University of Virginia Library

47. CHAPTER XLVII.

The growth of our little secluded village has been so
gradual, its prosperity so moderate, and its attempts so
unambitious, that during the whole three years which
have flown since it knew “the magic of a name,” not
a single event has occurred which would have been
deemed worthy of record by any one but a midge-fancier
like myself. Our brief annals boast not yet one
page, enlivened by those attractive words, “prodigious
undertaking!” “brilliant success!” “splendid fortune!”
“race of enterprise!” “march of improvement!”
“cultivation of taste!” “triumph of art!” “design
by Vitruvius!” “unequalled dome!” “pinnacle
of glory!” Alas! the mere enumeration of these
magnificent expressions, makes our insignificance
seem doubly insignificant! like the joke of our school-days—“Soared
aloft on eagles' wings—then fell flat
down, on father's wood-pile.” Irredeemably little are
we; unless, which Heaven forefend! a rail-road stray
our way. We must content ourselves with grinding
the grists, trimming the bonnets, mending the ploughs,
and schooling the children, of a goodly expanse of
wheat-fields, with such other odd jobs as may come
within the abilities of our various Jacks-of-all-trades.

We cannot be metropolitan, even in our dreams; for
Turnipdale has secured the County honours. We
cannot hope to be literary; for all the colleges which
are to be tolerated in Michigan, are already located.
The State-Prison favours Jacksonburg; the Salt-works
some undistinguished place at the north-east;
what is left for Montacute?

Alas for Tinkerville! less happy under the cruel
blight of her towering hopes, than we in our humble
notelessness. She rose like a rocket, only to fall like
its stick; and baleful were the stars that signalized
her explosion. Mournful indeed are the closed windows
of her porticoed edifices. The only pleasurable
thought which arises in my mind at the mention of her
name, is that connected with her whilome president.
Mrs. Rivers is coming to spend the summer with Mrs.
Daker, while Mr. Rivers departs for Texas with two or
three semblables, to attempt the carving out of a new
home, where he need not “work.” I shall have my
gentle friend again; and her life will not lack interest,
for she brings with her a drooping, delicate baby, to
borrow health from the sunny skies and soft breezes
of Michigan.

The Female Beneficent Society grows, by dire experience,
chary of news. The only novel idea broached
at our last meeting, was that of a nascent tendresse between
Mrs. Nippers and Mr. Phlatt, a young lawyer,
whose resplendent “tin,” graces, within the last month,
the side-post of Squire Jenkins' door. I have my
doubts. This is one of the cases wherein much may
be said on both sides. Mr. Phlatt is certainly a constant
visitor at Mrs. Nippers', but the knowing widow

does not live alone. He praises with great fervour,
Mrs. Nippers' tea and biscuits, but then who could do
less? they are so unequivocally perfect—and besides,
Mr. Phlatt has not access to many such comfortable
tea-tables—and moreover, when he praises he gazes,
but not invariably on Mrs. Nippers. I am not convinced
yet. Miss Clinch has a new French calico,
couleur de rose, and a pink lining to her Tuscan. And
she is young and rather pretty. But then, she has no
money! and Mrs. Nippers has quite a pretty little income—the
half-pay of her deceased Mr. Nippers, who
died of a fever at Sackett's Harbour—and Mrs. Nippers
has been getting a new dress, just the colour of blue-pill,
Dr. Teeny says. I waver, but time will bring all
things to light.

Mr. Hastings goes to the Legislature, next winter;
and he is beginning to collect materials for a house,
which will be as nearly as may be, like his father's
summer-palace on the Hudson. But he is in another
county, so we do not feel envious. Cora will never
be less lovely, nor more elegant, nor (whispered be it!)
more happy than she is in her pretty log-house. And
the new house will be within the same belt of maples
and walnuts which now encircles the picturesque
cottage; so that the roses and honey-suckles will tell
well; like their fair mistress, graceful and exquisite
any-where.

Many new buildings are springing up in Montacute.
Mr. Doubleday has ensconced himself and his wife and
baby, in a white and green tenement, neat enough even
for that queen of housewives; and Betsy, having grown
stout, scours the new white-wood floors, à merveille.

Loggeries are becoming scarce within our limits, and
many of our ladies wear silk dresses on Sunday. We
have two physicians, and two lawyers, or rather one
and a half. Squire Jenkins being only an adopted
son of Themis. He thought it a pity his gift in the
talking line should not be duly useful to the public, so he
acts as advocate, whenever he is not on duty as judge,
and thereby ekes out his bread and butter, as well as
adds to his reputation. And in addition to all the improvements
which I have recorded, I may mention that
we are building a new meeting-house, and are soon to
have a settled minister.

And now, why do I linger? As some rustic damsel
who has, in her simplicity, accepted the hurried “Do
call when you come to town,” of a fine city guest,
finds that she has already outstaid the fashionable
limit, yet hesitates in her awkwardness, when and
how to take leave; so I—conscious that I have said
forth my little say, yet scarce knowing in what style
best to make my parting reverence, have prolonged
this closing chapter—a “conclusion wherein nothing
is concluded.” But such simple and sauntering stories
are like Scotch reels, which have no natural ending,
save the fatigue of those engaged. So I may as well
cut short my mazy dance and resume at once my proper
position as a “wall-flower,” with an unceremonious
adieu to the kind and courteous reader.