restricts pennants to King’s ships, whereas, to my notion, my dear young lady, a New-York packet is as worthy of wearing a pennant as any vessel that floats. I mean, of course, ships of the regular European lines, and not the Southern traders.”
“But these are merely spots on the sun, my good sir,” returned Mr. Howel; “putting a few such trifles out of the question, I think you will allow that England is the most delightful country in the world?”
“To be frank with you, Mr. Howel, there is a good deal of hang-dog weather, along in October, November and December. I have known March any thing but agreeable, and then April is just like a young girl with one of your melancholy novels, now smiling, and now blubbering.”
“But the morals of the country, my dear sir; the moral features of England must be a source of never-dying delight to a true philanthropist,” resumed Mr. Howel, as Eve, who perceived that the discourse was likely to be long, went to join the ladies. “An Englishman has most reason to be proud of the moral excellencies of his country!”
“Why, to be frank with you, Mr. Howel, there are some of the moral features of London, that are any thing but very beautiful. If you could pass twenty-four hours in the neighbourhood of St. Catharine’s, would see sights that would throw Templeton into fits. The English are a handsome people, I allow; but their morality is none of the best-featured.”
“Let us be seated, sir; I am afraid we are not exactly agreed on our terms, and, in order that we may continue this subject, I beg you will let me take a seat next you, at table.”
To this Captain Truck very cheerfully assented, and then the two took chairs, continuing the discourse very much in the blind and ambiguous manner in which it had been commenced; the one party insisting on seeing every thing through the medium of an imagination that had got to be diseased on such subjects, or with a species of monomania; while the other seemed obstinately determined to consider the entire country as things had been presented to his limited and peculiar experience, in the vicinity of the docks.
“We have had a very unexpected, and a very agreeable attendant in Captain Truck,” said Mrs Hawker, when Eve had placed herself by her side, and respectfully taken one of her hands. “I really think if I were to suffer shipwreck, or to run the hazard of captivity, I should choose to have both occur in his good company.”
“Mrs. Hawker makes so many conquests,” observed Mrs. Bloomfield, “that we are to think nothing of her success with this mer-man; but what will you say, Miss Effingham, when you learn that I am also in favour, in the same high quarter. I shall think the better of masters, and boatswains, and Trinculos and Stephanos, as long as I live, for this specimen of their craft.”
“Not Trinculos and Stephanos, dear Mrs. Bloom field; for, _a l’ exception pres de_ Saturday-nights, and sweethearts and wives, a more exemplary person in the way of libations does not exist than our excellent Captain Truck. He is much too religious and moral for so vulgar an excess as drinking.”
“Religious!” exclaimed Mrs, Bloomfield, in sur prise. “This is a merit to which I did not know he possessed the smallest claims. One might imagine a little superstition, and some short-lived repentances in gales of wind; but scarcely any thing as much like a trade wind, as religion!”
“Then you do not know him; for a more sincerely devout man, though I acknowledge it is after a fashion that is perhaps peculiar to the ocean, is not often met with. At any rate, you found him attentive to our sex?”
“The pink of politeness, and, not to embellish, there is a manly deference about him, that is singularly agreeable to our frail vanity. This comes of his packet-training, I suppose, and we may thank you for some portion of his merit, His tongue never tires in your praises, and did I not feel persuaded that your mind is made up never to be the wife of any republican American, I should fear this visit exceedingly. Notwithstanding the remark I made concerning my being in favour, the affair lies between Mrs. Hawker and yourself. I know it is not your habit to trifle even on that very popular subject with young ladies, matrimony; but this case forms so complete an exception to the vulgar passion, that I trust you will overlook the indiscretion. Our _golden_ captain, for _copper_ he is not, protests that Mrs. Hawker is the most delightful old lady he ever knew, and that Miss Eve Effingham is the most delightful young lady he ever knew. Here, then, each may see the ground she occupies, and play her cards accordingly. I hope to be forgiven for touching on a subject so delicate.”
“In the first place,” said Eve, smiling, “I should wish to hear Mrs. Hawker’s reply.”
“I have no more to say, than to express my perfect gratitude,” answered that lady, “to announce a determination not to change my condition, on account of extreme youth, and a disposition to abandon the field to my younger, if not fairer, rival.”
“Well, then,” resumed Eve, anxious to change the subject, for she saw that Paul was approaching their group, “I believe it will be wisest in me to suspend a decision, circumstances leaving so much at my disposal. Time must show what that decision will be.”
“Nay,” said Mrs. Bloomfield, who saw no feeling involved in the trifling, “this is unjustifiable coquetry, and I feel bound to ascertain how the land lies. You will remember I am the Captain’s confidant, and you know the fearful responsibility of a friend in an affair of this sort; that of a friend in the duello being insignificant in comparison. That I may have testimony at need, Mr. Powis shall be made acquainted with the leading facts. Captain Truck is a devout admirer of this young lady, sir, and I am endeavouring to discover whether he ought to hang himself on her father’s lawn, this evening, as soon as the moon rises, or live another week. In order to do this, I shall pursue the categorical and inquisitorial method–and so defend yourself Miss Effingham. Do you object to the country of your admirer?”
Eve, though inwardly vexed at the turn this pleasantry had taken, maintained a perfectly composed manner, for she knew that Mrs. Bloomfield had too much feminine propriety to say any thing improper, or any thing that might seriously embarrass her.
“It would, indeed, be extraordinary, should I object to a country which is not only my own, but which has so long been that of my ancestors,” she answered steadily. “On this score, my knight has nothing to fear.”
“I rejoice to hear this,” returned Mrs. Bloomfield, glancing her eyes, unconsciously to herself, however, towards Sir George Templemore, “and, Mr. Powis, you, who I believe are a European, will learn humility in the avowal. Do you object to your swain that he is a seaman?”
Eve blushed, notwithstanding a strong effort to appear composed, and, for the first time since their acquaintance, she felt provoked with Mrs. Bloomfield. She hesitated before she answered in the negative, and this too in a way to give more meaning to her reply, although nothing could be farther from her intentions.
“The happy man _may_ then be an American and a seaman! Here is great encouragement. Do you object to sixty?”
“In any other man I should certainly consider it a blemish, as my own dear father is but fifty.”
Mrs. Bloomfield was struck with the tremor in the voice, and with the air of embarrassment, in one who usually was so easy and collected; and with feminine sensitiveness she adroitly abandoned the subject, though she often recurred to this stifled emotion in the course of the day, and from that moment she became a silent observer of Eve’s deportment with all her father’s guests.
“This is hope enough for one day,” she said, rising; “the profession and the flag must counterbalance the years as best they may, and the Truck lives another revolution of the sun! Mrs. Hawker, we shall be late at dinner, I see by that clock, unless we retire soon.”
Both the ladies now went to their rooms; Eve, who was already dressed for dinner, remaining in the drawing-room. Paul still stood before her, and, like herself, he seemed embarrassed.
“There are men who would be delighted to hear even the little that has fallen from your lips in this trifling,” he said, as soon as Mrs. Bloomfield was out of hearing. “To be an American and a seaman, then, are not serious defects in your eyes?”
“Am I to be made responsible for Mrs. Bloomfield’s caprices and pleasantries?”
“By no means; but I do think you hold yourself responsible for Miss Effingham’s truth and sincerity I can conceive of your silence, when questioned too far, but scarcely of any direct declaration, that shall not possess both these high qualities.”
Eve looked up gratefully, for she saw that profound respect for her character dictated the remark; but rising, she observed–
“This is making a little _badinage_ about our honest, lion-hearted, old captain, a very serious affair. And now, to show you that I am conscious of, and thankful for, your own compliment, I shall place you on the footing of a friend to both the parties, and request you will take Captain Truck into your especial care, while he remains here. My father and cousin are both sincerely his friends, but their habits are not so much those of their guests, as yours will probably be; and to you, then, I commit him, with a request that he may miss his ship and the ocean as little as possible.”
“I would I knew how to take this charge, Miss Effingham!–To be a seaman is not always a recommendation with the polished, intelligent, and refined.”
“But when one is polished, intelligent, and refined, to be a seaman is to add one other particular and useful branch of knowledge to those which are more familiar. I feel certain Captain Truck will be in good hands, and now I will go and do my devoirs to my own especial charges, the ladies.”
Eve bowed as she passed the young man, and she left the room with as much haste as at all became her. Paul stood motionless quite a minute after she had vanished, nor did he awaken from his reverie, until aroused by an appeal from Captain Truck, to sustain him, in some of his matter-of-fact opinions concerning England, against the visionary and bookish notions of Mr. Howel.
“Who is this Mr. Powis?” asked Mrs. Bloomfield of Eve, when the latter appeared in her dressing-room, with an unusual impatience of manner.
“You know, my dear Mrs. Bloomfield, that he was our fellow-passenger in the Montauk, and that he was of infinite service to us, in escaping from the Arabs.”
“All this I know, certainly; but he is a European, is he not?”
Eve scarcely ever felt more embarrassed than in answering this simple question.
“I believe not; at least, I think not; we thought so when we met him in Europe, and even until quite lately; but he has avowed himself a countryman of our own, since his arrival at Templeton.”
“Has he been here long?”
“We found him in the village on reaching home. He was from Canada, and has been in waiting for his cousin, Captain Ducie, who came with you.”
“His cousin!–He has English cousins, then! Mr. Ducie kept this to himself, with true English reserve. Captain Truck whispered something of the latter’s having taken out one of his passengers, _the_ Mr. Powis. the hero of the rocks, but I did not know of his having found his way back to our–to his country. Is he as agreeable as Sir George Templemore?”
“Nay, Mrs. Bloomfield, I must leave you to judge of that for yourself. I think them both agreeable men; but there is so much caprice in a woman’s tastes, that I decline thinking for others.”
“He is a seaman, I believe,” observed Mrs. Bloomfield, with an abstracted manner–“he _must_ have been, to have manoeuvred and managed as I have been told he did. Powis–Powis–that is not one of our names, neither–I should think he must be from the south.”
Here Eve’s habitual truth and dignity of mind did her good service, and prevented any further betrayal of embarrassment.
“We do not know his family,” she steadily answered. “That he is a gentleman, we see; but of his origin and connections he never speaks.”
“His profession would have given him the notions of a gentleman, for he was in the navy I have heard, although I had thought it the British navy. I do not know of any Powises in Philadelphia, or Baltimore, or Richmond, or Charleston; he must surely be from the interior.”
Eve could scarcely condemn her friend for a curiosity that had not a little tormented herself, though she would gladly change the discourse.
“Mr. Powis would be much gratified, did he know what a subject of interest he has suddenly become with Mrs. Bloomfield,” she said, smiling.
“I confess it all; to be very sincere, I think him the most distinguished young man, in air, appearance, and expression of countenance, I ever saw. When this is coupled with what I have heard of his gallantry and coolness, my dear, I should not be woman to feel no interest in him. I would give the world to know of what State he is a native, if native, in truth, he be.”
“For that we have his own word. He was born in this country, and was educated in our own marine.”
“And yet from the little that fell from him, in our first short conversation, he struck me as being educated above his profession.”
“Mr. Powis has seen much as a traveller; when we met him in Europe, it was in a circle particularly qualified to improve both his mind and his manners.”
“Europe! Your acquaintance did not then commence, like that with Sir George Templemore, in the packet?”
“Our acquaintance with neither, commenced in the packet. My father had often seen both these gentlemen, during our residences in different parts of Europe.”
“And your father’s daughter?”
“My father’s daughter, too,” said Eve, laughing. “With Mr. Powis, in particular, we were acquainted under circumstances that left a vivid recollection of his manliness and professional skill. He was of almost as much service to us on one of the Swiss lakes, as he has subsequently been on the ocean.”
All this was news to Mrs. Bloomfield, and she looked as if she thought the intelligence interesting. At this moment the dinner-bell rang, and all the ladies descended to the drawing-room. The gentlemen were already assembled, and as Mr. Effingham led Mrs. Hawker to the table, Mrs. Bloomfield gaily took Eve by the arm, protesting that she felt herself privileged, the first day, to take a seat near the young mistress of the Wigwam.
“Mr. Powis and Sir George Templemore will not quarrel about the honour,” she said, in a low voice, as they proceeded towards the table.
“Indeed you are in error, Mrs. Bloomfield; Sir George Templemore is much better pleased with being at liberty to sit next my cousin Grace.”
“Can this be so!” returned the other, looking intently at her young friend.
“Indeed it is so, and I am very glad to be able to affirm it. How far Miss Van Cortlandt is pleased that it is so, time must show: but the baronet betrays every day, and all day, how much he is pleased with her.”
“He is then a man of less taste, and judgment, and intelligence, than I had thought him.”
“Nay, dearest Mrs. Bloomfield, this is not necessarily true; or, if true, need it be so openly said?”
“_Se non e vero, e ben trovato_.”
Chapter XVIII.
“Thine for a space are they–
Yet shalt thou yield thy treasures up at last; Thy gates shall yet give way,
Thy bolts shall fall, inexorable Past.”
BRYANT
Captain Ducie had retired for the night, and was sitting reading, when a low tap at the door roused him from a brown study. He gave the necessary permission, and the door opened.
“I hope, Ducie, you have not forgotten the secretary I left among your effects,” said Paul entering the room, “and concerning which I wrote you when you were still at Quebec.”
Captain Ducie pointed to the case, which was standing among his other luggage, on the floor of the room.
“Thank you for this care,” said Paul, taking the secretary under his arm, and retiring towards the door; “it contains papers of much importance to myself, and some that I have reason to think are of importance to others.”
“Stop, Powis–a word before, you quit me. Is Templemore _de trop_?”
“Not at all; I have a sincere regard for Templemore, and should be sorry to see him leave us.”
“And yet I think it singular a man of his habits should be rusticating among these hills, when I know that he is expected to look at the Canadas, with a view to report their actual condition at home.”
“Is Sir George really entrusted with a commission of that sort?” inquired Paul, with interest.
“Not with any positive commission, perhaps, for none was necessary. Templemore is a rich fellow, and has no need of appointments; but, it is hoped and understood, that he will look at the provinces, and report their condition to the government, I dare say he will not be impeached for his negligence, though it may occasion surprise.”
“Good night, Ducie; Templemore prefers a wigwam to your walled Quebec, and _natives_ to colonists, that’s all.”
In a minute, Paul was at the door of John Effingham’s room, where he again tapped, and was again told to enter.
“Ducie has not forgotten my request, and here is the secretary that contains poor Mr. Monday’s paper,” he remarked, as he laid his load on a toilet-table, speaking in a way to show that the visit was expected. “We have, indeed, neglected this duty too long, and it is to be hoped no injustice, or wrong to any, will be the consequence.”
“Is that the package?” demanded John Effingham, extending a hand to receive a bundle of papers that Paul had taken from the secretary. “We will break the seals this moment, and ascertain what ought to be done, before we sleep.”
“These are papers of my own, and very precious are they,” returned the young man, regarding them a moment, with interest, before he laid them on the toilet. “Here are the papers of Mr. Monday.”
John Effingham received the package from his young friend, placed the lights conveniently on the table, put on his spectacles, and invited Paul to be seated. The gentlemen were placed opposite each other, the duty of breaking the seals, and first casting an eye at the contents of the different documents, devolving, as a matter of course, on the senior of the two, who, in truth, had alone been entrusted with it.
“Here is something signed by poor Monday himself, in the way of a general, certificate,” observed John Effingham, who first read the paper, and then handed it to Paul. It was, in form, an unsealed letter; and it was addressed “to all whom it may concern.” The certificate itself was in the following words:
“I, John Monday, do declare and certify, that all the accompanying letters and documents are genuine and authentic. Jane Dowse, to whom and from whom, are so many letters, was my late mother, she having intermarried with Peter Dowse, the man so often named, and who led her into acts for which I know she has since been deeply repentant. In committing these papers to me, my poor mother left me the sole judge of the course I was to take, and I have put them in this form in order that they may yet do good, should I be called suddenly away. All depends on discovering who the person called Bright actually is, for he was never known to my mother, by any other name. She knows him to have been an Englishman, however, and thinks he was, or had been, an upper servant in a gentleman’s family. JOHN MONDAY.”
This paper was dated several years back, a sign that the disposition to do right had existed some time in Mr. Monday; and all the letters and other papers had been carefully preserved. The latter also appeared to be regularly numbered, a precaution that much aided the investigations of the two gentlemen. The original letters spoke for themselves, and the copies had been made in a clear, strong, mercantile hand, and with the method of one accustomed to business. In short, so far as the contents of the different papers would allow, nothing was wanting to render the whole distinct and intelligible.
John Effingham read the paper No. 1, with deliberation, though not aloud; and when he had done, he handed it to his young friend, coolly remarking–
“That is the production of a deliberate villain.”
Paul glanced his eye over the document, which was an original letter signed, ‘David Bright,’ and addressed to ‘Mrs. Jane Dowse,’ It was written with exceeding art, made many professions of friendship, spoke of the writer’s knowledge of the woman’s friends in England, and of her first husband in particular, and freely professed the writer’s desire to serve her, while it also contained several ambiguous allusions to certain means of doing so, which should be revealed whenever the person to whom the letter was addressed should discover a willingness to embark in the undertaking. This letter was dated Philadelphia, was addressed to one in New-York, and it was old.
“This is, indeed, a rare specimen of villany,” said Paul, as he laid down the paper, “and has been written in some such spirit as that employed by the devil when he tempted our common mother. I think I never read a better specimen of low, wily, cunning.”
“And, judging by all that we already know, it would seem to have succeeded. In this letter you will find the gentleman a little more explicit; and but a little; though he is evidently encouraged by the interest and curiosity betrayed by the woman in this copy of the answer to his first epistle.”
Paul read the letter just named, and then he laid it down to wait for the next, which was still in the hands of his companion.
“This is likely to prove a history of unlawful love, and of its miserable consequences,” said John Effingham in his cool manner, as he handed the answers to letter No. 1, and letter No. 2, to Paul. “The world is full of such unfortunate adventures, and I should think the parties English, by a hint or two you will find in this very honest and conscientious communication. Strongly artificial, social and political distinctions render expedients of this nature more frequent, perhaps, in Great Britain, than in any other country. Youth is the season of the passions, and many a man in the thoughtlessness of that period lays the foundation of bitter regret in after life.”
As John Effingham raised his eyes, in the act of extending his hand towards his companion, he perceived that the fresh ruddy hue of his embrowned cheek deepened, until the colour diffused itself over the whole of his fine brow. At first an unpleasant suspicion flashed on John Effingham, and he admitted it with regret, for Eve and her future happiness had got to be closely associated, in his mind, with the character and conduct of the young man; but when Paul took the papers, steadily, and by an effort seemed to subdue all unpleasant feelings, the calm dignity with which he read them completely effaced the disagreeable distrust. It was then John Effingham remembered that he had once believed Paul himself might be the fruits of the heartless indiscretion he condemned. Commiseration and sympathy instantly took the place of the first impression, and he was so much absorbed with these feelings that he had not taken up the letter which was to follow, when Paul laid down the paper he had last been required to read.
“This does, indeed, sir, seem to foretell one of those painful histories of unbridled passion, with the still more painful consequences,” said the young man with the steadiness of one who was unconscious of having a personal connexion with any events of a nature so unpleasant. “Let us examine farther.”
John Effingham felt emboldened by these encouraging signs of unconcern, and he read the succeeding letters aloud, so that they learned their contents simultaneously. The next six or eight communications betrayed nothing distinctly, beyond the fact that the child which formed the subject of the whole correspondence, was to be received by Peter Dowse and his wife, and to be retained as their own offspring, for the consideration of a considerable sum, with an additional engagement to pay an annuity. It appeared by these letters also, that the child, which was hypocritically alluded to under the name of the ‘pet,’ had been actually transferred to the keeping of Jane Dowse, and that several years passed, after this arrangement, before the correspondence terminated. Most of the later letters referred to the payment of the annuity, although they all contained cold inquiries after the ‘pet,’ and answers so vague and general, as sufficiently to prove that the term was singularly misapplied. In the whole, there were some thirty or forty letters, each of which had been punctually answered, and their dates covered a space of near twelve years. The perusal of all these papers consumed more than an hour, and when John Effingham laid his spectacles on the table, the village clock had struck the hour of midnight.
“As yet,” he observed, “we have learned little more than the fact, that a child was made to take a false character, without possessing any other clue to the circumstances than is given in the names of the parties, all of whom are evidently obscure, and one of the most material of whom, we are plainly told, must have borne a fictitious name. Even poor Monday, in possession of so much collateral testimony that we want, could not have known what was the precise injustice done, if any, or, certainly, with the intentions he manifests, he would not have left that important particular in the dark.”
“This is likely to prove a complicated affair,” returned Paul, “and it is not very clear that we can be of any immediate service. As you are probably fatigued, we may without impropriety defer the further examination to another time.”
To this John Effingham assented, and Paul, during the short conversation that followed, brought the secretary from the toilet to the table, along with the bundle of important papers that belonged to himself, to which he had alluded, and busied himself in replacing the whole in the drawer from which they had been taken.
“All the formalities about the seals, that we observed when poor Monday gave us the packet, would seem to be unnecessary,” he remarked, while thus occupied, “and it will probably be sufficient if I leave the secretary in your room, and keep the keys myself.”
“One never knows,” returned John Effingham, with the greater caution of experience and age. “We have not read all the papers, and there are wax and lights before you; each has his watch and seal, and it will be the work of a minute only, to replace every thing as we left the package, originally. When this is done, you may leave the secretary, or remove it, at your own pleasure.”
“I will leave it; for, though it contains so much that I prize, and which is really of great importance to myself, it contains nothing for which I shall have immediate occasion.”
“In that case, it were better that I place the package in which we have a common interest in an _armoire_, or in my secretary, and that you keep your precious effects more immediately under your own eye.”
“It is immaterial, unless the case will inconvenience you, for I do not know that I am not happier when it is out of my sight, so long as I feel certain of its security, than when it is constantly before my eyes.”
Paul said this with a forced smile, and there was a sadness in his countenance that excited the sympathy of his companion. The latter, however, merely bowed his assent, and the papers were replaced, and the secretary was locked and deposited in an _armoire_, in silence. Paul was then about to wish the other good night, when John Effingham seized his hand, and by a gentle effort induced him to resume his seat. An embarrassing, but short pause succeeded, when the latter spoke.
“We have suffered enough in company, and have seen each other in situations of sufficient trial to be friends,” he said. “I should feel mortified, did I believe you could think me influenced by an improper curiosity, in wishing to share more of your confidence than you are perhaps willing to bestow; I trust you will attribute to its right motive the liberty I am now taking. Age makes some difference between us, and the sincere and strong interest I feel in your welfare, ought to give me a small claim not to be treated as a total stranger. So jealous and watchful has this interest been, I might with great truth call it affection, that I have discovered you are not situated exactly as other men in your condition of life are situated, and feel persuaded that the sympathy, perhaps the advice, of one so many years older than yourself, might be useful. You have already said so much to me, on the subject of your personal situation, that I almost feel a right to ask for more.”
John Effingham uttered this in his mildest and most winning manner; and few men could carry with them, on such an occasion, more of persuasion in their voices and looks. Paul’s features worked, and it was evident to his companion that he was moved, while, at the same time, he was not displeased.
“I am grateful, deeply grateful, sir, for this interest in my happiness,” Paul answered, “and if I knew the particular points on which you feel any curiosity, there is nothing that I can desire to conceal. Have the further kindness to question me, Mr. Effingham, that I need not touch on things you do not care to hear.”
“All that really concerns your welfare, would have interest with me. You have been the agent of rescuing not only myself, but those whom I most love, from a fate worse than death; and, a childless bachelor myself, I have more than once thought of attempting to supply the places of those natural friends that I fear you have lost. Your parents–“
“Are both dead. I never knew either,” said Paul, who spoke huskily, “and will most cheerfully accept your generous offer, if you will allow me to attach to it a single condition.”
“Beggars must not be choosers,” returned John Effingham, “and if you will allow me to feel this interest in you, and occasionally to share in the confidence of a father; I shall not insist on any unreasonable terms. What is your condition?”
“That the word money may be struck out of our vocabulary, and that you leave your will unaltered. Were the world to be examined, you could not find a worthier or a lovelier heiress, than the one you have already selected, and whom Providence itself has given you. Compared with yourself, I am not rich, but I have a gentleman’s income, and as I shall probably never marry, it will suffice for all my wants.”
John Effingham was more pleased than he cared to express with this frankness, and with the secret sympathy that had existed between them; but he smiled at the injunction; for, with Eve’s knowledge, and her father’s entire approbation, he had actually made a codicil to his will, in which their young protector was left one half of his large fortune.
“The will may remain untouched, if you desire it,” he answered, evasively, “and that condition is disposed of. I am glad to learn so directly from yourself, what your manner of living and the reports of others had prepared me to hear, that you are independent. This fact, alone, will place us solely on our mutual esteem, and render the friendship that I hope is now brought within a covenant, if not now first established, more equal and frank. You have seen much of the world, Powis, for your years and profession?”
“It is usual to think that men of my profession see much of the world, as a consequence of their pursuits; though I agree with you, sir, that this is seeing the world only in a very limited circle. It is now several years since circumstances, I might almost say the imperative order of one whom I was bound to obey, induced me to resign, and since that time I have done little else but travel. Owing to certain adventitious causes, I have enjoyed an access to European society that few of our countrymen possess, and I hope the advantage has not been entirely thrown away. It was as a traveller on the continent of Europe, that I had the pleasure of first meeting with Mr. and Miss Effingham. I was much abroad, even as a child, and owe some little skill in foreign languages to that circumstance.”
“So my cousin has informed me. You have set the question of country at rest, by declaring that you are an American, and yet I find you have English relatives. Captain Ducie, I believe, is a kinsman?”
“He is; we are sister’s children, though our friendship has not always been such as the connexion would infer. When Ducie and myself met at sea, there was an awkwardness, if not a coolness, in the interview, that, coupled with my sudden return to England, I fear did not make the most favourable impression, on those who witnessed what passed.”
“We had confidence in your principles,” said John Effingham, with a frank simplicity, “and, though the first surmises were not pleasant, perhaps, a little reflection told us that there was no just ground for suspicion.”
“Ducie is a fine, manly fellow, and has a seaman’s generosity and sincerity. I had last parted from him on the field, where we met as enemies; and the circumstance rendered the unexpected meeting awkward. Our wounds no longer smarted, it is true; but, perhaps, we both felt shame and sorrow that they had ever been inflicted.”
“It should be a very serious quarrel that could arm sister’s children against each other,” said John Effingham, gravely.
“I admit as much. But, at that time, Captain Ducie was not disposed to admit the consanguinity, and the offence grew out of an intemperate resentment of some imputations on my birth; between two military men, the issue could scarcely be avoided. Ducie challenged, and I was not then in the humour to balk him. A couple of flesh- wounds happily terminated the affair. But an interval of three years had enabled my enemy to discover that he had not done me justice; that I had been causelessly provoked to the quarrel, and that we ought to be firm friends. The generous desire to make suitable expiation, urged him to seize the first occasion of coming to America that offered; and when ordered to chase the Montauk, by a telegraphic communication from London, he was hourly expecting to sail for our seas, where he wished to come, expressly that we might meet. You will judge, therefore, how happy he was to find me unexpectedly in the vessel that contained his principal object of pursuit, thus killing, as it might be, two birds with one stone.”
“And did he carry you away with him, with any such murderous intention?” demanded John Effingham, smiling.
“By no means; nothing could be more amicable than Ducie and myself got to be, when we had been a few hours together in his cabin. As often happens, when there have been violent antipathies and unreasonable prejudices, a nearer view of each other’s character and motives removed every obstacle; and long before we reached England, two warmer friends could not be found, or a more frank intercourse between relatives could not be desired. You are aware, sir, that our English cousins do not often view their cis-atlantic relatives with the most lenient eyes.”
“This is but too true,” said John Effingham proudly, though his lip quivered as he spoke, “and it is, in a great measure, the fault of that miserable mental bondage which has left this country, after sixty years of nominal independence, so much at the mercy of a hostile opinion. It is necessary that we respect ourselves in order that others respect us.”
“I agree with you, sir, entirely. In my case, however, previous injustice disposed my relatives to receive me better, perhaps, than might otherwise have been the case. I had little to ask in the way of fortune, and feeling no disposition to raise a question that might disturb the peerage of the Ducies, I became a favourite.”
“A peerage!–Both your parents, then, were English?”
“Neither, I believe; but the connection between the two countries was so close, that it can occasion no surprise a right of this nature should have passed into the colonies. My mother’s mother became the heiress of one of those ancient baronies, that pass to the heirs- general, and, in consequence of the deaths of two brothers, these rights, which however were never actually possessed by any of the previous generation, centered in my mother and my aunt. The former being dead, as was contended, without issue–“
“You forget yourself!”
“Lawful issue,” added Paul, reddening to the temples, “I should have added–Mrs. Ducie, who was married to the younger son of an English nobleman, claimed and obtained the rank. My pretension would have left the peerage in abeyance, and I probably owe some little of the opposition I found, to that circumstance. But, after Ducie’s generous conduct, I could not hesitate about joining in the application to the crown that, by its decision, the abeyance might be determined in favour of the person who was in possession; and Lady Dunluce is now quietly confirmed in her claim.”
“There are many young men in this country, who would cling to the hopes of a British peerage with greater tenacity!”
“It is probable there are; but my self-denial is not of a very high order, for; it could scarcely be expected the English ministers would consent to give the rank to a foreigner who did not hesitate about avowing his principles and national feelings. I shall not say I did hot covet this peerage, for it would be supererogatory; but I am born an American, and will die an American; and an American who swaggers about such a claim, is like the daw among the peacocks. The less that is said about it, the better.”
“You are fortunate to have escaped the journals, which, most probably, would have _begraced_ you, by elevating you at once to the rank of a duke.”
“Instead of which, I had no other station than that of a dog in the manger. If it makes my aunt happy to be called Lady Dunluce, I am sure she is welcome to the privilege; and when Ducie succeeds her, as will one day be the case, an excellent fellow will be a peer of England. _Voila tout_! You are the only countryman, sir, to whom I have ever spoken of the circumstance, and with you I trust it will remain a secret”
“What! am I precluded from mentioning the facts in my own family? I am not the only sincere, the only warm friend, you have in this house, Powis.”
“In that respect, I leave you to act your pleasure, my dear sir. If Mr. Effingham feel sufficient interest in my fortunes, to wish to hear what I have told you, let there be no silly mysteries,–or–or Mademoiselle Viefville–“
“Or Nanny Sidley, or Annette,” interrupted John Effingham, with a kind smile. “Well, trust to me for that; but, before we separate for the night, I wish to ascertain beyond question one other fact, although the circumstances you have stated scarce leave a doubt of the reply.”
“I understand you, sir, and did not intend to leave you in any uncertainty on that important particular. If there can be a feeling, more painful than all others, with a man of any pride, it is to distrust the purity of his mother. Mine was beyond reproach, thank God, and so it was most clearly established, or I could certainly have had no legal claim to the peerage.”
“Or your fortune–” added John Effingham, drawing a long breath, like one suddenly relieved from an unpleasant suspicion.
“My fortune comes from neither parent, but from one of those generous dispositions, or caprices, if you will, that sometimes induce men to adopt those who are alien to their blood. My guardian adopted me, took me abroad with him, placed me, quite young, in the navy, and dying, he finally left me all he possessed As he was a bachelor, with no near relative, and had been the artisan of his own fortune, I could have no hesitation about accepting the gift he so liberally bequeathed. It was coupled with the condition that I should retire from the service, travel for five years, return home, and marry. There is no silly-forfeiture exacted in either case, but such is the general course solemnly advised by a man who showed himself my true friend for so many years.”
“I envy him the opportunity he enjoyed of serving you. I hope he would have approved of your national pride, for I believe we must put that at the bottom of your disinterestedness, in the affair of the peerage.”
“He would, indeed, although he never knew anything of the claim which arose out of the death of the two lords who preceded my aunt, and who were the brothers of my grandmother. My guardian was in all respects a man, and, in nothing more, than in a manly national pride. While abroad a decoration was offered him, and he declined it with the character and dignity of one who felt that distinctions which his country repudiated, every gentleman belonging to that country ought to reject; and yet he did it with a respectful gratitude for the compliment, that was due to the government from which the offer came.”
“I almost envy that man,” said John Effingham, with warmth. “To have appreciated you, Powis, was a mark of a high judgment; but it seems he properly appreciated himself, his country, and human nature.”
“And yet he was little appreciated in his turn. That man passed years in one of our largest towns, of no more apparent account among its population than any one of its commoner spirits, and of not half as much as one of its bustling brokers, or jobbers.”
“In that there is nothing surprising. The class of the chosen few is too small every where, to be very numerous at any given point, in a scattered population like that of America. The broker will as naturally appreciate the broker, as the dog appreciates the dog, or the wolf the wolf. Least of all is the manliness you have named, likely to be valued among a people who have been put into men’s clothes before they are out of leading-strings. I am older than you, my dear Paul,” it was the first time John Effingham ever used so familiar an appellation, and the young man thought it sounded kindly–“I am older than you, my dear Paul, and will venture to tell you an important fact that may hereafter lessen some of your own mortifications. In most nations there is a high standard to which man at least affects to look; and acts are extolled and seemingly appreciated, for their naked merits. Little of this exists in America, where no man is much praised for himself, but for the purposes of party, or to feed national vanity. In the country in which, of all others, political opinion ought to be the freest, it is the most persecuted, and the community-character of the nation induces every man to think he has a right of property in all its fame. England exhibits a great deal of this weakness and injustice, which, it is to be feared, is a vicious fruit of liberty; for it is certain that the sacred nature of opinion is most appreciated in those countries in which it has the least efficiency. We are constantly deriding those governments which fetter opinion, and yet I know of no nation in which the expression of opinion is so certain to attract persecution and hostility as our own, though it may be, and is, in one sense, free.”
“This arises from its potency. Men quarrel about opinion here, because opinion rules. It is but one mode of struggling for power. But to return to my guardian; he was a man to think and act for himself, and as far from the magazine and newspaper existence that most Americans, in a moral sense, pass, as any man could be.”
“It is indeed a newspaper and magazine existence,” said John Effingham, smiling at Paul’s terms, “to know life only through such mediums! It is as bad as the condition of those English who form their notions of society from novels written by men and women who have no access to it, and from the records of the court journal. I thank you sincerely, Mr. Powis for this confidence, which has not been idly solicited on my part, and which shall not be abused. At no distant day we will break the seals again, and renew our investigations into this affair of the unfortunate Monday, which is not yet, certainly, very promising in the way of revelations.”
The gentlemen shook hands cordially, and Paul, lighted by his companion, withdrew. When the young man was at the door of his own room, he turned, and saw John Effingham following him with his eye. The latter then renewed the good night, with one of those winning smiles that rendered his face so brilliantly handsome, and each retired.
Chapter XIX.
“Item, a capon, 2_s_. 2_d_. Item, sauce, 4_d_. Item, sack, two gallons, 5_s_. 8_d_. Item, bread, a half-penny.”
SHAKSPEARE.
The next day John Effingham made no allusion to the conversation of the previous night, though the squeeze of the hand he gave Paul, when they met, was an assurance that nothing was forgotten. As he had a secret pleasure in obeying any injunction of Eve’s, the young man himself sought Captain Truck, even before they had breakfasted, and, as he had made an acquaintance with ‘the commodore,’ on the lake, previously to the arrival of the Effinghams, that worthy was summoned, and regularly introduced to the honest ship-master. The meeting between these two distinguished men was grave, ceremonious and dignified, each probably feeling that he was temporarily the guardian of a particular portion of an element that was equally dear to both. After a few minutes passed, as it might be, in the preliminary points of etiquette, a better feeling and more confidence was established, and it was soon settled that they should fish in company, the rest of the day; Paul promising to row the ladies out on the lake, and to join them in the course of the afternoon.
As the party quitted the breakfast-table, Eve took an occasion to thank the young man for his attention to their common friend, who, it was reported, had taken his morning’s repast at an early hour, and was already on the lake, the day by this time having advanced within two hours of noon.
“I have dared even to exceed your instructions, Miss Effingham,” said Paul, “for I have promised the Captain to endeavour to persuade you, and as many of the ladies as possible, to trust yourselves to my seamanship, and to submit to be rowed out to the spot where we shall find him and his friend the commodore riding at anchor.”
“An engagement that my influence shall be used to see fulfilled. Mrs. Bloomfield has already expressed a desire to go on the Otsego-Water, and I make no doubt I shall find other companions. Once more let me thank you for this little attention, for I too well know your tastes, not to understand that you might find a more agreeable ward.”
“Upon my word, I feel a sincere regard for our old Captain, and could often wish for no better companion. Were he, however, as disagreeable as I find him, in truth, pleasant and frank, your wishes would conceal all his faults.”
“You have learned, Mr. Powis, that small attentions are as much remembered as important services, and after having saved our lives, wish to prove that you can discharge _les petits devoirs socials_, as well as perform great deeds. I trust you will persuade Sir George Templemore to be of our party, and at four we shall be ready to accompany you; until then I am contracted to a gossip with Mrs. Bloomfield in her dressing-room.”
We shall now leave the party on the land, and follow those who have already taken boat, or the fishermen. The beginning of the intercourse between the salt-water navigator and his fresh-water companion was again a little constrained and critical. Their professional terms agreed as ill as possible, for when the Captain used the expression ‘ship the oars,’ the commodore understood just the reverse of what it had been intended to express; and, once, when he told his companion to ‘give way,’ the latter took the hint so literally as actually to cease rowing. All these professional niceties induced the worthy ship-master to undervalue his companion, who, in the main, was very skilful in his particular pursuit, though it was a skill that he exerted after the fashions of his own lake, and not after the fashions of the ocean. Owing to several contre-tems of this nature, by the time they reached the fishing-ground the Captain began to entertain a feeling for the commodore, that ill comported with the deference due to his titular rank.
“I have come out with you, commodore,” said Captain Truck, when they had got to their station, and laying a peculiar emphasis on the appellation he used, “in order to _enjoy_ myself, and you will confer an especial favour on me by not using such phrases as ‘cable-rope,’ ‘casting anchor,’ and ‘titivating.’ As for the two first, no seaman ever uses them; and I never heard suchna word on board a ship, as the last, D—-e, sir, if I believe it is to be found in the dictionary, even.”
“You amaze me, sir! ‘Casting anchor,’ and ‘cable-rope’ are both Bible phrases, and they must be right.”
“That follows by no means, commodore, as I have some reason to know; for my father having been a parson, and I being a seaman, we may be said to have the whole subject, as it were, in the family. St. Paul– you have heard of such a man as St. Paul, commodore?–“
“I know him almost by heart, Captain Truck; but St. Peter and St. Andrew were the men, most after my heart. Ours is an ancient calling, sir, and in those two instances you see to what a fisherman can rise. I do not remember to have ever heard of a sea-captain who was converted into a saint.”
“Ay, ay, there is always too much to do on board ship to have time to be much more than a beginner in religion. There was my mate, v’y’ge before last, Tom Leach, who is now master of a ship of his own, had he been brought up to it properly, he would have made as conscientious a parson as did his grandfather before him. Such a man would have been a seaman, as well as a parson. I have little to say against St. Peter or St. Andrew, but, in my judgment, they were none the better saints for having been fishermen; and, if the truth were known, I dare say they were at the bottom of introducing such lubberly phrases into the Bible, as ‘casting-anchor,’ and ‘cable- rope.”
“Pray, sir,” asked the commodore, with dignity, “what are _you_ in the practice of saying, when you speak of such matters; for, to be frank with you, _we_ always use these terms on these lakes.”
“Ay, ay, there is a fresh-water smell about them. We say ‘anchor,’ or ‘let go the anchor,’ or ‘dropped the anchor,’ or some such reasonable expression, and not ‘cast anchor,’ as if a bit of iron, weighing two or three tons, is to be jerked about like a stone big enough to kill a bird with. As for the ‘cable-rope,’ as you call it, we say the ‘cable,’ or ‘the chain,’ or ‘the ground tackle,’ according to reason and circumstances. You never hear a real ‘salt’ flourishing his ‘cable-ropes,’ and his ‘casting-anchors,’ which are altogether too sentimental and particular for his manner of speaking. As for ‘ropes,’ I suppose you have not got to be a commodore, and need being told how many there are in a ship.”
“I do not pretend to have counted them, but I have seen a ship, sir, and one under full sail, too, and I know there were as many ropes about her as there are pines on the Vision.”
“Are there more than seven of these trees on your mountain? for that is just the number of ropes in a merchant-man; though a man-of-war’s- man counts one or two more.”
“You astonish me, sir! But seven ropes in a ship?–I should have said there are seven hundred!”
“I dare say, I dare say; that is just the way in which a landsman pretends to criticise a vessel. As for the ropes, I will now give you their names, and then you can lay athwart hawse of these canoe gentry, by the hour, and teach them rigging and modesty, both at the same time. In the first place,” continued the captain, jerking at his line, and then beginning to count on his fingers–“There is the ‘man- rope;’ then come the ‘bucket-rope,’ the ’tiller-rope,’ the ‘bolt- rope,’ the ‘foot-rope,’ the ‘top-rope,’ and the ‘limber-rope.’ I have followed the seas, now, more than half a century, and never yet heard of a ‘cable-rope,’ from any one who could hand, reef, and steer.”
“Well, sir, every man to his trade,” said the commodore, who just then pulled in a fine pickerel, which was the third he had taken, while his companion rejoiced in no more than a few fruitless bites. “You are more expert in ropes than in lines, it would seem. I shall not deny your experience and knowledge; but in the way of fishing, you will at least allow that the sea is no great school. I dare say, now, if you were to hook the ‘sogdollager,’ we should have you jumping into the lake to get rid of him. Quite probably, sir, you never before heard of that celebrated fish?”
Notwithstanding the many excellent qualities of Captain Truck, he had a weakness that is rather peculiar to a class of men, who, having seen so much of this earth, are unwilling to admit they have not seen it all. The little brush in which he was now engaged with the commodore, he conceived due to his own dignity, and his motive was duly to impress his companion with his superiority, which being fairly admitted, he would have been ready enough to acknowledge that the other understood pike-fishing much better than himself. But it was quite too early in the discussion to make any such avowal, and the supercilious remark of the commodore’s putting him on his mettle, he was ready to affirm that he had eaten ‘sogdollagers’ for breakfast, a month at a time, had it been necessary.
“Pooh! pooh! man,” returned the captain, with an air of cool indifference, “you do not surely fancy that you have any thing in a lake like this, that is not to be found in the ocean! If you were to see a whale’s flukes thrashing your puddle, every cruiser among you would run for a port; and as for ‘sogdollagers,’ we think little of them in salt-water; the flying-fish, or even the dry dolphin, being much the best eating.”
“Sir,” said the commodore, with some heat, and a great deal of emphasis, “there is but _one_ ‘sogdollager’ in the world, and he is in this lake. No man has ever seen him, but my predecessor, the ‘Admiral,’ and myself.”
“Bah!” ejaculated the captain, “they are as plenty as soft clams, in the Mediterranean, and the Egyptians use them as a pan-fish. In the East, they catch them to bait with, for hallibut, and other middling sized creatures, that are particular about their diet. It is a good fish, I own, as is seen in this very circumstance.”
“Sir,” repeated the commodore, flourishing his hand, and waxing warm with earnestness, “there is but one ‘sogdollager’ in the universe, and that is in Lake Otsego. A ‘sogdollager’ is a salmon trout, and not a species; a sort of father to all the salmon trout in this part of the world; a scaly patriarch.”
“I make no doubt _your_ ‘sogdollager’ is scaly enough; but what is the use in wasting words about such a trifle? A whale is the only fish fit to occupy a gentleman’s thoughts. As long as I have been at sea, I have never witnessed the taking of more than three whales.”
This allusion happily preserved the peace; for, if there were any thing in the world for which the commodore entertained a profound, but obscure reverence, it was for a whale. He even thought better of a man for having actually seen one, gambolling in the freedom of the ocean; and his mind became suddenly oppressed by the glory of a mariner, who had passed his life among such gigantic animals. Shoving back his cap, the old man gazed steadily at the captain a minute, and all his displeasure about the ‘sogdollagers’ vanished, though, in his inmost mind, he set down all that the other had told him on that particular subject, as so many parts of a regular ‘fish story.’
“Captain Truck,” he said, with solemnity, “I acknowledge myself to be but an ignorant and inexperienced man, one who has passed his life on this lake, which, broad and beautiful as it is, must seem a pond in the eyes of a seaman like yourself, who have passed your days on the Atlantic—-“
“Atlantic!” interrupted the captain contemptuously, “I should have but a poor opinion of myself, had I seen nothing but the Atlantic! Indeed, I never can believe I am at sea at all, on the Atlantic, the passages between New-York and Portsmouth being little more than so much canalling along a tow-path. If you wish to say any thing about oceans, talk of the Pacific, or of the Great South Sea, where a man may run a month with a fair wind, and hardly go from island to island. Indeed, that is an ocean in which there is a manufactory of islands, for they turn them off in lots to supply the market, and of a size to suit customers.”
“A manufactory of islands!” repeated the commodore, who began to entertain an awe of his companion, that he never expected to feel for any human being on Lake Otsego; “are you certain, sir, there is no mistake in this?”
“None in the least; not only islands, but whole Archipelagos are made annually, by the sea insects in that quarter of the world; but, then, you are not to form your notions of an insect in such an ocean, by the insects you see in such a bit of water as this.”
“As big as our pickerel, or salmon trout, I dare say?” returned the commodore, in the simplicity of his heart, for by this time his local and exclusive conceit was thoroughly humbled, and he was almost ready to believe any thing.
“I say nothing of their size, for it is to their numbers and industry that I principally allude now. A solitary shark, I dare say, would set your whole Lake in commotion?”
“I think we might manage a shark, sir. I once saw one of those animals, and I do really believe the sogdollager would outweigh him. I do think we might manage a shark, sir.”
“Ay, you mean an in-shore, high-latitude fellow. But what would you say to a shark as long as one of those pines on the mountain?”
“Such a monster would take in a man, whole?”
“A man! He would take in a platoon, Indian file I dare say one of those pines, now, may be thirty or forty feet high!”
A gleam of intelligence and of exultation shot across the weather- beaten face of the old fisherman, for he detected a weak spot in the other’s knowledge. The worthy Captain, with that species of exclusiveness which accompanies excellence in any one thing, was quite ignorant of most matters that pertain to the land. That there should be a tree, so far inland, that was larger than his main-yard, he did not think probable, although that yard itself was made of part of a tree; and, in the laudable intention of duly impressing his companion with the superiority of a real seaman over a mere fresh- water navigator, he had inadvertently laid bare a weak spot in his estimate of heights and distances, that the Commodore seized upon, with some such avidity as the pike seizes the hook. This accidental mistake alone saved the latter from an abject submission, for the cool superiority of the Captain had so far deprived him of his conceit, that he was almost ready to acknowledge himself no better than a dog, when he caught a glimpse of light through this opening.
“There is not a pine, that can be called of age, on all the mountain, which is not more than a hundred feet high, and many are nearer two,” he cried in exultation, flourishing his hand. “The sea may have its big monsters, Captain, but our hills have their big trees. Did you ever see a shark of half that length?”
Now, Captain Truck was a man of truth, although so much given to occasional humorous violations of its laws, and, withal, a little disposed to dwell upon the marvels of the great deep, in the spirit of exaggeration, and he could not, in conscience, affirm any thing so extravagant as this. He was accordingly obliged to admit his mistake, and from this moment, the conversation was carried on with a greater regard to equality. They talked, as they fished, of politics, religion, philosophy, human nature, the useful arts, abolition, and most other subjects that would be likely to interest a couple of Americans who had nothing to do but to twitch, from time to time, at two lines dangling in the water. Although few people possess less of the art of conversation than our own countrymen, no other nation takes as wide a range in its discussions. He is but a very indifferent American that does not know, or thinks he knows, a little of every thing, and neither of our worthies was in the least backward in supporting the claims of the national character in this respect. This general discussion completely restored amity between the parties; for, to confess the truth, our old friend the Captain was a little rebuked about the affair of the tree. The only peculiarity worthy of notice, that occurred in the course of their various digressions, was the fact, that the commodore insensibly began to style his companion “General;” the courtesy of the country in his eyes, appearing to require that a man who has seen so much more than himself, should, at least, enjoy a title equal to his own in rank, and that of Admiral being proscribed by the sensitiveness of republican principles. After fishing a few hours, the old laker pulled the skiff up to the Point so often mentioned, where he Lighted a fire on the grass, and prepared a dinner. When every thing was ready, the two seated themselves, and began to enjoy the fruits of their labours in a way that will be understood by all sportsmen.
“I have never thought of asking you, general,” said the commodore, as he began to masticate a perch, “whether you are an aristocrat or a democrat. We have had the government pretty much upside-down, too, this morning, but this question has escaped me.”
“As we are here by ourselves under these venerable oaks, and talking like two old messmates,” returned the general, “I shall just own the truth, and make no bones of it. I have been captain of my own ship so long, that I have a most thorough contempt for all equality. It is a vice that I deprecate, and, whatever may be the laws of this country, I am of opinion, that equality is no where borne out by the Law of Nations; which, after all, commodore, is the only true law for a gentleman to live under.”
“That is the law of the strongest, if I understand the matter, general.”
“Only reduced to rules. The Law of Nations, to own the truth to you, is full of categories, and this will give an enterprising man an opportunity to make use of his knowledge. Would you believe, commodore, that there are countries, in which they lay taxes on tobacco?”
“Taxes on tobacco! Sir, I never heard of such an act of oppression under the forms of law! What has tobacco done, that any one should think of taxing it?”
“I believe, commodore, that its greatest offence is being so general a favourite. Taxation, I have found, differs from most other things, generally attacking that which men most prize.”
“This is quite new to me, general; a tax on tobacco. The law-makers in those countries cannot chew. I drink to your good health, sir, and to many happy returns of such banquets as this.”
Here the commodore raised a large silver punch-bowl, which Pierre had furnished, to his lips, and fastening his eyes on the boughs of a knarled oak, he looked like a man who was taking an observation, for near a minute. All this time, the captain regarded him with a sympathetic pleasure, and when the bowl was free, he imitated the example, levelling his own eye at a cloud, that seemed floating at an angle of forty-five degrees above him, expressly for that purpose.
“There is a lazy cloud!” exclaimed the general, as he let go his hold to catch breath; “I have been watching it some time, and it has not moved an inch.”
“Tobacco!” repeated the commodore, drawing a long breath, as if he was just recovering the play of his lungs, “I should as soon think of laying a tax on punch. The country that pursues such a policy must, sooner or later, meet with a downfall. I never knew good come of persecution.”
“I find you are a sensible man, commodore, and regret I did not make your acquaintance earlier in life. Have you yet made up your mind on the subject of religious faith?”
“Why, my dear general, not to be nibbling like a sucker with a sore mouth, with a person of your liberality, I shall give you a plain history of my adventures, in the way of experiences, that you may judge for yourself. I was born an Episcopalian, if one can say so, but was converted to Presbyterianism at twenty. I stuck to this denomination about five years, when I thought I would try the Baptists, having got to be fond of the water, by this time. At thirty-two I fished a while with the Methodists; since which conversion, I have chosen to worship God pretty much by myself, out here on the lake.”
“Do you consider it any harm, to hook a fish of a Sunday?”
“No more than it is to eat a fish of a Sunday. I go altogether by faith, in my religion, general, for they talked so much to me of the uselessness of works, that I’ve got to be very unparticular as to what I do. Your people who have been converted four or five times, are like so many pickerel, which strike at every hook.”
“This is very much my case. Now, on the river–of course you know where the river is?”
“Certain,” said the commodore; “it is at the foot of the lake.”
“My dear commodore, when we say ‘the river,’ we always mean the Connecticut; and I am surprised a man of your sagacity should require to be told this. There are people on the river who contend that a ship should heave-to of a Sunday. They did talk of getting up an Anti-Sunday-Sailing-Society, but the ship-masters were too many for them, since they threatened to start a society to put down the growing of inyens, (the captain would sometimes use this pronunciation) except of week-days. Well, I started in life, on the platform tack, in the way of religion, and I believe I shall stand on the same course till orders come to ‘cast anchor,’ as you call it. With you, I hold out for faith, as the one thing needful. Pray, my good friend, what are your real sentiments concerning ‘Old Hickory.’
“Tough, sir;–Tough as a day in February on this lake. All fins, and gills, and bones.”
“That is the justest character I have yet heard of the old gentleman; and then it says so much in a few words; no category about it. I hope the punch is to your liking?”
On this hint the old fisherman raised the bowl a second time to his lips, and renewed the agreeable duty of letting its contents flow down his throat, in a pleasant stream. This time, he took aim at a gull that was sailing over his head, only relinquishing the draught as the bird settled into the water. The ‘general’ was more particular; for selecting a stationary object, in the top of an oak, that grew on the mountain near him, he studied it with an admirable abstruseness of attention, until the last drop was drained. As soon as this startling fact was mentioned, however, both the _convives_ set about repairing the accident, by squeezing lemons, sweetening water, and mixing liquors, _secundem artem._ At the same time, each lighted a cigar, and the conversation, for some time, was carried on between their teeth.
“We have been so frank with each other to-day, my excellent commodore,” said Captain Truck, “that did I know your true sentiments concerning Temperance Societies, I should look on your inmost soul as a part of myself. By these free communications men get really to know each other.”
“If liquor is not made to be drunk, for what is it made? Any one may see that this lake was made for skiffs and fishing; it has a length, breadth, and depth suited to such purposes. Now, here is liquor distilled, bottled, and corked, and I ask if all does not show that it was made to be drunk. I dare say your temperance men are ingenious, but let them answer that if they can.”
“I wish, from my heart, my dear sir, we had known each other fifty years since. That would have brought you acquainted with salt-water, and left nothing to be desired in your character. We think alike, I believe, in every thing but on the virtues of fresh-water. If these temperance people had their way, we should all be turned into so many Turks, who never taste wine, and yet marry a dozen wives.”
“One of the great merits of fresh-water, general, is what I call its mixable quality.”
“There would be an end to Saturday nights, too, which are the seamen’s tea-parties.”
“I question if many of them fish in the rain, from sunrise to sunset.”
“Or, stand their watches in wet pee-jackets, from sunset to sunrise. Splicing the main brace at such times, is the very quintessence of human enjoyments.”
“If liquors were not made to be drunk,” put in the commodore, logically, “I would again ask for what are they made? Let the temperance men get over that difficulty if they can.”
“Commodore, I wish you twenty more good hearty years of fishing in this lake, which grows, each instant, more beautiful in my eyes, as I confess does the whole earth; and to show you that I say no more than I think, I will clench it with a draught.”
Captain Truck now brought his right eye to bear on the new moon, which happened to be at a convenient height, closed the left one, and continued in that attitude until the commodore began seriously to think he was to get nothing besides, the lemon-seeds for his share. This apprehension, however, could only arise from ignorance of his companion’s character, than whom a juster man, according to the notions of ship-masters, did not live; and had one measured the punch that was left in the bowl when this draught was ended, he would have found that precisely one half of it was still untouched, to a thimblefull. The commodore now had his turn; and before he got through, the bottom of the vessel was as much uppermost as the butt of a club bed firelock. When the honest fisherman took breath after this exploit, and lowered his cup from the vault of heaven to the surface of the earth, he caught a view of a boat crossing the lake, coming from the Silent Pine, to that Point on which they were enjoying so many agreeable hallucinations on the subject of temperance.
“Yonder is the party from the Wigwam,” he said, “and they will be just in time to become converts to our opinions, if they have any doubts on the subjects we have discussed. Shall we give up the ground to them, by taking to the skiff, or do you feel disposed to face the women?”
“Under ordinary circumstances, commodore, I should prefer your society to all the petticoats in the State, but there are two ladies in that party, either of whom I would marry, any day, at a minute’s warning.”
“Sir,” said the commodore with a tone of warning, “we, who have lived bachelors so long, and are wedded to the water, ought never to speak lightly on so grave a subject.”
“Nor do I. Two women, one of whom is twenty, and the other seventy– and hang me if I know which I prefer.”
“You would soonest be rid of the last, my dear general, and my advice is to take her.”
“Old as she is, sir, a king would have to plead hard to get her consent. We will make them some punch, that they may see we were mindful of them in their absence.”
To work these worthies now went in earnest, in order to anticipate the arrival of the party, and as the different compounds were in the course of mingling, the conversation did not flag. By this time both the salt-water and the fresh-water sailor were in that condition when men are apt to think aloud, and the commodore had lost all his awe of his companion.
“My dear sir,” said the former, “I am a thousand times sorry you came from that river, for, to tell you my mind without any concealment, my only objection to you is that you are not of the middle states. I admit the good qualities of the Yankees, in a general way, and yet they are the very worst neighbours that a man can have.”
“This is a new character of them, commodore, as they generally pass for the best, in their own eyes. I should like to hear you explain your meaning.”
“I call him a bad neighbour who never remains long enough in a place to love any thing but himself. Now, sir, I have a feeling for every pebble on the shore of this lake, a sympathy with every wave,”–here the commodore began to twirl his hand about, with the fingers standing apart, like so many spikes in a _che-vaux-de-frise_–“and each hour, as I row across it, I find I like it better; and yet, sir, would you believe me, I often go away of a morning to pass the day on the water, and, on returning home at night, find half the houses filled with new faces.”
“What becomes of the old ones?” demanded Captain Truck; for this, it struck him, was getting the better of him with his own weapons. “Do you mean that the people come and go like the tides?”
“Exactly so, sir; just as it used to be with the herrings in the Otsego, before the. Susquehannah was dammed, and is still, with the swallows.”
“Well, well, my good friend, take consolation. You’ll meet all the faces you ever saw here, one day in heaven.”
“Never; not a man of them will stay there, if there be such a thing as moving. Depend on it, sir,” added the commodore, in the simplicity of his heart, “heaven is no place for a Yankee, if he can get farther west, by hook or by crook. They are all too uneasy for any steady occupation. You, who are a navigator, must know something concerning the stars; is there such a thing as another world, that lies west of this?”
“That can hardly be, commodore, since the points of the compass only refer to objects on this earth. You know, I suppose, that a man starting from this spot, and travelling due west, would arrive, in time, at this very point, coming in from the east; so that what is west to us, in the heavens, on this side of the world, is east to those on the other.”
“This I confess I did not know, general. I have understood that what is good in one man’s eyes, will be bad in another’s; but never before have I heard that what is west to one man, lies east to another. I am afraid, general, that there is a little of the sogdollager bait in this?”
“Not enough, sir, to catch the merest fresh-water gudgeon that swims. No, no; there is neither east nor west off the earth, nor any up and down; and so we Yankees must try and content ourselves with heaven. Now, commodore, hand me the bowl, and we will get it ready down to the shore, and offer the ladies our homage. And so you have become a laker in your religion, my dear commodore,” continued the general, between his teeth, while he smoked and squeezed a lemon at the same time, “and do your worshipping on the water?”
“Altogether of late, and more especially since my dream.”
“Dream! My dear sir, I should think you altogether too innocent a man to dream.”
“The best of us have our failings, general. I do sometimes dream, I own, as well as the greatest sinner of them all.”
“And of what did you dream–the sogdollager?”
“I dreamt of death.”
“Of slipping the cable!” cried the general, looking up suddenly. “Well, what was the drift?”
“Why, sir, having no wings, I went down below, and soon found myself in the presence of the old gentleman himself.”
“That was pleasant–had he a tail? I have always been curious to know whether he really has a tail or not.”
“I saw none, sir, but then we stood face to face, like gentlemen, and I cannot describe what I did not see.”
“Was he glad to see you, commodore?”
“Why, sir; he was civilly spoken, but his occupation prevented many compliments.”
“Occupation!”
“Certainly, sir; he was cutting out shoes, for his imps to travel about in, in order to stir up mischief.”
“And did he set you to work?–This is a sort of State-Prison affair, after all!”
“No sir, he was too much of a gentleman to set me at making shoes as soon as I arrived. He first inquired what part of the country I was from, and when I told him, he was curious to know what most of the people were about in our neighbourhood.”
“You told him, of course, commodore?”
“Certainly, sir, I told him their chief occupation was quarrelling about religion; making saints of them selves, and sinners of their neighbours. ‘Hollo!’ says the Devil, calling out to one of his imps, ‘boy, run and catch my horse–I must be off, and have a finger in that pie. What denominations have you in that quarter, commodore? So I told him, general, that we had Baptists, and Quakers, and Universalists, and Episcopalians, and Presbyterians, old-lights, new- lights, and blue-lights; and Methodists—-. ‘Stop,’ said the Devil, ‘that’s enough; you imp, be nimble with that horse.–Let me see, commodore, what, part of the country did you say you came from?’ I told him the name more distinctly this time—-“
“The very spot?”
“Town and county.”
“And what did the Devil say to that?”
“He called out to the imp, again–‘Hollo, you boy, never mind that horse; _these_ people will all be here before I can get there.'”
Here the commodore and the general began to laugh, until the arches of the forest rang with their merriment. Three times they stopped, and as often did they return to their glee, until, the punch being ready, each took a fresh draught, in order to ascertain if it were fit to be offered to the ladies.
Chapter XX.
“O Romeo, Romeo, wherefore art thou Romeo?”
ROMEO AND JULIET.
The usual effect of punch is to cause people to see double; but, on this occasion, the mistake was the other way, for two boats had touched the strand, instead of the one announced by the commodore, and they brought with them the whole party from the Wigwam, Steadfast and Aristabalus included. A domestic or two had also been brought to prepare the customary repast.
Captain Truck was as good as his word, as respects the punch, and the beverage was offered to each of the ladies in form, as soon as her feet had touched the green sward which covers that beautiful spot. Mrs. Hawker declined drinking, in a way to delight the gallant seaman; for so completely had she got the better of all his habits and prejudices, that every thing she did seemed right and gracious in his eyes.
The party soon separated into groups, or pairs, some being seated on the margin of the limpid water, enjoying the light cool airs, by which it was fanned, others lay off in the boats fishing, while the remainder plunged into the woods, that, in their native wildness, bounded the little spot of verdure, which, canopied by old oaks, formed the arena so lately in controversy. In this manner, an hour or two soon slipped away, when a summons was given for all to assemble around the viands.
The repast was laid on the grass, notwithstanding Aristabulus more than hinted that the public, his beloved public, usually saw fit to introduce rude tables for that purpose. The Messrs. Effinghams, however, were not to be taught by a mere bird of passage, how a rustic fete so peculiarly their own, ought to be conducted, and the attendants were directed to spread the dishes on the turf. Around this spot, rustic seats were _improvises_, and the business of _restauration_ proceeded. Of all there assembled, the Parisian feelings of Mademoiselle Viefville were the most excited; for to her, the scene was one of pure delights, with the noble panorama of forest-clad mountains, the mirror-like lake, the overshadowing oaks, and the tangled brakes of the adjoining woods.
“_Mais, vraiment ceci surpasse les Tuileries, meme dans leur propre genre_!” she exclaimed, with energy. “_On passer ait volontiers par les dangers du desert pour y parvenir_.”
Those who understood her, smiled at this characteristic remark, and most felt disposed to join in the enthusiasm. Still, the manner in which their companions expressed the happiness they felt, appeared tame and unsatisfactory to Mr. Bragg and Mr. Dodge, these two persons being accustomed to see the young of the two sexes indulge in broader exhibitions of merry-making than those in which it comported with the tastes and habits of the present party to indulge. In vain Mrs. Hawker, in her quiet dignified way, enjoyed the ready wit and masculine thoughts of Mrs. Bloom field, appearing to renew her youth; or, Eve, with her sweet simplicity, and highly cultivated mind and improved tastes, seemed like a highly-polished mirror, to throw back the flashes of thought and memory, that so constantly gleamed before both; it was all lost on these thoroughly matter-of-fact utilitarians. Mr. Effingham, all courtesy and mild refinement, was seldom happier; and John Effingham was never more pleasant, for he had laid aside the severity of his character, to appear, what he ought always to have been, a man in whom intelligence and quickness of thought could be made to seem secondary to the gentler qualities. The young men were not behind their companions, either, each, in his particular way, appearing to advantage, gay, regulated, and full of a humour that was rendered so much the more agreeable, by drawing its images from a knowledge of the world, that was tempered by observation and practice.
Poor Grace, alone, was the only one of the whole party, always excepting Aristabulus and Steadfast, who, for those fleeting but gay hours, was not thoroughly happy. For the first time in her life, she felt her own deficiencies, that ready and available knowledge, so exquisitely feminine in its nature and exhibition, which escaped Mrs. Bloomfield and Eve, as it might be from its own excess; which the former possessed almost, intuitively, a gift of Heaven, and which the latter enjoyed, not only from the same source, but as a just consequence of her long and steady self-denial, application, and a proper appreciation of her duty to herself, was denied one who, in ill-judged compliance with the customs of a society that has no other apparent aim than the love of display, had precluded herself from enjoyments that none but the intellectual can feel. Still Grace was beautiful and attractive; and though she wondered where her cousin, in general so simple and unpretending, had acquired all those stores of thought, that, in the _abandon_ and freedom of such a fete, escaped her in rich profusion, embellished with ready allusions and a brilliant though chastened wit, her generous and affectionate heart could permit her to wonder without envying. She perceived, for the first time, on this occasion, that if Eve were indeed a Hajji, it was not a Hajji of a common school; and, while her modesty and self- abasement led her bitterly to regret the hours irretrievably wasted in the frivolous levities so common to those of her sex with whom she had been most accustomed to mingle, her sincere regret did not lessen her admiration for one she began tenderly to love.
As for Messrs. Dodge and Bragg, they both determined, in their own minds, that this was much the most stupid entertainment they had ever seen on that spot, for it was entirely destitute of loud laughing, noisy merriment, coarse witticisms, and practical jokes. To them it appeared the height of arrogance, for any particular set of persons to presume to come to a spot, rendered sacred by the public suffrage in its favour, in order to indulge in these outlandish dog-in-the- mangerisms.
Towards the close of this gay repast, and when the party were about to yield their places to the attendants, who were ready to re-ship the utensils, John Effingham observed–
“I trust, Mrs. Hawker, you have been-duly warned of the catastrophe- character of this point, on which woman is said never to have been wooed in vain. Here are Captain Truck and myself, ready at any moment to use these carving knives, _faute des Bowies_, in order to show our desperate devotion; and I deem it no more than prudent in you, not to smile again this day, lest the cross-eyed readings of jealousy should impute a wrong motive.”
“Had the injunction been against laughing, sir, I might have resisted, but smiles are far too feeble to express one’s approbation, on such a day as this; you may, therefore, trust to my discretion. Is it then true, however, that Hymen haunts these shades?”
“A bachelor’s history of the progress of love, may be, like the education of his children, distrusted; but so sayeth tradition; and I never put my foot in the place, without making fresh vows of constancy to myself. After this announcement of the danger, dare you accept an arm, for I perceive signs that life cannot be entirely wasted in these pleasures, great as they may prove.”
The whole party arose, and separating naturally, they strolled in groups or pairs again, along the pebbly strand, or beneath the trees, while the attendants made the preparations to depart. Accident, as much as design, left Sir George and Grace alone, for neither perceived the circumstance until they had both passed a little rise in the formation of the ground, and were beyond the view of their companions. The baronet was the first to perceive how much he had been favoured by fortune, and his feelings were touched by the air of gentle melancholy, that shaded the usually bright and brilliant countenance of the beautiful girl.
“I should have thrice enjoyed this pleasant day,” he said, with an interest in his manner, that caused the heart of Grace to beat quicker, “had I not seen that to you it has been less productive of satisfaction, than to most of those around you. I fear you may not be as well, as usual?”
“In health, never better, though not in spirits, perhaps.”
“I could wish I had a right to inquire why you, who have so few causes in general to be out of spirits, should have chosen a moment so little in accordance with the common feeling.”
“I have chosen no moment; the moment has chosen me, I fear. Not until this day, Sir George Templemore, have I ever been truly sensible of my great inferiority to my cousin, Eve.”
“An inferiority that no one but yourself would observe or mention.”
“No, I am neither vain enough, nor ignorant enough, to be the dupe of this flattery,” returned Grace, shaking her hands and head, while she forced a smile; for even the delusions those we love pour into our ears, are not without their charms. “When I first met my cousin, after her return, my own imperfections rendered me blind to her superiority; but she herself has gradually taught me to respect her mind, her womanly character, her tact, her delicacy, principles, breeding, every thing that can make a woman estimable, or worthy to be loved! Oh! how have I wasted in childish amusements, and frivolous vanities, the precious moments of that girlhood which can never be recalled, and left myself scarcely worthy to be an associate of Eve Effingham!”
The first feelings of Grace had so far gotten the control, that she scarce knew what she said, or to whom she was speaking; she even wrung her hands, in the momentary bitterness of her regrets, and in a way to arouse all the sympathy of a lover.
“No one but yourself would say this, Miss Van Cortlandt, and least of all your admirable cousin.”
“She is, indeed, my admirable cousin! But what are _we_, in comparison with such a woman. Simple and unaffected as a child, with the intelligence of a scholar; with all the graces of a woman, she has the learning and mind of a man. Mistress of so many languages—-“
“But you, too, speak several, my dear Miss Van Cortlandt.”
“Yes,” said Grace, bitterly, “I _speak_ them, as the parrot repeats words that he does not understand. But Eve Effingham has used these languages as means, and she does not tell you merely what such a phrase or idiom signifies, but what the greatest writers have thought and written.”
“No one has a more profound respect for your cousin than myself, Miss Van Cortlandt, but justice to you requires that I should say her great superiority over yourself has escaped me.”
“This may be true, Sir George Templemore, and for a long time it escaped me too. I have only learned to prize her as she ought to be prized by an intimate acquaintance; hour by hour, as it might be. But even you must have observed how quick and intuitively my cousin and Mrs. Bloomfield have understood each other to-day; how much extensive reading, and, what polished tastes they have both shown, and all so truly feminine! Mrs. Bloomfield is a remarkable woman, but she loves these exhibitions, for she knows she excels in them. Not so with Eve Effingham, who, while she so thoroughly enjoys every thing intellectual, is content, always, to seem so simple. Now, it happens, that the conversation turned once to-day on a subject that my cousin, no later than yesterday, fully explained to me, at my own earnest request; and I observed that, while she joined so naturally with Mrs. Bloomfield in adding to our pleasure, she kept back half what she knew, lest she might seem to surpass her friend. No–no–no–there is not such another woman as Eve Effingham in this world!”
“So keen a perception of excellence in others, denotes an equal excellence in yourself.”
“I know my own great inferiority now, and no kindness of yours, Sir George Templemore, can ever persuade me into a better opinion of myself. Eve has travelled, seen much in Europe that does not exist here, and, instead of passing her youth in girlish trifling, has treated the minutes as if they were all precious, as she well knew them to be.”
“If Europe, then, does indeed possess these advantages, why not yourself visit it, dearest Miss Van Cortlandt?”
“I–I a Hajji!” cried Grace with childish pleasure, though her colour heightened, and, for a moment, Eve and her superiority was forgotten.
Certainly Sir George Templemore did not come out on the lake that day with any expectation of offering his baronetcy, his fair estate, with his hand, to this artless, half-educated, provincial, but beautiful girl. For a long time he had been debating with himself the propriety of such a step, and it is probable that, at some later period, he would have sought an occasion, had not one now so opportunely offered, notwithstanding all his doubts and reasonings with himself. If the “woman who hesitates is lost,” it is equally true that the man who pretends to set up his reason alone against beauty, is certain to find that sense is less powerful than the senses. Had Grace Van Cortlandt been more sophisticated, less natural, her beauty might have failed to make this conquest; but the baronet found a charm in her _naivete_, that was singularly winning to the feelings of a man of the world. Eve had first attracted him by the same quality; the early education of American females being less constrained and artificial than that of the English; but in Eve he found a mental training and acquisitions that left the quality less conspicuous, perhaps, than in her scarcely less beautiful cousin; though, had Eve met his admiration with any thing like sympathy, her power over him would not have been easily weakened. As it was, Grace had been gradually winding herself around his affections, and he now poured out his love, in a language that her unpractised and already favourably disposed feelings had no means of withstanding. A very few minutes were allowed to them, before the summons to the boat; but when this summons came, Grace rejoined the party, elevated in her own good opinion, as happy as a cloudless future could make her and without another thought of the immeasurable superiority of her cousin.
By a singular coincidence, while the baronet and Grace were thus engaged on one part of the shore, Eve was the subject of a similar proffer of connecting herself for life, on another. She had left the circle, attended by Paul, her father, and Aristabulus; but no sooner had they reached the margin of the water, than the two former were called away by Captain Truck, to settle some controverted point between the latter and the commodore. By this unlooked-for desertion, Eve found herself alone with Mr. Bragg.
“That was a funny and comprehensive remark Mr. John made about the ‘Point,’ Miss Eve,” Aristabulus commenced, as soon as he found himself in possession of the ground. “I should like to know if it be really true that no woman was ever unsuccessfully wooed beneath these oaks? If such be the case, we gentlemen ought to be cautious how we come here.”
Here Aristabulus simpered, and looked, if possible, more amiable than ever; though the quiet composure and womanly dignity of Eve, who respected herself too much, and too well knew what was due to her sex, even to enter into, or, so far as it depended on her will, to permit any of that common-place and vulgar trifling about love and matrimony, which formed a never-failing theme between the youthful of the two sexes, in Mr. Bragg’s particular circle, sensibly curbed his ambitious hopes. Still he thought he had made too good an opening, not to pursue the subject.
“Mr. John Effingham sometimes indulges in pleasantries,” Eve answered, “that would lead one astray who might attempt to follow.”
“Love _is_ a jack-o’-lantern,” rejoined Aristabulus sentimentally. “That I admit; and it is no wonder so many get swamped in following his lights. Have you ever felt the tender passion, Miss Eve?”
Now, Aristabulus had heard this question put at the _soiree_ of Mrs. Houston, more than once, and he believed himself to be in the most polite road for a regular declaration. An ordinary woman, who felt herself offended by this question, would, most probably, have stepped back, and, raising her form to its utmost elevation, answered by an emphatic “sir!” Not so with Eve. She felt the distance between Mr. Bragg and herself to be so great, that by no probable means could he even offend her by any assumption of equality. This distance was the result of opinions, habits, and education, rather than of condition, however; for, though Eve Effingham could become the wife of a gentleman only, she was entirely superior to those prejudices of the world that depend on purely factitious causes. Instead of discovering surprise, indignation, or dramatic dignity, therefore, at this extraordinary question, she barely permitted a smile to curl her handsome mouth; and this so slightly, as to escape her companion’s eye.
“I believe we are to be favoured with as smooth water, in returning to the village, as we had in the morning, while coming to this place,” she simply said. “You row sometimes, I think, Mr. Bragg?”
“Ah! Miss Eve, such another opportunity may never occur again, for you foreign ladies are so difficult of access! Let me, then, seize this happy moment, here, beneath the hymeneal oaks, to offer you this faithful hand and this willing heart. Of fortune you will have enough for both, and I say nothing about the miserable dross. Reflect, Miss Eve, how happy we might be, protecting and soothing the old age of your father, and in going down the hill of life in company; or, as the song says, ‘and hand in hand we’ll go, and sleep the’gither at the foot, John Anderson, my Joe.'”
“You draw very agreeable pictures, Mr Bragg, and with the touches of a master!”
“However agreeable you find them, Miss Eve, they fall infinitely short of the truth. The tie of wedlock, besides being the most sacred, is also the dearest; and happy, indeed, are they who enter into the solemn engagement with such cheerful prospects as ourselves. Our ages are perfectly suitable, our disposition entirely consonant, our habits so similar as to obviate all unpleasant changes, and our fortunes precisely what they ought to be to render a marriage happy, with confidence on one side, and gratitude on the other. As to the day, Miss Eve, I could wish to leave you altogether the mistress of that, and shall not be urgent.”
Eve had often heard John Effingham comment on the cool impudence of a particular portion of the American population, with great amusement to herself; but never did she expect to be the subject of an attack like this in her own person. By way of rendering the scene perfect, Aristabulus had taken out his penknife, cut a twig from a bush, and he now rendered himself doubly interesting by commencing the favourite occupation of whittling. A cooler picture of passion could not well have been drawn.
“You are bashfully silent, Miss Eve! I make all due allowances for natural timidity, and shall say no more at present–though, as silence universally ‘gives consent–‘” “If you please, sir,” interrupted Eve, with a slight motion of her parasol, that implied a check. “I presume our habits and opinions, notwithstanding you seem to think them so consonant with each other, are sufficiently different to cause you not to see the impropriety of one, who is situated like yourself, abusing the confidence of a parent, by making such a proposal to a daughter without her father’s knowledge: and, on that point, I shall say nothing. But as you have done me the honour of making me a very unequivocal offer of your hand, I wish that the answer may be as distinct as the proposal. I decline the advantage and happiness of becoming your wife, sir—-“
“Time flies, Miss Eve!”
“Time does fly, Mr. Bragg; and, if you remain much longer in the employment of Mr. Effingham, you may lose an opportunity of advancing your fortunes at the west, whither I understand it has long been your intention to emigrate—-“
“I will readily relinquish all my hopes at the west, for your sake.”
“No, sir, I cannot be a party to such a sacrifice. I will not say forget _me_, but forget your hopes here, and renew those you have so unreflectingly abandoned beyond the Mississippi. I shall not represent this conversation to Mr. Effingham in a manner to create any unnecessary prejudices against you; and while I thank you, as every woman should, for an offer that must infer some portion, at least, of your good opinion, you will permit me again to wish you all lawful success in your western enterprises.”
Eve gave Mr. Bragg no farther opportunity to renew his suit; for, she curtsied and left him, as she ceased speaking. Mr. Dodge, who had been a distant observer of the interview, now hastened to join his friend, curious to know the result, for it had been privately arranged between these modest youths, that each should try his fortune in turn, with the heiress, did she not accept the first proposal. To the chagrin of Steadfast, and probably to the reader’s surprise, Aristabulus informed his friend that Eve’s manner and language had been full of encouragement.
“She thanked me for the offer, Mr. Dodge,” he said, “and her wishes for my future prosperity at the west, were warm and repeated. Eve Effingham is, indeed, a charming creature!”
“At the west! Perhaps she meant differently from what you imagine. I know her well; the girl is full of art.”
“Art, sir! She spoke as plainly as woman could speak, and I repeat that I feel considerably encouraged. It is something, to have had so plain a conversation with Eve Effingham.”
Mr. Dodge swallowed his discontent, and the whole party soon embarked, to return to the village; the commodore and general taking a boat by themselves, in order to bring their discussions on human affairs in general, to a suitable close.
That night, Sir George Templemore, asked an interview with Mr. Effingham, when the latter was alone in his library.
“I sincerely hope this request is not the forerunner of a departure,” said the host kindly, as the young man entered, “in which case I shall regard you as one unmindful of the hopes he has raised. You stand pledged by implication, if not in words, to pass another month with us.”
“So far from entertaining an intention so faithless, my dear sir, I am fearful that you may think I trespass too far on your hospitality.”
He then communicated his wish to be allowed to make Grace Van Cortlandt his wife. Mr. Effingham heard him with a smile, that showed he was not altogether unprepared for such a demand, and his eye glistened as he squeezed the other’s hand.
“Take her with all my heart, Sir George,” he said, “but remember you are transferring a tender plant into a strange soil. There are not many of your countrymen to whom I would confide such a trust, for I know the risk they run who make ill-assorted unions–“
“Ill-assorted unions, Mr. Effingham!”
“Yours will not be one, in the ordinary acceptation of the term, I know; for in years, birth and fortune, you and my dear niece are as much, on an equality as can be desired: but it is too often an ill- assorted union for an American woman to become an English wife. So much depends on the man, that with one in whom I have less confidence than I have in you, I might justly hesitate. I shall take a guardian’s privilege, though Grace be her own mistress, and give you one solemn piece of advice–always respect the country of the woman you have thought worthy to bear your name.”
“I hope always to respect every thing that is hers; but, why this particular caution?–Miss Van Cortlandt is almost English in her heart.”
“An affectionate wife will take her bias in such matters, generally from her husband. Your country will be her country, your God her God. Still, Sir George Templemore, a woman of spirit and sentiment can never wholly forget the land of her birth. You love us not in England, and one who settles there will often have occasion to hear gibes and sneers on the land from which she came–“
“Good God, Mr. Effingham, you do not think I shall take my wife into society where–“
“Bear with a proser’s doubts, Templemore. You will do all that is well-intentioned and proper, I dare say, in the usual acceptation of the words; but I wish you to do more; that which is wise. Grace has now a sincere reverence and respect for England, feelings that in many particulars are sustained by the facts, and will be permanent; but, in some things, observation, as it usually happens with the young and sanguine, will expose the mistakes into which she has been led by enthusiasm and the imagination. As she knows other countries better, she will come to regard her own with more favourable and discriminating eyes, losing her sensitiveness on account of peculiarities she now esteems, and taking new views of things. Perhaps you will think me selfish, but I shall add, also, that if you wish to cure your wife of any homesickness, the surest mode will be to bring her back to her native land.”
“Nay, my dear sir,” said Sir George, laughing, “this is very much