University of Virginia Library

3. CHAPTER III.

The morning passed in viewing and reviewing the
village site and the “Mill privilege,” under the condescending
guidance of a regular land speculator, into
whose clutches—but I anticipate.

The public square, the water lots, the value per foot
of this undulating surface, clothed as it then was with
burr-oaks, and haunted by the red deer; these were
almost too much for my gravity. I gave my views,
however, as to the location of the grand esplanade, and
particularly requested that the fine oaks which now
graced it might be spared when the clearing process
commenced.

“Oh, certainly, mem!” said our Dousterswivel, “a
place that's designed for a public promenade must not
be divested of shade trees!” Yet I believe these very
trees were the first “Banquos” at Montacute. The
water lots, which were too valuable to sell save by the
foot, are still in the market, and will probably remain
there for the present.

This factotum, this Mr. Mazard, was an odd-looking

creature, with “diverse ocular foci,” and a form gaunt
enough to personify Grahamism. His words sometimes
flowed in measured softness, and sometimes tumbled
over each other, in his anxiety to convince, to
persuade, to inspire. His air of earnest conviction, of
sincere anxiety for your interest, and, above all, of entire
forgetfulness of his own, was irresistible. People
who did not know him always believed every word he
said; at least so I have since been informed.

This gentleman had kindly undertaken to lay out
our village, to build a mill, a tavern, a store, a blacksmith's
shop; houses for cooper, miller, &c. &c., to
purchase the large tracts which would be required for
the mill-pond, a part of which land was already improved;
and all this, although sure to cost Mr. Clavers
an immense sum, he, from his experience of the country,
his large dealings with saw-mills, &c., would be
able to accomplish at a very moderate cost. The mill,
for instance, was to be a story and a half high, and to
cost perhaps twenty-five hundred dollars at the utmost.
The tavern, a cheap building of moderate size, built on
the most popular plan, and connected with a store, just
large enough for the infant needs of the village, reserving
our strength for a splendid one, (I quote Mr.
Mazard) to be built out of the profits in about three
years. All these points being thus satisfactorily arranged,
Mr. Mazard received carte blanche for the purchase
of the lands which were to be flowed, which he
had ascertained might be had for a mere trifle.

The principal care now was to find a name—a title
at once simple and dignified—striking and euphonious
—recherché and yet unpretending. Mr. Mazard was

for naming it after the proprietor. It was a proper
opportunity, he thought, of immortalizing one's-self.
But he failed in convincing the proprietor, who relished
not this form of fame, and who referred the matter
entirely to me. Here was a responsibility! I begged
for time, but the matter must be decided at once. The
village plot was to be drawn instanter—lithographed
and circulated through the United States, and, to cap
the climax, printed in gold, splendidly framed, and
hung up in Detroit, in the place “where merchants
most do congregate.”

I tried for an aboriginal designation, as most characteristic
and unworn. I recollected a young lady
speaking with enthusiastic admiration of our Indian
names, and quoting Ypsilanti as a specimen. But I
was not fortunate in my choice; for to each of the few
which I could recollect, Mr. Mazard found some insuperable
objection. One was too long, another signified
Slippery Eel, another Big Bubble; and these would
be so inappropriate! I began to be very tried. I tried
romantic names; but these again did not suit any of
us. At length I decided by lot, writing ten of the most
sounding names I could muster from my novel reading
stores, on slips of paper, which were mingled in a shako,
and out came—Montacute. How many matters of
greater importance are thus decided.