 | Traits of American life |  |
CAPTAIN GLOVER'S DAUGHTER.
Sunday, especially in the country, is the true
holiday of a Yankee. In saying this, I do not
mean that it is considered as a day of recreation—
no, indeed!—there are very few native-born and
native-dwelling Yankees but would revolt at the
idea of finding their own amusements on the
Lord's day. They intend to keep the day holy,
but they wish to appear respectable in so doing,
and they like to enjoy themselves. What better
method to obtain these objects than regular attendance
at church, dressed in their best; where they
can see and be seen?—the elderly people having
an opportunity for cordial greetings and disquisitions
on the weather, either when they meet on
the road, or around the church door; and the
young ones exchanging smiles, glances, or warm
pressures of the hand, which, between those of
the same sex, indicate friendship. Ladies only indulge
in friendship—but when the eye of a young
man is habitually and continually directed across
the gallery, or into a neighbouring pew of fair
him a sentiment which he does not call friendship.
At least one half our rural beaux fall in love at
church.
“Pray, who was that handsome girl who sat in
the pew on the left of the pulpit,” said young Albert
Eaton to his cousin James Rowe.
“On the left of the pulpit?—Oh, that was Captain
Glover's daughter,” replied James, who was
turning over a volume of Percival's Poem;—
“here is her picture:—
That kindles the young blood to ecstacy's glow;
She speaks—and the tones of her voice are the same,
As would once, like the wind-harp, in melody flow.”
“She is the finest girl I saw in your church,
James. Does her father live in the village?”
“Oh! no—he lives down by the mill.”
“Not in that small house by the bridge?”
“Yes, by the bridge—in that little hut”—and
James cast a glance of keen inquiry on his cousin,
and it might be there was some derision in his
smile.
Albert Eaton's father was a man who had
gathered much substance, and waxed rich in speculations,
and he now lived like a rich man, engrossed
harassed with the fears of losing his property.
Riches never bring content; at least, they never
bring it to a worldly man. Albert happened, unfortunately,
to be an only child, and as all the estate
would finally descend to him—(and sorely did
it grieve the elder Mr. Eaton when the idea crossed
him that he must die and leave his property)—
he had been lectured on the necessity of economy,
good calculation, and taking care of his money, till
he had often wished there was no such thing as
money in the world. He particularly hated half-cents.
“Always remember and save the half-cent
in your bargains,” his father would say. Albert
was a good-natured soul, but he never heard his
father say, “save the half-cent,” without a frown,
and he never would save it. “As well be a beggar
at once as practice such beggarly economy,”
Albert thought. And truly, what is the benefit of
possessing property, when we only note its increase
by increasing anxiety!
It will probably be surmised, by the reader, that
Albert would not regard the poverty of a lovely
girl as an insuperable bar to his addresses. Neither
would he have so regarded it had that poverty only
exhibited itself in the lack of money; but, to lack
a decent house to live in, placed the indigence of
view to Albert Eaton.
Few people form their own opinions of what is
really excellent in character from reasoning. We
are the slaves of circumstance, education, fashion.
Albert had always lived in an elegant dwelling—
all his particular friends resided in fine houses, and
he fancied those persons worthy of his admiration
must be found in fine houses. He saw and felt the
meanness of being devoted exclusively to the love
of money; but he did not dream that the undue
value placed on those luxuries which money commanded,
was a passion just as sordid and selfish.
The only difference is, that the latter error may
more easily be corrected. And it was not many
days, before Albert acknowledged that virtue, intelligence
and refinement, as well as beauty, might
be found in a humble dwelling.
Captain Glover was a man of considerable talent,
and in his youth, extraordinary good-looking. His
father gave him a farm, and assisted him to build
a house, and he married a pretty, amiable girl: thus
beginning the world with bright prospects for a
farmer; every body prophesied he would do well,
and so he would have done, but for one single failing.
He was indolent. The sluggard is not so
criminal as the drunkard; but he is far from being
innocent. Yet there are but few men, notoriously
standing among the stirring generation of Yankees
as did Captain Glover. His temper was as unmovable
as his frame, and he would sit the live
long day in his elbow-chair, chatting and laughing,
without once being disturbed from his imperturbable
good humour by the advice, or even reproaches
of his wife (she did scold sometimes, and
nobody blamed her for scolding), or the noise of
his children. Toil on his farm he would not—and
he really felt relieved when the sheriff attached
and sold it to satisfy executions which had been
renewed to the utmost limit of time allowed by
the law. His creditors were loath to distress such
a good-natured fellow, till he urged the sale of the
farm, alleging that the fences were going to ruin,
and the sooner it was disposed of, the better. Relying
on the old saying, that the lame and the lazy
are always provided for, Glover gave himself no
uneasiness about his future residence, or business,
till a brother of his wife, out of pity to her and
her children, offered him the employment of tending
an old mill. Glover accepted the situation,
and very contentedly established himself, as he
hoped, for life.
There seemed indeed little prospect that any one,
though differing in politics, would covet his place.
The mill was on a small stream, which divided
consequently, like a neutral between two parties,
was not much patronized by the inhabitants of
either. The stream was scanty, and usually dry
six weeks every summer; and the ice and other
accidents obstructed the operations of the mill
about as long every winter. Here then was a glorious
situation for an idle man. Three months
in each year perfectly at liberty to enjoy himself,
without a twinge of conscience to upbraid him.
He did enjoy himself, notwithstanding his house
looked little better than an Indian wigwam, or an
Irish cabin. But his wife, poor woman, was never
contented, and finally she fell into a consumption,
and died. Mrs. Glover had always been considered
the main-stay of the house, and it was now confidently
prophesied that the family must be broken
up. And so it would inevitably have been, but for
the eldest girl, a child of eleven years old. Margaret
Glover was a shy, modest little creature, and
during her mother's life, renowned for nothing but
the despatch with which she performed an errand;
and furthermore, she had been praised, by Miss
Molly Griffin, for being always careful to make
her courtesy and shut the door after her—two observances
from which the thoughtful spinster
augured that Margaret would make an accomplished
and useful young lady. And so it proved, for
of the children, five younger than herself—managing
them and the household affairs with the diligence
and discretion of a woman.
The inside of their humble dwelling was in
reality more comfortable than the outward appearance
would have indicated. The larger room was
ceiled around and plastered over-head, and always
kept as neat as a fairy would have prescribed. It
was a pleasant sight to look on the bright row of
pewter plates and porringers in the open cupboard,
with the white milk-pail and wooden bowl on the
bottom shelf—all arranged in the best order for
display. It was innocent and useful vanity, however
(if vanity ever deserves to be so considered),
for the praise bestowed on Margaret's industry and
neatness never made her proud, only more anxious
to deserve such commendation. Neither were her
thoughts all engrossed by her housewifery, as is too
often the case with your notables. The necessity
she felt of instructing her younger sisters and brother,
aroused her to improve her own mind, and she
soon excelled in her taste for reading, and judgment
of books. Nothing like self-instruction for
strengthening the mind. One twelvemonth's determined
attention to our own progress in literature,
is worth years lounged away in the schools.
In the latter case, we are too often satisfied if our
former, we learn for ourselves.
There are but very few people among us reduced
to such poverty as to place their children at service,
or put them from their care while young.
Even Captain Glover, indifferent as he was to the
opinion of the world, would have felt disgraced
had he not maintained his children. It was a
wonder to many how he did it—but who ever
knew a miller to starve! Notwithstanding the
few customers to his mill, his children were fair
and fat, and his pig throve, and his cow (or rather
his brother's) always looked sleek. These things
were set down, not to the captain's credit, but his
daughter's, and she became the heroine of her own
immediate neighbourhood, and her praise even
reached the extremities of the two contiguous
towns—quite a miracle for the fame of a woman.
She had many heroine accomplishments to be sure:
was fair as the fairest are described, sung sweetly,
and cut bread and butter for her little sisters and
brother, as gracefully as Werter's Charlotte; and
all before she was seventeen.
Such was the girl who had captivated Albert
Eaton, a graduate from Harvard, with all the pride
of the college in his head, and the hope of eminence
in the profession he had chosen, the law, in
his imagination. Could he marry a poor miller's
He probably never would have married
her but for one lucky circumstance in the constitution
of our laws—the militia system was all that
gave him any hope of reconciling his parents to
his choice of a wife.
Americans have two ardent passions; the love
of liberty, and love of distinction. These passions
mutually stimulate and increase each other; the
enjoyment of equal rights, as citizens, giving every
man a chance of becoming eminent, and that eminence
being derived from living under a free government,
the Americans are thus necessarily as
ambitious of fame as they are tenacious of freedom.
We have been often stigmatized as a money-loving
race, and, I regret to say, the reproach is too true;
but it is not to indulge in luxuries, that wealth is
sought with such avidity. It is for the consequence
which attaches to the possession of riches.
Our people care little for their own comfort, in
comparison with the estimation in which their
means of comfort are held by others. To be convinced
of this, travel through the country, and look
at the style of building houses, and managing appearances.
Every thing is conducted to make an
impression on the beholder. Instead of neat, snug
cottages, thoroughly finished, and sheltered by
trees and shrubs, we meet, continually, great
perhaps; and whether the interior be finished, is a
matter of small consequence, provided a coat of
white paint has been daubed on the outside, to
catch the eye of the passing traveller. The man
who inhabits it has the name of being rich, and
that satisfies him he is comfortable. It is just the
same with regard to public employments. Few
individuals enter into public life, who would not
be wealthier and happier as private citizens—but
then they would not be known, would not see
their names in the newspaper, except for raising a
curious calf, or a mammoth cabbage; and so they
sacrifice their ease, and often their estate, to be distinguished.
Every office, from petit juryman to
president of the United States, has its attractions
for our ambitious citizens.
Captain Glover had been chosen an officer, partly
for his good looks, but more for his good nature.
He made a very popular captain, never troubling
his company with much military manœuvring, and
always treating well. Indeed, he had the honour
of expending a considerable part of his small estate
in the service, and never offered to retire till he
had neither money nor credit to support the expense
of his office. His patriotism was rewarded
by bearing the title of Captain into his retreat;
and, truly, those who would sneer at that warlike
boast of their philanthrophy or gallantry. That title
was the inheritance of Captain Glover's children.
The fair Margaret, notwithstanding her attractions
of mind and person, never would have been received
into the rich and proud family of Mr.
Eaton, had it not been for her father's title; or, at
least, if Albert had married her, his parents would
scarcely have forgiven him and acknowledged
her. But, aided by the distinction of being Captain
Glover's daughter, the young man found
means to introduce Margaret to a Mrs. Carlton, a
particular friend of his mother's, who resided
about twenty miles from the mill. Mrs. Carlton
soon became exceedingly attached to this amiable
girl; the worthy old lady, to be sure, was quite a
stickler for respectability—but then she did not
make wealth the criterion of merit. She kept
Margaret as her companion, for a few months, and
then took her to the city, and presented her as her
peculiar favourite, to Mr. and Mrs. Eaton.
Mrs. Carlton had previously hinted of their
son's attachment to a young lady under her care,
and the parents had felt, that if she approved the
match, it would be quite suitable. Of course, Mr.
Eaton thought the young woman must be possessed
of cash, or she would not be a lady—and when
he saw her, her appearance and manners so charmed
union.
“To whom did you say that your son was engaged?”
inquired Miss Perkins, as she called the
morning after the affair had been made public.
“Oh! to Captain Glover's daughter; a lovely,
accomplished young creature,” replied Mrs. Eaton,
with an exulting smile.
“And a great fortune, I presume.”
“No, not a great fortune—but I always told
Albert I did not care about the fortune of the lady
he married. I only insisted she should belong to
a respectable family,” said Mrs. Eaton.
“She must have been carefully educated, and
that I consider a fortune,” said Mr. Eaton, senior.
He had been charmed by her reading (she read
beautifully), and by her industry at her needle.
Margaret did appear well, for her judgment was
matured by reflection, and the fine powers of her
mind developed by that species of self-training
which expands the heart and affections to the performance
of duty.
Good sense and native ease made her appear to
advantage in the splendid circles to which she
was introduced, and Captain Glover's daughter
was considered a model of propriety in manners
as well as character.
There is nothing will make young women so
every duty devolving on them, in whatsoever station
they are placed.
Had Margaret, depending on her personal beauty,
set up for the fine lady, she would probably
have been only the village coquette, and married
at last some poor man; for though Albert was certainly
fascinated first by her appearance, yet had
he not found her mind so cultivated as to give him
assurance she would appear well as his wife, his
pride would have conquered his first fancy, especially
when he had to seek her in such a house.
| Traits of American life | |