Chapter 3

"——The circling canopyOf night's extended shade."

"——The circling canopy

Of night's extended shade."

1TheLobelia Cardinalis, commonly called theIndian Eye-Bright. It is a beautiful blossom, and is frequently met with in this region. The writer has seen large clusters of it blooming upon the margin of the "Bloody Pond," in this neighborhood—so called from the circumstance, of the slain being thrown into this pond, after the defeat of Baron Dieskau, by Sir William Johnson. The ancients would have constructed a beautiful legend from this incident, and sanctified the sanguinary flower.

CHAPTER X.

HOW HE AGAIN CHANGES HIS CIRCUMSTANCES.

"When I said I would die a bachelor, I did not think that I should live till I were married."—Shakspeare.

"I knew a wench married in an afternoon, as she went to the garden for parsely to stuff a rabbit."—Idem.

The year of our Lord one thousand eight hundred and twenty-two, is yet freshly remembered in New-York, as being the last, (thus far,) in which that metropolis was visited by the afflictive plague of yellow fever. It was also a memorable year in the life of Doctor Wheelwright. Most of the inhabitants were obliged to flee the city—those who could, to the country;—and those who could not, to the temporary lodges hastily constructed for their reception upon the then unoccupied grounds between Broadway and the North River, now covered by Greenwich and the splendid edifices of the fifteenth ward—containing much of the present opulence and taste of the city. The location of the writer hereof was near the hotel and nine-pin alley, kept by Signor Fieschi;—an Italian, celebrated for the excellence of his segars, and for whipping his wife with rods larger than is allowed by the English common law—the size of Lord Chief Justice Holt's little finger being the maximum in such cases.

The Autumn of that year was remarkable for the beauty and clemency of the weather. Knowing that there was little hope for the abatement of the pestilence, and none of its extinction, until after a severe frost, the exiled citizens were never before so anxious for the frosty foretaste of winter. But the heavens continued cloudless, and week after week of ethereal mildness succeeded, until past the middle of October.

It was during this protracted season of sunny weather, that for several days in succession, I observed my old friend Wheelwright passing the window of my temporary office, in company and close conversation with a lady clad in the deepest habiliments of mourning. The doctor was well dressed, and so was the lady; for the suit and trappings of her wo were new as though she was but recent from "the sad burial feast," probably, of her wedded lord. Whether her countenance was as indicative of a sorrowful and bleeding heart, as the deep sables in which she was veiled, I could not tell. But no matter: day after day were they seen strolling leisurely up the then unbuilt portion of Broadway, and among the wooded lanes leading therefrom in the outskirts of the city. Love lane—a retired and charming walk—exactly the place for meditation or making love,—crossing over from the Bloomingdale road to the North River, which has since been "improved" out of existence,—was a favorite place of resort with my old friend and his fair companion—fair, no doubt she was, albeit her beauty was hidden from the vulgar gaze in the manner already indicated.

But who wasshe? Perhaps a sister, or some other near relative of his, whose husband had been swept off by the pestilence, and into whose throbbing bosom he was kindly endeavoring to pour some of the balmy drops of consolation! But no—such could not be the fact, since no corresponding weed of sorrow appeared upon his own well-brushed beaver. Perhaps a stranger, just rendered an orphan, or bereft of a brother by the ruthless hand of the West India plague—an acquaintance of my friend, whose melancholy he was kindly endeavoring to assuage. But, on the other hand, such offices were quite out of his line, since he was not easily moved—unless from one purpose to another—and of all men he was the most unused "to the melting mood." It was truly a perplexing affair; and the mystery was increased by the pains taken by Wheelwright to avoid such an interview with me as might lead to aneclaircissement. Several times did I strive to throw myself in the way of the lady and her assiduous attendant—venturing even to cross their path, on one occasion, for the purpose of making some discovery. But the attempt was vain, for my old acquaintance had apparently become so near-sighted as not to discern a person, unless he came bolt-upright against him—or unless, perchance, on some occasions, when he was sufficiently far-sighted, to enable him to turn a corner in season to avoid an interview. Once, and once only, I received a nod of recognition; but although I had succeeded in gaining a closer proximity than usual, all that I could ascertain through the deep folds of the lady's crape, was an impression that she was pale, pensive, a little pock-marked, and five and thirty. Had the ladies not all been driven from the city by the pestilence, I should most assuredly have engaged some one or more of them to solve the question, whether the doctor was engaged in offices of sympathy, or an affair of the heart—or whether he was actuallyengagedin any way. But there was no pretty familiar at hand skilled in these delicate matters; and I was therefore compelled to forego, for a time at least, the gratification of my curiosity.

Obedient to the law of the disease, with the first sound frost, the fever disappeared; the citizens returned to their respective homes; resumed their wonted avocations; and as usual in New-York, the calamity which had interrupted its business, and driven its inhabitants out of town for half the season, was forgotten, with its consequences, in a fortnight. One of my earliest visiters, after business had resumed its accustomed channels, was none other than the subject of this memoir, whose recent avoidance of me had been marked with so much emphasis. He entered my littlesanctumwith a grin between a smile and a laugh, and was evidently on excellent good terms with all the world, himself not excepted. Without waiting to see what might be his reception, he began:

"Ah, Colonel, how are ye? Escaped the yellow fever, then, eh?"

"Yes: I have been thus fortunate—and am well."

"Is that all you've got to say? I hope you've hearn of my good luck, haint you? You know I've always said the world owed me a living."

"I hope you'll get it: Pray what new scheme are you driving at now, Mr. Wheelwright?"

"Do tell! don't you know that I am now a married man—good as the rest of you?"

"Married, my good doctor! To whom?"

"Why, to a young widow from England, with only one child, and worth thirty-thousand pounds sterling—think of that!"

"Indeed! Well: I wish you joy, doctor. It's a long road that never turns. But I hope there's no doubt"—

"There's no doubt or mistake in the matter. The lady was the widow of an Irish captain, and"—

"The lady in mourning, I presume, to whom you seemed so attentive up town, a few weeks ago? But whence the necessity of keeping so dark upon the subject?"

"I thought it like enough you'd think I was behaving kinder-curious-like. But her husband was lately dead, and she didn't care to see any body just then;—and besides, I was determined nobody should know what was going on betwixt us, till the job was done."

"A rich widow, then, and thirty-thousand pounds—sterling, did you say?"

"Why, to be sure I did."

"And is she young and handsome?"

"She's comfortably good looking—though I don't know that you would say raly handsome. But the thirty-thousand pounds, you know——"

"Very true: But who would have ever dreamed of your turning fortune-hunter?"

"No body had more need on't than I."

"Not handsome, but rich: and so, I suppose you will soon learn to sing the old ballad—

"Hergoldencharms so sweetlyshine,While rising to my raptured view;That I would rather callthemmine,Than anygirlI ever knew!"

"Hergoldencharms so sweetlyshine,

While rising to my raptured view;

That I would rather callthemmine,

Than anygirlI ever knew!"

"Why, you don't mean to poke fun at me, I hope?"

"Not at all: But have you got theready? Did she give you the guineas, or good bills of exchange, with her person?"

"Why, no, not exactly that. The fact is, that her property belonged to her husband, the late Captain Scarlett, of the King's Own, and it's all vested in real estate."

"And you are quite sure?"

"As sure as a gun: just as sure as if I had the money in my hands. She has a long row of housen in Dublin, and owns several housen, besides, in one of the best streets in Liverpool."

Having communicated this agreeable intelligence, Mr. Wheelwright was apparently about taking his departure, and moved to the door; but suddenly turning round, as though some part of his errand had been forgotten, he resumed:—

"So, you see, the small matter I am owing you will soon be paid;—but I shall be obleeged to raise a little money—only a thousand dollars or so—to pay a lawyer to investigate the titles, and I think it like-enough I shall be obleeged to go to England before I get it all settled."

"Oho! Then you are not quite so certain of the fortune, after all. The titles are yet to be examined, eh?"

"But that won't amount to nothing serious though. I know all about it."

"Still, my good doctor, it would have been better had you looked well to those titles before she obtained a title to you."

"But it's of no consequence. You see the case is just here: The captain, d'ye see, had something to do with another woman, who now claims the property for her children; but she wasn't his wife, and it will all come right, as my lawyer tells me, if I can only get him a few hundred dollars to carry it on."

By this time I began to see much more of the poor fellow's case than he did himself. But as it was not particularly convenient for me to accommodate him with another advance, we parted for that time—he to live out his honey-moon in dreams of treasures shortly to be added to the bliss of "wedded love"—and I to indulge in a variety of reflections naturally arising upon the subject, which were doubtless very good, though long since forgotten. The sagacious reader will, perhaps, have no difficulty in arriving at the conclusion that my reflections and Doctor Wheelwright's treasures proved, in the end, of about equal value; and that neither would have been taken as good security by any bank or broker to whom application might have been made for a loan of the required funds. Whether such a conclusion, when arrived at, would be correct or not, will be discovered in a succeeding chapter.

CHAPTER XI.

PREPARES TO LIVE BY HIS LEARNING.

"For now sits Expectation in the air."—Shakspeare.

"A man, to be the governor of an island, should know something of grammar. 'Grammar?' replied Sancho, 'who the d——l is he?'"—Don Quixotte.

The mellifluous bard of Twickenham was egregiously mistaken when he pronounced "a little learning" to be "a dangerous thing." Had it not been for the modicum of letters, small as it was, acquired by Mr. Wheelwright, at the school of which I had occasion to speak early in the present history, to say nothing, as seems most meet, of the university, his family would now have been rather short of bread and butter. They had great possessions, of the which they were not yet possessed. But these were a great way off; and, most unfortunately, somebody else had obtained the occupancy, and held the titles. Nor, from the existing state of Mr. Wheelwright's finances, according to the report of his counsel, was there any immediate prospect of his soon becoming master of what was now in the right of his wife unquestionably his own. The consolation, however, was, that in the end, when those in the unjust possession of the property should be ejected, they would be compelled to disgorge the accumulating revenues from the rental, and other sources of income. Meanwhile it was necessary that Mr. Wheelwright should set about doing something "to make the pot boil." Accordingly, after casting round for an occupation which promised to produce the greatest income for the least bodily or mental exertion and the smallest capital, it was determined by himself and lady to establish a classical school for the instruction of young ladies and gentlemen, in one of the most flourishing villages adjacent to the city of New-York.

Mr. Wheelwright was too well acquainted with the way in which most public objects for private advantage are managed now-a-days, not to secure the countenance, and, if possible, the editorial assistance of the conductor of a "happy folio of four pages," which once a week poured forth its treasures of knowledge for the enlightenment of the good people in the village, and the region round about, even to New-Utrecht and Flatlands. He therefore, and that wisely, sought the acquaintance of the gentleman of paste and scissors, with an advertisement ready prepared—of somewhat formidable dimensions—and for the composition of which he was indebted to a retired schoolmaster, who had cheerfully rendered this little service for the occasion. Like most of the conductors of the latter-day luminaries which dispense that sound political wisdom and universal knowledge which render the people of this nation "the most intelligent on earth," the editor was very accessible and gracious. Indeed, he was truly desirous of testifying the satisfaction he felt, on the accession to his village of an institution which promised so many advantages, particularly to the gentler sex of the rising generation; and which would offer another inducement for people to do their eating, and sleeping, and tax-paying on Long Island, and their business in New-York. His next publication, therefore, contained the following article:—

"From the Longa Insula Astra, Dec. 10, 1822."We take great pleasure in calling the attention of those of our citizens who are parents to the article which will be found immediately below. It was indeed handed in as an advertisement; but we feel so deeply interested in the object proposed, to say nothing of the classical and poetical beauty of the article itself, that we could not forbear awarding to it a greater conspicuity. Indeed we scarcely know when we have published an article with more heart-felt pleasure. The gentleman and lady, we understand, have been reduced by a succession of misfortunes, from a state of affluence to that of much humbler circumstances. But with that noble spirit of independence which, we are proud to say, is so peculiarly the indweller of American bosoms, they have determined to rise superior to their misfortunes, and win for themselves that patronage which they have heretofore had it in their power to dispense. We have had the pleasure of a personal interview with the gentleman who is to have the charge of the proposed institution. He appears to be well educated, modest, and unassuming—a master of the ancient languages, as his lady is of the modern; and from what we have heard, we doubt not their ample qualifications for the undertaking. Mrs. W. has enjoyed the advantages of foreign travel, which will enable her to form the manners of her pupils after the best models of thesalonsof Paris, Vienna, and London; and we believe that by her judicious counsel she has been of great service to the most celebrated female seminaries in New-York, as also to the distinguished seminary in Troy—all of which, we trust, will soon be rivalled by that of our own village. It is the design of Mr. and Mrs. Wheelwright to extend their institute as rapidly as will be consistent with their means, and in the course of a year or two to obtain a charter for a college, with power to confer degrees upon their female as well as their male pupils. And why not? The intellectual equality of females with males has been fully established by the Edgeworths, and Hannah Mores, and Lady Morgans of Europe, and by females equally illustrious among our own fair countrywomen, only they do not occur to us just at this moment. Why, then, should not female proficients be entitled to degrees of merit, as well as nine-tenths of the blunder-heads who go through college, and come out no wiser than they went in? For our parts we shall stand up for female rights,—for, as the poet says:—"The world was sad, the garden was a wild,And man, the hermit, sighed, till woman smiled."We therefore hope the college will go on, and when we obtain the South Ferry, we will look about to see what is to be done next. But we have not room to extend our remarks—of which, however, there is no occasion, since the eloquent article below will speak for itself."EDUCATION."'Tis education shows the way,Each latent beauty to display;Each happy genius brings to light,Conceal'd before in shades of night;—So diamonds from the gloomy mine,Taught by the workman's hand to shine,On Chloe's ivory bosom blaze,Or grace the crown with brilliant rays."PHILOMATHIAN INSTITUTE."Mr. and Mrs. Wheelwright beg leave to announce to parents and guardians in this village and its vicinity, that on the 1st of January now ensuing, they will open a literary and classical institution for the instruction of the rising generation—both of young gentlemen and ladies. The rising glories of this western hemisphere have scarcely yet begun to be developed; and as Mr. and Mrs. Wheelwright have been deeply impressed with the importance, in a young and rising republic, of having the youth of the land, of both sexes, reared in the paths of virtue and the intellectual flower-garden of knowledge, they have determined to devote their best faculties to the sacred cause of education,—fully believing, from the inexpressible interest they feel upon the subject, that they shall be enabled to exclaim with the immortal poet—"'Delightful task! to rear the tender thought,And teach the young ideahow to shoot!'"From long and profound reflection upon the never-sufficiently-enough-to-be-estimated subject of education, Mr. and Mrs. Wheelwright have become entirely and unchangeably persuaded that all existing systems of instruction are essentially, and radically, as they may say, if not from the root, erroneous, and consequently defective as it were; and they trust that they shall be enabled to introduce such improvements and innovations in the science of teaching, as essentially to assist the spirit of a generous emulation in its efforts for noble rivalry; to aid the aspirations of a well-regulated ambition; and to encourage, in all possible and practicable ways, the desire of young genius to wing his eagle flight, as it were, on the pinions of intellectual corruscations. Every branch of human learning, either useful or ornamental, or of the least utility, will be taught at the Philomathian Institute, for which Mr. and Mrs. Wheelwright feel the utmost confidence in their own capacities and qualifications; since, in addition to being a graduate of one of the first universities of the age in which we live, Mr. W. has studied a learned profession, and Mrs. W. is possessed of the superior advantage of having been reared and educated in several of the leading European capitals. The utmost regard will be had to the morals and manners of such young aspirants as may be entrusted to their charge. To invigorate the constitutions of the pupils, a gymnasium will be provided for the boys of the male sex, and one hour per day will be devoted to callisthenics in the female department, to be occupied by the girls. In this department, the higher branches of instruction, both useful and ornamental, will be prosecuted under the immediate superintendence of Mrs. Wheelwright, who will spare no pains in the inoculation of the soundest lessons of virtue, while yet their young and youthful minds can be bent like the twig, and inclined like the tree, as the poet says. Those who desire it will receive instruction in the elements of moral philosophy, for which purpose they must be provided with Newtown's Principles, and other works of the kind. Mrs. Wheelwright has paid much attention to this sublime and beautiful study, which so enraptured the immortal Milton:—"'How charming is divine Philosophy!Not harsh and crabbed, as dull fools suppose,But musical as Apollo's lute,And a perpetual feast of nectar'd sweets,Where no rude surfeit reigns.'"It is to such a feast that the young ladies of this village will soon be invited. Great pains will moreover be taken to cultivate the domestic habits and affections, as the poet says:—"'Man may for wealth and glory roam,But woman must be bless'd at home;To this should all her studies tend,This her great object, and her end.'"At the same time no efforts will be spared to keep their young budding minds from vicious associations, and to render them as sweet as innocent, as innocent as gay, as gay as happy:—"'Vice is a monster of such frightful mien,As to be hated, needs but to be seen;But seen too oft, familiar with his face,We first endure, then pity, then embrace.'"Knowing this to be true from experience, the principal and vice-principal of the Philomathian Institute will do all in their power to keep their pupils in the paths of wisdom, and pleasantness, and peace, as Shakspeare, the sweet swan of Avon, says. In one word, it will be the object and aim of Mr. and Mrs. Wheelwright to qualify the young gentlemen to act nobly their part in this republican monarchy, and the young ladies whose education has been so long neglected—whose minds have so long been evolved in Siberian darkness—and as it were wasting their sweetness on the desert air—for the wives and mothers of freedom."

"From the Longa Insula Astra, Dec. 10, 1822.

"We take great pleasure in calling the attention of those of our citizens who are parents to the article which will be found immediately below. It was indeed handed in as an advertisement; but we feel so deeply interested in the object proposed, to say nothing of the classical and poetical beauty of the article itself, that we could not forbear awarding to it a greater conspicuity. Indeed we scarcely know when we have published an article with more heart-felt pleasure. The gentleman and lady, we understand, have been reduced by a succession of misfortunes, from a state of affluence to that of much humbler circumstances. But with that noble spirit of independence which, we are proud to say, is so peculiarly the indweller of American bosoms, they have determined to rise superior to their misfortunes, and win for themselves that patronage which they have heretofore had it in their power to dispense. We have had the pleasure of a personal interview with the gentleman who is to have the charge of the proposed institution. He appears to be well educated, modest, and unassuming—a master of the ancient languages, as his lady is of the modern; and from what we have heard, we doubt not their ample qualifications for the undertaking. Mrs. W. has enjoyed the advantages of foreign travel, which will enable her to form the manners of her pupils after the best models of thesalonsof Paris, Vienna, and London; and we believe that by her judicious counsel she has been of great service to the most celebrated female seminaries in New-York, as also to the distinguished seminary in Troy—all of which, we trust, will soon be rivalled by that of our own village. It is the design of Mr. and Mrs. Wheelwright to extend their institute as rapidly as will be consistent with their means, and in the course of a year or two to obtain a charter for a college, with power to confer degrees upon their female as well as their male pupils. And why not? The intellectual equality of females with males has been fully established by the Edgeworths, and Hannah Mores, and Lady Morgans of Europe, and by females equally illustrious among our own fair countrywomen, only they do not occur to us just at this moment. Why, then, should not female proficients be entitled to degrees of merit, as well as nine-tenths of the blunder-heads who go through college, and come out no wiser than they went in? For our parts we shall stand up for female rights,—for, as the poet says:—

"The world was sad, the garden was a wild,And man, the hermit, sighed, till woman smiled.

"The world was sad, the garden was a wild,

And man, the hermit, sighed, till woman smiled.

"We therefore hope the college will go on, and when we obtain the South Ferry, we will look about to see what is to be done next. But we have not room to extend our remarks—of which, however, there is no occasion, since the eloquent article below will speak for itself.

"EDUCATION."'Tis education shows the way,Each latent beauty to display;Each happy genius brings to light,Conceal'd before in shades of night;—So diamonds from the gloomy mine,Taught by the workman's hand to shine,On Chloe's ivory bosom blaze,Or grace the crown with brilliant rays."PHILOMATHIAN INSTITUTE.

"EDUCATION.

"'Tis education shows the way,Each latent beauty to display;Each happy genius brings to light,Conceal'd before in shades of night;—So diamonds from the gloomy mine,Taught by the workman's hand to shine,On Chloe's ivory bosom blaze,Or grace the crown with brilliant rays.

"'Tis education shows the way,

Each latent beauty to display;

Each happy genius brings to light,

Conceal'd before in shades of night;—

So diamonds from the gloomy mine,

Taught by the workman's hand to shine,

On Chloe's ivory bosom blaze,

Or grace the crown with brilliant rays.

"PHILOMATHIAN INSTITUTE.

"Mr. and Mrs. Wheelwright beg leave to announce to parents and guardians in this village and its vicinity, that on the 1st of January now ensuing, they will open a literary and classical institution for the instruction of the rising generation—both of young gentlemen and ladies. The rising glories of this western hemisphere have scarcely yet begun to be developed; and as Mr. and Mrs. Wheelwright have been deeply impressed with the importance, in a young and rising republic, of having the youth of the land, of both sexes, reared in the paths of virtue and the intellectual flower-garden of knowledge, they have determined to devote their best faculties to the sacred cause of education,—fully believing, from the inexpressible interest they feel upon the subject, that they shall be enabled to exclaim with the immortal poet—

"'Delightful task! to rear the tender thought,And teach the young ideahow to shoot!'

"'Delightful task! to rear the tender thought,

And teach the young ideahow to shoot!'

"From long and profound reflection upon the never-sufficiently-enough-to-be-estimated subject of education, Mr. and Mrs. Wheelwright have become entirely and unchangeably persuaded that all existing systems of instruction are essentially, and radically, as they may say, if not from the root, erroneous, and consequently defective as it were; and they trust that they shall be enabled to introduce such improvements and innovations in the science of teaching, as essentially to assist the spirit of a generous emulation in its efforts for noble rivalry; to aid the aspirations of a well-regulated ambition; and to encourage, in all possible and practicable ways, the desire of young genius to wing his eagle flight, as it were, on the pinions of intellectual corruscations. Every branch of human learning, either useful or ornamental, or of the least utility, will be taught at the Philomathian Institute, for which Mr. and Mrs. Wheelwright feel the utmost confidence in their own capacities and qualifications; since, in addition to being a graduate of one of the first universities of the age in which we live, Mr. W. has studied a learned profession, and Mrs. W. is possessed of the superior advantage of having been reared and educated in several of the leading European capitals. The utmost regard will be had to the morals and manners of such young aspirants as may be entrusted to their charge. To invigorate the constitutions of the pupils, a gymnasium will be provided for the boys of the male sex, and one hour per day will be devoted to callisthenics in the female department, to be occupied by the girls. In this department, the higher branches of instruction, both useful and ornamental, will be prosecuted under the immediate superintendence of Mrs. Wheelwright, who will spare no pains in the inoculation of the soundest lessons of virtue, while yet their young and youthful minds can be bent like the twig, and inclined like the tree, as the poet says. Those who desire it will receive instruction in the elements of moral philosophy, for which purpose they must be provided with Newtown's Principles, and other works of the kind. Mrs. Wheelwright has paid much attention to this sublime and beautiful study, which so enraptured the immortal Milton:—

"'How charming is divine Philosophy!Not harsh and crabbed, as dull fools suppose,But musical as Apollo's lute,And a perpetual feast of nectar'd sweets,Where no rude surfeit reigns.'

"'How charming is divine Philosophy!

Not harsh and crabbed, as dull fools suppose,

But musical as Apollo's lute,

And a perpetual feast of nectar'd sweets,

Where no rude surfeit reigns.'

"It is to such a feast that the young ladies of this village will soon be invited. Great pains will moreover be taken to cultivate the domestic habits and affections, as the poet says:—

"'Man may for wealth and glory roam,But woman must be bless'd at home;To this should all her studies tend,This her great object, and her end.'

"'Man may for wealth and glory roam,

But woman must be bless'd at home;

To this should all her studies tend,

This her great object, and her end.'

"At the same time no efforts will be spared to keep their young budding minds from vicious associations, and to render them as sweet as innocent, as innocent as gay, as gay as happy:—

"'Vice is a monster of such frightful mien,As to be hated, needs but to be seen;But seen too oft, familiar with his face,We first endure, then pity, then embrace.'

"'Vice is a monster of such frightful mien,

As to be hated, needs but to be seen;

But seen too oft, familiar with his face,

We first endure, then pity, then embrace.'

"Knowing this to be true from experience, the principal and vice-principal of the Philomathian Institute will do all in their power to keep their pupils in the paths of wisdom, and pleasantness, and peace, as Shakspeare, the sweet swan of Avon, says. In one word, it will be the object and aim of Mr. and Mrs. Wheelwright to qualify the young gentlemen to act nobly their part in this republican monarchy, and the young ladies whose education has been so long neglected—whose minds have so long been evolved in Siberian darkness—and as it were wasting their sweetness on the desert air—for the wives and mothers of freedom."

Added to this eloquent and promising proclamation, introduced as we have already seen, by the editor, were the names of sundry presidents of colleges, reverend doctors, editors, especially of the religious papers, various public officers, among whom were the governor of the state, the mayor and recorder, several classical teachers, and other gentlemen, as references—most of whom when applied to, declared that they had never heard of the concern before; others admitted that they had allowed reference to be made to their names, because they knew nothing against it; while a few assented to the high qualifications of the teachers without scruple.

As to the morality of such an unauthorized use of great names, on the one part, and the authorized use of them on the other, merely to avoid the utterance of a monosyllable of two letters, when the effect is a deception upon the public, it is not a subject for present discussion. Both practices are abuses of the times, which have been carried to such an extent that nothing can be more unmeaning than references of this kind—in regard as well to schools, and "institutes," and "seminaries," as to the publication of books by subscription, and the superior merits of patent blacking and razor-straps; as to which, by the way, it has always been a subject of speculation to the writer, why a reverend divine or an eminent physician should be supposed better qualified to give an opinion than a boot-black or a barber. Here, therefore, "let us breathe," as Shakspeare says, "and happily introduce a course of learning and ingenious studies," in the next chapter.

CHAPTER XII.

OF THE MARCH OF MIND.

"Smith.The clerk of Chatham: he can write, and read, and cast accompt.Cade.O monstrous!Smith.We took him setting of boys' copies.Cade.Here's a villain!Smith.H'as a book in his pocket with red letters in't.Cade.Nay, then, he's a conjuror.Cade.Dost thou use to write thy name? or hast thou a mark to thyself, like an honest man?Clerk.Sir, I thank God, I have been so well brought up that I can write my name."—Shakspeare.

"Smith.The clerk of Chatham: he can write, and read, and cast accompt.

Cade.O monstrous!

Smith.We took him setting of boys' copies.

Cade.Here's a villain!

Smith.H'as a book in his pocket with red letters in't.

Cade.Nay, then, he's a conjuror.

Cade.Dost thou use to write thy name? or hast thou a mark to thyself, like an honest man?

Clerk.Sir, I thank God, I have been so well brought up that I can write my name."—Shakspeare.

"Hail, wedded love"—"and all that sort of thing."

Milton and Matthews.

It may well be imagined that the appearance of such a flourishing literary manifesto as that set forth in the preceding chapter, created an uncommon sensation in the village. The ladies admired the distiches of poetry with which the pompous proclamation was so plentifully sprinkled, and the gentlemen, not being conversant with those convenienthelps, the "Elegant Extracts," supposed of course that the advertisers must be persons of considerable erudition. Indeed, the thing took wonderfully, and nothing was thought of, or talked of, by ambitious mothers, and those opening rose-buds, their daughters, for the full period of nine days, but the new "Institute," or "Seminary"—the old-fashioned word "school" never being once mentioned. Nor were the lords of creation unmindful of the good fortune in which they were so soon to rejoice. Various situations were proposed and discussed, for the site of a new edifice which would doubtless be required within a twelve-month, and real estate rose exorbitantly in every vicinity thus designated. A charter from the Legislature was of course to be applied for, and several meetings of those who were to form the Board of Trustees, were held to adjust the details. The privileges of a college were to be obtained, with the power of conferring the same degrees upon female students, as upon males—forgetting, in their ardor, that the constitution offemaleBachelors and Masters of Arts would be a misnomer in any other country than Ireland. In one word, there was to be no other classical institution, in this country or any other, comparable with it—and to it the nuns of Canada, the Moravians of Bethlehem, and the azure-hosed professors of modern Ilium, would forever thereafter be compelled to send for instructers.

It need not be added, that under all this excitement, and in view of all these measures, on the opening of the institute, there was a rush of pupils, promising golden returns to the accomplished and enterprising teachers. As to its progress, and the moral and intellectual results, the biographer has not been supplied with the materials for a minute history. It is known, however, that the principals provided themselves with the most modern, and consequently the best elementary "helps" to be found in the bookstores. Justice also requires of the biographer to say, that his friend Wheelwright did not enter upon his preceptorial duties without many severe misgivings; and for some weeks previous to the opening of the seminary, he applied himself to the work of preparation with unwonted assiduity. But he was nevertheless sadly deficient, as may well be supposed. Still, in his classes of geography and rhetoric, he managed to get along for several weeks, by the aid of those convenient instruments of instruction, which contain all necessary questions and answers at the bottom of the pages—Kames and Malte-Brun done over again by sciolists, so that the real authors would be astonished to find how greatly they had been simplified. Alexander's Virgil, also, reflecting the Latin of one page back in English from the other, was of great assistance to him. But in arithmetic and grammar he was completely at fault. He had never been able to repeat the whole multiplication table; and he now found it utterly beyond his capacity to work a common problem in the rule of three. In grammar, moreover, he could never quite distinguish between a noun and a verb; and although he almost committed the rules, and could enumerate the several parts of speech, yet he could never apply the principles in parsing.

It was not long, therefore, before the most forward of his pupils began to discover that they knew more than their instructer—and the natural consequences—contempt and insubordination—speedily followed.

Meantime the qualifications and efforts of Mrs. Wheelwright, in the other branch of the institute, were presently discovered to be equally, even if not more, defective and profitless. She was an Irish lady by birth—had resided for a time in Scotland, and likewise in England—previous to her visit across the channel to complete her education in the capital ofla grande nation. When she left the emerald isle, "her speech," to use a phrase of Lord Bacon, "was in the full dialect of her nation." She had afterward conversed enough with English and Scotch, to complete the union of the three kingdoms—to all which was added such a smattering of French as was to be acquired by a residence—as afemme de chambre, as it was afterward scandalously reported—in Paris of a year or perhaps more. She had readily picked up a good many French words, in the course of her sojourn; but her Gallic pronunciation was blended with all the other dialects, among which the brogue of her own mother tongue ludicrously enough predominated.

The reader has probably heard the story of the Yankee candidate for the mastership of one of our common schools, who, on being asked by the inspectors whether he knew any thing of mathematics, answered that he didn't know Matthew, although he had seen a good deal of one Tom Mattocks, in Rhode Island; but he'd never hearn of his having any brother. So with Mrs. Wheelwright—Mr. Syntax was equally a stranger to her. But she had seen some coarse pieces of embroidery from the rustic pupils of country boarding schools, and knew that they were needlework, of some sort. She therefore set herself to teaching that elegant branch of the fine arts. The first group attempted, was a family picture—a mother and her six children at the tomb of their deceased husband and father, under what was meant for a willow tree drooping over an obelisk. But such a group! such a widow! and such weeping children! Indeed they lookedsorryenough. Surely no eye e'er saw such scare-crows; and no one could look upon them without emotion—but of what kind, the reader, who has doubtless seen many kindred specimens in this department of a modern education, may decide for himself. The next piece was the Prodigal Son, taking leave of his benevolent father, in a red dress-coat and white-top boots! The drawings were copies, and the needlework resembling the darnings in the hose to be seen on the heels of the ladies sitting in the country markets. Thus much for her fancy work; and the French she taught was on a par. Such French had never before been spoken—out of Ireland!

Such were the condition and prospects of this hopeful seminary, when another unexpected change came over the temporal circumstances of poor Wheelwright. The girls under the charge of his accomplished consort having been engaged in a frolic during her absence to prepare the pottage for dinner—and girls at school will always have their frolics—the gentle instructress returned in a rage, flushed with passion, the heat of the kitchen fire, and perhaps a drop of thecrathur—swore several big Irish oaths that she would have no more such carryings on by thechildersin her house, and by the powers, she would be afther clearing them out—the spalpeens!—that's what she would, honies!

It was her first outbreak of the kind, and the little misses were appalled, and many of them, thinking, perhaps, that she was crazy, or had "a drop in her eye," ran home in affright. Nor did their parents, or at least the most of them, allow their children again to return.

"Rare are solitary woes," says the poet—on the contrary, they are ever apt to be treading each other's heels; and it was so with the hero of this biography in the present instance. The school had been undertaken as a temporary resource, during the pendency of the legal measures necessary to obtain his estates. It had now been suddenly broken up, and that, too, before any thing but delays and expense had been realized. An incident that occurred the day following, moreover, might have occasioned misgivings as to the future to a man of quicker perceptions than Mr. Wheelwright—but fortunately his wife was the earliest riser. It happened that as his spouse was exchanging some rather undignified jokes with the milkman, a jolly son of Erin came along, whose rubicund visage kindled with a thousand smiles as his eyes rested on the lady.

"Och! the top o' the morning to you, Misthress Judy O'Calloran!" says Pat. "Divil burn me, but it's a long while sin my eyes have seen the like o'ye, Misthress Judy," he continued.

"And that's you, Misther Thady O'Flannerty," replied the fair one—"but I'm not Misthress Judy O'Calloran,—and d'ye think it's myself that does'ent know."

"Troth, and if ye're not Misthress Judy, honey, then it's not your dare ould mother's darther that ye be."

"Whisht!" rejoined the lady:—"Don't ye percave that it's not I—it's not Judy—botheration, Thady—how can ye be afther coming where you ain't known?"

"Och, Judy, thin ye see if it's not ye'rsel, it's bekase I'm not Thady O'Flannerty that was, sin the wake last night. But it's mighty unnathural if it's not Judy I suspict. And where's the man that ye had, Pat Rooney that was!"

"Get ye gone, ye baste," replied the amiable Misthress Wheelwright, "you mallet-headed bog-throtter, to hinsult an honest woman all of a suddint so. No gintilman would thrifle with a dacent woman afther this gate, whin he'd niver seen her."

"Och, murther in Irish now, and it's the blissed thruth, Misthress Judy, that I was tellin ye. But thin, such is the way of the world—Saint Pathrick save us! If the crathur hadn't bin afther laving her own husband, and runnin' off with Pat Rooney, may be that her darlint ould mother's life would have bin extinded many years afther her death—shame on the crathur! But thin, it's not the ould lady's wake that would have bin the last that Thady O'Flannerty attinded in Limerick—bad luck to her!"

Long before her unwelcome acquaintance had finished his oration, however, the indignant lady had scampered into the house, slamming the door after her with great violence, and dashing her pitcher of milk to fragments by the same unguarded action. But Thady followed on, as though to make good his acquaintanceship, and was met at the threshhold by Wheelwright himself, who had been aroused by the clamor.

"And plase your honor," says Thady, "can you tell me where is Misther Whalewright's boardin'-school that was, that's called the siminary that is?"

"Thatwas—sure enough,—said Wheelwright, bitterly. I 'spose this is the place you're looking for as-like-as-not."

"Arrah, thin it's the right place that I'm already in—thanks to Misthress Judy for that. And thin, there's a letter for your worship's honor, and that's yer'self!"

Wheelwright took the despatch, and at once perceived from the superscription, that it was a missive from his counsel. He was turning upon his heel, but Thady, unwilling to retire without a fee, arrested his retreat by saying:—

"Faith, thin, but I'm thinking your honor's mimory is none of the longest, and that a thrifle of change would do me no harm for the throuble I've had."

Wheelwright, hoping that he was the bearer of agreeable tidings from his estates, threw him all but his last quarter, and Thady took his leave with,

"Blissings on your honor, and long life to ye; and as your worship is a civil-spoken gintilman, may be ye'll not think it bowld if I jist hint to your honor, that if Misthress Judy there is a servant, she needs looking to—and bad luck to her!"

Not having heard the street dialogue already related, this benevolent caution was lost upon the husband, who, on opening the note, found it as he had anticipated—a summons to call upon his lawyer in the city. High with hope, therefore,—upon the pleasures of which he had been living already too long,—not doubting that success had at length crowned the exertions of his legal advisers,—and supposing, therefore, that the school was just dissolving at the fortunate moment when it was no longer necessary to his support, he hastened across the ferry. But alas! Little indeed did he anticipate the cause of his summons to the city. The development fell upon his disappointed senses like the crash of a thunderbolt. In the progress of his investigations, the learned counsel had discovered that the accomplished lady of my friend, was none other than one of the unmarried wives of the lamented Captain Scarlett, and that the legal representatives were already in the secure possession of his estates!

CHAPTER XIII.

HE LIVES AS HE HAD NEVER EXPECTED.

"My stars shine darkly over me"—Shakspeare.

"A most poor man, made tame by fortune's blows."—Idem.

How little do one half of the world know how the other half live! And how just the remark of Goldsmith, that they who would know the miseries of the poor, must see life and endure it. More especially do these remarks hold good in respect to the inhabitants of crowded cities. In country towns, and small villages, every body knows every body, and, very commonly, almost too much of every body's business. But in large cities, the people are huddled together in close proximity, and are yet as much strangers to each other as though divided by a waste of wilderness or waters. The rich, who fare sumptuously; the middling class, who have enough, and a little to spare; and the squalid wretch who would be overjoyed with a basket of coals, and a joint of meat; may all be found in the same block, and yet neither one of them know any thing of the comforts, the distress, or the affluence of the other. The middling and lower classes of people in the country are prone to form an undue estimate of the advantages, and the comparative ease, of a city life. Because so much is said of the wealth of cities, they imagine that all who dwell in them must be rich, and consequently have no hard labor to perform. But it is a sad mistake. "Great cities," says the philosopher of Monticello, "are great sores;" and if the envious and discontented poor know little of the splendid misery of the fancied rich,—of the number of aching heads and hearts upon beds of down,—much less do the truly rich, living within great cities, and the world at large without them,—know of the wretchedness and the crime, the poverty and the woe, to be found in the great and crowded marts of trade and commerce in every country. Were mankind, in general, better informed upon these particulars, there would be less of envy in the world, and less of poverty. There would likewise be fewer people "well to do" in the country, crowding to the cities, to become beggars, and at last either to find dishonorable graves, or, when honestly dead, to merit the Italian inscription upon a well man who took physic—"I was well—I wished to be better—and here I am."

During the five years immediately succeeding the catastrophe recorded at the close of the last chapter, I neither saw, nor heard a syllable from, the subject of this narrative. The winter of 1827-28, was one of extraordinary severity in New-York. The month of January, in particular, was unusually tempestuous and severe. Those of the common poor, who had been the most improvident and reckless when they should have husbanded their earnings, were brought upon the public bounty considerably earlier than usual, and backs "hanging in ragged misery" were already more plenty than was wont.

It was on a bitterly cold Saturday morning of that month, that my old and unfortunate friend presented himself in my office—but alas how changed! He looked exceedingly dejected and poverty-stricken—as though what little of energy he ever might have possessed, had been utterly extinguished by the withering touch of penury. A single glance of course served to show that matters had gone hard with him—and that if "the world owed him a living," as he was formerly wont to boast, it was turning him off with a very scanty one. A storm, which had been fiercely raging for several days, gave no signs of exhaustion.—The snow, which had been falling for fifty or sixty hours—not in a fleecy shower, but mingled with cutting particles like hail—filled the atmosphere, and with each successive gust of a stiff northwester, was whirled aloft in vast curling sheets and wreaths—or driven through the narrow streets with a force that was blinding and almost irresistible. Nor man nor beast ventured forth, save from dire necessity, and it seemed as though the storm-king with his fiercest aspect, and armed with all his terrors, had made a conquest of the city.—Wheelwright's left arm was in a sling, and his tattered garments afforded but a sorry protection against the rude peltings of the pitiless storm, of which I have given a very inadequate description.

After the ordinary and reciprocal inquiries as to health, &c. had been interchanged, he sat several minutes with averted eyes, and without uttering a syllable. I saw that he was embarrassed, poor fellow!—and turned to the window—viewing the clouds of snow that were high upborne, like a canopy over the city, or playing in fantastic wreaths as the wind whistled around the cornices of the contiguous buildings—that he might collect himself. At length he broke silence nearly as follows:—

"I'm afeard you will think I have come on rather curious business-like—for me."

"How so? What is the case, Mr. Wheelwright?"

"Why, I've had a hard life on't, since I seen you, when my school was broke up; and I've called to see—I was too proud once to come of such an arrant—but I thought 'twas likely you would not see a poor family suffering in such a storm as this."

"Surely not—if it is in my power to render assistance."

"Well, I thought as much—and I've called to see if you have not some second-hand clothes, and a little something to eat, that you can give us—or any thing else that you can spare—for we are in very great distress."

"Indeed—in actual want—of food and clothes, did you say? What has brought——

"O, don't ask—that woman there—I little thought I should ever come to this."

"Why have you not informed me of it before? Pray what is the matter with your hand, doctor?"

"I accidentally run a gouge through it, and hain't been able to do any work since. We had nothing to live upon. My hands were my only resources from day to day;—my working tools, and every article of furniture in the house, to the last blanket, the last shirt, and my wife's last shawl, have been pawned at the broker's, to enable us to keep the breath of life in us. We have now neither a stick of wood to burn, nor a morsel to eat!"

"Can it be possible, my dear sir, that you are reduced to a condition so deplorable? Why have you not been to see me sooner?"

"I was ashamed."

"But you need not have been. You should not have been left to suffer deprivations like these."

"I knew that, very well; but after all that has happened, I wished to bury myself, and never see the face of an old friend again. I hoped to live through, until my hand got well, and then I could have gone to work again."

"Work? What work?"

"You know I had partly larnt a trade once—pity I ever left it!—and as I retained knowledge enough of the use of tools to make common bedsteads, after my school run down, and my visions of property all vanished, I engaged in that business, and have contrived to get a poor living by it ever since, until I cut my hand so dreadfully."

"But your wife—cannot she do something with her needle?"

"What! that woman?"——

He paused, and heaved a deep sigh. It was a bitter exclamation, from the heart.

"No," he continued. "She has no faculty for getting along. She does nothing but harass my life out."

"A misfortune, in—

"True enough, I missed the fortune; and I should not have come to you now, but that we are freezing, and the children were shivering and crying for something to eat, when I left."

"Children! How many have you?"

"The woman, you know, had one when I married her, and we have had two since. One of these is dead. I am not sorry. Poor little fellow! he is much better off."

But it is needless to continue the colloquy. My heart bled for him. His tale of want and woe was told with the honest simplicity of truth. He did not shed any tears, but looked as though he was past weeping—like the personification of disappointment and despair.

From his relation it appeared, that during four years, my unfortunate friend's only income had been derived from the manufacture of the common article of furniture already mentioned. His place of residence and workshop were in the remote eastern part of the city. He had never the means of purchasing the materials for more than one bedstead at a time, and was obliged, from his extreme poverty, to carry the timber on his shoulders from the Albany Basin to his shop—a distance of two miles. This labor he performed at evenings. The article done, he had then to carry it to the furniture auction rooms in Chatham-square, for sale. The profit, over and above the cost of the materials, constituted the whole of his income—sometimes amounting to a dollar upon each, and sometimes to not more than two and six-pence—according to the run of the sales. And thus from day to day, for four long years, had the poor fellow been living, as we have seen, without allowing the friends of his better years to know where he was, or in what business or occupation he was engaged. Having once been the cause of his father's ruin, he was resolved not to call upon the old gentleman again while he could possibly avoid it, or preserve life without it. The motive for his conduct in this trying emergency, was honorable; and in the present hour of his bitter affliction I felt more sympathy for him, than I had ever supposed it possible to entertain for a man who, in times past, had made such indifferent use of his advantages. If there is any thing in this world that can subdue the passions, damp the ardor, or quench the spirit of a man, it is biting, remediless, hopeless poverty. Many are the minds, far more powerful than that of Mr. Wheelwright, which have sunk under its chilling influence. And my wonder was, how the doctor had borne up as well as he seemed to have done, under the complication of calamities which had befallen him.

Having heard his woeful relation through, I did what any one entitled to the name of man, would have done under the like circumstances. He was provided with an overcoat, and furnished with a little basket of provisions; and I promised to call in the afternoon, and examine into his condition for myself; albeit one of the ancient writers hath informed us that "he that spendeth his liuelode to helpe the poore at theyr nede, semeth mad vnto hym who hath reposed the ayd of this presente lyfe in worldlie riches."

The melancholy history just related by my unfortunate friend, threw me, after his departure, into a train of musing upon the vicissitudes of life, and the inequality with which Fortune distributes her favors. I could not help calling to mind Miss Edgeworth's admirable tale of Murad the Unlucky, and his friend the lucky Saladin. Like the former, Wheelwright seemed destined but to fall from one calamity into another, and effort to retrieve his affairs, did but plunge him deeper into the slough of misery. I could not but perceive, however, that as in the case of the persecuted Mussulman, the misfortunes of my poor friend had their origin in his own bad management, and to speak the honest truth, of common sense. The wound in his hand, indeed, might perhaps be accounted an unavoidable casualty; but had it not been for his previous errors, this misfortune would not have proved the cause of such hopeless penury and suffering.

We shall see, ere we close our tale whether a better if not a brighter destiny did not await him in coming years. Meantime, those who would avoid contemplating a scene of suffering like that which is to follow, should remember with Seneca,—"He that never was acquainted with adversity, has seen the world but on one side, and is ignorant of half the scenes of nature."

Too many there are, even in this boasted age of benevolence, who are thus ignorant of the scenes referred to by the ancient moralist—who believe it a virtue to be rich, and that there is no sin but beggary. "When fortune wraps them warm"—while their tables smoke with savory viands, and the choicest wines distil their grateful aroma—they turn a deaf ear to every sound of distress, exclaiming,

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