishing his ale, and
passing his mug for a fresh draught.
"Sure enough, sure enough!" a number of voices ejaculated
simultaneously.
"Truly, the dragons are to be let loose upon us," resumed Bright,
passing the schoolmaster his mug of ale. "An' here's now in New York,
that's got to be so wicked honest folks can't live in it, a lot o' crazy
men talking about building one of these here steamboats big enough to
cross the Atlantic."
"Der won't be much heerd of de mans nir de vomans vat goes in um,"
interrupted Hanz.
"Peoples is not sho crazy as t'too any un de sort. 'Tis all hombug;"
joined the doctor.
"So I say, doctor!" interposed the school-master.
"Here it is, gentlemen," resumed Bright; "all down in the newspaper. No
getting over that." Thus was this important subject discussed until a
late hour, the gossips going to their homes with serious faces and heavy
hearts.
It is a very well established fact that the question of building
steamships large enough and strong enough to cross the ocean was
discussed by a number of New York merchants who were ready to embark
capital in the project, several years before the keels of the Royal
William, the Savannah, the Sirius, or the Great Western were laid. But
we must leave this subject for the present, and return to our friends,
the Chapmans.
These people professed to be plain and practical, brought up according
to the creed of New England. They also affected to despise the small
vanities of the world. The effect of prosperity, however, on their
natures was singularly instructive, since it entirely changed their
manners. No sooner did fortune favor them than Mrs. Chapman began to
display an ambition for vulgar show, such as well-bred people never
indulge in. She never failed to remind her friends that she was brought
up in Boston, where everything was very refined. She regarded it as a
compliment to herself that she had an intellectual husband. He had a big
head, if he was small, and could carry any number of books in it. That
was what Boston people liked. Her thoughts seemed continually navigating
between religion and the fashions. She had no deep affection or love for
any one, not even for her daughter Mattie, whom she viewed in the light
of a rather valuable ornament, in the disposal of which she must make
the best bargain she could, not so much for the girl's sake as her own.
She could toss her head as disdainfully as any of your fine dames; and
she could discourse as glibly about genteel society as a successful
milliner just set up for a lady. She had plain Mrs. Jones for a
neighbor, and would drop that honest woman a nod now and then, out of
mere politeness. But she never condescended to associate on terms of
equality with the Jones family. Mrs. Jones's husband was a common,
unintellectual sort of person, who retailed groceries for a living.
A singular and mysterious change had now taken place. Chapman no longer
got up quarrels with his neighbors. Indeed, he had a good word to say
whenever he met Titus Bright. He could shake hands with Doctor Critchel,
and agree with the Dominie on matters of religion. In fine, if he was
everybody's enemy before, he was now everybody's friend. He admired the
Dutch for their honesty and true-heartedness. This singular change gave
the gossips of the town something to talk about for a week. The Chapmans
and the Toodleburgs were now the very best of friends. Chapman could be
seen of an evening sitting in Hanz's little ivy-covered porch, enjoying
a pot of ale. And Hanz had been seen smoking his pipe in Chapman's
garden. All this meant something, the gossips said, and something of
great importance. Where two such men got their heads together, and pipes
and ale were called in, there was sure to be something deep going on.
Hanz Toodleburg, they said, never smoked his pipe with a man like
Chapman but that there was something in the wind. Then Mrs. Chapman and
her gushing, blue-eyed daughter had condescended to visit at
Toodleburg's, and could make themselves quite agreeable at Angeline's
tea-table. And then Angeline, good, kind Angeline, with her face still
bright with gentleness and love, was always so happy When Mattie called.
Then there was something so simple, so frank and straightforward in
Mattie's nature. Angeline could not help loving her. And the affection
she cherished for Tite, who was the idol of her thoughts, strengthened
the ties of their love.
"We have not forgot you, you see," said Mrs. Chapman, as she bowed
herself into Toodleburg's little house one evening. "We expected company
at home to-night, but says I to my dear husband, 'you know, my dear
husband,' (here Mrs. Chapman bowed to her dear husband, who had followed
her,) 'we have been promising so long to visit Mr. and Mrs.
Toodleburg.'"
Angeline bowed and invited her visitors to be seated, while Hanz gave
Chapman a hearty shake of the hand, and an assurance that no man was
more welcome under his roof. "Always glad to see mine friends," said
Hanz. "You shall take seats, and be shust so much at home as you is in
your own house." And he drew one big chair up for Chapman, and another
for Mrs. Chapman. "Peoples always makes themselves at home in mine
house."
"You must excuse our humble little place," Angeline said; "we are plain,
every-day people." And she made Mrs. Chapman a low courtesy, as that
stout, bustling woman, apparently overcome with the heat, settled her
solid circumference into a chair.
"Dear a me," rejoined Mrs. Chapman, "what happy people you ought to be.
Everything so comfortable round you, you know, and all your own. What a
blessing to have things all your own." Here Mrs. Chapman raised her
bonnet carefully and used it as a fan.
"Yes, we are quite unpretending people," Angeline repeated. "What we
have got is our own. We are getting old now, and if we die owing nobody
a shilling we shall die in peace." And her sweet face lighted up with a
smile, the true reflex of that goodness her heart was so full of.
"It's so warm--I'm about melted," rejoined Mrs. Chapman, not appearing
to notice what Angeline had said. "And this is my new bonnet, you see.
Bonnets cost so much money now. People are getting so fashionable, and
to be anybody you must keep up appearances." She held her bonnet up
admiringly. "And my dear, good husband there--he's such a good
husband--says I'm a very expensive wife. Always buys me what I want,
though." Here she raised her waxy, fat hand, and dropped a bow of
approval to the little husband, who was quietly surveying the scene from
Hanz's big chair. "My husband is so intellectual, and does so much for
other people. He's always doing for other people. But he's a treasure to
me, for all that--"
"My dear, my dear," interrupted Chapman; "what a kind way you have of
paying compliments. Mrs. Toodleburg will not understand you, my dear.
What more than any one else have I done for other people?"
"You have been a perfect Christian, my dear, so you have," resumed Mrs.
Chapman, giving her head a toss and pressing the fore-finger of her
right hand on the arm of the chair. "Why, Mrs. Toodlebug--pardon me; I
never did pronounce names correct." She turned condescendingly to
Angeline. "You must know that my dear husband created a whole town once.
Then he built a great and flourishing church, founded on advanced moral
ideas. And he intended to have sold it for the good of others, and would
have sold it, but for an unforeseen circumstance."
"A very unforeseen circumstance, my dear," rejoined Chapman, shaking his
head admonishingly. "You see, I have got one of the very best wives in
the world. She has a philosophy of her own, and we agree in everything."
"Shust like me and mine vife," said Hanz. "We agrees in everything.
Lived dese forty nor more years togeder, mitout a quarrel." Hanz had
been sitting where a pale shadow of the dim light played over his broad,
kindly face, and, with his long, white hair curling down his neck, gave
a clearer outline to the picture.
"Never had even a little quarrel?" resumed Mrs. Chapman, inquiringly. "I
have heard married people say it was so nice to have a little quarrel
now and then. But my dear husband is such a good husband, Mrs.
Toodleburg. Just like yours." Here she turned toward and dropped
Angeline a bow. "I never want to live to see the day when I shall have
to marry a second husband." Here she turned and dropped a bow to her
dear Chapman. "I should be always praising you, my dear. And unless my
dear second husband was a saint there would be trouble in the house, you
know. My dear, let us drop this subject. It is not pleasant to look to
far into the future." Here she turned to Angeline, who had proceeded to
get some strawberries and cream for her guests.
"You are so nice and comfortable here," she resumed; "it takes one back
to the good old times, when everything was true and simple." Mrs.
Chapman gave quicker motion to her tongue. "You have your loom, and your
spinning-wheel, and homespun made by your own hands. How delightful."
"My dear, my dear," interrupted Chapman; "what a homily on the beauties
of economy you are reading our friends--"
"Don't interrupt me, my dear," resumed Mrs. Chapman, and she again
turned to Angeline. "Do you know, Mrs. Toodlebug, that I have always
felt that we ought to be the best of friends?"
"You are very kind," said Angeline, "very kind. We are very plain
people."
"That's why I like you all the better," Mrs. Chapman resumed, with an
air of condescension. "My husband and your husband must also be the best
of friends. They can make a fortune by it, you know. You see, my husband
proposes to make your husband's fortune. He is the greatest man to make
other people's fortunes. Yes, he is. My husband's head is full of great
progressive ideas. And he has made the fortunes of so many men." Here
Mrs. Chapman lowered her voice to a whisper, and drew her chair a little
nearer to Angeline. "There is another little matter that should make us
firm friends. I would not mention it, you know; but I feel that it is no
secret." Here she dropped one of her most significant bows. "I have
taken such a liking to your son. Such a promising young man, he is. That
voyage will make a man of him; who knows but he may come home with a
large fortune. I have known stranger things than that. I have been
encouraging a little love affair between him and my daughter Mattie. You
have seen my Mattie? She is clever, wonderfully smart, handsome, too;
and if she gets the right kind of a husband, will shine in society."
"My poor boy, my poor boy!" exclaimed Angeline, her eyes filling with
tears at the mention of his name. "How, how, how I should like to see
him to-night. There is where he used to sit, (here her voice yielded to
her emotions,) and here is the chair we always kept for him. Perhaps we
shall never see him again. He was so good and so kind to us. I hope God
will be good to him, and will watch over him, and carry him safe through
dangers, and bring him back to us. Oh, I know God will be good to him.
We are both old now, and have nothing to live for but him." Again she
gave way to her grief, and as the tears flowed buried her face in her
hands.
"My dear, good friend," rejoined Mrs. Chapman, rising from her chair,
and placing her hand consolingly on Angeline's shoulder; "there is
nothing in the world to weep for. Nothing in the world. I would be proud
of a son who had courage and ambition enough to go on one of these
voyages. It is proof, my good woman, that he has something in him. And
if he should bring home a fortune, you know. Oh, he'd have so many
friends. Don't weep, my good woman, don't weep. He'll be such a joy to
you when he comes home. And I will encourage Mattie to think of nobody
else."