University of Virginia Library

10. CHAPTER X.

While Richard and Monsieur Le Quoi, attended
by Benjamin, proceeded to the academy, by a
foot-path that was trodden in the snow, across the
grounds of the Mansion-House, the Judge, his
daughter, the Divine, and the Major, took a more
circuitous route to the same place, through the
streets of the village.

The moon had risen, during the time that our
travellers were housed, and its orb was shedding
a flood of light over the dark outline of pines,
which crowned the eastern mountain. In other
climates, the sky would have been thought clear
and lucid for a noontide. The stars twinkled in
the heavens, like the last faint glimmerings of distant
fire, so much were they obscured by the overwhelming
radiance of the atmosphere; the rays
from the moon striking upon the smooth white
surfaces of the lake and fields, reflecting upwards
a light that was brightened by the spotless colour
of the immense bodies of snow, which covered the
earth.

Elizabeth employed herself with reading the
signs, one of which appeared over almost every
door, while the sleigh moved, steadily and at an
easy gait, along the principal street. Not only
new occupations, but names that were strangers to
her ears, met her bewildered gaze, at every step
they proceeded. The very houses seemed changed.
This had been altered by an addition; that
had been painted; another had been erected on
the site of an old acquaintance, which had been banished
from the earth almost as soon as it made
its appearance on it. All were, however, pouring
forth their inmates, who uniformly held their way
towards the point where the expected exhibition,
of the taste of Richard and Benjamin, was to be
made.

After viewing the buildings, which really appeared
to some advantage, under the bright but
mellow light of the moon, our heroine turned her
eyes to a scrutiny of the different figures that they
passed, in search of any form that she knew. But
all seemed alike, as, muffled in cloaks, hoods, coats,
or tippets, they glided along the narrow passages
in the snow, which led under the houses, half hid
by the bank that had been thrown up in excavating
the deep path in which they trod. Once or
twice she thought there was a stature, or a gait,
that she recollected, but the person who owned it
instantly disappeared behind one of those enormous
piles of wood, that lay before most of the
doors. It was only as they turned from the main
street into another that intersected it at right angles,
and which led directly to the place of meeting,
that she recognised a face and building that
she knew.

The house stood at one of the principal corners
in the village, and, by its well-trodden doorway,
as well as the sign, that was swinging, with a kind
of doleful sound, in the blasts that occasionally

swept down the lake, was clearly one of the most
frequented inns in the place. The building was only
of one story, but the dormant windows in the
roof, the paint, the window-shutters, and cheerful
fire that shone through the open door, gave it an
air of comfort, that was not possessed by many of
its neighbours. The sign was suspended from a
common ale-house post, and represented the figure
of a horseman, armed with sabre and pistols, and
surmounted by a bear-skin cap, with the fiery animal
that he bestrode “rampant.” All these particulars
were easily to be seen, by the aid of the
moon, together with a row of somewhat illegible
writing, in black paint, but in which Elizabeth, to
whom the whole was familiar, read with facility,
“The Bold Dragoon.”

A man and a woman were issuing from the door
of this habitation, as the sleigh was passing. The
former moved with a stiff, military step, that was a
good deal heightened by a limp that he had in one
leg; but the woman advanced with a measure and
an air, that seemed not particularly regardful of
what she might encounter. The light of the moon
fell directly upon her full, broad, and red visage;
exhibiting her masculine countenance, under the
mockery of a ruffled cap, that was intended, evidently,
to soften the lineaments of her features. A
small bonnet, of black silk, and of a slightly formal
cut, was placed on the back of her head, but so
as not to shade her visage in the least. Her face, as
it encountered the rays of the moon from the east,
seemed not unlike a sun rising in the west. She
advanced, with masculine strides, to intercept the
sleigh, and the Judge, directing the namesake of
the Grecian king, who held the lines, to check his
horses, the parties were soon near to each other.

“Good luck to ye, and a wilcome home,
Jooge!” cried the female, with a strong Irish accent;
“and I'm sure it's to me that ye're always

wilcome. Sure! and there's Miss 'Lizzy, and a
fine young woman is she grown. What a heartache
would she be giving the young men now, if
there was sich a thing as a rigiment in the town.
Och! but it's idle to talk of sich vanities, while
the bell is calling us to mateing, jist as we shall be
call'd away unexpictedly, some day, when we are
the laist calkilating on it. Good even, Major;
will I make the bowl of gin-toddy the night?—or
it's likely ye'll stay at the big house, the Christmas
eve, and the very night of ye'r getting there?”

“I am glad to see you, Mrs. Hollister,” returned
the voice of Elizabeth. “I have been trying
to find a face that I knew, since we left the door
of the mansion-house, but none have I seen except
your own. Your house, too, is unaltered,
while all the others are so changed, that, but for
the places where they stand, they would be utter
strangers. I observe you keep also the dear sign,
that I saw cousin Richard paint, and even the
name at the bottom, about which, you may remember,
you had the disagreement.”

“Is it the bould dragoon ye mane? and what
name would ye have, who niver was known by
any other, as my husband here, the Captain, can
tistify to. He was a pleasure to wait upon, and
was iver the foremost in the hour of need. Och!
but he had a sudden ind! But it's to be hoped,
that he was justified by the cause. And it's not
Parson Grant there, who'll gainsay that same.—
Yes, yes—the Squire would paint, and so I thought
that we might have his face up there, who had so
often shared good and evil wid us. The eyes is
no so large nor so fiery as the Captain's own, but
the whiskers and the cap is as like as two paas.—
Well, well—I'll not keep ye in the cowld, talking,
but will drop in, the morrow, after sarvice, and
jist ask ye how ye do. It's our bounden duty to

make the most of this present, and to go to the
house which is open to all: so God bless ye, and
keep ye from evil.—Will I make the gin-twist the
night, or no, Major?”

To this question the German replied, very sententiously,
in the affirmative; and, after a few
words had passed between the husband of this fiery-faced
hostess and the Judge, the sleigh moved on.
It soon reached the door of the academy, where
the party alighted and entered the building.

In the mean time, Mr. Jones and his two companions,
having a much shorter distance to journey,
had arrived before the appointed place several
minutes sooner than the party in the sleigh.
Instead of hastening into the room, in order to enjoy
the astonishment of the settlers, Richard placed
a hand in either pocket of his surtout, and affected
to walk about, in front of the academy, with
great indifference.

The villagers proceeded uniformly into the
building, with a decorum and gravity that nothing
could move, on such occasions; but with a haste,
that was probably a little heightened by curiosity.
Those who came in from the adjacent country,
spent some little time in placing certain blue and
white blankets over their horses, before they proceeded
to indulge their desire to view the interior of
the house. Most of these men Richard approached,
and inquired after the health and condition of
their families. The readiness with which he mentioned
the names of even the children, showed how
very familiarly acquainted he was with their circumstances;
and the nature of the answers he received,
proved that he was a general favourite.

At length one of the pedestrians from the village
stopped also, and fixed an earnest gaze at a new
brick edifice, that was throwing a long shadow
across the fields of snow, as it rose, with a beautiful

gradation of light and shade, under the rays of
a full moon. In front of the academy was a vacant
piece of ground, that was intended for a public
square. On the side opposite to where stood
Mr. Jones, the new, and as yet unfinished, church
of St. Paul's was erected. This edifice had been
reared, during the preceding summer, by the aid
of what was called a subscription; though all, or
nearly all, of the money it had cost, came from
the pocket of the landlord. It had been built under
the strong conviction of the necessity of a more
seemly place of worship than “the long-room of
the academy,” and under an implied agreement,
that, after its completion, the question should be
fairly put to the people, that they might decide to
what denomination it should belong. Of course,
this expectation kept alive a strong excitement, in
some few of the sectaries who were interested in its
decision; though but little was said openly on the
subject. Had Judge Temple espoused the cause
of any particular sect, the question would have
been immediately put at rest, for his influence was
too powerful to be opposed; but he declined all
interference in the matter, positively refusing to
lend even the weight of his name on the side of
Richard, who had secretly given an assurance to
his Diocesan, that both the building and the congregation
would cheerfully come within the pale
of the Protestant Episcopal Church. But when
the neutrality of the Judge was clearly ascertained,
Mr. Jones discovered that he had to contend
with a stiff-necked people. His first measure
was to go among them, and commence a course
of reasoning, in order to bring them round to his
own way of thinking. They all heard him patiently,
and not a man uttered a word in reply, in
the way of argument: and Richard thought, by
the time that he had gone through the settlement,
the thing was to be conclusively decided in his favour.
Willing to strike while the iron was hot,
he called a meeting, through the newspaper, with
a view to decide the question, by a vote, at once,
Not a soul attended; and one of the most anxious
afternoons that he had ever known, was spent by
Richard in a vain discussion with Mrs. Hollister,
who strongly contended that the Methodist (her
own) church was the best entitled to, and most
deserving of, the possession of the new tabernacle.
Richard now perceived that he had been too sanguine,
and had fallen into the error of all those
who, ignorantly, deal with that wary and sagacious
people. He assumed a disguise himself,
that is, as well as he knew how, and proceeded
step by step to advance his purpose.

The task of erecting the building had been unanimously
transferred to Mr. Jones and Hiram Doolittle.
Together they had built the mansion-house,
the academy, and the jail; and they alone knew
how to plan and rear such a structure as was now
required. Early in the day, these architects had
made an equitable division of their duties. To the
former was assigned the duty of making all the
plans, and to the latter, the labour of superintending
the execution.

Availing himself of this advantage, Richard silently
determined that the windows should have
the Roman arch, as the first positive step he would
take in effecting his wishes. As the building was
made of bricks, he was enabled to conceal his design,
until the moment arrived for placing the
frames: then, indeed, it became necessary to act.
He communicated his wishes to Hiram with great
caution; and without in the least adverting to
the spiritual part of his project, he pressed the
point a little warmly, on the score of architectural
beauty. Hiram heard him patiently, and without

contradiction; but still Richard was unable
to discover the views of his coadjutor, on this
interesting subject. As the right to plan was duly
delegated to Mr. Jones, no direct objection was
made in words, but numberless unexpected difficulties
arose in the execution. At first, there was
a scarcity in the right kind of material necessary
to form the frames; but this objection was instantly
silenced, by Richard running his pencil through
two feet of their length at one stroke. Then the
expense was mentioned; but Richard reminded
Hiram that his cousin paid, and that he was his
treasurer. This last intimation had great weight,
and after a silent and protracted, but fruitless opposition,
the work was suffered to proceed on the
original plan.

The next difficulty occurred in the steeple, which
Richard had modelled after one of the smaller of
those spires that adorn the great London Cathedral.
The imitation was somewhat lame, it is
true, the proportions being but indifferently observed;
but, after much difficulty, Mr. Jones had the
satisfaction of seeing an object reared, that bore,
in its outlines, a prodigious resemblance to an old-fashioned
vinegar-cruet. There was less opposition
to this model than to the windows, for the
settlers were fond of novelty, and their steeple was
without a precedent.

Here the labour had ceased for the season, and
the difficult question of the interior remained for
further deliberation. Richard well knew, that
when he came to propose a reading-desk and a
chancel, he must unmask; for these were arrangements,
known to no church in the country, but
his own. Presuming, however, on the advantages
he had already obtained, he boldly styled the
building St. Paul's, and Hiram prudently acquiesced

in this appellation, making, however, the
slight addition of calling it “New St. Paul's,”
feeling less aversion to a name taken from the
English Cathedral, than from the saint.

The pedestrian, whom we have already mentioned,
as pausing to contemplate this edifice, was
no other than the gentlemen so frequently named
as Mr., or Squire Doolittle. He was of a tall,
gaunt formation, with sharp features, and a face
that expressed formal propriety, mingled with low
cunning. Richard approached him, followed by
Monsieur Le Quoi and the Major-Domo.

“Good evening, Squire,” said Richard, bobbing
his head, but without moving his hands from his
pockets.

“Good evening, Squire,” echoed Hiram, turning
his body, in order to turn his head also.

“A cold night, Mr. Doolittle, a cold night, sir.”

“Coolish,” said Hiram: “a tedious spell on't.”

“What, looking at our church, ha! it looks
well by moonlight; how the tin of the cupola
glistens. I warrant you, the dome of the other St.
Paul's never shines so in the smoke of London.”

“It is a pretty meeting-house to look on,” returned
Hiram, “and I believe that Monshure Ler
Quow and Mr. Penguilliam will allow it.”

“Sairtainlee!” exclaimed the complaisant
Frenchman, “it ees ver fine.”

“I thought the Monshure would say so,” observed
Hiram. “Them last molasses that we had
was excellent good. It isn't likely that you have
any more of it on hand?”

“Ah! oui; ees, sair,” returned Monsieur Le
Quoi, with a slight shrug of his shoulder, and a
trifling grimace, “dere is more. I feel ver happi
dat you love eet. I hope dat Madame Dooleet'
is in good 'ealth.”

“Why, so as to be stirring,” said Hiram.—

“The Squire hasn't finished the plans for the inside
of the meeting-house yet?”

“No—no—no,” returned Richard, speaking
quickly, but making a significant pause between
each negative—“it requires reflection. There is
a great deal of room to fill up, and I am afraid
we shall not know how to dispose of it to advantage.
There will be a large vacant spot around
the pulpit, which I do not mean to place against
the wall, like a sentry-box stuck up on the side of
a fort.”

“It is ruleable to put the deacons' box under
the pulpit,” said Hiram; and then, as if he had
ventured too much, he added, “but there's different
fashions in different countries.”

“That there is,” cried Benjamin; “now, in
running down the coast of Spain and Portingall,
you may see a nunnery stuck out on every headland,
with more steeples and outriggers, such as
dog-vanes and weather-cocks, than you'll find
aboard of a three-masted schooner. If-so-be that
a well-built church is wanting, Old England, after
all, is the country to go to, after your models
and fashion-pieces. As to Paul's, thof I've never
seen it, being that it's a long way up town from
Radcliffe-highway and the docks, yet every
body knows that it's the grandest place in the
world. Now, I've no opinion but this here church
over there, is as like one end of it, as a grampus is
to a whale; and that's only a small difference in
bulk. Mounsheer Ler Quaw here, has been in foreign
parts, and thof that is not the same as having
been at home, yet he must have seen churches in
France too, and can form a small idee of what a
church should be: now, I ask the Mounsheer to
his face, if it is not a clever little thing, taking it
by and large?”

“It ees ver apropos to saircumstonce,” said

the Frenchman—“ver judgement—but it is in de
Catholique country dat dey build de—vat you
call—ah-a-ah-ha—la grande cathedrale—de big
church. St. Paul Londre, is ver fine; ver bootiful;
ver grand—vat you call beeg; but, Monsieur
Ben, pardonnez moi, it is no vort so much as Notre
Dame”—

“Ha! Mounsheer, what is that you say?” cried
Benjamin—“St. Paul's Church not worth so
much as a damn! Mayhap you may be thinking,
too that the Royal Billy isn't as good a ship as
the Billy de Paris; but she would have lick'd two
of her, any day, and in all weathers.”

As Benjamin had assumed a very threatening
kind of attitude, flourishing an arm, with a bunch
at the end of it, that was half as big as Monsieur
Le Quoi's head, Richard thought it time to interpose
his authority.

“Hush, Benjamin, hush,” he said; “you both
misunderstand Monsieur Le Quoi, and forget
yourself.—But here comes Mr. Grant, and the service
will commence. Let us go in.”

The Frenchman, who received Benjamin's reply
with a well-bred good humour, that would not
admit of any feeling but pity for the other's ignorance,
bowed in acquiescence, and followed his
companion.

Hiram and the Major-Domo brought up the
rear, the latter grumbling as he entered the building—

“If-so-be that the King of France had so
much as a house to live in, that would lay alongside
of Paul's, one might put up with their jaw.
It's more than flesh and blood can bear, to hear
a Frenchman run down an English church in
this manner. Why, Squire Doolittle, I've been
at the whipping of two of them in one day—clean
built, snug frigates, with standing-royals, and them

new-fashioned cannonades on their quarters—such
as, if they had only Englishmen aboard of them,
would have fout the devil.”

With this ominous word in his mouth, Benjamin
entered the church!