The house and rural economy of the Flats—Birds and insects.
I HAVE already sketched a general outline of that pleasant home to which
the colonel was now about to bring his beloved.
Before I resume my narrative, I shall indulge myself in a still more
minute account of the premises, the mode of living, &c., which will
afford a more distinct idea of the country; all the wealthy and informed
people of the settlement living on a smaller scale, pretty much in the
same manner. Be it known, however, that the house I had so much delight
in recollecting, had no pretension to grandeur, and very little to
elegance. It was a large brick house, of two, or rather three stories,
(for there were excellent attics,) besides a sunk story, finished with
the most exact neatness. The lower floor had two spacious rooms, with
large, light closets: on the first there were three rooms, and in the
upper one four. Through the middle of the house was a very wide passage,
with opposite front and back doors, which in summer, admitted a stream
of air, peculiarly grateful to the languid senses. It was furnished with
chairs and pictures, like a summer parlour. Here the family usually sat
in hot weather, when there were no ceremonious strangers.
Valuable furniture, (though, perhaps, not very well chosen or assorted,)
was the favourite luxury of these people; and in all the houses I
remember, except those of the brothers, who were every way more liberal,
the mirrors, the paintings, the china, but above all, the state bed,
were considered as the family seraphim, secretly worshiped, and only
exhibited on very rare occasions. But in Colonel Schuyler’s family, the
rooms were merely shut up to keep the flies (which in that country are
an absolute nuisance) from spoiling the furniture. Another motive was,
that they might be pleasantly cool when opened for company. This house
had also two appendages, common to all those belonging to persons in
easy circumstances there. One was a large portico at the door, with a
few steps leading up to it, and floored like a room; it was open at the
sides, and had seats all around. Above was either a slight wooden roof,
painted like an awning, or a covering of lattice-work, over which a
transplanted wild vine spread its luxuriant leaves and numerous
clusters. These, though small, and rather too acid till sweetened by the
frost, had a beautiful appearance. What gave an air of liberty and
safety to these rustic porticos, which always produced in my mind a
sensation of pleasure that I know not how to define, was the number of
little birds domesticated there. For their accommodation there was a
small shelf built round, where they nestled, sacred from the touch of
slaves and children, who were taught to regard them as the good genii of
the place, not to be disturbed with impunity.
I do not recollect sparrows there, except the wood sparrow. These little
birds were of various kinds, peculiar to the country; but the one most
frequent and familiar, was a pretty little creature, of a bright
cinnamon colour, called a wren, though little resembling the one to
which we give that name, for it is more sprightly, and flies higher. Of
these and other small birds, hundreds gave and received protection
around this hospitable dwelling. The protection they received consisted
merely in the privilege of being let alone. That which they bestowed was
of more importance than any inhabitant of Britain can imagine. In these
new countries, where man has scarce asserted his dominion, life swarms
abundant on every side; the insect population is numerous beyond belief,
and the birds that feed on them are in proportion to their abundance. In
process of time, when their sheltering woods are cleared, all these
recede before their master, but not before his empire is fully
established. These minute aerial foes are more harassing than the
terrible inhabitants of the forest, and more difficult to expel. It is
only by protecting, and in some sort domesticating, these little winged
allies, who attack them in their own element, that the conqueror of the
lion and tamer of the elephant, can hope to sleep in peace, or eat his
meals unpolluted. While breakfasting or drinking tea in the airy
porticos, which was often the scene of these meals, birds were
constantly gliding over the table with a butterfly, grasshopper, or
cicada in their bills, to feed their young, who were chirping above.
These familiar inmates brushed by without ceremony, while the chirping
swallow, the martin, and other hirundines in countless numbers, darted
past in pursuit of this aerial population, while the fields resounded
with the ceaseless chirping of many gay insects, unknown to our more
temperate summers. These were now and then mingled with the animated and
not unpleasing cry of the tree-frog, a creature of that species, but of
a light, slender form, almost transparent, and of a lively green; it is
dry to the touch, and has not the dank moisture of its aquatic
relations; in short, it is a pretty, lively creature, with a singular
and cheerful note. This loud and not unpleasing insect-chorus, with the
swarms of gay butterflies, in constant motion, enliven scenes, to which
the prevalence of woods, rising “shade above shade,” on every side,
would otherwise give a still and solemn aspect. Several objects, which,
with us, are no small additions to the softened changes and endless
charms of rural scenery, it must be confessed, are wanting there. No
lark welcomes the sun that rises to gild the dark forests and gleaming
lakes of America; no mellow thrush or deep-toned blackbird warbles
through these awful solitudes, or softens the balmy hour of twilight
with
“The liquid language of the groves.”
Twilight itself, the mild and shadowy hour, so soothing to every
feeling, every pensive mind; that soft transition from day to night, so
dear to peace, so due to meditation, is here scarce known, at least only
to have its shortness regretted. No daisy hastens to meet the spring, or
embellishes the meads in summer. Here no purple heath exhales its
wholesome odour, or decks the arid waste with the chastened glow of its
waving bells. No bonny broom, such as enlivens the narrow vales of
Scotland with its gaudy bloom, nor flowering furze, with its golden
blossoms, defying the cold blasts of early spring, animates their sandy
wilds. There the white-blossomed sloe does not forerun the orchard’s
bloom, nor the pale primrose shelter its modest head beneath the tangled
shrubs. Nature, bountiful yet not profuse, has assigned her various
gifts to various climes, in such a manner, that none can claim a decided
pre-eminence; and every country has peculiar charms, which endear it to
the natives beyond any other. I have been tempted by lively
recollections into a digression, rather unwarrantable. To return:
At the back of the large house was a smaller and lower one, so joined to
it as to make the form of a cross. There one or two lower and smaller
rooms below, and the same number above, afforded a refuge to the family
during the rigours of winter, when the spacious summer rooms would have
been intolerably cold, and the smoke of prodigious wood fires would have
sullied the elegantly clean furniture. Here, too, was a sunk story,
where the kitchen was immediately below the eating parlour, and
increased the general warmth of the house. In summer, the negroes
resided in slight outer kitchens, where food was dressed for the family.
Those who wrought in the fields often had their simple dinner cooked
without, and ate it under the shade of a great tree. One room, I should
have said, in the greater house only, was opened for the reception of
company—all the rest were bedchambers for their accommodation, while the
domestic friends of the family occupied neat little bed-rooms in the
attics, or in the winter-house. This house contained no drawing-room;
that was an unheard-of luxury. The winter rooms had carpets—the lobby
had oil-cloth, painted in lozenges, to imitate blue and white marble.
The best bed-room was hung with family portraits, some of which were
admirably executed; and in the eating-room, which, by the by, was rarely
used for that purpose, were some fine scripture paintings:—that which
made the greatest impression on my imagination, and seemed to be
universally admired, was one of Esau, coming to demand the anticipated
blessings. The noble, manly figure of the luckless hunter, and the
anguish expressed in his comely though strong-featured countenance, I
shall never forget. The house fronted the river, on the brink of which,
under shades of elm and sycamore, ran the great road towards Saratoga,
Stillwater, and the northern lakes; a little, simple avenue of morello
cherry trees, inclosed with a white rail, led to the road and river, not
three hundred yards distant. Adjoining to this, on the south side, was
an inclosure, subdivided into three parts, of which the first was a
small hay field, opposite the south end of the house; the next, not so
long, a garden; and the third, by far the largest, an orchard. These
were surrounded by simple deal fences. Now let not the genius that
presides over pleasure-grounds, nor any of his elegant votaries, revolt
with disgust, while I mention the unseemly ornaments which were
exhibited on the stakes to which the deals of these same fences were
bound. Truly they consisted of the skeleton heads of horses and cattle
in as great numbers as could be procured, stuck upon the aforesaid
poles. The jaws are fixed on the pole, and the skull uppermost. The
wren, on seeing a skull thus placed, never fails to enter by the
orifice, which is too small to admit the hand of an infant, lines the
pericranium with small twigs and horse-hair, and there lays her eggs in
full security. It is very amusing to see the little creatures carelessly
go out and in at this aperture, though you should be standing
immediately beside it. Not satisfied with providing these singular
asylums for their feathered friends, the negroes never fail to make a
small, round hole in the crown of every old hat they can lay their hands
on, and nail it to the end of the kitchen, for the same purpose. You
often see in such a one, at once, thirty or forty of these odd little
domicils, with the inhabitants busily going out and in.
Besides all these salutary provisions for the domestic comfort of the
birds, there was, in clearing the way for their first establishment, a
tree always left in the middle of the back yard, for their sole
emolument; this tree being purposely pollarded at midsummer, when all
the branches were full of sap. Wherever there had been a branch, the
decay of the inside produced a hole, and every hole was the habitation
of a bird. These were of various kinds, some of which had a pleasing
note, but, on the whole, their songsters are far inferior to ours. I
rather dwell on these minutiæ, as they not only mark the peculiarities
of the country, but convey very truly the image of a people, not too
refined for happiness, which, in the process of elegant luxury, is apt
to die of disgust.
-------