University of Virginia Library

3. CHAPTER III.

IT must not be thought that John had forgotten Fidelia, or
that his admiration of her had in the smallest degree diminished,
because we have made no allusion to her since his
return to New York; he had in reality a greater regard for
her than ever, and he only waited for a decent time to pass by
that he might call upon her, and if it should be necessary, explain
to her the circumstances under which he was married.
He had heard nothing from her, save only that Jeremiah had
passed her in the street but a few days after his arrival, since
he had written to her; and it was with an unquiet and doubtful
feeling that he rapped one evening, just after dusk, at the
door of the yellow cottage in the Bowery. Her grandmother
met him at the door, and she and the old sailor gave him a
most hearty and cordial greeting, while they expressed their
sympathy for the loss of his father in sincere and unaffected
terms. He found the old couple exactly as he had last seen
them, quiet, neat and cheerful; but Fidelia! she was not there.
A chair stood by her work-stand as though it had just been
vacated, but it was occupied by a monstrously overgrown
white tom-cat that had lost its eyes in an encounter with rats
some years before, and now in his old age shared jointly
with the drab parrot the affectionate attentions of Fidelia and

her grand parents. These worthy people could not have
lived happily without some such objects to bestow the over-flowings
of their love upon. They were not contented with
simply making themselves comfortable, and their little income
did not allow them to entertain more expensive pensioners;
although they had besides these two animal pets, sundry vegetable
favorites such as a bunch of sweet-william, an old
twisted and deformed althea, and a gorgeous sun-flower, that
they regarded with almost as great affection; while a shepherdess,
with a striped blue petticoat, a fancy boddice and a
crook in her hand, that stood upon the little black mantel-piece
received a greater number of benevolent and genuine kind
glances from the old sailor as he sat before the fire with his
pipe in his mouth, than any pastoral lady who has been piped
to since the days of Theocritus.

John sat a long while hoping that Fidelia would make her
appearance, but she came not. He made no allusions to her,
although he spoke of her father whose arrival was daily expected,
and the old people seemed purposely to avoid speaking
of her. He felt embarrassed, for he had no doubt that
they knew the nature of the letter he had sent to her, and at
last he enquired if she was well? Thereupon the old sailor
smoked his pipe very earnestly and looked at the china shepherdess,
but the old lady replied that “she was not very well,
neither was she sick,” and suddenly became intensely interested
in her knitting needles.

John was not slow to perceive these demonstrations, and
they annoyed him more than he cared to show, and after a
moment's pause he enquired if she would be at home the next
evening, and having been informed that it was uncertain, he
bade them good night, and begged to be remembered to Miss
Clearman, and left the quiet little house in a most unquiet
frame of mind. Scarcely had he closed the door, when Fidelia
made her appearance from up stairs, and throwing her
arms around her grand-mother's neck, burst into tears and sobbed
like a child.

“Never mind my little darter,” said her grandfather, “your
father will be at home in a few days and he will see that
every thing is fixed in ship-shape fashion. Don't cry about
any man my darter, there's as good fish in the sea as ever was
caught.”

“My poor child,” said her grandmother, as she wiped the
tears from her cheeks, “my poor dear child, Mr. Tremlett
spoke as kindly about you as ever. It was no fault of his, I
know. Wait until you hear what he has to say. Don't cry
so, you will break my heart. Your poor old grandmother
cannot live to see you unhappy.”

“O, let me cry, let me cry while I can,” said Fidelia, “but
don't name his name to me again. I cannot bear his name.
He cares nothing for me, neither do I for him, and he only
came here to-night to insult us because we are poor”

“Well, my darter, I am an old man, and an honest man, if
I am a poor one,” said her grandfather, “but if he or any other
man, I don't care how rich he may be, insults you he had better
not sail in the same latitude with this here old hulk, I can
promise you, so don't cry for that. Recollect that your old
grandfather won't see his darter imposed upon if he is poor.
No, no.”

Here the conversation was interrupted by the ejaculation of
the old bird “let us pray,” and Fidelia wiped her eyes, but
she could not read, and the Bible being opened upon the little
table, her grandmother read the chapter appointed for the day,
and afterwards they all knelt reverently in prayer, and in asking
forgiveness for their own transgressions forgot all the real
or fancied wrongs that others had done to them. As for John,
he had only to retire to his lone room, and brood over his
griefs. There were enough who would have been happy to
console him with their condolences, for the rich are never in
want of sympathizers, but he had no heart for their attentions,
and he avoided them all that he could. But it is no use for a

rich man to try to avoid his friends; there is but one way to
be rid of them, which was well and successfnlly tried by
a certain Timon, as our readers remember, and, therefore,
we need not allude to it more particularly.—It is a fortunate
thing for an author to have intelligent readers, it saves such
a vast amount of trouble in the way of notes and pieces justificatives;
and that ours are intelligent we have good reason
to infer from their being so select.—The next day, however,
he wrote to Fidelia a detailed account of the nature of his intimacy
with Julia, the reasons of his journey to Charleston
and the particulars of his illness and marriage, and sent it to
her by the hands of Jeremiah, and we shall learn in good time
what effect it had upon that delicately minded and beautiful
young lady.

Hitherto Jeremiah had only guessed at the nature of John's
feelings towards Fidelia, but now the young man made a confidant
of his old friend, and told him how ardently he loved
her, and of the fears he entertained that his suit would not
be acceptable to her on account of his marriage with Julia
Tuck; and Jeremiah being extremely simple minded and affectionate,
and forming all his ideas of a woman's temper from
what he had seen of it in Huldah Hogshart, conceiving in
consequence that the supremest happiness of all young and
beautiful ladies consisted in making their admirers as unhappy
as they possibly could render them, was forced to confess that
he feared John's apprehensions were not without good and
substantial foundations. But he encouraged him with such
philosophical reflections as suggested themselves to his mind;
and ventured to make a confession of his own experience in
verification of Shakespeare's immortal line. It appeared that
Jeremiah's love had been stretched to its utmost tension, and
that it had once or twice been very near snapping asunder,
and if it had done so, it could not, of course, ever have been
fastened together again in this world; for Love is no sooner

broken than the fragments immediately turn to hate; and
therefore, lovers should guard with great care, and not practice
upon the strength of the cord that binds them together,
lest its tenacity should be overtaxed, and they sundered forever.
Jeremiah's chief trouble arose from the excessive fondness of
Miss Hogshart for worldly things, and the very slight regard
that she entertained for some of his old-fashioned and ridiculous
notions. However he flattered himself, that for his sake
she would alter when they got married, and she had not the
slightest doubt that she could cure him of all his inconvenient
whims when she once got him entirely under her control.
Therefore they could each of them afford to make small concessions,
during their probationary state of courtship, and as
yet they had not indulged in any downright quarrel. But
as the reader will perceive this is not the way in which
the band that is to bind for time and eternity two human
beings, should be formed; their foibles and virtues should
be so mixed together during this period that when the
rivets are finally fastened by the agent of the Law, whether
magistrate or parson, they shall have formed a kind of
concrete which neither years, nor disgrace, nor sickness,
nor wealth, nor poverty, nor separation, nor scandal, nor
friends, nor foes, nor even death itself can ever dissolve or
rend asunder. This is sometimes, but rarely, done after
marriage, but the safest way is to do it before hand; but, unfortunately,
marriages take place at that season of life when
advice, though most needed, is least heeded, and we fear that
our good intentions in making these observations, will avail
but little with the students of this history.

As the term of Miss Hogshart's apprenticeship was nearly
at an end, and she would be compelled to return to her
father's house when it arrived, there to practice the sublime
art that she had been acquiring a knowledge of, Jeremiah's

thoughts begun to dwell upon marriage. It is true he had
saved nothing from his yearly salary, and that he could expect
nothing in the shape of property with his wife, friend
Hogshart having intimated to him that he considered the personal
charms with which she was abundantly endowed, were
an ample dower, forgetting possibly that personal charms were
as transient and fleeting as even personal property, and that
they should always accompany each other in a bride, so that
when one should chance to spread its wings the other might
be left to atone for its loss; but then he was in a good situation,
with a liberal salary and a probability of his retaining it
as long as he might wish to do so. There could be nothing
imprudent in taking upon himself the responsibility of so prudent
and industrious a wife as he doubted not Huldah Hogshart
would prove. John agreed with him, and advised him
to get married immediately, and told him to dismiss all
thoughts about the future, so far as mere pecuniary matters
were concerned. Jeremiah felt very happy to hear his own
wishes so kindly responded to by his friend and employer,
and resolved that they should be fulfilled with no more delay
than what delicacy and prudence might require. He was
obliged to acknowledge to himself that he did not experience
that strange, wild, delicious tumult of pleasureable feelings
now when the consummation of his courtship seemed so near at
hand, that he did when he first thought of such a thing in the
earlier days of his acquaintance with Miss Hogshart. But he
looked upon this as a thing of course, remembering the old
saying, that familiarity breeds contempt, and that the fiercest
fires soonest burn out. But he wished, notwithstanding, that
he could know how others had felt in his situation; whether
they had, like him, experienced any diminution of desire, as the
period of gratification drew near. He had no friend, however,
whom he dared to consult on so delicate an occasion, unless it
were Mr. Bates, and he did not consider that gentleman's opinions
as entitled to serious consideration upon such a subject.