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TALES 
 
 THE GOOD WOMAN. 
 
TALES 
 
 OF 
 
 THE GOOD WOMAN. 
 
 BY 
 
 A DOUBTFUL GENTLEMAN 
 
 OTHERWISE, 
 
 JAMES K. PATJLDING 
 
 EDITED BY WILLIAM I. PAULDING. 
 
 , ^ 
 
 IN ONE VOLUME. 
 
 . California- 
 NEW YORK: 
 CHARLES SCRIBNER AND COMPANY. 
 
 186T. 
 
 
 
Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1867, by 
 WILLIAM I. PAULDING, 
 
 In the Clerk s Office of the District Court of the United States for the Southern 
 District of New York. 
 
 CAMBRIDGE: 
 STEREOTYPED AND PRINTED BY JOHN \VILSON AND SON. 
 
P5 
 
 mi 
 
 INTRODUCTION. 
 
 THE stories which I have included under the general title 
 of " Tales of The Good Woman " were published in several 
 books, between thirty and forty years ago ; and some of the 
 shorter ones, perhaps, in magazines or annuals, before find 
 ing place between the boards of a volume. All of the longer 
 ones that is to say, Dyspepsy, The Azure Hose, The Poli 
 tician, and The Dumb Girl as I learn from the " Advertise 
 ment of the Publishers" in 1836, were intended to have 
 been covered by the above designation, and to have been 
 prefaced by the "Memoir of the unknown author" which 
 will be found herein-after. The first volume of tales was 
 published in 1829, with the title-page designed; the 
 second, brought out in 1830, in consequence of "it happen 
 ing that a work was just at the time republished here 
 with a similar title ", was styled " Chronicles of the City of 
 Gotham ", and had a separate introduction, in the shape of a 
 petition addressed to the municipal authorities of that mythi 
 cal town. 
 
 All of these stories are full of little personal reminiscences, 
 or touches of autobiography, modified and worked up by Mr. 
 Paulding, to suit his purpose for the time being. 
 
 The farm, in " Dyspepsy ", came to him through his wife. 
 It was four or five miles back from the river, in the High- 
 
6 INTRODUCTION. 
 
 lands, and nobly descended from the great upper Philipse 
 patent. Such as it is described are many in the neighbor 
 hood, now. The old tenants of " Mr. Ambler " are, no 
 doubt, sketches from life, and, very probably, taken on the 
 spot to which they are assigned in the landscape. " Mr. 
 Lightly ", the mountaineer who would " step over to Pough- 
 keepsie " (say thirty miles) and back, in a summer day, is 
 still remembered by living "acquaintances, under the genuine 
 name of " Hopper ". 
 
 " The Dumb Girl " is voiceful with associations of his 
 youth, the localities, allusions, and characters, all being con 
 nected with his early years in Westchester county. The 
 heroine, however, was a good deal more of a crab than he 
 makes out in the story. An autobiographical memorandum, 
 written by Mr. Paulding in 1851, thus describes her : " If I 
 remember right she was a very well-looking tidy lass, but of 
 this I am positive, that she was one of the greatest viragoes 
 I ever had the ill-luck to consort with. Not being able to 
 give vent to her feelings by speech, she resorted to action, 
 and to this day my ears tingle when I think of her, for many 
 is the time she has boxed them to enlighten my comprehen 
 sion. But I forgive her and her father, too, for the many 
 long stories he used to tell of his exploits in the Revolution." 
 The name and the sad story are fictitious. 
 
 "The Azure Hose" is the natural outcrop of a solid stra 
 tum of resistance to the adulation of English authorship, once 
 prevalent in American " Society ". This in general ; and as 
 to Lord Byron, it is to be said, that Mr. Paulding, having 
 founded his taste upon Goldsmith, had a positive repugnance 
 to what is called " fine " or " strong " writing, wherever it 
 appeared. Of this style Byron was to him the embodied 
 spirit. Accordingly he never missed a chance to give him a 
 remembrancer. In " A Sketch of Old England ", published 
 in 1822, he handled his lordship in a half-jocose half-seri 
 ous way which is entertaining enough: and he has a hit 
 
INTRODUCTION. 7 
 
 at him in " Koningsmarke ", published in 1823. The head 
 ing of chapter II., Book VII, reads thus : 
 
 Accursed be the stars *********! 
 
 The fulsome sun, that shines on all alike, 
 
 Good, bad, indifferent, Tag, Rag, and Bobtail! 
 
 Satan s abus d, and so is honest Cain, 
 
 And so am I but ********! 
 
 Lord B n. 
 
 In the edition of 1836 an improvement occurs to him, 
 and, for " abus d ", he writes " belied ". So elsewhere. All 
 this may seem a waste of powder, now that the reputation of 
 that author has settled down into a place certainly not among 
 the first-rates. But it must be remembered that it was a 
 very bold estimate to make at the time. 
 
 " The Progress of The Age " comes under the head of 
 those squibs which he was continually firing off in honor 
 of what he regarded as the absurdities of the passing hour. 
 
 The little stories, "The Revenge of St. Nicholas", 
 " Cobus Yerks ", and " The Ride of St. Nicholas ", are taken 
 from "The Book of Saint Nicholas. Translated from the 
 original Dutch of Dominie Nicholas ^Egidius Oudenarde." 
 Here follow the "dedication" and "advertisement" of the 
 putative author. 
 
 TO 
 
 THE SOCIETIES OF SAINT NICHOLAS 
 
 IN THE 
 
 NEW NETHERLANDS, 
 
 COMMONLY CALLED 
 
 NEW YORK. 
 
 MOST DEAR AND WORTHY ASSOCIATES, 
 
 In obedience to the command of the good saint who is equally 
 an object of affectionate reverence to us all, as well as in due 
 deference to the feelings of brotherhood which attach us irrevoca 
 bly to those who honour his name, his virtues, and his country, I 
 dedicate this work to you all without discrimination or exception. 
 
8 INTRODUCTION. 
 
 As descendants, in whole or in part, from that illustrious people 
 who, after conquering nature by their industry and perseverance, 
 achieved liberty by their determined courage, and learning and 
 science by their intellectual vigour, I rejoice to see you instituting 
 bonds of union, for the purpose of preserving the remembrance 
 of such an honourable lineage and the ties of a common origin. 
 While we recollect with honest pride the industry, the integrity, 
 the enterprise, the love of liberty, and the heroism of old "fader- 
 land, 1 1 let us not forget that the truest way to honour worthy an 
 cestors is to emulate their examples. 
 
 That you may long live to cherish the memory of so excellent 
 a saint, and such venerable forefathers, is the earnest wish of 
 Your associate and friend, 
 
 NICHOLAS -ZEoiDius OUDENARDE. 
 Kieuw Amsterdam, July, 1837. 
 
 AUTHOR S ADVERTISEMENT, 
 
 WHICH IS EARNESTLY RECOMMENDED TO THE ATTENTIVE PERUSAL OF THE 
 JUDICIOUS READER. 
 
 You will please to understand, gentle reader, that, being a true 
 descendant of the adventurous Hollanders who first discovered the 
 renowned island of Manhattan which is every day becoming 
 more and more worth its weight in paper money I have all my 
 life been a sincere and fervent follower of the right reverend and 
 jolly St. Nicholas, the only tutelary of this mighty state. I have 
 never, on any proper occasion, omitted doing honour to his mem 
 ory by keeping his birthday with all due observances, and paying 
 him my respectful devoirs on Christmas , and New-year s, eve. 
 
 From my youth upward I have been always careful to hang up 
 my stocking in the chimney-corner, on both these memorable anni 
 versaries ; and this I hope I may say without any unbecoming 
 ebullition of vanity, that on no occasion did I fail to receive glori 
 ous remembrances of his favour and countenance, always saving 
 two exceptions once when the good saint signified his displea 
 sure at my tearing up a Dutch almanac, and again, on occasion of 
 my going to a Presbyterian meeting-house with a certain little 
 
INTRODUCTION. 9 
 
 Dutch damsel, by filling my stockings with snowballs, instead 
 savoury oly koeks. 
 
 Saving these manifestations of his anger, I can safely boast of 
 having been a special favourite of the good St. Nicholas, who hath 
 ever evinced a singular kindness and suavity towards me in all sea 
 sons of my life. Further, seeing I was not only his namesake, but 
 always reverently honoured his name to the best of my poor abili 
 ties, he hath, at sundry times of dire entanglement, more than once 
 vouchsafed to appear to me in dreams and visions, giving me sago 
 advice and goodly admonition, the which never failed of being of 
 great service to me. 
 
 From my youth upward, moreover, I have been accustomed to 
 call upon him in time of need ; and this I will say for him, that he 
 always came promptly whenever he was within hearing. I will 
 not detain the expectant reader with the relation of these special 
 instances touching the years of my juvenility, but straightway pro 
 ceed to that which is material to my present purpose. 
 
 The reader will please to comprehend that after I had, with the 
 labour and research of many years, completed the tales which I 
 now, with an humble deference, offer to his acceptance, I was all 
 at once struck dumb, with the unparalleled difficulty of finding a 
 name for my work, seeing that every title appertinent to such 
 divertisements hath been applied over and over again, long and 
 merry agone. Now, as before intimated to the judicious reader, 
 whenever I am in sore perplexity of mind, as not unfrequently 
 happens to such as (as it were) cudgel their brains for the benefit 
 of their fellow-creatures I say, when thus beleaguered, I always 
 shut my eyes, lean back in my chair, which is furnished with a 
 goodly stuffed back and arms, and grope for that which I require 
 in the profound depths of abstraction. 
 
 It was thus I comported myself on this trying occasion, when, 
 lo ! and behold ! I incontinently fell asleep, as it were, in the 
 midst of my cogitations, and while I was fervently praying to the 
 good-hearted St. Nicholas to inspire me with a proper and signifi 
 cant name for this my mental offspring. I cannot with certainty 
 say how long I had remained in this drowsy meditation, when I 
 was favoured with the appearance of a vision, which, at first sight, 
 I knew to be that of the excellent St. Nicholas, who scorns to fol 
 low the pestilent fashions of modern times, but ever appears in the 
 
10 INTRODUCTION. 
 
 ancient dress of the old patriarchs of Holland. And here I will 
 describe the good saint, that peradventure all those to whom he 
 may, in time to come, vouchsafe his presence, may know him at 
 first sight, even as they know the father that begot them. 
 
 He is a right fat, jolly, roistering little fellow if I may make 
 bold to call him so familiarly and had I not known him of old for 
 a veritable saint, I might, of a truth, have taken him, on this occa 
 sion, for little better than a sinner. He was dressed in a snuff- 
 coloured coat of goodly conceited dimensions, having broad skirts, 
 cuffs mighty to behold, and buttons about the size of a moderate 
 New-year cooky. His waistcoat and breeches, of which he had a 
 proper number, were of the same cloth and colour ; his hose of 
 gray worsted ; his shoes high-quartered, even up to the instep, 
 ornamented with a pair of silver buckles, exceedingly bright ; his 
 hat was of a low crown and right broad brim, cocked up on one 
 side ; and in the button-holes of his coat was ensconced a long delft 
 pipe, almost as black as ebony. His visage was the picture of 
 good-humoured benevolence ; and by these marks I knew him as 
 well as I know the nose on my own face. 
 
 The good saint, being always in a hurry on errands of good 
 fellowship, (and especially about the time of the holydays of Paas 
 and Pinkster), and being withal a person of little ceremony, ad 
 dressed me without delay, and with much frankness; which was 
 all exceedingly proper, as we were such old friends. He spoke to 
 me in Dutch, which is now a learned language, understood only 
 by erudite scholars. 
 
 "What aileth thee, my godson Nicholas? " quoth he. 
 
 I was about to answer that I was in grievous embarrassment 
 concerning the matter aforesaid, when he courteously interrupted 
 me, saying, 
 
 " Be quiet, I know it, and therefore there is no special occasion 
 for thee to tell me. Thou shalt call thy work * THE BOOK OF ST. 
 NICHOLAS, in honour of thy patroon ; and here are the materials 
 of my biography, which I charge thee, on pain of empty pockets 
 from this time forward, to dilate and adorn in such a manner that, 
 (foreseeing, as I do, that thy work will go down to the latest 
 posterity), it may do honour to my name, and rescue it from that 
 obscurity in which it hath been enveloped through the crying igno 
 rance of past generations, who have been seduced into a veneration 
 
INTRODUCTION. 11 
 
 for St. George, St. Denis, St. David, and other doughty dragon- 
 slaying saints, who were little better than swaggering bullies. 
 Moreover, I charge thee, as thou valuest my blessing and protec 
 tion, to dedicate thy work unto the worthy and respectable socie 
 ties of St. Nicholas in this my stronghold in the New World. 
 Thou rnightest, perhaps, as well have left out that prank of mine at 
 the carousing of old Baltus, but verily it matters not. Let the 
 truth be told." 
 
 Saying this, he handed me a roll of ancient vellum, containing, 
 as I afterwards found, the particulars which, in conformity with 
 his solemn command, I have amplified into the only veritable biog 
 raphy of my patron saint which hath ever been given to the world. 
 The one hitherto received as orthodox is, according to the declara 
 tion of the saint himself, scarcely more than a collection of legends 
 written under the express inspection of the old lady of Babylon. 
 
 I reverently received the precious deposit, and faithfully prom 
 ised obedience to his commands ; whereupon the good St. Nicholas, 
 puffing in my face a whiff of tobacco-smoke more fragrant than 
 all the spices of the East, blessed me, and departed in haste, to 
 be present at a wedding in Communipaw. Hereupon I awoke, 
 and should have thought all that had passed but a dream, arising 
 out of the distempered state of my mind, had I not held in my 
 hand the identical roll of vellum, presented in the manner just 
 related. On examination, it proved to contain the matter which 
 is incorporated in the first story of this collection, under the title 
 of " The Legend of St. Nicholas, 1 not only in due recognition of 
 his fiat, but in order that henceforward no one may pretend igno 
 rance concerning this illustrious and benevolent saint, seeing they 
 have now a biography under his own hand. 
 
 Thus much have I deemed it proper to preface to the reader, 
 as some excuse for the freedom of having honoured my poor fic 
 tions with the title of The Book of St. Nicholas, which might other 
 wise have been deemed a piece of unchristian presumption. 
 
 The " Revenge " and the " Ride " are in Mr. Paulding s 
 usual tone of mingled satire and sentiment, and call for no 
 remark. Nor, indeed, does " Cobus Yerks ", except to .state 
 that the localities mentioned therein are near Tarrytown, in 
 Westchester County, New York, and that " Master Timothy 
 
12 INTRODUCTION. 
 
 Canty ", the motive power of the story, once played his part 
 among men. The same may fairly be assumed of the little 
 Dutchman. The original of Tim Mr. Paulding describes as 
 follows, in the memorandum previously referred to : 
 
 " I don t remember in what year it was that the simple people 
 of Tarrytown were excited almost to phrenzy, by a strange appari 
 tion that made its appearance one morning, in the garret of a one- 
 story house belonging to my brother-in-law. My recollection of 
 this singular being is perfect, for we soon became inseparable 
 companions. He was an Englishman and an artist, with the most 
 odd, irregular, unneighborly countenance I ever saw." 
 
 He then gives an account of his acquaintance, not differ 
 ing materially from that in the story ; and, remarking that 
 " he certainly was the greatest oddity I ever met with ", states 
 that, after two or three years stay in the village, " having 
 obtained specimens of all the insects in that quarter, he ab 
 ruptly took his departure, no one knew whither, leaving me as 
 a legacy The Four Seasons and Kitty Fisher." 
 
 Many years after, Mr. Paulding chanced upon this eccen 
 tric genius (now in comparatively flourishing estate) in Phila 
 delphia, and has recorded that " Tim Canty " greeted him as 
 of old, in a hearty and friendly way, with the title of " little 
 vagabond ". 
 
 I learn that " Sheriff Smith was killed in the place called 
 Hard Scrabble ", now known as " Rossell s Corner ", about 
 five miles from Tarrytown. John Ryer was hung at White 
 Plains, the county-town, which is a little out of the range of 
 country to which the narrative in strictness applies. 
 
 The Dutch words and phrases introduced in the three last- 
 mentioned stories are spelled, as near as may be, according to 
 the pronunciation in the State of New York ; and not as they 
 stand in the dictionary. I believe that the " j " was pro 
 nounced as " y " in English, and that the " v " had a sound 
 between "f" and "v". Where it seemed necessary, I have 
 appended the translation in a foot-note. 
 
INTRODUCTION. 13 
 
 As I have mentioned notes, I may as well now state that 
 I have added one here and there throughout the volume, 
 where the allusion is already becoming obscure. 
 
 The story of "The Politician", first published in 1830, 
 was, we may be sure, suggested by Mr. Paulding s early ob 
 servations in the national capital ; and, it may be added, was, 
 in some respects, wonderfully illustrated in his later experi 
 ences as a magnate in Washington. His letters abound in 
 strokes of caustic humor directed at the weaknesses of 
 public life, and, (especially those to Irving, Brevoort, and 
 Kemble, while Secretary of the Navy), would furnish a quite 
 pertinent commentary on the tale. 
 
 The incident of the application for a foreign mission is one 
 of those anecdotes which have ingrained themselves with the 
 newspaper mind in such a way that they work to the surface, 
 somewhere or other, every year or so ; and it has been re 
 ferred from time to time to almost every president of the 
 United States. I believe the story is substantially true, or, 
 at all events, helped on but a little, and that the circumstance 
 actually occurred in connexion with Mr. Monroe. Whether 
 this be so or not, I have, among Mr. Paulding s papers, come 
 across a solicitation which is well-nigh as comprehensive, 
 (barring the clothes), and otherwise not unamusing. He 
 was, of course, while at the head of a Department, exposed 
 to importunities from men in high position, applicants for their 
 friends or followers, and from men in small place or no place, 
 for themselves. The plea of one of these latter, asking for 
 any office whatever, has been preserved, either through acci 
 dent, or as a curiosity. The conclusion of it is suggestive, as 
 indicating in a very naive way the popular estimate of moral 
 qualification for office. I give it, "punctuatim et literatim ", 
 with his italics : 
 
 " I have now been engaged ten years in editorial life ; and the 
 thirteen years which I spent in the vocation of a pedagogue, have 
 not been spent entirely in vain. I commenced at sixteen, and am 
 
14 INTRODUCTION. 
 
 now thirty nine, with good health, and good morals considering my 
 avocations ." 
 
 The independence of Mr. Paulding himself, as an office 
 holder, was something diverting, and yet worthy of all respect 
 and even admiration. He had some piquant experience in 
 the year 1832, running into 1833, when the system of taxing 
 men in place for political purposes was first carried into 
 effect. The circumstances are curious, as marking, with some 
 precision, the era in which began that degradation of office, 
 which of all causes perhaps has done most to damage and 
 weaken republican sentiment and republican institutions. I 
 should be inclined to put them on record here, but for the 
 apprehension that I have already in this introduction over 
 drawn upon the patience of the reader. 
 
 In all of the compositions of Mr. Paulding which make 
 up this volume, an extreme simplicity of machinery will be 
 remarked ; and it is but fair to observe that they should not 
 be judged as stories, at all. It was his practice to set up a 
 little frame of narrative, which he used as a. vehicle, to carry a 
 satire which he chose to exhibit, or a moral which he wished 
 to convey : but of the fable itself he made little account. 
 
 Taken altogether, it may be said that these TALES OF THE 
 GOOD WOMAN furnish an excellent measure of Mr. Pauld- 
 ing s capacity and range of composition. Whatever there 
 was in him of fresh and artless feeling; of deep-seated admi 
 ration and lover-like enjoyment of Nature ; of quaint, odd, 
 satirical observation ; of simple pathos ; of droll intuition, or 
 comically-original view ; of national prejudice ; of indepen 
 dent and unique, if sometimes one-eyed, judgment ; of clear, 
 queer, insight into men and things ; of unforced wit, and un- 
 elaborated fun ; of worship of what is grand or beautiful in 
 the material, intellectual, or moral world ; of hearty abhor 
 rence of crime, and scorn of meanness and villainy ; of dis 
 gust for purse-proud vulgarity, affectation, pretence ; of 
 raillery that plays fast by the well of tears, and laughter that 
 
INTRODUCTION. 15 
 
 is fierce with indignation ; all transfused and vivified with 
 the peculiar flavor, so to speak, of the man all, in a word, 
 of the character that God had given him is in these stories 
 to be found exemplified. Good, bad, or indifferent, as in the 
 verdict of Time they may be pronounced, I do not know of 
 any other author who could possibly have written them. 
 
 W. I. P. 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 PAGE 
 MEMOIR OF THE UNKNOWN AUTHOR 21 
 
 THE AZURE HOSE 43 
 
 THE DUMB GIRL 165 
 
 DYSPEPSY .203 
 
 THE PROGRESS OF THE AGE 255 
 
 THE REVENGE OF SAINT NICHOLAS 265 
 
 COBUS YERKS 285 
 
 THE RIDE OF SATNT NICHOLAS 303 
 
 THE POLITICIAN , 335 
 
M E M O I K 
 
 UNKNOWN AUTHOR. 
 
; 
 
 - ; 
 
 M E M O I R 
 
 OF THE 
 
 UNKNOWN AUTHOR 
 
 IT hath been so often remarked, by persons aiming 
 at originality, that the pleasure of the reader is won 
 derfully enhanced by knowing something concerning 
 the writer of the book he is about to devour, that the 
 good-natured w r orld actually begins to believe it true, 
 notwithstanding it hath so often grievously yawned 
 over the lives of divers great authors. It is for this 
 reason that almost every work of any pretensions 
 hath prefixed to it certain particulars concerning the 
 writer, which in ordinary cases would be considered 
 exceedingly frivolous, but inasmuch as they appertain 
 to noted individuals, partake in the dignity of the as 
 sociation, and, like buttons of cheese-paring on a satin 
 doublet, become illustrious by the company they keep. 
 Nothing indeed is more certain and irrefragable, than 
 that every thing connected with an important gentle 
 man must of necessity be proportionably important. 
 The world has nothing to do with the motions of or 
 dinary men, on ordinary occasions ; whether they have 
 a good appetite and good digestion, or are in a good 
 or bad humour, is a matter of indifference. But it is 
 far otherwise with great persons, whose every trivial 
 
22 MEMOIR OF THE UNKNOWN AUTHOR. 
 
 act. is felt like a pulsation running through the uni 
 verse. Should a tailor prick his finger with a needle, 
 or a worthy citizen invite his friends to a dinner, no 
 body is the worse or the wiser but themselves. But 
 such matters relating to kings and people of con se- 
 quence are thought worthy of the most minute re 
 cord. Hence it is, that the most trifling acts of 
 illustrious persons are matters of profound interest 
 to common folks, and that the literary world hath re 
 ceived such singular satisfaction from being credibly 
 certified that my Lord Byron drank gin and water 
 and tied his collar with a black ribbon, and that the 
 Great Unknown is wonderfully addicted to Scotch 
 herrings and whiskey punch. 
 
 It is doubtless for the same reasons, that almost 
 every book of any pretensions to distinction is embel 
 lished with a likeness of the author, which, to those 
 who have never had the happiness of seeing him, 
 conveys a tolerably accurate idea of what he is not, 
 and is wonderfully calculated to deceive the world in 
 regard to his capacity. This we consider a serious 
 grievance, and the more that, since the discovery of 
 the new science of Phrenology, were the head accu 
 rately represented, every reader might form a judg 
 ment of the contents and character of a book from 
 that alone, and thus avoid the task of reading it. 
 Critics in particular would be benefited, since they 
 would be entirely relieved from exercising their taste 
 and discernment in estimating the merits of a work, 
 by an examination of the organs of development in 
 the skull of the author. 
 
 In addition to the supposed likeness of the author, 
 it has become the practice to favour the public with 
 
MEMOIR OF THE UNKNOWN AUTHOR. 23 
 
 an autograph, videlicet a fac-simile of his signature, 
 which acts as a sort of security against counterfeits, 
 and is equivalent to an endorsement showing the 
 work to be genuine. The idea is probably borrowed 
 from the vendors of quack medicines, who, in order 
 to prevent any impositions upon the public but what 
 are practised by themselves, are careful to caution the 
 purchasers against nostrums not verified by their own 
 hands. This fashion of prefixing the signature of 
 authors to their works might prove rather dangerous, 
 by enabling rogues to counterfeit them, were it not 
 that such forgeries would prove of but little advantage, 
 seeing that authors seldom have either much money 
 or credit in the banks to incite the cupidity of rogues. 
 Hence the practice hath hitherto proved of no detri 
 ment to authors, while it has been found highly ad 
 vantageous to the reader, by enabling him to decide 
 on the character of the former, not by the aid of a 
 biography invented by some good-natured friend, but 
 by the infallible criterion of his handwriting, than 
 which nothing can be more decisive of an author s 
 genius. 
 
 It is with great regret we apprise the public, that, 
 after much diligent search and inquiry, we have not 
 been able to obtain an authentic likeness of our un 
 known author, nor a specimen of his autograph. At 
 one time we flattered ourselves we had detected the 
 former upon a sign-post on the road leading from the 
 Quarantine to Castleton on Staten Island, but it un 
 fortunately turned out to be a portraiture of Captain 
 Kidd, the famous corsair. With regard to his signa 
 ture, we have failed equally in our researches. Mr. 
 Abraham Acker, of Staten Island, to whose authority 
 
24 MEMOIR OF THE UNKNOWN AUTHOR. 
 
 we shall frequently refer hereafter, is rather of opinion 
 that he recollects having heard his father say, or else 
 that he dreamed something of the kind, that our 
 author always made his mark instead of signing his 
 name at length. But this supposition we think quite 
 inadmissible, as we never recollect to have heard of 
 any man becoming illustrious as an author, who was 
 unacquainted with the art of writing. We might 
 easily have invented an autograph, in all probability 
 as like that of our author as most things of the kind, 
 but we scorn every species of imposition, and have 
 preferred omitting these important concomitants of a 
 modern book, to foisting upon the public anything 
 spurious or doubtful. The work must take its chance, 
 therefore, without either a portrait or an autograph. 
 
 We disclaim all pretensions to novelty when we 
 observe that the lives of literary persons are for the 
 most part destitute of interest and adventure. In 
 days long past they lived in garrets, and nothing was 
 more common than to find them starved or frozen to 
 death of a frosty morning. Now, however, in this 
 golden age of authors, we find them figuring in draw 
 ing-rooms, drinking toasts and making speeches at 
 public entertainments, and performing all those great 
 actions which cause a man to be wondered at while 
 living and forgotten when dead. Still, it is doubtless 
 no small satisfaction to the curious reader to know 
 that there is nothing to be known worth knowing 
 concerning the author whose work he is about to des 
 patch. It is to gratify this laudable propensity that 
 we proceed to detail the following particulars respect 
 ing the person who is shrewdly suspected of having 
 indited the following Tales. 
 
MEMOIR OF THE UNKNOWN AUTHOR. 25 
 
 Concerning his family we regret to say little is 
 known. Mr. Abraham Acker, of Staten Island, the 
 only person living who recollects any circumstances 
 connected with our author, thinks he remembers to 
 have heard him say that he came of the same stock 
 with the Grand Turk, the Great Mogul, the emperor 
 of China, Prester John, the king of England, and 
 divers other notabilities ; but of this Mr. Acker, who 
 we regret to say has nearly lost his memory, has great 
 doubts. A similar uncertainty rests on the place, as 
 well as the time, of his birth. When questioned as 
 to the first, he usually replied, that he was born in the 
 Republic of Elsewhere ; but, as we cannot find such 
 a place on any modern map, we are inclined to be 
 lieve the worthy gentleman was partly mistaken. 
 
 So with respect to the time of his birth, which he 
 once boasted was on the very day of the very year 
 that the Dutch took Holland ; but in what year of 
 our Lord that happened we profess ourselves ignorant. 
 But although neither the time nor the place of his 
 birth can now probably be ascertained, there is only 
 the greater elbow-room for conjecture. From his well- 
 remembered fondness for hasty-pudding and pumpkin- 
 pies, it might be inferred that he was a native of 
 Connecticut. Mr. Abraham Acker has a notion that 
 he has some idea of hearing his father say that this 
 was the case ; but cannot be certain whether it was 
 hasty-pudding and pumpkin-pies, or plum-pudding 
 and apple-dumplings, to which our author was so 
 incontinently given. We will therefore content our 
 selves with stating the doubt, and leave the courteous 
 reader to draw his own conclusions. All we shall say 
 is, that seven villages, that will no doubt live to be 
 
26 MEMOIR OF THE UNKNOWN AUTHOR. 
 
 great cities, have long hotly disputed the glory of his 
 birth ; an honour we consider quite equal to the con 
 test of seven ruined cities for the nativity of Daniel, 
 or, (as he hath been flippantly called), Dan, Homer. 
 
 On questioning Mr. Acker still farther and more 
 closely, we gathered that our author was deeply read 
 in the Dutch language and antiquities ; and that he 
 not only smoked mortally, but spoke reverently of 
 St. Nicholas and Admiral Van Tromp. He likewise 
 affected Dutch sermons and Dutch psalms. We our 
 selves are, for these reasons, rather inclined to the sup 
 position of his having been originally derived from 
 Holland ; and in this we agree with Mr. Acker, who 
 thinks he once heard his father hazard a speculation 
 that he was of " Dutch distraction," as Mr. Acker is 
 pleased to express it. But, adverse to this hypothesis, 
 there is another fact remembered by Mr. Acker, to 
 wit : that he had a most pestilent and arrant propen 
 sity to grumbling and finding fault upon all improper 
 occasions, whence it might reasonably be inferred that 
 he had some affinity with the English blood. As 
 however we cannot learn that he ever obfuscated his 
 intellectual faculties with small-beer, or attempted to 
 hang himself even in the most gloomy period of his 
 fortunes, but on the contrary did demean himself like 
 a sober man, taking the ups and downs of life as they 
 came, we consider the above theory as untenable, and 
 the matter as again resolving itself into its original 
 uncertainty. 
 
 In our early interviews with Mr. Acker, he related 
 a fact that he was almost sure he heard from some 
 body, which served to settle this interesting point at 
 once namely, that our author s death was partly 
 
MEMOIR OF THE UNKNOWN AUTHOR. 27 
 
 laid to his having gone twenty miles in a snow-storm 
 to hear a Dutch sermon, and finding on his arrival 
 that the vestry had decided upon having their preach 
 ing ever after in the English tongue. But what was 
 our annoyance when, on a succeeding interview with 
 Mr. Acker, we found he could recollect nothing of the 
 matter, and was inclined to believe his memory was 
 not so good as it was in the Old French War. It is 
 therefore with no little regret, as well as mortification, 
 that we are compelled to sit down under the painful 
 conviction that the parentage of our author, as well 
 a& the time and place of his birth, are matters now for 
 ever beyond the reach of inquiry. 
 
 Having thus proved to the satisfaction of the reader 
 that nothing is to be gathered worth knowing about 
 him, we shall proceed to discuss his life, character, 
 and actions, of which, as very little is known, we shall 
 have occasion to say a great deal. It appears, from 
 the testimony of Mr. Acker, that the Alma Mater of 
 our author was a log-hut, which was standing some 
 fifty years since at the cross-roads, about half a mile 
 from Castleton. Here he was taught by the best of 
 all possible teachers, self; the school-master, a gallant 
 bachelor and somewhat of a roue, for the most part 
 spending the school-hours in social chat with a win 
 some, black-eyed dame, who lived just by, and whose 
 husband, being a pedler, was frequently abroad, specu 
 lating in old iron and goose-feathers. The scholars 
 were thus left to follow the bent of their genius ; and 
 Mr. Acker affirms that the excellence of this system 
 was in after times demonstrated, not only in the vast 
 genius of our author, but, in like manner, by the fact 
 that he himself rose to the rank of a justice of the 
 
28 MEMOIR OF THE UNKNOWN AUTHOR. 
 
 peace, while three or four of his school-mates became 
 members of the legislature. There is little doubt that 
 they would have become still more illustrious, had not 
 the school been suddenly dissolved by the elopement 
 of the master with the black-eyed pedler s wife, whom 
 he carried off triumphantly in one of the honest man s 
 own tin-carts. Hereupon the sprightly younkers set 
 up a great shout, and scampered home, right glad of 
 releasement from such durance vile. 
 
 Our author, after this, pursued the bent of his 
 genius a year or two in doing nothing ; being, accord 
 ing to tradition, a most determined idler, whose prin 
 cipal amusement was to join in those little parties so 
 common in country villages, where you may see one 
 man at work and half a dozen looking on. This how 
 ever soon gave way to the delight of all delights to 
 the contemplative philosopher, to wit: angling. He 
 would sit on the rocky projection of some bold prom 
 ontory jutting out into the unparalleled Hudson, the 
 chief of all rivers, and put Job himself to shame. 
 Morning, noon, and evening, there he sat watching 
 the end of his pole, and plunged in that delicious 
 vacuum, when the mind as it were resigning its bright 
 sceptre, an interregnum succeeds and one calm noth 
 ingness pervades existence. Tradition says he sat so 
 long, that at last he actually grew to the rock, and, in 
 the attempt to extricate himself, was happy to escape 
 with a whole skin by leaving an essential portion of 
 his breeches sticking to a projection of hornblende, a 
 monument to his immortal glory. 
 
 It was thus that, buried in reveries and abstractions, 
 he attuned his mind to the depths of philosophy, and 
 learned the most important of all arts, that of think- 
 
MEMOIR OF THE UNKNOWN AUTHOR. 29 
 
 ing. But his course of philosophy was too soon in 
 terrupted, by his being sent to another school in 
 Jersey, about ten miles from his home, as he hath 
 frequently mentioned to Mr. Acker with tears in his 
 eyes. Here he staid with an old relative who lived 
 by himself, about three miles from the school. The 
 way was by a solitary "turpentine walk," as Mr. 
 Acker expresses it, which led along the devious wind 
 ings of a pretty stream, running at the foot of a hill. 
 If any of our readers have ever in their boyish days 
 been condemned to a solitary walk like this, in their 
 way to and from school, they can judge how tedi 
 ous, how irksome, how endless it was to a sprightly 
 lad, full of life, health, mischief, and wantonness. 
 Man was not born to live alone, nor, more especially, 
 were boys. Often, as he said to Mr. Acker, has he 
 sat down at the foot of some old tree, and played 
 truant all day in weeping over his loneliness. His 
 only resource, as .Mr. Acker expresses it, was " to wrap 
 himself up in himself," by which we understand that 
 he tried to forget the past and the present, by looking 
 to the future. His sole companion in those lonely 
 walks was a poor dumb girl, who sometimes rambled 
 with him, and who is believed to be the heroine of the 
 story of Phoebe Angevine, in the following collec 
 tion. 
 
 Our author, agreeably to his own account deliv 
 ered at various times in desultory conversations with 
 his friend Mr. Acker, continued this mode of life, 
 passing and repassing to and from school, with no 
 other associate, except his own melancholy thoughts, 
 for upwards of three years. During this period his 
 leisure hours were principally passed in wool-gather- 
 
30 MEMOIR OF THE UNKNOWN AUTHOIl. 
 
 ing, and the cultivation of the noble science of castle- 
 building. His winter evenings he spent, for the most 
 part, by the kitchen fireside, in listening to the tradi 
 tionary lore of an old black sybil, almost blind, but 
 wonderfully fond of frightening delighted youngsters 
 and listening country-maids with stories of witches, 
 goblins, Indians, and Revolutionary horrors. By lis 
 tening to the frequent repetition of these rural ro 
 mances he appears to have been imbued with that not 
 uncommon species of credulity in which the mind, 
 sometimes sinking under, at others triumphing over, 
 the delusions of the imagination, alternately derides 
 and trembles, laughs at and believes, according as we 
 happen to be in sunshine and society, or alone and in 
 darkness. 
 
 At the expiration of three years he left school, or 
 the school left him, we cannot ascertain which ; and 
 here, as he was wont to say, ended his scholastic 
 studies. He often hinted to his friend Mr. Acker that 
 he was early thrown upon the world in one of our 
 great cities, the name of which Mr. Acker does not 
 recollect, where his skill in castle- building was held in 
 little or no estimation when put in comparison with 
 that of a tolerable mason or carpenter. His first 
 vocation was that of junior clerk to a dry-goods-store 
 keeper, in which he distinguished himself by running 
 his nose against lamp posts and being run over by 
 carts, when going upon errands in selling goods 
 and forgetting to take pay for them and in blowing 
 a cracked flute behind the counter of evenings, so vil- 
 lanously, that he drove all persons of common sensi 
 bility to the other side of the street. His master, who 
 despised philosophy, abstraction, and the fine arts, as 
 
MEMOIR OF THE UNKNOWN AUTHOR. 31 
 
 desperate enemies to the first of all arts, that of mak 
 ing money, lectured him daily, and finally turned him 
 out of the shop, as an incurable blockhead, because 
 he refused to give his honour that a piece of chintz, 
 which a lady was cheapening, was actually offered at 
 less than the first cost. 
 
 Here we lose sight of our author for some years, 
 until we find him, according to his friend Mr. Acker s 
 recollection, in some business or other, the precise 
 nature of which he does not recollect. He remem 
 bers, however, sufficient to know that our author 
 made but a poor business of it, whatever it was. He 
 was one of those unlucky people who, destined as they 
 are to immortality, seem good for nothing in this world 
 while living. He took every thing by the left hand, 
 and his fingers were all thumbs. He believed every 
 body, and trusted every body ; and this species of im 
 plicit faith is of no great value in temporal things. 
 Such a man is always a mark for the little rogues of 
 this world, and never fails to allure about him a circle 
 of petty depredators that are sure to bring him to ruin 
 at last. This appears to have been the case with our 
 author, who, as it would seem, lost his money, if he 
 ever had any, his credit and his patience, and suddenly 
 turning from the extreme of credulity to that of scep 
 ticism, became a hater and despiser of the world. 
 Like the rest of mankind, he judged of it as he found, 
 or rather made, it himself; and converted the little 
 swarm of plunderers, whom his easy credulity had 
 attracted from the general mass to fatten upon him, 
 into the representatives of the whole hive. 
 
 It appears from circumstances that our author re 
 sented his misfortunes so seriously that he quarrelled 
 
32 MEMOIR OF THE UNKNOWN AUTHOR. 
 
 with the world outright ; and, to revenge himself the 
 more effectually, retired into the bosom of Staten Isl 
 and. Here he took lodgings at an obscure inn, on a 
 by-road leading from the Narrows to the Blazing Star 
 Ferry,* where he lived upon fhe lean, or rather picked 
 the bones, of the land. This house, which has lately 
 been pulled down, was at that time kept by a whim 
 sical old bachelor, who, having in early life been jilted 
 by a buxom little Dutch damsel, in revenge put up 
 the sign of a woman without a head, which he called 
 " THE GOOD WOMAN," thereby maliciously insinuating 
 a horrible libel on the whole sex. Never man, ac 
 cording to Mr. Acker, who resided about a quarter of 
 a mile from the " Good Woman," never man lived 
 upon so little, or made a suit of clothes last so long, 
 as did our author. Nobody could tell exactly how 
 he lived, for he neither begged, borrowed, nor stole, 
 nor did he labour with his hands, except in writing, 
 which he did great part of the day, deducting the 
 long intervals when he sat with pen suspended in his 
 hand, watching as it were the smoke as it curled from 
 the landlord s pipe, in a state of perfect " distraction," 
 as Mr. Acker expressed it. We ourselves are of opin 
 ion he meant abstraction; but the difference is not 
 material. It is not our business to solve the mystery 
 how authors manage to exist in this world ; we mean 
 those who are condemned to live by their wits, with 
 out the aid of fashionable friends, fashionable review 
 ers, and fashionable readers. We leave the solution 
 to Him who watches over the fall of a sparrow, and 
 who sent the ravens to feed the prophet in the wilder- 
 
 * The " Blazing Star " was a tavern at Woodbridge, New Jersey, several 
 miles from the ferry known by its name. 
 
MEMOIR OF THE UNKNOWN AUTHOR. 33 
 
 ness. There are certain invisible means, inscrutable 
 to the fat kine, by which the lean kine, among which 
 we emphatically reckon the class of authors alluded 
 to, manage to live, and move, and have a being, as it 
 were in spite of nature and fate. Far be it from us 
 to draw the veil from over the hallowed retreats of 
 indigent, un patronized genius, struggling with the 
 neglect of the world and its own worldly incapaci 
 ties, and finally, perhaps, reaching the goal of immor 
 tality through the gloomy solitudes of a prison. 
 
 Here our author resided during the remainder 
 of his days, which space of time comprises almost 
 twenty years. During all this period he was absent 
 but three times, and, on those occasions, (as we have 
 taken the freedom to suppose), only for the purpose 
 of disposing of his writings ; for it is difficult to com 
 prehend what other business he could have. He 
 formed no intimacy except with Mr. Acker, whose 
 countenance as a magistrate was convenient in de 
 fending him against the prying curiosity of the neigh 
 bourhood, and those evil suggestions which mystery, 
 however innocent and unaffected, is sure to excite. 
 The only remarkable actions he performed in the 
 course of this long sojourn among the simple children 
 of the fields and woods, were killing an opossum 
 and a rattle-snake with sixteen rattles, the last that 
 ever were seen on the island exploits, which in 
 the opinion of Squire Acker, call loudly for a biog 
 raphy. Finally he died, at the supposed age of four 
 score and ten years, without pain, and without fear, 
 as a blameless old man should die; and slept, not 
 with his fathers, but among the children of strangers, 
 who knew not even whence he came- 
 
 3 
 
34 MEMOIR OF THE UNKNOWN AUTHOR. 
 
 The younger Mr. Acker so he is styled by his 
 neighbours though now nearly ninety years old 
 has unluckily forgotten our author s name : neither 
 is there any person living who remembers it, so far 
 as we have been able to ascertain. Though this 
 must of necessity be a great disappointment to the 
 curious reader, yet we know not that it is a circum 
 stance much to be lamented. On the contrary, we 
 are inclined to believe that the obscurity which, in 
 spite of all our researches, still hovers in misty vague 
 ness over his birth, his life, his family, and his name, 
 may contribute materially to the interest and popu 
 larity of the present work. Obscurity is held to be 
 one of the prime sources of the sublime; and it is 
 a subject worthy of investigation, how far the sub 
 limity of a work may depend upon its author being 
 either entirely unknown, or only suspected by the 
 public. However this may be, certain it is, that a 
 detected author, like a detected criminal, does not 
 stand the best chance of being admired by his friends. 
 Having now told all we know of our author, we shall 
 proceed to account for the manner in which the pres 
 ent work fell into the hands of the editor, who has 
 lost no time in giving it (as the genteel phrase is) to 
 the world. 
 
 In the course of last summer there died in the 
 neighbourhood of the city a very wealthy old gentle 
 man, whose heirs, according to a pious and long- 
 established custom, quarrelling about the division 
 of the estate, it was disposed of at public auction. 
 Among his most valuable possessions was a large 
 library containing many rare books and manuscripts, 
 which, being of no use to the heirs, were sold for 
 
MEMOIR OP THE UNKNOWN AUTHOR. 35 
 
 what they would bring. The manuscript from which 
 the following tales have been selected was one of 
 these. It was a prime favourite with the worthy old 
 gentleman, who used to read it to his family with 
 great effect of a long winter s evening, and it is re 
 corded that not one of them ever fell asleep on these 
 occasions, except when they were very tired. If the 
 reader requires any other proof of the excellence of 
 the manuscript, he will doubtless find it in a perusal 
 of the following tales, which are faithfully printed 
 from the original, with the exception of a few slight 
 alterations in the spelling, which we have made on 
 the authority of Mr. Webster s truly valuable diction 
 ary. How the deceased old gentleman came by the 
 manuscript is not exactly known : but Mr. Abraham 
 Acker has some remote idea of hearing, or dreaming 
 he heard, our author about a year before his death 
 boast with no small degree of exultation, that he had 
 sold a manuscript work, which cost him only eighteen 
 years labour, for fifteen silver dollars, to an old gen 
 tleman living in the vicinity of New York. There 
 can be no hesitation in believing this must have been 
 the identical work a selection from which is now of- 
 fered to the public, especially when we assure the 
 reader that Mr. Acker assured us, that he almost 
 recollects crossing the ferry about this time with our 
 author, who carried a large bundle of papers under 
 his arm. This circumstance fastened itself on his 
 memory, by the phenomenon which accompanied the 
 old gentleman s return, to wit, the jingling of his 
 pockets. 
 
 Be this as it may, the deceased gentleman placed 
 almost as high a value upon this acquisition as if it 
 
36 MEMOIR OF THE UNKNOWN AUTHOR. 
 
 could be traced in a direct line from a Coptic monas 
 tery in Upper Egypt. Whether this was owing to 
 its intrinsic value, or to its being unquestionably 
 unique, must be left to the judgment of the reader. 
 At all events the possessor esteemed himself fortu 
 nate while living; but died somewhat more than a 
 twelvemonth ago. His property, as we before pre 
 mised, was sold, and has passed into the hands of 
 strangers. The old house was purchased and pulled 
 down by a lucky speculator in gas stock, who began 
 to build a vast wooden palace for his posterity to sell ; 
 but he unluckily failed before it was finished, in con 
 sequence of dipping a little too deep in a cotton- 
 speculation, whereby he got nearly smothered, and 
 was fain to go back to his honest calling of a shaver. 
 What was most to be regretted, however, was the 
 sale and dispersion of the old gentleman s library, 
 consisting, among other valuables, of Souvenirs, mag 
 azines, romances, novels, tales, lying reports of socie 
 ties, orations, biographies, and poems, all of the very 
 latest production. This was done by the authority 
 of persons whose names we forbear to drag before 
 the world, although we cannot but regret that dispo 
 sition to slight learning, so prevalent in this busy, 
 thriving, and opulent metropolis. For our humble 
 part, we were not so fortunate as to inherit any thing 
 from our father but a good name ; but, if we had, we 
 would not have sold his old mansion-house, provided 
 he had left one, so long as we could have kept it with 
 out robbing others of their due. Far less would we 
 have disposed of those books that bore his venerated 
 name those "dead friends," as the Indians beauti 
 fully describe them, which were the blessing of his 
 
MEMOIR OF THE UNKNOWN AUTHOR. 37 
 
 leisure, the fountains of his wisdom, the companions 
 of his old age, to purchase all the luxuries of mod 
 ern frippery. But we beg pardon of all weeping heirs 
 and melancholy legatees, for this digression. 
 
 It was truly mortifying, as showing the uncertain 
 tenure of immortal fame, to see the treasures of fashion 
 able literature knocked down for almost nothing, by 
 the ignorant, unfeeling auctioneer, who, it was ap 
 parent, had no more respect for books than a Turk. 
 Some one indeed bid off Miss Edge worth at a high 
 price, which seemed to astonish the man of the ham 
 mer, who observed she had been long out of date. 
 "You are mistaken," replied the purchaser; "wit, 
 and a keen observation of life and manners, based 
 on good sense, can never be out of date, though they 
 may be out of fashion." The English annuals were 
 struck off to a picture-virtuoso, who declared his in 
 tention of cutting out the plates,- and throwing the 
 rest away. The American Souvenirs were knocked 
 on the head by an unlucky observation from a spruce 
 Englishman, who observed that they had not cost one 
 tenth as much as " The Keepsake," which had been 
 got up at an expense of eleven thousand guineas. 
 The purchaser of The Keepsake, on hearing this, fan 
 cied he had got possession of a treasure, though he 
 had only gained the sweepings of English literature, 
 sanctioned by popular names, and embellished with a 
 parcel of engravings from worn-out plates. Don Juan 
 was bought by a young gentleman in whiskers, who 
 was educating himself for a roue ; and The Corsair, 
 by a black-looking, weather-beaten, mysterious person, 
 who was shrewdly suspected of being one of the gang 
 of pirates dispersed and annihilated by the gallant 
 
38 MEMOIR OF THE UNKNOWN AUTHOR. 
 
 Commodore Porter. The Loves of the Angels, Lit 
 tle s Poems, and divers others of the same author, 
 were purchased for almost nothing by a middle aged 
 lady dressed in the extravagance of the mode, whom 
 I afterwards recognized at the police-court as the mis 
 tress of a disorderly house. Another, but staid, grave 
 female, in a plaid cloak, secured a bushel of the latest 
 popular English poetry, for the use of her nursery, 
 observing that such had been the rapid "develop 
 ment" of mind within a few years past, that the little 
 children turned up their noses at Giles Gingerbread 
 and Goody Two-Shoes. In short, a fashionable au 
 thor, who thought himself sure of immortality, might 
 here have received a mortifying lesson of the transi 
 tory nature of popular applause, and sighed over the 
 anticipation of speedy oblivion. The last and most 
 lamentable of these sacrifices was that of the London 
 Literary Gazette and Blackwood s Magazine, which 
 were bought for six cents a volume, by a famous gro 
 cer, who, comparatively speaking, hath destroyed more 
 valuable works in the course of his business than were 
 consumed in the Alexandrian Library. 
 
 It may be asked why we ourselves did not appropri 
 ate some of these ineffable varieties. Well, we had 
 reasons for declining, which, however old-fashioned 
 and obsolete, are not the worst in the world. We were 
 fain to limit ourselves to the purchase of the manu 
 script to which we have so frequently alluded, for a 
 sum which will be kept a profound secret. Whether 
 it was so large as to amount to an imprudence on our 
 part, or so small as to entitle the work to the scorn of 
 all fashionable readers, is a mystery between ourselves 
 and the auctioneer, who hath sworn by his hammer 
 not to reveal it except to posterity. 
 
MEMOIR OF THE UNKNOWN AUTHOR. 39 
 
 Before concluding this interesting portion of our 
 editorial labours, we will pause one moment, in order 
 to anticipate the cavils of certain critics, who, we fore 
 see, will be inclined to make themselves amends for 
 not being able to find fault with the work itself (with 
 out doing violence to their consciences), by denying 
 the claims of our author to his own labours. Doubt 
 less they will insist that there is nothing in the his 
 tory and character of our author, or in the scanty 
 information derived from Mr. Acker, to justify the 
 assumption of his being capable of inditing tales dis 
 playing a knowledge of life and an acquaintance with 
 the fashionable world such as is found in the follow 
 ing work. 
 
 But let these gentleman-cavillers, who think they 
 are marvellously conversant with high life, because 
 they have read the Trip to Brighton and Almacks, 
 and perhaps figured at the tea-parties of some rich 
 broker let them be quiet, as becomes them. They 
 know no more of fashionable life than the authors of 
 these works, or the broker himself; and may be lik 
 ened to the mouse who fancied he had tasted the 
 cream of the cheese, when he had only nibbled at 
 the rind. Let them be told, and shut their mouths 
 thereafter for ever, that there is no place in which a 
 keen observer can attain to a clearer knowledge of 
 the foibles and peculiarities of fashionable women, 
 than in a fashionable store or tip-top milliner s. 
 Where is it that they are so often found ? and where 
 else do they exhibit their tastes and propensities so 
 frankly? It is there that their little caprices, their 
 indecision, their extravagances, and all the changeable 
 silk of their characters, are exhibited without disguise ; 
 
40 MEMOIR OF THE UNKNOWN AUTHOR. 
 
 and it was doubtless while blowing his cracked flute 
 behind the counter that our author attained to that 
 intimate knowledge as well as nice perception of 
 character, so agreeably exhibited in the following 
 work, which, from having been written in that para 
 dise of musketoes, Staten Island, at the sign of the 
 " Good Woman," he hath sportively called, " TALES 
 OF THE GOOD WOMAN." 
 
 To that class of ill-natured and prying readers 
 which is ever finding out personal allusions and in 
 dividual characters in the most innocent generalities, 
 we will content ourselves with stating that our author 
 certainly died at least ten years ago, according to the 
 testimony of Mr. Acker, who has some idea of having 
 attended his funeral. This single fact, we trust, will 
 serve to do away all suspicion of any allusion to the 
 fashionable society of to-day, since every body knows 
 that a very large portion of those who figure as lead 
 ers in the beau monde, at present, \vere utterly un 
 known at that time. 
 
 NEW YORK, April 1st, 1829. 
 
 POSTSCRIPT. 
 
 Since writing the above we have had another inter 
 view with young Mr. Acker, who distinctly recollects 
 that he either heard, or dreamed he heard, our author 
 insinuate that he was the identical person who some 
 few years since figured, in the old National Advocate, 
 as " THE LAST OF THE COCKED HATS." 
 
THE AZURE HOSE. 
 
THE AZURE HOSE. 
 
 " Sure he has a drum in his mouth ! 
 Clap an old drum-head to his feet, 
 And draw the thunder downward." 
 
 BEAUMONT AND FLETCHER. 
 
 CHAPTER I., 
 
 OK 
 
 THE PROLOGUE. 
 
 THERE IS REASON IN THE BOILING OF EGGS, AS WELL AS IN ROASTING 
 
 THEM. 
 
 IT was one of those hypocritical spring mornings, 
 so peculiar to our western clime, when the light, 
 cheering sunshine invites abroad to taste the balmy 
 air, but when, if you chance to accept the invitation, 
 you will be saluted by a killing, piercing, sea-monster 
 of a breeze, which chills the genial current of the soul, 
 and drives you shivering to the fireside to warm your 
 fingers and complain for the hundredth time of the 
 backwardness of the season. In short, it was a non 
 descript day, too hot for a great coat, and too cool to 
 go without one ; when one side of the street was 
 broiling in the sun, the other freezing in the shade. 
 
 Mr. Lightfoot Lee was seated at the breakfast table 
 with his only daughter, Miss Lucia Lightfoot Lee, 
 one of the prettiest alliterations ever seen. She was 
 
44 THE AZURE HOSE. 
 
 making up her opinions for the day, from the latest 
 number of the London Literary Gazette, and mark 
 ing with a gold self-sharpening pencil a list of books 
 approved by that infallible oracle, for the circulating 
 library. Mr. Lee was occupied with matters of more 
 importance. He held his watch in one hand, a news 
 paper in the other. By the way, if I wished to iden 
 tify a North- American beyond all question, I would 
 exhibit him reading a newspaper. But at present 
 Mr. Lee seemed employed in studying his watch, 
 rather than the paper. He had good reasons for it. 
 
 Mr. Lightfoot Lee was exceedingly particular in 
 boiling his eggs, which he was accustomed to say re 
 quired more discretion than any other branch of the 
 great art of cookery. The preparations for this criti 
 cal affair were always made with due solemnity. 
 First, Mr. Lee sat with his watch in his hand, and the 
 parlour door, as well as all the other doors down to 
 the kitchen, wide open. At the parlour door stood 
 Juba, his oldest, most confidential servant. At the 
 end of the hall leading to the kitchen stood Pomp, 
 the coachman ; at the foot of the kitchen stairs stood 
 Benjamin, the footman ; and Dolly, the cook, was 
 watching the skillet. "It boils," cried Dolly: "It 
 boils," said Benjamin : " It boils," said Pompey the 
 great : and, " It boils," echoed Juba, Prince of Numi- 
 dia. " Put them in," said Mr. Lee : " Put them in," 
 said Juba : " Put them in," said Pomp : and, " Put them 
 in," cries Dolly, as she dropped the eggs into the skil 
 let. Exactly a minute and a half afterwards, by his 
 stop-watch, Mr. Lee called out, " Done ; " and, & done ", 
 was repeated from mouth to mouth, as before. The 
 perfection of the whole process consisted in Dolly s 
 
THE AZURE HOSE. 45 
 
 whipping out the eggs in half a second from the last 
 echo of the critical, " done." 
 
 The eggs were boiled to his satisfaction ; and Mr. 
 Lee ate, and pondered over the newspaper, by turns. 
 At length, all at once he started up in a violent com 
 motion, and stumped about the room, exclaiming in 
 an under tone to himself, " Too bad too bad." 
 
 " What is the matter, father ? " said Lucia ; " is 
 your egg overdone, or are you suffering the excrucia 
 ting pangs of the gout, or enduring the deadly inflic 
 tion of a hepatic paroxysm ? " 
 
 " Hepatic fiddle-stick ! I wish to heaven you would 
 talk English, Lucia." 
 
 " My dear sir, you know English now is very dif 
 ferent from what it was when you learned it." 
 
 " I know it, I know it," said he ; " it is as different 
 as a Quaker bonnet from a French hat. I see I must 
 go to school again. You and Mr. Goshawk talk 
 Greek to me." 
 
 " Mr. Goshawk is a poet, sir." 
 
 " Well, there is no particular reason why a poet 
 should not talk like other people, at least on common 
 subjects." 
 
 " Ah! sir, the poet s eye is always in a fine frenzy 
 rolling. He sees differently from other people to 
 him the sky is peopled with airy beings." 
 
 " Ay ; gnats, flies, and devil s-darning-needles," said 
 Mr. Lee, pettishly. Lucia was half-angry, and put 
 up a lip as red as a cherry. 
 
 " Ah ! too bad, too bad," continued Mr. Lee, stump 
 ing about again with his hands behind him. 
 
 " What is too bad, sir ? " said Lucia, anxiously. 
 
 " What is too bad ? " cried he furiously, advancing 
 
46 THE AZURE HOSE. 
 
 towards her with his fist doubled ; " that puppy, High- 
 field, has not got the first honour after all, I see by the 
 paper. The blockhead ! I had set my heart upon it, 
 and, see here !, he is at the tail of his class." 
 
 " Is that all ? Why, father, I am glad to hear it. 
 Mr. Goshawk assures me that genius despises the 
 trammels of scholastic rust, and soars on wings of 
 polished " 
 
 " Wings of a goose," cried the old gentleman. 
 He had a provoking way of interrupting Lucia in 
 her flights; and, had she not been one of the best- 
 natured of the azure tribe, she would have some 
 times lost her temper. 
 
 " He ll be home to-morrow I ve a great mind to 
 kick him out of doors." 
 
 Whom, dear father ? " 
 
 " Why, Highfield, to be sure." 
 
 " For what, sir ? " 
 
 " For not getting the first honour the puppy! I 
 wouldn t care a stiver, if I hadn t set my heart upon 
 it." And away the good man stumped, again ejacu 
 lating, " Too bad, too bad I shall certainly turn him 
 out of doors." 
 
 " Ah ! but if you do, sir, I shall certainly let him in 
 again. I shall be glad to see my dear, good-natured 
 cousin Charles once more, though he has not got the 
 first honour," said Lucia, smiling. 
 
 What more might have been said on this subject 
 was cut short by the entrance, without ceremony, of 
 Mr. Diodorus Fairweather, a neighbour and most 
 particular friend and associate of Mr. Lee. These 
 two gentlemen had a sincere regard for each other, 
 kept up in all its pristine vigour by the force of con- 
 
THE AZURE HOSE. 47 
 
 trast. One took every thing seriously; the other 
 considered the world, and all things in it, a jest. One 
 worshipped the ancients ; the other maintained they 
 were not worthy of tying the shoe-strings of the mod 
 erns. One insisted that the world was going back 
 ward; the other, that it was rolling onward in the 
 path of improvement beyond all former example. 
 One was a violent federalist ; the other a raging demo 
 crat. They never opened their mouths without dis 
 agreeing, and this was the cement of their friendship. 
 The mind of Mr. Lee was not fruitful, and that of 
 Mr. Fairweather was somewhat sluggish in suggest 
 ing topics of conversation. Had they agreed in every 
 thing they must have required a succession of sub 
 jects ; but uniformly differing, as they did on all oc 
 casions, it was only necessary to say a single word, 
 whether it conveyed a proposition or not, and there 
 was matter at once, for the day. 
 
 " A glorious morning," said Mr. Fairweather, rub 
 bing his hands. 
 
 " I differ with you," said Mr. Lee. 
 
 " It is a beautiful sunshine." 
 
 " But, my good sir, if you observe, there is a cold, 
 wet, damp, hazy, opaque sky, through which the sun 
 cannot penetrate ; tis as cold as December." 
 
 " Tis as warm as June," said Mr. Fairweather, 
 laughing. 
 
 " Pish ! " said Mr. Lee, taking up his hat mechani 
 cally, and following his friend to the door. They 
 sallied forth without saying a word. At every corner, 
 however, they halted, to renew the discussion ; they 
 disputed their way through a dozen different streets, 
 and finally returned home, the best friends in the 
 
48 THE AZURE HOSE. 
 
 world, for they had assisted each other in getting 
 through the morning. Mr. Lee invited Mr. Fair- 
 weather to return to dinner, and he accepted. 
 
 " Well, it does not signify," said Mr. Lee, bobbing 
 his chin up and down, as was his custom when utter 
 ing what he considered an infallible dictum, " It- 
 does not signify, but that Fairweather is enough 
 to provoke a saint. I never saw such an absurd, ob 
 stinate, ill-natured, passionate " 
 
 " O, father ! " said Lucia ; " every body says Mr. 
 Fairweather was never in a passion in his life." 
 
 " Well, but he is the cause of passion in others, and 
 that is the worst kind of ill-nature." 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 NECESSARY TO UNDERSTANDING THE FIRST. 
 
 LIGHTFOOT LEE, Esq., was a gentleman of an 
 honourable family; honourable, not only from its 
 antiquity, but from the talents, worth, and services of 
 its deceased members and its present representative. 
 He possessed a large domain in one of the southern 
 states, but preferred living in the city of New York 
 during the period in which his daughter Lucia, who 
 was his only child, was acquiring the accomplishments 
 of a fashionable education. He was a good scholar, 
 and had seen enough of the frippery of life to relish 
 the beauties of an unaffected simplicity in speech and 
 action. He could not endure to hear a person talking 
 for effect, or disturbing the pleasant, unstudied chit- 
 
THE AZURE HOSE. 49 
 
 chat of a social party, by full-mouthed declamations, 
 and inflated nothings delivered with all the pomp of 
 an oracle. Grimace and affectation of every kind he 
 despised ; and, among the affectations of the day, that 
 which is vulgarly called a blue-stocking made him the 
 most impatient. Among the admirers whom the beauty 
 and fortune of Lucia attracted around her, his most 
 favourite aversion was a Mr. Fitzgiles Goshawk, who 
 wrote doggerel rhymes almost equal to Lord Byron ; 
 and whose conversation perpetually reminded him, as 
 he said, of a falling meteor, which, when handled, 
 proves to be nothing but a jelly a cold, dull mass, 
 that glitters only while it is shooting. 
 
 Lucia, on the contrary, though naturally a fine, sen 
 sible girl, full of artless simplicity, and free from all 
 pretence or affectation, admired Mr. Goshawk exces 
 sively. He had written much, thought little, and 
 spoken a great deal. He had been admired by un 
 questionable judges, as the best imitator extant ; and 
 had passed the ordeal of the London Literary Gazette. 
 He was the greatest prodigal on earth in words; 
 and it was impossible for him to say the simplest 
 thing without rising into a certain lofty enthusiasm, 
 flinging his metaphors about like sky-rockets, and ser 
 pentining around and around his subject like an en 
 amoured cock-pigeon. 
 
 Our heroine, for such is Lucia, was, we grieve to 
 say it, a little of the azure tint. She was not exactly 
 blue, but she certainly inhabited that stripe of the 
 rainbow ; and, when reflected on by the bright rays of 
 Mr. Fitzgiles Goshawk, was sometimes of the deepest 
 shade of indigo. Then her words were mighty ; her 
 criticisms, peremptory ; her tones, decisive ;, and her 
 
 4 
 
50 THE AZURE HOSE. 
 
 enthusiasm, though it might not be without effect, 
 was certainly without cause. At times, however, 
 when not excited by the immediate contact of a con 
 genial spirit, she would become simple, natural, touch 
 ing, affecting, and lovely. Instead of standing on 
 stilts, striving at wit, and challenging admiration, she 
 would remind one of Allworthy s description of 
 Sophia Western. " I never," says that good man 
 " heard any thing of pertness, or what is called repar 
 tee, out of her mouth ; no pretence to wit, much less 
 to that kind of wisdom which is the result of great 
 learning and experience, the affectation of which, in a 
 young woman, is as absurd as any of the affectations 
 of an ape." Truth obliges us to say, that Lucia only 
 realized this fine sketch of a young woman, when act 
 ing from the unstudied impulses of nature, among her 
 familiar domestic associates, where she did not think 
 it worth her while to glitter. Among the azure hose 
 of the fashionable world, she strove, to shine, the 
 sun of the magic circle, until one turned away, as 
 from the sun, not in admiration of its blurting mid 
 day splendours, but to seek relief in the more inviting 
 twilight of an ordinary intellect. In short, our heroine 
 was an heiress, a belle, a beauty ; and, would it were 
 not so, a blue-stocking or, in the exalted phrase 
 ology of the day, an azure hose. 
 
 The morning after the conversation recorded in our 
 first chapter, Highfield arrived. The old gentleman 
 did not kick him out of doors as he threatened ; and 
 Lucia, though she did not therefore signalize herself 
 by letting him in, received him with a smile and a 
 hand of gentle welcome one as bright as the sun 
 beam, the other as soft as a ray of the moon. The 
 
THE AZURE HOSE. 51 
 
 old gentleman was stiff very stiff; Charles was his 
 favourite nephew; he had brought him up, and in 
 tended, as he said, to make a man of him. 
 
 " Well, uncle," said Charles, " I hope I did not 
 disappoint you. I promise you I studied night and 
 day." 
 
 " Mischief, I suppose," said the other, gruffly. 
 
 " A little sometimes, uncle ; but I minded the main 
 chance. I hope you are satisfied." 
 
 " No, sir I m not satisfied, sir dam me, sir, if I 
 will be satisfied, and darn me if I ever forgive you ! " 
 and the good gentleman stumped about according to 
 custom. 
 
 Charles looked at Lucia, as if to inquire the mean 
 ing of this explosion ; and Lucia looked most mis 
 chievously mysterious, but said nothing. 
 
 " Pray, sir," said Highfield, who on some occasions 
 was as proud as Lucifer, " pray, sir, how have I 
 merited this reception from my benefactor ? " 
 
 " I ve a great mind to turn you out of my doors." 
 
 " I can go without turning, sir." And he took up 
 his hat. 
 
 " Answer me, sir are you not a great block 
 head ? " 
 
 " If I am, uncle, nature made me so." 
 
 " I ve a great mind to send you back to college, 
 and make you go all over your studies again." 
 
 "What! the Greek alphabet the Pons Asinorum 
 the plus and the minus the labour of all labours, 
 a composition upon nothing and the worry of all 
 worries, the examination? Spare me, uncle, this 
 time." 
 
 " You deserve it, you blockhead." 
 
52 THE AZURE HOSE. 
 
 " My excellent friend and benefactor," said Charles, 
 approaching and taking his uncle s hand, " if I have 
 offended you, I most solemnly declare it was without 
 intention. If I have done any thing unworthy of 
 myself, or displeasing to you ; or if I have omitted 
 any act of duty, gratitude, or affection, tell me of it 
 frankly, and frankly will I offer excuse and make 
 atonement. What have I done, or left undone ? " 
 
 I declare, thought Lucia, that puts me in mind of 
 Mr. Goshawk how eloquent! 
 
 The tears came into the old gentleman s eyes at 
 this appeal of his nephew. 
 
 " You ve missed the first honour," exclaimed he, 
 with a burst of indignation, mingled with affection ; 
 " O Charles ! Charles ! " 
 
 " Indeed, uncle, I have not. I gained it honestly 
 and fairly, against one of the finest fellows in the 
 world, though I say it." 
 
 " What ! you did gain it ? " 
 
 " Ay, uncle." 
 
 " And you spoke the valedictory ? " 
 
 " I did, sir. The newspapers, I perceive, made a 
 mistake, owing to a similarity between my name and 
 that of the head dunce of the class. I should have 
 written to let you know, but I wanted to have the 
 pleasure of telling it myself." 
 
 " My dear Charles I ", cried the old gentleman, " give 
 me your hand ; I ought to have known you inherited 
 the first honour from your mother. There never was 
 a Lee that did not carry away the first honour every 
 where. But these blundering newspapers the other 
 day they put my name to an advertisement of a 
 three-story house with folding doors and marble man- 
 
THE AZURE HOSE. 53 
 
 tel-pieces. Lucia, come here, you baggage, and wish 
 me joy." 
 
 " I can t, father ; I m jealous." 
 
 " Pooh ! you shall love him as well as I do, before 
 you are as old as I am." 
 
 Hum, thought Lucia, that is more than you know, 
 father. When Lucia retired, she could not help think 
 ing of this prophecy of the old gentleman. " He cer 
 tainly is handsome; but then what is beauty in a 
 man? It is intellect, genius, enthusiasm mind, 
 mind alone, bear witness earth and heaven !, that 
 constitutes the divinity of man. Certainly his eyes 
 
 are as bright as and his person tall, straight, and 
 
 elegant. But then what are these to the lofty aspi 
 rations of Genius ? I wonder if he can waltz. He 
 must be clever, for he gained the first honour. But 
 then Mr. Goshawk says that none but dull boys make 
 a figure at college. And then he talks just like a 
 common person. I wonder if he can write poetry; 
 for I am determined never to marry a man that is 
 not inspired. He certainly is much handsomer than 
 Mr. Goshawk; but then Mr. Goshawk uses such 
 beautiful language! I declare I sometimes hardly 
 know what he is saying. My cousin certainly is 
 handsome, but his coat don t fit him half so well as 
 Mr. Goshawk s." 
 
 How much longer this cogitation might have con 
 tinued no one can divine ; for the young lady was at 
 this crisis called away to accompany her relative, 
 Mrs. Coates, one of the smallest of small ladies, and 
 for that reason sometimes called by her mischievous 
 particular friends, in her absence, Mrs. Petticoats. 
 Mrs. Coates was educated in England, as was the 
 
54 THE AZURE HOSE. 
 
 usage with the better sort of colonists before the Rev 
 olution, and is the fashion still among upstart people, 
 who have not gotten over the colonial feeling. She 
 had in early life married an English officer connected 
 with the skirts of one or two titled families, with 
 whose names the good lady was perfectly familiar. 
 Her conversation, when not literary, or liquorary as 
 she termed it, was all retrospective, and she talked 
 wonderfully of Sir Cloudesley Shovel and Sir Rich 
 ard Gammon, together with divers lords and ladies of 
 the court-calendar. Her toryism was invincible, and 
 if there was any body in the world she hated past 
 all human understanding, it was " that Bonaparte," 
 as she called him. Her favourite topics were the de 
 velopment which she was pleased to call devilope- 
 ment of the infant mind; the progress of the age; 
 the march of intellect ; and the wonderful properties 
 of the steam-engine, which she considered altogether 
 superior to any man-machine of her acquaintance, 
 except Mr. Fitzgiles Goshawk. Though in the main 
 a well-principled woman, there was a cold selfishness 
 in her character, and a minute attention to her own 
 pleasure and accommodation, to the neglect of other 
 people, that effectually prevented her ever being ad 
 mired or beloved. It was a favourite boast with her, 
 that no nation understood the meaning of the word 
 comfort but the English; to which her cousin, Mr. 
 Lee, would sometimes retort, by affirming it was 
 no wonder, since no people ever thought more of 
 their own comfort and less of that of others. 
 
 Mrs. Coates sent to invite Lucia to go out with 
 her, to assist in the selection of a ribbon, which was 
 always a matter of great delicacy and circumspection 
 
THE AZURE HOSE. 55 
 
 with Mrs. Petticoats. She admired Mr. Goshawk 
 beyond all other human beings, because he wrote so 
 like Lord Byron, and spoke like a whirlwind. " Ah, 
 Lucy," would she say, " he will make an extinguished 
 man, will that Mr. Goosehawk." 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 AN AZURE MORNING. 
 
 AFTER visiting three hundred and sixty-five stores, 
 Mrs. Coates at length selected a ribbon of sixteen 
 colours, and, finding the morning was not yet alto 
 gether wasted, proposed a visit to Miss Appleby, at 
 whose house one was always sure of hearing all the 
 news of the literary world. They found that lady 
 surrounded by Mr. Goshawk and two or three azures, 
 all talking high matters. Mr. Goshawk was not only 
 a very "extinguished" but a very extraordinary man: 
 he was always either trotting up and down the streets, 
 or visiting ladies and talking at corners. He never 
 seemed to study, nor did it appear how he got his 
 knowledge ; but, certain it is, he knew almost every 
 thing. He could tell how many rings Miss Edge- 
 worth wore on the forefinger of her left hand, and 
 how many panes of glass there were in the great 
 Gothic window of Sir Walter s study. He knew 
 the name of the author of Pelham the writer of 
 every article in the Edinburgh and Quarterly and 
 the editor of the London Literary Gazette was not a 
 more infallible judge of the merit of books. Indeed, 
 
56 THE AZURE HOSE. 
 
 Mrs. Coates used to remark, " His knowledge seems 
 absolutely inchewative, and I wonder how he finds 
 time to digest it." Besides Mr. Goshawk, there was 
 Mr. Puddingham, a solid gentleman who had so 
 overcultivated a thin-soiled intellect that he prema 
 turely turned it into a pine-barren, Mr. Paddleford, 
 Mr. Prosser, Mr. Roth, a grumbling sententiarian critic, 
 and Miss Overend, secretary to a charitable fund and 
 member of an executive committee of Greek ladies. 
 
 I wish my dearly beloved readers could have been 
 present at this congeries of stars ; for it is impossible 
 to do justice to the nights of fancy, the vast, incom 
 prehensible nothings, the arrogant commonplaces, and 
 the hard words, sported by our azure coterie. Here 
 was a dwarfish thought dressed in gigantic words, 
 and there a little toad of an idea swelled to the size 
 of an ox, and ready to burst with its own importance ; 
 here a deplorable mixture of false metaphor and true 
 nonsense, and there a little embryo of meaning, gasp 
 ing for life and groaning under a heap of rubbish. 
 No little sparks of innocent, unstudied vivacity ; no 
 easy chit-chat, such as diverts and rests the mind; 
 no rambling interchange of sentiment ; no gentle un 
 dertones, or musical, good-humoured responses. All 
 w^ere talking for effect, all striving for the palm of 
 eloquent declamation, and bending their little stub 
 born bows, as if, like Sagittarius, they were going to 
 bring down a constellation at the first shot. 
 
 Though I feel the impossibility of doing justice to 
 this superfine palaver, yet will I attempt a sketch, a 
 shadow, a mere outline, of some portion, if it be only 
 for the benefit of the unlettered spinsters who as yet, 
 perchance, may not know what is meant by " power- 
 
THE AZURE HOSE. 57 
 
 ful talking." I confess the task is appalling, as it is 
 unpleasant ; for I do honestly and openly profess my 
 self to have a holy horror of loud, contentious discus 
 sions, affected enthusiasm, and ostentatious display 
 either of wealth or talents. It is offensive in man : 
 but in woman, dear woman, whose office is to soothe, 
 not irritate ; whose voice should be soft as an echo of 
 the mountain vales ; whose wit should be accidental ; 
 whose enthusiasm, silent expression ; and whose em 
 pire resides in her graces, her smiles, her tears, her 
 gentleness, and her virtues, it makes me mad. It 
 is laying down the cestus of Venus, to brandish the 
 club of Hercules. 
 
 " I insist upon it, Pelham is an immoral book," 
 said Miss Appleby. " No man that cherishes the 
 sacred principle, the vestal fire on which depended the 
 existence of the Roman state, and all the social affini 
 ties that bind man and man together, could speak as 
 the author does, of his mother." 
 
 " But my dear Miss Appleby," said Mr. Goshawk, 
 " the author is not accountable for every thing in his 
 book, any more than a father can be made to answer 
 for the crimes of his children. The argument I would 
 superinduce upon this predication is this," 
 
 " But sir-r-r," said the Johnsonian Puddingham, 
 cutting in "sir, the author of a bad book is guilty 
 of a crime against society. Society, sir, is a congeries 
 of certain people, whose various inflections, deflec 
 tions, and" 
 
 "My dear Puddingham," roared Mr. Roth, "the 
 book is immoral in the perception, conception, execu 
 tion, and catastrophe ; sir " 
 
 " Sir Cloudesley Shovel," said Mrs. Coates ; but 
 
58 THE AZURE HOSE. 
 
 what more she would have said is in the womb of fate. 
 Mr. Goshawk again took flight, and overshot her. 
 
 " Sir Francis Bacon ", said he 
 
 " Sir Richard Gammon ", said Mrs. Coates 
 
 " Dr. Johnson affirms " 
 
 " The Edinburgh Review says " 
 
 " The London Quarterly lays it down " 
 
 " The London Literary Gazette ", screamed Lu 
 cia 
 
 " Blackwood s Bombazine ", cried Mrs. Coates, yet 
 louder. Here Highfield happened to be passing by, 
 and Lucia called him in by tapping at the window ; 
 for she was anxious to have a little display before 
 him. Highfield had known them all, having visited 
 with Lucia, during his vacations. He held them, how 
 ever, in so little respect, that he did not mind quizzing 
 them now and then. His entrance put an end to the 
 literary discussion about Pelham, and the torrent took 
 another course. 
 
 " What do you think of Goldsmith?" asked Miss 
 Appleby, after the compliments. 
 
 " Goldsmid ? ", said he ; " why, I think he was a 
 great fool to shoot himself." * 
 
 " Shoot himself ! " screamed Mrs. Coates ; " what, is 
 he dead ? " 
 
 " Yes, madam his affairs fell into confusion, and 
 he shot himself; I thought you had seen it in the pa 
 pers, by your asking my opinion." 
 
 It is my opinion Highfield did not think any such 
 thing ; but of that no more. 
 
 " Lord ! " said Miss Appleby, " I don t mean Gold 
 smid, the broker, but Goldsmith, the poet and novelist; 
 what is your opinion of him ? " 
 
 * An affair in England. 
 
THE AZURE HOSE. 59 
 
 " Why, really, the question comes upon me by sur 
 prise ; but I think him, upon the whole, one of the 
 most agreeable, tender, and sprightly writers in the 
 language." 
 
 "He wants power, sir," said Puddingham; "there 
 is not a powerful passage in all his writings." 
 
 "He wants force, sir," thundered Mr. Goshawk: 
 "there is nothing forcible in his works; no effort; no 
 struggle ; no swelling of the tempest ; no pelting of 
 the pitiless storm against the indurated feelings of the 
 heart ; no fighting with the angry elements of those 
 deep-buried passions, which waken at the magic touch 
 of the Byrons, and the Great Unknowns, of this pre 
 cocious age. For my part, I would not give a pinch 
 of snuff for writings that did not awaken the passions. 
 Lord Byron is all passion." 
 
 " Lord Byron was a distant connexion of a relative 
 of my husband," said Mrs. Coates. 
 
 " Oh, all passion," cried Miss Appleby. 
 
 " All passion," cried Mrs. Overend. 
 
 " All passion," cried Paddleford. 
 
 And, " All passion," echoed Lucia, Mr. Prosser, and 
 the rest of the party. 
 
 "Well, but," said Highfield, "I don t see why a 
 writer should be always in a passion, any more than 
 another man. I, for my part, should not like to be 
 always in company with a fellow who was for ever 
 cursing his stars, beating his breast, and talking of 
 shooting himself; nor do I much relish books that 
 address themselves to nothing but our most turbulent 
 feelings. It is the best and purest office of works of 
 imagination, to soothe and mitigate those malignant 
 passions which the collisions of the world blow into a 
 
60 THE AZURE HOSE. 
 
 flame; and," added he with a srnile, "it is the busi 
 ness of a young man, like me, to listen rather than 
 preach. I beg pardon for my long speech." 
 
 Goshawk shrugged his shoulders, and looked at 
 Lucia, as if to say, her cousin Charles was an every 
 day sort of person. Lucia thought his sentiments tol 
 erable enough; but what superior man ever talked 
 such plain English? Goshawk was determined to 
 put down this new pretender at once. 
 
 " Sir," said he, pompously, " do you mean to deny 
 that passion is the soul of eloquence ; the marrow of 
 poetry; the rainbow which connects the overarching 
 skies of fancy, feeling, and imagination ; the star that 
 flashes conviction ; sprinkles the dews of heaven on 
 the head of the thirsty traveller; refines, delights, 
 invigorates, and entrances ; gives to the scimitar of 
 the poet its brightness ; to the dagger of the orator 
 its point ; to the ardour of love its purple blossoms ; 
 and to the fire of revenge its blushing fruits ? " 
 
 " Beautiful ! beautiful ! " sighed Lucia ; " what a 
 flow of language! What a torrent of redundant 
 ideas ! What a congeries of metaphors ! " and she 
 sighed again. The fact is, that Goshawk rolled out 
 these incomprehensible nothings with such an impos 
 ing enthusiasm, such a rapidity of utterance, that it 
 is hardly a reflection on Lucia s good sense that she 
 admired them. It is only on paper that nonsense 
 never escapes detection. 
 
 " Goshawk," said Highfield, " I hate argument. It 
 is as bad as fighting before ladies." 
 
 " Hate argument ! " cried they all together, and lit 
 tle Lucia among the loudest "hate argument!" 
 
 " I confess it ; I d rather talk nonsense by the 
 month, than argue by the hour." 
 
THE AZURE HOSE. 61 
 
 " Hate argument ! " cried Mr. Goshawk ; " why, it 
 is the hone on which the imagination is brought to its 
 brightest edge." 
 
 " What a beautiful figure," said Lucia ; " he talks 
 like a rainbow." 
 
 "Hate argument!" cried the illustrious Pudding- 
 ham ; " let me tell you, sir, the great Johnson con 
 sidered argument as a cudgel, with which every man 
 should be furnished, to defend himself and knock 
 down his adversaries." 
 
 " What a charming metaphor ! " said Lucia, with 
 enthusiasm. 
 
 " Metaphor ! " said Mrs. Coates, " can you see it 
 in the daytime ? Do show me where it is, I should 
 like to see its tail in the daytime." 
 
 " My dear aunt," said Lucia, excessively mortified, 
 " my dear aunt, you mean the meteor." 
 
 " Child," said the other, " don t irrigate me. I 
 know the difference between a metaphor and a me 
 teor, as well as you do. The Liquorary Gazette could 
 tell me that." 
 
 " Pray, sir," said Goshawk to Highfield, pompously, 
 " what do they learn at college ? " 
 
 " Why, a little logic, and" 
 
 " And what is logic but argument? " said the other. 
 
 " My good sir, no two things can be more distinct. 
 I have heard thousands of arguments in which 
 there was no more logic than in the couplet of the 
 primer 
 
 Xerxes the great did die, 
 And so must you and I. " 
 
 " And do you mean to deny the conclusion ? " said 
 the other, with his usual enthusiasm. 
 
62 THE AZURE HOSE. 
 
 " Not I," said Highfield, carelessly ; " I have not 
 the least doubt of it. I only deny that you and I 
 shall die because Xerxes the great did die. " 
 
 To an enthusiastic declamatory person by profes 
 sion, there is nothing so difficult to parry, as a little, 
 plain, direct, common-sense, conveyed in simple and 
 brief words. Mr. Goshawk was actually puzzled ; so 
 he contented himself with asking, rather contemp 
 tuously, 
 
 " And is this all they teach at college ? " 
 
 " By no means ; I learnt exactly how many nuts 
 and apples Tityrus had for his supper." 
 
 Mr. Goshawk, it is believed, never heard of but 
 four poets the Great Unknown, Lord Byron, Mr. 
 Moore, and himself. He neither understood who 
 Tityrus was, nor comprehended the sly rebuke of the 
 reply. The indispensable armour of affectation is an 
 absolute insensibility to ridicule. 
 
 " Oh ! what a beautiful alliteration," exclaimed 
 Lucia, who was dipping into Mr. Thomas Moore. 
 
 " A heart that was humble might hope for it here. " 
 
 " Charming ! charming ! " added she, repeating it to 
 Highfield, who insisted that he could make a finer 
 alliteration, extempore. 
 
 " If you do, I ll net you a silk purse," said Lucia. 
 
 "Done," said Highfield:- 
 
 "May mild meridian moonlight mantle me." 
 
 " Only make a rhyme to it, and I will add a watch 
 chain," said the young lady. 
 
 " Lovely, lively, lisping, laughing Lucia Lightfoot Lee." 
 
 " Nonsense ! " said Lucia, blushing a little. 
 
 " You asked for rhyme, not reason. I insist upon 
 
THE AZURE HOSE. 63 
 
 it, I ve won." The company was called upon to 
 decide. 
 
 " There s no sublimity," said Goshawk. 
 
 " No powerful pathos," said Miss Overend. 
 
 " No exquisite tenderness," said Paddleford. 
 
 " No romantic feeling," said Miss Appleby. 
 
 " No meaning," said Mr. Roth, pompously. 
 
 " No connexion of sense," said Puddingham. 
 
 " It finds no He Cow * in my feelings," said Mrs. 
 Coates. 
 
 Highfield was proceeding to prove that his two 
 lines contained all the essentials of first-rate poetry, 
 when, luckily for his fame, a young lady came in 
 with a new hat, of the latest Paris fashion. The 
 force of nature overcame the force of affectation ; and 
 the ladies all flocked round the new bonnet, leaving 
 the reputation of our hero, as a bard, to its fate. 
 
 After this the conversation turned on more sublu 
 nary things. 
 
 " Do you know," said Miss Traddle, the young 
 lady in the fashionable bonnet, " Do you know that 
 the Briars have hired a splendid hotel, in Paris ? " 
 
 "What!" said little Mrs. Coates, "do they keep 
 tavern ? Well, for my part, I never thought them as 
 rich as some people did. I m sorry for poor, dear 
 Mrs. Briar." 
 
 " They have been presented at court ! " said Miss 
 Traddle. " What, tavern-keepers presented at court ! 
 O, but its only a French court," quoth Mrs. Coates, 
 quite satisfied. 
 
 The information, however, stirred up, among the 
 
 * The intelligent reader need hardly be told that he cow is the fashion 
 able pronunciation of echo, in England. [Author.] 
 
64 THE AZURE HOSE. 
 
 azures, a violent degree of envy, at the good fortune 
 of the happy Briars. 
 
 " For my part," said Miss Appleby, who had been 
 abroad, but was never presented "for my part, I 
 always declined going to court. Every body told me 
 it was a stupid business;" and she sighed at the 
 good fortune of the Briars. 
 
 " What a delightful thing it must be to get into the 
 first society, abroad," said Miss Traddle. 
 
 Why so ? " asked Highfield. 
 
 " Why, why because it is of such high rank so 
 refined so literary so genteel so much superior 
 to the society here." 
 
 " Who told you so, Miss Traddle ? " 
 
 " Why, Mrs. Vincent; you know she was at court." 
 
 " What, hin Hingland ! " said Mrs. Coates, in as 
 tonishment. 
 
 "Yes, indeed; and at the sheep-shearing at Hoik- 
 ham ; and the lord mayor s ball ; and Almacks." 
 
 "What, Almacks!" cried Miss Appleby, and al 
 most fainted. 
 
 " At Almanack s ! " exclaimed Mrs. Coates ; " I dont 
 believe a word of it. Why I could never get 
 there myself, though Sir Cloudesley Shovel and Sir 
 Richard Gammon both made interest for me. Mrs. 
 Vincent, indeed !, the daughter of a shaver, and wife 
 of a I don t believe a word on t." 
 
 Poor Mrs. Vincent! how they all hated her for 
 being at Almacks. 
 
 " And why not ? " said Highfield. 
 
 " Because," said Mrs. Coates, " they wouldn t admit 
 the goddess Dinah, if she was to rise from the dead. 
 Were you ever abroad, Mr. Highfield ? " 
 
 u No, but I intend to go one of these days. I wish 
 
THE AZURE HOSE. 65 
 
 to undeceive myself, and get rid of that monstrous 
 bugbear, the superiority of every thing foreign, which 
 is inculcated by books and by every thing we see and 
 hear, from our youth upwards." 
 
 " What," said they all, with one voice, " you don t 
 believe in the superiority of foreign literature ? " 
 
 u Not of the present day." 
 
 " Nor foreign manners ? " 
 
 " No, nor morals either." 
 
 " Nor of French cookery ? " quoth Puddingham. 
 
 " Nor of English poetry ? " quoth Goshawk. 
 
 " Nor of Italian skies ? " quoth Miss Overend, en 
 thusiastically. 
 
 " Nor of London porter ? " exclaimed Mrs. Coates. 
 
 " No, no, no, no," replied Highfield, good humour- 
 edly, yet earnestly ; "as to your Italian skies, a 
 friend of mine assured me he was three months in 
 Italy, and never saw a clear sky. The truth is, we 
 take our ideas of Italian skies from English poets, 
 who, not having an opportunity of seeing the sun 
 at home, above once or twice a year, vault into rap 
 tures with the delight of sunshine on the Continent. 
 Those of our countrymen who judge for themselves 
 have assured me that, in no part of Europe have they 
 ever seen such beautiful blue skies, such starry firma 
 ments, and such a pure transparent air, as our sum 
 mers and autumns present almost every day and 
 every night. And as to their Venus de Medici, I 
 need not go out of the room to satisfy myself that 
 there is no necessity for a voyage to Europe to meet 
 goddesses that shame all the beauties of antiquity ; " 
 and he bowed all round, to the ladies, who each took 
 the compliment to herself, and pardoned his numer- 
 
 5 
 
66 THE AZURE HOSE. 
 
 ous heresies, on the score of his orthodoxy in one par 
 ticular. 
 
 " I am exactly the height of the Venus de Medi 
 cine," said little Mrs. Coates ; and forgot the slander 
 on the English skies. " You mean to go to Europe, 
 and visit Almanack s, of course." 
 
 " For what, madam ? To see a company of well- 
 dressed men and women, who look exactly like our 
 selves only the ladies are not half so handsome, 
 nor do they dance half so well? No, if I go abroad 
 at all, it will be to learn properly to estimate the hap 
 piness of my own country. 
 
 The ladies, though they could not get over the silly 
 and vulgar notion of the superiority of everything 
 abroad, all thought Highfield a very polite, agreeable 
 young fellow ; and Lucia found herself on the very 
 threshold of relishing a little common-sense. The 
 party soon after separated, having spent a most im 
 proving morning. 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 SHOWING THE GREAT ADVANTAGES ARISING FROM HAVING A DISCREET 
 FRIEND. 
 
 THOUGH years bring with them wisdom, yet there is 
 one lesson the aged seldom learn, namely, the man 
 agement of youthful feelings. Age is all head, youth 
 all heart; age reasons, youth feels; age acts under 
 the influence of disappointment, youth under the 
 dominion of hope. What wonder, then, that they so 
 seldom agree ? Mr. Lee had, for more than half a 
 
THE AZURE HOSE. 67 
 
 score of years, been pondering on the beautiful con- 
 gruity of a match between his daughter and his 
 nephew. He had enough for both ; they were of a 
 corresponding age; both handsome, amiable, and in 
 telligent; and they had been brought up together, 
 until within the last few years that Highfield remained 
 at college. It was most reasonable, most likely, and 
 most natural, that they should fall in love, marry, 
 and be happy. Therefore he had long since deter 
 mined in his own mind, that they should fall in love, 
 marry, and be happy. Alas ! poor gentleman even 
 experience had failed in teaching him, that the most 
 likely things in the world are the least likely to come 
 to pass. He communicated his plans to his friend, 
 Mr. Fairweather: 
 
 " I intend Highfield shall live with us," said he, 
 " and thus he will have every opportunity to make 
 himself agreeable." 
 
 " You had better forbid him the house," said the 
 other. 
 
 " Forbid him the I shall do no such thing," 
 
 said Mr. Lee, somewhat nettled ; " but you are not 
 serious ? " 
 
 " Faith am I." 
 
 " How so ? " 
 
 Mr. Fairweather was of the Socratic school, with 
 out knowing much of Socrates ; for he held the 
 ancients in little respect. 
 
 " Have you not observed, my good friend," said he, 
 " that matrimony does not in general answer the great 
 end of human happiness ? " 
 
 " Now I tell you what, Mr. Fairweather, I know 
 what you are after ; you want to catch me in your 
 
68 THE AZURE HOSE. 
 
 confounded, crooked interrogations ; but it wont do, I 
 tell you it wont do, sir," said Mr. Lee, chafing. 
 
 " No, no, upon honour, I have no such intention ; 
 only answer me frankly. Have you not made the 
 observation ? " 
 
 " Well, then, I have," answered Mr. Lee, with some 
 hesitation, and feeling exactly like a fly in the antici 
 pation of being caught in a cobweb. 
 
 " Very well : don t you think this arises from their 
 seeing too much of each other becoming too inti 
 mate and thus losing the guard which the little, 
 salutary restraints of the constitution of society inter 
 pose before marriage, giving way, in consequence, to 
 a display of temper and habits that weakens, if not 
 destroys, affection ? " 
 
 " Certainly certainly I do," quoth the other. 
 
 "Very well: do not two young people, living 
 together in the same house, associating on terms of 
 the most perfect intimacy, also see a great deal of each 
 other calculated to unveil the mysteries in which love 
 delights to shroud his glorious deceptions? The 
 young lady comes down to breakfast, with her hair in 
 papers an old, faded, black-silk or calico frock a 
 shoe out at the sides, and a hole in her stocking 
 she scolds the servant, and gets into a passion, (for it 
 is impossible to be always a hypocrite), and ten to 
 one they become so easy together, that they will not 
 scruple at last to contradict, quarrel with, and at 
 length care no more for, each other, than people gen 
 erally do who have had a free opportunity of seeing 
 all their faults at full length." 
 
 " All this is very true; but then but go on, sir." 
 
 " Very well ; the case stands thus : Marriages are 
 
THE AZURE HOSE. 69 
 
 seldom very happy. Why ? Because the parties are 
 too much together. Why ? Because they live in the 
 same house, and see all each other s faults. Ergo, if 
 you want two young persons to become attached, and 
 marry, you should take a course directly opposite to 
 that of matrimony. Instead of shutting your daugh 
 ter and nephew up together, your best way will be, as 
 I said before, to turn him out of doors." 
 
 "There! there! I knew you d have me at last; I 
 felt you were all the time drawing your infernal snares 
 around me. Sir, you re enough to provoke a saint, 
 with your Socratics." 
 
 " I never meddle with Socrates, or Socratics, my 
 good friend ; but Socrates, notwithstanding his igno 
 rance of steamboats, spinning-jennies, railroads, and 
 chemistry, is, upon the whole, good authority in cases 
 of the kind we are discussing. He certainly saw too 
 much of his lady." 
 
 " Then you seriously advise me to turn my nephew 
 out of doors, to bring about a union ? Why, I did 
 threaten it the other day, and Lucia told me she 
 would certainly let him in again." 
 
 " Then my dear friend, here you have the whole 
 secret of the matter. Only persuade the young lady 
 that you don t approve of the young gentleman for a 
 son-in-law, and the business is done." 
 
 " Confound it, be serious, can t you ? I want your 
 advice as a friend." 
 
 " Well, I have given it, and you don t like it. I 
 think it best then that you try the other extreme, and 
 shut them up together all day in the same room. 
 Don t you think, my good friend, that much of the 
 misery of married life arises from young people not 
 
70 THE AZURE HOSE. 
 
 being sufficiently acquainted with the habits and tem 
 pers of each other beforehand ? " 
 
 " Certainly, certainly." 
 
 " Very well : and don t you think the best way of 
 obviating that evil is to let them see as much of one 
 another as possible ? " 
 
 Here Mr. Lee made his friend a most profound and 
 reverential bow. " I remember," said he, " having 
 read, in Monsieur Rabelais, that the great Panurge, 
 being inclined to marry, consulted divers philosophers 
 without success, when the thought came across him 
 to ask the opinion of a fool, who soon satisfied his 
 doubts on the subject." Whereupon he seized his 
 hat and stumped out of the room, followed by 
 his friend. But they did not separate; they stuck 
 together like a pair of wool-cards with the teeth stand 
 ing opposite ways, and finished the morning, more 
 attached to each other than ever. 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 PURE AZURE. 
 
 MR. LEE, after troubling himself exceedingly in 
 concocting and maturing a plan to bring about a 
 speedy union between his daughter and nephew, at 
 length in despair hit upon the best in the world, which 
 was, to let matters take their own course, and leave 
 the event to Providence. Had he persevered in this, it 
 had been all the better; but I profess to have heard a 
 vast many people talk of trusting to Providence, who 
 
THE AZURE HOSE. 71 
 
 still would be meddling and putting in their oar, and 
 spoiling every thing. However, it is necessary to the 
 happiness of mankind, that they should fancy them 
 selves the spiders that weave the web, instead of the 
 flies that are caught in it. 
 
 In the meantime, Lucia and Highfield were much 
 together. Lucia liked him extremely ; she liked his 
 good-humour, his vivacity, his spirit, and his generous 
 forgetfulness of himself; she even thought him rather 
 handsome, and quite a sensible young man. But her 
 ideas of men had been formed from the declamations 
 of the azure club, with which she had been intimately 
 associated for the last few years. It was here that 
 she learned to consider words of much more conse 
 quence than actions, talents than temper, enthusiasm 
 than common-sense, and an utter incapacity for use 
 fulness as the best test of genius. She was often 
 struck with the manly sense and unpretending beauty 
 of Highfield s sentiments ; but then they were ex 
 pressed with such a nakedness, such a poverty of 
 words, such a natural simplicity, that all the azures 
 pronounced him a very common-place sort of a per 
 son, that would never set the world crying about 
 nothing, or be himself miserable without cause. 
 
 " For my part," said Goshawk, " I like sublimity, 
 obscurity, grandeur, mistiness I hate a speech, or a 
 passage, that I can comprehend at the first glance. 
 Give me, to grope in the whirlwind ; mount into the 
 depths of the multitudinous ocean ; dive into the evan 
 escent fleecy clouds, that gallop on the midnight sun 
 beams which sparkle in yon star-spangled attic story ; 
 and grapple with the chaos of the mind." And he 
 sunk on the sofa, overpowered with his emotions. 
 
72 THE AZURE HOSE. 
 
 " And I," exclaimed Miss Appleby, holding a srnell- 
 ing-bottle to his inspired nose, " I delight to fling " 
 here she flourished a pinch of snuff she held between 
 her thumb and finger right into the expanded nostrils 
 of the great Puddingham, who began to sneeze like 
 ten tom-cats "I delight to toss back the curtains 
 of night and darkness to climb those unfathomable 
 abysses where lurk the treasures of inspired thought, 
 glittering like the eternal snows of the inaccessible 
 Andes. I love to rise on the wings of the moon 
 beam sink under the weight of the zephyr and 
 lose myself in the impenetrable brightness of trans 
 cendent genius, giving to the winds their whistle, the 
 waves their roar, the stars their brightness, and the sun 
 its fires." 
 
 " And I," cried little Mrs. Coates, " as Sir Richard 
 Gammon used to say, prefer those soul-infusing alli 
 gators, that stir the mountain spirit up to the drome 
 dary of fever heat " 
 
 " The dromedary of fever heat ! " said Roth, 
 " what sort of a dromedary is that ? " 
 
 Lucia whispered Mrs. Coates, who replied in some 
 agitation, 
 
 " I mean, allegory, and thermometer. Ho\v could 
 I make such a mistake ? But I was carried away by 
 the intensity of my feelings. I like " 
 
 Each one of the party was now so anxious to let 
 likings be known, that there was no one but Highfield 
 to listen. Even Lucia mingled her tuneful nonsense 
 with the incomprehensible jargon. There was not 
 one of these good people that would not have made 
 a decent figure in life, in their proper sphere, (as 
 indeed all persons do), had they only been content 
 
THE AZURE HOSE. 73 
 
 to keep within it, and talk common-sense on ordinary 
 occasions, refraining from the affectation of enthusi 
 asm when there was nothing to excite it. A pause 
 at length ensuing, Miss Appleby turned suddenly to 
 Highfield, and asked him, 
 
 " O, Mr. Highfield, I hope you admire those beauti 
 ful historical romances, and romantic histories, that 
 come out every day nowadays ? What a charming 
 thing it is to read novels and study history at the 
 same time ! " 
 
 " Why, in truth, madam," said Highfield, " I don t 
 pretend to criticism, and hardly ever read reviews, 
 when I can find any thing else to read." 
 
 " Not read reviews ! " 
 
 " Not read the Edinburgh ! ", cried Mr. Roth, who 
 never uttered an opinion that he did not get from 
 that renowned Scottish oracle. 
 
 " Not read the Quarterly ! ", exclaimed Pudding- 
 ham, who was a believer in the infallibility of the 
 English oracle. 
 
 " Nor the Liquorary Gazette ! ", quoth little Mrs. 
 Coates. 
 
 " Well then, let us hear your opinion, sir," at length 
 said Puddingham, with a supercilious air, implying 
 that it was not worth hearing. 
 
 " Such as it is, you are welcome to it. I confess 
 I do not agree with those who believe that a knowl 
 edge of history may be obtained by studying romances. 
 The very name of romance presupposes fiction ; and 
 how is the reader, unless already critically versed in 
 history, to distinguish between what is fact and what 
 is fiction? The probability is, that he will jumble 
 them together, and thus lose all perception of what is 
 
74 THE AZURE HOSE. 
 
 history, and what romance. He may come, in time, 
 to mistake one for the other, and confound a Waverley 
 novel with Hume, or the Tales of my Landlord with 
 Plutarch s Lives." 
 
 " Ah ! that Plutarch s Lives is a delightful romance," 
 exclaimed Mrs. Coates. 
 
 " Romance ! " said Highfield ; " my dear madam, 
 I am afraid you are already in the state of doubt I 
 hinted at. Plutarch s Lives compose one of the best 
 authenticated memorials of history." 
 
 " Well," cried Mrs. Coates, " did ever any body 
 hear of such an imposition ! Every thing is so per 
 fectly natural, I took it for a historical romance. I am 
 resolved never to read another word of it." 
 
 " Many besides yourself, madam," said Highfield, 
 smiling, " have lost their relish for truth, by a habit of 
 reading little else than the daily succession of half- 
 truth half-fable productions, perpetually issuing from 
 the press. I think I could give a receipt, which would 
 enable any person of ordinary intellect to concoct one 
 of these at least twice a year, without any extraordi 
 nary exertion." 
 
 " Oh, let us hear it by all means," said Pudding- 
 ham, disdainfully. 
 
 " Come then," said the other. " Take a smattering 
 of history; a little knowledge of old costumes and 
 phraseology ; a little superstition, consisting of a be 
 lief in clouds, dreams, and- omens; a very little inven 
 tion, just enough to disguise the truth of history; a 
 very little vein of a story, with very little connection ; 
 a mighty hero, and a very little heroine. With these, 
 compound a quantity of actions without motive and 
 motives without action, adventures that have no 
 
THE AZURE HOSE. 75 
 
 agency in producing the catastrophe, and a catas 
 trophe without any connection with the adventures. 
 Put all these in a book, cement them together with 
 plenty of high-sounding declamations, and get a 
 certificate from an English review or newspaper, 
 and you have a romance, of which more copies will 
 be sold in a fortnight than of the best history in the 
 world in a year." 
 
 " By the bye," said Miss Appleby, " have you read 
 Moore s Life of Byron, and heard that Murray, the 
 great London bookseller, has purchased the copy 
 right of his minor poems for three thousand seven 
 hundred guineas ? " 
 
 " What a proof of the prodigious superiority of 
 his genius ! " cried Miss Overe/id. " I have read that 
 Milton sold his Paradise Lost for fifteen pounds." 
 
 " What a noble testimony to the wonderful develop 
 ment of mind!" cried Puddingham. "But I believe, 
 Mr. Highfield, you don t believe in the vast improve 
 ment of the age ? ", added he, in his usual pompous 
 vein. 
 
 " Not much," replied the other ; " I think the age 
 of Milton was quite as learned and wise as the pres 
 ent. If Milton were now living, an obscure author 
 or obnoxious politician, I doubt whether Murray 
 would give him fifteen pounds for his Paradise Lost, 
 at a venture, unless indeed he could secure a favoura 
 ble review." 
 
 " What a divine misanthrope was Lord Byron ! ", 
 exclaimed Miss Appleby ; " how I should glory in 
 being loved by a man that hated all the rest of the 
 world ! " 
 
 " My dear madam," said Highfield, " wouldn t you 
 be afraid he might kill you with kindness ? " 
 
76 THE AZURE HOSE. 
 
 " I wouldn t care, to die such a glorious death." 
 
 " And so uncommon too. You would be immortal 
 ized, if only on account of its rarity." 
 
 " Oh, he was a jewel of a man ! Such an inspired 
 contempt for his fellow-creatures! Don t you think 
 this a certain sign of his superiority over the rest of 
 the world ? " 
 
 " And don t you think his utter disregard of the 
 customs and prejudices of society a proof of his lofty 
 genius ? ", added Miss Overend. 
 
 " Why no, I can t say I do. But I have no dispo 
 sition to find fault with the dead it is against an 
 old maxim I learned at college." 
 
 " It is much easier to give an opinion than to sup 
 port it," said the sententious Puddingham. " Pray 
 give us your reasons, Mr. Highfield." 
 
 " I had rather not," said he ; "I am somewhat tired 
 of his lordship, and heartily wish his cruel biographers 
 would let his memory rest in peace." 
 
 But they all insisted. 
 
 " Well then, since I can t get off with honour, I 
 must not disgrace myself before this good company. 
 In the first place, I don t believe his lordship despised 
 the world whose applause and admiration he was con 
 tinually seeking. His contempt was sheer affectation. 
 But if he had really despised it, I should have a worse 
 opinion of him." 
 
 " As how, my good sir ? " said Puddingham. 
 
 " Because I consider misanthropy a proof of either 
 weakness or wickedness. To divest mankind of all 
 the virtues, as does the misanthrope, is to free our 
 selves virtually from all moral obligations towards 
 them. One may become justly indifferent to this 
 
THE AZURE HOSE. 77 
 
 world, but to hate it seems to me only a proof that a 
 man is bad himself, and wants an excuse for indulg 
 ing his wicked propensities, by robbing his fellow- 
 creatures of all claim to the exercise of justice and 
 benevolence. He is like the pirate, who throws away 
 his allegiance, only that he may make war on every 
 flag." 
 
 Here the great Puddingham took an emphatic pinch 
 of snuff; and, after sneezing violently, said, " Go on, 
 sir; go on." 
 
 " Neither do I believe that a disregard to the com 
 mon maxims of life is proof of a superior mind. 
 Men of great genius, indeed, very often pay little at 
 tention to mere fashions and fashionable opinions, be- 
 because these have nothing to do with the settled 
 principles of religion or morality. But, so far as re 
 spects my own reading or experience, I never met 
 with a man of very extraordinary powers of mind 
 who despised or disregarded those ordinary maxims 
 of life which are essential to the very existence of 
 society ; much less have I met one of this class who 
 prostituted his genius to the injury of morals and re 
 ligion, or devoted himself exclusively to low, grovel 
 ling, mischievous attempts to weaken their influence 
 on mankind. I have never found such men for ever 
 wallowing in the mire of sensuality, or indulging a 
 malicious misanthropy by sarcasms and reasonings 
 against social ties and duties. Shall I go on ? " said 
 Highfield, after a pause. 
 
 " Oh, by all means," said Puddingham, condescend 
 ingly. 
 
 " The world of fashion has been pleased to place 
 Lord Byron beside, if not on a level with, the great 
 
78 THE AZURE HOSE. 
 
 names of ancient and modern literature ; and, what 
 ever may be my own opinion, I am to estimate him 
 by that standard if I please. But I don t please to 
 do so. He will not bear a comparison with any of 
 these. A great genius always devotes himself to great 
 subjects ; or, if he sometimes condescends to trifle, it 
 is only by way of a little relaxation. We do not find 
 Homer, Virgil, Dante, Tasso, Milton, and others of 
 the great heirs of immortality, attempting to reach 
 the summit of fame through the dirty, winding, paths 
 of ribaldry and sensuality converting their muse 
 into a pander to vice, or tilting against society and 
 morals, and, both by example and precept, inciting to 
 the violation of the highest duties of man to man, and 
 man to woman. Their genius was nobly exercised in 
 celebrating the glories of their country ; the triumphs 
 of their religion ; the renown of virtuous heroes ; and 
 the beauties of fortitude, disinterestedness, magna 
 nimity, justice, and patriotism. We never find the 
 highest gift of Heaven coupled with the lowest pro 
 pensities to profligacy and vice. It is only your second 
 or third rate men who are found pleading an exemp 
 tion from the duties and obligations of morality, on 
 the score of their superior genius. To my taste, Lord 
 ^yjrprijs, besides all this, far below the first rank of 
 poets, in sublimity, invention, pathos, and especially 
 in the power of expressing his ideas and feelings with 
 that happy force and richness combined with clearness 
 and simplicity, for which they are so preeminently 
 distinguished. There is, to my mind, more genius in 
 Milton s Comus than in all his lordship s poetry put 
 together. As a dramatic writer, he cannot compare 
 w ith I put Shakspeare, Beaumont and Fletcher, 
 
THE AZURE HOSE. 79 
 
 Otway, Corneille, Racine, and Voltaire, out of the 
 question but with Webster, Southern, Dryden, and 
 a dozen others. Childe Harold, though containing 
 many passages of great beauty, is without plot or 
 invention the mere unpurposed wanderings of a 
 splenetic sensual misanthrope, kindled into occasional 
 wrath or enthusiasm by the sight of things at the 
 roadside, arid apparently incapable of any inspiration 
 other than that derived from sensible objects. The 
 Corsair, The Giaour, and Don Juan, are nothing more 
 than the abstracted, contemplative Childe Harold, 
 carrying his feelings and principles into practical ap 
 plication. The Childe merely thinks as a profligate 
 the others act the character ; the first two in heroics, 
 the last in doggerel and buffoonery. They are the same 
 person, in different masks ; and that person seems to 
 be Lord Byron himself. As a satirist, he is far behind 
 Dryden, Pope, and even Churchill ; and, as a writer 
 of quaint doggerel, he is inferior to Peter Pindar, in 
 humour, waggishness, and satirical drollery. And 
 now, after uttering this shocking blasphemy, I hum 
 bly take my leave." So saying, he seized his hat, and 
 retreated with great precipitation. 
 
 This was the longest speech our hero ever uttered ; 
 and if he should take it into his head to make such 
 another in the course of this history, he must get one 
 of the reporters to Congress to write it down, for I 
 demur to undertaking the task in future. Never man 
 met with so little applause for attempting to enlighten 
 people against their will as did our friend Highfield 
 on this occasion. The whole coterie, Lucia among 
 the rest, was scandalized at this atrocious criticism, 
 and separated in confusion. Mr. Fitzgiles Goshawk 
 
80 THE AZUEE HOSE. 
 
 escorted Lucia home, and discoursed as seldom man 
 in his senses, talking to a woman in hers, ever dis 
 coursed before. 
 
 He spoke of being sick of the world ; disgusted 
 with the heartlessness of mankind ; depressed and 
 worn out with the intensity of his feelings ; and de 
 voured by a secret grief, which must never be known 
 until he had gained a refuge from care and sorrow in 
 the quiet grave. All this he uttered in language I 
 confess myself inadequate to record; and with an af 
 fectation that must have been apparent to any one but 
 an inexperienced girl. On going away he gave into 
 Lucia s hand a paper, accompanied by a look that 
 went straight to her heart. She retired to her cham 
 ber, and, unfolding the billet with trembling hands, 
 found the following exquisite effusion : 
 
 TO LUCIA. 
 
 I ve seen the rose-bud glittering on its stalk, 
 
 And morning sunbeams blushing round its head, 
 
 And many a wild flower greeting my lone walk, 
 And many a withered wanderer lying dead; 
 
 And I have sighed, and yet I knew not why, 
 
 And listened to sweet nature s lulling lullaby. 
 
 And I have heard the woodman s mellow song, 
 And sober herds winding their pensive way, 
 
 And echoing cow-bells, tinkling forth ding-dong, 
 And ploughman whistling forth his roundelay 
 
 And wept to think, ah ! luckless, loveless I, 
 
 I could not die to live, nor live to die ! 
 
 And I have dwelt on beauty s angel smile, 
 
 And smiling beauty in its winsome glee, 
 And pondered on my weary way the while ; 
 
 And my heart sunk, and panted sore, ah me! 
 And my full breast did swell, and sorely sigh ; 
 And shudder to its core, alas ! I know not why. 
 
THE AZURE HOSE. 81 
 
 
 Ah ! lady, list thee to my pensive lays, 
 
 And give a sigh to my sad, sighing fate ; 
 And ponder o er life s wild mysterious maze; 
 
 And pity him who feels its stifling weight, 
 And sighs to think, and thinks to sigh again; 
 And finds pain pleasure, pleasure pining pain ! >S. 
 
 " How delightful," thought Lucia, wiping her eyes, 
 " how delightful it must be to be unhappy, without 
 knowing exactly why ! To be able to gather the 
 honey of sweet melancholy, from the flowers, the 
 fruits, the smiles, and the beauties, of nature ! To 
 weep, where vulgar souls would sport and laugh! 
 To complain without reason ; and to banquet on the 
 lonely musings of a heart overfraught with the ex 
 quisite sensibilities of genius ! " And she sighed over 
 the fate of this interesting man, who was thus pining 
 away under some secret grief. She put the inspired 
 morceau into her bosom ; and that day, at least, the 
 genius of Goshawk triumphed over the good sense, 
 the manliness, and the wholesome, healthful vivacity, 
 of Highfield. 
 
 I feel I ought, in justice, to apologize for my he 
 roine, who had sense enough from nature to have 
 detected the mawkish folly, incomprehensible non 
 sense, and silly affectation, of this poetical grief of 
 Mr. Fitzgiles Goshawk. All I can say in her defence 
 is, that she had been brought up in the midst of the 
 azure coterie, all the members of which were consid 
 erably older than herself; had been every day accus 
 tomed to hear them praise Mr. Goshawk, and to hear 
 Mr. Goshawk s poetry. She had grown up in habit 
 ual veneration for them all ; and even the notorious 
 blunders of her aunt were hallowed by coming from 
 the sister of her mother. Those who know the spell 
 
 6 
 
82 THE AZURE HOSE. 
 
 which wrong precepts and early bad examples wind 
 about the finest understanding, and how slowly and 
 with what labour it emancipates itself, will, I hope, 
 excuse my heroine. Such as she is I shall endeavour 
 to exhibit her, hoping that time and experience will 
 yet make her what she was intended to be by nature. 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 THE STORY HASTENS SLOWLY. 
 
 THE father of Lucia, though he had not become 
 quite a sage, had yet derived considerable benefit from 
 experience. Time is as much the friend, as the ene 
 my, of man ; and while he plants the wrinkles on our 
 foreheads, makes some amends by sowing the seeds 
 of wisdom in the mind. Mr. Lee had come to the 
 conclusion, that the best way of bringing about a 
 union of hearts was to keep the secret of his wishes 
 to himself, and let Lucia and Highfield follow the 
 guidance of Dame Nature. There is something in 
 the stubborn heart of man and woman that revolts at 
 becoming the dupe of a plan, even if it be one for 
 bringing about exactly what it wishes above all things. 
 I have seen an over-anxious mother drive a young 
 man from her house, only by discovering a vehement 
 desire to forward a match between him and the very 
 daughter he would have selected if left to himself. In 
 truth, we overdo things in this world, quite as often 
 as we neglect what is necessary to be done. The 
 parent who is perpetually watching the little child 
 
THE AZURE HOSE. 83 
 
 and cautioning it against harm, for the most part only 
 excites a curious longing to try the experiment and 
 judge for itself. So it is with grown-up children, who, 
 like infants, are only to be warned by their own expe 
 rience ; and whom perpetual cautions, recommenda 
 tions, and supervision, too often only incite to mischiefs 
 of which they might otherwise never have dreamed. 
 If there ever was a period of the world in which these 
 maxims were exemplified, it is doubtless the present; 
 when, if the truth must be told, so much pains have 
 been taken, by well-meaning people with better hearts 
 than heads, to improve mankind, that they have at 
 length become, as it were, little better than good for 
 nothing. But let us return to our story. 
 
 Both Highfield and Lucia, it is believed, remained 
 quite unconscious of the intentions of the old gentle 
 man towards them. The former was every day hint 
 ing, in the most delicate manner, his wish to enter 
 upon some honourable pursuit, by which he might 
 attain to independence if not distinction. But the 
 old gentleman always put him off, with, " Time 
 enough, Charles time enough: look round a little, 
 and consider a good deal, before you make your choice." 
 Highfield was in a situation of peculiar delicacy for a 
 high-spirited, honourable, man ; and he refrained from 
 further importunity. Still he did not feel satisfied. 
 He was dependent ; and if I were to mark out the 
 dividing line that separates men, it should be here. 
 On one side I would place those whose manhood rises 
 above the degradation of a dependence on any thing 
 but their own heads, hands, and hearts ; and on the 
 other, those inferior beings who are content to be a 
 burthen upon their fathers or their friends, rather than 
 launch into the ocean of life and buffet the billows. 
 
84 THE AZURE HOSE. 
 
 Highfield belonged to the former class. He longed 
 to make himself a useful and honourable citizen, by 
 the exercise of his talents and industry. He had also 
 another motive. It is quite impossible for two per 
 sons, especially of different sexes, to live together in 
 the same house and preserve a perfect indifference 
 towards each other. They will either take a liking, or 
 a decided dislike. If they are very young, this will 
 probably ripen into love, or antipathy. Lucia was a 
 little too much of the azure ; but I have seen the time, 
 not quite half a century ago, when such a woman 
 would have wakened in my heart a hundred sleeping 
 Cupids. There was that about her which, for want 
 of some other phrase, we call attractive a charm, 
 which, so far as I have ever analyzed it, consists in a 
 well-made figure not tall ; a face of mild gentleness 
 mingled with vivacity ; not always laughing, nor ever 
 gloomy ; always neat, yet never over-dressed, (for no 
 woman can ever touch the heart, though she may 
 overpower the senses, by her splendours) ; a graceful, 
 quiet, motion ; a soft, melting, mellow, voice ; and a 
 heart and an understanding, the one all nature, the 
 other nature embellished, not spoiled, by culture and 
 accomplishments. Such a woman, though she may 
 not dazzle or mislead the imagination, carries with her 
 the true, moral, magnetic influence, which lurks as it 
 were unseen, emitting no gaudy splendours, but with 
 a mysterious, inscrutable, power, attracting and fixing 
 every kindred sympathy with which it comes in con 
 tact. Such, in her natural state, was Lucia Lightfoot 
 Lee a lovely maiden, but r alas ! a little too much of 
 the azure. Highfield had not been long an inmate 
 of his uncle s house, before he began to feel the force 
 
THE AZURE HOSE. 85 
 
 of that magnetic influence I have just described ; and, 
 the moment he became conscious of it, his anxiety to 
 leave his uncle, and pursue some mode of indepen 
 dent existence, became stronger. 
 
 His sense of honour was not only nice, but punc 
 tilious. He was poor and dependent ; Lucia was an 
 heiress. Had he believed it in his power to gain the 
 affections of his cousin, he would have despised him 
 self for the attempt. But he saw that her imagina 
 tion, if not her heart, was captivated by the empty 
 but showy accomplishments of Mr. Goshawk; and 
 the hope of success was not strong enough to blind 
 him to the meanness of the attempt. He began to be 
 much from home, and, when at home, absent and in 
 attentive ; though his natural spirits kept him from 
 being gloomy or unsocial. Lucia was too much oc 
 cupied with Mr. Fitzgiles Goshawk and his mysteri 
 ous sorrows to notice this ; but the old gentleman 
 began to be fidgety and impatient at the unpromising 
 prospect of his favourite plan. 
 
 " What is the matter with you and Lucia ? " said 
 he, one day. 
 
 " Nothing, sir," replied Highfield ; " we are very good 
 friends." 
 
 " Friends! hum ha but you don t seem to like 
 each other as well as you did hey ? " 
 
 "Like, sir uncle I am sure I have a great 
 friendship for Miss Lee." 
 
 " Ah ! hum ha friendship but don t you think 
 her a d d fine girl hey, boy ? " 
 
 " I do, indeed, sir. I think her a sensible, discreet, 
 well-behaved, promising young lady as you will see." 
 
 " Ah ! yes sixteen hands high ; star in the fore- 
 
b THE AZURE HOSE. 
 
 head ; trots well ; canters easy ; full blooded ; and 
 three years old last grass hey? One would think 
 you were praising a horse, instead of my daughter," 
 said the old gentleman, getting into a passion apace. 
 
 " My dear uncle, excuse me. It does not become 
 me to speak of my cousin in such terms of admiration 
 as I would employ under different circumstances." 
 
 "Circumstances!, sir is there any circumstance 
 that ought to prevent your seeing like other young 
 men, and feeling and expressing yourself as they 
 do?" 
 
 " Pardon me, sir ; but I am just now thinking of 
 quite a different matter." 
 
 " You don t say so, sir ! Upon my word, my 
 daughter is very much obliged to you. But what is 
 the mighty affair ? " 
 
 " My excellent friend, don t be angry. If you knew 
 all, perhaps you would pity me. But I must leave 
 you, and seek my fortune indeed I must. I am 
 wasting the best portion of my life in idleness." 
 
 " And suppose you are, what is that to you, sir, if 
 it is my pleasure ? " 
 
 " You have been a father to me, sir, and I owe you 
 both gratitude and obedience. But there are duties 
 to ourselves, which ought to be attended to. I am 
 but a dependant on your bounty, after all a beg 
 gar " 
 
 " A beggar ! tis false, sir, you re not a beggar. 
 But I see how it is ; you want to be made indepen 
 dent ; you want me to make a settlement on you ; 
 you are not content to wait till an old man closes his 
 eyes ; you " 
 
 " Uncle," said Highfield, with his cheek burning 
 
THE AZURE HOSE. 87 
 
 and his eye glistening, " do you really believe me 
 such a despicable scoundrel ? " 
 
 " Why no I believe you are only a fool, that is 
 all. But I ll never forgive you; you have deranged 
 all my plans ; you have rejected the happiness I had 
 in store for you ; you will bring rny gray hairs with 
 sorrow to the grave. Yes, yes, yes, I see it, I see it 
 I am doomed to be a miserable, disappointed, 
 heart-broken old man." 
 
 " For Heaven s sake, uncle, what is the matter ? " 
 
 " Matter ! why the matter is, you are a blockhead ; 
 you are dumb, deaf, blind ; you haven t one of the five 
 senses in perfection, or you might have known " 
 
 " Known what, sir ? " 
 
 li Why," roared the old gentleman, in a transport of 
 rage, a you might have seen that I intended you for 
 my son-in-law you blockhead ; that I meant to 
 leave you and Lucia all my estate you fool ; that I 
 had set my heart on it you you ungrateful vil 
 lain. But I ll be even with I ll disinherit you 
 
 I ll disown you I ll send you to the d 1, sir, for 
 
 your base ingratitude I will." 
 
 Highneld stood a moment or two, overpowered by 
 this unexpected disclosure of his uncle. He actually 
 trembled at the prospect it opened before him. At 
 length he exclaimed : 
 
 " My best of friends, I never dreamed that such was 
 your intention." 
 
 " Why, sir, I have cherished it, lived upon it, ever 
 since Lucia was born. Not know it ? What a blind 
 fool you must be ! " 
 
 " But you never communicated it, sir ; and how 
 could I know it?" 
 
88 THE AZURE HOSE. 
 
 " Why, ay, that is true indeed. When I think of it, 
 there is some excuse for you, as I never hinted my 
 intention. But it is all over now ; you want to leave 
 us; and you think Lucia a sensible, discreet, well- 
 behaved, promising young woman, sixteen hands 
 high ; " mimicking poor Highneld, as he repeated 
 these panegyrics. 
 
 " I think her," said Highneld, " for now I dare 
 speak what I think I think her all that a father 
 could wish, all that a lover could desire in his mo 
 ments of most glowing anticipation. I think her the 
 loveliest, the best, the most accomplished, the most 
 angelic, the most divine " 
 
 " Ah ! that will do, that will do, boy ; you talk like 
 a hero tol-de-rol-lol ! " And the old gentleman cut a 
 most unprecedented caper. Give me your hand, 
 boy; it s a bargain we ll have the wedding next 
 week." 
 
 "Ah, sir!" said the young man, with a sigh, "1 
 doubt you know there is another person to be con 
 sulted." 
 
 " Another person ! Who do you mean, sir ? " 
 
 " Your daughter, sir." 
 
 " Bless me ! that is true, indeed. I had forgot that. 
 But I ll soon bring the matter about. I ll tell her it is 
 the first wish of my heart. If she refuses, I ll talk 
 reason to her. If she won t listen to reason, I will talk 
 to her like a father I ll let her know who is master 
 in this house, I warrant you. I ll go this instant, and 
 settle the matter." And the old gentleman was pro 
 ceeding to make good his words. 
 
 " For Heaven s sake, sir, don t be in such a hurry," 
 cried Highfield eagerly ; " you will ruin me and my 
 
THE AZURE HOSE. 89 
 
 hopes, if you proceed in such a hurry. Alas ! sir, I 
 fear it is too late now." 
 
 " What does the puppy mean ? " 
 
 " I fear my cousin s affections are already engaged." 
 
 "To whom, sir? tell me quick, quick, sir to 
 whom ? I ll engage her, the baggage ; I ll let her 
 know who is who ; I ll teach her to throw away her 
 affections without consulting me I ll shut the door 
 in the scoundrel s face, and shut my daughter up in 
 
 her chamber I ll why the d 1, sir, don t you 
 
 answer me ; what do you stand there for, playing 
 dummy ? Tell me, sir. who is the villain that has 
 stolen my daughter s affections ? " 
 
 " I do not say positively, sir, and I have no right to 
 betray the young lady s secrets ; but I fear Mr. Gos 
 hawk has made a deep impression on her heart." 
 
 Mr. Lee was never in so great a passion before : 
 not even with his man Juba, of whom I could never 
 make up my mind to my satisfaction, whether he was 
 his master s master, or which was the better man of 
 the two. Juba was of the blood royal of Monomo- 
 tapa, a mighty African kingdom. He had been in 
 the family long enough to outlive three generations, 
 and thus fairly acquired a right to be as crusty as his 
 master, who, if the truth must be told, was terribly hen 
 pecked by the royal exile. The old gentleman once 
 had a dispute at his own table with one of his neigh 
 bours at the South, and some words passed between 
 them. 
 
 " Massa," said Juba, when the company had retired, 
 " massa, we can t put up wid dat : mus call um 
 out." 
 
 The good gentleman quietly submitted, and called 
 out his neighbour, who fortunately apologized. 
 
90 THE AZURE HOSE. 
 
 " Iced, massa," said Juba, " we brought um to de 
 bull-ring, didn t we?" 
 
 But to return from this commemoration of our old 
 friend, Juba. 
 
 Mr. Lee was in a towering passion. Of all the 
 men he had ever seen, known, or read of, Mr. Gos 
 hawk was the one for whom he cherished the most 
 special and particular antipathy. He considered him 
 an empty, idle, shallow, affected coxcomb, without 
 heart or intellect; a pretender to literary taste and 
 acquirements ; a contemner of useful knowledge and 
 pursuits, whose sole business was to exhibit feelings 
 to which he was a stranger, to excite sympathy for 
 affected sorrows, and to impose upon the susceptible 
 follies of ancient spinsters or inexperienced girls. 
 " The fellow carries a drum in his head," would he 
 say, " and is for ever sounding false alarms. You think 
 he is going to play a grand march, but it is nothing 
 but rub-a-dub, rub-a-dub, over and over again." 
 
 "Goshawk!" at length he cried, "what! that 
 starved epitome of a wind -dried rhymester ; that 
 shadow of a shadow of a shadow of a stringer of dog 
 gerel ; that imitator of an imitator in the sixteenth 
 degree of consanguinity to an original ; that blower 
 of the bellows to the last spark of an expiring fancy ! 
 Confound me if I had not rather have heard she had 
 fallen in love with the trumpeter to a puppet show." 
 
 " My dear uncle, I don t say my cousin is actually 
 in love with Mr. Goshaxvk; but I think she has a 
 preference ; a a at least, I am pretty sure, her 
 imagination is full of his genius, eloquence, and beau 
 tiful poetry." 
 
 " Genius, eloquence, poetry pish ! I could make 
 
THE AZURE HOSE. 91 
 
 a better poem out of a confectioner s mottoes, than he 
 will ever write. But she shall either renounce him 
 this minute, or I will renounce her." 
 
 Highfield begged his uncle to pause before he pro 
 ceeded to such extremities. He reasoned with him 
 on the bad policy of rousing into opposition a feeling 
 which was perhaps only latent, and giving it the stim 
 ulus of anger, by assailing it too roughly. He cau 
 tioned him against the common error, of supposing 
 that to forbid a thing was the best possible way of 
 preventing its coming to pass ; or that love was to be 
 quelled by a puff of opposition. He conjured him to 
 say nothing on the subject; to look on without inter 
 fering ; to appear as if he neither saw, nor participated 
 in, any thing going forward. 
 
 " If," said he, " I am not deceived in my lovely and 
 sensible cousin, it is only necessary to leave her good 
 sense and growing experience to operate, and before 
 long they will of themselves indicate to her the error 
 of her taste and imagination. But if I should be de 
 ceived in this rational anticipation," added he, proudly 
 and firmly ; "if I find that her heart is seriously and 
 permanently attached, I give you my honour, I pledge 
 my unalterable determination, that I will not permit 
 myself to be either the motive or the instrument for 
 forcing her inclinations. If I cannot win her fairly, 
 and against the field, so help me Heaven, I will never 
 wear her." 
 
 "You talk like a professor, and a blockhead to boot," 
 said Mr. Lee, half pleased and half offended. " But 
 hark ye, Mr. Highfield, if I take your advice, and it 
 turns out badly, I ll disinherit you both." 
 
 " With all my heart, uncle, so far as respects myself. 
 
92 THE AZURE HOSE. 
 
 Only say nothing; do nothing; and let matters take 
 their course. We often make things crooked by tak 
 ing too much pains to straighten them. Let us 
 alone, as the anti-tariff folks say." 
 
 " Your most humble servant, sir," quoth Mr. Lee, 
 with a profound bow "I am to play Mr. Nobody, 
 then, in this trifling affair of the disposal of my only 
 child ? " 
 
 " Only for a little while, sir, when you shall resume 
 the sceptre again." 
 
 "With which I shall certainly break your head, if 
 your wise plan should happen to fail." 
 
 " Agreed, uncle. I shall then be broken -headed, as 
 well as broken-hearted. For, by Heaven, I love my 
 cousin, well enough to" 
 
 " To resign her to an empty, heartless, brainless 
 coxcomb. But come, I give up the reins to my wise 
 Phaeton, who, if he don t burn up the world, I dare 
 swear will set the North river on fire. Here comes 
 Fairweather : I will consult him, though I know the 
 old blockhead will be of a contrary opinion, as he 
 always is. Go, and make a bow to Lucia ; play Mr. 
 Goshawk, and talk as much like a madman as pos 
 sible." 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 MORE PUKE AZUBK. 
 
 HIGHFIELD sought Lucia, and found her sitting at 
 a window which looked out upon the beautiful bay, 
 where the fair and noble Hudson basks its beauties 
 
THE AZURE HOSE. 93 
 
 for awhile in the sun before it loses itself for ever in 
 the vast solitudes of the pathless sea. It was an 
 April morning, such as sometimes appears in the dis 
 guise of sunshine and zephyrs, to^cheat us into a 
 belief that laughing jolly spring is come again. The 
 bay was one wide waveless mirror, along whose sur 
 face lay here and there a little lazy mist lolling in the 
 warm sunbeams, or sometimes scudding along before 
 a frolic breeze that rose in playful vigour and then 
 died away in a moment. In some places, the vessels 
 appeared as if becalmed among the clouds, their pro 
 portions looming in imposing magnitude through the 
 deceptive mists; and in others, you might see them 
 exhaling the damps and fogs condensed on their sails 
 and decks, in clouds of snow-white vapour. Here 
 and there you could trace the course of a steam-boat 
 to the Kills or the Quarantine, by a long pennant of 
 dark smoke slowly expanding in the dampness of the 
 circumambient air, and anon see her shoot, as if by 
 magic, from the distant obscurity. The grass had 
 just begun to put forth its spires of tender green, the 
 trees to assume an almost imperceptible purple tint 
 from the expansion of the buds ; the noisy city lads 
 were spinning tops, flying kites, or shooting marbles, 
 in the walks ; and now and then, a little feathered 
 stranger, cheated by the genial hour into a belief that 
 spring was come, chirped merrily among the leafless 
 branches. 
 
 Lucia was at the open window, her rosy cheek 
 leaning pensively on her snowy hand. She had just 
 finished reading, for the twentieth time, the pathetic 
 and interesting effusion of Mr. Goshawk. All that 
 she could understand from it was, that he was very, 
 
94 THE AZURE HOSE. 
 
 very miserable about something, she knew not what ; 
 and the mystery of his sorrows invested them with 
 an indescribable, indefinable, interest. Not but what 
 our heroine had her suspicions, and those suspicions 
 increased her sympathy a hundred fold. " Unfortu 
 nate man ! " would she say to herself, " he is consum 
 ing in the secret fires kindled in his bosom by the 
 intense ardour of his genius, the acute sensibilities of 
 his heart!" 
 
 Highfield was one of the most amiable of the tribe 
 of lovers, nine in ten of whom, I must be allowed to 
 say, deserve to be turned out of doors by the fair ob 
 jects of their persecutions, once a day at least. If 
 they are in doubt, they are either stupidly silent or 
 perversely disagreeable ; if they are jealous, they look 
 and act just like fools ; and if successful, there is an 
 insulting security, a triumphant self-conceit, that, to 
 a woman gifted with the becoming pride of the sex is 
 altogether insufferable. I can tell a successful wooer 
 as far off as I can see him. He does nothing but ad 
 mire his leg, as he trips along ; and you would fancy 
 he saw his mistress in every looking-glass. But 
 Highfield was gay, good-humoured, and sensible. 
 He did not think it worth while to make himself 
 hated because he was in love ; nor to increase the 
 preference of his mistress for another, by treating her 
 with neglect or ill-manners. True, these things are 
 considered the best evidence of sincere passion ; but 
 I would advise young women to beware of a man 
 whom love makes unamiable : as I myself would be 
 ware of one whom the intoxication of wine made 
 turbulent and quarrelsome. Both love and wine draw 
 forth the inmost nature of man. 
 
THE AZURE HOSE. 95 
 
 " Well, Lucia," said Highfield, with a familiar 
 frankness \vhich his intimacy and near relationship 
 warranted " Well, Lucia, have you begun my 
 watch-chain yet?" 
 
 " No," said she, sighing. 
 
 " Well, my coz, when do you mean to begin it ? " 
 
 " I don t know," replied she languidly " one of 
 these days, I believe." 
 
 " What ails you, Lucia are you not well ? " 
 
 " Not very I have got a sort of oppression, a 
 heaviness, a disposition to sigh; something here," 
 pressing her hand on her bosom, from whence peeped 
 forth a little corner of Goshawk s effusion. Highfield 
 saw it, and the blood rushed into his cheeks ; but he 
 quelled the rising fiend of jealousy, and asked, in a 
 tone of deep interest, if she would not take a walk 
 with him on the Battery. She declined, in a tone of 
 perfect indifference. 
 
 " Shall we go and call on Miss Appleby ? " Lucia 
 was all life and animation. She put on her hat, her 
 shawl, and the thousand et-ca3tera that go to the con 
 stitution of a fashionable lady ; and tripped away 
 like a little fairy. She expects to meet Goshawk 
 there, thought Highfield ; but he neither pouted, nor 
 was rude to his cousin, on the way. Nay, he exerted 
 all his wit and pleasantry, and before they arrived 
 Lucia thought to herself she would begin to net the 
 watch-chain that very evening. They found all the 
 azures, except Mr. Goshawk, assembled at one of 
 the drawing-room windows, clamourously reading 
 and clamourously applauding some verses written on 
 a pane of glass with a diamond pencil The reader 
 shall not miss them. They ran as follows : 
 
96 THE AZURE HOSE. 
 
 Cursed be the sun tis but a heavenly hell! 
 
 Cursed be the moon, false woman s planet pale; 
 Cursed the bright stars, that man s wild fortunes tell; 
 
 And cursed the elements ! Oh ! I could rail 
 At power, and potentates, and paltry pelf, 
 And, most of all, at that vile wretch, myself! 
 
 What are the bonds of life, but halters tied? 
 
 What love, but luxury of bitter woe? 
 What man, but misery personified ? 
 
 What woman, but an angel fallen below? 
 What hell, but heaven what heaven, but hell above? 
 What love, but hate what hate, but curdled love? 
 
 What s wedlock, but community of ill ? 
 
 What single blessedness, but double pain? 
 What life s best sweets, but a vile doctor s pill ? 
 
 What life itself, but dying o er and o er again? 
 And what this earth, the vilest, and the last, 
 On which the planets all their offal cast ? 
 
 Oh ! doubly cursed 
 
 Here, it would seem, the bard stopped to take 
 breath ; either overcome by his own exertions, or 
 finding there was nothing left for him to curse. 
 
 " I never heard such delightful swearing," cried 
 Miss Appleby. 
 
 " What charming curses ! ", cried Miss Overend. 
 
 " What touching misanthropy!", cried Mr. Paddle- 
 ford. 
 
 " What powerful writing! ", cried Puddingham. 
 
 " What glowing meteors ! ", cried Mrs. Coates, de 
 termined not to mistake meteors for metaphors, this 
 time. 
 
 Lucia said nothing ; but the tumult of her bosom 
 told her nobody could write such heart-rending lines 
 but Mr. Goshawk. 
 
 " Don t you think them equal to Lord Byron ? " 
 said Miss Appleby to Highfield. 
 
THE AZURE HOSE. 97 
 
 " Very likely, madam ; Lord Byron wrote a vast 
 deal of heartless fustian." 
 
 " Heartless fustian ! ", screamed Miss Appleby ; and 
 " heartless fustian ! " echoed the rest of the azures, 
 with the exception of Lucia, who determined not to 
 commence the watch-chain that evening, if ever. 
 
 " Fustian ! do you call such poetry, fustian so 
 full of powerful writing, and affording such delicious 
 excitement? For my part, I can t live without 
 excitement of some kind or other," said Miss Over- 
 end. 
 
 " What kind of excitement do you mean, madam," 
 said Highfield, mischievously ; " the Morgan excite 
 ment *, or the bank excitement ? " 
 
 " Pshaw, Mr. Highfield, you are always ridiculing 
 sentiment. I mean the excitement of powerful writ 
 ing, powerful feeling, powerful passion, grief, joy, 
 rage, despair, madness, misanthropy, pain, pleasure, 
 anticipation, retrospection, disappointment, hope, and 
 and every thing that creates excitement. By 
 the bye, they say the author of Redwood f is com 
 ing out with a new novel. I wonder what it is 
 about." 
 
 " I don t know," answered Highfield ; " but I ven 
 ture to predict it will be all that is becoming in a 
 sensible, well-bred, well-educated, delicate woman, 
 misled neither by a false taste nor affected senti 
 ment." 
 
 * William Morgan, a member of the Masonic fraternity, abducted, and, 
 it is supposed, murdered, in September 1826, by other masons, because he had 
 intimated his intention of divulging certain secrets of the order. The inci 
 dent, with subsequent investigation and discussion, caused a strong social 
 and political agitation in the State of New York. 
 
 f Miss Sedgwick. 
 
 7 
 
98 THE AZURE HOSE. 
 
 " Pooh ! " said the great Puddingham, " there is no 
 fire in her works." 
 
 " Nor brimstone either," said Highfield. 
 
 " Nor murder," said Miss Appleby. 
 
 " Nor powerful writing," said Miss Overend. 
 
 " Nothing to make the heart burst like a barrel of 
 gunpowder," said little Mrs. Petticoats. 
 
 " Perhaps so," replied Highfield ; " but a book may 
 be worth something, without either fire, murder, or 
 gunpowder, in it." 
 
 Here the discussion was cut short by the entrance 
 of Mr. Goshawk, who bowed languidly to the com 
 pany, walked languidly to a sofa, and, flinging him 
 self listlessly down, leaned pensively upon his head, 
 and sighed most piteously. Mr. Goshawk was one 
 of the most extraordinary men living. He hated the 
 world, yet could not live a day without attracting its 
 notice in some way or other ; he sighed for solitude, 
 yet took every opportunity of being in a crowd ; and, 
 though confessedly the most miserable of mortals, 
 was never so happy as when every body was admir 
 ing his secret sorrows. He had thrown himself acci 
 dentally by the side of Lucia. 
 
 " Ah ! Mr. Goshawk," said she, " we ve found you 
 out!" 
 
 Goshawk knew as well what she meant as she did 
 herself; but he looked at her with the most absent, 
 vacant, ignorant wonder it was possible for any man 
 to assume, as he answered, 
 
 " Found me out, Miss Lee ? " 
 
 "Yes, yes; the verses the beautiful verses, writ 
 ten with a diamond pencil, on the pane of glass. You 
 need not deny it; nobody but yourself could have 
 written such powerful poetry." 
 
THE AZURE HOSE. 99 
 
 " No, no ; you can t deny it, Mr. Goshawk ; the foot 
 of Hercules is in it," cried Miss Appleby : and the 
 opinion was echoed by all present. Whereupon Mr. 
 Goshawk acknowledged that, being that morning de 
 pressed by a dead weight of insupportable melancholy, 
 he had walked forth into Miss Appleby s drawing- 
 room, and, finding no one there, had relieved his over- 
 fraught heart, in those unpremeditated strains. The 
 azures applied their cambric handkerchiefs to their 
 eyes, and pitied poor Mr. Goshawk for labouring under 
 such a troublesome excess of sentimental sadness. 
 
 The conversation then took a different turn, inter 
 rupted occasionally by the assurances of Mr. Gos 
 hawk, that his verses were all written under the 
 impress of the moment ; though we, as authors know 
 ing the secrets of all our brethren, are ready to make 
 affidavit that he never wrote a line without cudgelling 
 his poor brains into mummy, and spurring his Pegasus 
 till his sides ran blood. 
 
 " So, there is a new Waverley coming out," quoth 
 Puddingham, who was deep in booksellers secrets; 
 " I am told, one of the principal characters is Charles 
 the fifth." 
 
 What, he that was beheaded at Whitehall-slip ? ", 
 asked Mrs. Coates. 
 
 " No, my dear madam," said Highfield ; " he that 
 resigned his crown before he lost his head." 
 
 " How I delight to read novels in which there is 
 plenty of kings and queens ; tis so refined and gen 
 teel to be in such good society," said Miss Overend. 
 
 " I never get tired of kings and queens, let them be 
 ever so stupid," said Miss Appleby ; " every thing they 
 say is so clever, and every thing they do, so dignified." 
 
100 THE AZURE HOSE. 
 
 Well, for my part," said Highfield, "to me noth 
 ing is so vulgar an expedient of authorship, as that of 
 introducing the reader into the society of great names, 
 and making the bearers talk, not like themselves, but 
 like the author. In this manner, Rochester becomes 
 a dull debauchee ; Bolingbroke, a prosing blockhead ; 
 and the greatest wits of the age, as stupid as the 
 writer. I am tired of seeing this parade of regal and 
 titled realities introduced as shadows to our acquaint 
 ance ; and have it in serious contemplation, (unless I 
 should happen to fall into a cureless, causeless melan 
 choly), to write a novel, in which the principal actors 
 shall be gods, and the common people, kings and 
 queens. Queen Elizabeth shall lace Juno s corsets; 
 Alexander the great, trim Jupiter s whiskers ; Mary, 
 queen of Scots, enact a beautiful bar-maid ; and 
 Charlemagne, a crier of Carolina potatoes." 
 
 " Then you don t mean to recognise any distinctions 
 in mere mortal society ? ", asked Lucia, amused in 
 spite of herself with this banter. 
 
 " Why, I don t know. I have some thoughts of a 
 sort of geological, instead of genealogical, arrange 
 ment, to consist of the primitive, the secondary, and 
 the alluvial. The fashionable primitives shall be those 
 who carry their pedigrees back into oblivion whose 
 origin is entirely unknown ; the secondary will con 
 sist of such as have not had time to forget their 
 honoured ancestors ; and the alluvial be composed of 
 the rich washings of the other two, which have so 
 lately made their appearance above water that there 
 has been no time for them to become barren and good- 
 for-nothing." Highfield was now caUed off by Miss 
 Appleby. 
 
THE AZURE HOSE. 101 
 
 Lucia appeared so much diverted with this whimsi 
 cal arrangement that Goshawk, who, though the most 
 abstracted of human beings, never for a moment for 
 got himself or his vanity, thought it high time to 
 interfere. 
 
 " A clever young man that a very clever young 
 man," drawled he; "quite pleasant, but superficial 
 no energy, no pathos, no powerful passion, no enthu 
 siasm, without which there can be no such thing as 
 genius. Give me the man," cried he, with a fat and 
 greasy flow of sonorous words, " give me the man to 
 whom the croaking of a cricket is the signal for lofty 
 meditation, and the fall of a leaf a text for lorn and 
 melancholy abstraction ; one who is alone in the midst 
 of a crowd, and surrounded when alone by myriads of 
 sparkling imps of inspiration, millions of beings with 
 out being, and thoughts without thought ; one to whom 
 shadows are substances, and substances, shadows ; to 
 whom the present is always absent, the future always 
 past; who lives, and moves, and has his being, in an 
 airy creation of his own, and circulates in his own pe 
 culiar orb ; who rejoices without joy, and is wretched 
 without wretchedness ; one, in short, who never laughs 
 but in misery, or weeps except for very excess of joy 
 who lives in the world, a miserable yet splendid 
 example of the sufferings endured by a superior being, 
 when condemned to associate with an inferior race, 
 and to derive his enjoyments from the same mean, 
 miserable, five senses." Here he sunk back on the 
 sofa, overpowered by his emotions. 
 
 " What a being ! " thought Lucia, and fell into a 
 painful doubt, whether such a being would ever con 
 descend to think of her a moment, present or absent. 
 
102 THE AZURE HOSE. 
 
 " He is above this world ! " said she, and sighed a hun 
 dred times, to think of a man s being so much supe 
 rior to his fellow-creatures. 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 A GREAT FALLING OFF. 
 
 RETURNING home, our heroine threw herself on a 
 sofa be pleased to take notice she did not sit down, 
 for that would have been unworthy a heroine she 
 threw herself on a sofa, and passed some time in 
 sympathizing with the sufferings of Mr. Goshawk. 
 She sighed for an opportunity of communing with 
 him on the fathomless abyss of his mysterious mise 
 ries, and wished O, how devoutly! wished her 
 self the privileged being destined at last to be the 
 soother of his sorrows, the sharer of his thoughts, the 
 companion of his reveries, and the better half of his 
 abstract, inexplicable mystifications. " Would that I 
 knew, that I could comprehend, what it is that makes 
 him so wretched," thought Lucia, little suspecting 
 that the poor gentleman himself would have been 
 puzzled to tell her. 
 
 She was roused from this painfully-pleasing reverie 
 by something which attracted her attention on the 
 sofa. She looked at it, and rubbed her eyes and 
 rubbed her eyes and looked at it again. The thing 
 was too plain, she could not possibly be deceived. 
 She started up and rang the bell furiously, and, the 
 servant not coming sooner than it was possible for 
 
THE AZURE HOSE. 103 
 
 him to come, she rang it again still more emphatically. 
 At length Juba made his appearance, with his usual 
 deliberation. An African gentleman of colour seldom 
 indulges himself by being in a hurry. 
 
 " Who did that ? " asked Lucia, pointing to the 
 sofa. 
 
 Juba advanced, looked at the spot, and began to 
 grin, with that redundant show of ivory peculiar to 
 his race. 
 
 " Ah ! Massa Fairwedder, Massa Fairwedder, he 
 droll man, he." 
 
 " What ! had Mr. Fairweather the impudence " 
 
 " Ees, ees, he here dis mornin / replied Juba, grin 
 ning more than ever. 
 
 Lucia immediately summoned the whole household, 
 consisting of a troop of coloured ladies and gentle 
 men, whose principal business was to make work for 
 each other. Ever since Lucia became azure, they had 
 been suffered to do pretty much as they pleased, and 
 it was their pleasure to do nothing but copy their 
 young mistress in dress and behaviour as much as 
 possible. They had a dancing-master in the kitchen, 
 to teach them waltzing, and talked seriously of a mas 
 querade, or a fancy-ball at least. The black cook was 
 something of an azure herself, read all those useful 
 little tracts which teach servants the duties of masters 
 and mistresses, wore prunello shoes, and cooked dinner 
 in an undress of black silk ; the coachman was almost 
 as sentimentally miserable as Mr. Goshawk; and 
 Lucia s maid was a great admirer of Miss Wright.* 
 The kitchen, as Dolly cook said, was quite a literary 
 emporium, and there was always a greasy W^averley 
 * Fanny Wright, a " strong-minded woman" of the day. 
 
104 THE AZURE HOSE. 
 
 lying on the window-sill, with which she occasionally 
 regaled herself, while skinning an eel. The conse 
 quence of all this was that Mr. Lee s house was at 
 sixes and sevens. There was neither master nor mis 
 tress ; the ceilings of the parlour and drawing-room 
 were festooned with cobwebs ; the curtains got the 
 jaundice ; the rats overran the kitchen, and performed 
 feats worthy of rational beings, if you could believe 
 Dolly ; and it was impossible to sit down on a chair 
 or sofa, without leaving the print of the body in the 
 dust which covered them. Poor Mr. Fairweather, 
 who knew the value of neatness, and prided himself 
 on his unspotted, unsullied black coat, had often car 
 ried off a tribute from the parlour, and, that morning, 
 determined to give Lucia a broad hint. Accordingly 
 he took his forefinger in his hand, and wrote in the 
 dust that embellished the sofa four large letters, almost 
 six inches long, that being put together constitute an 
 abominable word, than which there is none more hor 
 rible and unseemly to the ear and eye of a good 
 housewife. It was the sight of this that interrupted 
 the deliciously-perplexing reverie of our fair heroine ; 
 that caused her to ring the bell with such emphasis ; 
 to call up the men-servants and maid-servants ; to set 
 the brooms, brushes, mops, and pope s-heads, going; 
 and, finally, to declare war against rats, spiders, dust, 
 and cobwebs, and to turn the whole house upside down. 
 The servants wished Mr. Fairweather in Guinea, as 
 soon as they traced the origin of this tremendous re 
 form ; the cook talked of the black skin and the white 
 skin as being one in the eye of reason ; the coach 
 man sighed forth the unutterable agonies of a life of 
 dependence; and the little jet-black waiting-maid 
 
THE AZURE HOSE. 105 
 
 talked elegantly about the rights of women. Juba 
 insisted on his massa calling out Mr. Fairweather ; 
 but, on this occasion, the old gentleman demurred. 
 
 " Mr. Fairweather is my best friend, you block 
 head." 
 
 " Guy, massa !, dat any reason why you should nt 
 blow he brain out ? " 
 
 From that time forward, Mr. Lee s house became 
 exemplary for its neatness. Such is the magic influ 
 ence of a word to the wise ! There was a reform in 
 the whole establishment, the like of which hath never 
 yet been brought about in the state, by any change of 
 administration, since the establishment of the repub 
 lic. 
 
 And here I deem it incumbent on me to offer to my 
 azure and fashionable readers something like an apol 
 ogy for the falling-off in the tone of my narrative 
 which they will not fail to observe in this chapter. 
 I feel I ought to solicit their pardon for having thus 
 descended abruptly to such vulgar matters as house 
 keeping; which ought to be for ever beneath the 
 attention of all true lovers of literature and intel 
 lectual development. It is true that the goddess of 
 wisdom once disputed with Arachne the management 
 of the needle ; but this was in times long past and 
 never to return, before the preternatural develop 
 ment of the mind, the invention of flounces, or the 
 supremacy of dancing-masters. I am aware, also, of 
 the happy influence of a neat, well-arranged, and well- 
 conducted household, in rendering home agreeable, 
 and luring us from a too-zealous pursuit of the pleas 
 ures of the world ; and I am not ignorant how im 
 portant it is for the mistress of a family to know 
 
106 THE AZURE HOSE. 
 
 when things are well done, though it may not be 
 necessary or becoming to do them herself. But I 
 know, what is of far more consequence than all this, 
 that if I prose any longer on such low subjects, the 
 young gentlemen professors of nothing will inquire 
 into my pedigree ; and the azure angels, who preside 
 over the decisions of all the gallant, fashionable critics, 
 will pronounce me a horrid bore. A bore ! better 
 were it to be convicted of robbing a church, or swind 
 ling to the amount of a few millions. I should then 
 create a great public excitement ; and rally round me, 
 not only all the anti-masons, but an army of sympa 
 thetic pettifoggers besides. 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 AN ADVENTURE, BEING THE ONLY ONE IN ALL OUR HISTORY. 
 
 As the spring advanced, and the flowers, zephyrs, 
 and warbling birds, invited out into the country for 
 air and exercise, our heroine was accustomed to ride 
 on horseback, than which there is nothing more health 
 ful, graceful, and becoming in a woman, provided 
 always she will only ride like a gentlewoman ; that is, 
 moderately. On the contrary, there is nothing which 
 gives me more heart-felt discomposure, as a gallant 
 bachelor, than to see a woman galloping through the 
 streets, like a trooper her feathers flying, her rib 
 bons streaming to the wind, her riding-habit disor 
 dered, and herself bouncing up and down, as if she 
 had a cork saddle under her. It is not only unbecom- 
 
THE AZURE HOSE. 107 
 
 ing and unfeminine, but dangerous, in our crowded 
 streets ; and nothing has preserved them from the 
 most fatal accidents but the sagacity of their horses, 
 which, doubtless, knowing the precious burthens they 
 carry, are particularly careful neither to be frightened 
 nor to make a false step. Were I to assume the 
 office of mentor to the young fellows of the day, I 
 would strenuously advise them to beware of a woman 
 that always rides on a full gallop. Depend upon it, 
 she will have her way in everything; and, though she 
 may not actually lose the bit, she will be apt to take 
 it between her teeth which is almost as bad. 
 
 On these occasions Lucia was generally accom 
 panied by Miss Appleby, Miss Overend, or some one 
 of her female friends, and escorted by Highfield and 
 Goshawk, with the latter of whom our heroine gen 
 erally fell into a tete-a-tete in the course of the ride. 
 It was the third of May I recollect it perfectly 
 when the little party of equestrians set forth on a 
 morning ride, all gay and hopeful except Mr. Gos 
 hawk, to whom the smiles of nature were a disquiet, 
 and the music of spring a discord. He was more 
 than commonly miserable that day, having observed 
 that Lucia began to sympathize deeply in his sor 
 rows. 
 
 They worked their course safely through the vari 
 ous perils of Broadway, for some distance. They met 
 a company of militia with more drums than privates, 
 and commanded by three brigadier - generals ; they 
 encountered the great ox Columbus dressed in rib 
 bons ; they stood the brunt of kites, carts, bakers 
 wagons, omnibuses, charcoal-merchants, orange-men 
 and ash-men, and beggar-women. In short, they 
 
108 THE AZURE HOSE. 
 
 escaped unhurt amid the war of sights, the eternal 
 clatter and confusion of sounds, the unexampled con 
 catenation of things animate and inanimate, natural 
 and unnatural. The horses, indeed, sometimes pricked 
 up their ears and wondered, but displayed no decided 
 symptoms of affright, until, as ill-luck would have it, 
 just as they came to the corner of Chambers street, 
 a woman about four feet high issued suddenly forth 
 from a shop, with a bonnet of such alarming dimen 
 sions and singular incongruity of shape and decora 
 tion, that Lucia s horse, who had never been at a 
 fancy-ball, could stand it no longer. He wheeled 
 suddenly round against Mr. Goshawk s steed, and 
 reared. Mr. Goshawk was partly in a brown-study, 
 and partly so miserable that he did not, as he after 
 wards affirmed, exactly recollect where he was, or 
 what was the matter. At length he cried out, " Whoa ! ", 
 with such a lofty and poetical fervour that he fright 
 ened the horse still more. He now reared worse than 
 ever, and Lucia must have lost her seat in a few 
 moments, when Highfield, who was a little in advance 
 with the other ladies, being roused by Goshawk s ex 
 clamation, looked round, and was at the horse s head, 
 on foot, in an instant. " Keep your seat if you can," 
 said he, as he seized the bridle. A desperate con 
 test now commenced between him and the horse, 
 who continued rearing and plunging, both galling 
 Highfield s body and limbs with his sharp hoofs and 
 wrenching him violently about from side to side. 
 Lucia still kept her seat, though almost insensible to 
 what was going forward. It was a struggle between 
 an enraged unruly beast and a cool determined man. 
 Highfield still clung to the bridle, close to the horse s 
 
THE AZURE HOSE. 109 
 
 head, until, watching his opportunity, he seized the 
 animal by the nostrils with so firm a gripe as to arrest 
 his rearings for a moment, during which he seemed 
 tremblingly to own a master. At the same instant a 
 gentleman assisted Lucia to dismount, which she had 
 scarcely done, when the animal, as if recovered from 
 his astonishment, made one plunge, struck his hoofs 
 into Highfield s breast, threw him on his back insensi 
 ble, and dashed away full-speed. At the same mo 
 ment Mr. Goshawk, who had been exceedingly active 
 in protesting against the inhumanity of the crowd 
 which stood looking on without being able to render 
 any assistance, was likewise so overcome by his exer 
 tions that he lost his memory for a little while ; after 
 which he poured forth so eloquent a felicitation on 
 Lucia s escape from a danger which, however slight, 
 had harrowed up his very soul, that she remembered 
 it long after, when she ought to have been remember 
 ing something else. 
 
 Highfield was brought to himself after a while, and, 
 with the young lady, conveyed home in a hackney- 
 coach. Goshawk did not accompany them; his 
 senses were so shattered, and his feelings had so com 
 pletely overpowered him, that he was incapable of 
 any thing but the indulgence of high-wrought senti 
 ment. 
 
110 THE AZURE HOSE. 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 THE TWO CUPIDS. 
 
 THE warm-hearted Mr. Lee, when he came to 
 learn the particulars of the incident recorded in our 
 last chapter, hugged Highfield in his arms, called 
 him his son, and came very near letting out to his 
 daughter the secret of his long-cherished intentions. 
 He then fell upon the corporation, that unfortunate 
 pack-horse, on whose back is saddled every abomina 
 tion which petulance conjures into existence, or the 
 itch for scribbling lays before the public. 
 
 " Confound the stupid blockheads ! ", exclaimed he. 
 " They make laws against flying kites, exploding 
 crackers, sticking up elephants over people s heads 
 for signs, and cumbering the streets with empty boxes 
 and barrels ; and yet they allow the women to wear 
 bonnets that frighten horses out of their discretion ! 
 For my part I don t see the distinction, not I." 
 
 " But, my good friend," said Mr. Fairweather, who 
 had called in to make his friendly inquiries, " I differ 
 with you I think there is a marked distinction be 
 tween a fine lady and an empty barrel." 
 
 " Oh well, if we differ, there is an end of the argu 
 ment," quoth the other. 
 
 " An end of the argument ! why, it is generally the 
 beginning." 
 
 " Very well very well I have no time to argue 
 the question now." 
 
 Mr. Fairweather took up his hat, and went away 
 by himself, pondering in his mind what could have 
 
THE AZURE HOSE. Ill 
 
 come over his old friend. It was the first time, since 
 he knew him, that he had declined an argument. 
 
 Lucia and Highfield met the next morning ; the 
 former languid with her fright, the latter pale, and 
 stiff with his bruises. Lucia was netting a purse. 
 She thanked him, in simple, unaffected, heart-felt 
 terms ; for it is only affectation that deals in pompous 
 phrases. The tears came into her eyes, as she noticed 
 his wounded hands, and perceived, by the slight varia 
 tions that passed over his countenance, that every mo 
 tion was accompanied with acute pain. 
 
 " I shall never forget," said she, " that you saved my 
 life." 
 
 " Nor I," said Highfield ; and these two simple 
 words were all he uttered on the subject. 
 
 Lucia was mortified that he should have missed so 
 good an opportunity of being eloquent. She had 
 been brought up with people who considered words 
 of more consequence than actions, and a fine speech 
 in celebration of an exploit of heroism far superior to 
 the act itself. Lucia threw the purse carelessly into 
 her work-basket ; and just then Mr. Goshawk entered, 
 to inquire how she did after the accident. Then it 
 was that our heroine was lifted off her feet by a flow 
 of inspired eloquence, which cast into the shade the 
 manly simplicity of poor Highfield s courage and self- 
 possession. He spoke of his horror at her danger 
 the overpowering feelings that absolutely bewildered 
 his mind, and prevented his thinking of any thing but 
 himself and his intense sufferings. He detailed his 
 waking thoughts on coming home, and his terrible 
 dreams, in which he saw her struggle with indescriba 
 ble dangers, and performed acts in her behalf that no 
 
112 THE AZURE HOSE. 
 
 waking man ever imagined. In short, he made him 
 self out the hero of the affair, and, before he had fin 
 ished, actually persuaded Lucia that honest Highfield 
 was but a secondary person in the business. 
 
 " Behold," said he, " how I employed the melan 
 choly, soul-subduing, hours of the last night ; for, you 
 may suppose, I did not close my eyes." 
 
 " Oh, then I take it you dreamed with your eyes 
 open," said Highfield, smiling. 
 
 " A man need riot shut his eyes to dream, Mr. High- 
 field," quoth Goshawk, pompously, at the same time 
 presenting Lucia with a perfumed sheet of paper. 
 She opened it, and read, with sparkling eyes 
 
 " The wings of my heart are far o er the blue sea" 
 
 " If the wings of his heart are far o er the blue sea, 
 Permit me to ask where its legs ought to be," 
 
 hummed Highfield, as he sauntered out of the room. 
 
 " He has no more sentiment, nor feeling, nor enthu 
 siasm, nor genius, than than " Lucia could not 
 hit upon a comparison expressive of her indignation. 
 
 " Alas ! the more happy he! " sighed Fitzgiles Gos 
 hawk. " He knows not what it is to eat the bitter 
 aloes of shattered hope, to dream of impossible attain 
 ments, to stand on tiptoe, catching at incomprehensi 
 ble chimeras ; to place his heart on what it dares not 
 contemplate, except at an unapproachable distance 
 that mocks even the imagination to despair ; to die of 
 disappointments, in what, from first to last, he knew 
 was out of his reach ; to pass from the sight of men, 
 the light of the sun, and the perplexities of the world, 
 and leave nothing behind him but an empty name. 
 Oh ! Lucia, pity me," cried he, taking her hand. 
 
THE AZURE HOSE. 113 
 
 " I do, indeed I do," said Lucia, overpowered by 
 this picture of mysterious griefs. " I pity, and would 
 relieve you if I knew how. Only tell me what is 
 the matter ? " 
 
 " I love despairingly." 
 
 " Whom ? " said Lucia, with a palpitating heart. 
 
 " One throned in yon galaxy of stars, brighter than 
 Venus and purer than the milky way one, of whom 
 I wake only to dream, and dream only to awake in 
 astonishment at my presumptuous visions one so 
 far above the sphere of my aspiring hopes, that, like 
 the glorious sun, I only live in the consuming rays of 
 her beauty, without daring to look in the full face of 
 her brightness, lest I should be struck blind." 
 
 " Why, this must be a queen at least," said Lucia, 
 blushing. 
 
 " The queen of love and beauty," replied Goshawk, 
 delighted at his happy rejoinder. They remained 
 silent a few moments, it being impossible to descend 
 from the heights of sentimental twaddle to the level 
 of ordinary matters, without stopping to take breath 
 by the way. 
 
 " Tell me, Miss Lee, tell me what is love," said 
 Goshawk at length, with a languishing air. 
 
 " I don t know," replied Lucia, in confusion. 
 
 " Shall I answer for you ? ", said Highfield, who en 
 tered at that moment. Lucia started a little, and 
 Goshawk looked rather foolish. 
 
 " Love is a fantastic assemblage of the follies of 
 childhood and the passions of age, a little, scoun 
 drel hypocrite, who, while rolling his hoop or chasing 
 a butterfly, disguises, under the innocent sports of a 
 boy, the most selfish and dishonourable intentions. 
 
 8 
 
114 THE AZURE HOSE. 
 
 He is the deity of professions, disguises, affectation, 
 and selfishness ; is never satisfied unless acting in op 
 position to reason, propriety, and duty ; and is pictured 
 a child, because he studies only his own gratification, 
 and never keeps his promises." 
 
 Goshawk seemed not to admire this sketch, but, 
 for some reason or other, he was not so ready with a 
 flight as usual. Lucia took up the defence of the 
 little deity. 
 
 "Oh, what a monster you have made of him!", 
 said she. 
 
 " But there is another and a nobler love," resumed 
 Highfield, with more enthusiasm than he had ever be 
 fore displayed in the presence of his cousin, " there 
 is another and a nobler love, the divinity of rational 
 and virtuous man a grown up, finished being, that 
 knows no other wish than the happiness of its object ; 
 that neither lies, nor feigns, nor flatters, nor deceives ; 
 that is neither degraded by disappointment, nor pre 
 sumptuous with success ; that, while it respects itself, 
 still pays a willing homage, and offers at the feet of 
 its mistress, (what it never sacrificed to fear or favour, 
 to the claims of man, the temptations of interest, or 
 the tyranny of the passions), its own free-will and its 
 power of independent action." 
 
 The tones of Highfield s voice were such as I have 
 sometimes, but rarely, heard in my pilgrimage through 
 this world of jarring discords ; they were those that 
 give to nonsense the charm of music, and to precept 
 the magic of persuasion. He spoke with a manly 
 simplicity, a chastened feeling, a firm and settled ear 
 nestness, which hypocrisy always overleaps and affect 
 ation only caricatures. Even childhood comprehends 
 
THE AZURE HOSE. 115 
 
 the difference, and the votaries of bad taste know the 
 true from the false. The exertion of speaking, or, it 
 may be, the glow of his smothered feelings, had ban 
 ished for a moment his ashy paleness, and brought a 
 fire into his cheek that added to his natural attrac 
 tions. He stood with one arm in a sling, partly 
 leaning against the mantel-piece, and there was in his 
 whole appearance an evident struggle between the 
 weakness of his body and the strength of his feelings. 
 
 Neither Mr. Goshawk nor Lucia made any reply. 
 The former was cowed by the majesty of honest, un 
 affected manhood, giving utterance to its feelings with 
 the simple energy of deep conviction ; the latter felt 
 as she had never felt while Mr. Goshawk was pouring 
 out his sentimental flummery. She knew she was 
 listening to one in earnest, who was either describing 
 what he felt at the moment, or was capable of feel 
 ing. " He certainly must be in love with somebody. 
 Some little red-cheeked, snub-nosed, country damsel, 
 I dare say ; " and she turned up her pretty Grecian 
 nose at the poor girl. The perplexity of guessing who 
 this somebody was occupied her some time, insomuch 
 that she entirely forgot Mr. Goshawk s piece of poe 
 try, and his beautiful language. 
 
 " I beg your pardon," said Highfield, " for coming 
 here to interrupt you and make speeches. Your father 
 requested me to say he wishes to speak with you, 
 cousin." 
 
 Goshawk took his leave ; Lucia sought her father, 
 and Highfield his bed ; for he was really much indis 
 posed with his bruises. 
 
116 THE AZURE HOSE. 
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 
 SOUXDIXG WITHOUT BOTTOM. 
 
 MR. LEE was a man of great courage and little 
 patience. He thought the heart of a woman like one 
 of his eggs, that could be boiled in a minute and a 
 half; and took it for granted Lucia must be deeply 
 in love with Highfield since the adventure of the 
 fashionable bonnet. Accordingly he determined to 
 sound her forthwith, that no time might be lost. 
 He might as well have plumbed the bottomless 
 abysses of lake Superior ; for the heart of a city belle 
 in love is as unfathomable, if not as pure. 
 
 " Well, Lucia," said he, as she entered his library, 
 " how do you feel after your fright ? " 
 
 " Oh, quite well, sir." 
 
 " Hem I wish I could say as much for Highfield. 
 The doctor says he has some fever, and talks of bleed 
 ing the blockhead why didn t he do it before ? " 
 
 " Bleeding ! ", cried Lucia, and her heart beat a lit 
 tle ; " I hope it will not be necessary." 
 
 " Hem yes. Ah ! girl, you owe much to that 
 excellent young man hey?" 
 
 " I am sensible of it, sir, and feel it at the bottom 
 of my heart." 
 
 " Do you ? do you, my dearest girl, at the bottom 
 of your heart ? " 
 
 " Indeed I do, sir ; I shall never cease to be grate 
 ful, as long as I live." 
 
 " Grateful ! pish pooh gratitude ! " 
 
 " My father has often told me gratitude was the 
 
THE AZURE HOSE. 117 
 
 rarest of our feelings, and the most short-lived; but I 
 shall carry mine to my grave." 
 
 Ay yes yes ; gratitude is a very good thing 
 in its way; but but there are so many ways of 
 showing it. Now how will you show yours hey? " 
 
 " Why, I haven t studied my part yet," said she, 
 smiling ; " I must trust to the honest dictates of my 
 heart, to time, and circumstance, to show me the 
 way." 
 
 " Pshaw ! time and circumstance ! I believe the 
 d 1 is in you this morning, Lucia." 
 
 " I believe the deuse is in you this morning, father," 
 said Lucia, smiling ; " for I can t understand you." 
 
 " Very well, very well ; but I want to know how 
 you will go about showing your gratitude hey ? " 
 
 " Why, father," said Lucia, " if he is sad, I will 
 play him merry tunes : if he is cheerful, I will laugh 
 with him ; if he is cross, I will bear with him. I will 
 sympathize in his misfortunes, rejoice in his happi 
 ness, nurse him if he should be sick ; if you turn him 
 out of doors, as you once threatened, I will certainly 
 let him in again; and if he should ever chance to 
 want (what I trust in God he never will) your favour 
 and protection, I will try and be to him your humble 
 representative." If Lucia meant to say more, she 
 was stopped by an unaccountable huskiness in her 
 throat, that took away her breath. 
 
 "Ah! that will do that will do!" cried the old 
 gentleman, highly delighted ; " and so you will love 
 him hey, girl ? none of your wishy-washy grati 
 tude love him with all your heart hey?" 
 
 " With all my heart, and as an only and beloved 
 brother." 
 
118 THE AZURE HOSE. 
 
 " Brother !, did you say ? a fiddle-stick ; I I don t 
 want you to love him as a brother, I tell you." 
 
 " As a cousin then, sir." 
 
 " No ; nor as a cousin, nor a second cousin, nor an 
 uncle, nor grandfather, nor grandmother either," cried 
 Mr. Lee, in wrath, and gradually raising his voice till 
 he came to the climax of a roar. 
 
 " Ah! is it so?" thought our heroine, as at length 
 she began to comprehend the drift of the impatient old 
 gentleman ; and she drew the impenetrable cloak of 
 hypocrisy closely around her, at the same time conjur 
 ing up to her aid the guardian pride of female deli 
 cacy, which shrinks from the first avowal of love, and 
 more than shrinks from owning it without the surety 
 of answering love. 
 
 " May I go, sir ? " said she, after a pause ; " I prom 
 ised to walk out this morning with my aunt and 
 Mr. Goshawk." 
 
 " Confound Mr. Goshawk ! and may ten thousand 
 of his bad verses fly away with him to Chaos and old 
 Night, where they came from ! " 
 
 " Well, father, then I will make an apology and 
 stay at home." 
 
 " No ; go where you please, and do what you 
 please ; I shall never be able to make any thing of 
 you." 
 
 " Nothing, dear sir, but what I am your dutiful 
 and affectionate daughter ; " and she bowed, and left 
 Mr. Lee to congratulate himself on the progress he 
 had made. 
 
 The reader will doubtless have observed that, dur 
 ing the whole of the foregoing dialogue, Lucia spoke 
 in simple, natural language, without a single touch of 
 
THE AZURE HOSE. 119 
 
 azure. The reason is at hand. She felt what she 
 was saying; and true feeling never declaims. What 
 it has to say, it says with a simple, brief directness ; 
 as a man who is earnest in the race never stops to 
 gather flowers by the way. 
 
 Our heroine retired to her chamber, to think. A 
 new futurity was opened before her; for, until this 
 interview with her father, she had never dreamed of his 
 wishes or intentions in favour of her cousin. The 
 truth is, her imagination was occupied with Goshawk. 
 But now it was necessary to determine on some line 
 of conduct in her future intercourse with Highfield. A 
 very convenient, proper, family match !, thought she ; 
 I am rich, and he poor. I have no doubt he is very 
 much in love with me ; for I never heard of a young 
 gentleman that was deficient in duty and affection 
 on such occasions ! And then her heart smote her 
 with a pang, for such a thought. No, no ; I will say 
 that for my cousin, I do believe he would not marry, 
 if he did not love, me, to gain my fortune or please 
 my father. But then every-body will say he only mar 
 ried me for my money ; and the mortification of such 
 a suspicion would be intolerable. I dare say this 
 plan has been in agitation ever since I was born ; and 
 what a business kind of business! he is to open 
 his mouth, and I am to fall plump into it, like a great 
 over-ripe apple, without even being shaken a little. 
 No, no, my dainty cousin, that won t do. And besides, 
 what will Miss Appleby and all the rest say, if I 
 throw myself away on a man of no literary reputa 
 tion ; who never figured in albums, or wrote verses on 
 Passaic Falls ; who does nothing common like an un 
 common man ; and who, though I confess he acts 
 
120 THE AZURE HOSE. 
 
 sometimes like a hero, talks just like e very-body ? 
 " Ah !," said she, sighing, " I wish my money-bags 
 were in the Red Sea, and then I could tell whether I 
 was beloved for myself or them." This was a very 
 foolish wish of our heroine ; for, notwithstanding her 
 beauty, her charming temper, and her natural good- 
 sense, if her money-bags had been in the Red Sea, ten 
 to one her admirers would have gone there to fish for 
 them, instead of attending to her. After a vast many 
 pros and cons, Lucia determined, in the true spirit of 
 a woman with more than one suitor, to play them 
 off against each other; to put to the test the ardour 
 and stability of their passion, by trying what the pa 
 tience of mortal man is capable of enduring. Mr. 
 Goshawk was still paramount in her imagination ; 
 though, since the adventure of the ride, her feelings 
 were somewhat enlisted on the side of Highfield. 
 She was satisfied, in her own mind, that the former 
 was deeply enamoured of her, else, why should he be 
 so eloquent on all occasions on the subject of hope 
 less affection ? With regard to the other, she was 
 somewhat, indeed altogether, uncertain ; for High- 
 field had too much pride, as well as delicacy, to be for 
 ever thrusting his feelings in the face of the world. 
 I will try him, thought she. If he is only seeking me 
 for my fortune, there will be no harm in making him a 
 little miserable ; and, if he really loves me for myself, 
 I can always make him amends for his sufferings. 
 She had an appointment with Mr. Goshawk for a 
 walk, and was expecting him every moment, when 
 the servant came in with an apology, that he was so 
 unwell as not to be able to wait on her. 
 
 " Poor man," thought Lucia, " his mind is preying 
 
THE AZURE HOSE. 121 
 
 on his delicate frame ; the light is too intense for the 
 lamp that contains it. What a misfortune it is to be 
 born with too much sensibility ! " 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 IN WHICH THE HISTORY IS PERFECTLY BECALMED. 
 
 OUR heroine remained in a frame of mind requir 
 ing motion. She felt that sort of fidgeting impatience 
 of repose which almost always accompanies the little 
 perplexities and uncertainties of life. She took out 
 the silk purse to net ; but the thought struck her that 
 Highfield might be too much elated if he saw her 
 thus employed. She took up a book, and though it 
 was one of the very latest fashionable works, she 
 actually yawned over the first chapter. She then as 
 a last resort took up a new garment, that had just 
 been sent home by the mantua-maker ; which fortu 
 nately gave a turn to her ideas. The sleeves were 
 exactly the thing. She retired to her mysterious bou 
 doir, and arrayed herself like King Solomon in all his 
 glory. She put on a pink hat with a black velvet lin 
 ing, and a feather that swept the ground ; she put on 
 her white satin cloak that hid her trim figure as effectu 
 ally as a sack ; and she incased her pretty ankles in 
 spatterdashes. She arrayed herself with the foulard 
 silk, the foulard damasse, the gros des Indes, the em 
 broidered collar, cape, fichu, alavielle, and fiorelle with 
 the blonde gauze, and the decoupe gauze, the fancy 
 ribbons, trimmings, &c., &c., &c. in short she made 
 
122 THE AZURE HOSE. 
 
 herself one of the most beautiful fancy articles ever 
 imported, before she had done. She then looked into 
 a full-length mirror and saw that all was good : for 
 her hat was mighty to behold, her shoulders broader 
 than those of Samson with the gates of Gaza on his 
 back, and not the African Venus herself but hush, 
 my muse, nor meddle too deeply with mysteries un 
 known to the sacred nine ! 
 
 Highfield met her just as she was going forth into 
 the Aceldama, the field of blood, the Flanders of the 
 New World BROADWAY where more whiskered 
 dandies have been slain outright by stout broad- 
 shouldered ladies, and the empire of more hearts con 
 tested, than in all the universe besides. He stood in 
 speechless admiration, for his cousin was really so 
 beautiful that it was out of the power of milliner or 
 mantua-maker to make her look ugly. 
 
 " Will you take me with you ? " said he, 
 
 Lucia felt like the ox-eyed Juno, in her glorious 
 paraphernalia. 
 
 The most unpropitious .moment for approaching a 
 belle is doubtless when she is full-dressed for Broad 
 way. She treads on air ; she sees herself reflected in 
 the too-flattering mirror of her imagination ; the rust 
 ling of silks whispers an alarum to her vanity ; and 
 the waving of feathers is the signal for conquering the 
 world. 
 
 " Will you take me with you ? ", repeated High- 
 field. 
 
 How handsome and interesting he is, thought our 
 heroine as she looked at herself in the glass. If he 
 only had whiskers he would be irresistible. 
 
 " I am afraid," said she, " the weather is too keen 
 
THE AZUKE HOSE. 123 
 
 for you this morning; you look pale, and don t seem 
 well ; " and nature forced her voice into a tuneful 
 sympathy. 
 
 " Oh, I never was better in my life." 
 
 " Well, it is not my business," said she, again as 
 suming the woman "If you choose to risk it, tis 
 nothing to me." And the father of hypocrisy himself 
 could not have put on a more freezing indifference. 
 " I am going to call on Miss Appleby ; my aunt 
 promised to meet me there." 
 
 " I d rather go any where else with you." 
 
 " Oh, yes ; I know you don t like literary people." 
 
 " I don t like pretenders to literature." 
 
 " Then let me go by myself," said she abruptly. 
 
 "No I ll go, and take the mighty Goshawk by 
 the beard, e en though he were a metaphor, as saith 
 our azure aunt." 
 
 This sally made Lucia smile, and restored her 
 good-humour, which indeed was never long away. 
 Her anger was never chronic, and so much the better. 
 An unforgiving woman is worse than a man that for 
 gives every body. Lucia put her arm within High- 
 field s, and they went away, as gay as boblincons in a 
 clover meadow. Lucia forgot for a moment her plan 
 of making him jealous ; but there was a little imp of 
 mischief at her elbow that soon put her in mind of it 
 again. 
 
124 THE AZURE HOSE. 
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 MOKE AZURE. 
 
 HIGHFIELD and our heroine dropped in upon the 
 whole azure coterie, at Miss Appleby s, with the ex 
 ception of Mr. Fitzgiles Goshawk, whose absence 
 afforded an excellent subject for declamation ; espe 
 cially when Lucia informed the company he was in 
 disposed. 
 
 " Poor fellow, his sensibilities will be the death of 
 him at last," cried Miss Appleby. 
 
 " Unfortunate youth," said Miss Overend, " his 
 wretchedness is mysteriously affecting. By the bye, 
 can any body tell what makes him so unhappy ? " 
 
 " I dare say he is suffering the pangs of disappoint 
 ment," said Puddingham. 
 
 " Disappointment in what ? ", said she, briskly. 
 
 " Oh, why, you know genius is always hoping im 
 possible things, and chasing the rainbows of imagina 
 tion ever anticipating unreal joys, and reaping real 
 sorrows. I knew a man of genius once, a great poet, 
 who pined himself into a decline because he could 
 not get his whiskers to grow." 
 
 " La!" said Miss Overend, " I dare say that is the 
 cause of Mr. Goshawk s interesting melancholy ; you 
 know he has no whiskers." 
 
 " I dare say," quoth Paddleford a sighing, whin 
 ing, cork-hearted pretender to sentimental roueism 
 " I dare say the poor fellow is in love with a married 
 woman." 
 
 " Has he been to Italy ? ", said Miss Overend ; " if 
 
THE AZURE HOSE. 125 
 
 he has, I could almost swear he had fallen in love 
 with a beautiful nun he saw through the grates of a 
 convent." 
 
 " I shouldn t be surprised," said Mrs. Coates, " if he 
 had committed murder." 
 
 " Murder! " screamed the other ladies. 
 
 " I mean an innocent, disinterested, sentimental 
 murder, committed in a moment of irrigation, with 
 out any intention what do you think, nephew?" 
 
 " I rather think it must be the whiskers, as my 
 friend Puddingham suggested. I feel myself in the 
 same predicament, and am sentimentally dead, for 
 want of a muzzle d la mode de bison." 
 
 Lucia privately resolved that Master Highfield 
 should pay for making sport of the hallowed and 
 mysterious sorrows of Mr. Goshawk. She knew, or 
 thought she knew, their origin. And to have the per 
 plexities of pining, speechless, inexpressible passion, 
 associated with a bison s whiskers it was too bad ! 
 And her cousin should pay for it dearly, if he pos 
 sessed the least spark of feeling. Highfield took his 
 leave soon after, excusing himself on the score of 
 business. But the truth was, he felt himself some 
 what ailing. 
 
 " Well, Lucia," said Miss Appleby, " I suppose you 
 had a delightfully affecting interview with your cou 
 sin, after the affair. What did he say ? " 
 
 " Nothing," said Lucia. 
 
 " Nothing ? What a stupid man ! Why, Mr. Gos 
 hawk talked of his excruciating feelings on the occa 
 sion, till he brought tears into my eyes. Oh, such a 
 beautiful flow of language, such powerful delinea 
 tions of passion ! I wish you had heard him." 
 
126 THE AZURE HOSE. 
 
 " Mr. Highfield is a very common-place man," said 
 Puddingham, pompously. " You might stand under 
 a gate-way a whole day in a shower, without hearing 
 him say any thing remarkable." 
 
 " What is a chance act of gallantry and presence of 
 mind, compared with the genius that immortalizes it 
 in words that burn and thoughts that freeze ? For 
 my part, give me the man that talks eloquently," said 
 Mr. Paddleford. 
 
 " Yes," said Miss Overend ; " mere physical courage 
 and animal strength may do great things; but to say 
 great things, requires the aid of a lofty, inaccessible 
 genius, which nine times in ten is so immersed in its 
 ow T n sublime chrysalis, that it can t get out in time to 
 do any thing in a case of emergency." 
 
 " To be sure," said Mrs. Coates ; " a great action is 
 often frustificated by a splendid chaotic congeries of 
 intellectual vapours, that produce a deflection of the 
 mind from the object before it." 
 
 Lucia, though a little affronted with Highfield, was 
 too generous to suffer him to be undervalued in this 
 manner, especially in his absence. 
 
 " And so, my good friends," said she, " you would 
 persuade me that I am more indebted to Mr. Gos 
 hawk, for his elegant description of my danger, than 
 to my cousin, who rescued me from it. I might have 
 been in my grave by this time but for my cousin." 
 
 " But then what a beautiful elegy Mr. Goshawk 
 would have written, my dear. You would have been 
 immortalized. Only think of that ! " said Miss Ap- 
 pleby. 
 
 " Yes," replied Mrs. Coates ; " what is the trumpery 
 pain of anneeheelation to the eternal immortality of 
 
THE AZURE HOSE. 127 
 
 living in immortal verse of floating down upon the 
 stream of oblivion, into the regions of never-dying 
 brightness ! " Mrs. Coates waxed more azure every 
 day. 
 
 " My dear aunt," cried Lucia, interrupting the good 
 lady, who was losing herself in a Dismal Swamp of 
 grandiloquence "my dear aunt, I am aware of the 
 superiority of words over deeds, in an age of devel 
 opment like the present, and that he who performs a 
 great action is but an instrument in the hands of the 
 man of genius who celebrates it in never-dying verse. 
 I know too that it is mere selfishness on our part, to 
 feel grateful for an action done in our own behalf, in 
 stinctively perhaps, and without one single good feel 
 ing on the part of him who performs it ; still there is 
 something in the gift of life that seems to deserve at 
 least our gratitude." This was the most azure speech 
 our heroine had made since her accident. 
 
 "The gift of life!" cried Paddleford ; what is 
 life, that we should be grateful for it ? A scene of 
 disappointment without hope, and hope without dis 
 appointment ; a chapter, whose beginning is tears, 
 whose last verse is written in blood ; a mirror, which 
 presents to us every day a new wretch in the same 
 person ; a spectral shadow, ever changing, yet still the 
 same ; a long lane, whose windings end where they 
 began, and begin where they end ; a rope twisted with 
 our heart-strings, embalmed in our tears, and having 
 at one end a slip-noose with which all mankind are at 
 last tucked up ! " 
 
 " Oh ! " groaned the whole azure coterie, horror- 
 stricken at this soul-harrowing picture. 
 
 What language ! " 
 
128 THE AZURE HOSE. 
 
 "What sentiment!" 
 
 "What feeling!" 
 
 " What soul-subjewing retrospections ! " exclaimed 
 Mrs. Coates. " What a happy devilopement of 
 mind!" 
 
 Lucia was overawed and silenced by the eloquence 
 of Paddleford and the suffrages of all the company. 
 She became doubtful, to say the least, as to the pro 
 priety of feeling gratitude for such a worthless gift as 
 that of life, and relapsed into a decided preference of 
 the gift of speech over the capacity for action. She 
 looked on the great Paddleford as a most sublime 
 mortal ; for such indeed is the intrinsic dignity of that 
 courage which defies death in a good cause, that even 
 the affectation of contempt of life imposes a feeling 
 of respect upon the inexperienced. Lucia never 
 dreamed that Paddleford came near breaking his 
 neck a few nights before, by jumping out of a second- 
 story window on a false alarm of fire ; or that, while 
 professing scorn of death, he never met a funeral or 
 heard a bell tolling, without a fit of the blue devils. 
 
 " What a beautiful dress you ve got ! " said Miss 
 Overend to Lucia. 
 
 The sublime contempt of this life now suddenly 
 gave place to an admiration of the things of this life. 
 The whole party gathered round our heroine ; and, 
 " Where did you get this ? ", and, " La ! how cheap ! ", 
 and dissertations on the relative excellence of gros de 
 Naples, gros des Indes, cotepaly, foulard damasse, 
 and Palmerienne, gradually restored them to a proper 
 feeling of resignation to the evils of this world. 
 
THE AZURE HOSE. 129 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 A VISIT, AND ITS CONSEQUENCES. 
 
 WHEN Lucia came home, she found Highfield had 
 been obliged to lie down ; and learned, from Mr. Lee, 
 that the doctor was under great apprehension that he 
 had received some serious injury internally, from the 
 violence of his exertions or the kicks of the horse, in 
 the adventure of the ride. 
 
 " I am sorry to hear it," said our heroine, and her 
 heart echoed the sentiment. 
 
 The old gentleman was of that order of human 
 beings whom sorrow always makes angry and fretful, 
 instead of gentle and submissive. He had a most 
 confirmed and obstinate impatience of grief. He was 
 angry with Highfield for being ill ; he was angry with 
 the doctor for not having foreseen he would be ill; 
 and he was enraged with Mr. Fairweather, because 
 he at first made light of the matter, and then, to 
 please his friend, hinted about a rapid decline. Now, 
 he could not scold Highfield for being ill; nor the 
 doctor, for he was absent ; nor Mr. Fairweather, be 
 cause he was not present : so he set to work, and 
 scolded Lucia. Nine times out of ten we are not 
 angry at the thing we pretend to be affronted with ; 
 we attack the substance under cover of the shadow. 
 
 " Oh yes ! ", said he in reply to Lucia s gentle yet 
 sincere expression of sorrow, " Oh yes ! you are 
 very sorry, I dare say. You take him into a cold 
 north-east wind ; you drag him about to milliners 
 shops, from one end of the town to the other ; and 
 
 9 
 
130 THE AZURE HOSE. 
 
 then you are very sorry he is sick, when you yourself 
 have made him so." 
 
 " Dear father, how cross you are to day ! I am 
 sure I did not take him out. I wanted him to stay at 
 home ; but he said he was perfectly well, and would 
 go with me. I am sure I couldn t help his going." 
 
 " Not help his going ! " 
 
 " No, sir ; how could I ? " 
 
 " Why, you might have knocked the puppy down." 
 
 Lucia made it a point never to laugh at her father; 
 but it must be owned he sometimes put her to hard 
 trials. 
 
 " If my father had taught me to box, instead of to 
 play the piano, I might have made the attempt," said 
 she, smiling. 
 
 " Very well, very well ; you have made him sick, 
 now try if you can t cure him. Go and make him 
 some barley-broth." 
 
 " I ? why, my dear father, I don t know how to 
 make barley-broth." 
 
 " Well then, go and make him some caudle." 
 
 Lucia had never heard of caudle, except in associ 
 ation with certain matters, and blushed like a rose. 
 
 " But I don t know how to make caudle, any more 
 than barley-broth." 
 
 " Ay, yes ; women know nothing worth knowing, 
 nowadays. They can dance, and play the harp, and 
 criticise books, and talk about what they don t under 
 stand ; but if you want them to do a little thing for 
 the comfort of a man s life, or the assuaging of his 
 pains, oh ! then it is, * My dear sir, I don t know how 
 to do it. I wish I had sent you to a pastry-cook s, 
 instead of a boarding-school. I dare say, if it was 
 
THE AZURE HOSE. 131 
 
 Mr. Goshawk, you could talk him well directly. Go 
 in then, and talk to your cousin a little." 
 
 " My dear fat her, you know " - and she stopped 
 short, in a nutter. 
 
 " What, you won t go and see the youth who is 
 lying perhaps on his death-bed of wounds received in 
 your service ? " 
 
 " The customs of society, sir," 
 
 " Ah ! the customs of society there is another 
 wooden god to bow down to ! You can twine your 
 arms in a waltz with some bewhiskered foreign 
 puppy ; you can go to a masquerade, or mix in mid 
 night revels, with a thousand promiscuous sweepings 
 of the universe, and yet oh, the customs of the 
 world ! they make it a crime to visit the sick in their 
 melancholy chambers, and pronounce it ungenteel to 
 know how to administer relief to their sufferings ! " 
 
 " Dear father, I would do any thing for the relief of 
 my cousin ; but " 
 
 " Oh, ay any thing. You can t do what the cus 
 toms of society permit, and you won t do what they 
 do not sanction. And yet it was but the other day 
 you made such a fine speech : If he is sad, I will 
 play him merry tunes ; I will sympathize in his sor 
 rows, and rejoice in his happiness ; I will nurse him 
 when he is sick ; and if, as you once threatened, you 
 should turn him out of doors, I will certainly let him 
 in again. : And the old gentleman caricatured her 
 tone and manner without mercy. " You know every 
 thing but what you ought to know," continued he, 
 reproachfully. 
 
 " There is at least one thing I do know," replied 
 the daughter, " that it is my duty to obey the 
 
132 THE AZURE HOSE. 
 
 wishes of my father, when no positive duty forbids it. 
 I will go with you, sir." And together they went 
 into the sick man s room. 
 
 My friend, Mr. Lee for there once lived such a 
 man, and he was my friend my friend, Mr. Lee, 
 knew no more how to manage a love-affair than his 
 daughter did of the manufacturing of caudle. Had 
 the romance of Highfield and Lucia been in the best 
 possible progress, he would have gone nigh to throw 
 it back a hundred years. The old gentleman had yet 
 to learn, that to make a woman do a thing against 
 her will is like shoving a boat against a strong cur 
 rent ; she will move a foot or two, slowly, while the 
 impulse lasts, and come back like a race-horse, a hun 
 dred yards beyond the starting-pole. And yet he 
 ought to have known it ; for his wife had verified its 
 truth often enough to impress it on his memory. 
 
 Lucia entered the chamber of the invalid somewhat 
 against her will, and consequently but little disposed 
 to sympathize with him. Indeed she felt extremely 
 awkward ; and this was another reason why she was 
 not in the best possible humour. Not that she wanted 
 a proper feeling of the benefit conferred by her cousin, 
 but, the truth is, the indiscreet disclosure the old gen 
 tleman had made of his intentions caused her to 
 shrink from an act which might be considered as 
 amounting to a sanction of his wishes on her part. 
 Add to this, I believe if the truth were known, she 
 felt some little apprehension that Mr. Goshawk might 
 not approve of the procedure. 
 
 The conduct of Highfield contributed to render her 
 still more ungracious. He was no knight-errant, yet 
 the sight of our heroine on this occasion threw him 
 
THE AZURE HOSE. 133 
 
 into something of a paroxysm, not unworthy of Am- 
 adis de Gaul. He ascribed the visit in the first place 
 to her own free-will, and augured the most favourable 
 results from the sympathy which a sight of his weak 
 ness would create. He was wrong in both cases ; for, 
 in love-matters, the imagination is every thing, and 
 seeing is not believing. But his great error was 
 in discovering so much gratitude for the visit that 
 Lucia became alarmed at her own condescension, and 
 determined to retrieve her error by behaving as ungra 
 ciously as her conscience would permit. In pursu 
 ance of this truly womanly resolution, she conducted 
 herself with a most admirable indifference, insomuch 
 that the good gentleman, her father, who had hardly 
 patience to wait the boiling of an egg, became ex 
 ceedingly restive. He gave his daughter divers signi 
 ficant looks ; favoured her with abundance of frowns ; 
 and held up his finger from time to time so emphati 
 cally, that Highfield soon comprehended the whole 
 affair. He perceived that Lucia had come unwill 
 ingly, and from that moment felt nothing but morti 
 fication at her having come at all. The whole affair 
 ended in making Lucia dissatisfied with herself; 
 Highfield worse than before ; and Mr. Lightfoot Lee 
 most intolerably angry. So much for obliging a 
 young lady to do what she has no inclination for. 
 Our heroine, having paid a short visit, retired, leaving 
 the uncle and nephew together. 
 
 The old gentleman sat with his nether lip petu 
 lantly protruded over the upper one, his eyebrows 
 raised, and his forehead wrinkled. The young man 
 lay on his bed, supported by pillows. 
 
 " My dear uncle," said he, " why did you bring my 
 cousin here against her will ? " 
 
134 THE AZURE HOSE. 
 
 " Sblood sir," cried the other in a fury "I sup 
 pose you mean to cut my throat for trying to do you 
 a favour." 
 
 " I am sensible of your kindness, but, my dear sir, 
 you don t go the right way to work to serve me." 
 
 " O no, not I, truly ; I am an old blockhead ; I am 
 always in the wrong; I do nothing but mischief, and 
 merit nothing but reproaches and ingratitude!" 
 
 " Ah ! sir, if you only knew my heart ! " 
 
 " Plague on your heart, I don t believe you have 
 any, with your infernal coolness and patience. When 
 I fell in love, I mounted my horse, and rode one night 
 forty miles to visit your aunt; came to an under 
 standing the very first visit ; and went home irrevo 
 cably engaged. I hate suspense ; I always did hate 
 it, and always shall. But you, sir dam me, you 
 sir !, you and Lucia will make a hard frost between 
 you. She is all affectation, and you all patience. A 
 patient lover pooh!" 
 
 " But, my dear sir, why don t you let matters take 
 their course, as you promised ? " 
 
 " O certainly, sir, certainly wait patiently, until 
 I see my daughter run away with Mr. Fitzgiles Gos 
 hawk, because he has such a flow of words and uses 
 such beautiful language ; or till I sink under the 
 weight of fourscore, and Lucia becomes a pedantic 
 old maid. I dare say if I only have patience and live 
 to the age of the patriarchs, I may have the particu 
 lar satisfaction of seeing either the world or your love- 
 affair come to an end." 
 
 " But, my dear uncle " 
 
 " Yes, yes I am an old blockhead, that s certain. 
 J Tis true, I was educated at the university; travelled 
 
THE AZURE HOSE. 135 
 
 over half Europe ; have been a justice of the peace ; 
 a common-councilman ; secretary to a literary soci 
 ety ; a judge of a race-course ; and chairman of a 
 committee in Congress. I am not quite threescore, 
 to be sure ; but I have had some little experience 
 know a B from a bull s foot, and a hawk from a 
 handsaw. But I am an old blockhead for all that, 
 and must go to school to a conceited graduate from a 
 country college, and a sage young lady just from the 
 boarding-school; yes, yes, yes " and the good gen 
 tleman walked about the room with his head down 
 and hands behind him. 
 
 " Oh, sir, I entreat you to spare me." 
 
 " I wonder," continued Mr. Lee, communing with 
 himself, " I wonder how people managed to live, sixty 
 years ago. No steamboats, nor spinning-jennies, nor 
 railroads, nor canals, nor anthracite coal, nor houses 
 of refuge, nor societies for making the world perfect 
 in every thing, nor silver forks, nor self-sharpening 
 pencils, nor metallic corn-cutters, nor japan blacking, 
 nor gros de Naples, nor gros des Indes, nor cotepaly, 
 nor any of the indispensable requisites to a comforta 
 ble existence. What a set of miserable sinners they 
 must have been ! I don t wonder, for my part, that 
 children govern their parents, and the young the old ; 
 seeing the world is so much wiser, better, and happier, 
 than it was, sixty years ago." Thus the good gentle 
 man ran on, as was his custom, until he finally lost 
 sight of his subject and cooled in the pursuit. 
 
 " Well, my dear uncle, if you wont listen to me " 
 
 " But I will listen ; who told you, sir, I wouldn t 
 listen I suppose you want me to do nothing else 
 hey ? " 
 
136 THE AZURE HOSE. 
 
 " I wanted to tell you, sir, that, I see plainly, myself 
 and my concerns are destined to give you great and 
 I fear unavailing trouble, and have come to a resolu 
 tion " 
 
 " Well, sir, and what is it ? " 
 
 " I intend, as soon as I am well enough, to leave 
 you, my dear uncle." 
 
 " Well, sir " 
 
 " I have been too long a dependant on your kind 
 ness, and cannot but perceive my remaining here will 
 be a source of contention between you and my 
 cousin. I fear I shall never be able to touch her 
 heart; and without the free, uninfluenced gift of her 
 affections, I would not receive her as my wife, were 
 she descended from heaven and with an angel s 
 dower." 
 
 " Well, sir ?," said Mr. Lee, in breathless impatience 
 and anger. 
 
 " I have little more to say, uncle. When I am well 
 enough, I will endeavour to do justice to my feelings 
 of gratitude for all that I owe you." 
 
 " And so and so, sir, you mean to leave me, now 
 that you have got out of the egg-shell, and can walk 
 alone. If you do, by all that is sacred, I ll disinherit 
 you." 
 
 " I have no claim to your estate, sir. I would con 
 sent to share it with my cousin, did her heart go with 
 your bounty ; but I will starve sooner than rob her of 
 a shilling." 
 
 " Will nothing move you to stay with me till I am 
 dead ? ", said Mr. Lee, overpowered by his feelings. 
 
 " One thing, and one only, sir. I will remain with 
 you and be to you as a son, if you will promise on 
 
THE AZURE HOSE. 137 
 
 your honour that my cousin shall neither be worried, 
 nor urged, nor entreated in any way against her incli 
 nations ; and that I myself may be left to the direc 
 tion of my own sense of honour and propriety in this 
 business. To make my cousin uneasy is not the way 
 to win her heart, and, even if it were, it is not the mode 
 to which I would descend." 
 
 " Well then, I do promise ; I pledge my word that 
 you shall do as you please in this affair, and that 
 Lucia shall have her own way in every thing but in 
 marrying that puppy sentimental, master Fitzgiles 
 Goshawk." 
 
 " And I pledge myself, that, living or dying, so far 
 as my actions are concerned, you shall never have 
 reason to repent your kindness to me." 
 
 Here the conversation ended. Mr. Lee retired, and 
 Highfield stretched himself on his bed, overcome with 
 a weakness and perplexity of heart. 
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 MUTUAL MISTAKES AND DECEPTIONS. MR. LEE MEDITATES A MOST 
 DA KING EXPLOIT. 
 
 THE exertion and emotions of Highfield in the pre 
 ceding conversation, concurring with his pain and 
 weakness of body, brought on a dangerous fever, 
 which confined him several weeks. During this period 
 Lucia entirely intermitted her intercourse with the 
 azure coterie, and saw Mr. Goshawk but once, when 
 he came unshaven, with dishevelled locks, neglected 
 
138 THE AZURE HOSE. 
 
 costume, and various other insignia of a despairing 
 lover. He talked of himself, his depression of mind, 
 his distress at the danger in which he saw her at the 
 
 o 
 
 time her horse was rearing and plunging. But Lucia 
 just now was deeply touched with the danger of High- 
 field, and remembered that, while Goshawk had only 
 felt, the other was suffering for his exertions to pre 
 serve her life. True feeling and real sorrows open our 
 eyes to the full detection of those that are the spuri 
 ous product of ennui or affectation, and enable us to 
 see distinctly into the hypocrisy of others hearts, by 
 putting them to the test of a comparison with our 
 own. What Lucia now felt satisfied her that her 
 former feelings were rather reflected from the society 
 to which she was accustomed, and the false colouring 
 in which their false sentiment was enveloped, than 
 from her own heart. The subjection of her excellent 
 understanding to a long habit of associating with 
 caricatures of literary taste, and mawkish imitations 
 of genius and sensibility, was gradually undermined 
 by an estrangement of some weeks, and a communion 
 with those who felt as nature dictated, and expressed 
 their feelings in the language of truth. 
 
 In addition to this, we hold it to be utterly impos 
 sible for any woman that ever claimed descent from 
 simple, tender-hearted mother Eve, to behold a man 
 suffering pain and sickness, without feeling that sym 
 pathy which renders woman, savage and civilized, 
 wherever and in whatever circumstances she may be 
 found, the assuager of sorrows the nurse of calami 
 ty the angel spirit that watches over the dying and 
 the dead. If perchance it happen that this heaven- 
 descended sympathy with suffering is coupled with a 
 
THE AZURE HOSE. 139 
 
 feeling of gratitude for some great benefit, and a con 
 sciousness that this suffering is in consequence of ex 
 ertions made in her behalf, we confess we can hardly 
 believe it possible that this natural tenderness of heart, 
 and this feeling of gratitude, should not in the end 
 combine to produce a still stronger sentiment, more 
 especially in favour of a young, handsome, and amia 
 ble man. We should for these reasons be inclined to 
 discard our heroine entirely and for ever from our 
 good graces, had not the present crisis of affairs 
 awakened her better self, and recalled her in some 
 degree to the- destiny for which nature had intended 
 her. 
 
 It was more than four weeks before Highfield was 
 decidedly out of danger. During this period he had 
 endured much, and nature occasionally took refuge in 
 that blessed delirium which, however painful to the 
 observer, is a heaven of oblivion to the weary sufferer. 
 It was at these times, when he knew nobody, and 
 could interpret nothing which he saw or heard, that 
 the pride and delicacy of Lucia would yield to the 
 impulses of her heart, and she would watch for hours 
 at his bedside, moisten his parched lips, smooth his 
 pillow, dispose his aching head in easy positions 
 and once, only once, she kissed his damp cold fore 
 head. There was nothing violent in his delirium ; his 
 wanderings were low and disjointed murmurs, con 
 nected, as far as they could be understood, with recol 
 lections of his cousin. Sometimes he would pause, 
 and fix his unsteady wandering eyes upon her, as if 
 some remote consciousness crossed his mind ; but it 
 was only a momentary effort of memory, and died 
 away in the wild wanderings of a diseased imagina 
 tion. 
 
140 THE AZURE HOSE. 
 
 The crisis of the fever passed over, leaving High- 
 field a wreck, just without the gates of death. But 
 youth and a good constitution at length triumphed, 
 and he became convalescent. As he recovered pos 
 session of his reason, Lucia discontinued her watch- 
 ings, and confined herself within the limits of ordi 
 nary attentions. Highfield sometimes thought of a 
 confused dream, a vision of a distempered mind, 
 representing an angel hanging over his couch and 
 administering to his wants; but the impression grad 
 ually passed away, and lie remained ignorant of the 
 truth until lone: afterwards. Mr. Lee had been in a 
 
 O 
 
 passion during the whole period of Highfield s danger, 
 and the doctor had no peace, day or night. If he 
 talked about bleeding or a warm bath, Mr. Lee called 
 him a Sangrado ; if he suggested any of the ordinary 
 remedies, he was an empiric ; and if he thought of 
 any experiment, he was a quack. In short, the poor 
 man led a terrible life until his patient got better, 
 when the old gentleman grew into vast good-humour, 
 and nothing could equal his conviction of the doctor s 
 skill. Juba, indeed, insisted that he himself had a 
 principal hand in the cure, by concocting an African 
 obeah of the most sovereign virtue ; but his master 
 only called him a blockhead, and sent him about his 
 business ; whereupon old Ebony went his way, mut 
 tering something that sounded not unlike " calling 
 massa out." 
 
 It was now the beginning of June, when the infa 
 mous easterly winds, that spoil the genial breath of 
 spring with chilling vapours, generally give place to 
 the southern airs of summer. Lucia and Highfield 
 had resumed their intercourse, but with no great ap- 
 
THE AZURE HOSE. 141 
 
 pearance of cordiality. Highfield remained ignorant 
 of the cares she had lavished and the tears she had 
 shed while he was unconscious of every thing, and 
 Lucia, fearful that he might possibly know it, shrunk 
 with a timid consciousness from all appearance or 
 indication of that deep feeling which late events had 
 wakened in her bosom. He resolved, in the recesses 
 of his mind, to refrain in future from every atten 
 tion to his cousin, but such as their relationship de 
 manded; and she secretly determined to hide the 
 strong preference she now felt, under the impenetra 
 ble mask of cool indifference. I will not, said High- 
 field, mentally I will not appeal to her gratitude 
 or pity, for what her love denies. I, thought Lucia, 
 scorn to repay with love, a debt of gratitude to one 
 who seems to think that alone sufficient. Neither of 
 them suspected the other s feelings, and pride stepped 
 in to complete their blindness. 
 
 The consequence was, that, finding each other s 
 society irksome and unsatisfactory, they avoided all 
 intercourse but such as was indispensable. Highfield 
 sought every opportunity of being from home ; and 
 Lucia was more than ever in the company of Mr. 
 Goshawk, who became every day more miserable and 
 incomprehensible. He talked of smothered feelings 
 in a voice of thunder, and sighed with such emphasis, 
 that he on one occasion dislodged a geranium pot 
 from a front window, and came very near breaking 
 the head of a little chimney-sweep who was sunning 
 himself below. But Lucia, though she encouraged 
 his affectations, from an indefinite desire to be re 
 venged on Highfield for she knew not what, began to 
 sicken a little at his superlative azure. Of late she 
 
142 THE AZURE HOSE. 
 
 had become too well acquainted with the substance 
 of feeling and passion to be deluded by the shadow, 
 and sometimes, amid the depression of her mind, felt 
 a great inclination to laugh at the mighty Goshawk 
 and his mighty verbosity. This heartless intimacy 
 contributed still more to estrange Highfield from 
 home and her society ; for, unacquainted as he was 
 with her real feelings, he believed in his heart that his 
 cousin had a decided prepossession for the empty 
 sentimentalist. He had never altogether recovered 
 his strength or his colour ; there was a paleness in his 
 face, a lassitude about his frame, and a slow languor 
 of motion, which gave to his appearance a touching 
 interest; and Lucia, as she sometimes watched him 
 without being seen, felt the tears on her eyelashes, as 
 she noticed the wreck of his youth, and recalled to 
 mind to what it was owing. Thus then matters 
 stood : Highfield was only waiting the return of his 
 strength, to make a final effort to disengage himself 
 from the family and pursue his fortune ; Goshawk 
 was daily meditating whether he should sell the old 
 gentleman s lands and buy stock, when he married 
 Lucia and succeeded to the estate ; and Lucia was 
 daily losing her vivacity, in the desperate attempt to 
 be gay. 
 
 But what became of Mr. Lightfoot Lee all this 
 while ? The old gentleman was in the finest quan 
 dary imaginable. He grew so impatient there was no 
 living with him, and quarrelled with Juba forty times 
 a day. There was nobody else he could quarrel 
 with. Mrs. Coates had gone to pay a visit to Hold 
 Hingland, and renew her acquaintance with Sir Rich 
 ard Gammon and Sir Cloudesley Shovel; Mr. Fair- 
 
THE AZURE HOSE. 143 
 
 weather had gone to see the Grand Canal; and to 
 Highfield he was bound by a solemn promise not to 
 say any thing on the subject nearest his heart. Never 
 was man so encumbered to the very throat with vexa 
 tions, that almost choked him for want of a vent. 
 Notwithstanding, he had a most ingenious way of 
 letting off a little high steam now and then. If he 
 happened to encounter a beggar-woman at his door, 
 he sent her about her business, with a most edifying 
 lecture on idleness, unthrift, and intemperance ; if a 
 dog came in his way, he was pretty sure of a kick ; if a 
 door interposed, it might fairly calculate upon a slam ; 
 and if the weather was any way deserving of reproof, 
 it might not hope to escape a philippic. Unfortunate 
 ly for Mr. Lee he had no wife, to become the residuary 
 legatee of his splenetic humours ; but then he made 
 himself amends, by falling upon the corporation for 
 suffering the swine to follow their instinct of wallow 
 ing in the mud, and for furnishing mud for them to 
 wallow in ; for not taking up the beggars, and for 
 taking up so much time in passing laws instead of 
 seeing to the execution of those already passed ; for 
 allowing the little boys to fly kites in the street; for 
 spending money in monuments and canal celebra 
 tions ; and for every thing that ever occurred to the 
 imagination of a worthy old gentleman, who com 
 pounded for his mouth being shut on one subject, by 
 declaiming upon a thousand others about which he 
 did not care a fig. 
 
 He could not help seeing that his favourite project 
 was in a most backsliding condition, and that every 
 day Lucia was less with Highfield and more with 
 Goshawk. Whereupon he gathered himself together, 
 
144 THE AZURE HOSE. 
 
 and uttered a tremendous libel upon literary pretend 
 ers, rhyming fops, empty declaimers, and sentimental 
 puppies. Nay, he spared not the azures themselves, 
 but pronounced their condemnation in words of such 
 horrible atrocity, that I will not dare the responsibility 
 even of putting them on record. I will not deny, 
 however, that in the midst of his blasphemies he said 
 some things carrying with them a remote affinity with 
 common-sense. He affirmed that there was among 
 the women of the present fashionable world a hollow 
 affectation of literature an admiration of affected 
 sentiment and overstrained hyperbole; that they placed 
 too little value on morals, and too much on manners ; 
 that an amiable disposition, together with all the 
 qualities essential to honourable action, were held in 
 little consideration, while they paid their court to the 
 most diminutive dwarf of a genius, and listened with 
 exclusive delight to frothy declamations, the product 
 of empty heads and hollow hearts, alike devoid of 
 manly firmness or the capacity to be useful in any 
 honourable rank or situation. He reproached them, 
 most bitterly, with being the dupes of false senti 
 ment and affected sorrows ; and finally concluded his 
 diatribe by giving it as his settled opinion, that the 
 present system of female education was admirably 
 calculated to make daughters extravagant, wives 
 ridiculous, and mothers incapable of fulfilling their 
 duties. But I entreat my beloved female readers to 
 recollect, that all this was soliloquized in a passion 
 by an elderly gentleman, born long before the inven 
 tion of steam-engines and spinning-jennies, and that 
 I only place it on record for the purpose of showing 
 what a prodigious " development of mind " has taken 
 
THE AZURE HOSE. 145 
 
 place in the world since Mr. Lee received his early 
 impressions. 
 
 The good gentleman sat himself down in his li 
 brary, and fell into a deep contemplation on the course 
 proper to be pursued in this perplexing state of his 
 domestic affairs. He pondered it, at least half an hour. 
 At length he started up with almost youthful alacrity, 
 and rung the bell. In due time, that is, in no very 
 great haste, King Juba made his appearance. 
 
 " Juba," said Mr. Lee, " bring out my best blue 
 coat, buff waistcoat, and snuff-coloured breeches. I 
 am going to dress." 
 
 " No time yet, massa, to dress for dinner," said 
 Juba. 
 
 " I tell you, bring out my best suit, you obstinate 
 old snowball I am going to pay a visit to a lady." 
 
 " A lady, sir, massa ! " 
 
 " Ay, a lady is there any thing to grin at, in my 
 visiting a lady, you blockhead ? " 
 
 " Juba," quoth Mr. Lee, while dressing himself, 
 "Juba, how old am I?" 
 
 " Massa fifty-eight, last grass." 
 
 " No such thing, sir, I m just fifty-five, not a day 
 older. How should you know any thing about 
 it?" 
 
 " Why, I only saw massa, de berry day he born 
 dat was ay, let me see, was twenty - second day 
 of" 
 
 " Hold your peace, sir ; you ve lost your memory, 
 as well as all the five senses, I believe." 
 
 " Well, well, no great matter if massa two, tree 
 year older or younger all de same a hundred years 
 hence." 
 
 10 
 
146 THE AZURE HOSE. 
 
 " But it is matter I tell you, sir. I m going to be 
 married." 
 
 " Married ! ", echoed Juba, his white eyes almost 
 starting out of his ebony head " married ! " He 
 saw at a glance such a resolution would be fatal to 
 his supremacy. 
 
 " Ay, married ; is there any thing so extraordinary 
 in that?" 
 
 " But what Miss Lucy say to dat, massa ? " 
 
 " I mean to disinherit her." 
 
 Juba s eyes opened wider than ever, and he thought 
 to himself the debil was in his massa. 
 
 " What young massa Highfield say to dat ? " 
 
 " I don t care what he says ; I mean to disinherit 
 him, too." 
 
 "Whew whew!" was the reply of old Ebony. 
 " Massa tell me what lady he hab in he eye ? " 
 
 " Miss Appleby." 
 
 " Miss Applepie too young for old massa." 
 
 Juba had been long accustomed to call Mr. Lee 
 " old massa," without giving offence, but now the 
 phrase was taken in high dudgeon. 
 
 " Old master ! you blockhead, who gave you the 
 liberty of calling me old ? I m only fifty-five, and Miss 
 Appleby is twenty-four ; the difference is not great." 
 
 " Yes ; but when Miss Applepie fifty-five, where 
 old massa be den?" quoth Juba. 
 
 This was a home question. Mr. Lee dismissed 
 Juba, and sat down to calculate where he should be 
 when Miss Appleby attained to the age of fifty-five. 
 The result was altogether unsatisfactory. He again 
 rung for Juba, and directed him to put up his best 
 suit again. 
 
THE AZURE HOSE. 147 
 
 " I have put off my visit till to-morrow." 
 " Massa better put him off till doomday," quoth 
 Juba to himself; and so massa did. 
 
 CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 OUR HERO DETERMINES ON A VOYAGE. 
 
 THERE never was a man, or woman either, that 
 found such difficulty in keeping silence on what was 
 uppermost in the heart, as Mr. Lee, or who had more 
 ingenious ways of giving side hits, and uttering 
 wicked innuendoes. He never on any occasion missed 
 an opportunity of launching out against addle-pated 
 rhymesters, boys that thought themselves wiser than 
 their betters, and girls who talked sentiment and for 
 got their duty. If Goshawk uttered a word of azure, 
 he cried " Pish ! " ; if Lucia talked sentiment, he ejacu 
 lated some other epithet of mortal contempt ; and if 
 Highfield said any thing about honour or indepen 
 dence, he called him a puppy. 
 
 In the mean time matters were growing worse and 
 worse every day. Goshawk ventured to hint pretty 
 distinctly the nature and object of his mysterious sor 
 rows ; Lucia treated her cousin with increasing cool 
 ness ; and Highfield looked paler and paler. Unable 
 to bear his situation any longer, he one morning it 
 was the day after Lucia had given the watch-chain 
 she had promised him, to Goshawk, before his very 
 eyes he one morning took the opportunity of being 
 left alone with his uncle, to announce to him, that. 
 
148 THE AZURE HOSE. 
 
 being now sufficiently recovered from his indisposition, 
 it was his intention to visit his relatives in the South, 
 and spend some time with them. " Perhaps, indeed, I 
 mav not return at all," said he. 
 
 Mr. Lee was struck dumb for a moment ; but 
 whenever this happens to people, it is pretty certain 
 they will make themselves ample amends for their 
 silence, as soon after as possible. 
 
 " Not come back at all ! ", at length roared the old 
 gentleman ; " did you say that, boy ? " 
 
 " I did, sir," said Highfield, firmly ; " my situation 
 here is becoming intolerable. I am harassed with 
 anxieties, depressed by a sense of degrading depend 
 ence, and cut to the soul by perceiving every day new 
 reasons to believe my cousin knows and despises my 
 presumption." 
 
 " May I speak ? " cried Mr. Lee, gasping for breath. 
 
 " Hear me out first, my dear and honoured sir," said 
 the other. " When you first proposed this union to 
 me, I considered the subject deeply. I reflected that 
 though poor and dependent on your bounty, still, next 
 to your daughter, I was your nearest relative ; my 
 cousin was rich enough to make it immaterial that I 
 was poor; she was lovely, amiable, and intelligent 
 such a being as, when held up to the hopes and wishes 
 of youth, could not but prove irresistible. I therefore 
 consented to try my chance for this glorious prize by 
 every means becoming a man of spirit and honour 
 placed in such a delicate situation. You see the re 
 sult, sir. Lucia not only feels indifferent to me, but 
 there is every appearance that she prefers another. I 
 am too poor and too proud to persecute or see her per 
 secuted ; and, let me add, too much attached to my 
 
THE AZURE HOSE. 149 
 
 cousin to remain and see her united to another man. 
 It is therefore my settled determination to leave you 
 the day after to-morrow. My passage is taken." 
 
 Mr. Lee was struck dumb again ; but the fit did 
 not last long. 
 
 " May I speak now do you release me from my 
 promise ? " cried he, his eyes starting almost out of his 
 head. 
 
 " As respects myself, sir, say what you will ; but, for 
 my cousin, I claim your promise that she shall suffer 
 no persecution on my account." 
 
 " And so, sir, I must not speak to my own child ? " 
 
 "I claim your promise, sir. Let her remain for 
 ever ignorant of my motives for leaving you." 
 
 " Charles," said the old man, taking his hand with 
 tears in his eyes, " are you determined to abandon me 
 in my old age ? " 
 
 " My dear uncle, my benefactor, any thing but this ! 
 I cannot stay to be murdered by inches, and stand in 
 the way of my cousin s happiness. I must go. But 
 wherever I do go, whatever my lot may be, my last 
 breath of life will be all gratitude for your past kind 
 ness. I wish it were otherwise ; but, for some time at 
 least, we must part." 
 
 " Charles ! Charles ! my boy ! " cried the warm 
 hearted old man, as he put his arms about his neck 
 and wept on his shoulder. At this moment Lucia 
 entered, and inquired anxiously what was the matter. 
 
 " The matter ! you, you are the matter," exclaimed 
 Mr. Lee, in a fury. 
 
 " Recollect your word of honour, sir," whispered 
 Highfield to his uncle, as he left the room. The old 
 gentleman cast a most terrible look at his daughter, 
 
150 THE AZURE HOSE. 
 
 and followed. But Lucia remained, musing for some 
 time on the scene that had just passed ; and it was 
 not till she learned that Highfield was on the point of 
 leaving home for a long while, that her perplexity be 
 came absorbed in another and more powerful feeling. 
 
 CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 HIGHFIELD ENTERS ON A VOYAGE. 
 
 JUBA was assisting his young master, or rather de 
 laying him, in packing up his things, for the old man 
 made a sad business of it ; Lucia was in her cham 
 ber, netting a purse as fast as her eyes would let her; 
 and Mr. Lee was in his library, writing with all his 
 might. 
 
 "Ah, Massa Highfield!", said Juba at length, 
 "what Miss Lucia say when you go away?" 
 
 " Miss Lucia say ! " quoth the other, somewhat sur 
 prised, " why, nothing." 
 
 "Ah, Massa Highfield!, if you only know what I 
 know, icod ! massa wouldn t stir a peg, I reckon." 
 
 " What are you talking about, Juba, and what are 
 you doing? You ve put my old boots up with my 
 clean cravats." 
 
 " Ah, massa !, I know what I say, but I don t know 
 what I do now, much ; but, if Massa Highfield only 
 know what I do dat s all." 
 
 " Well, what do you know, Juba ? " said Highfield, 
 hardly knowing what he was saying at the moment. 
 
THE AZURE HOSE. 151 
 
 " I know Miss Lucia break her heart when you 
 gone." 
 
 " Pooh ! Miss Lucia don t care whether I go or 
 stay." 
 
 " Ah, Massa Highfield !, if you only see her set by 
 your bedside when you light-headed, and cry so, and 
 say prayers, and wipe your forehead, and kiss it " 
 
 " What what are you talking about, you old 
 fool?" cried Highfield, almost gasping for breath. 
 " If you say another word, I ll turn you out of the 
 room." 
 
 " Ah, Juba always old fool no young fools now 
 adays ; all true dough, by jingo, I swear. I seed her 
 wid my own eyes dat s all." And he went on with 
 his packing, slower than ever, while Highfield sunk 
 into a deep reverie, the subject of which the reader 
 must know little of his own heart if he requires me 
 to unfold. 
 
 The next morning was the last they were to spend 
 together, and the little party met at breakfast. Lucia 
 at first had determined to have a headache, and stay 
 in her room ; but her conscious heart whispered her 
 this might excite a suspicion that she could not 
 bear the parting with her cousin. Accordingly she 
 summoned all the allies of woman to her assist 
 ance. She called up maidenly pride, and womanly 
 deceit, and love s hypocrisy, to her aid, and they 
 obeyed the summons. She entered the breakfast- 
 room with a pale face, but with a self-possession 
 which I have never since reflected upon without won 
 der. Little was said, and less eaten, by the party. A 
 summons arrived for Highfield s baggage, and a mes 
 sage for him to be on board in half an hour. Mr. 
 
152 THE AZURE HOSE. 
 
 Lee rose, and taking from his pocket a paper, gave it 
 to Highfield with a request not to look at it till he 
 was outside the Hook. Highfield suspected its pur 
 port, and replied : 
 
 " Excuse me, dear uncle, this once ; " and he opened 
 the paper, which was nothing less than the deed of a 
 fine estate Mr. Lee held in one of the Southern states. 
 
 " I cannot accept this, sir," said the young man. 
 " I cannot consent to rob my cousin of what is hers by 
 nature and the laws." And his voice became choked 
 with emotion. 
 
 " I insist," said the old man ; " it is all I can give 
 you now. Once I thought to give you all." 
 
 " And I too," said Lucia, but she could get no 
 further. 
 
 " I declare, on my soul," said Highfield, " I will 
 not, I cannot, accept it, uncle. You at least know 
 my feelings and can comprehend my reasons, though 
 others may not. I had rather starve, than rob my 
 cousin, and her I have nothing to give either of 
 you in return." He pulled out his watch. " I must 
 go now," said he; and his voice sunk into nothing. 
 Lucia had been fumbling, with a tremulous hand, in 
 her work-bag. 
 
 " My cousin is determined, I see," said she, rallying 
 herself, " not to accept any favours from us ; but 
 but I hope he will not refuse this purse, empty as it is. 
 I have been a long while in keeping my promise ; but, 
 better late, they say, than never." And she burst into 
 a torrent of uncontrollable emotion. Highfield took 
 the purse, and put it in his bosom. 
 
 " And now, my dear uncle, fareweh! may God 
 bless you!" 
 
THE AZURE HOSE. 153 
 
 " Stop ! one moment," cried Mr. Lee, earnestly, 
 and looking at Lucia, who was weeping in her chair. 
 
 " Lucia," said he solemnly, " my nephew loves you, 
 arid is going from us that he may not see you throw 
 yourself away on a puppy with a heart as hollow as 
 his head." 
 
 " Uncle ! " said Highfield. 
 
 " Nay, sir, I will speak ; the truth shall out, though 
 I travel barefoot to Rome for absolution. Yes, daugh 
 ter, my nephew loves you, and with my entire and 
 perfect approbation. And now, madam, I am going 
 to ask you some questions, which I trust at this part 
 ing hour you will answer, not as a foolish, frivolous, 
 girl, who thinks it proper to play the hypocrite with 
 her father, but as a reasonable woman and an obedi 
 ent child. Will you promise ? The happiness of 
 more than one depends on your reply." 
 
 Lucia uncovered her face, and, having mastered her 
 emotions, firmly replied, 
 
 " I will, father." 
 
 " Have you given your affections to Mr. Gos 
 hawk ? " 
 
 " I have not, sir." 
 
 " Do you mean to bestow them on him ? " 
 
 " Never, sir." 
 
 " Are your affections engaged elsewhere ? " 
 
 Lucia answered not ; she could not speak, for her 
 life. 
 
 " Yes, yes, I see how it is," said Mr. Lee ; " you are 
 deceiving your father again. You have given away 
 your heart to some whiskered puppy you waltzed 
 with at a fancy-ball, who can write a string of dis 
 jointed nonsense about nothing in jingling rhyme, or 
 
154 THE AZURE HOSE. 
 
 criticise a book according to the latest Edinburgh or 
 Quarterly ; and yet look at me, Lucia, and answer 
 me too did you not while your cousin was delirious 
 visit his bedside ? " 
 
 " I did, sir." 
 
 " And weep and wring your hands; and watch his 
 slumbers ; and minister to his comforts ; and did I 
 not once, when I came into the room suddenly, detect 
 you hovering over him and kissing his forehead ? 
 Answer me, as you hope for my forgiveness and 
 Heaven s for playing the hypocrite at the price of 
 others health and hopes is it not so ? " 
 
 " It is, sir," said the daughter, faintly ; and, sinking 
 back on her chair, she again covered her face with 
 her hands. 
 
 " What am I to understand from all that I saw? " 
 
 " For Heaven s sake, sir ; for my sake ; for the sake 
 of your daughter ; stop ! " cried Highfield, whose feel 
 ings on this occasion we will not attempt to describe. 
 
 " Silence ! " cried the old man ; " too much has been 
 risked, too much is at stake, and too much may be 
 sacrificed by stopping short at this moment. Answer 
 me, daughter of my soul," added he, kindly yet 
 solemnly. 
 
 " You are to understand, sir, from all this, that 
 that, though I would not shut my heart to to grati 
 tude, I was too proud to force it on one who did not 
 value it when himself. He could not insult me with 
 indifference when unconscious of my presence." 
 
 " Oh Lucia, how unjust you have been to me 
 You knew not my feelings, when I seemed most in 
 different." 
 
 " There were two of us in the like error," replied 
 she, with a heavy sigh. 
 
THE AZURE HOSE. 155 
 
 " The pride of conscious dependence " said High- 
 field. 
 
 " The pride of woman " said Lucia. 
 
 " I loved you from the moment I felt the first im 
 pulses of manhood. Oh Lucia, my dear cousin, 
 daughter of my benefactor, companion of my child 
 hood, will you, can you fulfil his wishes, and my 
 hopes, without forfeiting your own happiness ? Do 
 you not despise my poverty and presumption ? Do you 
 not hate me for being a party, at least in appearance, 
 in thus severely probing your feelings ? Ah ! had I 
 known of your kindness and attentions when I was 
 not myself, I should not when myself have forgot the 
 deep, heart-piercing obligation ; I should have been 
 grateful " 
 
 Mr. Lee could not bear the word. " Grateful ! 
 pooh, nonsense. The lady is grateful for past favours, 
 and the gentleman is grateful for past sympathy. 
 Look ye, most grateful lady, and most grateful gen 
 tleman, I have not quite so many years to live and 
 make a fool of myself in as you have, perhaps. Now, 
 Lucia, will you take your old father s word, when he 
 tells you, solemnly, that Charles has loved you ever 
 since he came from college ? " 
 
 " Long before, sir ! " cried Highfield, warmly. 
 
 " Hold your tongue, sir, if you please Lucia, an 
 swer for yourself." 
 
 " I will believe any thing my father says, even were 
 it ten times more improbable," replied she, with one 
 of her long-absent smiles. 
 
 " And how think you he ought to be rewarded ? " 
 
 " My gratitude will " 
 
 " Now, Lucia, you are at your old tricks again ; I 
 
156 THE AZURE HOSE. 
 
 tell you I won*t hear a word about that infernal grati 
 tude." 
 
 " What shall I say, sir ? " 
 
 " Say what your heart prompts, and do what never 
 mortal woman did before speak the truth, even 
 though it make your old father happy." 
 
 " Lucia ? " said Charles. 
 
 " Daughter ? " said Mr. Lee. 
 
 " Charles " said Lucia, and gave him her hand 
 " You shall know my feelings when it will be my 
 duty to disguise nothing from you." 
 
 Highfield lost his passage ; the ship sailed without 
 him, taking with her all his wardrobe. 
 
 Goshawk called that morning as early as fashiona 
 ble hours would permit, to take the first opportunity 
 of enforcing his attractions on Lucia, in Highfield s 
 absence. 
 
 " She no see any body," said Juba. 
 
 Mr. Goshawk said he had particular business. Juba 
 demurred 
 
 " She busy wid young Massa Highfield." 
 
 " What, is not Mr. Highfield gone ? " 
 
 " No, sir, he going anoder voyage soon." 
 
 " Not gone ! why, what prevented him ? " 
 
 Juba grinned mortally. " Miss Lucia prevent him. 
 Icod, Massa Goosehawk bill out of joint, I reckon," 
 quoth Ebony, half aside. 
 
 Goshawk soon got to the bottom of the matter, 
 which he forthwith communicated to the azure coterie 
 at Miss Appleby s, each of whom made a famous 
 speech on the occasion, and voted Lucia a Goth. 
 
 " To fall in love with a man of no genius!", cried 
 Miss Overend. 
 
THE AZURE HOSE. 157 
 
 " Who can t write a line of poetry ! ", cried Miss 
 Appleby. 
 
 " Who hates argument ! ", cried the great Pud- 
 dingham. 
 
 " Who places actions before words ! ", cried Pad- 
 dleford. 
 
 " Who never made a set speech in his life ! ", cried 
 Prosser. 
 
 " Who hates passion " 
 
 " Despises criticism " 
 
 " And never reads a review " cried they all to 
 gether. 
 
 Every member of the azure tribe, to whom Gos 
 hawk s despairing passion had been long known, took 
 it for granted that, having so excellent an apology, he 
 would now certainly die of despair, or suddenly make 
 away with himself, after writing his own elegy. He 
 did neither; but he became, if possible, ten times 
 more miserable than ever. He railed at this \vorld, 
 and the things of this world ; he tied a black ribbon 
 round his neck, drank gin and water, and ate fish 
 every day. One minute he talked of joining the 
 Greeks, and the next the Cherokees ; sometimes he 
 sighed away his very soul in wishes for speedy anni 
 hilation, and then he sighed away his soul again in 
 pining for the delights of Italy, lamenting that he was 
 not rich enough to go thither, occupy a palace, and 
 hire a nobleman s wife to come and be his house 
 keeper, like my Lord Byron. Man delighted not him, 
 nor woman neither ; he sucked melancholy, as the bee 
 sucks honey, out of every flower; the sunshine sad 
 dened him, the clouds made him gloomy, and the light 
 of the moon threw him into paroxysms of despair. 
 
158 THE AZURE HOSE. 
 
 Finally he announced his determination to retire from 
 this busy, noisy, heartless, naughty, good-for-nothing 
 world, and spend the remainder of a life of disap 
 pointment and misery in the great mammoth cave of 
 Kentucky. But, what was very remarkable and shows 
 the strange inconsistency of genius, there was no 
 public place, no party, no exhibition of any kind, at 
 which this unhappy gentleman did not make his ap 
 pearance, notwithstanding his contempt of the world 
 and its empty pleasures. 
 
 In process of time, there was a great dispersion 
 from the tower of Babel at Miss Appleby s. That 
 azure and sublime lady descended at last, as she said, 
 " to link her fate, chain down her destiny, and tram 
 mel her genius," with an honest grocer from Coenties 
 Slip, who, not being able to speak English himself, 
 had a great veneration for high and lofty declamation. 
 Miss Overend grew weary of the Executive Greek 
 Committee, and paired off with a little broker, who 
 had got rich by speculating in the bills of broken 
 banks, and drank Champagne instead of small-beer 
 at dinner. Paddleford married an heiress from some 
 where near the Five Points ; and the great Pudding- 
 ham became a member of the city corporation, where 
 he served on divers important committees, drew up 
 sundry laws that puzzled wiser men than himself to 
 expound, and became a sore persecutor of mad dogs 
 and wallowing swine, insomuch that, if a cur in his 
 sober senses, or a pig of ordinary discretion, saw him 
 coming afar off, he would incontinently flee away 
 like unto the wind. He became, moreover, a great 
 philanthropist, and it was observed that he never, in 
 the capacity of assistant-justice at the Quarter-Ses- 
 
THE AZURE HOSE. 159 
 
 sions, pronounced sentence on an offender, without 
 first making him a low bow and begging his pardon 
 for the liberty he was about to take. 
 
 Poor Mr. Goshawk, being thus as it were left alone, 
 1o play the haggard hermit azure-wise, continued to 
 nourish his despair at all public places. He was a 
 constant attendant at the Italian opera, where he 
 kept himself awake by nodding and bobbing his ad 
 miration ; beating time with his chin upon his little 
 ivory-headed switch, and now and then crying 
 " Bravo ! " to the signorina. Every body said, what 
 an enthusiast was Mr. Goshawk, and what a soul he 
 had for music, until one night he mistook Yankee 
 Doodle for " Di Tanti," which ruined his reputation 
 for ever, as a connoisseur. By slow, imperceptible, 
 yet inevitable degrees, he at length sunk to his proper 
 level ; for the most stupid at last will become tired of 
 affectation, and the most ignorant detect their kindred 
 ignorance. His loud, pompous nothings ; his affected 
 contempt of the world, and distaste for life ; his dis 
 jointed, silly, and unpurposed poetical effusions ; and 
 his mysterious sorrows ; all combined, failed in the 
 end to sustain his claim to genius. The admiration 
 of his associates dwindled into indifference, and even 
 the young ladies tittered at his approach. He tried 
 the pretender s last stake the society of strangers. 
 He went to the Springs, where it was his good for 
 tune to encounter the sentimental widow of a rich 
 lumber-merchant, from the neighbourhood of the 
 great Dismal Swamp. She was simplicity itself; she 
 adored poetry, idolized genius, and the routine of her 
 reading had prepared her to mistake high-sounding 
 words for lofty ideas, and namby-pamby twaddle for 
 
160 THE AZURE HOSE. 
 
 genuine feeling. Goshawk thundered away at the 
 innocent widow, and soon melted her heart, by de 
 claiming about the emptiness of this world and the 
 heartlessness of mankind. The poor lady came to 
 think it the greatest condescension possible, for him 
 to select her from this mighty mass of worthlessness. 
 Finally, he declared his enthusiastic love. 
 
 " La ! Mr. Goshawk," said the widow, " I thought 
 you despised the world, and the people in it." 
 
 " Divine widow," cried the poet, " you belong to 
 another world, and a higher order of beings." 
 
 Goshawk is now the happy husband of the widow, 
 and lords it over a wide tract of the Great Dismal. 
 He orders his gentlemen of colour to cut down pine 
 trees, in the style of Cicero declaiming against 
 Verres ; reads Lord Byron under the shade of a bark- 
 hut; and makes poetry extempore, while riding to 
 church over a log causeway in a one-horse wagon 
 with wooden springs. The widow has already dis 
 covered that her husband is no witch, for nothing 
 makes people more clear-sighted than marriage ; and 
 the man of genius has found out that his lady has a 
 will of her own. 
 
 Our heroine remains the happy, rational, lovely 
 wife of Highfield, and talks just like other well-bred 
 sensible people. She prefers Milton to Byron, and 
 the Vicar of Wakefield to an entire new Waverley. 
 She admires her husband, though he can t write poe 
 try ; and is a sincere convert to the opinion, that high 
 moral^principles, gentlemanly manners, an amiable 
 disposition, a well-constituted intellect, and the tal 
 ents to be useful in society, are ingredients in the 
 character of a husband, a thousand times more im- 
 
THE AZURE HOSE. 161 
 
 portant than affected sensibility, or the capacity to 
 disguise empty nothings in bombastic words and jin 
 gling rhymes. 
 
 My worthy friend, Mr. Lightfoot Lee, is so happy, 
 that he begins seriously to doubt whether the world 
 is really going forward or backward. There is reason 
 to apprehend that he and Mr. Fairweather will soon 
 agree on this great question, and then there will cer 
 tainly be an end to their long friendship. 
 
 " Ah massa," said King Juba one day to Mr. Lee, 
 who was apt to boast of his excellent management in 
 bringing about this happy state of things " Ah 
 massa, icod, if I no tell massa Highfield about dem 
 dare visit to he bedside when he light-headed, he no 
 marry Miss Lucia arter all." 
 
 " Pooh, you old blockhead, don t you know mar 
 riages are made in heaven ? " 
 
 " May be so, massa, but old nigger hab something 
 to do wid um for all dat guy ! " 
 
 " Get away, you stupid old ninny!" 
 
 " Massa wouldn t dare call me ninny, if I was a 
 white man," quoth Juba, as he strutted away with 
 the air of a descendant of a hundred ebony kings. 
 
 11 
 
THE DUMB GIRL. 
 
THE DUMB GIRL. 
 
 Speak thou fair words, I ll answer with my eyes ; 
 
 Send thou sweet looks, I ll meet them with sweet looks; 
 
 Tell me thy sorrows, I ll reply with tears; 
 
 Thy joys, I ll sympathize with dallying smiles; 
 
 Thy love, and still I ll answer with mine eyes, 
 
 Using my lips only to kiss thee, love. 
 
 SOME thirty years ago, on a little corner of a farm 
 belonging to an uncle of mine, lived an aged man of 
 the name of Angevine, an " old continental," as he 
 was called in the language of the times. He had left 
 the neighbourhood to enter the army of the Revolu 
 tion, and, after serving throughout the whole war, 
 (and bravely too, if his own word might be taken for 
 it), had returned, very poor. Accordingly, he was per 
 mitted by my uncle to occupy a small tenement with 
 a garden, in a remote angle of his estate, rent free. 
 Angevine was a gallant soldier, but rather an idle 
 man. His delight was to talk of the Revolutionary 
 war ; and who has a better right to talk, than a 
 man who has lent a hand in giving liberty to his 
 country? I have known Angevine stop on his way 
 to mill, with a bushel of corn on his shoulder, and 
 talk a full hour about his campaigns, without ever 
 
166 THE DUMB GIRL. 
 
 thinking of putting down his bag. What was his 
 origin I know not ; it was probably French : but I re 
 member, whenever he got offended with my good un 
 cle, (who in truth was of the family of Melchisidec), 
 he used to be somewhat scurrilous on the subject of 
 ancestry. He held it as a maxim, that a soldier was 
 always a gentleman ; and his conduct verified his 
 maxim, for he never worked when he could help it, 
 and passed most of his time in telling stories of skir 
 mish, or battle, or quarters. His revenue was his 
 good spirits, which generally made him a welcome 
 intruder in all the neighbouring houses ; and when 
 they failed in that, served to reconcile him to his dis 
 appointment. I believe he was never serious except 
 when he read his Bible, which he did every day. He 
 would walk fifteen miles to a training, for fun ; got 
 his head frequently broken, in fun ; was run over by 
 a wagon, in fun ; was pitched down a high bank, in 
 wrestling, for fun ; had his hip put out of joint, and 
 once was put into jail all in fun. In short, it was 
 said of him that he talked more and worked less than 
 any man in the county ; his aphorism being, that 
 all the good people worked for him and that it ran 
 against his conscience to work for the wicked. He 
 died, as he lived, in fun; giving his pipe to one, 
 his tobacco-box to another, his odd knee-buckles to 
 a third; and bequeathing his Testament, which he 
 knew by heart, to my uncle, in payment of his rent. 
 He was a libel on all who possess the means of being 
 happy, yet are wretched ; for he enjoyed more pleas 
 ure, and created more mirth, than any man I ever 
 knew, at the very time that, in the opinion of all re 
 flecting persons, he ought to have been miserable. 
 
THE DUMB GIRL. 167 
 
 In truth he had enough to make him so, besides pov 
 erty. He had but two children, a girl and a boy ; the 
 former was dumb, and the latter an idiot. 
 
 At the time of the old man s death, Ellee, as he was 
 called it was a contraction of some name I have 
 forgotten was about fourteen, his sister Phoebe, 
 about sixteen years of age. The poor boy had a 
 heart, though he had no head. His affections were 
 singularly strong; his reason but a little beyond in 
 stinct. He loved his mother because she fed and 
 clothed him ; he loved his sister, for she was his com 
 panion, his guide, his protector, his solace ; and he 
 seemed to have a perception that she laboured under 
 some privation which resembled his own, yet was not 
 exactly the same. In all cases of danger, suffering, 
 insult, or injury, he flew to his sister for refuge, and 
 she in time became a young lioness in his defence. 
 The boy was quite tractable, and could be made use 
 ful in many little things, such as bringing water, go 
 ing of errands to the neighbours, (who understood his 
 dumb show), and weeding the garden ; until, one day, 
 whether in mischief, or from not knowing better, he 
 plucked up a bed of radishes for weeds. He had a 
 singular, wild note, which he sometimes uttered when 
 in violent agitation, and which was not unlike the 
 low, distant whoop of the owl, though somewhat 
 more plaintive. His chief delight was to go every 
 where with his sister. 
 
 Phoebe was not born dumb, but lost her speech 
 about the age of fourteen, as was supposed at the 
 time by a shock of lightning, which paralyzed the or 
 gans of utterance without affecting her hearing. Be 
 fore this happened she had learned to read and write, 
 
168 THE DUMB GIRL. 
 
 and her mind had been considerably improved at a 
 school hard by, whither old Angevine had sent her at 
 his own cost, as he boasted ; though truth obliges me 
 to confess he never paid a shilling for her schooling. 
 At the same time, he scouted the offers which were 
 made to bring up his children at the expense of the 
 town. When Phoebe was smitten in this unaccount 
 able and melancholy way, it was affecting to see her 
 impatience at first, her succeeding despair, and the 
 steps through which by degrees she regained her 
 spirits and resumed her useful occupations. Ellee 
 for a little while exhibited indications of a vague, in 
 definite wonder and anxiety; but in a few days all 
 traces of these wore away, and he seemed uncon 
 scious that his sister had undergone any change. Her 
 mother, an honest, careful, industrious creature, took 
 it sadly to heart ; but, after a time, the only effect it 
 was observed to have upon the good woman was that 
 she talked twice as much as ever, I suppose to make 
 up for the silence of Phoebe. Angevine took to his 
 Bible for days and weeks afterwards. Indeed I be 
 lieve he never fairly regained his spirits, although the 
 force of habit and constitution still caused him to ex 
 hibit the usual indications of hilarity. He died about 
 two years after the accident. 
 
 At sixteen, Phoebe Angevine was the prettiest girl 
 in all the surrounding country, as well as the most in 
 dustrious. Indeed it was observed that. Ellee was 
 better dressed, the garden in finer order, and every 
 thing about the house more tidy and comfortable, 
 since the death of the " old continental." The over 
 seers of the poor offered to take charge of poor Ellee ; 
 but both mother and daughter declared that, so long 
 
THE DUMB GIRL. 169 
 
 as they could maintain him, he should never be a 
 burthen to others. This was before the poor were 
 coaxed to become paupers, and lured into idleness 
 and unthrift by the mistaken benevolence of morbid 
 sensibility. I thought it necessary to add this, in 
 order to render the anecdote credible. I don t re 
 member ever to have seen exactly such a face and 
 figure as those of Phoebe. Her hair was amazingly 
 long, luxuriant, and silky ; of a dark brown colour, to 
 match her eyes ; and, (what is very rare with our 
 country girls out of New England), her skin was ex 
 cessively white. Her face in particular was all li]y ; 
 there was not the slightest tinge of the rose, except 
 when the impulse of her heart drove the blood into 
 her cheeks. It is impossible to give any idea of her 
 features and expression ; the former were rather sharp 
 than oval, and the latter displayed the character and 
 impress of most intense passion, or sensibility, or both. 
 Never woman could better afford to lose her tongue, 
 for every change of her countenance supplied its 
 place. The two poles are not more distant than was 
 the contrast between the lowly, subdued, and dewy 
 eye, with which she courtesied to my good old uncle, 
 and the flashing intensity of its rage when any one 
 played tricks upon the simplicity of her brother, or 
 laughed at his infirmity. Her eyes then did the 
 errand of her tongue, and their language was terrible. 
 Every-body wondered how she always kept herself so 
 neat for she was neatness itself. It was partly 
 innate delicacy, and partly personal vanity. It was 
 impossible to see Phoebe, without discovering at once 
 that she knew she was handsome, and that this was 
 seldom absent from her thoughts. She never passed 
 
170 THE DUMB GIRL. 
 
 a looking-glass without casting a glance ; and, doubt 
 less, many are the crystal mirrors of the neighbour 
 hood that could murmur of her beauties, from the 
 frequent opportunities she afforded them for contem 
 plation. There was some excuse for her, since, inde 
 pendently of the singular charms of her face, her 
 person was very remarkable. It had no pretensions 
 to resembling that of a fashionable lady, for, in my 
 opinion, she never wore corsets in her life ; but it pos 
 sessed that singular trimness and natural grace which 
 the connoisseur will not fail to discover and admire in 
 an Indian warrior fresh from the hand of nature. It 
 was as mudh superior to the caricatures fabricated 
 by fashionable milliners, as the virgin Miranda was to 
 the monster Caliban. 
 
 Phoebe was fond of dress ; it was her foible, nay, 
 her fault; for it was the mischievous minister to a 
 vanity already become the master-passion of her 
 bosom. At church she was always the beauty, and 
 the best-dressed of all the country girls ; and he knows 
 little of a country church that does not know how 
 many hearts throb with envy, how many tongues 
 overflow with gall, when the owners are outdressed 
 and outshone by one they consider beneath them. 
 These sometimes rudely assailed her with sneers and 
 innuendoes. Phoebe could not answer, except with a 
 look that no eye that ever I have seen but hers could 
 give. The poor girl, indeed, was sadly envied and 
 hated by the young females of her acquaintance, not 
 only because she was handsomer and better-dressed 
 than they, but on account of her triumphs over the 
 rustic beaux, and the speaking, taunting glance of her 
 eye, when she carried off the school-master, or heard 
 
THE DUMB GIRL. 171 
 
 some stranger ask who was that neat, pretty girl. 
 Then her ear drank the delicious sounds, and almost 
 made amends for the loss of the power of answering 
 save with her eyes. Phoebe was indeed the belle of all 
 the neighbourhood a dangerous preeminence !, for 
 her poverty, her idiot brother, and her own misfortune, 
 were so many bars to any thing beyond the gratifica 
 tion of a passing hour. She had many admirers ; 
 but none that passed the usual bounds of rustic gal 
 lantry, none that sought her for a wife. All they did 
 was to administer to her perilous self-conceit, and 
 awaken thoughts and anticipations fatal to her future 
 peace of mind. 
 
 I went to school with Phoebe, during a period of 
 three or four years that I sojourned with my good 
 uncle. The school-master was a gallant old-bachelor, 
 whose house and barn had been burned by the enemy, 
 during the Revolutionary war. Having petitioned 
 Congress seventeen years in succession and cost the 
 nation in speeches ten times the amount of his loss, 
 he at last got out of patience and out of bread, and 
 turned to the useful as well as honourable office of 
 teaching the young idea how to shoot. He was a 
 lazy, easy-tempered man, grievously inclined to gal 
 lantry, and novels, in the purchase of which he spent 
 much of his superfluity. These he lent to the girls of 
 the country round, and scarcely ever visited one of 
 them without a love-tale in his pocket to make him 
 welcome. I cannot say whether these useful works 
 had any thing to do with the matter, but, certain it is, 
 there were a number of odd accidents happened to 
 the damsels of the neighbourhood about this time. 
 The prettiest girl in the school was ever the greatest 
 
172 THE DUMB GIRL. 
 
 favourite, and the prettiest girl was Phoebe, who al 
 ways had the first reading of his novels. I recollect 
 perfectly that such was her appetite for these high- 
 seasoned dishes, that she would read them in walking 
 home from school, and often came near being run 
 over in the road, so completely was she occupied with 
 the dangers of some lone lover or imprisoned heroine. 
 When she lost her speech, of course she quitted 
 school ; but the gallant teacher still continued to visit 
 her, and bring the newest novels. Poor Ellee used to 
 be sometimes out of all patience with his sister, for 
 sitting thus whole hours without taking notice of him, 
 and once threw a whole set of Pamela into the fire, 
 to the irreparable loss of the rising generation. 
 
 At the age of eighteen, Phoebe had many admirers 
 beside the school-master. Her beauty attracted the 
 young men ; but the misfortunes of herself and family 
 restrained them within the bounds of idle admiration 
 and homely gallantry : moreover, if this had not been 
 the case, Phoebe was too well read in novels to relish 
 the devoirs of these rustical and barbarous Corydons. 
 Thus she grew up to the perfection of womanhood, 
 her imagination inflated with unreal pictures, and her 
 passions stimulated by overwrought scenes of senti 
 ment, or sensuality for it is difficult to draw the 
 line now. 
 
 About this time, the only son of a neighbouring 
 squire whose wealth outwent the modest means of 
 all his neighbours not excepting my worthy uncle, and 
 was moreover enhanced by his official dignity re 
 turned home, like the prodigal son of holy-writ, poor 
 and penitent. He had in early youth been smitten 
 with the romantic dangers of the seas ; and, being re- 
 
THE DUMB GIRL. 173 
 
 strained in his inclinations by his parents, espe 
 cially his mother, ran away. He had been absent 
 six years without ever being heard of, and the dis 
 consolate parents long mourned him as dead. His 
 return was therefore hailed with tears of joy and 
 welcome : the father fell on his neck, and wept ; the 
 mother first scolded him for running away, and then 
 kissed him till he was ready to run away again. All 
 was joy, welcome, and curiosity ; and for several days 
 the prodigal had nothing to do but relate his adven 
 tures. He had been to the North- West Coast, to the 
 West Indies, and to the East; he had harpooned 
 whales in the Frozen Ocean, and caught seals in the 
 South Sea ; he had been shipwrecked on the coast of 
 Patagonia, where he saw giants eight feet high, and 
 stranded on the coast of Labrador, where he dined on 
 raw fish with pigmies of not more than three ; he had 
 gone overboard with a broken yard, and was taken 
 up ten days after, perfectly well, having lived all the 
 while on rope-yarns and canvas ; and he was carried 
 down to the bottom in six fathoms, by the anchor, 
 and could tell, better than the gentlemen who have 
 lately taken up the biographies of dead-men-come-to- 
 life, exactly how a man felt when he was drowned. 
 In short, he had seen the Peak of Teneriffe, Mount 
 ^Etna in an eruption, the Bay of Biscay in a storm, 
 and the sea-serpent off Nahant. Of all the heroes in 
 a country circle, the greatest is he who can tell the 
 most stories of wonders of his own creation. Accord 
 ingly, our hero, for such he is, was the lion of the 
 day, the wonder of the men, and the admiration of 
 the ladies, old and young. One day, after our Sind- 
 bad had been telling of the wonders he had seen and 
 
174 THE DUMB GIRL. 
 
 the perils he had encountered, the old squire suddenly 
 asked, 
 
 " But have you brought home any money, Wal 
 ter ? " 
 
 " Not a cent, sir." 
 
 " Hum ! " quoth the squire. 
 
 The first Sunday after his arrival, our hero went to 
 church, whither the fame of his adventures had al 
 ready preceded him. Every body looked at him dur 
 ing the whole sermon. The old people observed how 
 much he had grown since he was a boy ; the young 
 ladies thought him very handsome ; and the young fel 
 lows envied him, to a man. Walter in his turn looked 
 about, with the air of a man unconscious of the no 
 tice he excited ; and after making the circuit of the 
 church with his eyes, at length rested them in evident 
 admiration on Phoebe Angevine, who was that day 
 dressed in her best style and looked as neat as a new 
 pin. Phoebe blushed up to the brow, and her proud 
 heart swelled in her bosom. She continued to steal 
 occasional looks at him, and always found his eyes 
 fixed upon her, not insolently, but with an air of en 
 treaty to be forgiven the liberty they were taking. 
 Poor Ellee had come that day to church with her, 
 and, for the first time perhaps in her life, she felt 
 ashamed of him and wished him away, although he 
 always behaved himself better than some people who 
 think themselves very wise. 
 
 It was the custom of the country at the time I 
 speak of, (and I believe is so still), for the congregation 
 to remain between the two services, most of them 
 living too far off to go home and return in time for 
 the second one. This interval is usually spent, by the 
 
THE DUMB GIRL. 175 
 
 good pastor, in making kind inquiries about the health 
 and prosperity of the people ; by the old men, in talk 
 ing of their crops and their prospects ; by the old gos 
 sips, in talking scandal ; and by the young folks, in 
 strolling about under the trees, or rambling through the 
 church-yard, reading the epitaphs, and looking unut 
 terable things. It is here, amid the records and me 
 morials of mortality, the suggestions of religion, and 
 the mouldering remains of the departed,, that human 
 passions, even among the best of us, still will exercise 
 their irrepressible influence. Vanity contemplates her 
 Sunday suit with glances of lively admiration ; Love 
 nourishes his idle dreams ; Revenge studies modes of 
 gratification ; and Avarice plans schemes requiring 
 years to realize; ay, in the midst of a thousand 
 breathless whispers, that remind men of the woful un 
 certainty of life ; that say to the aged, Your time is 
 but a span; and to the young children, There are 
 shorter graves than yours in the church-yard, and 
 smaller skulls in Golgotha. 
 
 During the time given up by the simple folks to 
 this varied chat and amusement, Phoebe was strolling 
 about among the rest, with the gallant school-master, 
 and Ellee, of whom she felt more ashamed every mo 
 ment; for she could not help observing (that is, she 
 could not help every now and then casting a sly 
 glance at) our hero, and seeing that he was always 
 following her with his eyes. She wished poor Ellee 
 at home, and the school-master in his school, teaching 
 A, B, C. 
 
 " Well, what do you think of young Mr. Avery ? " 
 asked the school-master ; " I don t admire him much, 
 for my part." 
 
176 THE DUMB GIRL. 
 
 Phoebe, ail-suddenly the rose, nodded assent, with 
 that instinctive spirit of deception which marks the 
 beginning, middle, and end no, not the end of 
 love in the female bosom. There is not a greater 
 hypocrite in the world than a young and bashful girl, 
 learning the first rudiments of affection. 
 
 " Who is that beautiful girl, in the white muslin 
 gown ? " asked our hero of a covey of rural belles, 
 with whom he had become acquainted ; " she seems 
 very bashful, for I have not seen her open her 
 mouth." 
 
 The damsels began to giggle, and titter, and ex 
 change significant looks, which induced Walter to 
 ask an explanation. 
 
 " She s dumb," at length said one, with another 
 suppressed giggle, in which the others joined. They 
 were by no means ill-natured girls, but I know not 
 how it was, they did not like the curiosity of our 
 hero. Women can t bear curiosity in others, except 
 it relates to their own particular affairs. 
 
 "Dumb!", said Walter; "poor girl." Dumb, 
 thought he, a few minutes afterwards ; so much the 
 better. And, sinking into a reverie, he asked no more 
 questions. 
 
 The good Mrs. Angevine stayed from church that 
 Sabbath, on account of a rheumatism. When Phoebe 
 came home, she asked her, according to custom, where 
 the text was, bidding her seek it out in the Bible. 
 Phoebe shook her head, and looked confused. 
 
 " What! you ve forgot, you naughty girl ? " 
 
 Phoebe nodded. 
 
 " I dare say you were asleep," said the mother. 
 
 Phoebe shook her head. 
 
THE DUMB GIRL. 177 
 
 " Then I dare say you were gaping at the young 
 fellows," said the mother, angrily. 
 
 Phoebe shook her head more emphatically, and with 
 a look of indignation. There was too much truth in 
 this last supposition. 
 
 " Well, well," quoth the mother, " I m sure some 
 thing is going to happen, for you never forgot the text 
 before." 
 
 Dreams, clouds, gypsies, and ghosts, are all pro 
 phetic nowadays, at least in fashionable novels ; and 
 why may not this remark of the good woman have 
 been prophetic too ? Certain it is, that something did 
 happen before long. 
 
 It was too or three days after this memorable pre 
 diction, that young Walter Avery, being out shoot 
 ing, and finding himself thirsty, stopped at the house 
 of the widow Angevine for a drink of water. The 
 good dame asked him in to rest himself, which invi 
 tation he accepted, and staid almost an hour, during 
 which time he talked to the mother, and looked at the 
 daughter. In going away, he shook poor Ellee by 
 the hand, as an excuse for doing the same to Phoebe, 
 which he did with a certain lingering, gentle, yet em 
 phatic pressure, that made her blood come and go on 
 errands from her heart to her face. Phoebe thought of 
 this gentle pressure with throbbing pulses, and poor 
 Ellee was as proud as a peacock, at shaking hands 
 with such a smart young gentleman. 
 
 From this time forth no one ever came to the house 
 without being obliged to shake hands with him half 
 a dozen times. With that strange sagacity and 
 quickness of observation which frequently accom 
 pany the absence of reason, he had marked the ex- 
 
 12 
 
178 THE DUMB GIRL. 
 
 pression of Phoebe s face when Walter Avery looked 
 at her and took her hand; and he made her blush 
 often afterwards by a grotesque imitation of his man 
 ner. " Stop in again when you come this way," cried 
 the old dame, highly pleased with Walter s particular 
 notice of every thing she said. Walter was highly 
 flattered, and assured her he would come that way 
 often. At parting, he gave Phoebe a look that kept 
 her awake half that night. 
 
 " Didn t I say something was going to happen, last 
 Sunday, when you forgot the text ? " said Mrs. Ange- 
 vine. Phoebe was watching to see whether Walter 
 would turn to look back as he wound round an angle 
 of the road, and took no notice of what the good 
 woman said ; so she continued talking on to herself, 
 for want of somebody else to listen. 
 
 " Something has happened," thought Phoebe, with a 
 sigh, as Walter, in turning the angle, kissed his hand 
 to her, and disappeared. The rest of the day she was 
 so idle that her mother scolded her roundly. The in 
 ertness of new-born passion was gradually crawling 
 over her, and she more than ever regretted the des 
 truction of Pamela by the sacrilegious hand of Ellee. 
 
 From this time Walter was out every day, shoot 
 ing, and, (what the old woman thought rather singu 
 lar), he always grew thirsty about the time of passing 
 her door. " It is worth while to go a mile out of the 
 way to get a drink of such water," would he say, 
 though it tasted a little of iron, and was not the cool 
 est in the world. While the mother was attending to 
 household affairs, Walter talked to Phoebe, and she 
 answered him with her eyes. But as there are cer 
 tain little promises and engagements, requiring more 
 
THE DUMB GIRL. 179 
 
 specific replies than even the brightest eyes can give, 
 he one day made her a present of a silver pencil and 
 a pocket-book, in which she sometimes made her re 
 sponses in writing. 
 
 Many opportunities occurred for nourishing the 
 growing passion of the poor girl, notwithstanding 
 the perpetual intrusions of Ellee, who had taken a 
 great fancy to Walter ever since he gave him the 
 friendly shake of the hand. This had gone directly 
 to his heart; for he seldom received such an atten 
 tion, except from my kind-hearted old uncle. He 
 never met Walter, without going up, making a 
 strange, grotesque bow, and shaking him by the hand 
 most emphatically. Walter sometimes wished him 
 in the Red Sea, for he interfered with his designs, 
 and, unknowingly, often proved the guardian genius 
 of his sister. If they sometimes stole a march upon 
 him, and wandered along the little river Byram which 
 skirted the foot of the neighbouring hills, it was sel 
 dom but Ellee found them out, with the instinct of 
 a pointer; when he would come running up, with a 
 chuckling laugh at his cleverness, and extend to mas 
 ter Walter the customary greeting of his paw. 
 
 Yet they had their moments of solitude and silence, 
 such as innocent lovers cherish as the brightest of 
 their lives and deceivers seize upon for the attainment 
 of their object. In the wicked twilight of the quiet 
 woods, the purest heart sometimes swells with the 
 boiling eddies of a youthful fancy ; and it is there that 
 the modest woman is won to the permission of little 
 freedoms and progressive endearments, which, if not 
 checked in time, are only atoned for by the tears of a 
 whole life. Phoebe became gradually absorbed in the 
 
180 THE DUMB GIRL. 
 
 all-devouring passion. She could not relieve her 
 heart and express her feelings in speech, and thus they 
 preyed upon her almost to suffocation. There is no 
 reason to doubt her entire conviction that Walter 
 intended to marry her, for he had told her so a thou 
 sand times. 
 
 Rumour, like Echo, loves to abide among the rocks 
 and dells, where she delights to blow her horn, the 
 signal of awakening to a thousand babbling tongues. 
 Rumours and scandals now began to circulate among 
 the neighbours, all to the disadvantage of Phoebe. It 
 was nonsense to suppose Walter intended to marry a 
 dumb girl, and one so poor as she. His father was 
 the richest man in the county, and he an only son. It 
 was impossible. 
 
 " Nobody can believe it, in her right senses," cried 
 Mrs. Toosy. 
 
 " The girl must be a fool ! ", cried Mrs. Ratsbane, 
 " or something worse." 
 
 " I thought what would come of her fine clothes 
 and foolish books," cried Mrs. Dolan. 
 
 " And then> the silver pencil," cried Mrs. Nolan. 
 
 " And the morocco pocket-book people don t give 
 these things for nothing," cried Mrs. Dollinger. 
 
 " The mother must be mad to think of such a 
 thing," cried Mrs. Fadladdle. 
 
 " The girl is no better than she should be," cried 
 Mrs. Doorise. 
 
 " She is certainly a good-for-nothing cretur," cried 
 Mrs. Cackle. 
 
 " Lord have mercy upon us !, what is this world 
 coming to ? " cried Mrs. Skimpey, with upturned 
 eyes : " it puts me in mind of I don t know what." 
 
THE DUMB GIRL. 181 
 
 " Heigho ! " cried Mrs. Fubsy, taking a pinch of 
 snuff, with a deep sigh; "it puts me in mind of 
 Joseph in Egypt." 
 
 " Well, after all, let us hope for the best," cried Mrs. 
 Daisy. 
 
 " Amen ! " answered they all ; and thereupon the 
 tea-party broke up, at five o clock in the afternoon. 
 Women are in fact ill-natured toads, especially to 
 wards each other, but they make it up in kindness to 
 us bachelors. There is good reason why they should 
 be intolerant to certain transgressions of the sex. 
 Vice thrives apace where it carries with it no other 
 penalty than that denounced by the laws. It is the 
 inquest, the censure, the terrible verdict of the society 
 in which we live and move and have our very being, 
 that constitutes the severest punishment; and it be 
 hooves women to be inflexible in visiting sins, that, 
 if they were to become common, would degrade them 
 from divinities into slaves from the chosen com 
 panions of man to the abject ministers of his pleas 
 ures. As yet, however, the censures of our tea-party 
 were premature. Phoebe was innocent, though on the 
 brink of a precipice. 
 
 At length Mrs. Ratsbane thought it her duty, as a 
 neighbour and a Christian, to open the whole matter 
 to the mother of our hero, who forthwith reported 
 it to the squire. Not that she thought or meant he 
 should take any steps in the affair ; (she was a re 
 markable, a very remarkable woman, such a woman 
 as we doubt if the world ever produced before or ever 
 will again) ; for it was her maxim, that, as women 
 could have no wills when they died, it was but fair 
 they should have their wills during their lives. Never 
 
182 THE DUMB GIRL. 
 
 woman stuck closer to her favourite axiom, as the jus 
 tice, were he living, could testify. The name of this 
 puissant magistrate was Hezekiah Lord Avery, but 
 his neighbours usually called him Lord Avery, a name 
 which I shall adopt in order to give dignity to my story. 
 It is very seldom an American writer gets so good an 
 opportunity of ennobling his pages. His lordship was 
 a silent man in the presence of his wife, but a great 
 talker every where else, especially when sitting on 
 the bench, at which times he would never suffer any 
 body to speak a word but himself; for such was 
 his astonishing sagacity that he always knew what a 
 suitor was going to say, before he opened his mouth. 
 The only man that ever got the better of him was 
 a little pestilent lawyer of the township, who once 
 spoke eight hours on a point of law, which, though 
 it had nothing to do with the case, involved a great 
 principle ; whereupon the people sent him to Con 
 gress. Lord Avery was a man of great substance, 
 partly derived from his father, and partly of his 
 own acquisition ; for he was what is called a lucky 
 man. If there happened a drought all over the coun 
 try that raised the price of wheat, Lord Avery was 
 sure to have a redundant harvest ; if apples were 
 scarce, his orchards groaned with fruit; if he sold any 
 thing it was sure to fall in price, and if he bought it 
 was as certain to rise. In short, he was the Midas 
 of modern times, and even his blunders turned to 
 gold. He had a neighbour, his exact opposite a 
 sensible, calculating man, who was always giving ad 
 vice to his lordship, but without effect. This worthy 
 but unfortunate man never undertook any thing with 
 out the most mature deliberation, nor without con- 
 
THE DUMB GIRL. 183 
 
 suiting every body. One year, observing that all his 
 neighbours were planting a more than usual quantity 
 of corn, he sagely concluded that there would be a 
 glut in the market, and planted great fields of pota 
 toes. About harvest-time the news of a failure of 
 crops in Europe came, and doubled the price of corn, 
 while the good man s potatoes stood stock still. Lord 
 Avery had gone on without caring a straw about 
 what his neighbours were doing, and reaped a swinge 
 ing harvest. The calculator was obliged to buy corn 
 of his lordship, who took occasion to crack a joke on 
 his foresight. 
 
 " An ounce of luck is worth a pound of understand 
 ing," replied the long-headed man. 
 
 It is well it was, for his lordship had plenty of one 
 and very little of the other. 
 
 Lord Avery loved his son Walter for two especial 
 reasons; he was his only son, and he told the most 
 entertaining stories in the world. Her ladyship, im 
 mediately on receiving the information from Mrs. 
 Ratsbane, sought her lord, and poured it all into his 
 ear, with additions. 
 
 " I will" quoth Lord Avery in a passion. 
 
 " You will!" cried her ladyship, contemptuously 
 " your will is in the cherry-tree." 
 
 " Well, well, it is my opinion," said he, perfectly cool. 
 
 " Your opinion! how often have I told you, you 
 have no opinion of your own ? " 
 
 " No opinion of my own a justice have no opin- 
 of his own ! " thought he. 
 
 "Well, then, I think" 
 
 " Think ! how often have I told you, there is no 
 use in your thinking ? " 
 
184 THE DUMB GIRL. 
 
 " Not much! " thought his lordship, adding, 
 
 "Well then, ray dear, I say that is, I think 
 that is, I am of opinion my dear, what is your 
 opinion of the matter ? " 
 
 " My opinion is, that you had better say nothing on 
 the subject." 
 
 " What did you come and tell me of it for ? ", asked 
 his lordship, a little nettled. 
 
 There is a pleasant story, that the secret of Midas* 
 having asses ears was finally discovered by his barber, 
 who, unable to contain himself, at length communi 
 cated it to the earth, whence soon after sprung up 
 certain reeds, that whispered it to the four winds, 
 which blabbed it all over the world. Her ladyship 
 had never heard this story, but told hers to his lord 
 ship for the same reason the barber whispered his to 
 the earth. She wanted somebody to listen, not talk, 
 to her. 
 
 " What did I tell it to you for ? ", at length replied 
 her ladyship, after a puzzling pause ; " are you not 
 his father?" 
 
 " I wish I was his mother! ", quoth his lordship. 
 
 " If you were, you d be twice the man you are at 
 present," retorted her ladyship. " But, what do you 
 mean to do?" Her ladyship always asked his advice, 
 which she as invariably took by the rule of contrary. 
 
 "Why, I mean to disinherit him, if" said his 
 lordship, pompously. 
 
 " You disinherit him! you shall do no such thing." 
 
 " Why, then, I ll make him marry the girl." 
 
 "Marry her!" screamed her ladyship "why, the 
 creature is dumb!" 
 
 " Hum ! ", said Lord Avery ; " I don t think that 
 any mighty objection." 
 
THE DUMB GIRL. 185 
 
 " Her brother is an idiot." 
 
 " Poor fellow, I m sorry for him." 
 
 " Her mother is a fool." 
 
 " There are plenty to keep her in countenance." 
 
 " You re enough to provoke a saint." 
 
 " How should you know ? " quoth Lord Avery, 
 whose mind was wandering a little from the subject. 
 Her ladyship insisted this was as much as telling her 
 she was no saint, and thereupon made her exit in hys 
 terics. And thus the consultation ended. 
 
 The next time Lord Avery saw his son, he ques 
 tioned him on the subject of Phoebe, and received his 
 solemn assurance of her innocence. The good man 
 believed him, but the lady maintained its impossi 
 bility. 
 
 " Why, how do you know it is impossible ? ", said 
 his lordship. 
 
 " By experience," answered the lady. 
 
 " Hum," quoth his lordship. 
 
 Her ladyship, finding herself in a dilemma, made 
 her retreat, as usual, and fell into hysterics. 
 
 " Walter," said his lordship, who talked like an ora 
 tor in the absence of his wife, " Walter, you must 
 not think of marrying this poor dumb girl." 
 
 " I don t mean to," said Walter, with a sly look. 
 
 " Ah! you wicked dog ! "quoth his lordship ; "but 
 mind you don t make a fool of yourself." 
 
 " Never fear, I only mean to make a fool of the 
 girl." 
 
 " Ah ! Walter, you re a chip of the old block", said 
 his lordship, complacently. " But I m glad to find 
 you don t mean to disgrace your family." 
 
 That worthy and gallant bachelor, the school-master, 
 
186 THE DUMB GIRL. 
 
 came to caution Phcebe, and spoke like an oracle of 
 the improbability that the only son of Lord Avery 
 should marry, or be permitted to marry, the daughter 
 of an " old continental," in her situation. He then 
 took leave; but, being moved by her tears, left with 
 her a new novel, in which the rustic heroine becomes 
 a duchess. Phoebe wept for an hour after he went 
 away, at the end of which she opened the book, and 
 soon lost herself in the extravagances of sentiment 
 and fiction. 
 
 Matters went on for some time after this in the 
 usual way ; the lovers took long walks together, and 
 the neighbourhood held long talks. Her ladyship 
 scolded, and his lordship very discreetly held his peace 
 at home, consoling himself by making as much noise 
 as possible abroad. All of a sudden, however, Phoebe 
 became very sad ; and was observed to weep bitterly 
 whenever Walter came to see her, which was not now 
 as often as before. She refused to accompany him 
 any more in walks through the woods, or along the 
 banks of the Byram ; and he would go away in a pas 
 sion, threatening never to see her again. Poor Ellee 
 watched her, as a faithful dog watches the looks of 
 his master ; and it was apparent that he could see 
 she was unhappy, though he only remotely compre 
 hended the cause. He no longer, however, shook 
 hands with Walter ; and when he went away, leav 
 ing Phcebe in tears, would sit down by her side, take 
 hold of her hand, kiss it, and utter his mournful mu 
 sic. He never shed tears ; for nature, though she had 
 given him feelings, had denied him the means of ex 
 pressing them except by gestures and moanings. It 
 was an aching sight to see these two poor bereaved 
 
THE DUMB GIRL. 187 
 
 beings thus suffering together, without the power of 
 alleviating their sorrows, except by the silent sympa 
 thy of expressive actions and speaking looks. This 
 sympathy was not shared by the mother, whom age 
 and toil had rendered callous to all the ills of life, ex 
 cept poverty and sickness. If she took particular 
 notice of Phoebe, it was to flout her for her idleness, 
 or sneer at her grand lover ; for the hints and tales of 
 the neighbours had soured her mind towards her 
 daughter, and infected her with strange suspicions. 
 
 One day Phoebe received a little billet, and, shortly 
 afterwards, having contrived to evade the notice of 
 Ellee, was seen to bend her course towards a retired 
 spot, distant from any habitation. It was here she 
 had often met Walter, and, while leaning on his 
 bosom, tasted the joys of an innocent love, ripening 
 into a consuming flame. A high rock gloomed over 
 the bank of the river, as it whirled violently round a 
 sharp angle, deep and turbid. Within the angle, and 
 close under the side of the rock, was a little green 
 sward, shadowed by lofty sycamores, and shut in on 
 all sides, by the perpendicular cliff, the mountain in 
 the rear, and the brawling torrent in front. It was a 
 scene made for love, and it might easily be desecrated 
 to a more malignant passion. Ellee followed his sis 
 ter, as usual when he found she was gone ; and, after 
 an absence of perhaps two hours, came home without 
 her, in a state of terrible agitation. He motioned 
 with his hands ; he ran to and fro ; pointed towards 
 the spot I have described, and attempted to drag his 
 mother violently in that direction, gnashing his teeth 
 and actually foaming at the mouth all the while. At 
 length he sat down in a corner, and commenced that 
 
188 THE DUMB GIRL. 
 
 strange melancholy moaning which was the only 
 sound he ever uttered. Labour and poverty harden 
 the heart. The mother thought strange of this beha 
 viour at first; but she was busy at work, and her 
 mind became gradually drawn off from the poor boy. 
 
 My uncle and myself happened to come riding by 
 at this moment; and no sooner did Ellee perceive us, 
 than he darted out, seized my uncle s bridle, and, 
 pointing with convulsive rapidity first to the house 
 and then to the river, concluded his dumb-show by 
 the customary moan. Assured that something un 
 common had taken place, we alighted, and went into 
 the house, where we found the old woman so busily 
 engaged that she had not been aware of our coming. 
 Ellee followed us in, hung upon our steps, watched 
 every movement, and fixed so strained an eye upon 
 the motion of our lips, that it seemed as if he ex 
 pected to translate their very movements. On inquir 
 ing what was the matter, the good woman related all 
 she knew; but did not seem to think any thing ex 
 traordinary had happened. It was otherwise with 
 my uncle and myself, who determined to go under the 
 guidance of Ellee, and see what had become of his 
 sister. As soon as we mounted our horses and turned 
 them towards the stream, the idiot-boy seemed to 
 understand our object. He again began his furi 
 ous gesticulations ; gnashed his teeth, foamed at the 
 mouth, and, sinking as usual into a low and plaintive 
 quaver, ran with all his might riverward, stopping at 
 times to see if we were coming, and beckoning us ea 
 gerly to follow. 
 
 It was now verging towards the sunset of a long 
 day in the month of June. Ellee led us to the place 
 
THE DUMB GIRL. 189 
 
 where the river rolled rapidly around the sharp angle 
 of the rock, and there again made the most violent 
 motions. He pointed to the roots of an old branch 
 ing sycamore, then twined his arms about my body 
 and kissed me, then wrung his hands and imitated 
 weeping as well as he could, and finally ran moaning 
 to the river s bank, and, making as if he would cast 
 himself in, howled most piteously, while he pointed to 
 the deep current rolling past. 
 
 These significant actions naturally awakened in 
 our minds the most fearful suspicions. We examined 
 the spot with minute attention. On the bark of the 
 old tree appeared the initials, P. A. and W. A., ap 
 parently but just cut; and, at the root, the grass 
 seemed to us to exhibit traces of two persons having 
 been sitting there very lately, side-by-side. A little 
 blood was sprinkled on one of the projecting roots of 
 the tree, and a piece of paper was picked up, crum 
 pled together and stained with blood. On examining 
 it more particularly, there were found upon it, writ 
 ten with a pencil, some words in the handwriting, (as 
 it afterwards appeared), of Walter Avery, that seemed 
 to form part of an invitation to meet him somewhere 
 or other. While this scrutiny was going on, poor 
 Ellee accompanied us with intense interest, and 
 watched our looks, apparently to gather the impres 
 sion made on our minds by these circumstances. By 
 this time it was growing dark, and we quitted the 
 place, notwithstanding the violent opposition of Ellee, 
 with a determination to pursue the investigation next 
 morning, if, on inquiry, it was found that Phoebe had 
 not returned. 
 
 She did not return that night, nor did she make her 
 
190 THE DUMB GIRL. 
 
 appearance the next morning. We accordingly again 
 proceeded to the spot whither Ellee had before di 
 rected us, accompanied by several of the neighbours, 
 and continued our examination. Nothing more was 
 observed that could throw light on the affair, though 
 the river was closely searched upon both banks for 
 some miles below. The general conclusion was, that 
 she had been made away with in some way or other, 
 and suspicion fell strongly upon Walter Avery. The 
 notoriety of his courtship to Phoebe, the circumstance 
 of the fragment of the note, and the fact that he had 
 been seen going towards the spot where it was found, 
 all combined, seemed to bring the fact of murder, if 
 not home to him, yet close to his door. 
 
 The conduct of Ellee corroborated these suspicions. 
 Whenever by any chance he encountered Walter, his 
 rage was ungovernable ; he would assail him violently 
 with stones, or, when occasion offered, lay hold of him 
 with all the violence of infuriate madness, tearing his 
 clothes, biting, scratching, kicking, and foaming at the 
 mouth, with a bitterness of rage and antipathy he 
 never exhibited towards any other person. Rumours 
 gathered strength every day; each one compared 
 notes, and each had some circumstance of his own to 
 communicate, that added to the mass of presump 
 tions. A legal inquiry was at length instituted ; but 
 the dumb testimony of Ellee was so vague and un 
 satisfactory, that the grand-jury, while in their hearts 
 they believed Walter guilty, declined to find an indict 
 ment. Still, in the eyes of all the neighbourhood, 
 Walter was a convicted murderer and seducer. He 
 escaped the judgment of the law, but the verdict of 
 society condemned him. He stood, a marked man, 
 
THE DUMB GIRL. 191 
 
 avoided by all, feared and hated by all ; in the midst 
 of society he was alone, and he sought to be alone. 
 It seemed as if he did not like to look in the face of 
 any human being; and the quick apprehension with 
 which he turned his eye, when it met the glance of 
 others, appeared to indicate that he feared they might 
 behold the reflection of his crime in that mirror of his 
 soul. 
 
 Time passed on, carrying, as usual, on the bosom 
 of his mighty stream, the wrecks of men and things. 
 
 The old lord, who never since the absence of Phoebe 
 had once called Walter " a chip of the old block," dis 
 appeared from this world in the fullness of years. His 
 good-fortune followed him to the last, for he sent for 
 a physician who could not come, and thereby escaped 
 the persecutions of the seven sciences, and died of the 
 disease instead of the doctor. His wife soon fol 
 lowed ; for it would seem that the lives of old people, 
 who have lived together a long while, become inter 
 twined. Too weak, as it were, for self-support, they 
 lean upon each other in the down-hill course, and, 
 like Jack and Gill, when one falls, the other comes 
 " tumbling after." About the same time, or a little 
 later, for my memory is now grown somewhat indis 
 tinct, the mother of Phoebe likewise departed this life; 
 and poor Ellee was taken to my uncle s house, where 
 he remained for the rest of his days, exhibiting, in his 
 profound devotion to his benefactor, a libel on human 
 reason, which ought to hide its head in shame, when 
 told that dogs and idiots transcend it in gratitude. 
 He died of a sort of premature old age, about three 
 years subsequently. 
 
 Walter Avery, after the lapse of several years of 
 
192 THE DUMB GIRL. 
 
 gloomy retirement, married a woman who thought his 
 wealth a counterpoise to his delinquencies. Both 
 lived to repent this union. He was a misanthrope, 
 and she a shrew. The days of Walter were days of 
 bitterness, his nights were nights of horror. It seemed 
 as if guilt had unmanned him entirely. He was 
 afraid to be alone in the dark ; the rattling of the 
 shutters made him start; the howling of the winds, 
 the rolling of the thunder, every shooting-star, and 
 every ordinary phenomenon of nature, seemed to him 
 the menacing of Heaven s wralh, the forerunner of 
 something dreadful. He became % the slave of con 
 science and superstition combined, and never knew 
 a night of tranquil and unbroken rest. Awake, he 
 lay perspiring in vague indefinite horrors ; and sleep 
 ing, he rolled from side to side, muttering unintelligi 
 ble words, and moans that seemed to rend his very 
 vitals. Guilt and remorse are the parents of super 
 stition. Walter became a believer in dreams ; as if 
 the gracious Being whose attribute is truth would 
 condescend to convey his intimations through what, 
 ninety-nine times in a hundred, is only the medium 
 of irreconcilable falsehoods and contradictory absurdi 
 ties. The impression uppermost in his mind was his 
 crime. The figure of Phoebe was ever present to 
 his waking hours; what wonder, then, if it haunt 
 ed his dreams? Some little coincidences served to 
 frighten him into a belief that they were more than 
 accidental ; and he gradually became a victim to the 
 most abject superstition. In the gloom and silence 
 of night, a thousand fantastic illusions preyed upon 
 his guilty soul ; and, when he shut his eyes, perpetual 
 phantasmagoria of shapeless monsters danced before 
 
THE DUMB GIEL. 193 
 
 him, grinning in horrid deformity unlike to any human 
 form, or wearing the well-remembered visage of 
 Phoebe, sometimes pale sad and death-like, at others 
 distorted by the most malignant and diabolical pas 
 sions. 
 
 By degrees, as his mind and body became gradually 
 weakened by being thus constantly assailed, a firm 
 conviction fastened itself on his imagination, that this 
 besetting phantasy was a malignant fiend, empowered 
 by a just Providence to assume the shape of his vic 
 tim, to punish him for his crime. He never had a 
 child by his wife, who at length died ; and that night 
 the figure of Phoebe appeared to him as usual, point 
 ing to a leaf in the pocket-book he had given her, 
 which bore these words : " You shall see me once 
 more." 
 
 Not long after this, he was sitting on his piazza in 
 the summer twilight, drinking the very dregs of mis 
 ery, when he was roused by a little boy, about six or 
 eight years old, who stood weeping before him. 
 
 " What do you want, sir ? " cried Walter, with the 
 impatience common to his state of mind. 
 
 " I want my mother," answered the boy, weeping 
 bitterly. 
 
 " You fool ! I am not your mother. She is not 
 here." 
 
 " I know it, sir ; but she sent me to you." 
 
 For what, boy ? " 
 
 " To bring you a letter and some things, sir," said 
 the boy, handing him at the same time a soiled note. 
 
 Walter opened the note. It contained only two 
 words : " Your son." And it was signed, " Phoebe 
 Angevine." 
 
 13 
 
194 THE DUMB GIRL. 
 
 Walter was half-insensible for a moment. Then, 
 seizing the boy s hand, he asked, eagerly, when and 
 where he got that letter. 
 
 " My mother gave it me this morning," said the 
 child. 
 
 " O God ! " cried "Walter ; " I am not then a mur 
 derer." And his hard heart melted for once into grat 
 itude to Heaven. His next impulse was to catch the 
 boy s hand, and study his face, where he saw, as he 
 thought, the sparkling eye and glossy ringlets of his 
 ruined mother ; and he hugged him in his arms, and 
 wept delicious tears. The boy did not altogether de 
 cline these endearments, but seemed hardly to under 
 stand them. 
 
 " I am your father," said Walter, at length. 
 
 " What is a father ? " said the boy. " Is it any 
 thing like my mother ? " 
 
 ? Not much," answered the other ; and hid his face 
 with his hands. 
 
 " No," said the boy, " I might have known that ; 
 my mother never spoke to me she only kissed me ; 
 but I knew what she meant. Oh, I had almost for 
 got; she told me, with her fingers, to give you these." 
 And he handed a small package. 
 
 This Walter opened. It contained the silver pen 
 cil-case and little pocket-book he had given to Phoebe. 
 
 " Enough," said he ; " come in to your father s 
 home : " and he led him by the hand into his house. 
 
 That evening he questioned the boy closely as to 
 where and how he had lived, and where his mother 
 had left him in the morning ; for now he was deter 
 mined to seek her, bring her to his home, and make 
 her all the amends in his power. 
 
THE DUMB GIRL. 195 
 
 " You will find it all there," answered the boy, 
 pointing to the pocket-book. On opening it, he found 
 it almost filled with writing, some of which was nearly 
 illegible. 
 
 " I am hungry, and sleepy," said the boy. 
 
 Walter had supper brought him, which he ate vora 
 ciously ; and, being placed in Walter s bed, he fell into 
 a sweet and balmy sleep, such as that bed had been a 
 stranger to for years. 
 
 Walter then proceeded to make out, as well as he 
 could, the contents of the pocket-book. It was a 
 wretched scrawl, full of details of misery. Connected, 
 and in my own words, it ran as follows : 
 
 It seems, that, on the day Phoebe disappeared, she 
 had arrived at the trysting-place some time before her 
 seducer; and, while waiting, had carved their initials on 
 the bark of the old sycamore. In doing this she cut 
 her finger, and wrapped up the wound in a piece of 
 the note he had sent her, requesting a meeting. 
 When he came, she had in every way through which 
 she could make herself understood, pressed him to 
 make her amends for the shame he had brought upon 
 her. He had replied only by lascivious toyings and 
 attempts to obtain new favours. Indignant at this, 
 the poor girl was running away, when he seized her, 
 just on the borders of the rapid river. A struggle 
 ensued. Phoebe at length, through rage and despair, 
 threw herself into the stream, just as Ellee, who had 
 as usual followed her, came up; while he, forgetting 
 in his rage the situation of his sister, furiously assailed 
 Walter, and prevented him from affording her any 
 assistance. She floated down the stream, kept up by 
 her clothes and the force of the current, till she be- 
 
196 THE DUMB GIRL. 
 
 came entangled in the thick boughs of a tuft of dwarf- 
 willows, that, as is common with this kind of tree, 
 bent down and floated on the surface of the water. 
 Seizing upon these, she drew herself to the bank, got 
 out of the water, and darted into the thick wood 
 without being perceived. It was then that, smarting 
 under the recollection of Walter s insulting behaviour 
 and the anticipation of certain disgrace and exposure, 
 she formed the resolution never to return home. Ac 
 cordingly, she crossed the mountain which bordered 
 the river, and became an outcast and a wanderer. 
 
 Her infirmity of speech proved her best friend 
 among the far-off strangers with whom she sojourned. 
 She was treated with kindness, as one on whom the 
 hand of Providence had inflicted the sorest evils ; and 
 she made herself useful by her habits of industry. At 
 this time news did not travel as fast as now ; for there 
 were few readers, and fewer newspapers to trumpet 
 forth murders and accidents of flood and field. She 
 lived, accordingly, without seeing or hearing any in 
 quirers or inquiries after her, and without knowing 
 what was passing at home. When her child was 
 born, they wished to take it away, and place it at 
 nurse in a poor-house ; but she would not consent. 
 She nursed it and brought it up, without being a bur 
 den to any living soul. Thus years wore on, till, one 
 day, as chance would have it, a person from the old 
 neighbourhood came that way, and knew her at once. 
 From him she learned all I have been relating, up to 
 the period at which Walter s wife died. She came 
 to a resolution at once, and departed from her asylum 
 with her child. On arriving in the vicinity of Wal 
 ter s abode, she placed herself in a situation where 
 
THE DUMB GIEL. 197 
 
 she would not be observed, and, instructing the boy 
 what to do, embraced him with tears, and forced him 
 from her much against his will. She waited to see 
 her son received into his father s arms and taken to 
 his home, and then disappeared from the knowledge 
 of all, completely eluding the inquiries of Walter. 
 On the last page of the pocket-book was written, 
 " You shall see me once more." " Strange ! ", thought 
 Walter, " the very words of my dream ! " The coin 
 cidence was singular ; but where is the wonder that 
 one dream in a whole lifetime should present some 
 resemblance to a reality ? 
 
 Walter Avery had paid the full penalty of his crime, 
 in the misery of seven long years. He now enjoyed 
 comparative ease, although he never, to the latest pe 
 riod of his life, could cast off the terrors of darkness 
 and the leaden chains of superstition. Time swept 
 along, and the boy Walter grew up towards man 
 hood, giving promise of becoming as handsome as his 
 mother, and a better man than his father. At length 
 
 O 
 
 Walter fell sick, and lay on his death-bed. It was 
 just in the twilight of the evening, when his son was 
 alone with him in the room. A female figure came 
 quietly in, and sat down by the bedside. 
 
 " Who s that ? " asked Walter, in a weak whisper. 
 
 " It is my mother ! " cried the youth, starting up, 
 and kissing her affectionately. 
 
 " She said she would come and see me once more," 
 thought Walter. " It is for the last time ; now I know 
 that I shall die." And he lay for a while almost in 
 sensible. At length he requested his son to raise him. 
 
 " Phoebe," said he, " can you forgive me ? " 
 
 Phoebe pointed to their child ; then placed her hand 
 
198 THE DUMB GIRL. 
 
 on her heart; and, raising her still-beautiful eyes to 
 wards Heaven, leaned down and kissed him. 
 
 Walter seemed endued with new life. 
 
 "Send for Doctor Townley quick quick!" said 
 he. 
 
 " You mean Doctor Barley," said his son. 
 
 " No, no ; I mean Parson Townley," answered he : 
 " run, run ! " 
 
 " He wishes the doctor to pray with him," thought 
 Phoebe, and motioned her son to obey. In the course 
 of half an hour the clergyman arrived. 
 
 " Doctor," cried Walter, " I sent for you to marry 
 me." " He is delirious," observed the clergyman ; 
 "he will be wedded to none but the winding-sheet 
 and the worm, poor soul." 
 
 " Come, come ; there is no time to be lost." 
 
 " Where is the bride ? " said the clergyman, willing 
 to soothe him. 
 
 " There," answered Walter ; the mother of that 
 boy." 
 
 " Indeed ! ", cried the good man ; " then he is not 
 mad. I am ready, Mr. Avery. Come hither, Phoebe 
 I did not know you give me your hand." 
 
 Phoebe hung back, and shook her head with de 
 termined opposition. 
 
 " For the sake of your son." 
 
 Still she refused her hand. 
 
 " For the sake of the father, then. Would you re 
 fuse him the opportunity of making his peace with 
 Heaven, by atoning his injuries to you ? " 
 
 Phoebe bowed her head with reverence, and gave 
 the clergyman her hand. He placed it within that of 
 the sick man, and went through with the ceremony. 
 
THE DUMB GIRL. 199 
 
 " May God reward you for this act of justice ! ", said 
 the clergyman. 
 
 " May God forgive me ! ", replied Walter. 
 
 Two weeks afterwards, Phoebe was a widow. 
 
 " Well, for my part," said Mrs. Fubsy, " I sha n t 
 visit her." 
 
 " Nor I," said Mrs. Cluckey. 
 
 " Nor I," said Mrs. Skimpey. 
 
 " Nor I," said Mrs. Ratsbane. 
 
 Yet they all went to see Phrebe in the course of a 
 fortnight, and all declared she was one of the most 
 agreeable creatures in the world. The truth is, our 
 heroine was an excellent listener ; which, in this talk 
 ing republic of ours, is better than having the elo 
 quence of a Patrick Henry, a Randolph, or a Clay. 
 
DYSPEPSY. 
 
DYSPEPSY. 
 
 " cookery ! cookery ! That kills more than weapons, guns, wars, or 
 poisons, ami would destroy all, but that physic helps to make away some." 
 ANTHONY BREWER. 
 
 YE who flatter yourselves that indolence and luxury 
 are compatible with the enjoyment of vigour of health 
 and hilarity of spirits ; that the acquisition of the 
 means of happiness is to be happy; and that the 
 habitual pampering of the senses is not forever paid 
 for by the depression of the immortal soul; listen 
 to my story, and be wise. 
 
 I am the son of a reputable gentleman, who made 
 a good figure in the Revolutionary War, and pos 
 sessed a competent estate in one of the river counties 
 of New York. His name will be found in the old 
 Committees of Safety. He ranked as colonel in the 
 Continental Army, and acted as a deputy-commissary- 
 general in the year 1779. In this position he com 
 mitted a most enormous folly ; for, finding the good 
 people his neighbours would not exchange their goods 
 for money that was good-for-nothing (they were 
 wiser than the present race, notwithstanding the 
 march of mind) he pledged his own credit for 
 
204 DYSPEPSY. 
 
 the supplies, without which the army, at Peekskill, 
 would have suffered greatly. He was warmly thanked 
 in letters from distinguished persons in the Old Con 
 gress, for people are apt to be grateful in time of 
 danger; but, at the conclusion of the struggle, when 
 he presented his accounts, the danger being over, the 
 accounting officers refused to allow a credit for the 
 debts he had incurred on his own responsibility. My 
 father returned home, a ruined and broken-hearted 
 man. His old neighbours pitied him, but they could 
 not lose their money. They justly considered that 
 charity begins at home, and that there was no moral 
 principle obliging them to starve themselves and their 
 children for the sake of other people. I do not blame 
 them. They divided my father s property among 
 them, and, finding there was nothing left, forgave him 
 the rest of his debts. The contractors and commis 
 saries of the day, with great appearance of reason, 
 called him a fool for ruining himself in a station 
 where every other man managed to grow rich. The 
 old farmers, his neighbours, some of whom are still 
 alive, have often told me that he deserved well of his 
 country ; but his name has been smothered under the 
 load of great, good, and patriotic people, that have 
 since sprung up, in these times that try men s pockets. 
 My father might have petitioned Congress, and 
 died, like poor Amy Dardin and her horse,* before the 
 members had finished making their speeches. But he 
 was a cold, proud man, who often went without his 
 
 * Amy Dardin was the widow of a contractor, on the "Cumberland 
 road ", who presented to Congress a claim for the value of a horse that per 
 ished through some forgotten accident while the work was going on. This 
 claim led to a vast deal of discussion. 
 
DYSPEPSY. ^ 205 
 
 dues because he would not ask for them. He accord 
 ingly sat down, with his little family around him, 
 steeped in poverty; consoled himself with reading 
 books and studying the stars, and waited in gloomy 
 inactivity for the time, when a great pocket-book full 
 of Continental money, and a few thousand dollars in 
 Continental certificates, should become worth some 
 thing. The Continental money, as every body knows, 
 never recovered itself; the certificates were afterwards 
 funded at their full value. But, previous to this, my 
 father had, under the strong pressure of necessity, 
 sold them for almost nothing, to a worthy friend of 
 his, who afterwards turned out one of the most elo 
 quent advocates of the Funding System. Heavens !, 
 how he would talk of the sufferings and privations of 
 the patriots of the Revolution! He certainly owed 
 them a good turn, for he got enough by them to build 
 a palace, and purchase half the Genesee country. 
 
 At the period of our ruin I was about ten years old, 
 I think, and, until that time, I had been brought up 
 as the children of wealthy country-gentlemen gener 
 ally are. I had some of the feelings and a portion of 
 the manners of a gentleman s son, which I hope I still 
 retain, although, to say the truth, the latter part of 
 my education was deplorable enough. My father, 
 from the period in which he felt himself dishonoured 
 by the rejection of his accounts, retired within him 
 self, and seemed benumbed in heart and spirits. He 
 passed his whole time in reading the few books that 
 he could come at; and his temper became impertur 
 bable, except at such times as he was routed up and 
 forced to move from his seat. He would then exhibit 
 symptoms of internal discomposure, make for the 
 
206 DYSPEPSY. 
 
 nearest chair, set himself down, and resume his 
 studies. Half the time he would have forgotten his 
 dinner, had not my mother waked him from his re 
 verie. To be sure, our dinner was hardly worth eat 
 ing; but, to the best of my recollection, I never 
 enjoyed a better appetite, or had so little of the Dys- 
 pepsy. We were often on the very verge of want, 
 and had it not been for the exertions of my excellent 
 mother, who, thank God, is still living, and at least 
 ten years younger than I am aided by the good 
 offices of a sister, well married in the city we had 
 sometimes actually wanted the necessaries of life. 
 It was not then so much the fashion for genteel peo 
 ple to go begging. But it is astonishing what the 
 presiding genius of a sensible, prudent, industrious 
 mother, can do ; what miracles indeed she can achieve, 
 in keeping herself, her husband, and her children, de 
 cent at least. My mother did all this, and more ; she 
 sent me to school; and it is not the least of my 
 sources of honest pride, that my education, such as it 
 was, cost the public nothing. Women, notwithstand 
 ing what cynics may say, are born for something 
 better than wasting time and spending money ; and 
 I hereby apprise the reader that, if ever I am guilty 
 of a sarcasm against woman, it is only when I am 
 labouring under the horrors of Dyspepsy. 
 
 Till the age of sixteen I never saw the city. To 
 me it was the region of distant wonders, ineffable 
 splendours, wise men, and beautiful women. I rever 
 enced a New-Yorker, as I now venerate a person who 
 has been to Paris or Rome ; and I shall never forget 
 my extreme admiration of a fine lady, the daughter of 
 a little tailor who lived near us. She was an appren- 
 
DYSPEPSY. 207 
 
 tice to a milliner, and came up during the prevalence 
 of the yellow-fever, with three bandboxes and a 
 pocket-handkerchief full of finery. The world of 
 romance the region of airy nothings, of creatures 
 that come and go at will before the youthful fancy 
 was now just opening before me in long perspective. 
 I was without employment ; for if my mother had a 
 weakness, it was one which I verily believe belongs 
 even to the female angels. She could not forget old 
 times, nor bear the idea that her only son should learn 
 a trade, or slave in any useful calling. 
 
 Deprived thus of the resources of active occupation, 
 I spent my time either in reading, or roaming at ran 
 dom and unpurposed through the beautiful romantic 
 scenes which surrounded our poor, yet pleasant abode. 
 My mind was a complete contrast to my body. The 
 latter was indolence itself; the former a perfect va 
 grant. I was eternally thinking, and doing nothing. 
 The least spark awakened in my mind visions of the 
 future for that was all to me and lighted my path 
 through ever-lengthening vistas of shadowy happiness. 
 Sometimes I was a soldier, winning my way to the 
 culmination of military glory ; sometimes a poet, the 
 admiration of the fair ; and sometimes I possessed, 
 what then seemed to me the sure means of perfect 
 happiness, ten thousand a year. For days, and 
 weeks, and months, and years, I hardly spoke an un 
 necessary word. I lived in a world of my own, and 
 millions of thoughts, wishes, fears, and hopes mil 
 lions of impulses and impressions were bori| in my 
 mind, and died away, without ever making a sign 
 through the medium of my tongue or my pen. 
 
 The first-born of the passions is love ; and love is 
 
208 DYSPEPSY. 
 
 of earlier, as well as more vigorous, growth, in soli 
 tude. I was always enamoured of some one ; for the 
 sentiment was indispensable to my visionary existence. 
 All ended, however, as it began, in abstract dreams 
 and amatory reveries. It is now my pride to know 
 that no woman was ever yet the wiser for my prefer 
 ence. My affection never manifested itself in any 
 other way than by increasing shyness. I never volun 
 tarily came near a young woman at any time ; but 
 when I was in love, I always ran away. I would as 
 soon have met a spirit, as the object of my affections. 
 I was moreover much given to jealousy and pique ; 
 always persuading myself, against truth and reason, 
 that the love of which I was myself so conscious, 
 must of necessity be understood by her from whom I 
 was at such pains to keep it a secret. The history of 
 my amours with imaginary mistresses, and mistresses 
 that never imagined my love, is curious ; I may one 
 day give it to the world. But my present object is 
 different. I will therefore only say, that I grew up to 
 the age of seventeen or eighteen, a sheer abstract man 
 a being of thought, rather than action ; a dweller 
 in a world of my own fantastic and ridiculous com 
 position ; living neither in the past nor the present, but 
 in the vast space before me. My companions were 
 shadows of my own creation ; my enjoyments were 
 the production of these shadows. Yet, for all this, 
 I neither became mad nor an idiot. It seemed as if 
 I was all this time preparing myself for realities ; and 
 that my sojournings in the realm of fancy impercepti 
 bly initiated me into that of fact. I cannot otherwise 
 account for my early success in life, nor for the mira 
 cle of escaping its shoals and quicksands. 
 
DYSPEPSY. 209 
 
 At the age of seventeen or eighteen, I forget which, 
 I was sent for by an uncle (the husband of my 
 mother s sister) who was a merchant of some note. 
 At one step, I passed from the ideal to the material 
 world. There is but one greater step, and that is 
 from the material world to the world of spirits. My 
 uncle was an honest, liberal, cross, gouty old Irish 
 gentleman, with plenty of relations in Ireland whom 
 he would not acknowledge, though they proved that 
 they sprung from the same family-tree. He was an 
 inordinate tory, a member of the Belvidere Club, and 
 a mighty fish-eater at Becky s.* When I first went 
 to live with him, he was getting rather infirm. His 
 hair was as white as snow ; his face as rosy as the 
 sun in a mist ; his body robust to all appearance ; 
 and, had it not been for his " damned legs " as he was 
 pleased to say, he would have been as good a man as 
 he was twenty years before. There is certainly a 
 great change in the world within the last half-century. 
 People lived at least as well as they do now, and only 
 got the gout now they get Dyspepsy. Can any 
 learned physician tell me the reason of this emigration 
 of the old enemy, from the great toe to the stomach ? 
 
 The old gentleman had a heart big enough to hold 
 all the world, except the French, the Democrats, and 
 the multiplicity of cousins and second cousins who 
 claimed kindred there and had not their claims al 
 lowed. He had in truth a most intolerable contempt 
 for poor relations. I believe he would have served 
 
 * Becky s was the older club, and devoted to fish and beefsteaks, punch 
 and Madeira. The Belvideres were a gay set, and launched out into Cham 
 pagne or any thing. Both date back into the last century. The houses of 
 meeting were in the outskirts of the city, overlooking the East River, and 
 not far from Corlaer s Hook. 
 
 14 
 
210 DYSPEPSY. 
 
 his wife s family the same way, but, the truth is, my 
 aunt was but it is a great secret she could make 
 him do just as she pleased, for she was the best- 
 natured creature in the world, and none but a brute 
 can resist a kind-hearted woman. Being a relation, 
 I was treated to a seat at the dinner-table. The old 
 gentleman was reckoned one of the best livers in town, 
 and here it was, I believe, that I laid the corner-stone 
 of my miseries. At home there had been no tempta 
 tion to gluttony here there was a sad succession of 
 allurements, such as human nature seldom can resist, 
 even when experience has demonstrated their ill con 
 sequences, and Death sits shaking his dart over every 
 successive delicacy. 
 
 People talk of the mischiefs of drinking ; invent 
 remedies and preventives, and institute societies; 
 as if eating was not ten times more pernicious. 
 There are a hundred die of eating to one that dies of 
 drinking. But gluttony is the vice of gentlemen, and 
 gentlemanly vicfl^require neither remedies, prevent 
 ives, nor societies. It is not necessary to my purpose 
 that I should make a book out of my apprenticeship, 
 as Goethe has done ; nor am I writing the history of 
 my uncle, else I might tell some fine stories of his life, 
 actions, and end. His latter years were spent, as 
 usual, in paying the penalty of former indulgences ; 
 and a complication of disorders carried him off in 
 a green old age. In three months from the time of 
 his death, half the county of Kilkenny claimed kin 
 dred with him. There were so many different claim 
 ants, that nobody but the lawyers could settle the 
 matter. After three or four years, a decision was 
 given in favour of a young man, who, on taking pos- 
 
DYSPEPSY. 211 
 
 session, had the mortification to discover that nothing 
 was left. The law had become my uncle s heir. It 
 is an excellent thing to have plenty of laws and courts 
 of law; but then one can have too much of a good 
 thing, and pay too much for it. Tournefort, in his 
 Travels in the East, says, " An Italian once told me, 
 at Constantinople, that we should be very happy in 
 Europe, if we could appeal from our courts to the 
 divan ; for, added he, one might go to Constantino 
 ple, and all over Turkey too, if there were occasion, 
 before one suit could be finally decided in Europe. 
 A Turk," continues M. Tournefort, " pleading before 
 the parliament of Provence, against a merchant of 
 Marseilles who had led him a dance for many years 
 from court to court, made a very merry reply to one 
 of his friends, who desired to know the state of his af 
 fairs. Why, they are wonderfully altered, says he : 
 4 when I first arrived here I had a roll of pistoles as 
 long as my arm, and my pleadings were comprised 
 in a single sheet; but at present I have a writing 
 above six times as long as my arm, and my roll of 
 pistoles is but half an inch. " I wish the law-givers, 
 the judges, and more especially the lawyers, would 
 recollect that time is money, and that to waste both 
 the time and the money of suitors is a double op 
 pression. A man might better get the bastinado 
 promptly though wrongfully sometimes, than wait 
 seven years for his rights, as in some Christian coun 
 tries. 
 
 The death of my uncle was a lucky affair for me, 
 as by it I lost the mischievous allurements of his ta 
 ble, and was thrown upon my own resources for a 
 livelihood. Hard days make soft nights ; and I found 
 
212 DYSPEPSY. 
 
 that the necessity of exertion, and the occasional diffi 
 culties in procuring a dinner, soon reinstated me in 
 the possession of the only inheritance I received from 
 my father a hale constitution. It was my good for 
 tune, as the world would call it, to meet with a young 
 man of capital, who wanted a partner skilled in the 
 business my uncle had followed. We accordingly 
 entered into partnership, and our business proved ex 
 ceedingly profitable. In a few years I had more 
 money than I required for my wants, and with the 
 necessity for exertion ceased the inclination. When 
 a man has been toiling for years to get rich, and 
 dreaming all the while that riches will add to his en 
 joyments, he must try and realize his dreams, after 
 his endeavours have been crowned with success. I 
 had proposed to myself a life of ease and luxury, as 
 the reward of all my labours. Accordingly, finding 
 myself sufficiently wealthy, I retired from the firm as 
 an active partner, continuing however my name to 
 the connexion, and receiving a share of the profits in 
 return for the use of my capital. 
 
 I am now my own master, said I, as I shook the 
 dust of the counting-house from my feet. I can do 
 as I please, and go where I please. Now a man that 
 has but one thing to do and one place to go to can 
 never be in the predicament of the ass between two 
 bundles of hay ; nor be puzzled to death in the midst 
 of conflicting temptations. At first I thought of go 
 ing to Europe ; but before I could make up my mind 
 the packet had sailed, and before another was ready 
 I had altered my mind. Next I decided for the 
 Springs; then for the Branch; then for Schooley s 
 mountain; and then, in succession, for every other 
 
DYSPEPSY. 213 
 
 "resort of beauty and fashion," in these United 
 States. In conclusion, I went to none of them. I 
 made but two excursions : one to the Fireplace, to 
 catch trout, where I caught an ague ; and the other to 
 Sing Sing, to see the new state-prison, where I missed 
 the ague and caught a bilious fever. Thus the sum- 
 
 o O 
 
 mer passed away, and I may say I did nothing but 
 eat. That is an enjoyment in which both ease and 
 luxury are combined, and my indisposition had left 
 behind a most voracious appetite. Towards the lat 
 ter end of autumn, I began to feel I can scarcely tell 
 how. I slept all the evening, and lay awake all the 
 night; or, if I fell asleep, always dreamed I was suffo 
 cating between two feather beds. I was plagued 
 worse than poor Pharaoh. I had aches of all sorts; 
 stiff necks, pains in the shoulders, sides, back, loins, 
 head, breast : in short, there never was a man so ca 
 priciously used by certain inexplicable, unaccountable 
 infirmities, as I was. I dare say I had often felt the 
 same pains before without thinking of them, because 
 I was too busy to mind trifles ; for it is a truth which 
 my experience has since verified, that the most ordi 
 nary evils of life are intolerable, without the stimulus 
 of some active pursuit to draw us from their perpet 
 ual contemplation. What was very singular, I never 
 lost my appetite all this time, but ate more plenti 
 fully than ever. Indeed, eating was almost the only 
 amusement I had, ever since I became a man of pleas 
 ure; and it was only while engaged at the table that 
 I lost the sense of those innumerable pains which tor 
 mented me at other times. 
 
 I went to a physician, who gave me directions as to 
 the various modes of treatment in these cases. " You 
 
214 DYSPEPSY. 
 
 are dyspeptic," said he, " and you must either eat less, 
 exercise more, take physic, or be sick." As to eating 
 less, that was out of the question. What is the use 
 of being rich, unless a man can eat as much as he 
 likes ? As to exercise what is the use of being rich, 
 if a man can t be as lazy as he pleases ? The alter 
 native lay between being sick or taking physic, and I 
 chose the latter. The physician shook his head and 
 smiled, but it is not the doctor s business to discourage 
 the taking of physic ; and he prescribed, accordingly. 
 I took medicines, I ate more than ever, and, what 
 quite discouraged me, I grew worse and worse. I sent 
 for the doctor again. " You have tried physic in vain ; 
 suppose you try exercise on horseback," said he. 
 
 I bought a horse, cantered away every morning like 
 a hero, and ate more than ever; for what was the 
 use of exercise, except to give one impunity in eating? 
 I never worked half so hard when I was an appren 
 tice, and not worth a groat, as I did now I was a 
 gentleman of ease and luxury. It was necessary, the 
 doctor said, that the horse should be a hard trotter ; 
 and accordingly I bought one that trotted so hard, 
 that he actually broke the paving-stones in Broadway, 
 and struck fire at every step. O, reader!, gentle 
 reader, if thou art of Christian bowels, pity me! I 
 was dislocated in every joint, and sometimes envied 
 St. Laurence his gridiron. But I will confess that 
 the remedy proved not a little efficacious, and it is my 
 firm opinion that, had I persevered, I should have 
 been cured in time, had I not taken up a mistaken 
 notion, that a man who exercised a great deal might 
 safely eat a great deal. Accordingly, I ate by the 
 mile, and every mile I rode furnished an apology for 
 
DYSPEPSY. 215 
 
 a further indulgence of appetite. The exercise and 
 the eating being thus balanced, I remained just where 
 I was before. 
 
 I sent for the physician, again. " You have tried 
 medicine and exercise, suppose you try a regimen. 
 Continue the exercise ; eat somewhat less ; confine 
 yourself to plain food, plainly dressed ; abstain from 
 rich sauces, all sorts of spices, pastes, confectioneries, 
 and puddings, particularly plum-puddings, and, gener 
 ally, every kind of luxury ; and drink only a glass or 
 two of wine." 
 
 " Zounds ! doctor, I might as well be a poor man at 
 once ! What is the use of being rich, if I can t eat 
 and drink, and do just as I like? Besides, I am par 
 ticularly fond of sauces, spices, and plum-puddings." 
 
 " Why, so you may do as you like," replied he, 
 smiling. " You have your choice between Dyspepsy 
 and all these good things." 
 
 The doctor left me to take my choice, and, after 
 great and manifold doubts, resolutions, and retrac 
 tions, I decided on trying the effects of this most 
 nauseating remedy. I practised the most rigid self- 
 denial ; tasted a little of this, a very little of that, a 
 morsel of the other, and ate moderately of every thing 
 on the table ; cheating myself occasionally by tasting 
 slyly a bit of confectionery, or a slice of plum-pud 
 ding. Now and then, indeed, when I felt better than 
 usual, I indulged more freely, as I had a right to do ; 
 for what is the use of starving at one time, except 
 to enable one s self to indulge at another ? The physi 
 cian came one day to dine with me at my boarding- 
 house, the most famous eating-place in the whole city, 
 and the most capital establishment for Dyspepsy. He 
 
216 DYSPEPSY. 
 
 came, he said, on purpose to see how I followed his 
 prescription. I was extremely abstinent that day, only 
 eating a mouthful of every thing now and then. The 
 doctor, I observed, played a glorious knife and fork, 
 and seemed particularly fond of rich sauces, spices, 
 paste, and plum-pudding. 
 
 " Well, doctor," said I, after the rest of the company 
 had retired, " am not I a hero a perfect anchorite ? " 
 
 " My dear sir," said he, " I took the trouble to count 
 every mouthful. You have eaten twice as much as 
 an ordinary labourer, and tasted of every thing on 
 the table." 
 
 " But only tasted, doctor; while you you gave 
 me a most edifying example. Faith, you displayed a 
 most bitter antipathy to pies, custards, rich sauces, 
 and, most especially, plum-pudding." 
 
 " My dear Ambler," said the doctor, " you are to 
 follow my prescriptions, not my example. But, by the 
 way, that was delightful wine, that last bottle Bing- 
 ham, or Marston, hey ? " 
 
 I took the hint, and sent for another bottle, which 
 we discussed equally between us, glass for glass. I 
 felt so well I sent for another, and we discussed that 
 too. 
 
 " My dear fellow," said the doctor, who by this time 
 saw double, " my dear friend, mind, don t forget my 
 prescription ; no sauces, no spices, no paste, no plum- 
 pudding, and, above all, no wine. Adieu. I am go 
 ing to a consultation." 
 
 That night I suffered martyrdom night-mare, 
 dreams, and visions of horror. A grinning villain 
 came, and, seizing me by the toe, exclaimed, " I am 
 Gout; I come to avenge the innocent calves who 
 
DYSPEPSY. 217 
 
 have suffered in forced-meat balls and mock-turtle, 
 for your gratification." Another blear-eyed, sneering 
 rogue, gave me a box on the ear that stung through 
 every nerve, crying out, " I am Catarrh, come to take 
 satisfaction for the wine you drank this day ; " while 
 a third, more hideous than the other two, a miserable, 
 cadaverous, long-faced fiend, came up, touching me 
 into a thousand various pains, and crying, in a hollow, 
 despairing voice, " I am Dyspepsy, come to punish you 
 for your gluttony." I awoke next morning in all the 
 horrors of indigestion and acidity, which lasted several 
 days, during which time I made divers excellent reso 
 lutions, forswearing wine, particularly old wine, most 
 devoutly. 
 
 This time, however, I had one consolation. The 
 doctor, and not I, was to blame. It was he that led 
 me into excesses for which I was now paying the 
 penalty. I felt quite indignant. " I ll let him know," 
 said I, " that I am my own master, and not to be 
 forced to drink against my inclination." So I dis 
 charged the doctor who set me such a bad example, 
 and called in three more, being pretty well assured 
 that I should now hear all sides of the question. Pro 
 fessional men seldom or never agree perfectly in 
 opinion, because that would indicate a lack of indi 
 vidual confidence. They retired into my dressing- 
 room, forgetting to shut the door. Doctors in consul 
 tation should always make sure to shut the door. 
 
 " He wants excitement," said Doctor Calomel, a 
 thunderbolt of science ; " there is that is to say, the 
 bile has got the better of the blood, and the phlegm 
 has overpowered the atrabile they are struggling 
 like fury for the upper hand. We must give him a 
 dose of calomel." 
 
218 DYSPEPSY. 
 
 " Not at all," quoth Doctor Jalap, whose great ex 
 cellence consisted in the number of capital letters he 
 carried at the tail of his name, insomuch that he was 
 called the Professor of A. B. C. ; "not at all the 
 salt, sulphur, and mercury, which Paracelsus affirms 
 constitute the matter of all animal bodies, are in a 
 state of disorganization. We must therefore give him 
 two doses of calomel." What a piece of work is 
 man !, thought I " salt, sulphur, and mercury! " 
 
 " The body being an hydraulic engine," quoth Doc 
 tor Rhubarb, who valued himself on his theory, " the 
 body being an hydraulic engine, our remedies must 
 be founded on the laws of magnitude and motion ; 
 we must therefore give him three doses of calomel, in 
 succession ; the first to increase the magnitude of the 
 stomach, the others to cause motion." 
 
 " Pish," quoth Doctor Calomel ; " what nonsense is 
 this, about salt, sulphur, and mercury ! Paracelsus 
 was a fool." 
 
 " Sdeath!," cried Doctor Jalap (he always swore 
 by his old friend) " sdeath ! sir, if you come to that, 
 what nonsense is this about bile, and phlegm, and 
 atrabile ! And you, sir," turning to Doctor Rhubarb, 
 "with your hydraulic machine; you might as well call 
 a man a forcing-pump at once. Hippocrates was a 
 great blockhead, and knew nothing of chemistry ; and 
 so was Meade, and Borelli, and the rest of the hydrau 
 lic machines." 
 
 The debate was getting hot, when Dr. Jalap, who 
 was a man of great skill and experience in his profes 
 sion, interposed the olive-branch. 
 
 " Gentlemen," said the doctor, " nothing weakens 
 the influence of the profession, and destroys the conn- 
 
DYSPEPSY. 219 
 
 dence of the public in medicine, so much as the oppo 
 site opinions of physicians. Where is the use of 
 quarrelling about the disease, when we all agree in 
 the remedy ? " 
 
 So they ordered the calomel. 
 
 But it would not do, though I continued my sys 
 tem of abstinence, and only barely tasted a little of 
 every thing; at the same time compromising matters 
 with my conscience, by drinking twelve half glasses 
 of wine instead of six whole ones. The doctors, on 
 the whole, did me more harm than good. Their dif 
 ferent opinions had conjured up a hundred chimeras 
 in my fancy, and inflicted on me a host of complaints 
 I never dreamed of before. Sometimes the conflicts 
 of the bile and the phlegm turned every thing topsy 
 turvy ; anon the salt, sulphur, and mercury, fell to 
 gether by the ears ; and lastly, the hydraulic machine 
 got terribly out of order. It was no joke then, though 
 now I can look back upon these horrors as on a sea of 
 ills that I have safely passed over. My spirits began 
 to sink ; for I considered that I had now tried all rem 
 edies, and that my case was hopeless. The fear of 
 death, swelled into a gigantic and disproportioned 
 magnitude of evil, came upon me. I never heard of 
 a person dying of a disease, be it what it would, that 
 I di d not make that the bugbear of my imagination, 
 and feel all the symptoms appropriate to it. Thus I 
 had, by turns, all the diseases under the sun ; some 
 times separately, sometimes all together. The sound 
 of a church-bell conjured up the most gloomy associa 
 tions, and the sight of a church-yard withered every 
 tendril of hilarity in my bosom. In short, there were 
 moments of my life when I could fully comprehend 
 
220 DYSPEPSY. 
 
 the paradox, that a human being may seek death as a 
 relief from its perpetual apprehension, even as the bird 
 flies into the maw of the serpent from the mere fas 
 cination of terror. 
 
 It- is one of the most melancholy features of the dis 
 ease under which I laboured, that it creates a dis 
 torted apprehension of death a vague and horrible 
 exaggeration, ten times worse than the reality. In 
 most other disorders, the pain of the body supersedes 
 that of the mind ; in this, the mind predominates over 
 the body, and the monstrous future swallows up the 
 present entirely. This was the case with me ; and 
 often have I welcomed an acute fit of rheumatism or 
 colic, as a cure for anticipated evils. I had another 
 enemy to contend with, and that was the want of 
 sympathy. People laughed at my complaints when 
 they saw me eat my meals with so good an appetite, for 
 the world seldom gives a man credit for ailing in any 
 respect, when he can eat his allowance ; nor is it easy 
 to persuade the vulgar that there is such a disease as 
 appetite. Besides, a man who is always complaining, 
 and never seeming to grow worse, is enough to tire 
 the patience of Job, much more of such friends as Job 
 and most afflicted people are blessed with. My mind 
 was in a perpetual muddle of indecision. One day I 
 threw all my phials, and boxes, and doses, into the 
 street, determined to take no more physic ; and the 
 next, perhaps, sent for some more, and renewed my 
 potions. I had lost by this time all confidence in phy 
 sicians, but still continued to believe in physic. 
 
 For a while, white mustard-seed was a treasure to 
 me ; and such was my firm reliance on its wonderful 
 virtues, that I actually indulged myself in a few extra 
 
DYSPEPSY. 221 
 
 glasses, and a few extra luxuries, on the credit of its 
 prospective operation. I read all the guides to health, 
 and all the lectures of Doctor Abernethy. In short, I 
 took every means (but the only proper ones) to effect 
 a cure. I proportioned my eating and other indul 
 gences to my faith in the workings of my favourite 
 panacea. When I took a dose of physic, I consid 
 ered myself as fairly entitled to take a small liberty 
 the day after; and when I rode or walked farther 
 than usual, I made the old wine, and the sauces and 
 plum-pudding, pay for it. It was thus that I man 
 aged to keep myself in a perfect equilibrium, and, like 
 another Penelope, undid in the afternoon the work of 
 the morning. I found, after all, nothing did me so 
 much good as laughing ; but, alas !, what was there 
 for me to laugh at in this world ! 
 
 The summer of my second year of ease and luxury, 
 I was advised to go to the Springs, where all the doc 
 tors send those patients who get out of patience at 
 not being cured in a reasonable time. Here I found 
 several companions in affliction, and was mightily 
 comforted to learn that some of them had been in 
 their present state almost a score of years, without 
 ever dying at all. We talked over our infirmities, 
 and I found there was a wonderful family resem 
 blance in them, for not one of us could give a tol 
 erable account of his symptoms. One was bilious, 
 another rheumatic ; a third was nervous, and a fourth 
 was all these put together. 
 
 " Why don t you exercise in the open air? " said I, 
 to this last martyr, one day. 
 
 " I catch cold, and that brings on my rheumatism." 
 "In the house, then?" 
 
222 DYSPEPSY. 
 
 " It makes me nervous." 
 
 " Why don t you sit still ? " 
 
 " It makes me bilious." 
 
 I thank my stars, thought I, here is a man to grow 
 happy upon ; he is worse off than myself. He be 
 came my favourite companion ; and no one can tell 
 how much better I felt in his society. 
 
 We formed a select coterie, and managed to sit to 
 gether at meals, where we discussed the subject of 
 digestion. We were all blessed with excellent appe 
 tites, and particularly fond of the things that did not 
 agree with us. 
 
 " Really, Mr. Butterfield, you are eating the very 
 worst thing on the table." 
 
 " I know it, my dear sir, but I am so fond of it." 
 
 " My good friend Mr. Creamwell, how can you 
 taste that hot bread?" 
 
 " My dear sir, don t you see I only eat the crust." 
 
 " Let me advise you not to try that green corn, Mr. 
 Ambler. It is the worst thing in the world for dys 
 peptic people." 
 
 " Doubtless, my dear Abstract ; but I always take 
 good care to chew, before I swallow, it." 
 
 Thus we went on, discussing and eating, and I par 
 ticularly noticed that every one ate what he preferred, 
 because, the fact was, he was so particularly fond of 
 that particular dish, he could not help indulging in it 
 sometimes. However, we talked a great deal on the 
 subject of diet, and not a man of us but believed him 
 self a pattern of abstinence. I continued my custom 
 of riding, every fair day, and occasionally met a fat 
 lady fagging along on a little fat pony, with a fat ser 
 vant behind her. One day, when it was excessively 
 
DYSPEPSY. 223 
 
 hot, I could not help asking her how she could think 
 of riding out in the broiling sun. 
 
 " O, sir, I m so dyspeptic." 
 
 I happened to see her at dinner that day, and did 
 not wonder at it. 
 
 I passed my time rather pleasantly here, with my 
 companions in misfortune. We exchanged notes, 
 compared our infirmities, and gave a full and true 
 history of their rise, progress, and present state, al 
 ways leaving out the eating. By degrees I became 
 versed in the history of each. One was a literary 
 man, and a poet. He set out in life with the neces 
 sity of economy and exertion, and practiced a labori 
 ous profession for some years, when, by great good 
 fortune, he made a lucky speculation, that enabled 
 him to lead a life of ease and luxury. He devoted 
 himself to the muses, and gained enough of reputa 
 tion, as he said, to make him indifferent to a thing 
 which he perceived came and went by chance or fash 
 ion. However, he did not make this discovery until 
 after several of his works had been condemned to ob 
 livion. Not having the stimulus of necessity, and 
 without the habit of being busy about nothing, than 
 which none can be more essential to a life of ease and 
 luxury, he gradually sunk into indifference and lassi 
 tude. He finally took to eating, and, for want of 
 some other object, came at last to consider his dinner 
 as the most important affair of life. In due time he 
 lost his spirits and health, and came to the Springs to 
 recover them. 
 
 " I ought to be happy," said he, " for I have more 
 than a sufficiency of money ; and as for fame, I look 
 to posterity for that." 
 
224 DYSPEPSY. 
 
 The next person of our coterie was a man who in 
 like manner had begun the world a hardy, yet honest, 
 adventurer. By dint of unwearied perseverance and 
 the exertion of his excellent faculties, he had risen, 
 step by step, on the -ladder of fortune, until, at the 
 age of fifty, he was in possession of a fair estate arid 
 an unsullied name. But he was sorely disappointed 
 to find that what he had been all his life seeking was 
 in fact a shadow. This is the common error of san 
 guine tempers ; they first exaggerate the object of 
 their pursuit, and then quarrel with it because it does 
 not realize their expectations. " I have all I ever pro 
 posed to myself in pursuing the means of happiness," 
 mused he, " and, for aught I can remember, I was hap 
 pier in what I sought than in what I found. I will 
 retire from these vain pursuits, and pass the rest of 
 my life in ease and luxury." Accordingly he settled 
 himself down, and, having nothing else to think of in 
 the morning, his time hung heavy on him till dinner. 
 Of consequence, he began to long for dinner-time ; 
 and, of course, dinner became an object of great con 
 sequence. It was an era in the four-and-twenty 
 hours, and you may rely on it, gentle reader, it was 
 properly solemnized. There are no people that eat so 
 much as the idle. The savage, basking in the sun all 
 day with his pipe, eats thrice as much, when he can 
 get it, as the industrious labourer. The inevitable 
 results of luxurious feeding associated with inaction 
 of body and mind made their appearance in good 
 time, and my friend was pronounced dyspeptic. Hav 
 ing, in the course of three years, consulted twenty-five 
 doctors ; taken a half-bushel of white mustard, and 
 fifty kegs of Jamison s Dyspepsy crackers ; and swal- 
 
DYSPEPSY. 225 
 
 lowed six hundred doses of various kinds all in 
 vain, (for he still continued to have a glorious appe 
 tite,) he at last came to the Springs, where I had the 
 happiness to meet him. 
 
 " I am indifferent to the world," said he, after fin 
 ishing the sketch, "lam indifferent to the world 
 and all it contains." 
 
 " Then why do you take such pains to live ? " 
 
 " I don t know," said he, with a melancholy smile ; 
 " I sometimes think Providence implanted in our 
 hearts the fear of death, in order to enable us to en 
 dure the ills of life without fleeing to the grave for a 
 refuge." . 
 
 Another of my new friends was brought up to 
 politics, a profession rather overstocked at present. 
 I will not enter into particulars, but merely state, that 
 after scuffling at meetings ; declaiming at polls ; 
 clinging to the skirts of great men ; fagging on their 
 errands ; doing for them what they were ashamed to 
 do for themselves ; and sacrificing all private, social, 
 and domestic duties to his party principles ; he at 
 length attained an honourable public station, which, 
 being permanent, he flattered himself would secure 
 him an independence for life. He accordingly discon 
 tinued his active exertions, and confined himself to 
 the laborious idleness and desperate monotony of his 
 office, which, although it did not furnish employment, 
 enforced the necessity of constant attendance. He 
 grew lazy, idle, and luxurious. The morning was too 
 long for his occupations, and the usual consequence 
 ensued ; he waited for his dinner, and made his din 
 ner pay for it. In this way he continued, increasing 
 in riches, and complaining of his health, and passing 
 
 15 
 
225 DYSPEPSY. 
 
 through the various stages of Dyspepsy; from the 
 doctor to the horse, from the horse to the white 
 mustard, the blue pills, and Dr. Abernethy to every 
 thing, in short, but the one specific. A sudden som 
 erset of party, in which all his friends turned their 
 coats but himself, brought him in jeopardy of office. 
 They all insisted he had deserted his party, when, the 
 fact was, his party had deserted him, as he solemnly 
 assured me. Be this as it may, as his appointment 
 was for life, and they could not get rid of the incum 
 bent, they got at him in another way ; they abolished 
 the office a cunning invention of modern politicians. 
 Having nothing to keep him in town, he came to the 
 Springs, to nurse his Dyspepsy, and rail at the ingrat 
 itude of republics. 
 
 There is but one more of the party to be mentioned. 
 He was the gentleman-of-all-work, whose diseases 
 were so provokingly contrasted that what was good 
 for one was bad for the other. Being one day in 
 terrogated on the subject, he began : 
 
 "I was born in the lap of " (here he yawned 
 pathetically), " and I shall die in the arms of " (here 
 he gave another great yawn), " but really gentlemen, 
 I feel so nervous, and bilious, and rheumatic, this 
 morning I am sure the wind is easterly pray ex 
 cuse me some other time." So saying, he yawned 
 once more, and went to see which way the wind blew. 
 
 My readers, if they are such readers as alone I ad 
 dress myself to, in looking back upon the growth of 
 whatever wisdom and experience time and opportu 
 nity may have gathered for them, will have observed 
 that a particular branch of knowledge, or a special 
 conviction of the understanding, will often baffle our 
 
DYSPEPSY. 227 
 
 pursuit for a long while. We grope in the dark 
 we lose ourselves lose sight of the object yet are 
 we gaining upon it, unknown and imperceptibly to 
 ourselves. The light is hidden, though just at hand, 
 and, finally, all at once bursts upon us, illuminates the 
 mind, and brings with it the full, perfect perception. 
 Thus was it with me. I had read all the most-ap 
 proved books, to come at the mystery of a man s be 
 ing always sick and always hungry ; and I had taken 
 all the steps, save one, which they recommended, 
 either as cures or palliatives. I was still in the dark, 
 but I was approaching the light. The history of my 
 complaining friends at once put me upon the right 
 path. I saw in them what I could not see in my 
 self. 
 
 On comparing their autobiographies odious, 
 clumsy word ! I could not but perceive a family 
 likeness in all. They had commenced the world with 
 active, exciting occupations, and were all too busy, 
 as well as too poor, in their youth, to become gluttons; 
 and, again, they had, without an exception, attained 
 at mid-age the means of assuring a life of luxury and 
 ease. They had arrived at stations in which they 
 could enjoy both without the necessity of exerting 
 either body or mind, and they did enjoy them. But 
 they wanted something, still they wanted a hobby 
 horse, a stimulus of some kind or other, sufficiently 
 piquant to urge their minds along without dragging 
 on the ground, or rusting out with inanity. They 
 were in the situation of a pair of pampered horses, 
 belonging to a friend of mine, a great mathematician, 
 who, though he kept a carriage, never rode in it. Of 
 course they got plump, clumsy, and dyspeptic; and 
 
228 DYSPEPSY. 
 
 never were used, without either falling lame, or tum 
 bling on their knees. My friend cast about for a remedy, 
 and at length hit upon one worthy of a philosopher. He 
 invented a machine, which, being fastened to the axle- 
 tree of his carriage, made an excellent corn-mill ; and 
 sent his horses out every day, to take an airing, and 
 grind their own corn. The friction of the machine 
 created a wholesome necessity for exertion in the 
 horses, which, in a little time, became perfectly ser 
 viceable, active, and sprightly. My companions in 
 misery only wanted to be under the necessity of grind 
 ing their own corn, and, like the horses of my friend 
 the mathematician, to combine the pleasure of eating 
 with the labour of earning a meal. 
 
 Next to this necessity for exertion is a hobby, a 
 pursuit of some kind or other, something to awake 
 the sleeping mind, if it be only to get up and play 
 puss-in-a-corner. I know a worthy gentleman who 
 has kept off Ennui and her twin sister, Dyspepsy, by a 
 habit of going every day round all the docks, counting 
 the vessels, and reading the names on the stern. He 
 came nigh being drowned the other day, in leaning 
 over the edge of a wharf to find out the name of 
 a beautiful new ship. Another distances the foul 
 fiend, which is as lazy as an overfed house-dog, by 
 walking up one street and down another, examining 
 all the new houses that are being built, counting the 
 number of rooms, closets, and pantries, and noting 
 divers other particulars. He can describe the marble 
 mantel-pieces of every new house in town. But, 
 in my opinion, the wisest of all my friends was a 
 wealthy idler, who was fast sinking into subjection to 
 this ghoul of the age. He all at once bethought him- 
 
DYSPEPSY. 229 
 
 self of altering his dinner hour, and afterwards went 
 about telling the news to all his friends. Let not the 
 dingy moralists, who send out their decrees for the 
 acquisition of happiness from the depths of darkness, 
 and know no more of the world than a ground-mole, 
 turn up their noses at these my especial friends. Did 
 they know what they ought to know before they set 
 themselves up as teachers, they would comprehend 
 that, when men have made their fortunes by industry 
 and economy and have paid their debt to society in use 
 ful and honourable labour, there comes a time when 
 the bow must be unstrung when amusements, or at 
 least light avocations, become indispensable, and trifles 
 assume importance, because they exercise the influ 
 ence of weighty circumstances on our happiness. It 
 is then that he who can find out an innocent mode 
 of living, and innocent sources of recreation, which 
 interfere with no one s happiness, and contribute to 
 his own which keep his mind from preying on 
 itself, and his body healthy is better entitled to the 
 honours of philosophy than inexperienced people are 
 aware. 
 
 What would have been the effect of the new light 
 which had thus broken in upon me whether habit 
 would have yielded to conviction, or whether (as is 
 generally the case with old offenders) I should have 
 continued to act against my better reason, I know 
 not. Happily, as I now am convinced, I was not left 
 to decide for myself. Fortune took the affair in her 
 own hands. One morning I received a letter, appris 
 ing me of the failure of our house, and the probable 
 ruin it would bring upon myself. That very day I 
 set out for the city, with a vigour and activity beyond 
 
230 DYSPEPSY. 
 
 all praise, and proceeded directly on, without stopping 
 by the way or once thinking of my digestion. 
 
 " Adieu," said the poet, as I took leave of him ; 
 " never trust to the present age, but look to posterity 
 for your reward." 
 
 " Farewell," said the despiser of this world ; " take 
 care of your health, and never eat sausages." 
 
 " Good-by," said the politician ; " beware of the 
 ingratitude of republics." 
 
 " Day-day, Mr. Ambler," said the nervous gentle 
 man ; " can you tell me which way the wind blows ? 
 I wish you all hap " here he was beset by a yawn, 
 which lasted till I was in my carriage and on the way 
 to the city. 
 
 Arriving in town, I plunged into a sea of troubles. 
 The younger partner of our house, being in a hurry 
 to grow rich, had encouraged a habit of speculating, 
 which, unfortunately for us all, produced a pernicious 
 habit of gambling in schemes of vast magnitude. 
 Having thrown doublets two or three times in suc 
 cession, he did not, like a wise calculator, conclude 
 that his luck must be nearly exhausted, and retire from 
 the game with his winnings. He doubled again, and 
 lost all. I will not fatigue my readers with the details 
 of a bankruptcy of this kind. It will be sufficient to 
 say that I took the business directly in hand ; nearly 
 deranged my head in arranging my affairs ; and, by 
 dint of extraordinary industry, and I will say extraor 
 dinary integrity, managed to do what only three men 
 before me in similar circumstances had ever done in 
 this city since the landing of Hendrik Hudson. I 
 paid the debts of the firm to the last farthing, leaving 
 myself nothing but a good name, a good conscience, 
 
DYSPEPSY. 231 
 
 and a large farm in the very centre of the Highlands. 
 I worked every day in the business, like a hero, and 
 took no care what I should eat or what I should 
 drink. My mind was fully occupied, and I was per 
 petually running about, or examining into my affairs 
 at the counting-house. 
 
 I went to pay off my last and greatest debt, to my 
 last creditor, a hard-featured, hard-working, gigantic 
 Scotchman, who had the reputation of being a most 
 inflexible dealer. When all was settled, he said, 
 
 " Mr. Ambler, of course you mean to begin business 
 again. Remember that my credit, ay sir, my purse, is 
 at your service. You have gained my confidence." 
 
 " I thank you, Mr. Hardup," replied I, " warmly, 
 sincerely ; for I know you are sincere in your offers. 
 But I mean to retire into the country with what I 
 have saved from the wreck of my fortune. I am tired 
 of business, and too poor to be idle. I have a farm 
 in the mountains, which, I thank God, is mine ; for 
 my creditors are all paid. You, sir, are the last." 
 
 "Very well, very well," replied Mr. Hardup, stalk 
 ing about according to his wont ; " but, is your farm 
 stocked, and all that ? " 
 
 I was obliged to answer in the negative. It was 
 almost in a state of nature. Mr. Hardup said noth 
 ing more, and I bade him farewell with a feeling of 
 indignation at his idle inquiries. The next day, I re 
 ceived the following note, enclosing a check for a 
 sum which I shall not mention : 
 
 " SIR You must have something to stock your 
 farm. Pay the enclosed when you are able. I shall 
 come and see you one of these days, when you are 
 
232 DYSPEPSY. 
 
 settled. Send me neither receipt nor thanks for the 
 money. There is more where that came from. You 
 have gained my confidence, I repeat; and no man 
 ever gained that, without I hope being the better for 
 it, sooner or later. 
 
 " Your friend and servant, 
 
 " ALEXANDER HARDUP." 
 
 " P. S. Get up early in the morning ; see to mat 
 ters yourself; and never buy any thing dear except a 
 good name. A. H." 
 
 A worthy man was this Mr. Hardup ; and I shall 
 never again, while I live, judge of any body by the 
 expression of the face, or the common report of the 
 world. 
 
 It was in the spring of the year 1818 that I bade 
 adieu to the city, and went to take possession of my 
 farm, where I arrived just when the sun was gilding 
 the mountain-tops with his retreating rays, as he sunk 
 behind the equally high hills on the opposite side of 
 the river. The scene indeed was beautiful to look at, 
 but by no means encouraging to a man who was 
 going to set himself down here and labour for a live 
 lihood. I was received by an old man and his wife, 
 who had occupied my farm a long time, at a very 
 moderate rent which they never paid. The aspect of 
 the house was melancholy broken windows, broken 
 chairs, and a broken table. But there was plenty of 
 fresh air, and I slept that night on a straw-bed, and 
 studied astronomy through the holes in the roof. The 
 dead silence too that reigned in this Jonely retreat, 
 contrasted with the ceaseless racket of the town, to 
 
DYSPEPSY. 233 
 
 which I had been so long accustomed, had a mourn 
 ful effect on my spirits, and disposed my mind to 
 gloomy thoughts of the future. The fatigue of my 
 journey, however, at last overpowered me, and I fell 
 asleep in the certainty of waking next morning with 
 some terrible malady arising from my exposed situa 
 tion. It is a singular fact, that I slept that night 
 more sweetly than I had done ever since I determined 
 upon the enjoyment of a life of luxury and ease ; and, 
 what is equally singular, I waked early in the morn 
 ing, without either a sore throat, a swelled face, or a 
 rheumatic headache. I am certain of this, for I felt 
 my throat, shook my head to hear if it cracked, and 
 looked in a bit of glass to see if my face retained its 
 true proportions. I confess I was rather disappointed. 
 " But never mind," thought I, " I shall certainly pay 
 for it to-morrow." 
 
 The morrow came, however, and I was again dis 
 appointed. I was sure it would come the next day. 
 But, wonderful as it may seem, I thought I felt better 
 than when I had slept in a feather-bed and a close 
 room warmed with anthracite coal. I began to be 
 encouraged, and by degrees became reconciled to the 
 enormity of sleeping on a straw-bed, in a room where 
 the air was playing about in zephyrs, without catch 
 ing cold. My reader, if he chance to be in the enjoy 
 ment of ease and luxury, will shrink with horror from 
 my dinners, which consisted of a piece of salt pork 
 and potatoes for the first course, and some bread and 
 butter, or bread and milk, for the dessert. At first, [ 
 was certain the pork would produce indigestion ; but, 
 I suppose, as there was nothing particularly inviting 
 in it, I did not eat enough to do me any harm, for I 
 

 !34 DYSPEPSY. 
 
 certainly felt as light as a feather after my meals, and, 
 instead of dozing away an hour in a chair, was ready 
 for exercise at a minute s warning. 
 
 The old couple welcomed me to my " nice place," 
 and were exceedingly eloquent in praise of my nice, 
 comfortable house, the nice pork, the bread and but 
 ter, and the milk, all equally " nice." By degrees I 
 began to be infected with their artless content, and 
 sometimes actually caught myself enjoying the scanty 
 comforts around me. I did not cudgel myself into an 
 unwilling submission to necessity ; but I benefited by 
 the example of the honest old couple without reason 
 ing at all about the matter. Reason and precept are 
 a sort of pedagogues that, at best, bring about but a 
 grumbling acquiescence ; while example conies in the 
 shape of a gentle guide, himself pursuing the right 
 way, and not commanding us to follow, but beckon 
 ing us on with smiles. 
 
 - I confess, when I looked about on my domain, I 
 despaired of ever bringing it into order, beauty, or 
 productiveness. I knew not the magic of labour and 
 perseverance ; nor did I dream that the fields around 
 me, which seemed only fruitful in rocks and stones, 
 could ever be made to w r ave in golden grain or green 
 meadows. The only spot of all my extensive estate 
 that seemed susceptible of improvement was about 
 twenty acres that lay directly before my door, between 
 two shelving rocky mountains, and through which ran 
 a little brook of clear spring-water. But even this 
 was so sprinkled with rocks which had rolled down 
 from the neighbouring hills, that it was sufficiently 
 discouraging to a man who had for several years worn 
 spatterdashes, because he shrunk from pulling on his 
 
DYSPEPSY. 235 
 
 boots. I spent a month, nearly, in pondering on what 
 I should first undertake, and ended in despairing to 
 undertake any thing. 
 
 One day I was leaning over the bars at the entrance 
 to my house, when a tall, raw-boned figure, with 
 hardly an ounce of flesh to his complement, came rid 
 ing along on a horse as hardy and raw-boned as 
 himself. He stopped at the bars, and bade me good- 
 morning. In justice to myself I must say that, 
 though proud enough in all conscience, I am not one 
 of those churls who, because they have a better coat 
 to their backs, (which, by the way, often belongs to 
 the tailor), think themselves entitled to receive the hon 
 est salute of an honest man with coldness or contempt. 
 Beshrew me such arrant blockheads, they call this 
 vulgar insolence, when, in fact, it is the impulse of 
 nature, whispering to the inmost man that there is 
 nothing in outward circumstances, or the difference 
 of wealth or dress, which places one being so high 
 above another that he must not speak to him when 
 they happen to meet or be thrown together. Even 
 when I was enjoying a life of luxury and ease, and 
 possessed of great wealth, it was a pleasure to me to 
 talk with these honest fellows in linsey-woolsey; and 
 I will here bear this testimony, that I have gained 
 from them more practical knowledge, heard more 
 plain good-sense, and caught more valuable hints for 
 the government and enjoyment of life, than I ever did 
 from all the philosophers I ever conversed with, or all 
 the books I ever read. 
 
 " Good morning, good morning," said the tall man 
 on the tall horse; and, " good morning, good morning," 
 replied I, not to be outdone in courtesy. 
 
236 DYSPEPSY. 
 
 " I believe you don t know me," said he, after a 
 short pause, which, short as it was, proved the longest 
 he ever made in his conversations with me. " I be 
 lieve you don t know me ; my name is Lightly, and 1 
 am your next neighbour over the mountain yonder." 
 
 " And my name is Ambler," said I, " and I am 
 heartily glad to have you for a neighbour. Won t 
 you alight?" 
 
 " Well, I don t care if I do ; it was partly my busi 
 ness to come and have a talk with you." 
 
 Mr. Lightly accordingly dismounted, and, fastening 
 his horse under a tree to protect him from the sun, 
 which was waxing hot, followed me into the house. 
 After taking something, he looked about, first at one 
 mountain, then at another, and at length began: 
 " A rough country, this you ve got into, Mr. Ambler." 
 
 " Very," replied I ; "so rough, that I am afraid I 
 shall never make any part of it smooth." 
 
 No ? " said Mr. Lightly ; why not ? " 
 
 " Look at the trees." 
 
 " You must cut them down," 
 
 " Look at the rocks." 
 
 " You must grub them up, they ll make excellent 
 stone walls." 
 
 " Doubtless, if I had the people who piled Ossa on 
 Pelion to assist me." Mr. Lightly had never read the 
 history of the great rebellion of the giants, and rather 
 stared at me. " But," added I, " do you really think 
 I can make any thing out of these mountains ? " 
 
 " Do I ? " said he ; " only come over and see me to 
 morrow, and I will give you proof of it ; but no, now 
 I think of it, not to-morrow, the day after. I am 
 going to step over to Poughkeepsie to-morrow, and 
 sha n t be back till sundown." 
 
DYSPEPSY. 237 
 
 " Poughkeepsie ! " cried I, " and back again in 
 one day ! Why, tis sixty miles : you mean, you ll be 
 back the day after to-morrow evening." 
 
 " No I don t. I mean to-morrow evening, God 
 willing ; but my days are much longer than yours." 
 
 " I should think so : you mean to make the sun 
 stand still, like Joshua." 
 
 " No I don t, though my name is Joshua. I mean 
 to be up at the first crowing of an old cock, that 
 never sleeps after three in the morning, in summer." 
 
 " But, you ve got a horse, why don t you ride ? " 
 
 " O, that would take me two days ; and I can t well 
 spare the time. I never ride when I m in a hurry." 
 
 So saying, Mr. Lightly, after getting my promise to 
 come over the next day but one, took his departure, 
 leaving me to ponder on the vast improbability of a 
 man s walking to Poughkeepsie and back again in one 
 day. If he does, thought I, I shall begin to believe in 
 the seven-league boots. 
 
 On the morning appointed, my old man guided me 
 by a winding path to the summit of the mountain ; 
 and, pointing to a comfortable-looking house, flanked 
 by a large barn and other out-buildings, which stood 
 in the midst of green meadows and cultivated fields, 
 told me that was the place to which I was going. As 
 I paused awhile to contemplate the rural scene, I 
 could not help wishing that it had pleased Providence 
 to cast my lot where the rocks were so scarce, and the 
 meadows so green. Lightly saw me at the top of the 
 hill, and, making some half a dozen long strides with 
 his long legs, met me more than half-way up the 
 mountain side. 
 
 " Good morning, good morning," said he, for I soon 
 
238 DYSPEPSY. 
 
 found he was very fond of talking, and often repeated 
 the same thing to keep himself going. 
 
 I returned his salutation, adding, " I see you have 
 got back." 
 
 " O yes ; but not quite so soon as I calculated. I 
 went about four miles out of my way, to bring home 
 my old woman s yarn from the manufactory, and it 
 was almost dark before I got home." 
 
 During this brief dialogue he had shot ahead of me 
 two or three times. " You are no great walker, I see," 
 said Mr. Lightly. 
 
 " Why, no ; I don t think I could walk sixty-eight 
 miles a day, in the month of June, without being a 
 little tired." 
 
 " There s nothing like trying," said he. 
 
 " I don t think I shall try," thought I. 
 
 My new friend, Mr. Lightly, kept me with him all 
 day, showing me what he had done in the course of 
 eight or ten years, and describing his farm as it was, 
 when he first purchased it for little or nothing. We 
 came to a beautiful meadow, which I could not help 
 admiring, and wishing I had such a one on my farm. 
 
 " You have a much finer one," said Lightly. 
 
 " Where? I never saw it." 
 
 " Directly before your door." 
 
 " That ! why, it is paved with rocks." 
 
 " Well, and so was this." 
 
 " What has become of them all ? " 
 
 " There they are," pointing to the wall which sur 
 rounded the meadow. 
 
 The wall seemed a work of the Cyclops, or the 
 builders of the pyramids, for it was literally rocks 
 piled on rocks, " as if by magic spell." I inquired 
 
DYSPEPSY. 239 
 
 how he got them one upon the other, as I did not see 
 any machinery. 
 
 " We had no machines but such as these," holding 
 out his hard, bony hands, and baring part of his arms, 
 that were nothing but twisted sinews. 
 
 " But you did not dig these rocks out of the ground, 
 and pile them up here, all by yourself, surely ? " 
 
 " No, no ; not quite that, either. I have six boys, 
 who assisted me. You shall see them ; they will be 
 home from work, presently." 
 
 " Fine boys work ! Faith, I should like to see 
 them." 
 
 " Yonder they come," said Mr. Lightly. 
 
 I followed the direction of his eye, and beheld com 
 ing down the hill, afar off, what I took for six giants, 
 striding onward with intent to devour us at one meal. 
 As they advanced towards me my apprehensions sub 
 sided, for I saw, in their open countenances and clear 
 blue eyes, indubitable tokens of harmlessness and 
 good-nature. I never saw such men before ; and here 
 in the mountains, out of the sphere of those arti 
 ficial distinctions which level in some measure all 
 physical disparities, I could not help feeling a sort of 
 qualm of inferiority. In the crowded city, and amid 
 the conflicts of civilized society, the mind predomi 
 nates ; but here my business was to cut down trees 
 and remove rocks, and the man best qualified for 
 these was the great man for my money. After seeing 
 these " boys," I did not so much wonder at the mira 
 cles they had achieved. The whole farm, in fact, ex 
 hibited proofs of the wonders which may be wrought 
 by a few strong arms, animated and impelled by as 
 many stout hearts. 
 
240 DYSPEPSY. 
 
 " You see what we have done," said Lightly ; "why 
 can t you do the same ? " 
 
 " My good sir, I am neither a giant myself, nor 
 have I any sons that are giants." 
 
 " Well, well," said he, " I will tell you what was 
 partly my reason what was partly my reason for 
 asking you over to see me. My youngest boy step 
 out, Ahasuerus my youngest boy is just married, 
 and, as our hive is pretty full, it is necessary that he 
 should swarm out with his wife, who is a good, hearty, 
 industrious girl, that will be excellent help for your 
 old woman. You can t get on, at first, without some 
 hard work, and you will not be able to work yourself 
 for some time, very hard ; you will want such a boy 
 as mine, to break the way a little smooth for you." 
 
 I caught at the proposal, instantly ; we were not 
 long coming to terms, and in three days the new- 
 married couple, the boy and the girl, were established 
 at my house. 
 
 " She don t know any thing about house-keeping," 
 said my old woman. 
 
 " You shall teach her," said I ; and she went about 
 her work, perfectly content. 
 
 " He is a mere boy," quoth my old man ; " what 
 can he know of farming ! " 
 
 " He will learn it of you," said I ; and the old man 
 felt as proud as a peacock. 
 
 My Polyphemus with two eyes, set to work without 
 delay, under the direction of my old man, who talked 
 a great deal and did nothing ; and who, after having 
 given his opinion, was content to follow that of the 
 other. I was busy, too, looking on ; running about, 
 doing little or nothing; but taking an interest, and 
 
DYSPEPSY. 241 
 
 sympathizing with the lusty labours of the young 
 giant Ahasuerus to such a degree, that I have often 
 actually fallen into a violent perspiration, at seeing him 
 prying up a large stone. Thus I got a great deal of 
 the benefit of hard work, without actually fatiguing 
 myself. By degrees, I came to work a little myself; 
 and when I did not work, I gave my advice, and saw 
 the others work. One day it was the crisis of my 
 life one day, Ahasuerus and the old man were at 
 tempting to raise a rock out of the ground by means 
 of a lever, but their weight was not sufficient. They 
 tried several times, but in vain ; whereat the spirit 
 came upon me, and, seizing the far end of the lever, 
 I hung upon it with all my might, kicking most man 
 fully the while. The rock yielded to our united ex 
 ertions, and rolled out of the ground. It was my 
 victory. 
 
 " We should not have got it out without you," said 
 Ahasuerus. 
 
 " It was all your doing," quoth the old man. 
 
 But, to tell the honest truth, I quaked in the midst 
 of my triumph, lest this unheard-of exertion might 
 have injured a blood-vessel, or strained some of the 
 vital parts. That night, I thought, some how or other, 
 I felt rather faintish and languid. But it may be I 
 was only a little sleepy; for I fell asleep in five min 
 utes, and did not wake till sunrise. It was some time 
 before I could persuade myself I was quite well ; but, 
 being unable fairly to detect any thing to the contrary, 
 I arose and walked forth into the freshness of the 
 morning, and my spirit laughed in concert with the 
 sprightly insects and chirping birds. 
 
 After this I became bolder and bolder, until, finally, 
 16 
 
242 DYSPEPSY. 
 
 animated by the example of the great Ahasuerus, 
 I one day laid hold of a rock, and rolled it fairly out 
 of its bed. I was astonished at this feat; I had no 
 idea that I could make the least exertion, without 
 suffering for it severely in some way or other. I 
 never could do it before, and what is the reason I 
 can do it now, thought I ; I certainly used to feel very 
 faint, sometimes, on occasion of drawing a hard cork 
 out of a bottle. My new monitor, experience, whis 
 pered me that this was nothing but apprehension, 
 which, when it becomes a habit and gains a certain 
 mastery over the mind, produces a sensation allied to 
 faintness. It embarrasses the pulsation, and that oc 
 casions a feeling of swooning. The mental impres 
 sion causes the physical. I was never so happy in 
 my whole life as when I received this lesson of ex 
 perience. I was no longer afraid of dying off-hand, 
 of the exertion of drawing a cork. 
 
 o 
 
 Thus we went on during the summer. The salt 
 pork relished wonderfully ; the bread and milk be 
 came a delicious dessert ; and the rocks daily vanished 
 from the meadow, as if by magic. The autumn 
 now approached, and I bethought myself how I should 
 get through the winter, with so many broken panes, 
 and so many skylights in the roof of my house. 
 There was neither carpenter nor glazier in ten miles, 
 and I was at a loss what to do. I spoke to Ahasue 
 rus the Great about it. " If you will get me a few 
 shingles and nails, and some glass and putty, I will 
 do it myself," said he. " If you can do it, so can I," 
 said I ; for I began to be a little jealous of Ahasuerus. 
 Accordingly, I procured the materials, and, mounting 
 on the roof, went to work zealously. It was a devil 
 
DYSPEPSY. 2-13 
 
 of a business ; but I got through at last. It did not 
 look very well, to be sure ; but it kept out the rain, the 
 snow, and the keen air. Encouraged at my unac 
 countable ingenuity as a carpenter, I turned glazier, 
 and broke six panes of glass in no time. With the 
 seventh, however, I succeeded ; and well it was that I 
 did so, for I had determined this attempt should be 
 the last, and its failure would have forever satisfied 
 rne that none but a man who had learned the trade 
 of a glazier could put in a pane of glass. As it was, 
 I passed from the extreme of depression and vexation 
 to that of exaltation and vanity. 
 
 " How easy it is to get on in this world, and with 
 what small means we may attain to all the necessary 
 comforts of life ! " cried I : " men make themselves 
 slaves, to ward off evils that are imaginary ; and sweat 
 through a life of toil, to become at last dependent on 
 others for what they can do just as well themselves. 
 What is the use of plaguing myself with these eter 
 nal labours ; I will be idle and happy." 
 
 " Remember the poet at Saratoga." 
 
 " Remember the philosopher." 
 
 " Remember the politician." 
 
 " Remember the man of nerves," whispered mem 
 ory in my ear, " and remember thyself remember 
 DYSPEPSY." I fled from my conclusion as fast as I 
 could run, and worked that day harder than ever. 
 
 Winter came, and having a vast forest of wood, 
 some of which was decaying and the remainder in 
 full maturity, I determined to have it cut down and 
 sold, to pay my debt to my old Scotchman. With the 
 assistance of one or two others, Ahasuerus performed 
 wonders in the woods, as he had done among the 
 
244 DYSPEPSY. 
 
 rocks. I forget how many cords they sent to market, 
 but it produced enough to pay my old friend, and 
 then I stood upon the proudest eminence an unambi 
 tious man can attain ; I owed no man a penny, and I 
 could live without running in debt. This is a great 
 and solid happiness, not sufficiently appreciated in 
 this age. 
 
 People that know no better are apt to think that 
 winter in the country is one long level of dead uni 
 formity ; and that there is no enjoyment away from 
 the fireside. But they are widely mistaken. Nature 
 everywhere forever presents a succession of varieties, 
 and those of winter are not the least beautiful. The 
 short days of December and January are perhaps the 
 most gloomy ; but have this advantage, that they are 
 short, and are followed by good long nights, in which 
 it is a luxury to nestle in a warm bed and hear the 
 wind whistle or the light fleeces of snow patting 
 against the windows, and fall asleep thinking how 
 much better-off we are than millions of our fellow- 
 creatures. When the earth lies barren, with its herb 
 age destroyed; when the forests, stripped of their 
 leafy honours, stand bare to the winds; even then na 
 ture is not altogether desolate in these lonely moun 
 tains. The homely brown of the woods is dotted 
 here and there by clusters of evergreens, that appear 
 only the more beautiful from the leanness that sur 
 rounds them ; and even the gravity of the old gray- 
 beard rocks is often enlivened with spots of green 
 moss that relieve their sober aspect. There is music 
 too in the wintry solitudes : for, in the pure clear air, 
 every sound is musical. The lowing of cattle the 
 barking of the dog and chattering of the squirrel 
 
DYSPEPSY. 245 
 
 the drumming of the partridge the echoes of the 
 fowler s gun, and of the woodman s axe whose strokes 
 are by and by followed by the loud crash of the fall 
 ing tree all breaking in succession, and sometimes 
 mingling in chorus, on the beautiful and buoyant air, 
 bear with them a lonely yet touching charm, which, 
 to a contented mind in a healthy frame, affords the 
 means of real substantial enjoyment. 
 
 Anon, Nature puts on her robe of spotless white, the 
 true livery of youth, beauty, and innocence ; and 
 then, what an intense, ineffable lustre invests her all 
 around, and everywhere ! The impurities, the blem 
 ishes, and the deformities of the earth, are all hidden 
 under the snowy veil ; the roughness becomes smooth 
 and glassy; the stagnant pools, exhaling in summer 
 disease and death, are robbed of their poisons ; the 
 bogs are invisible, and the very swamps salubrious. 
 All is clear, unsullied, and still ; the pale image of in 
 nocent beauty, clothed for a while in the trappings of 
 the tomb. All is soothing, but nothing lively : all 
 grave and solemn, yet nothing melancholy. But the 
 jiight_js, if possible, still more holy and beautiful, 
 when the brightness of the moon-beams sporting on 
 the glittering surface of the snow creates a sort of fe 
 male day, softer, and more tranquillizing, yet almost 
 equally bright. Not an insect chirps or buzzes in the 
 ear ; there is no life stirring in nature s veins : her pul 
 ses stop. But a thousand glittering stars, invisible at 
 other times, come forth, as if to view the scene 
 stretched out below them, or watch with sparkling 
 eyes the course of their bright queen athwart the 
 heavens. 
 
 Then come the lengthening days, which at first 
 
246 DYSPEPSY. 
 
 steal on imperceptibly, with steps noiseless and slow, 
 silently unlocking the chains of winter, and setting 
 nature free so easily that we do not hear the turning 
 of the key. At first, the trickling of the waters from 
 the roof, and the falling of the icicles, apprise us of the 
 advance of the sun, to resume his glowing sceptre. 
 Anon, the southern exposures begin to spot the vast 
 white winding-sheet with brown ; and, here and there, 
 though very rarely, along the margin of some living 
 spring, the tender grass begins to peep forth. Every 
 day the empire of the sun extends by slow progression. 
 The brooks begin again to murmur and glisten, mark 
 ing their courses by the increased verdure of the grass 
 and willows on their margins ; and, by inappreciable 
 degrees, the few sere leaves that clung all winter to 
 the sapless branches are pushed from their hold by the 
 swelling buds, and fall whispering to the earth, to 
 mingle with her crumbling atoms. It is thus with all 
 the works of nature, and with man. The young buds 
 push off the old dry leaves ; the very rocks are muta 
 ble ; all feel the universal law of change, and man the 
 most of all. 
 
 I did not spend my winter idly, but went out every 
 day to see my wood-cutters. In order to give some 
 interest to my walks, I purchased a gun, procured a 
 brace of fox-hounds, and in time became a mighty 
 hunter before the Lord. No man of sentiment has 
 ever heard the " deep-mouthed hound," as the poet, 
 with singular felicity, calls him, saluting the clear 
 frosty morning with sonorous and far-sounding chal 
 lenges, without feeling its inspiration in the silence 
 of the mountains. I found their society, and that of 
 my gun, delightful, though truth obliges me to confess 
 
DYSPEPSY. 247 
 
 that I seldom got any thing in my sporting rambles 
 but exercise and a keen appetite. Almost the first 
 extensive excursion I made, being intent on following 
 the hounds, I unluckily fell through the ice into a 
 small pond, which the melting of the first snows had 
 formed in a little valley. I got completely wet from 
 head to foot ; and I was some miles from home. The 
 whole way, I suffered the horrible anticipation of dis 
 eases without number; rheumatism, consumption, 
 catarrh, sore throat, inflammation of the chest, and a 
 hundred others. In short, I gave myself up for gone ; 
 and was in such a hurry to get home and settle my 
 affairs, that I arrived there in a perfect glow. I lost 
 no time in changing my dress, and, it being now 
 evening, went directly to bed, expecting next morning 
 to find myself as stiff as a poker. At first I fell into 
 a profuse perspiration, and then into a sound sleep 
 which lasted till morning. I can hardly believe it 
 myself, at this moment; I awoke as well as ever I 
 was in my life, and never felt any ill effects from my 
 accident. After this, I defied the whole college of 
 physicians, nay, all the colleges put together. I con 
 sidered myself another Achilles, invulnerable even at 
 the heel, and now cared no more for the weather than 
 a grizzly -bear, or a seeker of the North- West pas 
 sage. 
 
 Thus passed my first winter. In the spring, I paid 
 my debt to Hardup with the product of my wood. In 
 the summer, he came to see me. " I did not come be 
 fore, for fear you would think it was to dun you," 
 said he. He has repeated his visit every summer, for 
 the last seven years, and he assures me every time, 
 that, were he not Hardup, he would be Ambler. It 
 
248 DYSPEPSY. 
 
 would be tedious, neither is it necessary to the moral 
 of my story, to detail the progress I made, and the 
 wonders achieved by Ahasuems, from the period at 
 which I first took possession of my estate, to that in 
 which I am now writing. Great as are the changes, 
 they bear no comparison with those / have under 
 gone. 
 
 My farm is now a little Eden among the high hills, 
 whose rugged aspects only add richness and beauty to 
 the cultivated fields. I have saved enough to add 
 two wings to my old house, and to put it in good re 
 pair, besides building a barn and other out-houses. 
 Every year I execute some little improvements, just 
 to keep up the excitement of novelty, and prevent me 
 from thinking too much about myself. Every fair 
 day in spring, summer, and autumn, it is my custom 
 to climb a part of the mountain which overlooks my 
 little domain and affords a full view of its green or 
 golden enclosures. 
 
 It lies at the head of a long narrow vale, skirted on 
 either side by rough, rocky, steep mountains, clothed 
 with vast forests of every growth. My house is on a 
 little round knoll, just on the edge of the meadow, so 
 rough at my first arrival here, but which now has not 
 a single stone above its surface. The clear spring- 
 brook which meanders through it, and is full of trout, 
 forms the head of a fine stream, which, (gathering the 
 tribute of the hills as it proceeds onward), waxes 
 larger as it goes, and appears at different points far 
 down the valley, coursing its bright way to the Hud 
 son. On either side of the valley, among rocks and 
 woods, is sometimes seen a cultivated field or two, 
 with a house, and a few cattle ; but, with this excep- 
 
DYSPEPSY. 249 
 
 tion, there is a perfect and beautiful contrast between 
 the bosom and the sides of the valley. The former 
 is all softness, verdure, and fertility; the latter are 
 stately with forests, or severe in naked sublimity. In 
 a day made brilliant by a north-west wind I can see 
 the junction of the little river, (of which, as being the 
 proprietor of its parent spring, I consider myself the 
 father), with the majestic Hudson. I wish the reader, 
 that is, if he is a clever man, or, what is still better, a 
 clever and pretty lady, would come and see my farm 
 next summer. 
 
 I have paid but one visit to the city, and that was 
 to my old friend Hardup, who is become very fond 
 of me ever since he conferred a benefit. While I 
 was one day strolling along the Battery, I exchanged 
 one of those glances which bespeak a doubtful rec 
 ognition, with a portly, rosy-cheeked man I was sure 
 I had once known. On these occasions I generally 
 make the advance. 
 
 " I think I have seen you before, sir," said I, " but 
 really I can t tell exactly where." 
 
 " I am in the same predicament," replied he, smil 
 ing ; " your face is familiar, though I can t recall your 
 name." 
 
 " My name is Ambler." 
 
 " Good heavens ! is it possible " and, though 
 glad to see me, he seemed quite astonished ; " my 
 name is Abstract." I almost fell backwards over one 
 of the benches. It was my friend, the man of nerves, 
 as hale and hearty as if he had never had any nerves 
 in his life. 
 
 " I ll not believe it," said I ; " why, what has hap 
 pened to you ? " 
 
250 DYSPEPSY. 
 
 " O, I m married," he replied, " and have enough to 
 do besides attending to my nerves; but you you 
 are metamorphosed too what has come over you ? 
 Are you, too, married ? " 
 
 " No ; I m a bachelor still," said I : "so you see 
 there are two opposite ways to the same thing." 
 
 Having exchanged our addresses, we parted, the 
 best friends in the world. 
 
 " You had better get a wife," cried he. 
 
 " I mean to," I replied, " as soon as I can afford the 
 revenues of a city, to keep her in pin-money." 
 
 " Pooh !, if you can t keep her in pin-money, you 
 can keep her in order," answered he of the nerves, and 
 strutted away, with the air of a man who was either 
 master at home, or so dexterously led captive as not 
 to suspect it. 
 
 I begin to grow weary of talking about myself; 
 and, as I have observed that listeners and readers 
 generally get tired before speakers and authors, will 
 here conclude my story. Its moral, I hope, cannot be 
 mistaken. I committed to paper the result of my 
 experience, not for the purpose of laughing at the 
 miseries of human life, or of ridiculing the infirmities 
 of my fellow-creatures. I wished, if possible, to per 
 suade them that a large portion of the cares of this 
 world, from which we are so anxious to escape, are 
 nothing more than blessings in disguise, and thus to 
 diminish that inordinate love of riches which is 
 founded on the silly presumption that they are the 
 sources of all happiness. It is under the dominion 
 of this mistaken idea that money becomes indeed the 
 root of all evil, by being sought with an insatiable 
 appetite, that swallows up all our feelings of brother- 
 
DYSPEPSY. 251 
 
 hood, and causes men to prey upon each other like 
 the wild beasts of the forest ; nay, more savagely 
 for their instinct teaches them to spare their own 
 species. Were mankind aware of the total inability 
 of wealth to confer content or to make leisure delight 
 ful, they would perchance seek it with less avidity, 
 and with fewer sacrifices of that integrity which is a 
 far more essential ingredient in human happiness 
 than the gold for which it is so often bartered. My 
 history may also afford a useful example to those 
 whose situations entail on them the necessity of la 
 bour and economy, by teaching them the impossibility 
 of reconciling a life of luxury and ease with the en 
 joyment of jocund spirits, lusty health, and rational 
 happiness. 
 
 "But what has become of your DYSPEPSY all 
 this time ? " the reader will ask. 
 
 Faith !, I had forgot that entirely ! 
 
THE PROGRESS OF THE AGE. 
 
THE PROGRESS OF THE AGE. 
 
 SQUIRE VAN GAASBEECK (which means Goosebill 
 in English) was for fifty good years snugly settled on 
 the spot of his birth, happy in himself, happy in his 
 family, and happy in the possession of three hundred 
 acres of the best land in Greene county. His family 
 consisted of a wife, a son, and two daughters the 
 latter of a ripe, marriageable age Catharine and 
 Rachel, called, in the familiar Dutch vernacular, Teenie 
 and Lockie. The name of the boy, as they called him, 
 for he was but thirty, was Yaup, which signifies Jacob 
 in English. 
 
 The daughters spun and wove the linsey-woolsey 
 and linen ; the mother, with their help, made them up 
 into garments for the squire and Yaup, who worked 
 in the fields sometimes a whole day, with Primus the 
 black boy, without exchanging a single word. Every 
 year Squire Van Gaasbeeck added a few hundreds to 
 his store ; every year the governor sent him a com 
 mission as justice of the peace ; and every year the 
 daughters added to their reserve of linen and petti 
 coats, deposited in the great oaken chest with a spring- 
 lock, for the happy period to which every good honest 
 
256 THE PROGRESS OF THE AGE. 
 
 girl looks forward, with gentle trepidation, mixed with 
 inspiring hopes. There seemed to be no end to these 
 accumulations, insomuch that, it is said, at one time, 
 Teenie and Lockie could each muster six dozen pairs 
 of sheets, threescore towels, a hundred petticoats, be 
 sides other articles which shall be nameless that 
 Yaup counted shirts innumerable and the squire 
 himself actually owned seventy-six pairs of breeches, 
 good, bad, and indifferent, a number which he declared 
 he never would exceed, he being an old seventy-sixer 
 to the backbone. 
 
 Thus the old squire s bark floated swimmingly to 
 wards the dark gulf that finally swallows up man, his 
 motives, his actions, and his memory, when, in an evil 
 hour, a manufactory of woollens was established in 
 his neighbourhood for the encouragement of " domes 
 tic industry." 
 
 There carding, and spinning, and weaving, were all 
 carried on by that arch fiend, " productive labour." 
 Hereupon all the women in twenty miles round threw 
 down the distaff, the wool-cards, and the shuttle, main 
 taining that it was much better to leave these matters 
 to "domestic industry" and "productive labour," than 
 to be working and slaving from morning till night at 
 home. 
 
 " Hum," quoth Squire Van Gaasbeeck, " this same 
 domestic industry and productive labour is what I 
 can t understand ; it bids fair to put an end to the 
 domestic industry and productive labour of my family, 
 I think." 
 
 A great political economist gave him copies of all 
 the speeches made in Congress on the subject, amount 
 ing to a hundred thousand pages, which he assured 
 
THE PROGRESS OF THE AGE. 257 
 
 him would explain the manner in which domestic 
 industry and domestic idleness could be proved to be 
 twin-sisters. The squire put on his spectacles, and 
 began to read like any egregious owl ; but before he 
 got half through he fell asleep, and dreamed of the 
 tower of Babel and confusion of tongues. He re 
 turned the books, and the economist as good as told 
 him he was a great blockhead. " It may be," quoth 
 the squire ; " but not all the speeches in the world 
 will persuade me that the way to encourage domestic 
 industry is to have all the work done abroad." 
 
 Some say, money is the root of all evil. Of this I 
 profess myself ignorant, having never yet had enough 
 to do me much harm. Others affirm that idleness is 
 the genuine root, and 1 believe they are right. From 
 the moment the squire s wife and daughters began to 
 be idle at home, they began to hanker after a hundred 
 out-door amusements which they never thought of 
 before. They must go down to Catskill, forsooth, to 
 buy ribbons, and calicoes, and cotton stockings, and 
 what not. In short, they never wanted an excuse for 
 gadding, and at last reached the climax of enormity 
 in actually beginning to talk seriously of a voyage to 
 New York. The squire s hair stood on end ; for, at 
 that happy period, a voyage to New York was never 
 contemplated except on occasions of life and death. 
 The city was talked of as a place afar off, accessible 
 only to a chosen few ; and the fortunate being who 
 had visited it acquired an importance equal to that 
 of a Mussulman who has made the pilgrimage to 
 Mecca. He might lawfully assume the traveller s 
 privilege of telling as many lies as he pleases. 
 
 " This comes of domestic industry and productive 
 17 
 
258 THE PROGRESS OF THE AGE. 
 
 labour," quoth the squire, who was still the better 
 horse at home, and put a flat negative on the project, 
 for which he got a good many sour looks. But his 
 misfortunes were not to end here. About this time, 
 one of those diabolical inventions which set all the 
 world gadding appeared in the shape of a steamboat, 
 smoking and puffing her way up to Albany. In a 
 little while she was followed by others, so that at 
 length it came to pass that people could go from 
 Catskill to New York and back again in less than no 
 time, for nothing. About three score and ten of the 
 squire s cousins to the sixth degree, taking advantage 
 of these facilities, came up from New York to see him, 
 and some half a dozen staid all summer. Now the 
 least they could do was to ask the squire s wife and 
 daughters to visit them in the autumn in return. The 
 squire was assailed so resolutely for his permission to 
 accept this polite offer, that at last his obstinacy gave 
 way, like a mill-dam in a great freshet, and carried 
 everything before it. Madam Van Gaasbeeck and 
 Teenie and Lockie packed up all their petticoats, and 
 getting on board of the steamboat at the risk of their 
 necks, under the protection of the young Squire Yaup, 
 paddled down to New York as merry as fiddlers. 
 
 At the same time the squire, in imitation I believe 
 of Marc Antony, or somebody else that he never heard 
 of, almost loaded one of the Catskill sloops with pigs, 
 potatoes, and other market-stuff, the whole product 
 of which was to be turned over to the ladies for pin- 
 money. To the young squire he confided a more im 
 portant business. He had just closed a bargain with 
 a merchant in New York, who had inherited some 
 land in his neighborhood, for a fine farm, on which 
 
THE PROGRESS OF THE AGE. 259 
 
 he intended to settle Taup when he got married; and 
 now intrusted him with three thousand dollars to pay 
 for it, agreeably to contract. Squire Van Gaasbeeck 
 was not a man to owe a shilling longer than he could 
 help it. 
 
 The party arrived in New York without any acci 
 dent, the steamboat not blowing up, that trip, and 
 were received by the cousins and second-cousins as 
 if they were quite welcome. But, terrible was the 
 work the city kindred made with the costume of Ma 
 dam Van Gaasbeeck and the young ladies. It was 
 all condemned, like a parcel of slops eaten up by 
 cockroaches, and the produce of the pigs, potatoes, 
 and pumpkins, melted irretrievably in one single ex 
 cursion into Cheapside. For the town cousins would 
 by no means be seen in Broadway with the country 
 cousins, and accordingly took them up to Cheapside 
 in the dusk of the evening, where the shopkeeper, 
 making advantage of the obscurity, cheated them 
 finely. 
 
 Being equipped in grand costume, they were taken 
 to the play it was Peter Wilkins where the old 
 lady declared that " it was all one as ^ puppet show," 
 and came very near fainting under the infliction of a 
 pair of corsets, with which the cruel relatives had in 
 vested her. 
 
 The young squire, feeling the importance of having 
 money in his pocket, had delayed to pay over the 
 three thousand dollars, and carried it with him to 
 the play, in a leather pocket-book. Impressed with the 
 weight of his charge, he was continually putting his 
 hand behind him to feel that all was safe, insomuch 
 that he caught the attention of a worthy gentleman 
 
260 THE PROGRESS OF THE AGE. 
 
 who was prowling about seeking whom he might 
 devour. He attached himself to Master Yaup for the 
 rest of the evening, and, in the crowd of the lobby, 
 going out, took occasion to ease him of the black 
 leather pocket-book, without his being the wiser for it 
 till he got home. It was never recovered, notwith 
 standing all the exertions of that terror of evil-doers, 
 High-Constable Hays.* 
 
 This is one of the great conveniences of paper 
 money a man may put a fortune in his pocket. 
 Had the three thousand dollars been in specie, Yaup 
 could not have carried them to the play. 
 
 Here was a farm gone at one blow. But this was 
 not the worst. The good wife and daughters came 
 home with loads of finery, and loads of wants they 
 never knew before. There was the deuse to pay on 
 the first Sunday morning after their return from town. 
 The church would hardly hold their bonnets, and the 
 parson was struck dumb, insomuch that he gave out 
 the wrong psalm, which the clerk set to a wrong tune. 
 Mercy upon us, what heart-burnings were here! Not 
 one of the congregation could tell where the text was 
 when arrived at home. 
 
 Squire Van Gaasbeeck had now a farm to pay for, 
 and wanted every penny he could scrape together, to 
 make both ends meet. But the shopping to Catskill 
 went on worse than ever; and, besides this, almost 
 every week the sloop brought up some article of fin 
 ery from New York, which the city cousins assured 
 them had just come into fashion. In short, the squire 
 now, for the first time, felt his spirit bowed down to 
 
 * Jacob, familiarly known in New York for many years as "Old, 
 Hays."- 
 
THE PROGRESS OF THE AGE. 261 
 
 the earth, under the consciousness that he owed 
 money which he could not pay. 
 
 In the progress of the spirit of the age and the 
 march of mind, it came to pass that certain public- 
 spirited people procured a charter, and set up a bank 
 at Catskill for the good of mankind. The squire, in 
 due time, was set upon by one of the directors, who 
 smelled out that he wanted money, and persuaded 
 him to take up a couple of thousands of the bank, 
 with the aid of which he could make such improve 
 ments on his new purchase as would enable him to 
 sell it for twice as much as it cost. The squire was 
 not the man he once was. His sturdy, independent 
 spirit, that scorned the idea of a debt, was broken 
 down. He borrowed the money, improved the farm, 
 and finally sold it to this very honest director, at a 
 great profit. The director paid him in notes of the 
 new bank, and that same morning conveyed the farm 
 to somebody else. Squire Van Gaasbeeck was now 
 rich again. He determined to go the next day and 
 pay all his debts, and be a man once more. 
 
 But, unluckily, that very night the bank, and all 
 things therein, evaporated. The house was found 
 shut up next morning. All the books, papers, notes, 
 and directors, had gone no one knew whither ; al 
 though it was the general opinion the devil had 
 possession of the directors. This loss half ruined 
 Squire Van Gaasbeeck, and Taup gave the finishing 
 blow, by striking work, and swearing he would no 
 longer battle with " the spirit of the age and the 
 march of public improvement," which decreed he 
 should be a gentleman. Finally, to make an end of 
 my story, the squire was turned out of his farm by his 
 
262 THE PROGRESS OF THE AGE. 
 
 creditors his wife died of her corsets the young 
 ladies were fain to tend the spinning-jenny at the 
 neighbouring manufactory and Master Yaap be 
 came a gentleman at large, left the home of his an 
 cestors, and was never heard of more. 
 
 An old acquaintance one day came to see the 
 squire, now living on the charity of his brother-in-law, 
 and inquired how he came to be in such a state. 
 " Ah ! " replied he, with a sigh, " I was half-ruined by 
 domestic industry and productive labour ; but the 
 progress of the age and the march of public improve 
 ment finished me at last." 
 
THE 
 
 REYENGE OF SAINT NICHOLAS. 
 
 A TALE FOK THE HOLIDAYS. 
 
m 
 
 ,T, 
 
 THE 
 
 EEVEJSTGE OF SAINT NICHOLAS. 
 
 A TALE FOR THE HOLIDAYS. 
 
 EVERYBODY knows that, in the famous city of New 
 York, whose proper name is Nieuw Amsterdam, the 
 excellent St. Nicholas (who is worth a dozen St. 
 Georges, with dragons to boot, and who, if every tub 
 stood on its right bottom, would be at the head of the 
 Seven Champions of Christendom) I say, every 
 body knows that the excellent St. Nicholas, in holiday 
 times, goes about among the people in the middle of 
 the night, distributing all sorts of toothsome and be 
 coming gifts to the good boys and girls in this his 
 favourite city. Some say that he comes down the 
 chimneys in a little Jersey wagon ; others, that he 
 wears a pair of Holland skates, with which he travels 
 like the wind ; and others, who pretend to have seen 
 him, maintain that he has lately adopted a locomo 
 tive, and was once actually detected on the Albany 
 railroad. But this last assertion is looked upon to be 
 entirely fabulous, because St. Nicholas has too much 
 discretion to trust himself in such a newfangled jar- 
 vie ; and so I leave this matter to be settled by whom 
 soever will take the trouble. My own opinion is, that 
 
266 THE REVENGE OF SAINT NICHOLAS. 
 
 his favourite mode of travelling is on a canal, the 
 motion and speed of which aptly comport with the 
 philosophic dignity of his character. But this is not 
 material, and I will no longer detain my readers with 
 extraneous and irrelevant matters, as is too much the 
 fashion with our statesmen, orators, biographers, and 
 story-tellers. 
 
 It was in the year one thousand seven hundred and 
 sixty, or sixty-one, for the most orthodox chronicles 
 differ in this respect ; but it was a very remarkable 
 year, and it was called annus mirabilis on that ac 
 count. It was said that several people were detected 
 in speaking the truth, about that time ; that nine staid, 
 sober, and discreet widows, who had sworn on an 
 anti-masonic almanac never to enter a second time 
 into the holy state, were snapped up by young hus 
 bands before they knew what they were about ; that 
 six venerable bachelors wedded as many buxom young 
 belles, and, it is reported, were afterward sorry for 
 what they had done; that many people actually went 
 to church from motives of piety ; and that a great 
 scholar, who had written a book in support of certain 
 opinions, was not only convinced of his error, but ac 
 knowledged it publicly afterwards. No wonder the 
 year one thousand seven hundred and sixty, if that 
 was the year, was called annus mirabilis! 
 
 What contributed to render this year still more 
 remarkable was the building of six new three-story 
 brick houses in the city, and the fact of three persons 
 setting up equipages, who, I cannot find, ever failed 
 in business afterwards, or compounded with their 
 creditors at a pistareen in the pound. It is, moreover, 
 recorded in the annals of the horticultural society of 
 
THE REVENGE OF SAINT NICHOLAS. 267 
 
 that day, (which it is said were written on a cabbage 
 leaf), that a member produced a forked radish, of such 
 vast dimensions, that, being dressed up in fashionable 
 male attire at the exhibition, it was actually mistaken 
 for a travelled beau by several inexperienced young 
 ladies, who pined away for love of its beautiful 
 complexion, and were changed into daffadowndillies. 
 Some maintained it was a mandrake, but it was finally 
 detected by an inquest of experienced matrons. No 
 wonder the year seventeen hundred and sixty was 
 called annus mirabilis ! 
 
 But the most extraordinary thing of all was the 
 confident assertion that there was but one gray mare 
 within the bills of mortality ; and, incredible as it may 
 appear, she was the wife of a responsible citizen, who, 
 it was affirmed, had grown rich by weaving velvet 
 purses out of sows ears. But this we look upon as 
 being somewhat of the character of the predictions 
 of almanac-makers. Certain it is, however, that 
 Amos Shuttle possessed the treasure of a wife who was 
 shrewdly suspected of having established within doors 
 a system of government not laid down in Aristotle or 
 the Abbe Sieyes, who made a constitution for every 
 day in the year, and two for the first of April. 
 
 Amos Shuttle, though a mighty pompous little 
 man out of doors, was the humblest of human crea 
 tures within. He belonged to that class of people 
 who pass for great among the little, and little among 
 the great ; and he would certainly have been master 
 in his own house, had it not been for a woman. We 
 have read somewhere that no wise woman ever thinks 
 her husband a demi-god. If so, it is a blessing that 
 there are so few wise women in the world. 
 
268 THE REVENGE OF SAINT NICHOLAS. 
 
 Amos had grown rich, Heaven knows how he 
 did not know himself; but, what was somewhat ex 
 traordinary, he considered his wealth a signal proof of 
 his talents and sagacity, and valued himself accord 
 ing to the infallible standard of pounds, shillings, and 
 pence. But, though he lorded it without, he was, as 
 we have just said, the most gentle of men within 
 doors. The moment he stepped inside of his own 
 house, his spirit cowered down, like that of a pious 
 man entering a church ; he felt as if he was in the 
 presence of a superior being to wit, Mrs. Abigail 
 Shuttle. He was, indeed, the meekest of mortals at 
 home, except Moses ; and Sir Andrew Aguecheek s 
 song, which Sir Toby Belch declared " would draw 
 nine souls out of one weaver," would have failed in 
 drawing half a one out of Amos. The truth is, his 
 wife, who ought to have known, affirmed he had no 
 more soul than a monkey ; but he was the only man 
 in the city thus circumstanced at the time we speak 
 of. No wonder, therefore, the year one thousand 
 seven hundred and sixty was called annus mirabilis ! 
 
 Such as he was, Mr. Amos Shuttle waxed richer 
 and richer every day, insomuch that those who en 
 vied his prosperity were wont to say, " that he had 
 certainly been born with a dozen silver spoons in his 
 mouth, or such a great blockhead would never have got 
 together such a heap of money." When he had be 
 come worth ten thousand pounds, he launched his 
 shuttle magnanimously out of the window, ordered 
 his weaver s beam to be split up for oven-wood, and 
 Mrs. Amos turned his weaver s shop into a boudoir. 
 Fortune followed him faster than he ran away from 
 her. In a few years the ten thousand doubled, and 
 
THE REVENGE OF SAINT NICHOLAS. 269 
 
 in a few more trebled, quadrupled in short, Amos 
 could hardly count his money. 
 
 " What shall we do now, my dear ? " asked Mrs. 
 Shuttle, who never sought his opinion, that I can 
 learn, except for the pleasure of contradicting him. 
 
 " Let us go and live in the country, and enjoy our 
 selves," quoth Amos. 
 
 " Go into the country ! go to " I could never 
 satisfy myself what Mrs. Shuttle meant; but she 
 stopped short, and concluded the sentence with a 
 withering look of scorn, that would have cowed the 
 spirits of nineteen weavers. 
 
 Amos named all sorts of places, enumerated all 
 sorts of modes of life he could think of, and every 
 pleasure that might enter into the imagination of a 
 man without a soul. His wife despised them all ; she 
 would not hear of them. 
 
 " Well, my dear, suppose you suggest something ; do 
 now, Abby," at length said Amos, in a coaxing whis 
 per ; " will you, my onydoney ? " 
 
 " Ony fiddlestick ! I wonder you repeat such vul 
 garisms. But if I must say what I should like, I 
 should like to travel." 
 
 " Well, let us go and make a tour as far as Jamaica, 
 or Hackensack, or Spiking-devil. There is excellent 
 fishing for striped-bass there." 
 
 " Spiking-devil! ", screamed Mrs. Shuttle ; " aVt you 
 ashamed to swear so, you wicked mortal ! I won t go 
 to Jamaica, nor to Hackensack among the Dutch 
 Hottentots, nor to Spiking-devil to catch striped-bass. 
 I ll go to Europe ! " 
 
 If Amos had possessed a soul, it would have jumped 
 out of its skin at the idea of going beyond seas. He 
 
270 THE REVENGE OF SAINT NICHOLAS. 
 
 had once been on the sea-bass banks, and got a sea 
 soning there ; the very thought of which made him 
 sick. But, as he had no soul, there was no great 
 harm done. 
 
 When Mrs. Shuttle said a thing, it was settled. 
 They went to Europe, taking their only son with 
 them. The lady ransacked all the milliners shops in 
 Paris, and the gentleman visited all the restaurateurs. 
 He became such a desperate connoisseur and gour 
 mand, that he could almost tell an omelette aujambon 
 from a gammon of bacon. After consummating the 
 polish, they came home, the lady with the newest old 
 fashions, and the weaver with a confirmed preference 
 of potage a la Tarque over pepperpot. It is said the 
 city trembled, as with an earthquake, when they land 
 ed ; but the notion was probably superstitious. 
 
 They arrived near the close of the year, the mem 
 orable year, the annus mirabilis, one thousand seven 
 hundred and sixty. Everybody that had ever known 
 the Shuttles flocked to see them, or rather to see what 
 they had brought with them ; and such was the magic 
 of a voyage to Europe, that Mr. and Mrs. Amos 
 Shuttle, who had been nobodies when they departed, 
 became somebodies when they returned, and mounted 
 at once to the summit of ton. 
 
 " You have come in good time to enjoy the festivi 
 ties of the holidays," said Mrs. Hubblebubble, an old 
 friend of Amos the weaver and his wife. 
 
 " We shall have a merry Christmas and a happy 
 New-year," exclaimed Mrs. Doubletrouble, another old 
 acquaintance of old times. 
 
 " The holidays ? " drawled Mrs. Shuttle ; " the holi 
 days? Christmas and New-year? Pray, what are 
 they?" 
 
THE REVENGE OF SAINT NICHOLAS. 271 
 
 It is astonishing to see how people lose their memo 
 ries abroad, sometimes. They often forget their old 
 friends and old customs ; and, occasionally, themselves. 
 
 " Why, la ! now, who d have thought it ? " cried 
 Mrs. Doubletrouble; "why, sure you haven t forgot 
 the oly koeks and the mince-pies, the merry meetings 
 of friends, the sleigh-rides, the Kissing-Bridge, and the 
 family parties ? " 
 
 " Family parties ! " shrieked Mrs. Shuttle, and held 
 her salts to her nose ; " family parties ! I never heard 
 of anything so Gothic in Paris or Rome ; and oly 
 k oe k s O h shocking! and mince-pies detestable! 
 and throwing open one s doors to all one s old friends, 
 whom one wishes to forget as soon as possible Oh! 
 the idea is insupportable! " And again she held the 
 salts to her nose. 
 
 Mrs. Hubblebubble and Mrs. Doubletrouble found 
 they had exposed themselves sadly, and were quite 
 ashamed. A real, genteel, well-bred, enlightened lady 
 of fashion ought to have no rule of conduct, no con 
 science, but Paris whatever is fashionable there is 
 genteel whatever is not fashionable is vulgar. There 
 is no other standard of right, and no other eternal fit 
 ness of things. At least so thought Mrs. Hubblebub 
 ble and Mrs. Doubletrouble. 
 
 "But is it possible that all these things are out of 
 fashion, abroad ? ", asked the latter, beseechingly. 
 
 " They never were in," said Mrs. Amos Shuttle. 
 For my part, I mean to close my doors and windows 
 on New-year s day I m determined." 
 
 " And so am I," said Mrs. Hubblebubble. 
 
 " And so am I," said Mrs. Doubletrouble. 
 
 And it was settled that thev should make a com- 
 
272 THE EEYENGE OF SAINT NICHOLAS. 
 
 bination among themselves and their friends, to put 
 down the ancient and good customs of the city, and 
 abolish the sports and enjoyments of the jolly New- 
 year. The conspirators then separated, each to pursue 
 her diabolical designs against oly koeks, mince-pies, 
 sleigh-ridings, sociable visitings, and family parties. 
 
 Now the excellent St. Nicholas, who knows well 
 what is going on in every house in the city, though, 
 like a good and honourable saint, he never betrays 
 any family secrets, overheard these wicked women 
 plotting against his favourite anniversary, and he said 
 to himself, 
 
 " Vuur en Vlammenl* but I ll be even with you, 
 mein vrouwen" So he determined he would play 
 these conceited and misled women a trick or two be 
 fore he had done with them. 
 
 It was now the first day of the new year, and Mrs. 
 Amos Shuttle, and Mrs. Doubletrouble, and Mrs. Hub- 
 blebubble, and all their wicked accomplices, had shut 
 up their doors and windows, so that when their old 
 friends called they could not get into their houses. 
 Moreover, they had prepared neither mince-pies, nor 
 oly koeks, nor krullers, nor any of the good things 
 consecrated to St. Nicholas by his pious and well-in 
 tentioned votaries ; and they were mightily pleased at 
 having been as dull and stupid as owls, while all the 
 rest of the folks were as merry as crickets, chirping and 
 frisking in the warm chimney-corner. Little did they 
 think what horrible judgments were impending over 
 them, prepared by the wrath of the excellent St. 
 Nicholas, who was resolved to make an example of 
 them for attempting to introduce their newfangled 
 
 * Fire and flames. 
 
THE REVENGE OF SAINT NICHOLAS. 273 
 
 corruptions in place of the ancient customs of his 
 favourite city. These wicked women never had 
 another comfortable sleep in their lives ! 
 
 The night was still, clear, and frosty the earth 
 was everywhere one carpet of snow, and looked just 
 like the ghost of a dead world, wrapped in a white 
 winding sheet; the moon was full, round, and of a 
 silvery brightness, and by her discreet silence afforded 
 an example to the rising generation of young dam 
 sels, while the myriads of stars, that multiplied as you 
 gazed at them, seemed as though they were frozen 
 into icicles, they looked so cold, and sparkled with 
 such a glorious lustre. The streets and roads leading 
 from the city were all alive with sleighs, filled with 
 jovial souls, whose echoing laughter and cheerful 
 songs mingled with a thousand merry bells, that 
 jingled in harmonious dissonance, giving spirit to the 
 horses and animation to the scene. In the license of 
 the season, warranted by long custom, each of the 
 sleighs saluted the others in passing with a, " Happy 
 New-year," a merry jest, or a mischievous gibe, ex 
 changed from one gay party to another. All was life, 
 motion, and merriment ; and as old frost-bitten Win 
 ter, aroused from his trance by the rout and revelry 
 around, raised his weather-beaten head to see what was 
 passing, he felt his icy blood warming and coursing 
 through his veins, and wished he could only overtake 
 the laughing buxom Spring, that he might dance a 
 jig with her, and be as frisky as the best of them. 
 But, as the old rogue could not bring this desirable 
 matter about, he contented himself with calling for 
 a jolly bumper of cocktail, and drinking a swingeing 
 draught to the health of the blessed St. Nicholas, and 
 
 18 
 
274 THE REVENGE OF SAINT NICHOLAS. 
 
 those who honour the memory of the president of 
 good fellows. 
 
 All this time the wicked women and their accom 
 plices lay under the malediction of the good saint, 
 who caused them to be bewitched by an old lady 
 from Salem. Mrs. Amos Shuttle could not sleep, be 
 cause something had whispered in her apprehensive 
 ear, that her son, her only son, whom she had engaged 
 to the daughter of Count Grenouille, in Paris, then 
 about three years old, was actually at that moment 
 crossing Kissing-Bridge, in company with little Susan 
 Varian, and some others. Now Susan was the fair 
 est little lady of all the land. She had a face and an 
 eye just like the Widow Wadman in Leslie s charm 
 ing picture, a face and an eye which no reasonable 
 man under Heaven could resist, except my Uncle 
 Toby beshrew him and his fortifications, I say! 
 She was, moreover, a good little girl, and an accom 
 plished little girl but, alas!, she had not mounted to 
 that step in the Jacob s ladder of fashion which quali 
 fies a person for the heaven of high ton, and Mrs. 
 Shuttle had not been to Europe for nothing. She 
 would rather have seen her son wedded to dissipation 
 and profligacy than to Susan Varian ; and the thought 
 of his being out sleigh-riding with her was worse 
 than the toothache. It kept her awake all the live 
 long night; and the only consolation she had was 
 scolding poor Amos, because the sleigh-bells made 
 such a noise. 
 
 As for Mrs. Hubblebubble and Mrs. Doubletrouble, 
 neither of the wretches got a wink of sleep during a 
 whole week, for thinking of the beautiful French 
 chairs and damask curtains Mrs. Shuttle had brought 
 
THE REVENGE OF SAINT NICHOLAS. 275 
 
 from Europe. They forthwith besieged their good 
 men, leaving them no rest until they sent out orders 
 to Paris for just such rich chairs and curtains as those 
 of the thrice-happy Mrs. Shuttle, from whom they 
 kept the affair a profound secret, each meaning to 
 treat her to an agreeable surprise. In the mean while 
 they could not rest, for fear the vessel which was to 
 bring these treasures might be lost on her passage. 
 Such was the dreadful judgment inflicted on them 
 by the good St. Nicholas. 
 
 The perplexities of Mrs. Shuttle increased daily. 
 In the first place, do all she could, she could not 
 make Amos a fine gentleman. This was a metamor 
 phosis which Ovid would never have dreamed of. 
 He would be telling the price of everything in his 
 house, his furniture, his wines, and his dinners, inso 
 much that those who envied his prosperity, or, per 
 haps, only despised* his pretensions, were wont to say, 
 after eating his venison and drinking his old Madeira, 
 " that he ought to have been a tavern-keeper, he knew 
 so well how to make out a bill." Mrs. Shuttle once 
 overheard a speech of this kind, and the good St. 
 Nicholas himself, who had brought it about, almost 
 felt sorry for the mortification she endured on the 
 occasion. 
 
 Scarcely had she got over this, when she was invited 
 to a ball by Mrs. Hubblebubble, and the first thing 
 she saw on entering the drawing-room was a suit of 
 damask curtains and chairs, as much like her own as 
 two peas, only the curtains had far handsomer fringe. 
 Mrs. Shuttle came very near fainting away, but es 
 caped for that time, determining to mortify this impu 
 dent creature, by taking not the least notice of her 
 
276 THE REVENGE OF SAINT NICHOLAS. 
 
 finery. But St. Nicholas ordered it otherwise, so that 
 she was at last obliged to acknowledge they were 
 very elegant indeed. Nay, this was not the worst, for 
 she overheard one lady whisper to another, that Mrs. 
 Hubblebubble s curtains were much richer than Mrs. 
 Shuttle s. 
 
 " Oh, I dare say," replied the other " I dare say 
 , Mrs. Shuttle bought them second-hand, for her hus 
 band is as mean as pursley." 
 
 This was too much. The unfortunate woman was 
 taken suddenly ill called her carriage, and went 
 home, where it is supposed she would have died that 
 evening, had she not wrought upon Amos to promise 
 her an entire new suit of French furniture for her 
 drawing-room and parlour to boot, besides a new car 
 riage. But for all this she could not close her eyes 
 that night, for thinking of the " second-hand cur 
 tains." 
 
 Nor was the wicked Mrs. Doubletrouble a whit bet 
 ter off, when her friend Mrs. Hubblebubble treated her 
 to the agreeable surprise of the French window-cur 
 tains and chairs. "It is too bad too bad, I declare," 
 said she to herself; "but I ll pay her off soon." Ac 
 cordingly she issued invitations for a grand ball and 
 supper, at which both Mrs. Shuttle and Mrs. Hubble- 
 bubble were struck dumb, at beholding a suit of cur 
 tains and a set of chairs exactly of the same pattern 
 with theirs. The shock was terrible, and it is impos 
 sible to say what might have been the consequences, 
 had not the two ladies all at once thought of uniting 
 in abusing Mrs. Doubletrouble for her extravagance. 
 
 " I pity poor Mr. Doubletrouble," said Mrs. Shuttle, 
 shrugging her shoulders significantly, and glancing at 
 the room. 
 
THE REVENGE OF SAINT NICHOLAS. 277 
 
 " And so do I," said Mrs. Hubblebubble, doing the 
 same. 
 
 Mrs. Doubletrouble had her eye upon them, and en 
 joyed their mortification, until her pride was brought 
 to the ground by a dead shot from Mrs. Shuttle, who 
 was heard to exclaim, in reply to a lady who ob 
 served that the chairs and curtains were very hand 
 some, 
 
 " Why, yes ; but they have been out of fashion in 
 Paris a long time ; and, besides, really they are getting 
 so common, that I intend to have mine removed to 
 the nursery." 
 
 Heavens!, what a blow! Poor Mrs. Doubletrouble 
 hardly survived it. Such a night of misery as the 
 wicked woman endured almost made the good St. 
 Nicholas regret the judgment he had passed upon 
 these mischievous and conceited females. But he 
 thought to himself he would persevere, until he had 
 made them a sad example to all innovators upon the 
 ancient customs of our forefathers. 
 
 Thus were these wicked and miserable women 
 spurred on by witchcraft from one piece of prodigality 
 to another, and a deadly rivalship grew up between 
 them, which destroyed their own happiness and that 
 of their husbands. Mrs. Shuttle s new carriage and 
 drawing-room furniture in due time were followed by 
 similar extravagances on the part of the two other 
 wicked women who had conspired against the hal 
 lowed institutions of St. Nicholas ; and soon -their 
 rivalry came to such a height that not one of them 
 had a moment s rest or comfort from that time for 
 ward. But they still shut their doors on the jolly 
 anniversary of St. Nicholas, though the old respectable 
 
278 THE REVENGE OF SAINT NICHOLAS. 
 
 burghers and their wives, who had held up their heads 
 time out of mind, continued the good custom, and 
 laughed at the presumption of these upstart interlop 
 ers, who were followed only by a few people of silly 
 pretensions, who had no more soul than Amos Shut 
 tle himself. The three wicked women grew to be 
 almost perfect skeletons, on account of the vehemence 
 with which they strove to outdo each other, and the 
 terrible exertions necessary to keep up the appearance 
 of being the best friends in the world. In short, they 
 became the laughing-stock of the town; and sensible, 
 well-bred folks cut their acquaintance, except when 
 they sometimes accepted an invitation to a party, 
 just to make merry with their folly and conceited- 
 ness. 
 
 The excellent St. Nicholas, finding they still per 
 sisted in their opposition to his rites and ceremonies, 
 determined to inflict on them the last and worst pun 
 ishment that can befall the sex. He decreed that they 
 should be deprived of all the delights springing from 
 the domestic affections, and all taste for the innocent 
 and virtuous enjoyments of a happy fireside. Accord 
 ingly, they lost all relish for home ; were continually 
 gadding about from one place to another in search of 
 pleasure ; and worried themselves to death to find 
 happiness where it is never to be found. Their whole 
 lives became one long series of disappointed hopes, 
 galled pride, and gnawing envy. They lost their 
 healtti, they lost their time, and their days became 
 days of harassing impatience, their nights nights of 
 sleepless, feverish excitement, ending in weariness and 
 disappointment. The good saint sometimes felt sorry 
 for them, but their continued obstinacy determined 
 
THE REVENGE OF SAINT NICHOLAS. 279 
 
 him to persist in his scheme for punishing the upstart 
 pride of these rebellious females. 
 
 Young Shuttle, who had a soul, which I suppose 
 he inherited from his mother, all this while continued 
 his attentions to little Susan Varian, and so added to 
 the miseries inflicted on the wicked old woman. Mrs. 
 Shuttle insisted that Amos should threaten to disin 
 herit his son, unless he gave up this attachment. 
 
 " Lord bless your soul, Abby," said Amos, " what s 
 the use of my threatening ? The boy knows, as well 
 as I do, that I ve no will of my own. Why, bless my 
 soul, Abby " 
 
 " Bless your soul ! " interrupted Mrs. Shuttle ; " I 
 wonder who d take the trouble to bless it, but your 
 self ! However, if you don t, I will." 
 
 Accordingly she threatened the young man with 
 being disinherited, unless he turned his back on little 
 Susan Varian, which no man ever did without get 
 ting a heartache. 
 
 " If my father goes on as he has done lately," sighed 
 the youth, " he won t have anything left to disinherit 
 me of but his affection, I fear. But if he had millions 
 I would not abandon Susan." 
 
 " Are you not ashamed of such a plebeian attach 
 ment? You, that have been to Europe! But, once 
 for all, remember this, renounce this lowborn upstart, 
 or quit your father s home for ever." 
 
 " Upstart ! " thought young Shuttle ; " one of the 
 oldest families in the city." He made his mother a 
 respectful bow, bade Heaven bless her, and left the 
 house. He was, however, met at the door by his 
 father, who said to him, 
 
 " Johnny, I give my consent ; but mind, don t tell 
 
280 THE REVENGE OF SAINT NICHOLAS. 
 
 your mother a word of the matter. I ll let her know 
 I ve a soul, as well as other people ; " and he tossed 
 his head like a war-horse. 
 
 The night after this, Johnny was married to little 
 Susan, and the blessing of affection and beauty lighted 
 upon his pillow. Her old father, who was in a re 
 spectable business, took his son-in-law into partner 
 ship, and they prospered so well, that in a few years 
 Johnny was independent of all the world, with the 
 prettiest wife and children in the land. But Mrs. 
 Shuttle was inexorable, while the knowledge of his 
 prosperity and happiness only worked her up to a 
 higher pitch of anger, and added to the pangs of jeal 
 ousy perpetually inflicted on her by the rivalry of Mrs. 
 Hubblebubble and Mrs. Doubletrouble, who suffered 
 under the like infliction from the wrathful St. Nicho 
 las, who was resolved to make them an example to 
 all posterity. 
 
 No fortune, be it ever so great, can stand the eter 
 nal sapping of wasteful extravagance, engendered and 
 stimulated by the baleful passion of envy. In less 
 than ten years from the hatching of the diabolical con 
 spiracy of these three wicked women against the 
 supremacy of the excellent St. Nicholas, their spend 
 thrift rivalship had ruined the fortunes of their hus 
 bands, and entailed upon themselves misery and 
 remorse. Rich Amos Shuttle became at last as poor 
 as a church-mouse, and would have been obliged to 
 take to the loom again in his old age, had not Johnny, 
 now rich, and a worshipful magistrate of the city, 
 afforded him and his better half a generous shelter 
 under his own happy roof. Mrs. Hubblebubble and 
 Mrs. Doubletrouble had scarcely time to condole with 
 
THE REYENGE OF SAINT NICHOLAS. 281 
 
 Mrs. Shuttle, and congratulate each other, when their 
 husbands went the way of all flesh, that is to say, 
 failed for a few tens of thousands, and called their 
 creditors together to hear the good news. The two 
 wicked women lived long enough after this to repent 
 of their offence against St. Nicholas ; but they never 
 imported any more French curtains, and at last per 
 ished miserably in an attempt to set the fashions in 
 Pennypot alley. 
 
 Mrs. Abigail Shuttle might have lived happily the 
 rest of her life with her children and grandchildren, 
 (who all treated her with reverent courtesy and affec 
 tion), now that the wrath of the mighty St. Nicholas 
 was appeased by her exemplary punishment. But 
 she could not get over her bad habits and feelings, or 
 forgive her lovely little daughter-in-law for treating 
 her so kindly when she so little deserved it. She 
 gradually pined away ; and though she revived on 
 hearing of the catastrophe of Mrs. Hubblebubble and 
 Mrs. Doubletrouble, it was only for a moment. The 
 remainder of the life of this nefarious woman was a 
 series of disappointments and heart-burnings. When 
 she died, Amos tried to shed a few tears, but he found 
 it impossible ; I suppose because, as his wife always 
 said, " he had no soul." 
 
 Such was the terrible revenge of St. Nicholas, 
 which ought to be a warning to all who attempt to 
 set themselves up against the venerable customs of 
 their ancestors, and backslide from the hallowed insti 
 tutions of the blessed saint, to whose good offices, 
 without doubt, it is owing, that this his favourite city 
 has transcended all others of the universe in beautiful 
 damsels, valorous young men, mince-pies, and New- 
 
282 THE REVENGE OF SAINT NICHOLAS. 
 
 year cookies. The catastrophe of these three iniqui 
 tous wives had a wonderful influence in the city, inso 
 much that, from this time forward, no gray mares 
 were ever known, no French furniture was ever used, 
 and no woman was hardy enough to set herself up in 
 opposition to the good customs of St. Nicholas. And 
 so, wishing many happy New-years to all my dear 
 countrywomen and countrymen, saving those who 
 shut their doors to old friends, high or low, rich or 
 poor, on that blessed anniversary which makes more 
 glad hearts than all others put together I say, wish 
 ing a thousand happy New-years to all with this single 
 exception, I lay down my pen, with a caution to all 
 wicked women to beware of the revenge of St. 
 Nicholas. 
 
COB US YE11KS. 
 
COBTJS YERKS. 
 
 LITTLE Cobus Yerks his name was Jacob, but, 
 being a Dutchman, if not a double Dutchman, it was 
 rendered in English, Cobus little Cobus, I say, lived 
 on the banks of Sawmill River, where it winds close 
 under the brow of the Raven Rock, an enormous pre 
 cipice jutting out of the side of the famous Butter 
 milk Hill, of which the reader has doubtless often 
 heard. It was a rude, romantic spot, distant from the 
 high-road, which, however, could be seen winding up 
 the hill about three miles off. His nearest neighbours 
 were at the same distance, and he seldom saw com 
 pany except at night, when the fox and the weasel 
 sometimes beat up his quarters, and caused a horrible 
 cackling among the poultry. 
 
 One Tuesday, in the month of November, 1793, 
 Cobus had gone in his wagon to the market-town on 
 the river, whence the boats plied weekly to New York, 
 with the produce of the neighbouring farmers. It 
 was then a pestilent little place for running races, 
 pitching quoits, and wrestling for gin-slings ; but I 
 must do it the credit to say, that it is now a very 
 orderly town, sober and quiet, save when Parson Ma- 
 thias, who calls himself a son of thunder, is praying 
 
286 COBUS YERKS. 
 
 in secret, so as to be heard across the river. It so 
 happened, that, of all the days in the year, this was 
 the very day a rumour had got into town, that I my 
 self the veritable writer of this true story had 
 been poisoned by a dish of Souchong tea, which was 
 bought, a great bargain, of a pedler. There was not 
 a stroke of work done in the village that day. The 
 shoemaker abandoned his awl ; the tailor, his goose ; 
 the hatter, his bow ; and the forge of the blacksmith 
 was cool from dawn till nightfall. Silent was the 
 sonorous harmony of the big spinning-wheel; silent 
 the village song; and silent the fiddle of Master 
 Timothy Canty, who passed his livelong time in play 
 ing tuneful measures, arid catching bugs and butter 
 flies. I must say something of Tim before I go on 
 with my tale. 
 
 Master Timothy was first seen in the village, one 
 foggy morning, after a warm, showery night, when he 
 was detected in a garret, at the extremity of the 
 suburbs ; and it was the general supposition that he 
 had rained down in company with a store of little 
 toads that were seen hopping about, as is usual after 
 a shower. Around his garret were disposed a num 
 ber of unframed pictures, painted on glass, represent 
 ing the Four Seasons, the old King of Prussia and 
 Prince Ferdinand of Brunswick, in their sharp-pointed 
 cocked-hats, the fat, baldpated, Marquis of Granby, 
 the beautiful Constantia Phillips, and divers others, 
 not forgetting the renowned Kitty Fisher, who, I hon 
 estly confess, was my favourite among them all. The 
 whole village poured into his quarters to gaze at these 
 chefs-d oeuvre ; and it is my confirmed opinion, which I 
 shall carry to the grave, that neither the gallery of 
 
COBUS YERKS. 287 
 
 Florence, nor Dresden, nor the Louvre, was ever 
 visited by so many real amateurs. Beside the works 
 of art, there were a great many other curiosities, at 
 least such to the simple villagers, who were always 
 sure of being welcomed by the owner with a jest and 
 a tune. 
 
 Master Tim, as they came to call him when they 
 got to be a little acquainted, was a rare fellow, such 
 as seldom rains down anywhere, much less on a country 
 village. He was of " merry England," as they call it 
 at least so he said and I believe, although he belied 
 his nativity, by being the most light-hearted rogue in 
 the world, even when the fog was at the thickest. In 
 truth, he was ever in a good-humour, unless it might 
 be when a rare bug or gorgeous butterfly, that he had 
 followed through thick and thin, escaped his net at 
 last. Then, to be sure, he was apt to call the recreant 
 all the " vagabonds " he could think of. He was a 
 middle-sized man, whose person decreased regularly, 
 from the crown of his head to the I was going to 
 say, sole of his foot but it was only to the com 
 mencement of that extremity, to speak by the card. 
 The top of his head was broad and flat, and so was 
 his forehead, which took up at least two thirds of his 
 face, that tapered off suddenly to a chin, as sharp as 
 the point of a triangle. His forehead was indeed a 
 large tract, diversified, like the country in which he 
 had taken up his abode, with odd varieties of hill and 
 dale, meadow and ploughland, hedge and ditch, ravine 
 and watercourse. It had as many points as a peri 
 winkle. The brow projected exuberantly, though not 
 heavily, over a pair of rascally little cross-firing, 
 twinkling eyes, that, as the country people said, looked 
 
288 COBUS YERKS. 
 
 at least nine ways from Sunday. His teeth were 
 white enough, but no two of them were fellows. But 
 his skull would have turned the brains of a phrenolo 
 gist, in exploring the mysteries of its development. It 
 was shaped somewhat like Stony Point which 
 everybody knows as the scene of a gallant exploit 
 of Pennsylvania!! Wayne and had quite as many 
 abruptnesses and quizzical protuberances to brag 
 about. In the upper region of his forehead, as he 
 assured us, he carried his money, in the shape of a 
 piece of silver, three inches long and two wide, in 
 serted there in consequence of a fracture he got by 
 falling down a precipice while in hot chase of what 
 figured in the anecdote as " a vagabond of a beetle." 
 Descending towards terra firma, to wit, his feet, we 
 find his body gradually diminishing to his legs, which 
 were so thin, that everybody wondered how they could 
 carry the great head. But, like Captain Wattle, each 
 had a foot at the end of it, full as large as the Black 
 Dwarf s. It is so long ago that I almost forget his 
 costume. All I recollect is, that he never wore boots 
 or pantaloons, but exhibited his spindles in all weath 
 ers in worsted stockings, and his feet in shoes, gor 
 geously caparisoned in a pair of square silver buckles, 
 the only pieces of finery he ever displayed. 
 
 In the genial months of spring and summer, and 
 early in autumn, Master Timothy was, most of his 
 time, chasing bugs and butterflies about the fields, to 
 the utter confusion of the people, who wondered what 
 he could want with such trumpery. Being a genius 
 and an idler by profession, I used to accompany him 
 frequently in these excursions, for he was fond of me, 
 and called me vagabond oftener than he did anybody 
 
COBUS YERKS. 289 
 
 else. He had a little net of green gauze, (so con 
 structed as to open and shut as occasion required, to 
 entrap the small fry), and a box with a cork bottom, 
 upon which he impaled his prisoners with true scien 
 tific barbarity, by sticking a pin in them. Thus 
 equipped, this Don Quixote of butterfly-catchers, with 
 myself his faithful esquire, would sally forth of a 
 morning into the clovered meadows and flower-dotted 
 fields, over brook, through tangled copse and briery 
 dell, in chase of these gentlemen-commoners of the 
 air. Ever and anon, as he came upon some little 
 retired nook, where nature, like a modest virgin, 
 shrouded her beauties from the common view a 
 rocky glen, romantic cottage, rustic bridge, or brawl 
 ing stream he would take out his portfolio, and 
 pointing me to some conspicuous station to animate 
 his little scene, sketch it and me together, with a 
 mingled taste and skill I have never since seen sur 
 passed. I figure in all his landscapes, although he 
 often called me a vagabond, because he could not 
 drill me into picturesque attitudes. But the finest 
 sport for me was to watch him creeping slily after a 
 humming-bird, the object of his most intense desires, 
 half-buried in the bliss of the dewy honeysuckle, and, 
 just as he was on the point of covering it with his 
 net, to see the little vagrant flit away with a swiftness 
 that made it invisible. It was an invaluable sight to 
 behold Master Timothy stand wiping his continent of 
 a forehead, and blessing the bird for a " little vagabond." 
 These were happy times, and at this moment I recall 
 them, I hardly know why, with a melancholy yet 
 pleasing delight. 
 
 During the winter season, Master Timothy was 
 19 
 
290 COBUS YERKS. 
 
 usually employed in the daytime painting pleasure 
 sleighs, which, at that period, it was the fashion 
 among the farmers to have as fine as fiddles. Timo 
 thy was a desperate hand at a true-lover s-knot, a 
 cipher, or a wreath of flowers ; and, as for a blazing 
 sun ! he executed one for the squire, that was seri 
 ously suspected of melting all the snow in ten leagues 
 round. He would go a dozen miles on such a busi 
 ness, and always carried his materials on a board upon 
 the top of his head it being before the invention of 
 high-crowned hats. Destiny had decreed he should 
 follow this trade, and nature had provided him a head 
 on purpose. In the long winter evenings, it was his 
 pleasure to sit by the fireside, and tell enormous 
 stories to groups of horror-stricken listeners. I never 
 knew a man that had been so often robbed on Houns- 
 low Heath or had seen so many ghosts in his day as 
 Master Tim Canty. Peace to his ashes ! he is 
 dead ; and, if report is to be credited, is sometimes 
 seen on moonlight nights in the church-yard, with his 
 little green gauze net, chasing the ghosts of moths 
 and beetles, as he was wont in past times. 
 
 But it is high time to return to my story; for I can 
 didly confess I never think of honest Tim, that I don t 
 grow as garrulous as an old lady talking about the 
 Revolution and the Yagers. In all country villages I 
 ever saw or heard of, whenever anything strange, new, 
 horrible, or delightful happens, or is supposed to have 
 happened, all the male inhabitants, not to say female, 
 make for the tavern as fast as possible, to hear the 
 news, or tell the news, and get at the bottom of the 
 affair. I don t deny that truth is sometimes to be 
 found at the bottom of a well ; but in these cases she 
 
COBUS YERKS. 291 
 
 is generally found at the bottom of the glass. Be this 
 as it may, when Cobus Yerks looked into the village 
 inn, just to say How d ye do to the landlady, he lit upon 
 a party of some ten or a dozen people, discussing the 
 affair of my being poisoned with Souchong tea. The 
 calamity, by the way, had by this time been extended 
 to the whole family, not one of whom had been left 
 alive by the bloody-minded damsel, Rumour. 
 
 Cobus could not resist the fascination of .these 
 murders. He edged himself into the jury, and after 
 a little while they were joined by Master Timothy, 
 who, on hearing of the catastrophe of his old fellow- 
 labourer in butterfly-catching, had stridden over, (a 
 distance of two miles), to our house, to ascertain the 
 truth of the report. He of course found it was a mis 
 take, and had now returned with a nefarious design 
 of frightening them all out of their wits with a tale of 
 more than modern horrors. By this time it was the 
 dusk of the evening, and Cobus had a long way to 
 travel before he could reach home. He had been so 
 captivated with the story, and the additions every 
 moment furnished by various new-comers, that he for 
 got the time till it began to grow quite dark ; and 
 then he was so much appalled at what he had heard, 
 that he grew fast to his chair in the chimney-corner, 
 where he had intrenched himself. It was at this mo 
 ment Master Timothy came in with the design afore 
 said. 
 
 The whole party gathered round him, to know if 
 the story of the poisoning was true. Tim shook his 
 head; and the shaking of such a head was awful. 
 " What ! all the family ? ", cried they, with one voice. 
 " Every soul of them," cried Tim, in a hollow tone 
 
292 COBUS YERKS. 
 
 " every soul of them, poor creatures ; and not only 
 they, but all the cattle, horses, pigs, ducks, chickens, 
 cats, dogs, and guinea-hens, are poisoned." " What ! 
 with Souchong tea ? ; " No with coloquintida." 
 Coloquintida ! the very name was enough to poison 
 a whole generation of Christian people. " But the 
 black bull-dog ! " continued Timothy, in a sepulchral 
 voice that curdled the very marrow of their innermost 
 bones. " What of the black bull-dog ? ", quoth little 
 Cobus. " Why, they do say that he came to life 
 again after lying six hours stone-dead, and ran away 
 howling like a devil incarnate." " A devil incarnate ! " 
 repeated Cobus, who knew no more about the mean 
 ing of that fell word than if it had been Greek. He 
 only knew it was something very terrible. " Yes," 
 replied Timothy ; " and what s more, I saw where he 
 jumped over the barn-yard gate, and there was the 
 print of a cloven foot, as plain as the daylight this 
 blessed minute." It was as dark as pitch, but the 
 comparison was considered proof positive. " A cloven 
 foot ! " groaned Cobus, and squeezed himself almost 
 into the oven, while the thought of going home all 
 alone in the dark, past the church-yard, the old grave 
 at the cross-roads, and, above all, the spot where John 
 Ryer was hanged for shooting the sheriff, smote upon 
 his heart, and beat it into a jelly at least, it shook 
 like one. What if he should meet the big black dog, 
 with his cloven foot, who howled like a devil incar 
 nate ! The thought was enough to wither the heart 
 of a stone. 
 
 Cobus was a little, knock-kneed, broad-faced, and 
 broad-shouldered Dutchman, who believed all things, 
 past, present, and to come, concerning spooks, goblins, 
 
COBUS YERKS. 293 
 
 and fiends of all sorts and sizes, from a fairy to a 
 giant. Tim Canty knew him of old, for he had once 
 painted a sleigh for him, and frightened Cobus out of 
 six nights sleep, by the story of a man that he once 
 saw murdered by a highwayman on Hounslow Heath. 
 Tim followed up the fiction of the black dog with sev 
 eral others, each more dread than the preceding, till he 
 fairly lifted Cobus s wits off the hinges, aided as he 
 was by certain huge draughts upon a pewter mug, 
 with which the little man reinforced his courage at 
 short intervals. He was a true disciple of the doc 
 trine that spirit and courage, that is to say, whiskey 
 and valour, are synonymous. 
 
 It now began to wax late in the evening, and the 
 company departed, not one by one, but in pairs, to 
 their respective homes. The landlady, a bitter root 
 of a woman, and more than a match for half the men 
 in the village, began to grow sleepy, as it was now no 
 longer worth her while to keep awake. Gradually all 
 became quiet within and without the house, except 
 now and then the howling of a wandering cur, and 
 the still more doleful moaning of the winds, accom 
 panied by the hollow thumpings of the waves, as 
 they dashed on the rocky shores of the river that ran 
 hard by. Once, and once only, the cat mewed in the 
 garret, and almost caused Cobus to jump out of his 
 skin. The landlady began to complain that it grew 
 late, and she was very sleepy ; but Cobus would take 
 no hints, manfully keeping his post in the chimney- 
 corner, till at last the good woman threatened to 
 call up her two negroes, and have him turned neck 
 and heels out of doors. For a moment, the fear 
 of the big black dog with the cloven foot was 
 
294 COBUS YERK S. 
 
 mastered by the fear of the two stout black men, 
 and the spirit moved Cobus towards the door, lovingly 
 hugging the stone jug, which he had taken care to have 
 plentifully replenished with the creature. He sallied 
 forth in those graceful curves which are affirmed to 
 constitute the true lines of beauty ; and report says 
 that he made a copious libation of the contents of the 
 stone jug outside the door, ere the landlady, after 
 assisting to untie his patient team, had tumbled him 
 into his wagon. This was the last that was seen of 
 Cobus Yerks. 
 
 That night his faithful though not very obedient 
 little wife, whom he had wedded at Tappan, on the fa 
 mous sea of that name, and who wore a cap trimmed 
 with pink ribbons when she went to church on Sun 
 days, fell asleep in her chair, as she sat anxiously 
 watching for his return. About midnight she waked, 
 but she saw not her beloved Cobus, nor heard his 
 voice calling her to open the door. But she heard 
 the raven, or something very like it, screaming from the 
 Raven Rock, the foxes barking about the house, the 
 wind whistling and moaning among the rocks and 
 trees of the mountain-side, and a terrible commotion 
 among the poultry Cobus having taken the great 
 house-dog with him that day. Again she fell asleep, 
 and waked not until the day was dawning. She 
 opened the window, and looked forth upon as beautiful 
 an autumnal morning as ever blessed this blessdd 
 country. The yellow sun threw a golden lustre over 
 the many-tinted woods, painted by the cunning hand 
 of Nature with a thousand varied dyes ; the smoke of 
 the neighbouring farm-houses rose straight upward to 
 heaven in the pure atmosphere, and the breath of the 
 
COBUS YERKS. 295 
 
 cattle mingled its warm vapour with the invisible 
 clearness of the morning air. But what were all 
 these beauties of delicious nature to the eye and the 
 heart of the anxious wife, who saw that Cobus was 
 not there ! 
 
 She went forth to the neighbours, to know if they 
 had seen him, and they good-naturedly sallied out to 
 seek him on the road that led from the village to his 
 home. But no traces of him could be found, and 
 they were returning with bad news for his troubled 
 mate, when they bethought themselves of turning into 
 a by-road that led to a tavern which used whilom to 
 attract the affections of honest Cobus, and where he 
 was sometimes wont to stop and wet his whistle. 
 
 They had not gone far, when they began to per 
 ceive traces of the lost traveller. First, his broad- 
 brimmed hat, which he had inherited through divers 
 generations, and which he always wore when he went 
 to the village, lay grovelling in the dirt, crushed out 
 of all goodly shape by the wheel of his wagon, which 
 had passed over it. Next, they encountered the back 
 board of the wagon, ornamented with C. Y. in a true- 
 lover s-knot, painted by Tim Canty, in his best style 
 and anon, a little farther, a shoe, that was indenti- 
 fied as having belonged to our hero, by having upward 
 of three hundred hobnails in the sole, for he was a 
 saving little fellow, though he would wet his whistle 
 sometimes, in spite of all his wife and the minister 
 could say. Proceeding about a hundred rods farther, 
 to a sudden turn of the road, they encountered the 
 wagon, or rather the fragments of it, scattered about 
 and along in the highway, and the horses standing 
 quietly against a fence, into which they had run the 
 pole. 
 
296 COBUS YERKS. 
 
 But what was become of the unfortunate driver no 
 one could discover. At length, after searching some 
 time, they found him lying in a tuft of blackberry 
 briars, amid pieces of the stone jug, lifeless and mo 
 tionless. His face was turned upward, and streaked 
 with seams of blood ; his clothes were torn, bloody, 
 and disfigured with dirt ; and his pipe, that he carried 
 in the buttonholes of his waistcoat, was shivered all 
 to nought. They made their way to the body, full of 
 sad forebodings, and shook it, to see if any life re 
 mained. But it was all in vain there seemed 
 neither sense nor motion there. " Maybe, after all," said 
 one, " he is only in a swound here is a drop of the 
 spirits left in the bottom of the jug let us hold it to 
 his nose ; it may bring him to life." 
 
 The experiment was tried, and, wonderful to tell, in 
 a moment or two, Cobus, opening his eyes, and 
 smacking his lips with peculiar satisfaction, exclaimed, 
 " Some o that, boys ! " A little shaking brought him 
 to himself, when, being asked to give an account of 
 the disaster of his wagon and his stone jug, he at 
 first shook his head mysteriously, and demurred. 
 Being, however, taken to the neighbouring tavern, 
 and comforted a little with divers refreshments, he 
 was again pressed for his story, when, assuming a 
 face of awful mystification, he began as follows : 
 
 " You must know," said Cobus, " I started rather 
 late from town, for I had been kept there by by 
 business ; and because, you see, I was waiting for the 
 moon to rise, that I might find my way home in the 
 dark night. But it grew darker and darker, until you 
 could not see your hand before your face, and at last 
 I concluded to set out, considering I was as sober as 
 
COBUS YERKS. 297 
 
 a deacon, and my horses could see their way blind 
 fold. I had not gone quite round the corner where 
 John Kyer was hung for shooting Sheriff Smith, when 
 I heard somebody coming, pat, pat, pat, close behind 
 my wagon. T looked back, but I could see nothing, 
 it was so dark. By and by, I heard it again, louder 
 and louder, and then I confess I began to be a little 
 afeard. So I whipped up my horses a quarter of a 
 mile or so, and then let them walk on. I listened, 
 and pat, pat, pat, went the noise again. I began to 
 be a good deal frightened, but, considering it could be 
 nothing at all, I thought I might as well take a small 
 dram, as the night was rather chilly, and I began to 
 tremble a little with the cold. I took but a drop, as 1 
 am a living sinner, and then went on quite gayly ; but 
 pat, pat, pat, went the footsteps, ten times louder and 
 faster than ever. And then !, then I looked back, and 
 saw a pair of saucer-eyes just at the tail of my wagon, 
 as big and as bright as the mouths of a fiery furnace, 
 dancing up and down in the air like two stage-lamps 
 in a rutty road. 
 
 " By gosh, boys, but you may depend I was scared 
 now ! I took another little dram, and then made the 
 whip fly about the ears of old Pepper and Billy, who 
 cantered away at a wonderful rate, considering. Pres 
 ently, bang! something heavy jumped into the wagon, 
 as if heaven and earth were coming together. I 
 looked over my shoulder, and the great burning eyes 
 were within half a yard of my back. The creature 
 was so close that I felt its breath blowing upon me, 
 and it smelled for all one exactly like brimstone. I 
 should have jumped out of the wagon, but, somehow 
 or other, I could not stir, for I was bewitched as sure as 
 
298 COBUS YERKS. 
 
 you live. All I could do was to thrash away at Pep 
 per and Billy, who rattled along at a great rate up 
 hill and down, over the rough roads, so that if 1 had 
 not been bewitched I must have tumbled out to a 
 certainty. When I came to the bridge, at old Mang- 
 ham s, the black dog, (for I could see something black 
 and shaggy under the goggle eyes), all at once jumped 
 up, and, seating himself close by me on the bench, 
 snatched the whip and reins out of my hands like 
 lightning. Then, looking me in the face and nod 
 ding, he whispered something in my ear, and put 
 it into Pepper and Billy, till they seemed to fly 
 through the air. From that time I began to lose my 
 wits by degrees, till at last the smell of brimstone 
 overpowered me, and I remember nothing till you 
 found me this morning in the briars." 
 
 Here little Cobus concluded his story, which he re 
 peated, with several variations and additions, to his 
 wife, when he got home. That good woman, who, 
 on most occasions, took the liberty of lecturing her 
 good man whenever he used to be belated in his ex 
 cursions to the village, was so struck with this adven 
 ture, that she omitted her usual exhortation, and ever 
 afterwards viewed him as one ennobled by supernat 
 ural communication, submitting to him as her verita 
 ble lord and master. Some people, who pretend to 
 be so wise that they won t believe the evidence of 
 their senses when it contradicts their reason, affected 
 to be incredulous, and hinted that the goggle-eyes 
 and the brimstone breath appertained to Cobus 
 Yerks s great house-dog, which had certainly followed 
 him that day to the village, and was found quietly re 
 posing by his master, in the tuft of briars. But Cobus 
 
COBUS YERKS. 299 
 
 was ever exceedingly wroth at this suggestion, and, 
 being a sturdy little bruiser, had knocked down one or 
 two of these unbelieving sinners, for venturing to assert 
 that the contents of the stone jug were at the bottom 
 of the whole business. After that, everybody believed 
 it, and it is now for ever incorporated with the marvel 
 lous legends of the renewed Buttermilk Hill. 
 
 . - 4 . - 
 . 
 
THE 
 
 RIDE OF SAINT NICHOLAS 
 
 ON 
 
 NEW-YEAR S EVE. 
 
THE 
 
 EIDE OF SAINT NICHOLAS 
 
 ON 
 
 NEW-YEAR S EYE. 
 
 OF all the cities in this New World, that which once 
 bore the name of Fort Orange * but bears it no more 
 is the favourite of the good St. Nicholas. It is there 
 that he hears the sound of his native language, and 
 sees the honest Dutch pipe in the mouths of a few 
 portly burghers, who, disdaining the pestilent innova 
 tions of modern times, still cling with honest obsti 
 nacy to the dress, the manners, and customs, of old 
 faderland. It is there, too, that they have instituted 
 a society in honour of the excellent saint, whose birth 
 day they celebrate in a manner worthy of all com 
 mendation. 
 
 True it is, that the city of his affections has from 
 time to time committed divers great offences, which 
 sorely wounded the feelings of St. Nicholas, and 
 almost caused him to withdraw his patronage from 
 its backsliding citizens. First, by adopting the new- 
 
 * Albany. 
 
304 THE RIDE OF SAINT NICHOLAS. 
 
 fangled style of beginning the year, at the bidding of 
 the old lady of Babylon, whereby the jolly New-year 
 was so jostled oat of place that the good saint scarcely 
 knew where to look for it. Next, they essayed them 
 selves to learn outlandish tongues, whereby they 
 gradually sophisticated their own, insomuch that he 
 could hardly understand them. Thirdly, they did, 
 from time to time, admit into their churches preach 
 ings and singings in the upstart English language, 
 until by degrees the ancient worship became adulter 
 ated in such a manner that the indignant St. Nicholas, 
 when he first witnessed it, did, for the only time in his 
 life, come near to uttering a great oath, by exclaim 
 ing, " Wat donderdag is dat * ? " Now be it known 
 that had he said, " Wat donder is dat f ," it would have 
 been downright swearing ; so you see what a narrow 
 escape he had. 
 
 Not content with these backslidings, the burghers 
 of Fort Orange a pestilence on all new names ! 
 suffered themselves by degrees to be corrupted by vari 
 ous modern innovations, under the mischievous dis 
 guise of improvements. Forgetting the reverence due 
 to their ancestors, who eschewed all internal improve 
 ment except that of the mind and heart, they departed 
 from the venerable customs of the faderland ; and, 
 pulling down the old houses that, scorning all appear 
 ance of ostentation, modestly presented the little end 
 to the street, began to erect in their places certain 
 indescribable buildings, with the broadsides as it 
 
 * Bonder en Bliksem ! Thunder and lightning ! was a favorite Dutch 
 oath. The use of Donderdag Thursday corresponds to "darn" for 
 "damn." 
 
 t " What the thunder does that mean ? " 
 
THE RIDE OF SAINT NICHOLAS. 305 
 
 were turned frontwise, by which strange contortion 
 the comeliness of Fort Orange was utterly destroyed. 
 It is on record that a heavy judgment fell upon 
 the head of the first man who adventured on this 
 daring innovation. His money gave out before this 
 monstrous novelty was completed, and he invented 
 the pernicious system of borrowing and mortgaging, 
 before happily unknown among these worthy citizens, 
 who were utterly confounded, not long afterwards, at 
 seeing the house change its owner a thing that had 
 never happened before in that goodly community, 
 save when the son entered on the inheritance of his 
 father. 
 
 Becoming gradually more incorrigible in their apos 
 tasy, they were seduced into opening, widening, and 
 regulating the streets; making the crooked straight 
 and the narrow wide, thereby causing sad inroads into 
 the strong boxes of divers of the honest burghers, 
 who became all at once very rich, saving that they had 
 no money to go to market. To cap the climax of 
 their enormities, they at last committed the egregious 
 sacrilege of pulling down the ancient and honourable 
 Dutch church, which stood right in the middle of 
 State street, or Staats street, being so called after the 
 family of that name, from which I am lineally de 
 scended. 
 
 At this the good St. Nicholas was exceedingly 
 grieved ; and when, by degrees, his favourite burghers 
 left off eating sturgeon, being thereto instigated by 
 divers scurvy jests of certain silly strangers that knew 
 not the excellence of that savoury fish, he cried out in 
 the anguish of his spirit, " Onbegrypelyk I " " Incredi 
 ble ! ", meaning thereby that he qould scarcely believe 
 
 20 
 
306 THE RIDE OF SAINT NICHOLAS. 
 
 his eyes. In the bitterness of his soul he had resolved 
 to return to faderland, and leave his beloved city to 
 be swallowed up in the vortex of improvement. He 
 was making his progress through the streets in melan 
 choly mood, to take his last farewell, when he came 
 to the outlet of the Grand Canal, just then completed.* 
 " Is liet mogelyk ? " which means, Is it possible ? 
 exclaimed St. Nicholas ; and thereupon he was so 
 delighted with this proof that his beloved people had 
 not altogether degenerated from their ancestors, that 
 he determined not to leave them to strange saints, 
 outlandish tongues, and modern innovations. He 
 took a sail on the canal, and returned in such meas 
 ureless content, that he blessed the good city of Fort 
 Orange as he evermore called it, and resolved to dis 
 tribute a more than usual store of his New-year cook 
 ies, at the Christmas holydays. That jovial season 
 was now fast approaching. The autumn frosts had 
 already invested the forests with a mantle of glory ; 
 the farmers were in their fields and orchards, gather 
 ing in the corn and apples, or making cider, the 
 wholesome beverage of virtuous simplicity ; the robins, 
 blackbirds, and all the annual emigrants to southern 
 climes, had passed away in flocks, like the adventur 
 ers to the far West, the bluebird alone lingering to sing 
 his parting song; and sometimes, of a morning, the 
 river showed a little fretted border of ice, looking like a 
 fringe of lace on the garment of some decayed dow 
 ager. At length the liquid glass of the river cooled 
 into a wide, immovable mirror, glistening in the sun ; 
 the trees, all save the evergreens, stood bare to the 
 
 * The first boat passed though the Erie Canal to the Hudson river on the 
 4th of November, 1825. 
 
THE RIDE OF SAINT NICHOLAS. 307 
 
 keen winds; the fields were covered with snow, 
 affording no lures to tempt to rural wanderings ; the 
 pleasures of men gradually centred themselves in the 
 chimney-corner: it was winter, and New-year s eve 
 was come again. 
 
 The night was clear, calm, and cold, and the bright 
 stars glittered in the heavens, in such multitudes that 
 every man might have had a star to himself. The 
 worthy patriarchs of Fort Orange, having gathered 
 around them their children, and children s children, 
 even unto the third and fourth generation, were dis 
 porting themselves in innocent revelry at the cheerful 
 fireside. All the enjoyments of life had contracted 
 themselves into the domestic circle ; the streets were 
 as quiet as a church-yard, and not even the stroke of 
 the watchman was heard on the curb-stone. Gradu 
 ally it waxed late, and the city clocks rang, in the 
 silence of night, the hour which not one of the orderly 
 citizens had heard, except at mid-day, since the last 
 anniversary of the happy New-year, unless peradven- 
 ture troubled with a toothache, or some such unseemly 
 irritation. 
 
 The doleful warning, which broke upon the frosty 
 air like the tolling of a funeral bell, roused the sober 
 devotees of St. Nicholas to a sense of their trespasses 
 on the waning night ; and, after one good, smoking 
 draught of spiced Jamaica to the patron saint, they, 
 one and all, young and old, hied them to bed, that he 
 might have a fair opportunity to bestow his favours 
 without being seen by mortal eye. For be it known, 
 that St. Nicholas, like all really heart-whole generous 
 fellows, loves to do good in secret, and eschews those 
 pompous benefactions which are duly recorded in the 
 
308 THE RIDE OF SAINT NICHOLAS. 
 
 newspapers, being of opinion they only prove that 
 the vanity of man is sometimes an overmatch for his 
 avarice. 
 
 Having allowed them fifteen minutes, (which is as 
 much as a sober burgher of good morals and habits 
 requires), to get as fast asleep as a church, St. Nicho 
 las, having harnessed his pony, and loaded his little 
 wagon with a store of good things for well-behaved, 
 diligent children, together with whips and other me 
 mentos for undutiful varlets, did set forth gayly on 
 his errand of benevolence. 
 
 VILUT en vlammen! how the good saint did hurry 
 through the streets, up one chimney and down 
 another; for, as I do live, they are not such miserable 
 narrow things as those of other cities, where the 
 claims of ostentation are so voracious that people 
 can t afford to keep up good fires, and the chimneys 
 are so narrow that the little sweeps of seven years old 
 often get themselves stuck fast, to the imminent peril 
 of their lives. You may think he had a good deal of 
 business on hand, being obliged to visit every house 
 in Fort Orange, between twelve o clock and daylight, 
 save indeed those of some few would-be fashionable 
 upstarts, who had mortally offended him, by turning 
 up their noses at the simple jollifications and friendly 
 greetings of the merry New-year. Accordingly, he 
 rides like the wind, scarcely touching the ground ; and 
 this is the reason that he is never seen, except by a 
 rare chance, which is the cause why certain unbeliev 
 ing sinners, who scoff at old customs and notions, 
 either really do, or pretend to, doubt, whether the 
 good things found on Christmas and New-year morn 
 ings in the stockings of the little varlets of Fort 
 
THE RIDE OF SAINT NICHOLAS. 309 
 
 Orange and Nieuw Amsterdam, are put there by the 
 jolly St. Nicholas or not. Beshrew them, say I 
 and may they never taste the blessing of his bounty ! 
 Goeden Hem-el* ! t as if I myself, being a kinsman of 
 the saint, don t know him as well as a debtor does his 
 creditor! But people are grown so wise nowadays, 
 that they believe in nothing but the increased value 
 of property. 
 
 Be this as it may, St. Nicholas went forth blithely 
 on his kindly errand, without minding the intense 
 cold, for he was kept right warm by the benevolence 
 of his heart ; and, when that failed, he ever and anon 
 addressed himself to a snug little pottle, the contents 
 of which did smoke lustily when he pulled out the 
 stopper, a piece of snow-white corn-cob. 
 
 It is impossible for me to specify one by one the 
 visits paid that night by the good saint, or the various 
 adventures which he encountered. I therefore content 
 myself, and, I trust, my worthy and excellent readers, 
 with dwelling briefly on those which appear to me 
 most worthy of descending to posterity, and that 
 withal convey excellent moral lessons, without which 
 history is naught, whether it be true or false. 
 
 After visiting various honest little Dutch houses 
 with notched roofs and the gable ends to the street, 
 leaving his benedictions, St. Nicholas at length came 
 to a goodly mansion bearing strong marks of being 
 sophisticated by modern fantastic caprices. He would 
 have passed it by in scorn, had he not remembered 
 that it belonged to a descendant of one of his favoured 
 votaries, who had passed away to his long home with 
 out having once backslided from the customs of his 
 
 * Good Heavens ! 
 
310 THE RIDE OF SAINT NICHOLAS. 
 
 ancestors. Respect for the memory of this worthy 
 man wrought upon his feelings, and he forthwith 
 dashed down the chimney, where he stuck fast in 
 the middle, and came nigh being suffocated with the 
 fumes of anthracite coal, which this degenerate de 
 scendant of a pious ancestor, who spent thousands in 
 useless and unbecoming ostentation, burned by way 
 of economy. 
 
 If the excellent saint had not been enveloped, as it 
 were, in the odour of sanctity, which in some measure 
 protected him from the poison of this pestilent vapour, 
 it might have gone hard with him ; as it was, he was 
 sadly bewildered, when his little pony, which liked the 
 predicament no better than his master, made a violent 
 plunge, drew the wagon through the narrow passage, 
 and down they came plump into a magnificent 
 bedchamber, filled with all sorts of finery such as 
 wardrobes, bedizened with tawdry ornaments ; satin 
 chairs too good to be looked at or sat upon, and 
 therefore covered with brown linen ; a bedstead of 
 varnished mahogany, with a canopy over it somewhat 
 like a cocked-hat, with a plume of ostrich feathers 
 instead of orthodox valances, and the like ; and a 
 looking-glass large enough to reflect a Dutch city. 
 
 St. Nicholas contemplated the pair who slept in 
 this newfangled abomination, with a mingled feeling 
 of pity and indignation, though I must say the wife 
 looked very pretty in her lace nightcap, with one arm 
 as white as snow partly uncovered. But he soon 
 turned away, being a devout and self-denying saint, 
 to seek for the stockings of the little children, who 
 were innocent of these unseemly innovations. But 
 what was his horror at finding that, instead of being 
 
THE HIDE OF SAINT NICHOLAS. 311 
 
 hung up in the chimney-corner, they were thrown 
 carelessly on the floor, and that the little souls, who 
 lay asleep in each other s arms in another room, lest 
 they should disturb their parents, were thus deprived 
 of all the pleasant anticipations accompanying the 
 approaching jolly New-year. 
 
 " Een vervlocte jonge ! ",* said he to himself, (for he 
 never uttered his maledictions aloud) ; " to rob his little 
 ones of such wholesome and innocent delights! But 
 they shall not be disappointed." So he sought the 
 cold and distant chamber of the children, who were 
 virtuous and dutiful, and, when they waked in the 
 morning, they found the bed covered with good things, 
 and were as happy as the day is long. St. Nicholas 
 returned to the splendid chamber, which, be it known, 
 was furnished with the spoils of industrious unfortu 
 nate people, to whom the owner lent money, charging 
 them so much the more in proportion to their necessi 
 ties. It is true that he gave some of the wealth he 
 thus got over the duyvel s back, as it were, to public 
 charities, and sometimes churches, when he knew it 
 would get into the newspapers, by which he obtained 
 the credit of being very pious and charitable. But St. 
 Nicholas was too sensible and judicious not to know 
 that the only charitable and pious donations agree 
 able to the Giver of all are those which are honestly 
 come by. The alms which are got by ill means can 
 never come to good, and it is better to give back to 
 those from whom we have taken it dishonestly, even 
 one fourth, yea, one tenth, than to bestow ten times as 
 much on those who have no such claim. The true 
 atonement for injuries is that made to the injured. 
 
 * An accursed boy ! 
 
312 THE RIDE OF SAINT NICHOLAS. 
 
 All other is a cheat in the eye of Heaven. You can 
 not settle the account, by giving to Peter what you 
 have niched from Paul. 
 
 So thought the good St. Nicholas, as he revolved in 
 his mind a plan for punishing this degenerate caitiff, 
 who despised his ordinances and customs, and was 
 moreover one who, in dealing with borrowers, not 
 only shaved but skinned them. Remembering not 
 the perils of the chimney, he was about departing the 
 way he came, but the little pony obstinately refused ; 
 and the good saint, having first taken off the lace night 
 cap, and put a fool s-cap in its place, and given the 
 money-lender a tweak of the nose that made him roar, 
 whipped instantly through the key-hole, to pursue his 
 benevolent tour through the ancient city of Fort Orange. 
 
 Gliding through the streets unheard and unseen, he 
 at length came to a winding lane, from which his 
 quick ear caught the sound of obstreperous revelry. 
 Stopping his pony, and listening more attentively, he 
 distinguished the words, " Ich ben liederich" * roared 
 out in a chorus of mingled voices seemingly issuing 
 from a little low house of the true orthodox construc 
 tion, standing on the right-hand side, at a distance of 
 a hundred yards, or thereabout. 
 
 " Wat donderdag ! " exclaimed St. Nicholas ; " is 
 mine old friend, Baltus Van Loon, keeping it up at 
 this time of the morning? The old rogue! but I ll 
 punish him for this breach of the good customs of 
 Fort Orange." So he halted on the top of Baltus s 
 chimney, to consider the best way of bringing it 
 about, and was, all at once, saluted in the nostrils by 
 
 * This seems to be corrupted German. Ich ben I am UederUch, a 
 careless dog or, liedcrreick, say, a jolly singer. 
 
THE RIDE OF SAINT NICHOLAS. 313 
 
 such a delectable perfume, arising from a certain 
 spiced beverage with which the substantial burghers 
 were wont to recreate themselves at this season of the 
 year, that he was sorely tempted to join a little in the 
 revelry below, and punish the merry caitiffs after 
 wards. Presently he heard honest Baltus propose 
 " The jolly St. Nicholas !," as a toast, which was drunk 
 in a full bumper, with great rejoicing and acclamation. 
 
 St. Nicholas could stand it no longer, but descended 
 forthwith into the little parlour of old Baltus, think 
 ing, by the way, that, just to preserve appearances, he 
 would lecture the roistering rogues a little for keeping 
 such late hours ; and then, provided Baltus could give 
 a good reason, or indeed any reason at all, for such 
 an indecorous transgression, he would sit down with 
 them, a-nd take some of the savoury tipple that had 
 regaled his nostrils while waiting at the top of the 
 chimney. 
 
 The vapouring varlets were so busy roaring out, 
 " Ich ben liederich" that they did not take note of the 
 presence of the saint, until he cried with a loud and 
 angry voice, " Wat blikslager is dat ? " * (he did not 
 say blixem^, because that would have been liitle bet 
 ter than swearing) " Ben je be dondered^ to be 
 carousing here at this time of night, ye ancient, and 
 not venerable sinners ! " 
 
 Old Baltus was not a little startled at the intrusion 
 of the strangers for, if the truth must out, he was 
 a little in for it, and saw double, as is usual at such 
 times. This caused such a confusion in his head that 
 
 * " What the tinman does this mean? " f Lightning. 
 
 J " Are you be-thundered ? " or, 1 What the Old Scratch have you got in 
 you?" 
 
314 THE RIDE OF SAINT NICHOLAS. 
 
 he forgot to rise from his seat and pay due honour to 
 his visitor, as did the rest of the company. 
 
 " Are you not ashamed of yourselves," continued 
 the saint, " to set such a bad example to the neigh 
 bourhood, by carousing at this time of the morning, 
 contrary to good old customs, known and accepted by 
 all, except such noisy splutterkins as yourselves ? " 
 
 " This time of the morning," replied old Baltus, 
 who had his full portion of Dutch courage "this 
 time of the morning, did you say ? Look yonder, 
 and see with your own eyes whether it is morning or 
 not." 
 
 The cunning rogue, in order to have a good excuse 
 for transgressing the canons of St. Nicholas, had so 
 managed it, that the old clock in the corner had run 
 down, and now pointed to the hour of eleven, where 
 it remained stationary, like a rusty weathercock. St. 
 Nicholas knew this as well as old Baltus himself, and 
 could not help being mightily tickled at this device. 
 He told Baltus that, this being the case, with permis 
 sion of his host he would sit down by the fire and 
 warm himself, till it was time to set forth again, see 
 ing he had mistaken the hour. 
 
 Baltus, who by this time began to perceive that 
 there was but one visitor instead of two, now rose 
 from the table with much ado, and, approaching the 
 stranger, besought him to take a seat among the jolly 
 revellers, seeing they were there assembled in honour 
 of St. Nicholas, and not out of any regard to the lusts 
 of the flesh. In this he was joined by the rest of the 
 company, so that St. Nicholas, being a good-natured 
 fellow, at length suffered himself to be persuaded, 
 whereto he was mightily incited by the savoury fumes 
 
THE RIDE OF SAINT NICHOLAS. 315 
 
 issuing from a huge pitcher standing smoking in the 
 chimney-corner. So he sat down with old Baltus, 
 and, being called on for a toast, gave them " Old 
 Faderland" in a bumper. 
 
 Then they had a high time of it, you may be sure. 
 Old Baltus sung a famous song celebrating the valour 
 of our Dutch ancestors, and their triumph over the 
 mighty power of Spain after a struggle of more than 
 a generation, in which the meads of Holland smoked, 
 and her canals were red, with blood. Goeden Hemell 
 but I should like to have been there, for I hope it 
 would have been nothing discreditable for one of my 
 cloth to have joined in chorus with the excellent St. 
 Nicholas. Then they talked about the good old 
 times, when the son who departed from the customs 
 of his ancestors was considered little better than mis 
 begotten ; lamented over the interloping of such mul 
 titudes of idle flaunting men and women in their way 
 to and from the Springs ; the increase of taverns, the 
 high price of everything, and the manifold transgres 
 sions of the rising generation. Ever and anon, old 
 Baltus would observe that sorrow was as dry as a 
 corn-cob, and pour out a full bumper of the smoking 
 beverage, until at last it came to pass that the honest 
 man and his worthy companions, being unused to 
 such late hours, fell fast asleep in their goodly arm 
 chairs, and snored lustily in concert. "Whereupon St. 
 Nicholas, feeling a little waggish, after putting their 
 wigs the hinder part before, and placing a great China 
 bowl upsidedown on the head of old Baltus, who sat 
 nodding like a mandarin, departed, laughing ready to 
 split his sides. In the morning, when Baltus and his 
 companions awoke, and saw what a figure they cut, 
 
316 THE RIDE OF SAINT NICHOLAS. 
 
 they all laid the trick to the door of the stranger, and 
 never knew to the last day of their lives who it was 
 that caroused with them so lustily on New-year s 
 morning. 
 
 Pursuing his way in high good-humour, being 
 somewhat exhilarated by the set-to with old Baltus 
 and his roistering companions, St. Nicholas in good 
 time came into the ancient Colonie, which, being as it 
 were at the outskirts of Fort Orange, was inhabited 
 by many people not well-to-do in the world. He de 
 scended the chimney of an old weather-worn house 
 that bore evident marks of poverty, for he is not one 
 of those saints that hanker after palaces and turn 
 their backs on their friends. It is his pleasure to seek 
 out and administer to the innocent gratifications of 
 those who are obliged to labour all the year round, 
 and who can only spare time to be merry at Christ 
 mas and New-year. He is indeed the poor man s 
 saint. 
 
 On entering the room, he was struck with the ap 
 pearance of poverty and desolation that reigned all 
 around. A number of little children of different ages, 
 but none more than ten years old, lay huddled close 
 together on a straw-bed, which was on the floor, their 
 limbs intertwined to keep themselves warm, for their 
 covering was scant and miserable. Yet they slept in 
 peace, and had quiet countenances; for hunger seeks 
 refuge in the oblivion of repose. In a corner of trie 
 room stood a forlorn bed, on which lay a female, 
 whose face, as the moonbeams fell upon it through a 
 window without shutters, many panes of which were 
 stuffed with old rags to keep out the nipping air of 
 the winter night, bore evidence of long and painful 
 
THE RIDE OF SAINT NICHOLAS. 317 
 
 suffering. It looked like death rather than sleep. A 
 small pine table, a few broken chairs, and a dresser, 
 whose shelves were ill supplied, made up the furniture 
 of this mansion of poverty. 
 
 As he stood contemplating the scene, his honest old 
 heart swelled with sorrowful compassion, saying to 
 himself, " God bewaar ous /,* but this is pitiful." At 
 that moment, a little child on the straw-bed cried out 
 in a weak voice that went to the heart of the saint, 
 " Mother, mother, give me to eat I am hungry." St. 
 Nicholas went to the child, but she was fast asleep, 
 and hunger had infected her very dreams. The 
 mother did not hear, for long-continued sorrow and 
 suffering sleep sounder than happiness, as the waters 
 lie stillest when the tempest is past. 
 
 Again the little child cried out, " Mother, mother, 
 I am freezing give me some more covering." " Be 
 quiet, Blandina," answered a voice deep and hoarse, 
 yet not unkind ; and St. Nicholas, looking around to 
 see whence it came, beheld a man, sitting close in the 
 chimney-corner though there was no fire burning, his 
 arms folded close around him, and his head drooping 
 on his bosom. He was clad like one of the children 
 of poverty, and his teeth chattered with cold. St. 
 Nicholas wiped his eyes, for he was a good-hearted 
 saint, and, coming close up to the wretched man, said 
 to him kindly, " How do ye, my good friend ? " 
 
 " Friend ?," said the other " I have no friend but 
 God, and He seems to have deserted me." As he 
 said this, he raised his saddened eyes to the good 
 saint, and, after looking at him a little while as if he 
 was not conscious of his presence, dropped them 
 
 * God preserve us ! 
 
318 THE EIDE OF SAINT NICHOLAS. 
 
 again, without even asking who he was, or whence he 
 came, or what he wanted. Despair had deadened 
 his faculties, and nothing remained in his mind but 
 the consciousness of suffering. 
 
 " Het is jammer, het is jammer it is a pity, it is a 
 pity ! " quoth the kind-hearted saint, as he passed his 
 sleeve across his eyes. " But something must be done, 
 and that quickly too." So he shook the poor man 
 somewhat roughly by the shoulder, and cried out, 
 " Ho ! ho ! what aileth thee, son of my good old friend, 
 honest Johannes Garrebrantze ? " 
 
 This salutation seemed to rouse the almost lifeless 
 figure, which then unsteadily arose, and, essaying to 
 stand upright, fell into the arms of St. Nicholas, who 
 almost believed it was a lump of ice, so cold and stiff 
 did it seem. Now, be it known that Providence, as a 
 reward for his benevolent disposition, has bestowed 
 on St. Nicholas the privilege of doing good without 
 measure to all who are deserving of his bounty, and 
 this by such means as he thinks proper to the pur 
 pose. It is a power he seldom exerts to the utter 
 most, except on pressing occasions, and this he believed 
 one of them. 
 
 Perceiving that the hapless being was wellnigh fro 
 zen to death, he called into action the supernatural 
 faculties which had been committed to him, and lo !, 
 in an instant a rousing fire blazed on the hearth, 
 towards which the meagre wretch, instinctively as it 
 were, edged his chair, and stretched out one of his 
 bony hands, that was as stiff as an icicle. The light 
 flashed so brightly in the face of the little ones and 
 their mother, that they awoke ; and, seeing the cheer 
 ful blaze, arose in their miserable clothing, which they 
 
THE RIDE OF SAINT NICHOLAS. 319 
 
 had worn to aid in keeping them warm, and hied as 
 fast as they could to bask in its blessed cheer. So 
 eager were they, that for a while they were uncon 
 scious of the presence of a stranger, although St. 
 Nicholas had now assumed his proper person, that he 
 might not be taken for some one of those diabolical 
 wizards who, being always in mischief, are ashamed 
 to show their faces among honest people. 
 
 At length the poor man, who was called, after his 
 father, Johannes Garrebrantze, being somewhat re 
 vived by the genial warmth of the fire, looked around, 
 and became aware of the presence of the stranger. 
 This inspired him with a secret awe, for which he 
 could not account; insomuch that his voice trembled, 
 though now he was not cold, when, after some hesita 
 tion, he said: 
 
 " Stranger, thou art welcome to this naked house. 
 I would I were better able to offer thee the hospitali 
 ties of the season, but I will wish thee a happy New- 
 year, and that is all I can bestow." The good yffrouw, 
 his wife, repeated the wish, and straightway began to 
 apologize for the untidy state of her apartment. 
 
 " Make no apologies," replied the excellent saint ; 
 " I come to give, not to receive. To-night I treat, to 
 morrow you may return the kindness to others." 
 
 " I ? " said Johannes Garrebrantze ; " I have nothing 
 to bestow but good wishes, and nothing to receive but 
 the scorn and neglect of the world. If I had any 
 thing to give thee to eat or drink, thou shouldst have 
 it with all my heart. But the new year, which brings 
 jollity to the hearts of others, brings nothing but hun 
 ger and despair to me and mine." 
 
 " Thou hast seen better days, I warrant thee," an- 
 
320 THE EIDE OF SAINT NICHOLAS. 
 
 swered the saint ; " for thou speakest like a scholar of 
 Leyden. Tell me thy story, Johannes, my son, and 
 we shall see whether in good time thou wilt not hold 
 up thy head as high as a church-steeple." 
 
 " Alas ! to what purpose, since man assuredly has, 
 and Heaven seems to have, forsaken me ? " 
 
 "Hush!" cried St. Nicholas; "Heaven never for 
 sakes the broken spirit, or turns a deaf ear to the cries 
 of innocent children. It is for the wicked never to 
 hope, the virtuous never to despair. I predict thou 
 shalt live to see better days." 
 
 " I must see them soon then, for I, my wife, and 
 my children, have been without food since twenty-four 
 hours past." 
 
 " What ! God be with us ! is there such lack of 
 charity in the burghers of the Colonie, that they will 
 suffer a neighbour to starve under their very noses ? 
 Onbegrypdyk ! I ll not believe it." 
 
 " They know not my necessities." 
 
 " No ? What ! hast thou no tongue to speak 
 them ? " 
 
 " I am too proud to beg." 
 
 " And too lazy to work," cried St. Nicholas, in a 
 severe tone. 
 
 " Look you," answered the other, holding up his 
 right arm with his left, and showing that the sinews 
 were stiffened by rheumatism. 
 
 " Is it so, my friend ? Well, but thou mightest still 
 have bent thy spirit to ask charity for thy starving 
 wife and children, though, in truth, begging is the last 
 thing an honest man ought to stoop to. But, Goeden 
 Hemel!, here am I talking, while thou and thine are 
 perishing with hunger." 
 
THE RIDE OF SAINT NICHOLAS. 321 
 
 Saying which, St. Nicholas straightway bade the 
 good yffrouw to bring forth the little pine table, which 
 she did, making sundry excuses for the absence of a 
 table-cloth; and, when she had done so, he inconti 
 nently spread out upon it such store of good things 
 from his little cart, as made the hungry children s 
 mouths to water, and smote the hearts of their pa 
 rents with joyful thanksgivings. " Eat, drink, and be 
 merry," said St. Nicholas, " for to-morrow thou shalt 
 not die, but live." 
 
 The heart of the good saint expanded, like as the 
 morning-glory does to the first rays of the sun, while 
 he sat rubbing his hands at seeing them eat with such 
 a zest as made him almost think it was worth while 
 to be hungry, in order to enjoy such triumphant 
 satisfaction. When they had done, and returned 
 their pious thanks to Heaven and the charitable 
 stranger, St. Nicholas willed the honest man to ex 
 pound the causes which had brought him to his pres 
 ent deplorable condition. " My own folly," said he. 
 And the other sagely replied, "I thought as much. 
 Beshrew me, friend, if in all my experience, (and I 
 have lived long, and seen much), I ever encountered 
 distress and poverty that could not be traced to its 
 source in folly or vice. Heaven is too bountiful to 
 entail misery on its creatures, save through their 
 own transgressions. But, I pray thee, go on with thy 
 story." 
 
 The good man then went on to relate that his 
 father, old Johannes Garrebrantze 
 
 " Ah ! ", quoth St. Nicholas, " I knew him well. He 
 was an honest man, and that, in these times of all 
 sorts of improvements, except in mind and morals, is 
 
 21 
 
322 THE RIDE OF SAINT NICHOLAS. 
 
 little less than miraculous. But I interrupt thee, 
 friend proceed with thy story, once more." 
 
 The son of Johannes again resumed his narration, 
 and related how his father had left him a competent 
 estate in the Golonie, on which he lived in good credit, 
 and in the enjoyment of a reasonable competency, with 
 his wife and children, until within a few years past, 
 when, seeing a vast number of three-story houses with 
 folding doors and marble mantel-pieces rising up all 
 around him, he began to be ashamed of his little one- 
 story house with the gable end to the street, and 
 
 "Ah! Johannes," interrupted the pale wife, "do 
 not spare me. It was I that in the vanity of my heart 
 put such notions in thy head. It was I that tempted 
 thee." 
 
 " It was the duyvel" muttered St. Nicholas, " in the 
 shape of a pretty wife." 
 
 Johannes gave his helpmate a look of affectionate 
 forgiveness, and went on to tell St. Nicholas how, 
 egged on by the evil example of his neighbours, he 
 had at last committed sacrilege against his household 
 gods, and pulled down the home of his fathers, com 
 mencing a new one on its ruins. 
 
 "Donderdag!" quoth the saint to himself; "and 
 the bricks came from faderland, too ! " 
 
 When Johannes had about half finished his new 
 house, he discovered one day, to his great astonish 
 ment and dismay, that all his money, which he had 
 been saving for his children, was gone. His strong 
 box was empty, and his house but half-finished, al 
 though, after estimating the cost, he had allowed one 
 third more in order to be sure in the business. 
 
 Johannes was now at a dead stand. The idea of 
 
THE RIDE OF SAINT NICHOLAS. 323 
 
 borrowing money and running in debt never entered 
 his head before, nor would have entered now, had it 
 not been suggested to him by a neighbour, a great 
 speculator, who had lately built a whole street of 
 houses, not a single brick of which belonged to him 
 in reality. He had borrowed the money, mortgaged 
 the property, and expected to grow rich by a sudden 
 rise. Poor Johannes may be excused for listening to 
 the seductions of this lose! varlet, seeing he had a 
 house half-finished on his hands ; he did listen, and 
 was betrayed into borrowing money of a bank just 
 then established in the Colonie on a capital paid in 
 according to law that is, not paid at all the direc 
 tors of which were very anxious to exchange their 
 rags for lands and houses. 
 
 Johannes finished his house in glorious style, and, 
 having opened this new mine of wealth, furnished it 
 still more gloriously. Moreover, as it would have 
 been sheer nonsense not to live gloriously in such a 
 glorious establishment, he spent thrice his income in 
 order to keep up his respectability. He was going on 
 swimmingly, when what is called a reaction took 
 place ; which means, as far as I can understand, that 
 the bank directors, having been pleased to make 
 money plenty to increase their dividends, are pleased 
 thereafter to make it scarce for the same purpose. 
 Instead of lending it in the name of the bank, it is 
 credibly reported they do it through certain brokers, 
 who charge lawful interest and unlawful commission, 
 and thus cheat the law with a clear conscience. But 
 I thank Heaven devoutly that I know nothing of their 
 wicked mysteries, and therefore will say no more 
 about them. 
 
324 THE RIDE OP SAINT NICHOLAS. 
 
 Be this as it may, Johannes was called upon all of 
 a sudden to pay his notes to the bank, for the reaction 
 had commenced, and there were no more renewals. 
 The directors wanted all the money, to lend out at 
 three per cent, a month. It became necessary to raise 
 the wind, as they say in Wall street, and Johannes, by 
 the advice of his good friend the speculative genius, 
 went with him to a certain money-lender of his ac 
 quaintance, who was reckoned a good Christian, 
 because he always charged most usury where there 
 was the greatest necessity for a loan. To a rich man 
 he would lend at something like a reasonable interest, 
 but to a man in great distress for money he showed 
 about as much mercy as a weazel does to a chicken. 
 He sucked their blood till there was not a drop left in 
 their bodies. This he did six days in the week, and 
 on the seventh went three times to church, to enable 
 him to begin on Monday in a Christian spirit. Out 
 on such varlets, I say ; they bring religion itself into 
 disrepute, and add the sin of hypocrisy to men to that 
 of insult to Heaven. 
 
 Suffice it to say that poor Johannes Garrebrantze 
 the younger went down hill faster than he ever went 
 up in his life ; and, inasmuch as I scorn these details 
 of petty roguery as unworthy of my cloth and call 
 ing, I shall content myself with merely premising 
 that, through a process very common nowadays, the 
 poor man speedily dissipated all the patrimony left 
 him by his worthy father in paying commission to the 
 money-lender. He finally became bankrupt; and, as 
 he was absolutely uninitiated in the odd science of 
 getting rich by such a manoeuvre, was left without a 
 shilling in the world. He retired from his fine house, 
 
THE RIDE OF SAINT NICHOLAS. 325 
 
 which was forthwith occupied by his good friend the 
 money-lender, whose nose had been tweaked by St. 
 Nicholas, as heretofore recorded, and sought shelter in 
 the wretched building where he was found by that 
 benevolent worthy. Destitute of resources, and en 
 tirely unacquainted with the art of living by his wits 
 or his labour, though he tried hard both ways, poor 
 Johannes became gradually steeped in poverty to the 
 very lips ; and, being totally disabled by rheumatism, 
 might, peradventure, with all his family, have perished 
 that very night, had not Providence mercifully sent 
 the good St. Nicholas to their relief. 
 
 " Wat donderdag ! " , exclaimed the saint, when he had 
 done " wat donderdag ! was that your house down 
 yonder, with the fine bedroom, the wardrobes, the 
 looking-glass as big as the moon, and the bedstead 
 with a cocked-hat and feathers ? " 
 
 " Even so," replied the other, hanging down his 
 head. 
 
 " Is Jiet mogdyk ! " And, after considering a little 
 while, the good saint, slapping his hand on the table, 
 broke forth again " By donderdag, but I ll soon set 
 tle this business." 
 
 He then began to hum an old Dutch hymn, which 
 by its soothing and wholesome monotony so operated 
 upon Johannes and his family, that one and all fell 
 fast asleep in their chairs. 
 
 The good St. Nicholas then lighted his pipe, and 
 seating himself by the fire, revolved in his mind the 
 best mode of proceeding on this occasion. At first he 
 determined to divest the rich money-lender of all his 
 ill-gotten gains, and bestow them on poor Johannes 
 and his family. But when he considered that the 
 
326 THE RIDE OF SAINT NICHOLAS. 
 
 losel caitiff was already sufficiently punished in being 
 condemned to the sordid toils of money-making, and 
 in the privation of all those social and benevolent feel 
 ings which, while they contribute to our own happi 
 ness, administer to that of others ; that he was for 
 ever beset with the consuming cares of avarice, the 
 hope of gain, and the fear of losses ; and that, rich as 
 he was, he suffered all the gnawing pangs of an insa 
 tiable desire for more; when he considered all this, 
 St. Nicholas decided to leave him to the certain 
 punishment of wealth wrongfully acquired, and the 
 chances of losing it by the inordinate appetite for 
 its increase, which sooner or later produces all the 
 consequences of reckless imprudence. 
 
 " Let the splutterkin alone," thought St. Nicholas, 
 " and he will become the instrument of his own pun 
 ishment." 
 
 Then he went on to think what he should do for 
 poor Johannes and his little children. Though he had 
 been severely punished for his folly, yet did the good 
 saint, who in his nightly holiday peregrinations had 
 seen more of human life and human passions than 
 the sun ever shone upon, very well know that sudden 
 wealth, or sudden poverty, is a sore trial of the heart 
 of man, in like manner as the sudden transition from 
 light to darkness, or darkness to light, produces a tem 
 porary blindness. It was true that Johannes had re 
 ceived a severe lesson, but the great mass of mankind 
 are prone to forget the chastening rod of experience, 
 as they do the pangs of sickness when they are past. 
 He therefore settled in his mind, that the return of 
 Johannes to competence and prosperity should be by 
 the salutary process of his own exertions, and that he 
 
THE RIDE OF SAINT NICHOLAS. 327 
 
 should learn their value by the pains it cost to attain 
 them. " Net is goed visschen in troebel water" quoth 
 he, "for then a man knows the value of what he 
 catches." 
 
 It was broad daylight before he had finished his 
 pipe and his cogitations, when, placing his old polished 
 delft pipe carefully in his button-hole, the good saint 
 sallied forth, leaving Johannes and his family still fast 
 asleep in their chairs. Directly opposite the miserable 
 abode of Johannes there dwelt a little fat Dutchman, 
 with money-bags to match, who had all his life man 
 fully stemmed the torrent of modern innovation. He 
 eschewed all sorts of paper-money, as an invention of 
 people without property to get hold of those that had 
 it; abhorred the practice of widening streets; and 
 despised in his heart all public improvements except 
 canals, a sneaking notion for which he inherited from 
 old faderland. He was honest as the light of the 
 blessed sun ; and though he opened his best parlour 
 but twice a year, to have it cleaned and put to rights, 
 yet this I will say of him, that the poor man who 
 wanted a dinner was never turned away from his 
 table. The worthy burgher was standing at the street- 
 door, which opened in the middle, and leaning over 
 the lower half, so that the smoke of his pipe ascended 
 in the clear frosty morning in a little white column far 
 into the sky before it was dissipated. 
 
 St. Nicholas stopped his wagon right before his 
 door, and cried out in a clear, hearty voice, 
 
 "Good-morning, good-morning, mynheer; and a 
 happy New-year to you ! " 
 
 " Good-morning," cried the hale old burgher, " and 
 many happy New-years to you. Hast got any good 
 
328 THE BIDE OF SAINT NICHOLAS. 
 
 fat hen-turkeys to sell?" for he took him for a 
 countryman coming in to market. St. Nicholas an 
 swered and said that he had been on a different errand 
 that morning ; and the other cordially invited him to 
 alight, corne in, and take a glass of hot spiced rum, 
 with the which it was his custom to regale all comers 
 at the jolly New-year. The invitation was frankly 
 accepted, for the worthy St. Nicholas, though no 
 toper, was never a member of the temperance society. 
 He chose to be keeper of his own conscience, and was 
 of opinion that a man who is obliged to sign an obli 
 gation not to drink will be very likely to break it the 
 first convenient opportunity. 
 
 As they sat cosily together, by a rousing fire of 
 wholesome and enlivening hickory, the little plump 
 Dutchman occasionally inveighing stoutly against 
 paper-money, railroads, improving streets, and the 
 like, the compassionate saint took occasion to utter a 
 wish that the poor man over the way and his starving 
 family had some of the good things that were so rife 
 on New-year s day, for he had occasion to know that 
 they were suffering all the evils of the most abject 
 poverty. 
 
 " The splutterkin !," exclaimed the little fat burgher 
 " he is as proud as Lucifer himself. I had a sus 
 picion of this, and sought divers occasions to get 
 acquainted with him, that I might have some excuse 
 for prying into his necessities, and take the privilege 
 of an old neighbour to relieve them. But, vuur en 
 vlammen ! would you believe it he avoided me just 
 as if he owed me money, and couldn t pay." 
 
 St. Nicholas observed, that if it was ever excusable 
 for a man to be proud, it was when he fell into a state 
 
THE RIDE OF SAINT NICHOLAS. 329 
 
 where every one, high and low, worthless and honour 
 able, looked down upon him with contempt. Then 
 he related to him the story of poor Johannes, and, tak 
 ing from his pocket a heavy purse, he offered it to the 
 worthy old burgher, who swore he would be dondered 
 if he wanted any of his money. 
 
 " But hearken to me," said the saint ; " yon foolish 
 lad is the son of an old friend of mine, who did rne 
 many a kindness in his day, for which I am willing to 
 requite his posterity. Thou shalt take this purse and 
 bestow a small portion of it, as from thyself, as a loan 
 from time to time, as thou seest he deserves it by his 
 exertions. It may happen, as I hope it will, that in 
 good time he will acquire again the competency he 
 hath lost by his own folly and inexperience ; and, as 
 he began the world a worthy, respectable citizen, I 
 beseech thee to do this to be his friend, and to 
 watch over him and his little ones, in the name of St. 
 Nicholas." 
 
 The portly burgher promised that he would, and 
 they parted with marvellous civility, St. Nicholas hav 
 ing promised to visit him again should his life be 
 spared. He then mounted his wagon, and the unsus 
 picious Dutchman having turned his head for an 
 instant, when he looked again could see nothing of 
 the saint or his equipage. " Is het mogelyk ! ", ex 
 claimed he, and his mind misgave him that there was 
 something unaccountable in the matter. 
 
 My story is already too long, peradventure, else 
 would I describe the astonishment of Johannes and 
 his wife, when they awoke and found that the benevo 
 lent stranger had departed without bidding them fare 
 well. They would have thought all that had passed 
 
330 THE RIDE OF SAINT NICHOLAS. 
 
 but a dream, had not the fragments of the good 
 things on which they regaled during the night borne 
 testimony to its reality. Neither will I detail how, 
 step by step, aided by the advice and countenance of 
 the worthy little Dutchman, and the judicious manner 
 of his dispensing the bounty of St. Nicholas, Johannes 
 Garrebrantze, by a course of industry, economy, and 
 integrity, at length attained once again the station he 
 had lost by his follies and extravagance. Suffice it to 
 say, that though he practised a rational self-denial in 
 all his expenditures, he neither became a miser, nor 
 did he value money, except as the means of obtaining 
 the comforts of life, and administering to the happi 
 ness of others. 
 
 In the mean time, the money-lender, not being con 
 tent with the wealth he had obtained by taking undue 
 advantage of the distresses of others, and becoming 
 every day more greedy, launched out into mighty 
 speculations. He founded a score of towns without 
 any houses in them ; dealt by hundreds of thousands 
 in fancy stocks ; and finally became the victim of one 
 of his own speculations, by in time coming to believe 
 in the very deceptions he had practised upon others. 
 It is an old saying, that the greatest rogue in the 
 world, sooner or later, meets with his match ; and so 
 it happened with the money-lender. He was seduced 
 into the purchase of a town without any houses in it, 
 at an expense of millions ; was met by one of those 
 reactions that play the mischief with honest labourers, 
 and thus finally perished in a bottomless pit of his 
 own digging. Finding himself sinking, he resorted to 
 forgeries, and had by this means raised money to such 
 an amount, that his villany almost approached to the 
 
THE HIDE OF SAINT NICHOLAS. 331 
 
 sublime. His property, as the phrase is, came under 
 the hammer, and Johannes purchased his own house 
 at half the price it cost him in building. 
 
 The good St. Nicholas trembled at the new ordeal 
 to which Johannes had subjected himself; but, find 
 ing, when he visited him, as he did regularly every 
 New-year s eve, that he was cured of his foolish 
 vanities, and that his wife was one of the best 
 house-keepers in all Fort Orange, he discarded his 
 apprehensions, and rejoiced in the prosperity that was 
 borne so meekly and wisely. The little fat Dutch 
 man lived a long time in expectation that the stranger 
 in the one-horse wagon would come for the pay 
 ment of his purse of money ; but, finding that year 
 after year rolled away without his appearing, often 
 said to himself, as he sat on his stoop with a pipe in 
 his mouth, 
 
 " I ll be dondered if I don t believe it was the good 
 St. Nicholas." 
 
THE POLITICIAN. 
 
Library. ) 
 
 THE POLITICIAN. 
 
 Tovs called honours 
 
 Make men on whom they are bestowed no better 
 Than glorious slaves, tne servants of the vulgar. 
 Men sweat at helm as well as at the oar. 
 Here is a glass within shall show you, sir, 
 The vanity of these silkworms that do think. 
 They toil not, cause they spin their threact so fine." 
 
 RANDOLPH. 
 
 ONE of the most dangerous characters in the world 
 is a man who habitually sacrifices the eternal, im 
 mutable, obligations of truth and justice, and the 
 charities of social life, at the shrine of an abstract 
 principle, about which one half of mankind differs 
 from the other half. Whether this abstract principle 
 is connected with religion, or politics, is of little conse 
 quence ; since, after all, morals constitute the essence 
 of religion, and social duties the foundation of gov 
 ernment. Whatever is essential to the conduct of 
 our lives, to the performance of our duties to our 
 families our neighbours and our country, is easy of 
 comprehension ; and it requires neither argument nor 
 metaphysics to teach us what is right or what is 
 wrong. These are great fundamental principles, 
 modified indeed by the state of society and the habits 
 
336 THE POLITICIAN. 
 
 of different nations ; but their nature and obligations 
 are every where the same, inflexible and universal in 
 their application. A close examination of the history 
 of the world in every age will go far to convince us, 
 that a vast portion of the crimes and miseries and op 
 pressions of mankind has originated in a difference, 
 not in morals, but in abstract ideas ; not in funda 
 mental principles, but in vague and flimsy theories, 
 incomprehensible to the great mass, and having not 
 the remotest connection with our moral and social 
 duties. When men come to assume these contested 
 principles, these metaphysical refinements, as indis 
 pensable to the salvation of the soul or the preserva 
 tion of the state, and to substitute them in the place of 
 the everlasting pillars of truth and justice, they cast 
 themselves loose from their moorings, to drift at ran 
 dom in the stream, the sport of every eddy, the dupes 
 of every bubble, the victims of every shoal and quick 
 sand. Instead of sailing by the bright star of mari 
 ners, which sparkles for ever in the same pure sphere, 
 they shape their course by the fleeting vapour which 
 is never the same; which rises in the morning, a fog; 
 ascends, a fantastic cloud ; and vanishes in the splen 
 dours of the noontide sun. 
 
 The following sketch of my own history will serve 
 to illustrate the preceding observations, by showing 
 how near an adherence to certain vague, contested, 
 abstract principles in politics, brought me to a breach 
 of all the cardinal virtues. 
 
 I am a politician by inheritance. My guardian, for 
 I was early left an orphan, was the great man of a lit 
 tle state that had more banks and great men than any 
 state of its inches in the universe. The state was too 
 
THE POLITICIAN. 387 
 
 small to accommodate more than one great man at a 
 time ; and the consequence was an incessant struggle 
 to keep one another s heads under water. Like the 
 buckets of a well, as one rose the other sunk ; and 
 the filling of one was the emptying of the other. 
 These struggles for the helm of the little vessel of 
 state kept up a perpetual excitement. The puddle 
 of our politics was ever in a mighty storm, and, like 
 Pope s sylph, our illustrious great men were continu 
 ally in danger of perishing in the foam of a cup of 
 hot chocolate. Then, our political barque was so small 
 that the veriest zephyr was enough to upset her, and 
 Gulliver s frog would have shipwrecked us outright. 
 
 From my earliest years, I heard nothing but poli 
 tics. Our family circle were all politicians ; men, 
 women, and children. The wife of my guardian 
 made it a point of faith never to believe any thing 
 good of the females of the opposite party ; and 
 though she was too conscientious to invent scandals 
 herself, she religiously believed the slanders of others. 
 Her candour never went beyond acknowledging that 
 she believed ignorance, and not wickedness, was at 
 the bottom of their want of political principle. The 
 only daughter, naturally an amiable girl, publicly 
 gave out she would never marry any one who did 
 not believe her father to be a greater man than the 
 Honourable Dibble Dibblee, innkeeper at Dibblees- 
 ville, his most formidable rival. Love however proved 
 at last too potent for politics, and she relented in 
 favour of a handsome and rich Dibbleeite. 
 
 For my part, I was nurtured at the breast of poli 
 tics, and imbibed a nutriment gloriously concocted of 
 a hundred absurd, ridiculous, unneighbouiiy, and un- 
 
 22 
 
338 THE POLITICIAN. 
 
 Christian prejudices and antipathies. With me the 
 world was divided, not into the good and the bad, 
 the wise and the foolish, but into the adherents of 
 the Honourable Dibble Dibblee, innkeeper at JOibblees- 
 ville, and those of the Honourable Peleg Peashell, 
 cash-store-keeper at Peashellville. At school I sig 
 nalized my devotion to principle, by refusing to share 
 my good-will or my gingerbread with boys* of the 
 opposite party ; and many are the battles I fought in 
 vindication of the wisdom, purity, and consistency of 
 the Honourable Peleg, my worthy guardian, who, I 
 verily believe even to this day, was an honest politi 
 cian till the age of forty. After that, I will not answer 
 for any man, not even my own guardian. The prime 
 object of my antipathy was a lad of the name of Red- 
 field, a gay, careless, sprightly, mercurial genius, who 
 always professed to belong to no party, and whom I 
 for that reason considered utterly destitute of all prin 
 ciple. Several times I attempted to beat principle 
 into him ; but he had the obstinacy of a Puritan and 
 the boldness of a lion. I always got worsted ; but 
 my consolation was that I was the champion of 
 principle, and must not be discouraged. 
 
 At the time I am speaking of, parties were at the 
 height of contention, and the demons of discord, in 
 the disguise of two editors of party newspapers, flapped 
 their sooty wings over the little state. There was 
 a great contest of principle, on the decision of which 
 depended the very existence of the liberties, not only 
 of our little state, but of the whole Union. I never 
 could find out what this principle was, exactly ; but it 
 turned on the question, whether a certain bridge 
 about to be built should be a free bridge or a toll- 
 
THE POLITICIAN. 339 
 
 bridge. The whole state divided on this great ques 
 tion of principle. The Honourable Peleg Peashell 
 was at the head of the free bridge, on which was 
 based the great arch of our political union ; and the 
 Honourable Dibble Dibblee, whose principles were 
 always exactly opposite, forthwith took the field as 
 leader of the toll-bridge party. The Honourable 
 Peleg declared it was against his principles to pay 
 toll ; and the Honourable Dibble Dibblee found it 
 equally against his principles to apply any part of his 
 money to building a bridge which was to bring him 
 nothing in return. Both sides accused the other of 
 being governed by interested motives. Such is the 
 injustice of party feelings! There was a tertium quid 
 party, growling in an undertone, which was opposed 
 to having any bridge at all, upon the principle, that as 
 it would be no advantage to them, and at the same 
 time cost them money, it was their interest to oppose 
 the whole affair. The leader of this party was the 
 Honourable Tobias Dob, a ruling elder of the princi 
 pal church in Dobsboroughvilleton. 
 
 The fate of a pending election rested on this bridge, 
 and the fate of the bridge rested on the election. The 
 principle to be decided was one on which the liberties 
 of the whole confederation depended. Is it therefore 
 to be wondered at, that the good people of our patri 
 otic state should consider the destinies of the world 
 and the future welfare of all mankind as mainly de 
 pending on the decision of this great question? or 
 can we be surprised, if, in a contest for such momen 
 tous principles, affecting not only the present age but 
 all posterity, the passions of men should be excited, 
 and all the charities of life forgotten, in this vital 
 
340 THE POLITICIAN. 
 
 struggle for the human race, present and to come? 
 Heavens ! how our political puddle did foam, and 
 swell, and lash its sides, and blow up bubbles, and 
 disturb the sleepy serenity of the worms inhabiting 
 its precincts ! 
 
 On the day of election each party took the field, 
 under its own appropriate banner. The party of the 
 Honourable Peleg Peashell had for its motto, " Prin 
 ciple, not Interest ; " that of the Honourable Dibble 
 Dibblee, " Interest, not Principle ; " and the Honoura 
 ble Tobias Dob paraded his tertium quids under that 
 of, " Principle, and Interest." Here was room enough, 
 and reason enough too, in all conscience, for the god 
 dess of contention to act a most splendid part ; and, 
 accordingly, had the ancestors of the different parties 
 been fighting from the creation of the world, their 
 posterity could not have hated each other as did my 
 worthy fellow-citizens for the time being. They 
 abused one another by word of mouth ; they pub 
 lished handbills and caricatures; and such was the 
 disruption of the social principle, that the adherents 
 of the Honourable Peleg Peashell passed an unani 
 mous resolution to abstain from visiting the tavern of 
 the Honourable Dibble Dibblee from that time for 
 ward. The friends of the Honourable Dibble retorted 
 upon those of the Honourable Peleg, by passing an 
 unanimous resolution not to buy any thing at his 
 cash-store ; and the tertium quids also passed a reso 
 lution, that, " Whereas all men are born free and 
 equal, and whereas the liberty of speech and action is 
 the inalienable right of all, therefore, resolved unani 
 mously, that the Honourable Peleg Peashell is a fool ; 
 the Honourable Dibble Dibblee, a rogue; and the 
 
THE POLITICIAN. 341 
 
 Honourable Tobias Dob, a man to whom the age has 
 produced few equals and no superior." 
 
 (Signed) " Upright Primm, Moderator" 
 The Honourable Peleg had unfortunately broken the 
 bridge of his nose in early life, and the breach had 
 never been properly repaired. His adversary took 
 advantage of him, by publishing a caricature of a 
 man in that unlucky predicament, crying out, " No 
 bridge down with the bridges !" Whereupon the 
 other party retorted, by a figure standing under an 
 old fashioned sign-post, (which every body knows 
 marvellously resembles a gallows), with a label bear 
 ing the following posy: "Hang all republicans! I m 
 for the publican party huzza ! give us a sling." 
 The Honourable Tobias would also have inflicted a 
 caricature upon his adversaries, but, as ill luck would 
 have it, the election fund gave out just at the crisis. 
 This incident brought on a negotiation, in which the 
 Honourable Dibble Dibblee intimated an offer to treat 
 the tertium quids during the remainder of the election, 
 gratis, provided they would promise to drink moder 
 ately, and vote for him. Thereupon the Honourable 
 Tobias found his principles inclining a little to one 
 side ; but the Honourable Peleg, having got notice of 
 this intrigue, took measures to bolster him up again, 
 by proposing a coalition. He offered to make the 
 Honourable Tobias a judge of the Superior Court, 
 with a salary of sixty dollars, if he would bring over 
 his tertium quids. Tobias I beg pardon the 
 Honourable Tobias Dob, balanced for a moment be 
 tween the vital principle of benefiting his friends, and 
 the vital principle of benefiting himself. After a sore 
 struggle the latter prevailed, and the Honourable 
 
342 THE POLITICIAN. 
 
 Peleg Peashell was elected governor. His friends 
 pronounced it the greatest triumph of principle that 
 had ever been achieved upon earth; but, truth obliges 
 me to say, the friends of the Honourable Dibble 
 Dibblee slandered their opponents with the oppro 
 brium of a corrupt coalition. To be even with them, 
 the friends of the Honourable Peleg denounced the 
 others as a corrupt combination. Thenceforward the 
 question of toll and no toll was swallowed up in the 
 great principle involved in the question of coalition 
 and combination. The tertium quids, who still kept 
 together for the purpose of selling themselves again 
 to the highest bidder, insisted there was no difference 
 between a coalition and a combination, and therefore 
 they would join neither. " You are mistaken," said 
 my old school-mate and antagonist, Redfield, " you 
 are mistaken ; there is all the difference in the world. 
 A coalition is a combination of honest men, to get 
 into office ; and a combination is a coalition of honest 
 men, to get them out. They are no more alike than 
 a salamander and a bull-frog ; they inhabit the oppo 
 site elements." 
 
 It was in this contest that I first brought into prac 
 tical operation the principles I had imbibed from the 
 conversation and example of my worthy guardian. 
 Young and inexperienced as I was, I most firmly be 
 lieved that the Honourable Peleg Peashell was the 
 most honest as well as capable man in the state ; that 
 it depended in a great measure on his election, whether 
 freedom or slavery should predominate in the world ; 
 and, consequently, that those who opposed him must 
 be devoid of principle as well as patriotism. It was 
 one of the maxims of the Honourable Peleg, that all 
 
THE POLITICIAN. . 343 
 
 minor principles ought to yield to one great principle, 
 by which the life of every great man should be gov 
 erned. Once convinced that the safety or welfare of 
 a nation or a community depended on the success of 
 a party struggle, it was not only justifiable, but an 
 inflexible duty, to sacrifice all other duties and obliga 
 tions to the attainment of the great object. If it 
 happened that our individual interest or advancement 
 was connected with, or dependent on, the triumph of 
 the great principle, so much the better ; we could kill 
 two birds with one stone, and not only save our 
 country, but provide for our families at the same 
 time. The Honourable Peleg was a great man, and 
 my guardian ; his opinions and example could there 
 fore hardly fail of having a vast influence on mine. 
 
 When this vital struggle about toll or no toll, which 
 was to settle the great principle on which depended 
 the liberties of ourselves and our posterity, com 
 menced, my guardian hinted to me that now was the 
 time to gain immortal glory, by assisting in the salva 
 tion of my country. I begged to be put in the way 
 of achieving this great service. 
 
 " There is my neighbour Brookfield, whose influence 
 is considerable. He supports my enemies and the 
 enemies of the great principle on which the salvation 
 of the country depends. I want to destroy that in 
 fluence." 
 
 " Very well, sir. Shall I attack his opinions in the 
 public papers ? " 
 
 " Attack his opinions ! Attack a fiddlestick, Oakford. 
 You may as well fight with a shadow. No, no ; at 
 tack him personally, cut up his moral character ; that 
 is the way, boy. Even people that have no mor- 
 
344 THE POLITICIAN. 
 
 als themselves are very tenacious of the morals of 
 others." 
 
 " But, sir, I know nothing of the morals of Mr. 
 Brookfield, but what is greatly to his credit. I can t 
 in conscience publish or utter any thing against his 
 character. His opinions " 
 
 " Pish ! opinions ! opinions are nothing, unless 
 they grow into actions. You must make him out to 
 be a great rogue, or 1 shall lose my election." 
 
 " I can t, sir ; it goes against my conscience." 
 
 "Conscience! what has conscience to do with 
 principle ? You would sacrifice the liberties of your 
 country and the happiness of unborn millions to a 
 scruple of conscience. Ah ! George, you will never 
 make a politician." 
 
 " But, sir, Mr. Brookfield is my friend ; I have vis 
 ited at his house almost every day for the last two 
 years, and he and his family have treated me like one 
 of themselves. It would be ungrateful." 
 
 " And so," said the Honourable Peleg, with a sneer, 
 " and so you would place your own private, and per 
 sonal, and, let me say, selfish feelings, in opposition 
 to a great principle on which the salvation of your 
 country depends." 
 
 " But, sir, by attacking the moral character of Mr. 
 Brookfield, I should not only injure his own feelings, 
 but perhaps destroy the happiness of his wife and 
 daughter, who are innocent of all offence against 
 you." 
 
 " Ah ! George, I see how it is ; you are smitten 
 with Miss Deliverance Brookfield, and would sacrifice 
 a great principle to a little interested consideration of 
 your own. I must make a tailor of you ; you ll never 
 do for a politician." 
 
THE POLITICIAN. 345 
 
 The Honourable Peleg left me to consider of the 
 matter. It was a sore struggle, but at last principle 
 triumphed, and I determined most heroically to sacri 
 fice all petty and personal motives to the salvation of 
 my country. My guardian furnished me with certain 
 hints, on which I exercised my genius, in the compo 
 sition of a most atrocious libel. 
 
 " It won t do," said the Honourable Peleg ; " it will 
 lay you open to a prosecution for libel." 
 
 " Well, what of that, sir? I am willing to encoun 
 ter any peril for the salvation of my country." 
 
 " Yes," said my guardian, after some hesitation, 
 " yes ; but there is no occasion to risk your fortune 
 for the purpose. The salvation of the country don t 
 depend on money, but principle. You are about to 
 become a patriot; and a rich patriot has always more 
 influence than a poor one : you must therefore keep 
 your money for the salvation of the country." 
 
 My commerce with mankind has since taught me 
 that the capacity of men for worldly affairs is almost 
 entirely founded on experience. Hence it is that so 
 few men go right in the first affair they undertake. 
 It did not occur to me at the time, that, as I was un 
 der age, the Honourable Peleg would have been re 
 sponsible for the libel, had it been published. Be this 
 as it may, I resigned my first literary offspring into 
 the hands of my guardian, who softened it down into 
 hints, innuendoes, and interrogations, and converted 
 it into one of the most mischievous yet legally guilt 
 less instruments of torture ever seen in or out of the 
 Inquisition. The article appeared in the Banner of 
 Truth, our paper ; and was followed up, from time to 
 time, with others still more cruelly unintelligible, but 
 
346 THE POLITICIAN. 
 
 at the same time calculated, by their very mystery, to 
 do the more mischief. There was no direct charge ; 
 of course there could be no refutation. My con 
 science goaded me day and night. I had not the face 
 to visit our neighbour any more, after thus wounding 
 his feelings; and this squeamishness, as the Honour 
 able Peleg told me, was another proof that I would 
 never make a great politician. I sometimes ventured 
 to look at the family in church, where the grave de 
 pression of Mr. Brookfield, and the paleness of his 
 wife and daughter, went to my heart. But this feeling 
 of compunction hardened at length into one of lofty 
 triumph, that I had sacrificed my early feelings and 
 associations, my selfish considerations, to principle. 
 
 One day I met Deliverance Brookfield, by chance, 
 in a spot where we had often played together 
 in childhood, and walked together in youth. She 
 turned her head the other way, and was passing me 
 without notice. The sense of offending guilt over 
 came for a moment the sublime theory of the 
 Honourable Peleg, and I involuntarily exclaimed, 
 "Miss Brookfield!" 
 
 She turned upon me a countenance at once pale 
 and beautiful, but tinged deeply with melancholy 
 reproach, as she looked steadily in my face without 
 speaking. 
 
 " Have you forgot me, Miss Brookfield ? " 
 
 " I believe I have," at length she replied, in a sad 
 kind of languor. " I would never wish to remember 
 one who has repaid the friendship of my father, and 
 the kindness of my mother, by destroying our happi 
 ness." 
 
 I felt like a scoundrel, but mustered hypocrisy 
 enough to answer in a gay tone, 
 
THE POLITICIAN. 347 
 
 " My dear Miss Brookfield, nobody thinks any 
 thing of such trifles in politics ; nothing but political 
 squibs forgot in a day they do no harm to any 
 one." 
 
 "None," she replied bitterly; "no harm, except 
 murdering reputations and breaking hearts. My fa 
 ther is dying." And she burst into tears. 
 
 " Dying ! " cried I, " Heaven forbid ! Of what ? " 
 
 " Of the wounds you have given him. O George, 
 George!," continued she, " you should come to our 
 house and receive a lesson of what a few slanders 
 can do in destroying the happiness of an innocent 
 family." 
 
 She passed on, and I had not courage to stop, or 
 to follow, her. I went to the honourable Peleg, and 
 gave him notice that it was my intention to retract 
 all I had said or insinuated against Mr. Brookfield, 
 in the next day s Banner of Truth. 
 
 " And lose me rny election I mean, jeopardize the 
 happiness of millions, and sacrifice a great principle 
 to a little private feeling of compunction ? " 
 
 " I cannot bear the stings of conscience." 
 
 " My dear George, you, and such inexperienced 
 young fellows as yourself, are for ever mistaking the 
 painful efforts which are necessary to the attainment 
 of a high degree of public virtue, for the stings of 
 conscience. If the practice of virtue was not attained 
 by great sacrifices of feeling and inclination, there 
 would be little merit in being virtuous. What if you 
 have destroyed the temporary happiness of two or 
 three people, provided you have ensured the triumph 
 of a great principle, and the salvation of your coun 
 try ? It is the noble, the exalted, the disinterested 
 
348 THE POLITICIAN. 
 
 sacrifice of private inclinations and social feelings 
 to public duty. Did not Brutus condemn his only 
 son ? " 
 
 " Yes, but he did not calumniate his mother and 
 sisters." 
 
 " The greater the sacrifice to public principles, the 
 greater the glory and reward. The election commen 
 ces to-morrow, and you must strike one more blow." 
 
 As it is my design to make my story as useful to 
 the rising generation of politicians as possible, I 
 mean to disclose myself without disguise or reserva 
 tion. I did let slip another shaft against poor Brook- 
 field, which probably accelerated his progress to the 
 grave, and deprived my kind friend and my pretty 
 playmate of a husband and a father. I would not 
 confess this hateful fact, could I not lay my hand at 
 this moment on my heart, look in the face of Heaven 
 and man, and say, that at the moment of inflicting a 
 death-wound on the happiness of those who had been 
 to me as a mother, a father, and a sister, I had con 
 vinced myself I was sacrificing a narrow, selfish feel 
 ing, to an enlarged and universal principle of virtuous 
 patriotism. Poor Brookfield died a few days after 
 the election ; but the honourable Peleg Peashell 
 gained the victory; and a domestic calamity was 
 not, as he assured me, to be weighed for a moment 
 against the triumph of a great principle, and the sal 
 vation of millions of people yet unborn. Brookfield 
 was no more ; his family was destitute ; his widow 
 heart-broken ; his daughter without a protector ; and 
 his little son, of about ten years old, left upon the 
 world. But what of that ? The great principle had 
 triumphed; the oppression of toll-bridges was pre- 
 
THE POLITICIAN. 349 
 
 vented ; and the honourable Peleg Peashell was gov 
 ernor of a little state containing more banks and 
 more great men than any state of its inches in the 
 universe, with a salary of five hundred dollars a year, 
 and the power to do nothing but consent to the acts 
 of other people. 
 
 From this time forward I became the confidential 
 friend and adviser of the great governor of the little 
 state, commander of an army and admiral of a navy 
 that had no existence; who had five hundred dollars 
 a year, with the title of Excellency, and the privilege 
 of doing nothing of his own free will, and of frank 
 ing letters. The Lord have mercy on a little man 
 who becomes the confidential friend and adviser of a 
 great man. He will be obliged to do for him what he 
 is ashamed to do for himself; to take all the blame 
 of giving bad, and relinquish all the credit of good, 
 counsel ; to fetch, and carry, and say, and gainsay, 
 and unsay ; to prostitute his soul to unutterable mean 
 nesses, and turn the divinity of conscience into a 
 crouching spaniel, obeying every look, wagging his 
 tail in gratitude for kicks, and licking the hand that 
 lugs the ears from his head. I speak from awful ex 
 perience, for never little man was rode and spurred, 
 over hill, dale, and common, through ditch, swamp, 
 and horse-pond, as I was by that illustrious patriot, the 
 Honourable Peleg Peashell I beg pardon his Ex 
 cellency, the Honourable Peleg Peashell, Esquire. 
 
 But I will do his Excellency the justice to say, that 
 he did every thing upon principle, and for the salva 
 tion of unborn millions. Life, would he say, is a 
 warfare of conflicting duties and opposing principles ; 
 a choice of evils, or a choice of goods. It is the 
 
350 THE POLITICIAN. 
 
 business of a wise man to decide, not between the 
 nearest and the most distant, but between the greater 
 and the lesser, obligation. 
 
 " But," said I modestly for by this time, such is 
 the magic of dependence on great men, I had come to 
 look upon his Excellency as an oracle irrefragable 
 " But," said I, " suppose one man was holding a red- 
 hot poker to your nose, while another was calling 
 upon you to establish a great principle; would not 
 you attend to the poker before the principle ? " 
 
 " Certainly I would, sir " His Excellency never 
 of late called me " sir," but when he was a little out 
 of humour " Certainly, sir; but it would be only in 
 compliment to the weakness of human nature; for 
 nothing is more certain than that it would be my duty 
 to let the poker burn up my nose, rather than miss the 
 opportunity of benefiting future ages, by the estab 
 lishment of a great political principle." 
 
 " But will your Excellency permit me to ask, how 
 you ascertain to a certainty that a great political 
 principle is right, when perhaps one half of mankind 
 think it wrong ? " 
 
 " Why, sir, my own reason and experience teach 
 me." 
 
 " But another man s reason and experience teach 
 him directly the contrary." 
 
 " Then he must be either a great blockhead, or a 
 great knave," replied the Honourable I mean his 
 Excellency, the Honourable Peleg Peashell, in a 
 tone that precluded further questioning. 
 
 It was many years afterwards that I detected the 
 fallacy of thus raising up an idol, worshipped by one 
 set of men and abhorred by another, and sacrificing 
 
THE POLITICIAN. 351 
 
 to it the eternal and immutable attributes of justice 
 and truth, about which there can be no difference of 
 belief. It was only long experience and reflection that 
 convinced me at last, that the sacrifice of moral and 
 social duties to mere opinions, exalted though these 
 might be to the dignity of great and established prin 
 ciples, must be fatal in the end, not only to the morals 
 of mankind, but to that freedom which is based upon 
 them. I received the responses of his Excellency with 
 profound submission, and continued to act upon them 
 throughout an extended political servitude. 
 
 About a year after the great triumph of principle, 
 which resulted in the choice of his Excellency the 
 Honourable Peleg Peashell for Governor of the little 
 state with such a plenty of banks and great men, I 
 came of age, and it was proper for his Excellency to 
 give an account of the administration of my affairs. 
 He put me off from day to day, from month to month, 
 from year to year, until rny patience was quite worn 
 out. At length, finding it impossible any longer to 
 satisfy me with excuses, he one day addressed me as 
 follows : 
 
 " My dear young friend, it is not to be supposed 
 that a man whose whole soul is taken up with his 
 public, can pay proper attention to his private, duties. 
 Whenever these come in conflict, it is his pride and 
 glory to sacrifice all for his country, and beggar him 
 self for the salvation of unborn millions. I cannot 
 tell exactly how it happened, but your fortune is gone. 
 Either I have spent it myself, by mistake, in the hurry 
 of my public duties, or some one else has spent it for 
 me. However, this cannot be of much consequence, 
 since the great principle has triumphed, and the salva- 
 
352 THE POLITICIAN. 
 
 tion of the country is secured beyond all future hazard. 
 Remember how Brutus the elder sacrificed his son, as 
 an example to the Roman militia, and console your 
 self with the certainty that you have devoted your 
 fortune to the establishment of a great principle." 
 
 This reasoning, though it had always proved satis 
 factory when applied to the affairs of other people, 
 did not exactly relish to my understanding in the 
 present case. It occurred to me, that though a man 
 might honestly sacrifice his own fortune to the estab 
 lishment of a great principle, he had no right to take 
 the same liberty with that of another, intrusted to his 
 management. I ventured to insinuate something of 
 the sort. 
 
 "Pshaw! George," replied his Excellency, "you 
 will never make a great patriot, I m afraid. Is not 
 the major greater than the minor? " 
 
 " Certainly, sir." 
 
 " Is not a community greater than an individual ? " 
 
 " Assuredly, sir." 
 
 " Is not the good of the whole, the good of all its 
 parts ? " 
 
 " Clearly, sir." 
 
 " Well, sir !, is not the establishment of a great 
 principle, on which depends the happiness of millions, 
 of far more moment than the temporary inconvenience 
 you will feel from the loss of your fortune ? " 
 
 " Certainly, sir," said I, very faintly. 
 
 " Good I believe I shall make something of you 
 at last. You are worthy of the confidence of your 
 fellow-citizens. Now listen to me. Another election 
 is coming on, which involves another great principle, 
 on which depends the salvation of the country and 
 
THE POLITICIAN. 353 
 
 the happiness of unborn millions. A great state road 
 is to be laid out by the next legislature, and I have it 
 from excellent authority, that, if we do not exert our 
 selves, it will be carried over a part of the country so 
 distant from my property, and that of my best friends, 
 as to do us rather an injury than a benefit. Now, 
 though I am interested in this business, that is my 
 misfortune. It is the great principle dependent upon 
 the decision of the question that I am solicitous to 
 vindicate. My intention is to get you into the legis 
 lature, provided you will pledge yourself to stand in 
 the breach, and prevent the destruction of our liberties, 
 which mainly depend upon the great principle in 
 volved in this road-bill. What say you, will you 
 pledge yourself to your constituents ? " 
 
 "Why, sir if " 
 
 " O, none of your ifs, George you ll never make 
 a great politician if you stumble before an if." 
 
 " But my conscience, sir." 
 
 " Your conscience ! " cried his Excellency the 
 Honourable Peleg " Conscience ! Who ever heard 
 of a representative of the people having a conscience ? 
 Why, sir, his conscience belongs to his constituents, 
 who think for him and decide for him. One half the 
 time it is his duty to act in the very teeth of his con 
 science. He is only the whistle on which the people 
 blow any tune they please." 
 
 " It appears to me, sir, that this doctrine is rather 
 immoral." 
 
 " Immoral!" cried his Excellency, throwing him 
 self back in his chair, and laughing ; " immoral ! 
 What has morality to do with the establishment of a 
 
 23 
 
354 THE POLITICIAN. 
 
 great principle? I ought to have made a tailor of 
 you, I see. 
 
 " Lookee, George," continued his Excellency, after 
 he had laughed himself out, " every young man who 
 devotes himself to political life must, in the outset, if 
 he wishes to be successful, surrender his opinions and 
 feelings entirely to the establishment of certain great 
 radical principles. He must have neither morals nor 
 conscience. All he has to do is to inquire whether a 
 thing is necessary to the establishment of these prin 
 ciples, and do it as a matter of course, although ab 
 stractedly and in itself it may be in the teeth of law 
 and gospel. For instance, George why, you are 
 looking at that pretty girl, Silent Parley, instead of 
 listening to me ! You will never make a politician." 
 
 I begged his Excellency s pardon, and he pro 
 ceeded : 
 
 " For instance, suppose you were, like myself, in a 
 high official situation, and were solicited by two per 
 sons to do two things directly opposite in their nature 
 and consequences ; what would you do ? " 
 
 " I would inquire into the matter; ascertain, if pos 
 sible, which was right; and act accordingly." 
 
 " You would ! Then let me tell you, sir, you 
 would soon be sent to raise cabbages and pumpkins 
 on your farm. No, sir; your duty would be to in 
 quire and ascertain whether the great principle, on 
 which depended your remaining in office, would be 
 best sustained by complying with the wishes of the 
 one or the other of the persons soliciting your inter 
 est. Having found this out, there would be no fur 
 ther difficulty in the matter. You would of course 
 decide upon principle." 
 
THE POLITICIAN. 355 
 
 " Principle, sir ! Why really, excuse me, your Ex 
 cellency, but this is what the country folks call being 
 governed by interest, not principle." 
 
 " Pooh, George !, your head is not longer than a 
 pin s ; can you comprehend a syllogism ? " 
 
 " I believe so, sir, if it has a sufficiency of legs." 
 
 " Very well," continued his Excellency "certain 
 principles are necessary to the salvation of the state 
 and the happiness of unborn millions : I advocate 
 these principles : ergo, it is necessary to the salvation 
 of the state and the happiness of unborn millions 
 that I should be chosen governor, and should repay 
 my champions, as far as it may be in my power. 
 Now, sir, as to my own personal interests : here is the 
 point in which the talents of a great man are most 
 critically tested ; I mean, in making his interests and 
 his principles harmonize. If he can do this, he is fit 
 to govern the whole universe ; if not, he is fit for noth 
 ing but a mechanic. For how can it be supposed 
 that a man who neglects his own interests can take 
 care of those of other people ? " 
 
 The logic of his Excellency the Honourable Peleg 
 Peashell, Esquire, was conclusive, and I agreed to 
 vote against my conscience, for the good of rny coun 
 try, if necessary ; after which I sallied forth, and over 
 took the pretty Silence Parley. It was a delightful 
 summer afternoon, or rather evening, for the twilight 
 had put on its cloak of gray obscurity, and we walked 
 along the hard white sand of the quiet bay, arm-in 
 arm, sometimes talking, and sometimes looking at 
 one another in delicious meditation. She was worth 
 a description ; but my story is one of principle, and I 
 shall touch on such trifles as love and woman only so 
 
356 THE POLITICIAN. 
 
 far as is necessary to my purpose. After I had sacri 
 ficed my kind friend and neighbour, Brookfield, and 
 his family, on the altar of principle, I never could 
 bear to look Deliverance in the face again. Indeed, 
 the mother soon after carried her family to her friends 
 in a distant part of the country, and I saw them no 
 more. Next to Deliverance Brookfield, Miss Silence 
 Parley was the fairest of our maidens, who all were 
 fair, if rosy cheeks, round glowing figures, and sky- 
 clear eyes, could make them so. She was likely to be 
 an heiress, too ; and the Honourable Peleg hinted to 
 me one day that it would marvellously conduce to the 
 triumph of a great principle, if I could win and wear her. 
 
 " For," said he, " her father is a man of a good deal 
 of political influence, which he does not choose to 
 exert, being one of those selfish blockheads who prefer 
 peace and quiet to the salvation of unborn millions. 
 If you could marry his daughter, I dare say he would 
 come out in favour of the great principle." 
 
 This time, for a great wonder I think (for it is 
 the only time it happened to me in my whole career) 
 this time, my principles chimed in with my inter 
 ests, and I determined, if possible, to charm the fair 
 Silence into speaking to the purpose. We were 
 often together alone in the modest, humble, twilight, 
 walking and talking, or sitting and silent. We ex 
 changed looks and little civilities, that spoke expres 
 sive meanings ; and, in short, it was not long before I 
 saw in the eyes of my pretty Silence the signal of 
 surrender. I had not actually offered myself, but I 
 had determined upon it ; when the election approached 
 near at hand, on which the great principle, whether 
 the great state road should pass through the property 
 
THE POLITICIAN. 357 
 
 of the Honourable Dibble Dibblee, innkeeper, of Dib- 
 bleeville, or of his Excellency the Honouiable Peleg 
 Peashell, Esquire, cash-store-keeper at Peashellville, 
 and (consequently) the salvation of unborn millions, 
 depended. 
 
 His Excellency the Honourable Peleg one day took 
 occasion to hint to me, that it might be as well to 
 sound the Honourable Peabody Parley, Esquire, the 
 father of my pretty Silence, as to his using his influ 
 ence in my behalf in the coming struggle of principle. 
 
 " I had better ask his consent to marry his daugh 
 ter, first," said I. 
 
 " No, sir; you had better ask for his support, first," 
 replied his Excellency, peremptorily. 
 
 Accordingly 1 went to the Honourable Peabody 
 Parley there were as many Honourables in our 
 little state as hidalgos in Spain I went and asked 
 his support in attaining the high honour of being 
 elected a member of the legislature in the coming 
 contest of principle. The Honourable Peabody told 
 me frankly he would do no such thing, unless I 
 pledged myself to use all my influence in getting the 
 great state road laid out so as to run through a part 
 of his property, where he was going to found a city. 
 This was in direct opposition to the great principle of 
 the Honourable Peleg Peashell, whose property lay 
 in the other extreme of the state. I required time for 
 consideration, and went to consult my guardian. He 
 shook his head, and was angry. 
 
 " You must go and pay your addresses to Miss 
 Welcome Hussey Bashaba, daughter to the Honour 
 able Jupiter Ammon Deodatus Bumstead, of Bum- 
 steadvilleton, as soon as possible." 
 
358 THE POLITICIAN. 
 
 " But, sir, Miss Hussey Bashaba is as ugly as a 
 stone fence with a flounce and fashionable bonnet on 
 it." 
 
 " No matter, the safety of the country and the sal 
 vation of unborn millions depend on it." 
 
 " But, I am all but engaged to Miss Silence Parley ; 
 I have committed myself." 
 
 " No matter ; the triumph of principle will be the 
 greater." 
 
 " How so, sir ? " replied I, rather perplexed at this 
 mystery. 
 
 " How so ? Why, the Honourable Mr. Bumstead 
 is the proprietor of a manufactory which can turn out 
 votes enough to carry the election. You must be off 
 at once, for the great contest of principle approaches." 
 
 I mounted my horse, after a sore struggle between 
 my heart and the great political principle, and pro 
 ceeded towards the stately shingle-palace of my 
 prospective father-in-law, to visit my intended, the 
 redoubtable Miss Welcome Hussey Bashaba Bum- 
 stead, the daughter, the only daughter, of the 
 Honourable Jupiter Ammon Deodatus Bumstead, of 
 Bumsteadvilleton, the best manufacturing seat in the 
 state, with a great power of water. My horse, being 
 no politician, and withal a most unprincipled quadru 
 ped, stopped stock-still at the gate which led to the 
 abode of Miss Silence Parley. She was standing on 
 the piazza, looking like a rosy sylph, expecting me, for 
 she had seen me afar off. My horse was obstinate, 
 and, though I confess I pricked him on violently with 
 my spurs, I held the rein so tight that he could do 
 nothing but rear. This frightened my pretty Silence, 
 who screamed, and ran to open the gate. 
 
THE POLITICIAN. 359 
 
 She begged me to dismount, and lead my horse in. 
 
 " I cannot, just now," said I, in a sneaking, snivel 
 ling tone ; "I am going on to Bumsteadvilleton." 
 
 " To see Miss Hussey Bashaba ? ", said she, with a 
 mischievous smile of meaning, for Miss Hussey 
 was the reigning she-dragon of the whole county. 
 
 " No," said I, with the face of a robber of a hen 
 roost ; " no, I m going to buy some cotton shirting." 
 
 I could stand it no longer. I clapped spurs to my 
 horse; she waved her lily hand, whiter than snow; 
 and I was out of sight in a minute. It was the great 
 est triumph of principle I ever achieved. 
 
 The Honourable Jupiter Amrnon Deodatus re 
 ceived me as he received only his best customers; 
 and Miss Hussey Bashaba smiled upon me like a 
 roaring lion. There is one great comfort in ad 
 dressing a very ugly woman she don t require 
 much wooing, provided she is a reasonable creature. 
 Neither are parents very impracticable in cases of this 
 kind. The Honourable Jupiter Ammon promised me 
 his support, and I promised to take his daughter. We 
 were married in a week. The Honourable Jupiter 
 Ammon brought out his two hundred ragamuffins, 
 all men of clear estate, if not freeholders. I was elect 
 ed by a handsome majority ; and again the triumph 
 of principle, on which depended the salvation of un 
 born millions, was completed, at the trifling expense 
 of the mere sacrifice of a few insignificant morali 
 ties, of no consequence but to the owner. 
 
 The aggregated wisdom of the state, of which I 
 formed one twentieth part at least, met in good time. 
 His Excellency, the Honourable Peleg Peashell, de 
 livered a speech to both Houses, in which he took a 
 
360 THE POLITICIAN. 
 
 rapid view of the creation of the world man in a 
 state of nature the want of principle in the oppo 
 sition the profligacy of certain leading politicians; 
 recomrn ended a loan, six canals, nine railroads, and 
 seventeen banks ; and concluded with a touch of 
 piety that brought tears into our eyes, as he thanked 
 Heaven for having achieved this last great triumph 
 of principle. 
 
 The assembly was divided, as usual, on a great 
 principle, different from that on which the famous toll- 
 bridge rested. The great question on which the great 
 principle was based on which the salvation of unborn 
 millions depended was, whether the great state road 
 was to diverge fifteen degrees thirty seven minutes 
 West, or fifteen degrees thirty seven minutes East- 
 north-east. Such is the influence of propinquity in 
 questions of this sort, that it exercised complete sway 
 on this occasion. In proportion as a member had a 
 propinquity towards the west line or the east, precisely 
 in the same degree did the great fundamental princi 
 ple which governed his actions incline in that direc 
 tion ; and -so intimate was the association between 
 principle and interest, that, had I not actually known 
 to the contrary by my own experience, I should have 
 supposed they were one and the same thing. But 
 there were minor principles, operating in subordina 
 tion to that of the great state road. One member, 
 for example, was principled against voting for any 
 state road at all, unless the friends of the road would 
 vote for his canal. Another would not so far prosti 
 tute his principles as to vote for the canal, unless the 
 friends of the canal would support his application for 
 a bank. In the end, finding the principles of the 
 
THE POLITICIAN. 361 
 
 members to be absolutely incompatible, we hit upon 
 an arrangement which was perfectly satisfactory to 
 the most tender conscience, and came up to the great 
 principle by which every member was governed. The 
 proposition was moved by myself, at the suggestion 
 of his Excellency the Honourable Peleg Peashell, 
 Esquire, Governor and Captain- General of the little 
 state with so many banks and great men. My plan 
 was no other than to jumble together in one bill, 
 roads, canals, and banks, by which the principles of 
 all would be perfectly satisfied, and their scruples 
 quieted for ever. After amending the proposition, at 
 the instance of a philanthropist, by a donation of five 
 hundred dollars to the society for the prevention of 
 tippling, the whole was rolled through triumphantly. 
 Every body s principles were put to rest, and every 
 man had lent a hand to the salvation of unborn 
 millions. Such is the magic of public virtue ! There 
 were scarcely half a dozen members agreeing in the 
 first instance, yet so strong was the spirit of friendly 
 compromise, that in the end every member, (with but 
 one exception), voted for the bill, solely on the score 
 of principle of doing as he would be done unto. 
 The dissentient was a member who so far forgot his 
 duty to his country as actually to be without a pro 
 ject for her benefit. Having nothing to ask, he was 
 unwilling to give any thing away, and voted against 
 my proposition. 
 
 It was on this occasion I delivered my maiden 
 speech. Public expectation was on tiptoe ; the boys 
 climbed up to the windows of the state house ; the 
 ladies of the Honourable Abel Rooney the Honoura 
 ble Peartree Brombush and the Honourable Roger 
 
362 THE POLITICIAN. 
 
 Pegg, with their twenty-seven blooming and marriage 
 able daughters, seated themselves in front of the gal 
 lery ; and the Speaker cried silence, and rattled his 
 hammer so that his tobacco-box bounced off the table. 
 I was penetrated with the justice of my cause, the 
 great principle involved in the question, and the 
 dignity of my auditory. I began : 
 " Sir-r-r ! 
 
 " If I possessed the power to flash conviction, 
 as the lightning does upon the bosom of the thunder 
 cloud, redundant with fire and brimstone : Sir-r-r, if I 
 could wrest from the sceptre I mean, if I could wrest 
 the sceptre from reason, and rob the spheres of the 
 music of their voices : Sir-r-r, if I could, by any effort 
 of this feeble hand and tremulous body, pour the 
 tremendous and overwhelming flood of conviction 
 like a wall of adamant over your souls, until they 
 melted in the red-hot embers of conviction : Sir-r-r, if 
 I could freeze your hearts till they offered an icy bar 
 rier to the intrusion of all selfish considerations, and 
 reared the massy column of their waters up to the 
 topmost pinnacle of the arching skies: Sir-r-r, if I 
 could swallow up, at a single effort of my imagina 
 tion, the possibility of believing it possible that the 
 cries of the orphan, the bewailings of reckless and 
 wretched poverty the exhortations of the halt, the 
 dumb, and the deaf the mother s groans the weep 
 ing stones the orphan s moans" 
 
 Here I was interrupted by a burst of hysterical 
 tears from the beautiful blue eyes of the widow of 
 the Honourable Roger Pegg, who was carried home 
 in a state of suppuration. This was the greatest 
 
THE POLITICIAN. 363 
 
 triumph of eloquence ever witnessed in our state. I 
 cannot go through the whole of my speech. It lasted 
 eight hours and three quarters, and I should have 
 made it nine, had not all the candles gone out, and 
 left me and my subject in utter darkness. The reader 
 may judge of its length from the fact, that it was as 
 certained by an industrious old person who could not 
 bear to be idle, that the word " Sir," occurred three 
 hundred, the monosyllable " I," five hundred, and 
 the word "principle," six hundred and thirty times 
 the word " interest," not once. Can there be any 
 higher proof of the purity of my motives? The next 
 day the Banner of Truth published my speech, of 
 which I had given a copy beforehand, pronouncing it 
 at the same time superior to the best efforts of the 
 three great orators of antiquity, Marcus, Tullius, and 
 Cicero. 
 
 I was now fairly launched upon the billows of 
 immortal glory so said the Banner of Truth. The 
 little state rung with my exploit, as if it had been 
 a second victory of New Orleans, and people began 
 to talk of me for Congress. The Honourable George 
 Gregory Oakford, (for I too had become Honourable), 
 was the luminary of the age ; and, as an evidence of 
 his rising importance, divers worthy persons, (such as 
 men out of employ or who had made a bad bank 
 ruptcy for themselves, and young gentlemen too idle 
 for useful employment and too poor to figure without 
 it), paid him their most particular devoirs, and hung 
 to his skirts, like so many cockles. All these were 
 impelled by an instinctive perception, such as animates 
 the canine race to wag their tails and fawn, even 
 upon the beggar who hath a bone to throw away. 
 
364 THE POLITICIAN. 
 
 But, though a great man myself, there were still 
 greater men than I in " our town." I mean the mem 
 bers of the general committees and of the nominating 
 committees; and, greatest of all, the gentlemen who 
 give the impulse and govern the course of the current 
 by a certain mysterious influence, as inscrutable as 
 that which gives a direction to the winds. Though 
 the study and experience of a whole life have pretty 
 well initiated me into the depths of political alchemy, 
 I confess I could never fathom the obscurity of this 
 part of the science. I could never reach the head of 
 the tide, though I floated on its surface so long; nor 
 have I ever to this day had a clear perception of the 
 means by which certain dull, stupid men, often with 
 out a tolerable reputation, and destitute of wealth, 
 contrive to lead the people as they do, and keep the 
 great leaders themselves in most abject subjection. 
 It may be that the majority of mankind are wise 
 enough to know, that those who are most on a par 
 with them and mix the most familiarly in their daily 
 concerns, whose interests are in fact identified with 
 their own, are their best and safest counsellors, and 
 that thus, after all, the popularity of a great man 
 is derived not so much from the splendour of his 
 actions, as from the secret influence of very ordinary 
 men over their friends and neighbours. 
 
 As the triumph of a great principle and the salva 
 tion of unborn millions depended so materially upon 
 the predominance of the party to which I had become 
 attached, I did not consider myself above courting 
 these masters of the people by every means in my 
 power. I sought them out at their employments, 
 talked politics with them, or rather heard them talk, 
 
THE POLITICIAN. 365 
 
 which is by much the more effectual mode, and 
 agreed with them whenever I could find out what 
 they meant. I brought one of these, an honest shoe 
 maker, nearly to the brink of starvation, by causing 
 him to neglect his business from day to day, in dis 
 cussing the eternal, invariable principles, which gov 
 erned toll-bridges and turnpike-roads. I invited 
 these worthy men, (for worthy and well-meaning men 
 a great many of them were), to my house, and hinted 
 to Mrs. Hussey Bashaba Oakford the propriety of 
 drinking tea with their wives, socially, and asking 
 them in return. But Mrs. Hussey Bashaba was one 
 of those unreasonable women that boast themselves 
 " mistress in my own house." She was, to be sure, no 
 beauty, but she was an heiress, in perspective at least, 
 though as yet her only dowry had been the two hun 
 dred votes of the ragamuffin freeholders, a dozen ta 
 ble and tea spoons, and a looking-glass. But she had 
 mighty expectations, and acted accordingly. 
 
 My wife treated the committee-men with sour 
 looks from one of the ugliest faces in the state, and 
 contrived so many ingenious ways to make them un 
 easy, that I was surprised at her talents. If one of 
 the honest gentlemen by accident spilled the ashes 
 from his pipe on the hearth, Mrs. Bashaba would 
 jump up extempore, seize the brush, and exercise it 
 with a most significant and irritable vivacity. If an 
 other chanced to bring in a small tribute from mother 
 Earth, upon his independent and sovereign shoes, she 
 would forthwith ask me, with a peculiar emphasis, 
 whether the scraper had been stolen from the door. 
 But woe to the committee-man who dared, by any 
 lapsus linguce, to expectorate on the floor! Mrs. Hus- 
 
366 THE POLITICIAN. 
 
 sey Bash aba would scream for the help to come with 
 a tub of water and a brush, and set her scrubbing 
 away before the good man s face. As to the wives 
 of the committee, they came once, and once only. 
 Mrs. Bashaba talked all the time about her papa s 
 house, factory, work-people, and all that, and made 
 such a display of importance that they never ap 
 proached us again. To one she said, " What a pity 
 it is you can t afford to put new panes of glass in 
 your broken windows ! " To another, " How sorry I 
 am, my dear Mrs. Artichoke, your husband is not 
 rich enough to build a new house! Are you not 
 afraid that yours will fall, one of these days ? For my 
 part, I shouldn t be able to sleep a wink in it." And 
 to a third, " La, my dear Mrs. Birdseye, when did you 
 lose those two front teeth ? I declare it makes you 
 look twenty years older." The committee-men and 
 their wives went home, all in a huff with myself 
 and my better half. 
 
 " My dear," said I, soothingly, " you have endan 
 gered the success of a great principle, and the salva 
 tion of unborn millions." 
 
 The salvation of a fiddlestick ! " said Mrs. Ba 
 shaba : " I can t bear such vulgar people. Why, they 
 eat out of trenchers, and use wooden spoons, like 
 pigs." 
 
 " I never heard that pigs used wooden spoons," 
 said I, innocently. 
 
 " You never heard ! Huh !, of what consequence is 
 it what you have heard ? People brought up in a 
 pigsty seldom have an ear for music," said Mrs. Ba 
 shaba, as she proceeded to blow the dust off the chairs 
 and tables with her aromatic breath. 
 
THE POLITICIAN. 367 
 
 My wife was certainly right in valuing herself on 
 her breeding. 
 
 The untoward behaviour of Mrs. Bashaba had well- 
 nigh jeopardized the great principle, and destroyed 
 the hopes of posterity. A fortunate accident, or, per 
 haps, a providential interposition, prevented the wo- 
 ful catastrophe. This was the stoppage of a bank in 
 a remote corner of the state ; but which, distant as it 
 was, exercised a vast influence on the affairs of peo 
 ple far and near. This moneyed institution, having 
 no capital, had borrowed the stock of another mon 
 eyed institution in the like predicament, and secured 
 the capital thus paid in by a similar loan of its own 
 stock. Both then fell to issuing bills like wildfire, 
 and lending money paper-money to any person 
 who could offer them the ghost of a security. My 
 worthy father-in-law, the Honourable Jupiter Ammon 
 Bumstead, was one of those shadows which become 
 substance by the magic operation of modern finan 
 ciering. He borrowed money, built a manufactory 
 of coarse cottons, and a town which he called Bum- 
 steadvilleton, together with a shingle-palace of infinite 
 dimensions. The twin banks got on very well for a 
 time, by redeeming the bills of one with the bills of 
 the other. The Cow and Grass Company paid the 
 notes of the Wool and Comb Company, like a good 
 sister : and vice versa. Thus they supported each 
 other in the journey of life. At last, however, some 
 malicious and unreasonable person made a demand 
 of three hundred dollars in silver. The Cow and 
 Grass offered the notes of the Wool and Comb, but 
 it would not do ; the Cow and Grass fell against the 
 Wool and Comb, the Wool and Comb against the 
 
368 THE POLITICIAN. 
 
 establishment of Bumsteadvilleton, and the Honour 
 able Mr. Bumstead was reduced to his original shad 
 ow again. It was the old story of the boy that 
 bought the pig. " The butcher began to kill the ox, 
 the ox began to drink the water, the water to quench 
 the fire, the fire to burn the stick, the stick to lick the 
 pig," and the pig at last went to school ; but without 
 being a whit the wiser. The president of the Cow 
 and Grass, who was a member of the legislature, in 
 a paroxysm of indignation, moved that the bills of 
 both these moneyed institutions should be burnt. 
 Another member moved to strike out the word, 
 "bills," and insert the words, "presidents, cashiers, 
 and directors." Among all the members of our hon 
 ourable body, there was but one man the mover of 
 the amendment that was not either president or di 
 rector of some bank. The amendment was voted 
 down, unanimously; the great principle of banking 
 triumphed ; and the salvation of unborn millions was 
 placed upon the eternal basis of paper-money. On 
 this occasion I made another speech, which would have 
 convinced every member present but one, had they not 
 been convinced already. If the reader is a tolerable 
 politician, he will know that there are two kinds of 
 speeches one for the people within, the other for 
 the people without. The latter are by far the more 
 numerous. 
 
 This failure of the Cow and Grass was the luckiest 
 incident of my life. Ninety-nine in a hundred of the 
 people of our state were dependent on the banks 
 in some way or other, either as debtors or stock 
 holders. My speech in favour of the great principle 
 of banking gained all their hearts. The total ruin of 
 
THE POLITICIAN. 369 
 
 my Honourable father-in-law actually, for a time, 
 made a reasonable woman of my wife, and caused 
 her to treat the ladies of the committee-men with vast 
 courtesy. The ladies of the committee-men began to 
 pity poor Mrs. Oakford and pity is akin to forgive 
 ness and the result was, that the general committee 
 nominated me as their candidate for Congress by 
 a majority of one : that is to say, not being able to 
 agree, the two parties at length settled the great prin 
 ciple by a throw of the dice. My opponents threw 
 cater, my friends cinque, and the choice was announced 
 as a great triumph of principle over personal feelings 
 and private views. 
 
 Being thus triumphantly nominated by the gene 
 ral committee, and endorsed by the sub-committees, 
 it became the duty of the people to vote for me upon 
 principle, though it might happen to be against their 
 conscience, thus magnanimously sacrificing all private 
 feelings and considerations to the public good. In 
 vain did the opposite party exclaim against this at 
 tempt to dictate to the people ; the people turned out 
 lustily in my favour, and voted me in a member of 
 Congress, against their consciences, for the sake of 
 the great principle. His Excellency the Honourable 
 Peleg Peashell, Esquire, supported me with all his 
 influence, and I him with all mine; not because it 
 was our mutual interest to do so, but because our 
 interests were so dovetailed into the great principle 
 that it was next to impossible to separate them. In 
 the course of this contest, to the best of my belief, I 
 violated my conscience, and forgot the obligations of 
 truth, justice, honour, and sincerity, more than a score 
 of times ; but the Honourable Peleg had convinced 
 
 24 
 
370 THE POLITICIAN. 
 
 me it was my duty as a patriot, to sacrifice my duty 
 as a man, on all occasions when they came in conflict 
 with each other. " The first duty of a true patriot is 
 to offer up his conscience on the altar of the public 
 good," said the Honourable Peleg, my mentor. I con 
 fess I winced a little, for the idea sometimes came 
 across me, that, as both parties might possibly think 
 themselves equally right in the great principle, and 
 one of them must be in error, a large portion of the 
 people were offering up their consciences in the wrong 
 place. I once propounded this doubt to the Honour 
 able Peleg. " Pooh ! " said he, " the opposite party 
 have no conscience ; they are wrong in the great prin 
 ciple, and can be right in nothing else. A person 
 radically wrong in political opinions is like a man 
 with a broken back ; he can t walk straight for the life 
 of him." I was satisfied. 
 
 I departed for the seat of government with six long 
 stall-fed speeches in my portmanteau, for I was de 
 termined to convince my constituents, at least, that 
 they had not chosen a dummy to represent them. I 
 wanted to leave Mrs. Hussey Bashaba behind, but she 
 was a little inclined to the green-eyed monster, and 
 determined to share my honours. I represented on.ly 
 some thirty or forty thousand citizens ; but my wife 
 represented the whole sex ; it was therefore but just 
 that the majority should have its way, and she accom 
 panied me to the scene of my future glories. People 
 who know nothing of the value of a unit, or even 
 a single cipher, when placed in a particular relation, 
 can hardly conceive the importance of a member at 
 the seat of government, where an atmosphere of mu 
 tual dependence pervades the w T hole social system. 
 
THE POLITICIAN. 371 
 
 There is hardly a hack-driver who is not in some 
 measure the retainer of some great man ; and even 
 the poor horses, if they could speak, would undoubt 
 edly proclaim their adherence to certain great funda 
 mental principles. The first time I went with my 
 Bashaba to visit the lady of one of the foreign min 
 isters, the horses stuck in the mud, and refused to 
 proceed. I scolded the hackman. " Plase your Hon 
 our," he was an Irishman, and all Irishmen are 
 patriots " Plase your Honour, they won t stir, upon 
 principle." 
 
 " What do you mean ? ", said I. 
 
 " Plase you, they have just found out that they are 
 going to visit the British minister, and have made up 
 their minds never to pay him that honour till the 
 Catholic question is settled to their satisfaction." 
 
 The horses stuck to their principles, and stuck in 
 the mud. There seemed some truth in what the 
 driver said, for the moment he turned their heads the 
 other way they trotted off gallantly towards home. 
 The instinct of animals sometimes nearly approaches 
 to the reason of some men. I was obliged to send 
 for horses of a different party, or more accommodat- 
 ing^principles. 
 
 The first time we were invited to dinner, my wife 
 was delighted. She was the lady of a member, and 
 happened to take precedence of all the rest. She was 
 led into the dining-room by a foreign minister with a 
 gold-laced coat; and consumed all the next day in 
 writing letters to the ladies of the general committee. 
 The next time she was not quite so well pleased, for 
 there was a senator s lady present, and Mrs. Bashaba 
 fell to the lot of an attache. What made this the 
 
372 THE POLITICIAN. 
 
 more provoking was, that the senator s lady lived in 
 the same hotel with us, and the propinquity made the 
 slight intolerable. The senator s lady was the delight 
 ed one now, and declared that the seat of government 
 was the most charming place in the world. There 
 was a great coolness for several days on the part of 
 Mrs. Welcome Bashaba towards the senator s lady. 
 The third time, matters were still worse. There was 
 a member-of-the-cabinet s lady present, to whom the 
 ambassador was pledged by the rules of etiquette ; so 
 that the senator s lady fell to the attache, and Mrs. 
 Bashaba to the lot of a gentleman with no claim to 
 distinction but talents and character. The senator s 
 lady and the lady of the member came home the best 
 friends in the world. But the latter began to be dis 
 gusted with the seat of government, and became quite 
 homesick. It is an ill wind that blows nobody good. 
 Mrs. Bashaba, having been handed into the supper 
 room, at a grand gala given by a foreign minister in 
 honour of his august sovereign s birth-day, by a clerk 
 in the land-office, insisted on going home forthwith. 
 Had it been a clerk in the office of the secretary of 
 state, or even any one of the departments, it might 
 have been borne. But, a clerk in the land-office^, 
 it was impossible to get over the mortification. For 
 tunately, an old neighbour of mine, nearly fourscore, 
 who had come to the seat of government, (with some 
 two or three hundred more of my constituents), to 
 get an appointment, was going home the very next 
 day. Accordingly I took Mrs. Bashaba in the vein, 
 and sent her off before she had another chance of be 
 ing handed to dinner by a foreign minister. Previous 
 to her departure, she exacted of me a promise to op- 
 
THE POLITICIAN. 373 
 
 pose the administration, and particularly the measures 
 of the secretary whose wife had taken precedence of 
 her at the grand supper, on all occasions. I promised 
 for I would have promised any thing to get rid of 
 Mrs. Bashaba for the season and I have the great 
 consolation of knowing that both the honourable 
 senator and myself voted against the administration 
 all the winter, upon the great principle of etiquette, 
 which is in fact the corner-stone of tyranny. Being 
 now my own man, I turned gallant, flirting desperate 
 ly with the married dames, and still more desperately 
 with the young ladies, who were delighted with the 
 attentions of a member. Let me warn all my readers 
 who are or expect to be members, never to bring their 
 wives to the seat of government. If they are hand 
 some, they will have all the attache s and all the wid 
 owers pro tern, among the members in their train; 
 and if they are otherwise, unless they happen to be 
 angels outright, their curtain-lectures will be terrible. 
 But it is time to return to my political career. 
 
 The first day the House met, and before a Speak 
 er was chosen, being resolved to lose no time in con 
 vincing the world I was somebody, I rose to make 
 a motion, and a speech on the subject of reform. 
 " Mister Speaker Sir-r-r " " Order ! " cried the 
 clerk, rattling his wooden hammer. " Mister Speak 
 er Sir-r-r, I rise to " " Sit down the honoura- 
 able member is out of order; the house is not yet 
 organized." An old member on my left apprised me 
 that, as there was no Speaker chosen yet, there could 
 be no question debated. When that affair was settled, 
 I rose again to make my great motion on the subject 
 of reform. " Mister Speaker Sir-r-r-r, the republics 
 
374 THE POLITICIAN. 
 
 of Greece and Rome " " Mr. Speaker," said an old 
 gray-headed member, " I am sorry to interrupt the 
 honourable member from from somewhere but 
 I beg to make a motion that we proceed to appoint a 
 committee to wait on the President, with informa 
 tion that the House is now organized, and ready to 
 receive any communication from him." 
 
 " Mister Speaker, Sir-r-r, I feel myself under an 
 awful responsibility to myself, my constituents, my 
 country, and the world, to oppose that motion ; " 
 for I was a little nettled at this interruption. 
 
 " The motion is not debatable," replied the Speaker, 
 mildly. 
 
 I sat down, provoked and mortified beyond measure, 
 for I was ready to overflow in a torrent of eloquence. 
 The reading of the message, and other formalities, 
 took up the whole morning; and the house adjourned 
 without hearing my speech. Thus, like Titus, I lost 
 a day ; but I made myself all the amends in rny 
 power, by speaking it that night in my chamber to 
 two chairs, a three-legged stool, and a chalk bust of 
 Cicero with a broken pedestal, which, at every gestic 
 ulation I made, nodded approbation. 
 
 My next attempt at a speech on reform was quite 
 unpremeditated. It happened that a party of ladies 
 came into the gallery of the house; and among them 
 was one with whom I was engaged in a fashionable 
 flirtation for the season. I wished above all things to 
 dazzle her with a speech ; for, at the seat of govern 
 ment, making a speech is equivalent to gaining a 
 great victory by sea or land. 
 
 The moment I saw rny belle in the gallery, the 
 fervor of eloquence seized me. Luckily, at that 
 
THE POLITICIAN. 375 
 
 blessed crisis, a member sat down, after a speech of 
 three days, apologizing to the house that exhaustion 
 and fatigue prevented his going deeper into the sub 
 ject. In my haste, I unfortunately began the one of 
 my six stall-fed speeches least applicable to the ques 
 tion before the house, which related to the Cumber 
 land road,* a road that would be the very best upon 
 earth, if speeches could keep it in repair. My speech, 
 which was the first of my budget I could get at, was 
 on the occupation of the territory of Oregon. 
 
 I set out from the seat of government without in 
 terruption, every now and then cocking my eye at the 
 divinity who inspired me in the gallery; and was 
 puffing and blowing about half-way up the Rocky 
 Mountains, when a member called me to order. 
 
 " The honourable gentleman is not speaking to the 
 question. The Cumberland road does not cross the 
 Rocky Mountains." 
 
 " Let the gentleman go on," exclaimed a clear, high- 
 toned voice, in a wicked Cervantesque way, "let 
 the gentleman alone ; he is only making a voyage 
 round the world, and will certainly cross the latitude 
 or longitude of his subject, some time or other." 
 
 This sally occasioned a good deal of merriment, 
 and I saw the loadstar of my eloquence showing her 
 ivory teeth on the occasion. I became confused ; 
 struck in upon another of my six stall-fed speeches ; 
 wandered from that into a third ; and finally jumbled 
 them all together into a mass of incongruity, unut- 
 
 * The act for laying out a road from Cumberland in Maryland to the 
 State of Ohio, commonly known as The Cumberland " or " National " road, 
 was passed early in 1806. The subject caused a vast amount of discussion 
 in Congress, for a good many years afterward. 
 
376 THE POLITICIAN. 
 
 terable and inextricable. Fortunately, the Speaker, 
 not having above thrice the patience of Job, at length 
 called me to order, and I obeyed. Fortunately too 
 for me, the reporter, who had made more great ora 
 tions than all the orators of ancient or modern times, 
 not being able to take down my speech in short-hand, 
 substituted one of his own, which was read by my 
 constituents with infinite satisfaction and improve 
 ment. Shortly after this, I made a motion to exclude 
 the ladies from the gallery ; being convinced, from 
 my own experience, that they cause the effusion of 
 more nonsense in the house than nature ever intended 
 men should utter. 
 
 I was at first exceedingly discouraged with my ex 
 cursion to the Rocky Mountains ; but, finding it made 
 such a splendid figure in the newspapers, I deter 
 mined to take the earliest opportunity to get rid of 
 another of my six labours. The next torrent of my 
 eloquence was poured out from the summit-level of 
 a great canal, which, involving as it did a great prin 
 ciple, excited a vast deal of interest in and out of 
 the house. Unfortunately for me, I did not get a 
 chance of speaking until the subject had been ex 
 hausted at least a score of times, in a score of 
 speeches. But, for all this, I was resolved not to lose 
 my labours because others had forestalled them. Ac 
 cordingly, when every other orator had become as 
 exhausted as the summit-levels of some of our canals, 
 I rose in my might, and repeated, not only all that had 
 been said in the House, but all that had been written 
 out of it for the last fifty years. I led the House from 
 the canal of the Red Sea to the canal of the Yellow 
 river; from the canal of Languedoc to the canal of 
 
THE POLITICIAN. 377 
 
 Caledonia ; from the canal of the Duke of Bridgewa- 
 ter to that of Lake Erie : in short, I did what neither 
 Sir Francis Drake, Ferdinand Magellan, Christopher 
 Columbus, nor Captain Cook, ever achieved ; I sailed 
 round the world on a canal. Before I had finished 
 one quarter of rny tour of inland navigation, more 
 than three fourths of the members were so fully con 
 vinced by my arguments, that one after the other 
 left the house, having, as they afterwards assured 
 me, made up their minds on the subject. This time 
 I kept clear of the Rocky Mountains, never quit 
 ting my canal for a moment ; and, there being no 
 law against repeating the same thing over again a 
 hundred thousand times, I might have spoken till 
 doomsday, had not Mr. Speaker at length waked up, 
 and observed that he believed there was no quorum, 
 and proposed an adjournment. 
 
 " Never was there a more complete triumph of ar 
 gument and eloquence combined," said the Banner of 
 Truth ; " the friends of the canal were one and all so 
 convinced, that they did not think it worth while to 
 stay further argument ; and its foes fell away before 
 the thunder of his eloquence, as the walls of Jericho 
 crumbled at the blowing of the rams horns." I was 
 at first a little mortified at the idea of my speech not 
 appearing with an end to it in the report ; but the re 
 porter comforted me with the assurance that, so long 
 as a speech had a beginning, it was of little conse 
 quence whether it came to any conclusion or not. 
 
 I now began to be talked of as a rising politician ; 
 for any man who can get on the back of a canal or a 
 railroad is sure of immortality. I became the Nep 
 tune of inland seas, a very " Triton of the minnows " ; 
 
378 THE POLITICIAN. 
 
 and already began to aspire to an embassy to some 
 one of the new republics * without any government. 
 " He has made the canal," said a great man. " You 
 are mistaken," said the member with the tuneful voice 
 and Cervantesque manner; "the canal has made him." 
 To end my Congressional register : I got rid of all 
 my speeches, besides offering thirty-six resolutions, 
 calling for information which the several heads of de 
 partment assured me would require the united labours 
 of six hundred men, six hours in the day for six years, 
 to collect and arrange. In addition to all this, I made 
 about a hundred little extempores; drafted a bill, 
 which was passed after all the sections had been 
 amended so as to mean exactly the contrary of what 
 I intended, and which afterwards became the father 
 of six volumes of commentaries ; and wound up tri 
 umphantly at the end of the session, by striking out 
 a " but," and inserting an " except," in a bill for the 
 relief of poor Amy Dardin, after a long and animated 
 debate, in which great talents were displayed on both 
 sides. 
 
 Towards the close of the last session of my term, 
 a great crisis happened. The whole confederation 
 was divided on a great question which involved a 
 great fundamental principle, and it fell to the lot of 
 Congress to decide by states, each state having a vote. 
 It was now indeed that I felt myself a great man, 
 since a great question, involving a great principle, on 
 which depended the salvation of unborn millions, 
 rested upon my single suffrage. I was the sole repre 
 sentative of my state, and, while others had only the 
 fractional part of a vote, I had a voice potential. The 
 
 * In South America. 
 
THE POLITICIAN. 379 
 
 other states were divided ; my state had the casting 
 vote, and I, I alone, became a second Warwick, a 
 king-maker ! Had Mrs. Welcome Hussey Bashaba 
 been now at the seat of government, she would not 
 have wanted great men to hand her in to supper. It 
 behooved me to reflect seriously, and to delay my de 
 cision to the last moment, although, at this distant 
 period, I feel no hesitation in confessing that I had 
 made up rny mind from the first, with a proviso how 
 ever that I saw no occasion to alter it afterwards. 
 As it was, I kept rny opinions as secret as the sources 
 of the Niger. In so doing I acted by the special ad 
 vice of my master, his Excellency the Honourable 
 Peleg Peashell, Esquire. 
 
 " I hold," said he, in one of his letters, marked, pri 
 vate and confidential, "I hold to a sound maxim in 
 politics as well as morals, that where a man is deter 
 mined, upon principle, to pursue a certain line of con 
 duct, there is no obligation which ought to restrain 
 him from uniting his interest with his principle, and 
 making the most of the position in which circumstances 
 have placed him. For this purpose, it will be wise and 
 patriotic in you to keep your determination a pro 
 found secret, or even affect to lean a little toward the 
 side opposite to that you intend to unite with at last. 
 When a vessel is at anchor, nobody feels much soli 
 citude about her ; but a drifting boat always brings a 
 reward for securing it. A word to the wise" &c. 
 
 In pursuance of this advice, I affected to be unde 
 cided. I had not made up rr;y mind ; I must consult 
 my constituents ; I should delay as long as possible, 
 and be governed by circumstances. Both sides beset 
 me with arguments ; but, when a man has made up 
 
380 THE POLITICIAN. 
 
 his mind, mere arguments weigh nothing. I preserved 
 my incognito, and talked as mysteriously as an oracle. 
 
 One day a confidential friend of one of the great 
 principles (the reader must not confound princi^>?es 
 with principals) came to me, to discuss the subject. 
 
 " My dear Mr. Oakford, there can be no comparison 
 between the two principles. You must support our 
 principle." 
 
 " My dear sir," said I, " I have not the least hesita 
 tion in saying I should support your principle" 
 
 here my friend took my hand warmly, and cried with 
 
 fervor, " my dear-r-r sir-r-r " " But " here 
 
 he dropped my hand suddenly "But, really, my 
 dear friend, the question depends so little on my sin 
 gle vote or my insignificant influence, that though I 
 mean, if I remain here, to vote on your side, my fam 
 ily affairs are so pressing at home, and my wife is in 
 such a bad state of health, that I rather think I shall 
 ask leave of absence for the rest of the session." A 
 confidential conversation followed, which I cannot 
 disclose, being under the most solemn pledge to the 
 contrary. The result was, that I agreed to remain 
 and support the great principle, being satisfied, by the 
 arguments of my friend, that the salvation of the Un 
 ion and the welfare of unborn millions depended on 
 my individual vote. The triumph of principle was ac 
 cordingly achieved by my single arm, and I returned 
 home to await my reward. 
 
 In due time, I was invited to preside over a depart 
 ment of the government, in consequence of having so 
 judiciously accommodated my principle to my inter 
 est. It was now that I congratulated myself on hav 
 ing sacrificed every thing to principle, and that I 
 
THE POLITICIAN. 381 
 
 expected to reap the reward of my patriotic toils in the 
 cause of unborn millions. I proceeded to the seat of 
 government, and took possession of my honours. But, 
 alas! gentle reader, from that time to the moment 
 when I fell a sacrifice to principle, I never knew a 
 moment s ease. I was a pillar of the state, and Sam 
 son with the gates of Gaza on his back was but a 
 type of me. It was not long before I discovered 
 that a statesman exercises power as an ass does, by 
 carrying burdens ; and that to be one of the highest 
 of the rulers is only to become one of the lowest of 
 slaves. 
 
 The labours and mortifications I underwent in the 
 course of my career of greatness are beyond my power 
 to describe. In the morning, when I came down stairs, 
 I found people waiting to speak with me; I was 
 stopped twenty times on the way to my office, by 
 people having important business ; and, on my return 
 to dinner, by other people, who only wanted to say 
 a few words, and kept me till my dinner was cold, 
 and my Bashaba out of all patience. If I dined out, 
 I found a dozen letters to read and answer before I 
 went to bed, all on the most important subjects ; that 
 is to say, on subjects very important to others, and of 
 not the least consequence to myself. The good people 
 of my state applied in a body for offices. One was 
 a cousin of my wife ; another had written in my fa 
 vour in the Banner of Truth ; a third had his eye put 
 out at the polls, in advocating my cause ; a fourth 
 was grandson to a corporal of the revolution ; a fifth 
 had once invited me to dinner; and the remaining 
 thirty-odd thousand brought the warmest letters of 
 recommendation from his Excellency the Honourable 
 
382 THE POLITICIAN. 
 
 Peleg Peashell, Esquire, who was determined I should 
 pay for his guardianship. My whole official life fur 
 nished an exemplification of the different lights in 
 which men view themselves and are viewed by others. 
 I scarcely met with a man who was not seeking an 
 office for which he was particularly disqualified, or 
 which his situation ought not to have placed him 
 above soliciting, or accepting when offered. A par 
 son wanted a commission in the army; a soldier, an 
 appointment requiring special knowledge of the civil 
 law ; a man who could neither speak nor write his 
 native language, a foreign mission ; an independent 
 country-gentleman begged a situation unworthy a 
 broken feather - merchant, thinking, perhaps, with 
 Epaminondas, that he would confer honour on his 
 office, though his office might confer none on him; an 
 honest gentleman from the Emerald Isle, just natu 
 ralized, had great claims on a rale republican adminis 
 tration, on the score of having fought at Vinegar Hill; 
 another aspired to a seat on the bench, having become 
 exceedingly well versed in criminal jurisprudence, by 
 sustaining several indictments with great gallantry, and 
 coming off with flying colours ; and ten thousand at 
 least claimed the gratitude of the executive power, on 
 the ground of having been chairmen or secretaries of 
 ward meetings, and brawling at election polls. There 
 was one fine fellow whose claims were irresistible ; 
 he had gained the election for an administration con 
 stable, by managing to make one man vote six times 
 at the same poll. There was another fine fellow that 
 quite delighted me; he aspired to a principal clerk 
 ship in one of the departments, and his only disquali 
 fication was not being able to write. " But then you 
 
THE POLITICIAN. 383 
 
 know, sir, I can make my mark, and the understrap 
 pers can do the writing for me." 
 
 " Well, but," said I, " what will you be doing, all 
 the while others are performing your duties ? " 
 
 " Oh, I can give advice to the secretary. I am a 
 capital hand at giving advice." 
 
 Another still finer fellow, who had broken three 
 several times, never paid a debt in his life, and bor 
 rowed money from every body that would lend, de 
 manded a situation in which millions of the public 
 money would pass through his hands. He brought 
 me recommendations from all his creditors, who saw 
 in his appointment to this office the only chance of 
 ever being paid. I ventured a delicate remonstrance. 
 My good sir," said he, " you know private character 
 is not necessary in a public character." 
 
 I believe I laughed but once, except at the jokes 
 of a greater man than myself, while I remained an 
 object of envy to millions. I was called out of 
 my bed, early one cold winter morning, by a person 
 coming on business of the utmost consequence ; and 
 dressed myself in great haste, supposing it might be a 
 summons to a cabinet-council. When I came into 
 my private office, I found a queer, long-sided man, at 
 least six feet high, with a little apple-head, a long 
 queue, and a face, critically round, as rosy as a ripe 
 cherry. He handed me a letter from his Excellency 
 the Honourable Peleg, recommending him particu 
 larly to my patronage. I was a little inclined to be 
 rude, but checked myself, remembering that I was 
 the servant of such men as my visitor, and that I 
 might get the reputation of an aristocrat if I made 
 any distinction between man and man. 
 
384 THE POLITICIAN. 
 
 " Well, my friend, what situation do you wish ? " 
 
 " Why-y-y, I m not very particular ; but some how 
 or other, I think I should like to be a minister. I don t 
 mean of the gospel, but one of them ministers to for 
 eign parts." 
 
 " I m very sorry, very sorry indeed ; there is no va 
 cancy just now. Would not something else suit 
 you ? " 
 
 " Why-y-y," answered the apple-headed man, " I 
 wouldn t much care if I took a situation in one of the 
 departments. I wouldn t much mind being a comp 
 troller, or an auditor, or some such thing." 
 
 " My dear sir, I m sorry, very sorry, very sorry 
 indeed, but it happens unfortunately that all these sit 
 uations are at present filled. Would not you take 
 something else ? " 
 
 " My friend stroked his chin, and seemed struggling 
 to bring down the soarings of his high ambition to the 
 existing crisis. At last he answered, 
 
 " Why-y-y, ye-s-s ; I don t care if I get a good col- 
 lectorship, or inspectorship, or surveyorship, or navy- 
 agency, or any thing of that sort." 
 
 " Really, my good Mr. Phippenny," said I, " I regret 
 exceedingly, that not only are all these places filled, 
 but that every other place of consequence in the gov 
 ernment is at present occupied. Pray think of some 
 thing else." 
 
 He then, after some hesitation, asked for a clerk 
 ship, and finally for the place of messenger to one of 
 the public offices. Finding no vacancy here, he 
 seemed in vast perplexity, and looked all around the 
 room, fixing his eye at length on me, and measuring 
 my height from head to foot. Then, putting on one 
 
THE POLITICIAN. 385 
 
 of the drollest looks that ever adorned the face of 
 man, he said, 
 
 " Mister, you and I seem to be built pretty much 
 alike, haven t you some old clothes you can spare ? " 
 
 " Oh, what a falling off was there ! " from a for 
 eign mission to a suit of old clothes, which the reader 
 may be assured I gave him with infinite pleasure, in 
 reward for the only honest laugh I enjoyed for years. 
 
 Among others whose names were sent on to me 
 for office, was young Brookfield, son of the worthy 
 man whose hospitalities I had repaid by assisting to 
 lay him in his grave, a victim to the great principle 
 on which the salvation of unborn millions depended. 
 I had now an opportunity to atone for an injury, and 
 repay benefits ; but I received at the same time a let 
 ter from his Excellency the Honourable Peleg, recom 
 mending another person, and warning me against 
 young Brookfield, who belonged to the party in oppo 
 sition to the great Peleg as well as the great principle. 
 " The great political commandment," said the great 
 Peleg, " is to reward your friends and punish your 
 enemies. There is nothing selfish in this principle, 
 since you do not reward your friends and punish your 
 enemies because they are friends and enemies, but be 
 cause they are the friends and the enemies of the 
 great principle on which the safety of the Union and 
 the salvation of unborn millions depend." What 
 were the claims of gratitude, or the atonement of in 
 juries, to these sublime considerations ? Poor Brook- 
 field was passed over, in favour of an adherent of the 
 great Peleg and the great principle. Brookfield 
 turned his attention to a better object, and in good 
 time rose to respectability and independence ; so 
 
 25 
 
386 THE POLITICIAN. 
 
 that, after all, I flatter myself I was the architect of 
 his fortune. I cannot say, however, that he ever 
 evinced much gratitude for my forbearance in his 
 favour. 
 
 I speak as if I were acting in these cases without 
 control. But a man living in society cannot do as he 
 pleases at all times ; a man in high station, never. 
 He is elbowed and restricted on all sides. He has 
 his equals, his superiors, his very dependents, to influ 
 ence and thwart his own wishes and resolves ; is 
 sometimes the slave of his masters, sometimes of his 
 equals, and sometimes of his slaves. There is but 
 one greater slave than the second man of a nation, 
 and that is the first man of a nation. I was no more 
 master in my office than in my own house, where 
 Mrs. Bashaba managed the home department en 
 tirely, and stood in the place of the sovereign people. 
 
 My domestic affairs and my domestic enjoyments 
 were, equally with my personal independence, sacri 
 ficed to the intense labours and anxieties of my public 
 station. During the session of Congress, I was meted 
 back some of my own measure, by certain watchful 
 and sagacious members, who moved resolution after 
 resolution, calling for information on certain points, 
 from the first organization of the government to the 
 day of call. Some of these resolutions absorbed 
 the time of myself and my clerks for several weeks, 
 and I took pride to myself for the clear and able 
 manner in which I drew up reports, which were re 
 ceived, not read, laid on the table, and forgotten. 
 The object of the honourable member had been 
 gained. He had made a motion ; got his name in 
 the newspapers ; and acquired among his constitu- 
 
THE POLITICIAN. 387 
 
 ents the reputation of a vigilant guardian of the pub 
 lic interests. 
 
 I had various other mortifications, which none can 
 feel or know unless placed in my situation. Some 
 times a patriot member would revenge the disap 
 pointment of some object, or the refusal of some 
 favour, by attacking my official conduct. At another 
 time the editor of a newspaper, to whom I had per 
 haps neglected to send an advertisement, would 
 launch a random charge, or a thundering witticism, at 
 my head ; and though, as an individual, his good or 
 bad report was of no sort of consequence, still his fiat 
 editorial consecrated the inspirations of ignorance 
 and folly. In short, I sometimes had the pleasure of 
 suspecting that nearly one half my countrymen be 
 lieved me to be a blockhead or a rogue. To say the 
 truth, had it not been for my perpetual recurrence to 
 the first principles of the great Peleg, I should some 
 times have suspected that I deserved the latter dis 
 tinction ; for I confess I often broke my promises, and 
 passed over merit and services, in favour of political 
 influence, which the Honourable Peleg considered 
 synonymous with political principle. 
 
 My domestic was still less satisfactory than my 
 public life. The morning was a regular, " never-end 
 ing, still-beginning" routine of vexatious toil. I was 
 condemned to listen to applications it was out of my 
 power to comply with ; to express regrets which I did 
 not feel ; and hold out expectations which I knew 
 would never be realized. I made abundance of ene 
 mies, and gained no friends; and I was doomed to 
 meet ingratitude from those on whom I conferred, 
 and enmity from those to whom I refused, benefits. 
 
388 THE POLITICIAN. 
 
 In short, I was a slave to official duties, that brought 
 neither the rewards of a good conscience, nor remu 
 neration for the reproaches of a wounded one. From 
 my office, where I sat in my chair five or six hours, 
 without any exercise but that of a perplexed and irri 
 tated mind, I dragged myself home, to dress for a din 
 ner at six o clock, to put on silk stockings, sit in a 
 cold room three or four hours, eat enormously, and 
 get the rheumatism or dyspepsy. From thence it 
 was my hard fate to go to a party with Mrs. Bashaba, 
 who entered furiously into the dissipations of the cap 
 ital, now that the station of her husband ensured her 
 being handed in to supper by a foreign minister, or, 
 in default, by an attach^ at least. During the day 
 time, that good lady was perpetually driving through 
 the solitudes of the streets, paying visits to ladies of 
 distinction, at taverns, or trundling to Georgetown, to 
 ravage the milliners shops. In one season she disa 
 bled three pair of horses, and two coachmen ; of 
 whom, one became a cripple with rheumatism, and 
 the other fell into a decline, with a cold caught in driv 
 ing her to a party five miles off, in a snow-storm. 
 
 But this was not the worst. Mrs. Bashaba caught 
 the spirit of the place, and commenced the business 
 of flirtation, with an attache whose face resembled 
 that of a Newfoundland dog. He was the very per 
 sonification of whiskers, and was held to be very 
 handsome, for he marvellously favoured Peter the 
 wild boy. It was now that I thanked my stars my 
 wife was not a beauty ; for, if she had been, I should 
 have become jealous, and she would have lost her 
 reputation to a certainty. As it was, I considered the 
 devoirs of Peter the wild boy a homage paid to my 
 
THE POLITICIAN. 889 
 
 official dignity, rather than to the attractions of Mrs. 
 Bashaba ; and, as nobody envied the attachd, there 
 was no motive for taking away her reputation. The 
 happy result of these happy coincidences was, that I 
 escaped the green-eyed monster, and Mrs. Bashaba 
 scandal. 
 
 As I believe none of the writers on natural history 
 have described the race of whiskered animals called 
 Attaches, it may be well to apprize my readers that 
 they constitute the tail of the corps diplomatique. 
 They are the shadows of the minister, who is the 
 shadow of his august master, and are, of course, the 
 shadows of a shadow. They must be able to cut up 
 a dish at the ambassador s table ; cut a figure among 
 the ladies ; and cut a caper at balls. It is their im 
 portant duty to fill up cards of invitation; answer 
 notes not diplomatic; run about and pick up news; 
 get at every body s secrets, and keep their own ; com 
 pliment the young ladies ; talk scandal with the old 
 ones ; trumpet forth every donation of the minister to 
 charitable societies ; and put on their embroidered 
 coats on all proper occasions. Above all, they must 
 understand etiquette, and sacrifice the whole deca 
 logue to a point of precedence. Four or five years 
 practice in these profound mysteries qualifies them for 
 Secretary of Legation. 
 
 The unlearned reader must be careful not to con 
 found etiquette with good-breeding, such as is prac 
 tised among private persons. No two things can be 
 more different, nay, opposite to each other. Among 
 ordinary people, for example, when a stranger, entitled 
 to notice and hospitality, comes into the place, it 
 is considered well-bred to call on him first, and invite 
 
390 THE POLITICIAN. 
 
 him to your house. Etiquette, however, prescribes a 
 different course. The stranger must call on the resi 
 dent, indirectly solicit his notice, and thrust himself or 
 herself on the hospitalities of the person of distinc 
 tion. Among well-bred people, if two persons hap 
 pen to be going into a dining-room together, there 
 will be a little contest of courtesy, not who shall get 
 in first, but who shall give precedence to the other. 
 Among people of etiquette it is exactly the reverse. 
 The point of honour consists in maintaining certain 
 imaginary rights of going first, if it be only at a 
 funeral ; and a gentleman or lady whose proper place 
 should be lost would not be able to sleep for a week, 
 without an anodyne. When I was a member of Con 
 gress, I came very near occasioning a long and bloody 
 war between the United States and a foreign nation, 
 by insulting the king of the country in taking the 
 hand of a lady who happened to stand next me, to 
 lead her into the supper room. She had been as 
 signed to the minister, who immediately ordered his 
 carriage, went home without his supper, and penned 
 a furious despatch to his government, which he sent 
 off express, by an attache of three whiskers. The 
 lady never forgave my presumption. Had I been a 
 senator, it might have passed : but, a member of the 
 lower House ! it was too bad. Thus it will be per 
 ceived that etiquette is the antipodes to good-breed 
 ing. The former consists in asserting, the latter in 
 waiving, our pretensions to precedence and superiority 
 on all occasions. 
 
 It was curious to see the independent representa 
 tives of a free people, making obeisance to the very 
 persons whom they took every occasion to slight in 
 
THE POLITICIAN. 391 
 
 their public speeches, and complying with such do 
 cility with the mandates of Monsieur Etiquette. The 
 first thing they did on arriving at the seat of govern 
 ment was to hire a hack and drive furiously round 
 to all the givers of balls and dinners, to leave a card. 
 This entitled them to an invitation to all the balls and 
 dinners, provided they sent in their adhesion in this 
 manner, after every ball and dinner; otherwise they 
 only got an invitation to one ball and dinner, for these 
 things were too good to be had without asking. For 
 my part, while I was a member, I refused this act of 
 homage, which I then considered somewhat degrad 
 ing, though when I became one of the privileged few 
 I confess I did not find it altogether so unreasonable. 
 The consequence of my refusal was, that I was cut by 
 the whole corps diplomatique, attaches and all ; dined 
 at home every day by myself, and escaped dyspepsy 
 for that session at least. 
 
 At parties, where I saw the same faces and heard 
 the same speeches for a whole session, my great 
 amusement was to observe the various struggles of all 
 classes to obtain that species of distinction which 
 depends, not upon ourselves but on other people. I 
 could always tell where the principal person, the lion 
 of rank, was stationed, by the tide which was tending 
 that way ; and, had I not known a single person in 
 the room, I could have pointed him or her out by 
 that infallible indication. Such struggles to get near 
 enough for a speech or smile, a nod, or a shake of the 
 hand! Such looks of triumph when the little ones 
 got side-by-side with the great ! and such burstings of 
 self-importance when they had the honour of walking, 
 arm-in-arm, with one above them on the next step of 
 
392 THE POLITICIAN. 
 
 the ladder! Every body seemed to live in the sun 
 shine of reflected honour, and none appeared to found 
 their claims to respect or consideration on the basis of 
 conscious worth or intrinsic merit. I have seen the 
 most insignificant beings on earth, without character 
 or talents, acquire a temporary importance from the 
 mere circumstance of having, by dint of a degrading 
 perseverance, acquired the privilege of being toad- 
 eater to a person of distinction. Nobody could eat 
 supper with an appetite at the lower end of the table ; 
 and Mrs. Welcome Bashaba always scolded the ser 
 vants for a fortnight, when she missed the glory of 
 being gallanted in and out by a qualified hand. 
 
 Such was the life I led, year after year. By the 
 time summer came I was completely run down, and 
 it took me all the rest of the year to wind myself up 
 again. If I went to the Springs, I was bored to death 
 by prosing politicians, giving their advice on the con 
 duct of public officers, or slily insinuating claims to 
 honour and place. If I visited a city where there was 
 no such nuisance as a seat of government, for the 
 purpose of relaxing a little in the midst of its gaye- 
 ties, there too I was beset by wise men and wise 
 women, talking nothing but eternal politics, and re 
 minding me that at such a time they had made appli 
 cation for such a berth, for son, nephew, or second 
 cousin. If I returned to my poor little farm, there it 
 was ten times worse. Every soul, far and near, came 
 to ask for something, for they all had assisted in my 
 elevation ; and, like poor Actaeon, I was in danger 
 of being torn to pieces by my own hounds. I was 
 obliged to bow and smile, and play the courtier, while 
 my very soul was fretting itself to shreds and tatters ; 
 
THE POLITICIAN. 393 
 
 for it is among the horrors of greatness, in a free 
 country at least, that it must be bought and main 
 tained at the awful, incalculable, price, of being civil 
 to all mankind. Still, such is the fascination of 
 power, I clung to the glorious mischief, though it was 
 gnawing at my vitals and destroying me by inches. 
 I was indeed fast declining, and it is my firm belief 
 that a very few years would have brought me to that 
 great inn where all mankind take up their last night s 
 lodging, had not my life been saved by a lucky change 
 in the great fundamental political principle, on which 
 the salvation of unborn millions depended. 
 
 The people have in all ages been charged with gross 
 unsteadiness and ingratitude. But, to do them jus 
 tice, I believe this instability is only the consequence 
 of their perpetual disappointments. They are prom 
 ised great things from new rulers, which promises are 
 never realized, and by a natural consequence they 
 change from admiration to indifference, from indiffer 
 ence to contempt or disgust. But, however this may 
 be tempora mutantar times change, men change, 
 and principles change, if I am to judge from my own 
 experience. Even the great Peleg, my mentor, un 
 derwent a metamorphosis. For some time a silent 
 revolution had been preparing and maturing in the 
 public mind, turning on certain great mechanical prin 
 ciples connected with railroads, canals, locks, break 
 waters, and cotton machinery. Political principles 
 now seemed fast verging into mechanical principles, 
 and the machinery of state to be almost entirely gov 
 erned by spinning-jennies, weaver s-beams, and topo 
 graphical surveys. The revolution of principle, in my 
 native state, was brought about by a great mill-dam ; 
 
394 THE POLITICIAN. 
 
 others turned on improving the navigation of rivers ; 
 others on the auction system ; others on coarse wool 
 lens ; and others on prohibiting the importation of 
 vermicelli; all, fundamental political principles, on 
 which the existence of the Union and the salvation of 
 unborn millions depended. But the most extraordi 
 nary change of all was that of a great state an im- 
 periam in imperio whose fundamental principle 
 turned altogether on the question, whether freema 
 sons took their degrees on a red-hot gridiron or not* 
 This point divided the whole state, and threw the 
 body-politic into convulsions. Committees were ap 
 pointed ; inquisitors authorized to worry and harass 
 whole communities ; and constitutional principles set 
 at nought in the discussion of the great fundamental 
 principle of the gridiron. But, (what most strikingly 
 proved the purity of the motives which governed all 
 these revolutionary bodies), in all their arguments, 
 contentions, and struggles, the word "interest" was 
 never once uttered. Nothing but conscience and prin 
 ciple was appealed to, notwithstanding it was the 
 opinion of many honest people, that an appeal to the 
 conscience and principles of the opposite party was 
 like the lady Rosalind swearing by her beard. 
 
 Somewhere about this period, the Honourable Pe- 
 leg, who watched the weathercock of politics as a 
 valetudinarian does the wind, all at once changed his 
 principles, having, as he wrote me, discovered that 
 the great fundamental principle, on which depended 
 the existence of the Union and the salvation of un 
 born millions, was not what he took it to be. He 
 
 * The "Anti-mason" party for some years exerted a powerful influence 
 upon the politics of the State of New York. 
 
THE POLITICIAN. 395 
 
 brought over the Banner of Truth to his side, by 
 sending the worthy editor a present of the largest 
 pumpkin that ever grew in the state ; and the Banner 
 of Truth began forthwith to unsay all that it had been 
 saying for the last ten years. Never man, or woman 
 either, unravelled an old stocking so dexterously and 
 quickly as the editor of the Banner of Truth unrav 
 elled and turned inside out all the arguments he had 
 urged in support of the old great fundamental princi 
 ple. To be prepared for the worst, however, he got a 
 coat made, one half homespun, the other half Re- 
 gent s-cloth, with a jacket, one side civil, the other 
 military, which he wore as occasion required. 
 
 For my part, though I saw the storm coming, I 
 determined to remain firm to my principles, knowing, 
 as I did full well, that it was too late to turn about 
 to any good purpose, for my successor was already 
 designated. The denouement of the great farce now 
 approached; the whole country was convulsed 
 in the newspapers. I went out, and another came in ; 
 one great principle triumphed, on which depended the 
 salvation of unborn millions ; and another great prin 
 ciple on which the salvation of unborn millions, in the 
 opinion of millions of living persons, equally depended, 
 went out of fashion, at least for the time being. ^ 
 
 Will my readers believe it ? I left the seat of gov 
 ernment, where I had lost my health, sacrificed my 
 domestic habits, and laboured like a galley-slave at 
 the oar, only to be rewarded with abuse and obloquy 
 from at least one half of my countrymen I left it 
 with a regret which I can only account for upon the 
 principle that man is born unto trouble, and that it is 
 
396 THE POLITICIAN. 
 
 in his nature to delight to fish in troubled waters. As 
 the City of the Desert passed away from my back 
 ward view, I could not help reflecting that I had, 
 peradventure, been all my life fighting shadows, for 
 shadows ; and that I was now returning to the start 
 ing-place, with nothing saved from the wreck of de 
 parted years but a fund of experience which I was 
 now almost too old to turn to advantage. As the 
 great copper kettle turned upsidedown, which de 
 forms one of the finest structures of the age, disap 
 peared behind the forests of the city, I cast a rueful 
 glance at Mrs. Bashaba who sat at my side, and there 
 met the comfortable assurance, that my retirement 
 from the turmoils of public life was not destined to be 
 followed by the calm of domestic repose. 
 
 One of the great delights of the seat of government 
 is the necessity a great man labours under, of spend 
 ing his salary in treating to sumptuous dinners the 
 gentlemen who are every day finding fault with his 
 official conduct. The simplicity of our republican 
 institutions requires that these dinners should be as 
 splendid as possible, and the wines of the most rare 
 and expensive kind. Without these constitutional 
 arguments, it would be almost impossible to carry a 
 measure, or do any thing for the benefit of posterity. 
 Every public functionary is expected to come to the 
 seat of government and depart, as we come into and 
 go out of this world, without bringing any thing with 
 him or taking any thing away. I remember once 
 giving a vast dinner to twenty or thirty members, one 
 of whom was particularly devoted to the wines and 
 viands, and consumed nearly a day s salary. The 
 
THE POLITICIAN. 397 
 
 next day, he made a famous speech on republican sim 
 plicity, which he concluded by moving to reduce the 
 enormous salaries of the great public functionaries, 
 whose splendid dinners and silver forks he described 
 with most edifying abhorrence. But,- notwithstanding 
 the French wines, the French cookery, and the silver 
 forks, I had saved a few paltry thousands, with which 
 I intended to improve my little box at home, and cul 
 tivate a small farm that I had purchased to please 
 one of my constituents who had considerable political 
 influence. 
 
 The first time I saw the Honourable Peleg after 
 my return, we had a hot argument on the question 
 whether he or I had deserted the great principle. It 
 ended, like most political discussions, in contention 
 and recrimination. We parted, the worst friends in 
 the world. My farm was now my only resource. At 
 first the perfect ease quiet and independence I en 
 joyed was intolerable. I became melancholy for want 
 of something to trouble me, and had it not been for 
 Mrs. Bashaba, should have perished for lack of con 
 tradiction. But fate seemed determined to persecute 
 me with a life of perfect repose. I lost Mrs. Bashaba 
 a few months after my retirement. The whiskered 
 attache passed our door without stopping, on his way 
 to Boston, and she never held up her head afterwards. 
 Casting about for something to do, it all at once oc 
 curred to me that I would call the Honourable Peleg 
 to a reckoning on the score of his guardianship. I 
 had the cruelty to put him in chancery ; but I shared 
 with him the penalty of this unchristian act. I had 
 now enough to occupy my mind, and vex my very 
 
398 THE POLITICIAN. 
 
 soul ; and I here record it as my firm opinion, that to 
 be in chancery is worse than to be the head of a de 
 partment. I several times saw the end of my suit, 
 but it was like a view of those high, snowy, perpen 
 dicular summits we behold on approaching the Andes, 
 which the eye sees and the imagination contemplates, 
 but which are inaccessible to mortal tread. When I 
 began the suit, 1 was possessed of three very good 
 things ; I had money, patience, and a great veneration 
 for equity. Before my suit was ended, I had none of 
 the three. But time does wonders ; it can even bring 
 a suit in chancery to an end ; and at length I got a 
 decision in my favour for a few thousands. But the 
 Honourable Peleg was prepared for me. He had 
 assigned all his property to a bank ; the bank had 
 hypotheticated it to an insurance company ; the insu 
 rance company had failed ; the officers and directors 
 had divided the spoil; and I might as well have 
 looked for an honest man among them as for my 
 property. Yet, strange to say, the Honourable Peleg, 
 by sticking close to the great political principle, still 
 managed to preserve the confidence of the people. 
 He had never held a public office where he was 
 intrusted with the public money, without being a de 
 faulter ; he had never been charged with the care of 
 another s property, without there being a deficiency in 
 the end ; and he had never been president of a bank, 
 that it did not break and defraud the community. 
 Still, his political principles were sound, though his 
 moral principles were rotten ; and he was at length 
 selected by the Legislature to prepare a code of crim 
 inal jurisprudence for the State, upon the ground, I 
 
THE POLITICIAN. 399 
 
 presume, that you set a thief to catch a thief, and 
 that no man can be better qualified to make laws than 
 he who has been long in the habit of breaking them. 
 There is a certain homely, unobtrusive philosophy, 
 which makes very little figure in the works of Bo- 
 lingbroke, Boethius, or any other unfortunate states 
 man. It may be called philosophy perforce, and is 
 worth all other systems put together. I mean, the 
 capacity of the human mind to accommodate itself to 
 inevitable circumstances, to endure what cannot be 
 cured, and to make the best of a bad bargain. This 
 was now my consolation. I had gradually lost all hope 
 of again coming forward in political life; for the mo 
 ment one man steps out of the shoes, another stands 
 ready to step into them. If we stop a moment in the 
 great path along which the whole human race is press 
 ing forward, we must be left behind, and can never 
 again overtake the flood that rolls on to success or 
 ruin. By degrees, as this conviction familiarized 
 itself to my thoughts, I turned from the past to the 
 present, and gradually yielded to the philosophy of 
 necessity. I felt that my peace of mind, my health, 
 my subsistence, depended upon exertion ; and I began 
 to exert myself. It was at first disagreeable, for a 
 man who had assisted in swaying the destinies of an 
 empire, to second a labourer in planting pumpkins. 
 But I remembered that Dioclesian hoed cabbages; 
 that Joseph the Second was a great maker of red seal 
 ing-wax ; that Don Carlos of Naples employed his 
 time in shooting rabbits, and Don Ferdinand of Spain 
 his in embroidering satin petticoats above all, I re 
 membered the course of the great and perfect model 
 
400 THE POLITICIAN. 
 
 of nilers, and that of his virtuous successors, who, 
 one after another, retired from the cares of state, to 
 cultivate their farms, to give an example to the world, 
 and to hear themselves every day blessed from afar 
 off by the voices of millions. 
 
 I have now passed almost twenty years in my hum 
 ble retirement. The world has forgotten me, and I 
 am content to be forgotten. I can now look calmly 
 upon both worlds that which I am leaving behind, 
 and that to which I am rapidly advancing. The last 
 spark of vanity expired in writing my history, that 
 I might, peradventure, be remembered a little after I 
 am gone. But, to do myself justice, I had other and 
 higher motives. 
 
 I have long seen, with fearful and melancholy anti 
 cipations, the disproportioned space that politics and 
 party feelings occupy in the lives of my fellow-citi 
 zens, to the exclusion of other, and let me add, nobler, 
 pursuits. I have seen the country thrown into a fer 
 ment; the charities of life and the bonds of benevo 
 lence, the obligations of truth and the ties of justice, 
 all rent as burnt flax, and scattered to the winds as 
 nothing an offering on the altar of political strife. 
 I have seen the most frivolous objects, and the most 
 contemptible offices, assuming a vast and fallacious 
 magnitude, and exciting the most violent and out 
 rageous struggle for their attainment, as if the parties 
 to the quarrel were contending for the empire of the 
 world. In short, I have seen, as I think, the finger of 
 time pointing to that period, not far distant I fear, 
 when the choice of a chief-magistrate will be consid 
 ered an object of greater moment than the precepts 
 
THE POLITICIAN. 401 
 
 of morality, the obligations of religion, or the preser 
 vation of our liberties. It cannot be disguised, that 
 the spark which lights these political conflagrations is 
 struck out by the violent collision of office-holders and 
 office-seekers ; and I am aware that the experience of 
 others weighs little with us in balancing our own con 
 duct and regulating our pursuits. Still, perhaps, a plain 
 narrative of the unsatisfactory results of so many sacri 
 fices of moral principle may serve to mitigate at least 
 the violence of those contests, which end at length in 
 a momentary triumph, followed by a lasting defeat. 
 Men may learn, from my example, how mistaken is 
 the idea, that the possession of power leads to inde 
 pendence, or enables them to indulge their own will. 
 If there is any station in life in which we can do as 
 we please, it will be found much nearer the extreme 
 of the beggar than that of the king. 
 
 All the honourable pursuits of life are salutary, 
 provided their rewards are not sought with too great 
 avidity, and at the price of integrity and happiness. 
 It is, moreover, the bounden duty of every citizen to 
 take a strong interest in the conduct of public affairs 
 and the prosperity of his country. But even patriot 
 ism, as well as religion, has its limits, beyond which 
 both become fanaticism. He who sacrifices those 
 principles of honour, justice, charity, and truth, which 
 are essential to the happiness of mankind here as 
 well as hereafter, which never change, and in which 
 all agree, to a political principle, which is ever vary 
 ing, and about which all mankind differ, must in the 
 end become a most mischievous and pernicious citi 
 zen. 
 
 26 
 
402 THE POLITICIAN. 
 
 To conclude, I have chosen to make my drama a 
 farce rather than a tragedy. I pretend not to any 
 authority other than that of experience ; but I have 
 seen enough of the world, and of the people of the 
 world, to know that, beautiful as Wisdom is, if she 
 would only sometimes condescend to smile, she would 
 be irresistible. 
 
 THE END. 
 
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