“Drink! drink! to whom shall we drink?To a friend or a mistress?—Come, let me think!To those who are absent or those who are here?To the dead that we loved, or the living still dear?Alas! when I look I find none of the last!The present is barren—let's drink to the past.”PAULDING.
Though strictly a Manhattanese as a sailor, I shall not run into rhapsody on the subject of the beauties of the inner or outer bay of this prosperous place. No man but one besotted with provincial conceit could ever think of comparing the harbour of New York with the Bay of Naples; nor do I know two places, that have the same great elements of land and water that are less alike. The harbour of New York is barely pretty; not a particle more, if quite as much; while the Bay of Naples is almost what its owners so fondly term it, “a little bit of heaven, fallen upon earth.” On the other hand, however, Naples, as a haven, is not to be mentioned in the same breath with the great American mart, which,as a port, has no competitor within the circle of my knowledge, Constantinople alone excepted. I wish my semi-townsmen, the Manhattanese, could be persuaded of these facts, as, when theydobrag, as the wisest of mortals sometimes will, they might brag of their strong, and not of their weak points, as is now too often the case.
The Major, Emily and myself, stood on the poop, regarding the scene, as the ship glided onward, before a good south-east breeze. I watched the countenances of my companions with interest, for I had the nervousness of a tyro and a provincial, on the subject of the opinions of the people of other lands, concerning everything that affected my own. I could see that the Major was not particularly struck; and I was disappointed,then, whatever may be my opinionnow. Emily better answered my hopes. Whether the charming girl really felt the vast contrast between a view of the unbroken expanse of the ocean, and the scene before her, or was disposed to please her host, she did not hesitate to express delight. I let her understand how much I was gratified; and thus our long, long voyage, and that, so far as degrees of longitude were concerned, nearly embraced the circuit of the earth, may be said to have terminated with the kindest feelings.
The ship was off Bedlow's, and the pilot had begun to shorten sail, when a schooner crossed our fore-foot, beating down. I had been too much occupied with the general movement of the bay, to notice one small craft; but, this vessel happening to tack quite near us, I could not but turn my eyes in her direction. At that instant I heard a shout from Neb, who was furling one of the royals. It was one of those irrepressible “nigger gollies” that often escaped from the fellow involuntarily.
“What do you mean by that uproar, on the mizen-royal yard,” I called out angrily—for thestyleof my ship had now become an object of concern with me. “Keep silence, sir, or I'll find a way to instruct you in the art.”
“Lord!—masser Mile—” cried the negro, pointing eagerly towards the schooner—“there go Pretty Poll.”
It was our old craft sure enough, and I hailed her, incontinently.
“Pretty Polly, ahoy!”
“Halloo!”
“Where are you bound, sir; and when did that schooner get in from the Pacific?”
“We are bound to Martinique—The Poll got home from the South Seas about six months since. This is her third voyage to the West Indies, since.”
Here then was the certainty that the cargo sent home, and the letter with it, were all safe. I must be expected, and the owners would soon hear of my arrival. We were not kept long in doubt; for, as the ship entered the Hudson, a boat approached, and in her were two of the principal members of our firm. I had seen them, and that is all; but my own letters, and the report of the officer who brought home the schooner, had told them all about me. Could Nelson, after his victory of the Nile, have walked into the King of England's private cabinet with the news of his own success, his reception would not have been more flattering than that I now received. I was “Captain Wallingforded” at every sentence; and commendations were so intermixed with inquiries about the value of the cargo, that I did not know which to answer first. I was invited to dine the very next day by both the gentlemen in the same breath; and when I raised some objections connected with the duty of the ship, the invitations were extended from day to day, for a week. So very welcome is he who brings us gold!
We went alongside of a North River wharf, and had everything secure, just as the sun was setting. The people were then allowed to go ashore for the night. Not a soul of them asked for a dollar; but the men walked up the wharf attended by a circle of admiring landlords, that put them all above want. The sailor who has three years' pay under his lee, is a sort of Rothschild on Jack's Exchange. All the harpies about our lads knew that the Crisis and her teas, &c. were hypothecated to meet their own ten and twenty dollar advances.
I dressed myself hurriedly, and ordered Neb to imitate my example. One of the owners had kindly volunteered to see Major Merton and Emily to a suitable residence, with an alacrity that surprised me. But the influence of England, and Englishmen, in all America, was exceedingly great forty years since. This was still more true in New York, than in the country generally; and a half-pay English Major was a species of nobleman among the better sort of Manhattanese of that day. How many of these quasi lords have I seen, whose patents of nobility were merely the commissions of captains and lieutenants, signed by the Majesty of England! In that day—it is nonsense to deny it—the man who had servedagainstthe country, provided he was a “British officer,” was a better man than he who had served in our own ranks. This was true, however, only as regardedsociety;the ballot-boxes, and thepeople, giving very different indications of their sentiments on such subjects. Nor is this result, so far as New York was concerned, as surprising as, at first sight, it may possibly appear. Viewed as a class, the gentry of New York took sides with the crown. It is true, that the portion of this gentry which might almost be calledbaronial—it was strictlymanorial—was pretty equally divided, carrying with them their collaterals; but the larger portions of this entire class of the elite of society took sides with the crown; and the peace of '83 found no small part of them in possession of their old social stations; the confiscations affecting few beyond the most important, and the richest of the delinquents. I can give an instance, within my own immediate knowledge, of the sort of justice of these confiscations. The head of one of the most important of all the colonial families, was a man of indolent habits, and was much indisposed to any active pursuits. This gentleman was enormously rich, and his estates were confiscated and sold. Now this attainted traitor had a younger brother who was actually serving in the British army in America, his regiment sharing in the battles of Bunker Hill, Brandywine, Monmouth, &c. But the Major was a younger son; and, in virtue of that republican merit, he escaped the consequences of his adhesion to the service of the crown; and after the revolution, the cadet returned to his native country, took quiet possession of a property of no inconsiderable amount, while his senior passed his days in exile, paying the bitter penalty of being rich in a revolution. It was a consequence of the peculiarities first mentioned, that the Manhattanese society set so high a value on English connection. They still admired, as the provincial only can admire; and they worshipped, as the provincial worships; or, at a safe distance. The strange medley of truth, cant, selfishness, sophistry and good faith, that founded the political hostility to the movements of the French revolution, had as ardent believers in this country, as it had in England itself; and this contributed to sustain the sort of feeling I have described. Of the fact, there can be no doubt, as any one will testify who knew New York society forty years ago.
No wonder then, that Major Merton and Emily fared well, on their sudden arrival in the country. Some romance, moreover, was attached to their adventures; and I had no great reason to give myself any anxiety on their account. There was little doubt of their soon being much more at home, than I could hope to be, though in my native land.
Neb soon reported himself ready for shore-duty, and I ordered him to follow me. It was my intention to proceed to the counting-house of the owners, to receive some letters that awaited me, and, after writing short answers, to despatch the black at once to Clawbonny, with the intelligence of my return. In 1802, the Battery was the court-end of the town, and it was a good deal frequented by the better classes, particularly at the hour at which I was now about to cross it. I have never returned from a voyage, especially to Europe, without being particularly struck with two things in the great Western Emporium—since the common councils and the editors insist on the word—viz., the provincial appearance of everything that meets the eye, and the beauty of the younger females; meaning, however, by the last, the true, native, portion of the population, and not the throng from Ireland and Germany, who now crowd the streets; and who, certainly, as a body, are not in the least remarkable for personal charms. But an American can tell an American, man or woman, as soon as he lays eyes on either; and there were few besides native girls on the Battery at the time of which I am writing. As there were many children taking their evening walk, and black servants were far more common than now, Neb had his share of delights, too, and I heard him exclaim “Golly!” twice, before we reached the centre of the Battery. This exclamation escaped him on passing as many sable Venuses, each of whom bridled up at the fellow's admiration, and doubtless was as much offended as the sex is apt to be on such occasions.
I must have passed twenty young women, that evening, either of whom would induce a youth to turn round to look again; and, for the moment, I forgot my errand. Neither Neb nor I was in any hurry. We were strolling along, in this manner, gazing right and left, when a party approached, under the trees, that drew all my attention to itself. In front walked a young man and young woman, who were dressed simply, but with a taste that denoted persons of the better class. The former was remarkable for nothing, unless it might be a rattling vivacity, of which large doses were administered to his fair companion, who, seemingly, swallowed it less reluctantly than doses of another sort are so often received. At least, I thought so, while the two were at a distance, by the beautiful glistening teeth that were shining like my own spotless pearls, between lips of coral. The air, beauty, figure, and, indeed, all connected with this singularly lovely young creature, struck my imagination at once. It was not so much her beauty, though that was decided and attractive, as the admixture of feminine delicacy with blooming health; the walk, so natural and yet so full of lightness and grace; the laugh, so joyous and still so quiet and suited to her sex; and the entire air and manner, which denoted equally, buoyant health and happiness, the gracefulness of one who thought not of herself, and the refinement which is quite as much the gift of native sentiment, as the fruit of art and association. I could not tell what her companion was saying; but, as they approached, I fancied them acknowledged lovers, on whom fortune, friends, and circumstances smiled alike. A glance aside told me that even Neb was struck by the being before him, and that he had ceased looking at the sable Venuses, to gaze at this.
I could not keep my gaze off the face of this lovely creature, who did not let me get a good look of her dark-blue eyes, however, until I was quite near, when they were naturally turned towards the form that approached. For a few seconds, while in the very act of passing, we looked intently at each other, and the charm said to be possessed by certain animals, was not more powerful than was our mutual gaze. In this manner we had actually passed each other, and I was still in a sort of mystified prance, when I heard suddenly, in a voice and tone that caused every nerve to thrill within me, the single word—
“Miles!”
Turning, and taking another look, it was impossible any longer to mistake. Lucy Hardinge stood before me, trembling, uncertain, her face now pale as death, now flushed to scarlet, her hands clasped, her look doubting, eager, shrinking, equally denoting hope and fear, and all so blended, as to render her the most perfect picture of female truth, feeling, diffidence, and natural modesty, I had ever beheld.
“Lucy—is it—canit be possible!—It is thenyou, I thought so gloriously beautiful, and that without knowing you, too.”
I take it for granted, had I studied a week, I should not have composed a more grateful salutation than this, which burst forth in a way that set all the usual restraints of manners at defiance. Of course, I felt bound to go through with the matter as prosperously as I had commenced, and in spite of the publicity of the place, in spite of half a dozen persons, who heard what passed, and had turned, smiling, to see what would come next, in spite of the grave-looking gentleman who had so lately been all vivacity and gaiety, I advanced, folded the dear girl to my heart, and gave her such a kiss, as I'll take upon myself to say, she had never before received. Sailors, usually, do not perform such things by halves, and I never was more in earnest in my life. Such a salutation, from a young fellow who stood rather more than six feet in his stockings, had a pair of whiskers that had come all the way from the Pacific with very little trimming, and who possessed a manliness about him of which mere walking up and down Broadway would have robbed a young Hercules, had the effect to cover poor Lucy with blushes and confusion.
“There—that will do, Miles,” she said, struggling to get free—“a truce, I pray you. See, yonder are Grace and my father, and Rupert.”
There they all were, sure enough, the whole family having come out, to take an evening walk, in company with a certain Mr. Andrew Drewett, a young gentleman who was a fellow-student of Rupert's, and who, as I afterwards ascertained, was a pretty open admirer of Rupert's sister. There was a marked difference in the manner in which I was received by Grace and Lucy. The first exclaimed “Miles!” precisely as the last had exclaimed; her colour heightened, and tears forced themselves into her eyes, but she could not be said to blush. Instead of first manifesting an eagerness to meet my salute, and then shrinking sensitively from it, she flung her delicate arms round my neck, without the slightest reserve, both arms too, kissed me six or eight times without stopping, and then began to sob, as if her heart would break. The spectators, who saw in all this the plain, honest, natural, undisguised affection of a sister, had the good taste to walk on, though I could see that their countenances sympathised with so happy a family meeting. I had but a moment to press Grace to my heart, before Mr. Hardinge's voice drew my attention to him. The good old man forgot that I was two inches taller than he was himself; that I could, with ease, have lifted him from the earth, and carried him in my arms, as if he were an infant; that I was bronzed by a long voyage, and had Pacific Ocean whiskers; for he caressed me as if I had been a child, kissed me quite as often as Grace had done, blessed me aloud, and then gave way to his tears, as freely as both the girls. But for this burst of feeling on the part of a grey-headed old clergyman, I am afraid our scene would not altogether have escaped ridicule. As it was, however, this saved us. Clergymen were far more respected in America, forty years ago, than they are to-day, though I think they have still as much consideration here as in most other countries; and the general respect felt for the class would have insured us from any manifestations of the sort, without the nature and emotion which came in its aid. As for myself, I was glad to take refuge in Rupert's hearty but less sentimental shake of the hand. After this, we all sought a seat, in a less public spot, and were soon sufficiently composed to converse. As for the gentleman named Drewett, he waited long enough to inquire of Lucy who I was, and then he had sufficient tact to wish us all good evening. I overheard the little dialogue which produced this explanation.
“A close friend, if not a near relation, Miss Hardinge?” he observed, inquiringly.
“Oh, yes,” answered the smiling, weeping girl, with the undisguised truth of her honest nature—“both friend and relative.”
“May I presume to ask the name?”
“The name, Mr. Drewett!—Why it is Miles—dear Miles—you surely have heard us speak of Miles—but I forget; you never were at Clawbonny—is it not a most joyful surprise, dearest, dearest Grace!”
Mr. Andrew Drewett waited, I thought, with most commendable patience for Grace to squeeze Lucy's hand, and to murmur her own felicitations, when he ventured to add—
“You were about to say something, Miss Hardinge?”
“Was I—I declare I have forgotten what it was. Such a surprise—such a joyful, blessed surprise—I beg pardon, Mr. Drewett—ah. I remember now; I was about to say that this is Mr. Miles Wallingford, of Clawbonny, the gentleman who is my father's ward—Grace's brother, you know.”
“And how related to yourself, Miss Hardinge?” the gentleman continued, a little perseveringly.
“To me! Oh! very, very near—that is—I forget so much this evening—why, not at all.”
It was at this moment Mr. Drewett saw fit to make his parting salutations with studied decorum, and to take his leave in a manner so polite, that, though tempted, I could not, just at the moment, stop the current of my feelings, to admire. No one seemed to miss him, however, and we five, who remained, were soon seated in the spot I have mentioned, and as much abstracted from the scene around us, as if we had been on the rustic bench, under the old elm, on the lawn—if I dare use so fine a word, for so unpretending a place—at Clawbonny. I had my station between Mr. Hardinge and Grace, while Lucy sat next her father, and Rupert next to my sister. My friend could see me, without difficulty, owing to his stature, while I saw the glistening eyes of Lucy, riveted on my face, as leaning on her father's knee, she bent her graceful form forward, in absorbed attention.
“We expected you; we have not been takenaltogetherby surprise!” exclaimed good Mr. Hardinge, clapping his hand on my shoulder, as if to say he could now begin to treat me like a man. “I consented to come down, just at this moment, because the last Canton ship that arrived brought the intelligence that the Crisis was to sail in ten days.”
“And you may judge of our surprise,” said Rupert, “when we read the report in the papers, 'The Crisis,Captain Wallingford.'”
“I supposed my letters from the island had prepared you for this,” I observed.
“In them, you spoke of Mr. Marble, and I naturally concluded, when it came to the pinch, the man would resume the command, and bring the ship home. Duty to the owners would be apt to induce him.”
“He did not,” I answered, a little proudly perhaps, forgetting poor Marble's probable situation, for an instant, in my own vanity. “Mr. Marble understood well, that if I knew nothing else, I knew how to take care of a ship.”
“So it seems, my dear boy, indeed, so it doth seem!” said Mr. Hardinge, kindly. “I hear from all quarters, you conduct commended; and the recovery of the vessel from the French, was really worthy of Truxtun himself.”
At that day, Truxtun was the great gun of American naval idolatry, and had as much local reputation, as Nelson himself enjoyed in England. The allusion was a sore assault on my modesty; but I got along with it, as well as I could.
“I endeavoured to do my duty, sir,” I answered, trying not to look at Lucy, and seem meek; “and it would have been a terrible disgrace to have come home, and been obliged to say the French got the ship from us, when we were all asleep.”
“But you took a ship from the French, in that manner, and kept her too!” said a soft voice, every intonation of which was music to me.
I looked round and saw the speaking eyes of Lucy, just clear of the grey coat of her father, behind which she instinctively shrank, the instant she caught my glance.
“Yes,” I answered, “we did something of that sort, and were a little more fortunate than our enemies. But, you will recollect we were much favoured by the complaisance of poor Monsieur Le Compte, in leaving us a schooner to work our mischief in.”
“I have always thought that part of your story, Miles, a little extraordinary,” observed Mr. Hardinge; “though I suppose this Frenchman's liberality was, in some measure, a matter of necessity, out there, in the middle of the Pacific.”
“I hardly think you do Captain Le Compte justice, sir. He was a chivalrous fellow, and every way a gallant seaman. It is possible, he was rather more in a hurry than he might have been, but for his passengers—that is all—at least, I have always suspected that the wish to have Miss Merton all to himself, induced him to get rid of us as soon as possible. He evidently admired her, and could have been jealous of a dead-eye.”
“Miss Merton!” exclaimed Grace. “Jealous!”
“Miss Merton!” put in Rupert, leaning forward, curiously.
“Miss Merton! And jealous of dead-eyes, and wishing to get rid of us!” said Mr. Hardinge, smiling. “Pray who is Miss Merton? and who are theus? and what are the dead-eyes?”
Lucy was silent.
“Why, sir, I thought I wrote you all about the Mertons. How we met them in London, and then found them prisoners to Monsieur Le Compte; and that I intended to carry them to Canton, in the Crisis!”
“You told us some of this, certainly; but, though you may have written 'all about' aMajorMerton, youforgotto tell us 'aboutallthe Mertons. This is the first syllable I have ever had about aMissMerton. How is it, girls—did Miles speak of any one but the Major, in his letter?”
“Not a syllable to me, sir, of any young lady, I can assure you,” replied Grace, laughing. “How was it to you, Lucy?”
“Of course he would not tell me that which he thought fit to conceal from his own sister,” said Lucy, in a low voice.
“It is odd I should have forgotten to mention her,” I cried, endeavouring to laugh it off. “Young men do not often forget to write about young ladies.”
“This Miss Merton is young, then, brother?”
“About your own age, Grace.”
“And handsome—and agreeable—and accomplished?”
“Something like yourself, my dear.”
“But handsome, I take it for granted, Miles,” observed Mr. Hardinge, “by the manner in which you have omitted to speak of her charms, in your letters!”
“Why sir, I think most persons—that is the world in general—I mean such as are not over-fastidious, would consider Miss Merton particularly handsome—agreeable in person and features, I would be understood to say.”
“Oh! you are sufficiently explicit; everybody can understand you,” added my laughing guardian, who had no more thought of getting me married to his own daughter, than to a German princess of a hundred and forty-five quarterings, if there are any such things; “some other time we will have the particulars of her eyes, hair, teeth, &c., &c.”
“Oh! sir, you may save me the trouble, by looking at her yourself, to-morrow, since she and her father are both here.”
“Here!” exclaimed all four in a breath; Lucy's extreme surprise extorting the monosyllable from her reserve, even a little louder than from the rest.
“Certainly, here; father, daughter, and servants; I dare say I omitted to speak of the servants in my letters, too; but a poor fellow who has a great deal to do, cannot think of everything in a minute. Major Merton has a touch of the liver complaint; and it would not do to leave him in a warm climate. So, no other chance offering, he is proceeding to England, by the way of America.”
“And how long had you these people on board your ship, Miles?” Grace asked, a little gravely.
“Actually on board, with myself, about nine months, I should think; but including the time in London, at Canton, and on the island, I should call our acquaintance one of rather more than a year's standing.”
“Long enough, certainly, to make a young lady sufficiently obvious to a young gentleman's memory, not to be forgotten in his letters.”
After this pointed speech, there was a silence, which Mr. Hardinge broke by some questions about the passage home from Canton. As it was getting cool on the Battery, however, we all moved away, proceeding to Mrs. Bradfort's. This lady, as I afterwards discovered, was much attached to Lucy, and had insisted on giving her these opportunities of seeing the world. She was quite at her ease in her circumstances, and belonged to a circle a good deal superior to that into which Grace and myself could have claimed admission, in right of our own social position. Lucy had been well received as her relative, and as a clergyman's daughter; and Grace on her own account, as I afterwards learned. It would be attaching too much credit to Clawbonny, to say that either of the girls had not improved by this association; though it was scarcely possible to make Grace more feminine and lady-like than she had been made by nature. The effect on Lucy was simply to put a little reserve on her native frankness, and sturdy honesty; though candour compels me to say, that mingling with the world, and, especially the world to which they had been introduced by Mrs. Bradfort, had certainly increased the native charm of manner that each possessed. I began to think Emily Merton so far from possessing any advantage over the two girls, might now improve a little herself, by associating with them.
At the house, I had to tell my whole story, and to answer a multitude of questions. Not a syllable more was said about Miss Merton; and even Lucy had smiles to bestow and remarks to make, as before. When we got to the lights, where the girls could remove their shawls and hats, I made each of them stand before me, in order to ascertain how much time had altered them. Grace was now nineteen; and Lucy was only six months her junior. The greatest change was in the latter. Her form had ripened into something as near as possible to girlish perfection. In this respect she had the advantage of Grace, who was a little too slight and delicate; whereas, Lucy, without any of the heaviness that so often accompanies a truly rounded person, and which was perhaps a slight defect in Emily Merton's figure, was without an angle of any sort, in her entire outline. Grace, always so handsome, and so intellectual in the expression of her countenance, had improved less in this respect, than Lucy, whose eyes had obtained a tenderness and feeling that rendered them, to me, even more attractive than those of my own dear sister. In a word, any man might have been proud, at finding two such admirable creatures interested in him, as interested, every look, smile, syllable, and gesture of these dear girls, denoted they were in me.
All this time, Neb had been overlooked. He had followed us to the house, however, and was already engaged in a dark-coloured flirtation with a certain Miss Chloe Clawbonny, his own second-cousin, in the kitchen; a lady who had attracted a portion of his admiration, before we sailed, and who had accompanied her young mistress to town. As soon as it was ascertained the fellow was below, Lucy, who was quite at home in her kinswoman's house, insisted on his being introduced. I saw by the indulgent smile of Mrs. Bradfort, that Lucy was not exceeding her conceded privileges, and Neb was ordered up, forthwith. Never was there a happier fellow than this 'nigger' appeared to be, on that occasion. He kept rolling his tarpaulin between his fingers, shifting his weight from leg to leg, and otherwise betraying the confusion of one questioned by his betters; for, in that day, anegrowas ready enough to allow he had his betters, and did not feel he was injured in so doing. At the present time, I am well aware that the word is proscribed even in the State's Prisons; everybody being just as good as everybody else; though some have the misfortune to be sentenced to hard labour, while others are permitted to go at large. As a matter of course, the selections made through the ballot-boxes, only go to prove that “one man is as good as another.”
Our party did not separate until quite late. Suppers were eaten in 1802; and I was invited to sit down with the rest of the family, and a gay set we were. It was then the fashion to drink toasts; gentlemen giving ladies, and ladies gentlemen. The usage was singular, but very general; more especially in the better sort of houses. We men drank our wine, as a matter of course; while the ladies sipped theirs, in that pretty manner in which females moisten their lips, on such occasions. After a time, Mrs. Bradfort, who was very particular in the observance of forms, gaily called on Mr. Hardinge for his toast.
“My dear Mrs. Bradfort,” said the divine, good-humouredly, “if it were not in your own house, and contrary to all rule to give a person who is present, I certainly should drink to yourself. Bless me, bless me, whom shall I give? I suppose I shall not be permitted to give our new Bishop, Dr. Moore?”
The cry of “No Bishop!” was even more unanimous than it is at this moment, among those who, having all their lives dissented from episcopal authority, fancy it an evidence of an increasing influence to join in a clamour made by their own voices; and this, moreover, on a subject that not one in a hundred among them has given himself the trouble even to skim. Our opposition—in which Mrs. Bradfort joined, by the way—was of a very different nature, however; proceeding from a desire to learn what lady Mr. Hardinge could possibly select, at such a moment. I never saw the old gentleman so confused before. He laughed, tried to dodge the appeal, fidgeted, and at last fairly blushed. All this proceeded, not from any preference for any particular individual of the sex, but from natural diffidence, the perfect simplicity and nature of his character, which caused him to be abashed at even appearing to select a female for a toast. It was a beautiful picture of masculine truth and purity! Still, we would not be put off; and the old gentleman, composing his countenance five or six times in vain efforts to reflect, then looking as grave as if about to proceed to prayer, raised his glass, and said—
“Peggy Perott!”
A general laugh succeeded this announcement, Peggy Perott being an old maid who went about tending the sick for hire, in the vicinity of Clawbonny, and known to us all as the ugliest woman in the county.
“Why do you first insist on my giving a toast, and then laugh at it when given?” cried Mr. Hardinge, half-amused, half-serious in his expostulations. “Peggy is an excellent woman, and one of the most useful I know.”
“I wonder, my dear sir, you did not think of adding a sentiment!” cried I, a little pertly.
“And if I had, it would have been such a one as no woman need be ashamed to hear attached to her name. But enough of this; I have given Peggy Perott, and you are bound to drink her”—that we had done already; “and now, cousin, as I have passed through the fiery furnace—”
“Unscathed?” demanded Lucy, laughing ready to kill herself.
“Yes, unscathed, miss: and now, cousin, I ask of you to honour us with a toast.”
Mrs. Bradfort had been a widow many years, and was fortified with the panoply of her state. Accustomed to such appeals, which, when she was young and handsome, had been of much more frequent occurrence than of late, she held her glass for the wine with perfect self-possession, and gave her toast with the conscious dignity of one who had often been solicited in vain “to change her condition.”
“I will give you,” she said, raising her person and her voice, as if to invite scrutiny, “my dear old friend, good Dr. Wilson.”
It was incumbent on a single person to give another who was also single; and the widow had been true to the usage; but “good Dr. Wilson” was a half-superannuated clergyman, whom no one could suspect of inspiring anything beyond friendship.
“Dear me—dear me!” cried Mr. Hardinge, earnestly; “how much more thoughtful, Mrs. Bradfort, you are than myself! Had I thought a moment,Imight have given the Doctor; for I studied with him, and honour him vastly.”
This touch of simplicity produced another laugh—how easily we all laughed that night!—and it caused a little more confusion in the excellent divine. Mrs. Bradfort then called on me, as was her right; but I begged that Rupert might precede me, he knowing more persons, and being now a sort of man of the world.
“I will give the charming Miss Winthrop,” said Rupert, without a moment's hesitation, tossing off his glass with an air that said, “how do you likethat?”
As Winthrop was a highly respectable name, it denoted the set in which Rupert moved; and as for the young lady I dare say she merited his eulogium, though I never happened to see her. It was something, however, in 1802, for a youngster to dare to toast a Winthrop, or a Morris, or a Livingston, or a de Lancey, or a Stuyvesant, or a Beekman, or a Van Renssellaer, or a Schuyler, or a Rutherford, or a Bayard, or a Watts, or a Van Cortlandt, or a Verplanck, or a Jones, or a Walton, or any of that set. They, and twenty similar families, composed the remnant of the colonial aristocracy, and still made head, within the limits of Manhattan, against the inroads of the Van—something elses. Alas! alas! how changed is all this, though I am obliged to believe it is all for the best.
“Doyouknow Miss Winthrop?” I asked of Grace, in a whisper.
“Not at all; I am not much in that set,” she answered, quietly. “Rupert and Lucy have been noticed by many persons whom I do not know.”
This was the first intimation I got, that my sister did not possess all the advantages in society that were enjoyed by her friend. As is always the case where it is believed to be ourloss, I felt indignant at first; had it been the reverse, I dare say I should have fancied it all very right. Consequences grew out of these distinctions which I could not then foresee, but which will be related in their place. Rupert now called on Grace for her toast, a lady commonly succeeding a gentleman. My sister did not seem in the least disconcerted: but, after a moment's hesitation, she said—
“Mr. Edward Marston.”
This was a strange name to me, but I afterwards ascertained it belonged to a respectable young man who visited Mrs. Bradfort's, and who stood very well with all his acquaintances. I looked at Rupert, to note the effect; but Rupert was as calm as Grace herself had been, when he gave Miss Winthrop.
“I believe I have no one to call upon but you, Miles,” said Grace, smiling.
“Me! Why, you all know I am not acquainted with a soul. Our Ulster county girls have almost all gone out of my recollection; besides, no one would know them here, should I mention twenty.”
“You strangely forget, brother, that most of us are Ulster county folk. Try if you can recall no young lady—”
“Oh! easily enough, for that matter; a young fellow can hardly have lived nine months in the same cabin with Emily, and not think of her, when hard pushed; I will give you, Miss Emily Merton.”
The toast was drunk, and I thought Mr. Hardinge looked thoughtful, like one who had a guardian's cares, and that Grace was even grave. I did not dare look at Lucy, though I could have toasted her all night, had it been in rule to drink a person who was present. We began to chat again, and I had answered some eight or ten questions, when Mrs. Bradfort, much too precise to make any omissions, reminded us that we had not yet been honoured with Miss Lucy Hardinge's toast. Lucy had enjoyed plenty of time to reflect; and she bowed, paused a moment as if to summon resolution, and then mentioned—
“Mr. Andrew Drewett.”
So, then, Lucy Hardinge toasted this Mr. Drewett—the very youth with whom she had been in such animated discourse, when I first met the party! Had I been more familiar with the world, I should have thought nothing of a thing that was so common; or, did I understand human nature better, I might have known that no sensitive and delicate woman would betray a secret that was dear to her, under so idle a form. But I was young, and ready myself to toast the girl I preferred before the universe; and I could not make suitable allowances for difference of sex and temperament. Lucy's toast made me very uncomfortable for the rest of the evening; and I was not sorry when Rupert reminded me that it was eleven, and that he would go with me to a tavern, in order to look for a room.
The next morning was passed in transacting the business of the ship. I found myself much noticed among the merchants and ship-masters; and one of my owners took me on 'Change, that I might see and be seen. As the papers had spoken of the recapture of the Crisis, on the arrival of the Pretty Poll, and had now each an article on the arrival of the ship, I had every reason to be satisfied with my reception. There are men so strong in principle, as well as intellect, I do suppose, that they can be content with the approbation of their own consciences, and who can smile at the praises or censure of the world, alike; but I confess to a strong sympathy with the commendation of my fellow-creatures, and as strong a distaste for their disapprobation. I know this is not the way to make a very great man; for he who cannot judge, feel and act for himself, will always he in danger of making undue sacrifices to the wishes of others; but you can have no more of a cat than the skin; and I was sufficiently proud at finding myself a miniature hero, about the lower end of Wall-street, and in the columns of the newspapers. As for these last, no one can complain of their zeal in extolling everything national. To believe them, the country never was wrong, or defeated, or in a condition to be defeated, except when a political opponent could be made to suffer by an opposite theory; and then nothing was ever right. As to fame, I have since discovered they consider that of each individual to be public property, in which each American has a part and parcel—the editors, themselves, more than the man who has thrown the article into the common lot. But I was young in 1802, and even a paragraph in my praise in a newspaper had a certain charm for me, that I will not deny. Then Ihaddone well, as even my enemies, if I had any must have admitted.
“Ships are but boards, sailors but men: there be land-rats, andwater-rats, water-thieves, and land-thieves; I mean pirates; andthen, there is the peril of waters, winds and rocks: the man is,notwithstanding, sufficient;—three thousand ducats;—I think I maytake his bond.”—Shylock.
I saw Grace, and Lucy, and Rupert, and good Mr. Hardinge, every day; but I could not find time to call on the Mertons, until near the close of a week. I then paid them a visit, and found them glad to see me, but not at all in want of my attentions to make them comfortable. The Major had exhibited his claims to the British consul, who happened to be a native Manhattanese, and was well-connected, a circumstance that then gave him an influence in society, that his commission alone would not have conferred. Colonel Barclay, for so was this gentleman called, had taken the Mertons by the hand, as a matter of course; and his example being followed by others, I found that they were already in the best circle of the place. Emily mentioned to me the names of several of those with whom she had exchanged visits; and I knew at once, through Lucy's and Grace's conversation, and from my own general knowledge of the traditions of the colony and state, that they were among the leading people of the land, socially if not politically; a class altogether above any with whom I had myself ever associated. Now, I knew that the master of a merchantman, whatever might be his standing with his owner, or consignee, or the credit he had gained among his fellows, was not likely to get admission into this set; and there was the comfortable prospect before me, of having my own sister and the two other girls I admired most and loved best in the world—next to Grace, of course—visiting round in houses, of which the doors were shut against myself. This is always unpleasant, but in my case it turned out to be more.
When I told Emily that Grace and Lucy were in town, and intended coming to see her that very morning, I thought she manifested less curiosity than would have been the case a month before.
“Is Miss Hardinge a relative of Mr. Rupert Hardinge, the gentleman to whom I was introduced at dinner, yesterday,” she demanded, after expressing the pleasure it would give her to see the ladies.
I knew that Rupert had dined out the day before, and, there being no one else of the same name, I answered in the affirmative.
“He is the son of a respectable clergyman, and of very good connections, I hear.”
“The Hardinges are so considered among us; both Rupert's father and grandfather were clergymen, and his great-grandfather was a seaman—I trustyouwill think none the worse of him, for that.”
“A sailor! I had supposed, from what some of those present said—that is, I did not know it.”
“Perhaps they told you that his great-grandfather was aBritish officer?”
Emily coloured, and then she laughed faintly; admitting, however, that I had guessed right.
“Well, all this was true,” I added, “though he was a sailor. Old Captain Hardinge—or Commodore Hardinge, as he used to be called, for he once commanded a squadron—was in the English navy.”
“Oh! that sort of a sailor!”—cried Emily, quickly—“I did not know that it was usual to call gentlemen in the navy, seamen.”
“They would make a poor figure if they were not, Miss Merton—you might as well say that a judge is no lawyer.”
This was enough, however, to satisfy me that Miss Merton no longer considered the master of the Crisis the first man in the world.
A ring announced the arrival of the two girls. They were shown up, and I soon had the satisfaction of seeing these three charming young women together. Emily received her two guests very courteously, and was frank—nay warm—in the expression of her gratitude for all that I had done for herself and her father. She even went back so far as to speak of the occurrence in the Park, at London, and was gracious enough to declare that she and her parents owed their lives to my interference. All this gave her listeners great pleasure, for I believe neither ever tired of hearing my praises. After this opening, the conversation turned on New York, its gaieties, and the different persons known to them mutually. I saw that the two girls were struck with the set Miss Merton was in, which was a shade superior even to that of Mrs. Bradfort's, though the fusion which usually accompanies that sort of thing, brought portions of each circle within the knowledge of the other. As the persons named were utter strangers to me, I had nothing to say, and sat listening in silence. The opportunity was improved by comparing the girls with each other.
In delicacy of appearance, Grace and Lucy each had the advantage of the English beauty. Their hands and feet were smaller, their waists finer, and theirtournures, generally, I thought the most pleasing. Emily had the advantage in complexion, though her colour had less fineness and delicacy. Perhaps her teeth were the most brilliant; though Grace and Lucy, particularly the latter, had very fine teeth. The English girl's shoulders and bust, generally, would have been more admired than those of most American—particularly than most New York—girls; but it was not possible to surpass those of Lucy. As a whole, Emily's countenance had the most spirit, Lucy's the most finesse and feeling. I make no comparison with the expression of Grace's countenance, which was altogether too remarkable for its intellectual character, to be included in anything like a national classification. I remember I thought, as they sat there in a row conversing frankly and cheerfully together, Lucy the handsomest, in her pretty neat morning-dress; while I had my doubts whether Emily would not have extorted the most applause in a ball-room. This distinction is mentioned, because I believe it national.
The visit lasted an hour; for I had expressed a wish to all parties that they would become acquainted, and the girls seemed mutually pleased. As they chatted, I listened to the tones of their voices, and fancied, on the whole, that Emily had slightly the advantage in intonation and accent; though it was scarcely perceptible, and it was an advantage that was attended by a slight sacrifice of the charm of natural utterance. She was a little more artificial in this respect than her companions, and insomuch less pleasing though, had the comparison been made with the Manhattanstyleof the present day, the odds would have been immensely in her favour. In 1802, however, some attention was still paid to the utterance, tones of voice, and manner of speaking of young ladies. The want of it all, just now, is the besetting vice of the whole of our later instruction of the sex; it being almost as rare a thing now-a-days, to find a young American girl who speaks her own language gracefully, as it is to find one who is not of pleasing person.
When the young ladies parted, it was with an understanding that they were soon to meet again. I shook hands with Emily, English fashion, and took my leave at the same time.
“Well, Miles,” said Grace, as soon as we were in the street, “you have certainly been of service to a very charming young woman—I like her, excessively.”
“And you, Lucy—I hope you agree with Grace, in thinking my friend, Emily Merton, a charming young woman.”
Lucy did not speak as frankly, or as decidedly as Grace, so far as manner was concerned; though she coincided in words.
“I am of the same opinion,” she said, in a tone that was far less cheerful than her usually very cheerful manner. “She is one of the loveliest creatures I ever saw—and it is no wonder—”
“What is no wonder, dear?” asked Grace, observing that her friend hesitated to proceed.
“Oh! I was about to say something silly, and had better not finish the speech. But, what a finished manner Miss Merton possesses;—do you not think so, Grace?”
“I wish she had a little less of it, dear; that is precisely what I should find fault with in her deportment. Itismanner; and, though we all must have some, it strikes me it ought not to be seen. I think all the Europeans we saw in town, last winter, Lucy, had more or less of this manner.”
“I dare say it would seem so tous; notwithstanding, it may be very agreeable to those who are used to it—a thing to miss, when one gets much accustomed to it.”
As Lucy made this remark, I detected a furtive and timid glance at myself. I was mystified at the time, and was actually so silly as to think the dear girl was talking at me, and to feel a little resentment. I fancied she wished to say, “There, Master Miles, you have been in London, and on a desert island in the South Seas—the very extremes of human habits—and have got to be so sophisticated, so very un-Clawbonnyish, as to feel the necessity of amanner, in the young ladies with whom you associate.” The notion nettled me to a degree that induced me to pretend duty, and to hurry down to the ship. Whom should I meet, in Rector Street, but Mr. Hardinge, who had been across to the Hudson in search of me.
“Come hither, Miles,” said the excellent old man, “I wish to converse with you seriously.”
As Lucy was uppermost in my thoughts at the moment, I said to myself—“What can the dear old gentleman have to say, now?”
“I hear from all quarters the best accounts of you, my dear boy,” Mr. Hardinge continued, “and I am told you make a very superior seaman. It is a feather in your cap, indeed, to have commanded an Indiaman a twelve-month before you are of age. I have been conversing with my old friend John Murray, of the house of John Murray and Sons, one of the very best merchants in America, and he says 'push the boy ahead, when you find the right stuff in him. Get him a ship of his own, and that will put him on the true track. Teach him early to have an eye to his own interests, and it will make a man of him, at once.' I have thought the matter over, have had a vessel in my eye, for the last month, and will purchase her at once, if you like the plan.”
“But, have I money enough for such a thing, my dear sir—after having sailed in the John, and the Tigris, and the Crisis, I should not like to take up with any of your B's, No. 2.”
“You have forgotten to mention the 'Pretty Poll,' Miles,” said the divine, smiling. “Be under no fear, however, for your dignity; the vessel I have in treaty, is all you could wish, they tell me, having made but one voyage, and is sold on account of the death of her owner. As for money, you will remember I have thirteen thousand dollars of your income invested in stocks, and stocks that cost but ten. The peace has brought everything up, and you are making money, right and left. How have your own pay and private venture turned out?”
“Perfectly well, sir. I am near three thousand dollars in pocket, and shall have no need to call on you, for my personal wants. Then I have my prize-money to touch. Even Neb, wages and prize-money, brings me nine hundred dollars. With your permission, sir, I should like to give the fellow his freedom.”
“Wait till you are of age, Miles, and then you can do as you please. I hold four thousand dollars of your invested money, which has been paid in, and I have placed it in stocks. Altogether, I find we can muster, in solid cash, more than twenty thousand dollars, while the price of the ship, as she stands, almost ready for sea, is only fifteen. Now, go and look at the vessel; if you like her, I will close the bargain at once.”
“But, my dear Mr. Hardinge, do you think yourself exactly qualified to judge of the value of a ship?”
“Poh! poh! don't imagine I am so conceited as to purchase on my own knowledge. I have taken some of the very best advice of the city. There is John Murray, to begin with—a great ship-holder, himself—and Archibald Gracie, and William Bayard—all capital judges, have taken an interest in the affair. Three others of my friends have walked round to look at the vessel, and all approve—not a dissenting voice.”
“May I ask, sir, who have seen her, besides the gentlemen you have named? they, I admit, are, indeed, good judges.”
“Why?—why—yes—do you happen to know anything of Dr. Benjamin Moore, now, Miles?”
“Never heard of him, sir, in my life; but a physician can be no great judge of a ship.”
“No more of a physician than yourself, boy—Dr. Benjamin Moore, the gentleman we elected Bishop, while you were absent—”
“Oh! he you wished to toast, instead of Miss Peggy Perott—” cried I, smiling. “Well, what does the Bishop think of her—if he approve, shemustbe orthodox.”
“He says she is the handsomest vessel he ever laid eyes on, Miles; and let me tell you, the favourable opinion of so good a man as Dr. Moore, is of value, even though it be about a ship.”
I could not avoid laughing, and I dare say most of the readers will also, at this touch of simplicity; and yet, why should not a Bishop know as much of ships, as a set of ignoramuses who never read a theological book in their lives, some of them not even the Bible, should know about Bishops? The circumstance was not a tittle more absurd than many that are occurring daily before our eyes, and to which, purely from habit, we submit, very much as a matter of course.
“Well, sir,” I replied, as soon as I could, “I will look at the ship, get her character, and give you an answer at once. I like the idea, for it is pleasant to be one's own master.”
In that day, $15,000 would buy a very excellent ship, as ships went. The vessel I was taken to see, was coppered and copper-fastened, butt-bolted, and she measured just five hundred tons. She had a great reputation as a sailer, and what was thought a good deal of in 1802, was Philadelphia built. She had been one voyage to China, and was little more than a year old, or the best possible age for a vessel. Her name was the “Dawn,” and she carried an “Aurora” for her figure-head. Whether she were, or were not inclined to Puseyism, I never could ascertain, although I can affirm she had the services of the Protestant Episcopal Catholic Church read on board her afterwards, on more than one occasion.
The result of my examination and inquiries was favourable, and, by the end of the week, the Dawn was purchased. The owners of the Crisis were pleased to express their regrets, for they had intended that I should continue in the command of their vessel, but no one could object to a man's wishing to sail in his own employment. I made this important acquisition, at what was probably the most auspicious moment of American navigation. It is a proof of this, that, the very day I was put in possession of the ship, good freights were offered to no less than four different parts of the world. I had my choice between Holland, France, England, and China. After consulting with my guardian, I accepted that to France, which not only paid the best, but I was desirous of seeing more of the world than had yet fallen to my share. I could make a voyage to Bordeaux and back in five months, and by the end of that time I should be of age, and consequently my own master. As I intended to have great doings at Clawbonny on that occasion, I thought it might be well not to go too far from home. Accordingly, after shipping Talcott and the Philadelphian, whose name was Walton, for my mates, we began to take in cargo, as soon as possible.
In the meantime, I bethought me of a visit to the paternal home. It was a season of the year, when most people, who were anybodies, left town, and the villas along the shores of the Hudson had long been occupied. Mr. Hardinge, too, pined for the country and his flock. The girls had had enough of town, which was getting to be very dull, and everybody, Rupert excepted, seemed anxious to go up the river. I had invited the Mertons to pass part of the summer at the farm, moreover, and it was time the invitation should be renewed, for the Major's physicians had advised him to choose some cooler residence than the streets of a hot close town could furnish, during the summer months. Emily had been so much engrossed with the set into which she had fallen, since her landing, and which it was easy for me to see was altogether superior to that in which she had lived at home, that I was surprised at the readiness with which she urged her father to redeem his promise.
“Mr. Hardinge tells me, sir, that Clawbonny is really a pretty spot,” she said, “and the country around it is thought to be very healthy. You cannot get answers from home (she meant England) for several months, and I know Captain Wallingford will be happy to receive us. Besides, we are pledged to accept this additional favour from him.”
I thought Major Merton felt some of my own surprise at Emily's earnestness and manner, but his resistance was very feeble. The old gentleman's health, indeed, was pretty thoroughly undermined, and I began to have serious doubts of his living even to return to Europe. He had some relatives in Boston, and had opened a correspondence with them, and I had thought, more than once, of the expediency of apprising them of his situation. At present however nothing better could be done than to get him into the country.
Having made all the arrangements with the others, I went to persuade Rupert to be of the party, for I thought it would make both Grace and Lucy so much the happier.
“Miles, my dear fellow,” said the young student, gaping, “Clawbonny is certainly a capitalish place, but, you will admit it is somewhat stupid after New York. My good kinswoman, Mrs. Bradfort, has taken such a fancy to us all, and has made me so comfortable—would you believe it, boy, she has actually given me six hundred a year, for the last two years, besides making Lucy presents fit for a queen. A sterling woman is she, this cousin Margaret of ours!”
I heard this, truly, not without surprise; for, in settling with my owners, I found Rupert had drawn every cent to which he was entitled, under the orders I had left when I last went to sea.
As Mrs. Bradfort was more than at her ease, however, had no nearer relative than Mr. Hardinge, and was much attached to the family, I had no difficulty in believing it true, so far as the lady's liberality was concerned. I heartily wished Rupert had possessed more self-respect; but he was, as he was!
“I am sorry you cannot go with us,” I answered, “for I counted on you to help amuse the Mertons—”
“The Mertons!—Why, surely, they are not going to pass the summer at Clawbonny!”
“They quit town with us, to-morrow. Why should not the Mertons pass the summer at Clawbonny?”
“Why, Miles, my dear boy, you know how it is with the world—how it is with these English, in particular. They think everything of rank, you know, and are devotees of style and appearance, and all that sort of thing, you know, as no one understands better than myself; for I pass most of my time in the English set, you know.”
I did notthenunderstand what had come over Rupert, though it is all plain enough to me,now. He had, truly enough, got into what was then called the English set. Now, there is no question, that, so far as the natives, themselves, were concerned, this was as good a set as ever existed in his country; and, it is also beyond all cavil, that many respectable English persons, of both sexes, were occasionally found in it; but, it had this great defect:—everyEnglishman who wore a good coat, and had any of the slang of society, made his way into the outskirts, at least, of this set; and Rupert, whose own position was not yet thoroughly confirmed, had fallen a great deal into the association of these accidental comers and goers. They talked large, drank deep, and had a lofty disdain for everything in the country, though it was very certain they were just then in much better company where they were, than they had ever been at home. Like most tyroes, Rupert fancied these blustering gentry persons to imitate; and, as they seldom conversed ten minutes without having something to say of my Lord A——or Sir John B——, persons they hadreadof, or seen in the streets, he was weak enough to imagine they knew all about the dignitaries of the British Empire. As Rupert was really a gentleman, and had good manners naturally, it was a grievous thing to see him fashioning himself anew, as it might be, on such very questionable models,
“Clawbonny is not a stylish place, I am ready to allow,” I answered, after a moment of hesitation; “still it is respectable. There is a good farm, a valuable mill, and a good, old, comfortable, straggling, stone house.”
“Very true, Miles, my dear fellow, and all as dear to me, you know, as the apple of my eye—butfarmish—young ladies like the good things that comes from farms, but do not admire the homeliness of the residence. I speak of young English ladies, in particular. Now, you see, Major Merton is a field-officer, and that is having good rank in a respectable profession, you know—I suppose you understand, Miles, that the king puts most of his sons into the army, or navy—all this makes a difference, you understand?”
“I understand nothing about it; what is it to me where the king of England puts his sons?”
“I wish, my dear Miles, if the truth must be said, that you and I had been a little less boyish, when we were boys, than happened to be the case. It would have been all the better for us both.”
“Well, I wish no such thing. A boy should be a boy, and a man a man. I am content to have been a boy, while I was a boy. It is a fault in this country, that boys fancy themselves men too soon.”
“Ah! my dear fellow, youwillnot, ordonot understand me. What I mean is, that we were both precipitate in the choice of a profession—I retired in time, but you persevere; that is all.”
“You did retire in season, my lad, if truth is what you are after; for, had you staid a hundred years on board ship, you never would have made a sailor.”
When I said this, I fancied I had uttered a pretty severe thing. Rupert took it so coolly, however, as to satisfy me at once, that he thought differently on the subject.
“Clearly, it is not my vocation. Nature intended me for something better, I trust, and I mistook a boyish inclination for a taste. A little experience taught me better, and I am now where I feel I ought to be. I wish, Miles, you had come to the study of the law, at the time you went to sea. You would have been, by this time, at the bar, and would have had a definite position in society.”
“I am very glad I did not. What the deuce should I have done as a lawyer—or what advantage would it have been to me, to be admitted to the bar?”
“Advantage!—Why, my dear fellow, every advantage in the world. You know how it is, in this country, I suppose, in the way of society, my dear Miles?”
“Not I—and, by the little I glean from the manner you sheer about in your discourse, I wish to know nothing. Do young men study law merely to be genteel?”
“Do not despise knowledge, my boy; it is of use, even in trifles. Now, in this country, you know, we have very few men of mere leisure—heirs of estates, to live on their incomes, as is done in Europe; but, nine-tenths of us must follow professions, of which there are only half-a-dozen suitable for a gentleman. The army and navy are nothing, you know; two or three regiments scattered about in the woods, and half-a-dozen vessels. After these, there remain the three learned professions, divinity, law and physic. In our family, divinity has run out, I fear. As for physic, 'throw physic to the dogs,' as Miss Merton says—”
“Who?” I exclaimed, in surprise. “'Throw physic to the dogs'—why that is Shakspeare, man!”
“I know it, and it is Miss Emily Merlon's, too. You have made us acquainted with a charming creature, at least, Miles, by this going to sea. Her notions on such subjects are as accurate as a sun-dial.”
“And, has Miss Emily Merton ever conversed with you, on the subject ofmyprofession, Rupert?”
“Indeed, she has; and regretted it, again and again. You know as well as I do, Miles, to be a sailor, other than in a navy, is not agenteelprofession!”
I broke out into a fit of laughter, at this remark. It struck me as infinitely droll, and as somewhat silly. I knew my precise position in society, perfectly; had none of the silly swaggering about personal merit, and of “one man's being as good as another,” that has since got into such general use among us; and understood perfectly the useful and unavoidable classifications that take place in all civilized communities, and which, while they are attended by certain disadvantages as exceptions, produce great benefits as a whole, and was not disposed at all to exaggerate my claims, or to deny my deficiencies. But, the idea of attaching any considerations ofgentilityto my noble, manly, daring profession, sounded so absurd, I could not avoid laughing. In a few moments, however, I became grave.
“Harkee, Rupert,” said I: “I trust Miss Merton does not think I endeavoured to mislead her as to my true position, or to make her think I was a greater personage than I truly am?”
“I'll not answer for that. When we were first acquainted, I found she had certain notions about Clawbonny, and yourestate, and all that, which were rather English, you know. Now, in England anestategives a man a certain consideration, whereas land is so plenty with us, that we think nothing of the man who happens to own a little of it.Stock, in America, as it is so much nearer ready-money, is a better thing than land, you know.”
How true was this, even ten years since; how false is it to-day! The proprietor of tens of thousands of acres, was, indeed, under the paper-moneyregime, a less important man than the owner of a handful of scrip, which has had all its value squeezed out of it, little by little. That was truly the age when the representative of property was of far more importance than the property itself; and all because the country existed in a fever, that set everything in motion. We shall see just such times, again, I fear.