 | CHAPTER XI. Master William Mitten, or, A youth of brilliant talents, who was ruined by bad luck |  |
11. CHAPTER XI.
Few men living, have a higher respect for the “American fair”
than we have. We regard them as a thousand times better than
men, and do not feel that we pay them a very extravagant compliment
at that. Nor are we blind to the virtues of the men. There
are many splendid specimens of humanity among them; but, as a
class they do not equal the other sex in any thing, that tends to ennoble
the human race. As good as women are, they would be better
still, if it were not for the men; and yet, with this confession
on our lips, we are constrained to say that after all, woman is a very
curious thing. In proof of this assertion, “let facts be submitted
to a candid world!”
The reader has seen with what spirit and dignity Mrs. Thompson
reduced her husband to order as soon as he began to cast reflections
upon women generally—how he opened a whole volume of family secrets,
that the world would have never known but for his over-latudinarian
outgivings—with what independence she spoke of “old
Waddel,” and his “likes and dislikes”—how sweetly she dismissed
her husband—and how his sister was comforted by all these things.
Now, after the Captain had retired, and the two ladies were left
alone, what think you, gentle reader, was the strain in which she
continued to her husband's sister? Why, of course: “Sister, you
are to patient—too weak—too submissive. Be independent. If we
don't show some spirit men will make slaves of us. Resume your
monster, old Waddel, and his one hundred and fifty white slaves.”
You are mistaken, kind reader. After a pause, long enough to let
the Captain get out of hearing, thus it ran:
“Sister, that is a sweet letter of Mr. Waddel's. How kind it
was in him to write so soon. However severe he may be, my life
on it, he is a kind man at heart, and takes great pleasure in seeing
the advancement of his scholars. It is very hard for a child raised
as William has been, to be exposed to such rough usage; but, after
all it may turn out for the best. Every day that I live I become
more and more satisfied, that after a certain age boys should be subjected
entirely to a father's government. As you knew, husband and
I have had many disputes about the proper management of George,
and I have always found that in the end he was right and I was
wrong. We are too apt to let our love get the better of our judgment
in the management of our children, especially our sons. I
reckon it is a wise arrangement of Providence, that men should not
have much love and sympathy—that is, as much as we have—that
they may not be led off by their affections into too much indulgence.
So much better satisfied am I with David's judgment, than I am
with mine, in ruling boys, that I don't pretend to oppose him in
any thing concerning them, except in the little matter of dress; and
besides you know him well enough to know that when he once sets
his head upon a thing, and puts his foot down, you'd just as well
undertake to turn over the Court House with your little finger, as to
move him. Now, I see he has made up his mind to keep William
at Waddel's, and nowhere but Waddel's, and he is the more bent
upon it, because he wants him to contend with those—what was
that biggest man of all, that told him so much about Governor's,
and Senators, and Judges, and all that?”
“Gilmer?”
“I never heard of him; did you?”
“No.”
“Well, it's very strange that we never heard of him—we've heard
of all the rest of them. But as I was saying: David thinks there
never was such a boy born for mind as William. I tell him I think
George has quite as good a mind as William—not such a sprightly
mind, but more solid. Don't you think so, sister?”
“George is a sweet, good boy, sister; a boy to be proud of, and
of fine mind. I've no doubt but that he will make a more solid,
practical, useful man than William; but—”
“Well, I've told my husband so; but he says as for talent, for
genuine, native talent, George won't do to be named in the same year
with William. And that's another very strange thing in men;
have you never noticed it? They always think every body else's
children smarter and better than their own. What was I saying?
Oh—David's head is set upon showing off William to those great
folks, in that large school, and have his way he will; so I think, my
dear Anna, you'd best try to reconcile yourself to it. Don't let it
distress you. Surely, if other people's children, raised as tenderly
as he has been, can live through it, he can.”
“Oh, I could bear it all with becoming fortitude, my dear sister,
if I could be sure that William would live through it—that his constitution
would not be undermined by it. But the change is so sudden—in
everything: If he lives through it, his spirit will be
broken down—he will be cowed—his ambition be stifled. I know
William's disposition better than any body else in the world knows
it. He can be led by kindness, stimulated by praise, and won by
words, but he cannot bear harshness, censure, and, least of all, chastisement.
Now, is it not strange, my dear Mary—is it not unaccountable,
that of all the schools in the world that is the one my
poor child should be doomed to at last? When, and where, will his
misfortunes end? And now, what shall I do? What am I to do?
I have given my child up to brother David's control, and I know his
inflexibility where he thinks he is right. There is one thing I know,
and but one thing, that will overcome, him, and that is my grief;
but I do not wish to afflict him with my anguish of heart. What
trouble have I given him! What brotherly kindness has he shown
me! How prophetic has been his forecast! How proud he is of
my son! How rejoiced when he does well! It is cruel in me to
pain him. And yet, when I think of my poor boy, how can I help
it? Yes, I will, sister Mary—I will strive to suppress my feelings;
at least, to hide them from brother David. I am greatly delighted
with Mr. Waddel's letter. I am sure he is not the cruel, merciless
man he has been represented to be.”
“Well that is right, sister Anna. You be happy, and husband
will be happy, and I will be happy, and we'll all be happy. At
least, hope for the best, till you hear from William. It will be time
enough to grieve when you hear that William is unhappy.” With
these words, and two emphatic kisses, moistened with the tears of
both, the sisters parted.
Now, we could moralize as long, and quite as profitably, upon the
which he dreams out; but as we detest the repeated interruptions
of a story by long dry homilies from the author, we will take it for
granted that when we faithfully delineate a character, the reader
can draw his lessons of morality from it as well as we can; but as it
would be doing great injustice to the character of Mrs. Thompson to
rest it with the reader upon an occasional interview with her nearest
and dearest friends, we are sure that we will be indulged in a word
explanatory of her seeming inconsistency in the conversations just
detailed.
After long and careful observation of human nature, in all its
phases, we are strongly impressed with the idea that there are many
women in the world—good women, sensible women, good wives, and
good mothers, who are a little impulsive—liable, under very trying
circumstances, such as masculine wit at femine expense, he slurs at
she sense, man's snuffing at woman's loving, and the like, to become
slightly excited; and then, as they feel themselves called upon to extemporize
without a moment's preparation, or a moment's pause, they,
of course, do not deliver themselves with a due regard to logical
precision, or methodical arrangement. Constrained in their hurry
to snatch up any implement of warfare that presents itself, they have
no time to consider its fitness, or unfitness, for the contest; consequently,
they sometimes seize a battle-axe, with handle so long, that
while the blade hits the enemy, the handle knocks down two or
three friends at the same time. They send off a petard so maladroitly,
that, while it only singes the foe, it blows up whole platoons
of allies. It should be remembered, likewise, that they fight
only “to restore the equilibrium”—never for permanent conquest.
It would be very strange, therefore, if, under these circumstances,
they did not at times seem inconsistent in their words and ways.
Now, Mrs. Thompson was one of this class, and one of the very best
of this class. While upon this head, let me disabuse the reader's
mind of another false impression that he may, perchance, receive
from the scene of consolations which he has just witnessed. He
may suppose from the Captain's sudden change of note, as soon as
his wife took up the soothing harpsichord, that, except in the matter
of George, and upon a few very rare occasions, when “he put
his foot down,” he was under pretty rigid petticoat government.
Not so. Foot down, or foot up, whenever a material issue occurred
between the heads of the family, his judgment was final and conclusive;
but in matters of minor import both acted independently.
The jurisdictions of each were early defined after the marriage;
to the madam was assigned the house, the kitchen, the smoke house,
and the garden, in absolute sovereignty; to himself, all other interests
were accorded. After children were born to them, all fell under
her jurisdiction up to the age of six; then, the Captain assumed
a little authority over the males, up to ten, when he reversed the
order of things, he becoming principal and she secondary. As to
the females, he claimed no privileges, but the very humble ones of
grunting and turning up his nose occasionally at their flounces, and
of grumbling annually (vide supra,) at their store bills. Small as
these things were, they were unconstitutional encroachments, for
which he received the due retributions, to which he submitted with
no other signs of impatience than perpetrating a joke, or a witticism,
in the midst of them, always under the pain of double punishment—
yes, he was guilty at times of other encroachments in the way of
certain significant “Humphs!” at pale coffee, undone biscuits,
burnt meat, and the like, at meals; to which she responded in the
following apologetic terms:
“When your negroes cease to be masters and mistresses of the family,
maybe you'll get something fit to eat.” To which, at the earliest
convenient opportunity, she added an amendment, in manner
and form following, to-wit:
“I suppose you (little Sueky,) think that because the grown niggers
are allowed to run over me, and do as they please, YOU can do so
too; but I'll teach you better Miss. I can manage you, myself, Miss
Empress Catherine!” Meaning, thereby, that the aforesaid David
Thompson had been guilty of crassa negligentia, and divers non-feasances,
to the great detriment of the said Mary, and highly unbecoming
the Chief Executive officer of the Thompsonian Government.
By means whereof the most insignificant subjects of said
Government had come to regard themselves Emperors and Empresses,
and to deport themselves to the said Mary accordingly.
To these impeachments, the Captain filed no plea; “sometimes
pretending” that he was too deaf, and at others too busy to hear
them.
Nor did the madam always keep within her legitimate domain.
She would, with malice aforethought, stop a plow to send Sarah to a
quilting, and then, the Captain's foot would come down in earnest,
and he'd “wonder whether there was a woman in the world that
wouldn't lose a crop to give her daughter a sugar-tit!” All which,
and much more like it, Mrs. T. bore with lamb-like meekness, and
was contemplating evening clouds. The equilibrium was beautifully
preserved in the Captain's family.
From all this, it appears that Thompson was no farther under petti
coat government than all husbands are, and all good husbands ought
to be. He was a very happy man in his family, and his wife was as
happy as he was.
Before his wife returned from the visit of consolations, the Captain
had finished a short letter to William, reporting Doctor Waddel's
opinion of him, the gratification it afforded his mother in particular,
and his connections in general—urging him not to disappoint
the high expectations which had been raised of him—to be studious
—not to mind the taunts of the boys about his fine clothes—to wear
them out as quick as possible with lightwood knots, and get plain,
coarse ones. “Let the boys see,” said the Captain, “that if
you do not know how to work, you can soon learn. Beat them in
every thing. Beat them in learning, in working, in running, in
jumping, in wrestling, in athletic sports of every kind. That is the
way to make them respect you.” We must not let the reader suppose
that the Captain omitted the important matter of diet, though
he expressed himself upon it in very coarse terms—withal, they are
characteristic: “Don't let your head be always running upon what
is to go into your paunch.”
The Captain was just folding his letter, when his wife returned.
“Well, Mary,” said he, “and how did Anna seem when you left
her?”
“Why, poor dear soul, it's enough to make one's heart bleed to
see her. She does try her very best to become reconciled to William's
lot, but it seems impossible. If you could have heard her
when she talked about your kindness to her, and how it increased
her griefs to know how they afflicted you, it would have filled your
eyes with tears. Do, my dear husband, be as kind and tender to
her as you can. She says that she will strive to overcome her feelings
for your sake—”
“Well, that is all I can expect of her,” said the Captain, with
suffused eyes—“visit her every day, Mary, and keep her as much as
possible from brooding over William's fate. See if you can't persuade
her to take a trip of a month or two from home, as soon as
the weather breaks—I must away to the post office.”
| CHAPTER XI. Master William Mitten, or, A youth of brilliant talents, who was ruined by bad luck | |