 | CHAPTER III. The life and adventures of Arthur Clenning, in two volumes |  |
3. CHAPTER III.
“Where liberty dwells there is my country.”
When they left New York for Lake Champlain,
it was the middle of May and deep spring;
and that spring was as green, as pleasant, as
perfumed, as blossom-decked, and as splendidly
dressed a personage as poets have represented
her. The vendure and the landscape were
neither of the tropical richness and grandeur of
the South Sea islands, nor yet the deep and
unvarying verdure that clothes the sod amidst
the chill airs and dark sky of England. This
verdure was healthful, fresh, cheerful, and united
the happiest tints of both the other extremes. Mr.
Clenning remarked, with new sensibility, that
his wife, notwithstanding all the depressing
anxieties that must crowd on her mind in relation
to the future, had native enthusiasm, genius, and
admiration for natural beauty and grandeur.
Her eye kindled as their splendid steamboat
swept majestically along the bay, and up the
handsomest river in the world. In passing the
highlands, she never tired in looking upon this
sublime river scenery, the numerous sails, all
gliding by them, the appearance of bustle
and life all around, the proud triumphs of art in
the noble boat, that mounted the stream with her
untiring and self-derived power; the towering
and precipitous hills, summit beyond summit;
the green vales reposing between the noble seats,
marking the contrast with their embowering
verdure, by their white fronts, and spires and
farm houses, the abodes of rural competence and
comfort; the masses of well-dressed passengers,
the young, opulent and beautiful, walking on the
decks of the noble passing steamboats, apparently
as fine and as merry as the spring birds.
Mr. Clenning looked at the enthusiastic and
delighted contemplation of his wife as they were
propelled rapidly up this noble stream, and
especially as they passed West Point. Her eye
brightened with new admiration. Her language
in describing her enjoyment, and in painting the
impressions which she derived from the scenery,
was embodied in the very conceptions of poetry.
But, alas! thought he, this world was made for
Cæsar, and not for the unhappy fortune-stinted
beings who have cultivated the endowment of
keen sensibilities, and those vivid perceptions,
which equally expand with pleasure and shrink
with pain, and who have neither money, nor that
kind of fame which brings the value of money.
Amidst a landscape so splendid, and, to her,
this scene of surpassing vernal richness, in this
new and delightful way of passing in an Adriatic
palace, breasting the stream, gay with its
streamers and pennons of pride; amidst a crowd
of passengers, all either possessing or counterfeiting
the semblance of opulence, and seeming
to have no pursuit on the earth, but that of Leviathans
in the sea, to “take their sport therein;”
amidst a multitude of their fellow beings, who,
to their sensitive apprehensions, looked as if they
were scrutinizing the beautiful Augusta and her
charming child, and her wild and gigantic Rescue,
and the thought-marked and sun-stricken
countenance of her husband, only to espy the
nakedness of the land; all this charm of travelling,
so delightful to those who felt that they had
plenty of money, and could afford to give up
their minds to enjoyment, was, to them, little
better than a heart wearing business of calculation—five
dollars to this point, six dollars to
that, and fifty dollars in the whole to that beautiful
headland, fading away in the distance.
Nor could he avoid the distressing calculation,
at such a place I shall have but so much, and at
another, a sum still more diminutive. All this,
too, was so indispensable to furnish an ark, an
asylum, food and raiment, even the most common
and unexpensive, for those dearer to him than
life. How often did the taper fingers, the slender
person, which seemed to have been formed not
to be visited too roughly by the winds, remind
him in his wife, as she sat apart and pensive,
apparently engaged in contrast of her own condition
with the gay and unthinking proud ones
about her, bring to his mind the bitter thought
of the sphere from which he had caused her to
fall! Travelling, thought he, is a pleasure, which
none can afford to enjoy, but the rich. To those
who are poor, this necessary arithmetic of calculation,
this tenacious memory of those who
provide the comforts and accommodations of
transport is indeed a “sore evil under the sun.”
Along with these painful circumstances, it was a
pleasant one, that the amiable minister, and his
church officers, were in company. They were
deemed respectable, as characters whose place in
society was well known. The respect which
they exemplified in their deportment, won that
of the passengers in general, and soothed and
kept this family in countenance.
The minister was a person of great dignity of
appearance. He had a fine silver voice, poetic
diction, and that kind of mélange of religion and
sentiment which is generally so attractive to ladies.
The liking between him and Mrs. Clenning
was mutual. He was a man of sufficient tact
and feeling to value her taste, and to feel the
influence of her refined manners. The church
something like restraint and awe in her presence,
and they ascribed these feelings to the effect of
supposed pride in her; and they mutually discussed
and settled her as a woman doomed to
the united misery of poverty and pride in this
life, and to final and hopeless misery in the life
to come. They pitied their fellow townsman, as
a man who had been led away by his fancy, to
marry a lady with no portion, but a beautiful
face and a plentiful stock of poverty and pride,
of which they good-naturedly remarked, there
was already plenty at home. Much as they
talked of spiritual mindedness, and having the
world, as they phrased it, under their feet, and
their affections simply on things above, could
they have been informed what offers Mr. Clenning
had slighted to retain this incumbrance,
their contempt no doubt would have been greater
still. It is not at all improbable that they would
have found him guilty of the still higher offence
of withholding a daughter from her father. In
short, they were saints at particular times and
places; and during the six days for work and
calculation, they were shrewd, worldly wise men,
who valued a man by his ready money, and by
his credit in bank. The minister readily apprehended
this estimate of things and dared not
manifest all his kindness of feeling towards this
family in presence of these men. To make
and gave them a pledge that he would use
all his influence in favour of them, in his native
town.
At Albany they shifted from the steamboat to
the stage, for the magnificent Champlain canal
was not then in operation. The rural and
charming ride through the country to Mr. Clenning's
native village, caused the eyes of Rescue to
sparkle with something of their wonted brightness
when in her native island. Here were hills,
valleys, springs, rivers, woods, and enough of
the original features of nature in her unspoiled
freshness, to kindle in her bosom the dormant
instincts and associations of her native country
They were cheered and happy; and among their
enjoyments, none were more prominent than the
delighted prattle of the young Augusta, charmed
with seeing the lambs play, and asking a thousand
questions about the new objects that every
moment met her eye.
At length, from afar, the eye of Mr. Clenning
caught the spire of Whitehall, and the beautiful
sleeping waters of his native lake. There reposed
the silver flood in its grand vase and verdant
mountains. How his heart bounded at the view!
“There,” said he, “dear Augusta, is the humble
home where I was born. You will not think the
less of me because you will find that I first saw the
light in a cottage. How far we have wandered!
fate has united us! We are poor; but with innocence
and love, we can be happy in enjoyments
which are beyond the reach of fortune. She responded
by a smile of affection and confidence,
that said more than a volume of professions;
and he relapsed to his musings, as the stage carried
them into the village. What a crowd of
recollections rushed upon him! How soothing
the remembrance of youthful anticipations and
enjoyments, retraced by memory! Infancy with
its peculiar enchantments; childhood with its
simple meditations and dawning passions; manhood
with its sturdier purposes, more earnest
passions, and its keener perception of the sad
reality of things, its blasted hopes and disappointed
ambition—all these at once crowded on
his mind like the images, at once distinct and
blended, of a long dream. The wastes of ocean,
over which he had been wafted; the perils of the
deep that he had encountered and escaped; the
various difficulties through which he had passed;
the lovely woman, with an aspect and manner at
once so frail, foreign, and different from the
colour of his lot; the beautiful child beside him;
the strange inhabitant of the South Seas brought
here among the Green mountains—these were
strange contrasts to bring back to the peaceful,
humble, and laborious sphere of his birth.
As they drew near the house where the stage
the thoughtfulness on his brow, some of the bitter
fancies that he was chewing, handed him Augusta
to kiss, and pressing his hand, she said,
“My dear Arthur, your people are my people.
Your home is my home, and where thou diest,
there also will I die. Be assured, even in thought,
I never separate you from all my pride and respect.
That pride to which you have more than
once alluded, is subdued, and subdued for ever.
I am practically taught that there is no one thing
worth living for, but domestic affection and happiness.
Smooth your brow, I beseech you. I
should neither love nor respect you more, if you
were carrying me to a palace. This is a good
country. Everything here tends to inspire self-respect.
I have proved to you, little promise as
my appearance might seem to give, that I know
how to labour, be contented and happy. We
lived in London in contented industry. We
will so live here. Fear nothing. Only let me
see you cheerful and tranquil, and every thing
will go well.” Rescue added, “Yes, massee, me
work so hard, only let me see massee look as he
used to look on the island.”
This is the family secret of philosophy—to
banish despondency and enkindle those purposes
of cheerful and confiding industry, which are
worth the proceeds of the mines. But after all,
when Mr. Clenning stopped at the paternal door,
nature. He was compelled to admit, that unequal
alliances are “a sore evil under the sun.”
He was constrained to allow the wisdom and
justice of that order of society, which brings
equals together, and tends to raise difficulties in
the way of incompatible and unequal unions.
He knew that, not an hour after their arrival
would elapse; the joyful greetings would be
scarcely past; the hair-breadth escapes only
touched upon, before there would be mental
calculations within, touching the difficulty of
lodging, feeding and accommodating, such an
additional number of people in their family. Let
those, who know how to sound the sources of
bitterness in the human heart, imagine what he
felt from these mingled sensations, as they knocked
at the door, and were admitted.
The family poured upon them, and the good
father and mother embraced their lost, and returned
son, in the fullness of unrestrained parental
affection. Nothing could exceed the kindness
and joy of the whole family. The brothers and
sisters, seemed to have imbibed an uncommon
portion of feeling and hilarity. In a few hours,
the house was crowded with visitors, who had
come to hear the strange tale, and see the strange
sight. Even the maiden aunt broke the ice
about the fountains of her feeling, and whispered
madam Clenning the elder, that Arthur's wife
infinite honour to the family; and that to put
every thing in a proper train to meet the new
expenses, she would break in a few dollars upon
her precious annuity. Rescue saw by a glance
of the eye how the land lay, and, after the first
two hours of narrative—in which she carried on
a clever little episode of her own to her own
listening audience—she was in the kitchen,
giving abundant demonstrations, that she was
handy at all the preparations for supper. They
supped in plenty, and talked to a crowded audience,
until midnight. In short, the reception
was infinitely more cordial, and went off far
better, than the fears of the returned son had
anticipated.
But the raptures of the return could last but
for a few days. The story was soon an old one.
The congratulations of the villagers were over.
The united family had taken a kind of thanks-giving
tea-party, with all the families of the village.
The effervescence of the adventure began
to subside. Former relations began to exercise
their wonted influence. All parties had had
time to breathe, and settle their estimate of Mr.
Clenning's lady. It would be, if not an amusing,
at least an instructive, though it might be a
long and a tedious chapter, to give here all the
comments, by the most considerable people in
the village, upon the character and deservings
fortunes, her husband, from self-respect, had
necessarily left a degree of ambiguity about the
relation between her and her father, though it
was sufficiently understood, that she had no expectations
of property, from that quarter. A
hundred solutions of this mystery had been
attempted. A thousand poetical inventions, each
more extravagant and unjust than the other,
were put in circulation, and there was abundant
food for gossip in every family. It is an unhappy
fact to record of human nature, that,
although they had little more than conjecture to
go upon, most of these fictions were exceedingly
unfavourable to the party interested. Every
pretty girl in the village, felt that her beauty, if
not a crime, was a provoking fault. Every
would be fine lady found her native grace and
elegance of manners, an arrogant assumption.
Her white hands and her delicate person, were
scanned in no favourable point of light; and
there was a general and quiet exultation at the
close of the comment, which amounted to a feeling
of pleasure, that madam, with her lady airs
and fine form, would have to come to hard work.
There were not wanting mothers with pretty
daughters, who could see no beauty in her daughter;
and then, what a fright was their poor
slave! They generally agreed, that every rule
of benevolence called upon them to instruct her
service, into which, they did not doubt, she was
beguiled or compelled. It is a painful and
humiliating view of human nature, that when
we have no grounds on which to judge, we are
much more prone to form harsh and unfavourable
estimates of character, than the reverse.
Mr. Clenning soon after their arrival, had a
conversation with his mother upon the subject.
She admitted, that if beauty were the first point
in a wife, her son had made an admirable choice.
“But,” she continued, “what is the use of
beauty here? It is well enough to be comely,
and not particularly ugly. But, where is the
use of being handsomer than your sisters? But,
indeed, Arthur, you were always a fine looking
boy yourself, and foolishly nice in your notions
of beauty in others. See, what comes of it.
Will the fine looks and grand carriage of your
wife clothe your children, build you a house, or
buy bread for you: What are you going to do
with her beauty and high birth here? She cannot,
that I can discover, do any sort of house
work, and you know, Arthur, we have no money
to maintain fine ladies with. High birth is a
good thing, and I imagine, we are as well born
as she is—but your sisters will never labour to
maintain a fine lady in idleness. Poor Arthur,
I fear you have made a very foolish bargain.
What a different match I could have made for
not only your fortune, but all the rest of us rich.
Instead of that, you have returned as poor as
you went, and have brought back a fine lady
into the bargain.”
This was indeed a harsh lecture to her son;
but he knew, that it was dictated by sincerity
and good intention, if not cheering views of his
case. He answered, and it was all the answer
which the case admitted, that all this information,
however wise and useful it might have been
before the fatal knot was tied, was wholly useless
now, since it could not in the slightest degree
operate upon the past; but, he added,
that it was due to truth, as well as his wife, to
add, that if the greatest fortune in the world
were put into the hands of any other woman,
and he was sure, she would share it with him,
and his choice were again to be made, he would
again select his dear lang syne, were she as
pennyless, as when they united their affections
on the island. To this she replied, that the
Clennings had always been a wilful race; that
love would go where it would; that the Clennings
had been constantly sliding down hill, for
four generations, and that this useless flounce of
finery stitched on to their family garment, she
thought, would do little to help the cause; that,
“as he had brewed, so he must bake:” adding
a very respectable string of proverbs, after the
folly of her son's choice.
Something was to be done. Mrs. Clenning
was a woman too charming, intelligent, and, we
must add the word, too fashionable, not to excite
a great deal of envy, and ill feeling, and ill
natured remark, in the village. It would be well
if we were not obliged to add, that there was
envy towards her in her husband's own family.
Her husband's sisters complained of having to
attend upon a lady. The maiden aunt found
fault with her small hand, and the lilies and
roses in her cheeks. All this she well understood,
and the rising of her father's spirit within,
at times almost suppressed her breath. But, she
had learned practical calmness and self-possession,
in the school of adversity. She suppressed
resentful thoughts as they arose; kept as much to
herself as possible; and made no mean attempts
to conciliate her sisters-in-law, doing them little
kindnesses in relation to their finery, which
subdued their envious feelings against themselves.
Through the whole of the trial, she
maintained a calm placidity of spirit; but she
prayed earnestly, that Providence would make
known some way, in which, by honest industry,
they could be independent without causing her
continued humiliation, or the necessity of much
intercourse with people who slandered and envied
her.
Mr. Clenning was aware, that as soon as
things should have found their ancient bearings
in the family, and the first flow of kind feeling,
created by his return should have worn away,
and the thoughts of the family should have resumed
their ancient channel, they would begin
to manifest a disposition to get rid of him, as a
burden upon them. He knew too, that the less
a man needs kindness and sustenance, the more
ready people are to bestow it upon him, and the
reverse. As soon, then, as he began to hear
insinuations about the smallness of the house,
and the expensiveness of living, and indirect
questions, how he intended to dispose of himself
and his lady wife for the future, he gave them
to understand, that he had nearly sixteen hundred
dollars in possession, and a thousand more
at command, when he chose to order it. Never
had information such an electric and transforming
effect. The pennyless dead-weight member
of the family, with a fair wife for a negative sign
in algebra, became transformed in a moment
into a man of consequence. An industrious and
frugal man, with that amount of money, they
declared a rich man. Why had he deceived
them, by making up a face of poverty? For
that sum he could purchase two sections of land
in the western country, build a good house, and
stock his farm. He passed at once, in the view
of the family, from humiliation to exaltation.
their lady sister-in-law. The news moved in
the village. The airs and dresses of Mrs. Clenning
seemed now fashionable, and matters well
worth being copied.
Some friends began to stir themselves in his
behalf. The post-office was vacant by the death
of the late incumbent, and the income was four
hundred dollars. The house in which the post-office
was kept, a beautiful white cottage on the
shore of the lake was to be rented. Interest was
made that he should be appointed. On enquiry
he learned that there were no more than thirty-six
applications for it. He was advised to repair
to Mr. M. member from the district in congress,
a man who had obtained his place by crouching
and purring to the people in the first instance,
who was alternately a toad eater to the great,
and a tyrant to the small—a union much more
common, than is generally imagined. Mr. Clenning
wished his interest with the post-mastergeneral.
This little great man received him as
a Mandarin of the blue button, and drew himself
up in his chair. “Sir, what are your pretensions?”
Mr. Clenning's voice clung to his jaws.
“I repeat, sir,” said the great man, “what are
your pretensions? Before the respondent could
answer, there came in one of those clever fellows,
who, like the engineer of a steamboat, keep the
electioneering machine in operation. The lion
this mover of the sovereign people. Undoubtedly
the disclosures were of a nature unfit for unhallowed
ears. So, requesting Mr. Clenning to
remain, they retired and were closeted.
When he returned, the member was a great
man again, and resumed the question, What were
Mr. Clenning's pretensions? The latter suggested
that he was a good penman, accountant and so
forth; the only qualifications which he supposed
important, after integrity, in a post-master. He
showed a beautiful specimen of his penmanship.
“Oh, that is all well!” replied the great man,
“every one is a scholar in these times. That is
nothing. There are thirty-six applicants, sir.
Every one writes a good hand, and moreover,
every one of them has a father, or a brother, and
a circle of friends. This man's father was a revolutionary
officer. That man is nephew to
Gov. L. A third has a sister that married judge
R. who has great influence in S.” In this way
he run through the value and pretensions of
each one of the thirty-six applicants. “A thing,
sir,” said he, “is worth what it will bring in the
market. Now let us compare your pretensions.
The Clennings have some influence, not much,
however. Can you make a speech, such as we
hear now in Congress? Do you know how to
tickle the people? Can you electioneer? Can
you lie? Can you write?” Mr. Clenning replied,
much, to think of any thing of the kind. “Then,
sir, you are not the man for a post-master.
There is influence in it. We give and take, sir.
We do for you. You must do for us.” The
question finally turned upon his capability at
writing, and he showed Mr. Clenning a most
abusive electioneering article in the newspaper,
traducing an important public functionary, and
lauding a candidate intended to supplant him.
“What think you of that, sir? Can you match
it?” Mr. Clenning answered, that he saw nothing
difficult in writing it, for that of all writing, such
kind of abuse was the easiest; and that a wooden
writen might be easily invented, to utter as good;
but that a man, who was either an honest man or
a gentleman, could never condescend to use such
language for any person, or with any inducement.
This clenched the nail. “Oh, sir,” said
the great man, “I beg your pardon. I perceive
you have honesty, and a conscience, and are
scrupulous. Sir, all this is teeth outwards, and
for the people. You will soon find, that this is
not the kind of qualification for a post-master's
place, for which there are thirty-six applications.
You had better consult the minister, sir. He,
too, talks about a conscience. You must excuse
me. We are busy in preparing for the electioneering
campaign. I shall be glad to serve you
in any other way.”
Mr. Clenning, equally in disappointment and
disgust, turned away. “This is a hard world,”
said he, “but I must try it again.” He passed
the beautiful place, which he described, on his
way back again. Its bignonias and honey-suckles
were unfolded in all their splendour, and the
gentle ripples of the lake lulled at the foot of
the garden. He had been flattered that the great
man would help him to this sweet place, and that
he would create an agreeable surprise for his
wife, by imparting the good news in the first instance
himself. It went to his heart, to see her
fair face beginning to be sicklied over with the
cast of anxiety and care. What a delightful
thought would it have been, to have told her,
that this charming place between the mountains
and the lake was hers! The place looked more
provokingly pleasant, in passing it now in the
hour of his disappointment, than it had ever done
before.
He took the ironical advice of the great man,
and repaired to the minister, and laid his difficulties
before him. He was not a little piqued
by the reference of the congressman to him, and
he probably served Mr. Clenning from motives
compounded partly of temper, and partly of
benevolence. The effect was, that he served
him heartily. The minister was fourth cousin
to Mr. C. of New York, and was allowed the
privilege of intimacy with that distinguished man.
as Opperbanjo, in Japan, is to Banjo.
The one was a very great man, and the other
only a great man. The minister wrote for him,
staking all his influence. In a few days, Mr.
Clenning received an answer from him, that he
would exert his influence with the postmaster
general. As soon as the mail could return from
Washington the appointment arrived.
When the announcement was made to Augusta,
the father, the mother, the child, and Rescue,
were, probably, for the time being, the happiest
people in the world. Embraces, and tears of
affection and joy were not wanting. This would
banish the grim spectre of poverty for a while,
and until they could procure a farm, which was
their ultimate purpose. They both alike despised
the miserable dependence upon favour and office
as a final reliance for their domestic arrangements.
The name of postmaster, too, gratified
some of the English feelings of his wife. Such
is human nature, that every one sees their nearest
and most intimate friend, when that friend has
recently received a place of trust and value, as
the ancient poets imagined the aspect of shades—
something larger than life. In truth, there was
something singularly bland and soothing in her
caresses and congratulations, as she allowed that
a great man was a great man in America, and
England, and all the world over.
This good fortune, along with other circumstances,
placed them at once on the dizzying
pinnacles of good society in the village. The
grand presentation of a stranger in a country
village at the north, is the appearance of the
personage at church on the Sabbath. Mr. Clenning's
family took a pew, made themselves as
fine as they could, and made their entré at church
the first Sabbath after this appointment. Let
them talk about the throbbings of heart on being
introduced at court, or making the maiden
speech in congress hall, or delivering a fourth of
July oration, or any other gridiron experiment
that can be proposed. They are all a sham, a
terrific man of straw, compared with the making
entré into a full village church on a Sabbath
day, after the services have commenced. There
is such a blaze of simple beauty! There is so
much majesty in the gray patriarchal heads and
the pondrous canes of the ancient tenants of the
body seats! The religious solemnity and stillness
are so imposing! There is such a sanctity in the
dignity annexed by opinion to the grand but
unostentatious part of the minister! When a
strange family, like that of Mr. Clenning's enters,
there is such a consentaneous movement of heads,
such a rustling of gowns, such a rattling of the
little falling trap tables, so conveniently devised
either as an asylum for the head for profound
meditation or a profound nap! Instead of all the
fragrance of drugs from Araby the blest, the
church is filled with the more delicious odours of
the northern pond-lily. There is no place, no
union of circumstances of interest, no delightful
and hallowed associations that may not be found
in a northern church on a fine spring Sabbath.
Mr. Clenning was ready for this solemn affair
in good season, and begged Augusta to be also
in season. But this is a domestic impossibility
never to be remedied. He fidgetted, and showed
his impatience, as the bell began to ring.
Augusta blushed, became a little nervous, and
probably thought her husband, for that time, in
bad temper, but did not nevertheless remit adding
one touch of finish to her own dress, and
that of her beautiful and fairy-like daughter.
Rescue, too, was awful in no small blaze of
savage finery. All these preparations were not
completed until fifteen minutes after the bell had
ceased to be heard. The clear and mellow voice
of the minister reading the hymn, echoed from
the walls, as they entered. Their pew was near
the pulpit. The church was an oblong square.
Amidst a mass of people as close as they could
be compacted into their pews, this strange procession
walked along the aisle. One would have
thought there was but one soul and one neck to
a thousand people. Such a rustling! such an
excitement of the moved fragrance of the pond-lily.
minister might get the attention of whom he
could. Some smiled. Some blushed. Some
envied, and all supposed that they had come at
that time merely to excite observation. Mr.
Clenning, who knew the estimate of the audience,
could have sunk to the earth to avoid observation.
Not so Augusta. She was perfectly calm
and at home in all this attention. It excited, in
fact, the pleased consciousness that it was all her
due, and it reproduced the momentary complacency
of gone by days.
It would be no useless nor uninteresting history
to recite the various incidents, estimates,
greetings, and management, through which they
had to pass, in taking their place, and finding
their level in the society of the village. A fair
history of the society of a country village would
be a thousand times more interesting than a
novel; and besides the interest of the picture, it
would be one of the most useful views of society
that can be presented. But taste has not yet matured
sufficiently to relish such a picture, and,
perhaps, the historian does not yet exist who has
the requisite discrimination and felicity to draw it.
The actings of concentred ambition, self-importance,
scandal, envy, and ill-feeling, which in a
city, operate over a wide mass, and are spread
through such a variety of interest and feeling,
are all concentred in the village; with the added
place, standing, estimation, society, and all the
incidental circumstances of intercourse, have
been arranged by prescription, and every one
naturally settles into the niche which he is destined
to fill. Far otherwise in the village. Prescription
has settled nothing. There is at once
an union and distinction, an equality and inequality,
which are always varying. All the
elements of pride, vanity, and envy, are at all
times in a state of chaos and confusion. Storms
are always fermenting.
Mr. Clenning had returned to the society of
his native village, under circumstances which
naturally raised him from the place occupied by
his father's family. It was in vain by humility,
and gentleness, and courtesy to them, that he
endeavoured to keep this truth out of sight. He
soon found, that in discussing him and his family,
his foes were those of his own household. A
large proportion of the villagers soon found him,
as they said, insupportably proud, and that he
felt himself rising too rapidly in his business.
A defeated expectant of the place of postmaster
started a party against him. A paper was soon
handed round for subscribers to a memorial to
the postmaster general, to dismiss him for maladministration.
But the continued to wax great,
notwithstanding all these efforts. As a proof of
this, he received an appointment of justice of the
every letter addressed to her husband by the
title of Esquire. Upon receiving this appointment,
he was notified by those friends who procured
it for him, that it was expected he would
give a dinner in consequence. Accordingly, to
fulfil all righteousness, and moreover to gratify
his wife, he consented to give a dinner. It was
intended to unite the fancy, wit, and judgment
of both, to show how much they could do with a
small sum. It was a hard science for Augusta,
who had studied arrangements only in the midst
of opulence. But when this problem was settled,
there was another of still harder demonstration
before them; and that was, so to distribute the
cards of invitation, where every body could not
be invited, so as to give no offence to those who
were omitted. They were warned upon this
subject; but, like most others who have tried the
thing for the first time, apprehended no danger.
On the contrary, Mrs. Clenning was sure that
she could so manage it, as to put down the ill
feeling, which, she knew, existed in reference to
them in the village. But, alas for her knowledge
for managing a village, they found that
they offended many, and pleased none! Some
envied the practised ease and dignity of Mrs.
Clenning's deportment. Some cried out upon
the extravagance of such poor beginners in
making such a show. Others ridiculed and
meagreness and cheapness of the reality from
which the appearance was compounded. Those
who were invited, considered that they had done
no more than their duty, and felt no obligation
restraining them from joining in the ridicule
with the rest. Every one that had not been
included in the invitation considered the omission
as a pointed mark of indignity, and resented it
accordingly. Augusta was chagrined, and a
little inclined to scold at the country. Her husband
complacently advised her to take it all
calmly, as one of the miseries of human life, and
assured her that he had no idea that in an
English village the same thing would have been
conducted to a happier issue.
But these evils, met by a calm and forbearing
temper, soon cured themselves. Envy and babble
and ill-feeling soon burnt out their own fires.
The pleasant and intelligent people, by a principle
of electric attraction, soon began to attach
themselves to them, and they found themselves
settling into the bosom of a friendly and assorted
circle. They had passed through all the seven
purgatories of scandal. Augusta had successively
risen from being a woman of ill-fame, a transported
convict, to being a runaway and disinherited
heiress. A whole brood of rumours
touching him had been hatched and extinguished.
The natural order and result of moderation and
and surmise died away after another. One
mouth after another was stopped, until calumny
of them sunk gradually to those known calumniators,
that exist in every society, whose censure,
in the common phrase, is praise. Mr. Clenning
had often allayed the indignant feelings of his
wife, by predicting that it would be so, and that
like the atmosphere after the passing thunder-cloud,
the air would be more pure and calm
afterwards; and that if they persisted in their
moderation, they would ultimately achieve the
most glorious and difficult of all triumphs, the
triumph over envy.
As a straw is sufficient to show the direction
of the wind, one fact out of a thousand will show
the spirit and temper of many people in that
village, and, unhappily, in a thousand other
villages. Rescue, of course, came often in contact
with the good gossips of the place. Nothing
pleased them more than to tell her she was a
slave, and to pretend humanity and kindness in
advising her to leave her mistress, and promising
her countenance and protection. Said Rescue,
as she related a conversation of this sort, “Do
you think that Phyllis, the black woman, didn't
tell me I was a slave, and that massa and missee
were both bad; and that the woman where she
worked didn't ask me if you didn't whip me?”
“What of that?” asked her master. “What
“why I beat Phyllis before her mistress, and I
say, you take that. Massa and missee no bad.
Me love them. Me never run away.” The
kind object of these zealous efforts to emancipate
poor Rescue was, as they expressed it, the hope
that Mrs. Clenning might be obliged to put her
own delicate fingers to the cooking.
Nothing material occurred in their chapter of
incidents, until the autumn, when they had a
fine boy to match their Australasian daughter.
Their circumstances were easy. They were
growing in the respect of the people, and were
perhaps as happy as man can be on the earth.
But a new cause of alarm and apprehension
began to rise, like a dark cloud, upon their
prospects. The roses in the cheek of Augusta
were replaced by lilies, and there was the calm
and sad smile of one, who felt that her health was
sinking. Every day of their residence together
had more endeared her to her husband, as he
had seen the native pride of her spirit gradually
mellowing into affectionate humility, and a self-disciplined
and contented temper. Home was
clearly her paradise. Every thing abroad, that
decorum, the usages of the society in which
they lived, and the wishes of her husband called
for, she meekly endured. But home was the
place of her enjoyment. Never had he seen
her so amiable, so delightfully kind, so considerately
compose the comfort of home, as since the birth
of her son. But as she bent over the babe with
those looks of inexpressible tenderness that a
mother alone can feel, it was evident that her
health was sinking. There was a sombre cast
in the tone of the delightful conversations, which
often ensued, while with untiring tenderness he
watched over her in the days of this confinement.
All words would be useless to explain
what he felt during the long and bitter winter
that followed. The storms howled. The snow
whistled, and the Spirit of ice and frost seemed
to have fixed his throne on the Green Mountains.
The interest, the harrowing agitation,
with which he watched her countenance, and
the changing aspects of her health from day to
day, convinced him, but too plainly, that his
life, or all that rendered it worth possessing,
was involved in hers. When she saw this distress,
saw that he wished to speak to her on the
subject of her increasing debility, but dared not,
she gently pressed his hand, assured him that
all would be well on the return of the mild
weather of spring, and turned the conversation
to some other point. In these cases of solicitude,
that agonize the heart and prey upon the
mind, there is no real relief but in the inexhaustible
fountains of religion. He besieged the
throne of the Divine mercy, with incessant and
irrecoverably fixed, before the return of spring.
How thankful they were to the Almighty, when
the winter at length relented, and the season of
buds and flowers once more returned. The
physician remarked, as was obvious to them all,
that the keen and bleak air of the lake, was
unfavourable to her complaint, and advised them
before another winter to fix themselves in a
southern climate. During this terrible winter,
they had a thousand times talked of the western
country, of the mildness of the climate, and the
repose and range of a new establishment on the
prairies. Many circumstances, apart from his
concern about the health of his wife, induced
him to wish to remove from that village. The
thirty-six applicants for his place, never forgave
his success over them, and were still intriguing
to remove him. They had a few neighbours,
who were really amiable and affectionate, but a
much greater number, who never ceased to find
some harsh and ill-natured remark to make
about them. If the ministers in these villages
would oftener preach about the guilt and misery
of the odious passions that so often prey upon
the members of small societies in country villages,
they might do something towards removing
the evil.
Mr. Clenning was weary of wandering; but
he was more weary of the pitiful slander, the
the villagers. The idea of a farm in the western
country, had long been treasured in his imagination.
His thoughts expatiated in the deep
beechen forests, or wandered over the flowery
expanse of the prairies. A feeling which he
should have repressed, not exactly misanthropy,
but something too near like it, impelled him to
wish for more solitude and a retirement from the
crowded haunts of men. He had probably associated
in his mind the idea of more innocence
and freshness in the heart of man in those countries,
with the virgin freshness of the soil; an
association, which after-experience convinced
him had originated in a mistaken opinion. But
so it was. Fancy had spread over the picture
of a residence there, all the beauty and brightness
of her own creations. Added to this, it
was the country to which the physicians advised
him to take his wife, for her health. This circumstance
fixed his purpose, and he mentioned
his feelings and views upon the subject to her.
The kindness of his motive affected her, but she
was unwilling to part with him for the time
which a journey to look at the country would
require. She was entirely willing to move there
whenever he saw fit to go; and she insisted, in
the language of the affectionate Ruth, “when
and where thou goest, I will go,” and we will
make the journey together. It was not until
statings of the necessity of the case, that he
could induce her to consent to his going before,
to make a purchase, should he be pleased, and
prepare a place for her reception. It was one
of the hardest struggles he had ever encountered,
to leave his wife, still feeble and delicate, with
Augusta clinging to her, and crying from sympathy,
and the little Arthur in her arms. But
their condition called for this parting. He went,
had a prosperous journey, and the country every
where seemed delightful, for he every where saw
Augusta. He looked at no place, without thinking
of the appearance it would make, when embellished
by the presence of his wife. He finally
selected a position on the rich, large and beautiful
prairie, pitched upon by Mr. Birkbeck, for
the purpose of making a settlement of English
people. He purchased a tract of land, to which
he intended to remove as soon as the summer
heats were over. It was amusing when he returned,
to hear the regret which the people of
the village, even those who had been most liberal
in their slanders, expressed at the idea of their
going away. They became personages of consequence
at once. The thirty-six applicants
all turned about, and blew a fine gale in their
sails. Poor fellows, thought Mr. Clenning, you
will soon be growling at each other, like hungry
dogs quarreling for a single bone. Notwithstanding
the villagers at the approaching departure, the
Clennings consoled themselves with the thought,
that the day after they were gone, every thing
would go on just as before; and the busy folks
would comfort themselves for the loss, by hunting
up some new game to worry.
In the beautiful days of Indian summer, the
journey was commenced. Every thing, bag and
baggage, was packed in a monstrous Kentucky
wagon, drawn by six horses. Away they went,
“over the hills and far away,” to the state of
Illinois. Mr. Clenning's heart was gladdened to
see the health of his wife improving every day,
and her mind invigorated by convalescence,
exercise, and the delightful weather of this season,
regained its elasticity and cheerfulness. Rescue
occupied herself with the care of the children,
thus relieving their mother from all the uneasiness
of maternal affection, and enabling her to
enjoy all its pleasures. The native of the island
in the South Sea was delighted by the awakening
of ancient and fond remembrances, produced
by travelling through the noble forests, now
wearing the mellow livery of autumn. A pleasanter
period can hardly be imagined, than that
which passed over the heads of this family as
they made their way to their new home. Upon
their arrival, Mr. Clenning was gratified to find
that his wife and Rescue were as much struck
had been. Here then this family was placed in
the midst of a new order of things, in the skirt
of a noble forest of cotton wood, sycamores, and
elms, on the margin of a plain, still covered with
a waste of flowers, as rich, as primitive, and as
charming as that of Mamre. The soft and whispering
southwest breeze seemed to medicate the
frame of Mrs. Clenning, and to confirm her convalescence.
Affection, tranquillity, and contentment
beamed in her eye. Could any thing have
added to Mr. Clenning's affection for his wife, it
would have been to see her, as he did, study her
new duties, as the head of a farmer's establishment.
In performing these duties, she was compelled
to combat the wishes both of her husband
and Rescue. But she showed them so clearly
that her heart was in the point of learning to be
a good housewife, and that it would add to her
cheerfulness, by occupying her time when her
husband should be absent, and, more than all,
her confident persuasion, that this course would
be serviceable to her health, that they consented,
and saw her at early morn inhaling the breath
of her cows, and her hundred fowls flocking
around her, as her tamed birds used to do in the
island. Near Mr. Clenning were two thousand
acres for sale. He had a distant hope that he
should yet come to his wife's rights, when he
intended to purchase this, and settle all his relations
Mordecai, speaking peace, and doing
good to all his race. A younger brother was
already with him, and more of the family talked
of joining them. Mr. Clenning paid for his land,
and stocked it well in comparison with his
neighbours. With such a beginning, he bade
fair soon to become one of the best farmers in
the vicinity. A large field was shortly enclosed,
and the land being perfectly smooth, without a
tree or shrub, it was at once ready for the
plough.
Just in the edge of the prairie, and under the
shade of peccans, sycamores, elms, and horse-chesnuts,
Mr. Clenning built his log house.
But if the reader has never been in a respectable
building of this kind, he has, I dare say, very
little idea what a tight, snug, and comfortable
house this is. For example, there are three
rooms plaistered with lime and covered with
paper hangings, and for all purposes of comfort
and utility, and for every object but ostentation,
as good as the splendid apartments of Mr. Wellman
in Grosvenor square. The cattle are turned
into the range to fatten and multiply when their
services are not required on the farm. A thousand
fowls furnished them in a short time with a
barrel of eggs. They may be said, literally, to
flow with milk and honey. They raise grain in
a profusion almost to make them think cheaply
that promise to yield every variety of apple, pear,
peach, and plum, as well as to add their peculiar
beauty to the landscape. In the wild fruits of
the woods around, nature offers them her free
luxuries, and their table, at will, is supplied with
venison, wild ducks, turkeys, and the other
varieties of game. Add to this picture, an air
of tranquillity and repose pervading the whole
scene; health, affection, content, and intelligence
on the part of the indwellers, and the constant
enjoyment of a mild and delightful climate, and
I think, reader, you have in view as much happiness
as ever falls to the lot of human nature
under the sun. Their neighbours afford the
Clenning's a more agreeable society than that
which they had left in the village. Coming from
different regions, they have seen something of
the nature of man, and have been compelled to
rub off some of their narrow prejudices and
illiberal feelings. Among them are two foreigners,
highly intelligent and respectable, whose greatness,
like Mrs. Clenning's, is in an eclipse.
To those who have a taste for the simple, innocent,
and healthful pleasures belonging to the
cultivator of the soil, it will give pleasure to hear
the astonishing growth of the young orchards.
In three years after transplanting, the apple-trees
will bend with fruit. To one who has never seen
the corn of these plains, it would be difficult to
acres, and the wheat field of forty, in which,
when full grown, a man may hide himself, as in
tall bushes. Nor could any one, except by seeing
it, form an idea of the beauty of the orchard
of two thousand choice, grafted, and innoculated
fruit trees, as it shows on the perfectly level prairie.
The wheat yields forty, and the corn eighty
bushels, to the acre. The cattle and pigs increase
in such a proportion, that in a few years they
will be able to institute a pretty respectable comparison
with the man of Uz. Then, there is the
handsome dearborn and horses, which enable
them to take healthful and pleasant morning and
evening rides. Rescue is as tall, and much
fatter than formerly, and allows that Illinois
beats even the island for good living.
In short, from the kitchen garden to the thousand
fowls, from the sheep to the pigs, from the
barn to the cellar, every thing goes on as they
could wish, and they are in a fair way to have all
that heart can wish,—independence, abundance,
healthy and beautiful children, kind neighbours,
good roads, and a great and glorious country.
They see from their mother earth
—“Life's blessings grow,”
The reader may perhaps think that Mr. Clenning
has praised his wife too much. His extenuation,
that every one is not as fortunate as himself,
with regard to this point; and as he is so
happy, and in such good temper with every living
thing, as to be desirous of general happiness, he
is willing that the world should have the benefit
of his wife's example. That wives should be
good is the more necessary, as, after all, according
to the good old saw, “A man must ask his
wife's leave to thrive.” If you ever cage happiness,
it must be where the wife is. Mr. Clenning
often consults atlasses, and globes, and
navigators, and is not a little disturbed with
Symmes' hole at the poles. His wife tells him,
that he must have the wandering lump in his
skull; but that she has surveyed their beautiful
fields, springing orchards, the grand “truck-patch”
of a garden, the chickens, turkies, and
ducks, so often, and has enjoyed such home-felt,
and undisturbed happiness here, as to prevent
her mind from dwelling for a moment upon
the possibility of finding a better conntry or of
making a remove, before the final one.
If the reader should suppose this family is
lonesome, let him go and spend a night with
them, and hear in the morning the chicken's
crow, the turkies gobble, and the pigs squeal,
not to mention the louder noises of the larger
animals, in addition to the music of the groves,
and he will allow that they are any thing rather
their little Augusta, who rises “when the horn
calls them out in the morn,” and walks with her
father into the fields. If you would know concerning
the brightness of Mrs. Clenning's eyes,
dispute the point of Augusta's beauty. She has
the more reason in this, as the little girl is known
to all the neighbours as the “Rose of the prairie.”
The parents amuse themselves with hearing the
children catch the dialect of the country, so far
as it is innocent. The youngest calls his sister
“South Sea Islander;” and she in return denominates
him “Buck-eye.” All the provincialisms
in their mouths sound in the ears of the
father and mother like the true pastroal Doric.
The husband and wife have turned over together
forty books upon education. If they could dispute
upon any subject, it would be this. Mrs.
Clenning thinks that her husband is a little notional
upon this point, and was afraid, that between
two stools, the poor things would fall to
the ground; until the two came to a final agreement,
that one should take the charge of them
one day, and the other the next. Between both,
and the rivalry they keep up to prove by experiment,
which is the better instructor, the children
are put on at a great pace.
They keep one holiday, that is called the island
feast; in which they live, as nearly as they can,
after the fashion of the island; wearing the same
astonishment and delight of the children, the account
of their residence there, describing at the
same time, the woods, the mountains, the seas,
and the animals. As they repeat the story of
the terrible affair, in which Rescue was gained,
the little ones draw close to them, and look up
with their little countenances full of affright and
trouble, until their mother's mode of defence,
and the exultation of victory brings brightness to
their eyes, and smiles to their cheeks. The description
of the voyage in the boat never fails to
produce a burst of tears from both mother and
children. Rescue sings wild songs after the mode
of her country, the burden of which are the loves
and wars of the islanders. Augusta's imagination
is so much affected by these details, that she has
selected a beautiful clump of trees, in which she
is to have a grotto, and it is to be raced as her
island. There is a part of this story, which, as
it comes in the shape of a confession from Mr.
Clenning, the reader must be lenient in judging.
Mr. Clenning, ever since his marriage, had concealed
at the bottom of his heart an ardent desire
to become a great man, and reflect back upon his
wife something of that unborrowed splendour,
which she eclipsed on his account.
Prompted by this feeling, as soon as he became
easy in his circumstances, he commenced the
career of popularity. He made himself as thick
in the country, and the county towns; and he
studied the little arts of ingratiating himself in
the good opinion of the people, as closely as possible.
He squeezed the good farmers' hands,
and praised their chubby sons and daughters as
far as he dared, without betraying his motive,
and inquired how their cattle thrived, and how
they managed their crops, and listened to the
details of their affairs, apparently with great interest,
at the same time that all his thoughts were
a hundred miles from the matter. Economy was
the burden of all his conversations with them,
which were spiced with accounts of the extravagance
and court airs at Washington. He took
care occasionally to insinuate, that though every
thing was going on wrong now, it would be the
easiest thing in the world to have affairs straight,
if they would have the discretion to send a certain
person there. The reader will acknowledge
that this has been to some purpose, when he is
informed, that Mr. Clenning has been successively
member of assembly, judge of the county
court, bridge and canal commissioner, and speech
drafter, besides having delivered two fourth of
July orations, and made six stump speeches.
But for a certain Quaker, he would have gone
to Congress. This person's wealth is to Mr.
Clenning's in the proportion of six to one. He
is six feet five inches tall, and wears rich broad-cloth,
this meek and modest garb avarice enough to
make a Gripus, and ambition enough for a
Napoleon. The old fellow has twice travelled
to Washington, to get the president to let the
national road pass his dwelling. He rode in
style in his carriage, paid his bills on the road
like a lord, and proposed his project to the
president, who referred him to the secretary of
war, who sent him to the board of engineers,
who handed him over to the committee on roads,
who referred him back again to his constituents
for more documents. But as they all squeezed
him by the hand, bowed civilly to him, and gave
him good words, he came back the second time
no ways discouraged, and fully convinced that
he was a rising man at court. This man stood the
poll against Mr. Clenning, and he knew all that
Mr. Clenning knew about playing the amiable,
and a few things more. He understood the state
of the pulse of the country, and how to calculate
his almanac to its meridian. He beat Mr.
Clenning without succeeding himself; and, as
happened to the two beasts quarrelling for the
royalty, a third person, taking advantage of the
disagreement, came in between them, and carried
the election.
Every one knows, that the winding up of a
novel, bestows riches upon the hero, however
poor he may have been during its progress.
book, that it is a real biography, and not like
that species of useless and extravagant fiction,
called novels, still it is to be feared that the following
announcement may shake the faith of the
reader, on this important point, because of its
resemblance to the mode of managing matters
in those, we had almost said, pernicious books.
But the truth must be told. In the remote and
peaceful log house of Mr. Clenning, on the
plains of Illinois, and under the shade of the
nature-planted elms, a letter was received from
Grosvenor-square, London, and these were the
electrifying contents:
Sir,—It has become my duty, as administrator
on the estates of the late Augustus Wellman, to
notify you, that his daughter, your lady, has
become sole heir to all his estates, real and personal.
He departed this life suddenly, from
gout in the stomach, this day week. We find
an authenticated will, drawn up with all that
precision and caution for which he was so justly
celebrated. On his death-bed, he declared formally,
and before sufficient witnesses, his sense
of the injustice and cruelty with which he had
treated his daughter and you. It appeared that
a person in his employ kept up a constant and
careful surveillance of your conduct and circumstances.
It appears, too, that this inspection
you both. As an attempted, though late retribution,
he has constituted her his sole heir. It
is desirable that you should come, as soon as may
be, to the country, and attend to the forms of
taking possession on the spot, or, otherwise, to
constitute some person attorney, to act with full
powers in your stead.
I am, &c. &c.
The signer of this letter was a person of high
standing; and the letter came with such a superfine
and foreign countenance, bearing the London
post-mark upon it, that it excited much
notice and speculation in the post office. It had
passed, no doubt, through fifty hands, had been
most ingeniously broken open, and its contents
inspected, and then carefully resealed. The
reader will find little difficulty in conceiving all
that happened in Mr. Clenning's dwelling on the
arrival of this overwhelming intelligence. But
it can never enjoy, as its inhabitants did, the
looks and deference of their neighbours, who
knew all this important business as well as they
did, and to whom it was, as yet, a matter of
necessity, that they should seem to know nothing
about it. Their countenance and deportment
said most plainly, “Sir, we know all this thing,
but you must be a shrewd fellow to find out our
knowledge.”
The point now to settle was, going to
England to take possession. Mrs. Clenning
could not go; and she seemed so unwilling that
her husband should leave her for the time which
the journey would require, that it almost seemed
as if the pain of parting would counterbalance
the joy of coming to such great possessions. Mrs.
Clenning advocated the sending an agent; but it
was finally concluded that they owed it to their
children that Mr. Clenning should attend to the
business himself. As to the grief of losing such
a father, it would have been gross affectation to
have made much ado about it. The reflection
could not but suggest itself to them, that they
inherited his estates at last only because he could
not carry the title papers with him. But, to be
short, Mr. Clenning parted once more from his
wife, and it was like being torn asunder, and
away he went over the Atlantic safely, was put
into full and legal possession of his property,
and had ample leisure to observe what a different
personage he now was from the Arthur Clenning
who had formerly landed at Liverpool. He was
introduced at court, kissed the king's hand, and
was often assured, that no man could be so stupid,
while inheriting such beautiful estates in England,
as to think of returning to live in wild woods in
the interior of America. His reply to these remarks
was, that a greyhound loved range, and
born yankee loved nature and independence.
His heart instantly associated the green plains
with Augusta and his children, and he exclaimed,
“Illinois for ever!” He hurried back, as fast
as wind, steam, and love could carry him, to
the arms of his wife, who was as kind and
blooming as ever; and who, before the first burst
of the joy of meeting was over, put into his arms
a third boy, a fine Illinois buckeye too.
Mrs. Clenning would not hear a word about
going to England, although her husband described
the beauty of the houses, and the extent
of the parks and establishments in the most alluring
style, assuring her, that if she chose to go
there, he had not a word of objection. Hear her
answer: “My dear Arthur,” said she, “I think
that I have obtained a complete and final triumph
over my pride. But I have so studied
the heart, that I am perfectly aware of the deep
necessity of that petition, `Lead us not into
temptation.' I am now tranquil, quiet, contented.
I enjoy entire peace of mind, and that is worth
more than a million. Who knows if I were to
return to the splendour and the idle show of life,
but these extinct passions might kindle again
from under their ashes? I have become broken
to the ways of your people. These woods are
worth all the parks on the globe. I like the
people, the country, the climate, the laws, the
never wish to be a fine lady again, or to be admired
by any body but my own Arthur. We
will have good masters. My dear little Augusta
shall learn music, dancing, French, and all
accomplishments of that character of others; but
to be amiable, wise, and good, she and the rest,
Arthur, shall learn of you and me. There is no
education like a domestic one; no teachers that
can vie with a father and mother. To instruct
our children shall be our employment, our pleasure,
and our pride; and they shall repay us in
our age.” “But where shall we find a husband
for Augusta?” said Mr. Clenning. “Some sensible,
modest, well-educated yankee,” was the
reply. “He is the man for my daughter and my
money. But at any rate, we will rear her to be a
prize to a good husband, and God will provide.”
And now, if Mr. Clenning chooses to stand
again for congress, let his competitors, the old
Quaker among the rest, look to it. He can
knock open a barrel of whiskey, as easily as any
of them, although he has some scruples and
doubts whether he shall take that method of
getting along. The truth is, he went to Washington
to inspect the premises, by way of foretaste:
On his return he told his wife, that it was
an everlasting and long-winded establishment;
that, as he was never strong at the lungs, it
actually made him short breathed, to hear a
speeches, that moved all the audience, but toad-eaters
and persons directly interested, from the
house. He saw, too, with what a philosophic
air of patience and resignation the members
drew themselves up, to endure, with proper unction
and profit, the penance of hearing a heavy
speaker gleaning the shreds and gilt paper out
of forty preceding speeches, and talking three
hours on a tack about nothing. He admitted,
that it was a striking exhibition of a seventy
horse power of talking and legislation, and that
there was something imposing in the puffing of
the steam and the whirling of the wheels, and
that was all there was in the sight.
He feared that he would not be able to exercise
the graces of patience and resignation necessary
for a listener; and, however desirable
those virtues might be for his fellow beings, he
did not consider himself called in Providence to
improve them in that way. His wife and neighbours
admit, that he can be a great man whenever
he chooses.
| CHAPTER III. The life and adventures of Arthur Clenning, in two volumes | |