University of Virginia Library

4. CHAPTER IV.

The spring of the year I was twenty, Dirck and myself
paid our first visit to town, in the characters of young men.

Although Satanstoe was not more than five-and-twenty
miles from New York, by the way of King's-Bridge, the
road we always travelled in order to avoid the ferry, it was
by no means as common to visit the capital as it has since
got to be. I know gentlemen who pass in and out from
our neighbourhood, now, as often as once a fortnight, or
even once a week; but thirty years since this was a thing
very seldom done. My dear mother always went to town
twice a year; in the spring to pass Easter week, and in the
autumn to make her winter purchases. My father usually
went down four times, in the course of the twelve months,
but he had the reputation of a gadabout, and was thought
by many people to leave home quite as much as he ought
to do. As for my grandfather, old age coming on, he seldom
left home now, unless it were to pay stated visits to
certain old brother campaigners who lived within moderate
distances, and with whom he invariably passed weeks each
summer.

The visit I have mentioned occurred some time after
Easter, a season of the year that many of our country families
were in the habit of passing in town, to have the
benefit of the daily services of Old Trinity, as the Hebrews
resorted to Jerusalem to keep the feast of the passover. My
mother did not go to town this year, on account of my
father's gout, and I was sent to supply her place with my
aunt Legge, who had been so long accustomed to have one
of the family with her at that season, that I was substituted.
Dirck had relatives of his own, with whom he staid, and
thus every thing was rendered smooth. In order to make a
fair start, my friend crossed the Hudson the week before,
and, after taking breath at Satanstoe for three days, we left
the Neck for the capital, mounted on a pair of as good
roadsters as were to be found in the county: and that is
saying a good deal; for the Morrises, and de Lanceys, and
Van Cortlandts all kept racers, and sometimes gave us good
sport, in the autumn, over the county course. West Chester,
to say no more than she deserved, was a county with
a spirited gentry, and one of which no colony need be
ashamed.

My mother was a tender-hearted parent, and full of
anxiety in behalf of an only child. She knew that travelling

always has more or less of hazard, and was desirous
we should be off betimes, in order to make certain of our
reaching town before the night set in. Highway robbers,
Heaven be praised! were then, and are still, unknown to
the colonies; but there were other dangers that gave my
excellent parent much concern. All the bridges were not
considered safe; the roads were, and are yet, very circuitous,
and it was possible to lose one's way; while it was said
persons had been known to pass the night on Harlem common,
an uninhabited waste that lies some seven or eight
miles on our side of the city. My mother's first care, therefore,
was to get Dirck and myself off early in the morning;
in order to do which she rose with the light, gave us our
breakfasts immediately afterwards, and thus enabled us to
quit Satanstoe just as the sun had burnished the eastern sky
with its tints of flame-colour.

Dirck was in high good-humour that morning, and, to
own the truth, Corny did not feel the depression of spirits
which, according to the laws of propriety, possibly ought to
have attended the first really free departure of so youthful
an adventurer from beneath the shadows of the paternal
roof. We went our way laughing and chatting like two
girls just broke loose from boarding-school. I had never
known Dirck more communicative, and I got certain new
insights into his feelings, expectations and prospects, as we
rode along the colony's highway that morning, that afterwards
proved to be matters of much interest with us both.
We had not got a mile from the chimney-tops of Satanstoe,
ere my friend broke forth as follows:—

“I suppose you have heard, Corny, what the two old
gentlemen have been at, lately?”

“Your father and mine?—I have not heard a syllable of
any thing new.”

“They have been suing out, before the Governor and
Council, a joint claim to that tract of land they bought of the
Mohawks, the last time they were out together on service,
in the colony militia.”

I ought to mention, here, that though my predecessors
had made but few campaigns in the regular army, each had
made several in the more humble capacity of a militia
officer.

“This is news to me, Dirck,” I answered. “Why
should the old gentlemen have been so sly about such a
thing?”

“I cannot tell you, lest they thought silence the best way
to keep off the yankees. You know, my father has a
great dread of a yankee's getting a finger into any of his
bargains. He says the yankees are the locusts of the west.”

“But, how came you to know any thing about it, Dirck?”

“I am no yankee, Corny.”

“And your father told you, on the strength of this recommendation?”

“He told me, as he tells me most things that he thinks it
best I should know. We smoke together, and then we talk
together.”

“I would learn to smoke too, if I thought I should get
any useful information by so doing.”

“Dere is much to be l'arnt from ter pipe!” said Dirck,
dropping into a slightly Dutch accent, as frequently happened
with him, when his mind took a secret direction towards
Holland, though in general he spoke English quite as
well as I did myself, and vastly better than that miracle of
taste, and learning, and virtue, and piety, Mr. Jason Newcome,
A. B., of Yale, and prospective president of that, or
some other institution.

“So it would seem, if your father is telling you secrets
all the time you are smoking together. But where is this
land, Dirck?”

“It is in the Mohawk country—or, rather, it is in the
country near the Hampshire Grants, and at no great distance
from the Mohawk country.”

“And how much may there be of it?”

“Forty thousand acres; and some of it of good, rich
flats, they say; such as a Dutchman loves.”

“And your father and mine have purchased all this land
in company, you say—share and share alike, as the lawyers
call it.”

“Just so.”

“Pray how much did they pay for so large a tract of
land?”

Dirck took time to answer this question. He first drew
from his breast a pocket-book, which he opened as well as

he could under the motion of his roadster, for neither of us
abated his speed, it being indispensable to reach town before
dark. My friend succeeded at length in putting his hand on
the paper he wanted, which he gave to me.

“There,” he said; “that is a list of the articles paid to
the Indians, which I have copied, and then there have been
several hundred pounds of fees paid to the Governor and
his officers.”

I read from the list, as follows; the words coming out by
jerks, as the trotting of my horse permitted. “Fifty blankets,
each with yellow strings and yellow trimmings; ten iron
pots, four gallons each; forty pounds of gunpowder; seven
muskets; twelve pounds of small beads; ten strings of wampum;
fifty gallons of rum, pure Jamaica, and of high proof;
a score of jews-harps, and three dozen first quality English-made
tomahawks.”

“Well, Dirck,” I cried, as soon as through reading,
“this is no great matter to give for forty thousand acres
of land, in the colony of New York. I dare say a hundred
pounds currency ($250) would buy every thing here, even
to the rum and the first quality of English-made tomahawks.”

“Ninety-six pounds, thirteen shillings, seven pence `t'ree
fart'in's' was the footing of the whole bill,” answered Dirck
deliberately, preparing to light his pipe; for he could smoke
very conveniently while trotting no faster than at the rate
of six miles the hour.

“I do not find that dear for forty thousand acres; I suppose
the muskets, and rum, and other things were manufactured
expressly for the Indian trade.”

“Not they, Corny: you know how it is with the old gentlemen;—they
are as honest as the day.”

“So much the better for them, and so much the better
for us! But what is to be done with this land, now they
own it?”

Dirck did not answer, until we had trotted twenty rods;
for by this time the pipe was at work, and the moment the
smoke was seen he kept his eye on it, until he saw a bright
light in front of his nose.

“The first thing will be to find it, Corny. When a patent
is signed and delivered, then you must send forth some

proper person to find the land it covers. I have heard of a
gentleman who got a grant of ten thousand acres, five years
since; and though he has had a hunt for it every summer
since, he has not been able to find it yet. To be sure, ten
thousand acres is a small object to look for, in the woods.”

“And our fathers intend to find this land as soon as the
season opens?”

“Not so fast, Corny; not so fast! That was the scheme
of your father's Welsh blood, but mine takes matters more
deliberately. Let us wait until next year, he said, and then
we can send the boys. By that time, too, the war will take
some sort of a shape, and we shall know better how to care
for the children. The subject has been fairly talked over
between the two patentees, and we are to go early next
spring, not this.”

The idea of land-hunting was not in the least disagreeable
to me; nor was it unpleasant to think that I stood in
reversion, or as heir, to twenty thousand acres of land, in
addition to those of Satanstoe. Dirck and I talked the
matter over, as we trotted on, until both of us began to regret
that the expedition was so far in perspective.

The war to which Dirck alluded, had broken out a few
months before our visit to town: a Mr. Washington, of Virginia—the
same who has since become so celebrated as the
Col. Washington of Braddock's defeat, and other events at
the south—having been captured, with a party of his men,
in a small work thrown up in the neighbourhood of the
French, somewhere on the tributaries of the Ohio; a river
that is known to run into the Mississippi, a vast distance to
the west. I knew very little then, nor do I know much now
of these remote regions, beyond the fact that there are such
places, and that they are sometimes visited by detachments,
war-parties, hunters, and other adventurers from the colonies.
To me, it seems scarce worth fighting about such
distant and wild territory; for ages and ages must elapse
before it can be of any service for the purposes of civilization.
Both Dirck and myself regretted that the summer
would be likely to go by without our seeing the enemy; for
we came of families that were commonly employed on such
occasions. We thought both our fathers might be out; though
even that was a point that still remained under discussion.

We dined and baited at Kingsbridge, intending to sup in
town. While the dinner was cooking, Dirck and I walked
out on the heights that overlook the Hudson; for I knew
less of this noble river than I wished to know of it. We
conversed as we walked; and my companion, who knew
the river much better than myself, having many occasions
to pass up and down it, between the village of Haverstraw
and town, in his frequent visits to his relatives below, gave
me some useful information.

“Look here, Corny,” said Dirck, after betraying a good
deal of desire to obtain a view of some object in the distance,
along the river-side; “Look here, Corny, do you see yonder
house, in the little bay below us, with the lawn that extends
down to the water, and that noble orchard behind it?”

I saw the object to which Dirck alluded. It was a house
that stood near the river, but sheltered and secluded, with
the lawn and orchard as described; though at the distance
of some two or three miles all the beauties of the spot could
not be discovered, and many of them had to be received on
the faith of my companion's admiration. Still I saw very
plainly, all the principal objects named; and, among others,
the house, the orchard, and the lawn. The building was of
stone—as is common with most of the better sort of houses in
the country—was long, irregular, and had that air of solid
comfort about it, which it is usual to see in buildings of that
description. The walls were not whitewashed, according to
the lively tastes of our Dutch fellow-colonists, who appear
to expend all their vivacity in the pipe and the brush, but
were left in their native grey; a circumstance that rendered
the form and dimensions of the structure a little less distinct,
at a first glance, than they might otherwise have proved.
As I gazed at the spot, however, I began to fancy it a charm,
to find the picture thus sobered down; and found a pleasure
in drawing the different angles, and walls, and chimneys,
and roofs, from this back-ground, by means of the organ of
sight. On the whole, I thought the little sequestered bay,
the wooded and rocky shores, the small but well distributed
lawn, the orchard, with all the other similar accessories,
formed together one of the prettiest places of the sort I had
ever seen. Thinking so, I was not slow in saying as much to
my companion. I was thought to have some taste in these

matters, and had been consulted on the subject of laying
out grounds by one or two neighbours in the county.

“Whose house is it, Dirck?” I enquired; “and how
came you to know anything about it?”

“That is Lilacsbush,” answered my friend; “and it belongs
to my mother's cousin, Herman Mordaunt.”

I had heard of Herman, or, as it is pronounced, Harman
Mordaunt. He was a man of considerable note in the
colony, having been the son of a Major Mordaunt, of the
British army, who had married the heiress of a wealthy
Dutch merchant, whence the name of Herman; which had
descended to the son along with the money. The Dutch
were so fond of their own blood, that they never failed to give
this Mr. Mordaunt his Christian name; and he was usually
known in the colony as Herman Mordaunt. Further than
this, I knew little of the gentleman, unless it might be that
he was reputed rich, and was admitted to be in the best
society, though not actually belonging to the territorial or
political aristocracy of the colony.

“As Herman Mordaunt is your mother's cousin, I suppose,
Dirck,” I resumed, “that you have been at Lilacsbush,
and ascertained whether the inside of the house is as
pleasant and respectable as the outside.”

“Often, Corny; while Madam Mordaunt lived, my mother
and I used to go there every summer. The poor lady
is now dead, but I go there still.”

“Why did you not ride on as far as Lilacsbush, and levy
a dinner on your relations? I should think Herman Mordaunt
would feel hurt, were he to learn that an acquaintance,
or a relation, had put up at an inn, within a couple of miles
of his own house. I dare say he knows both Major and
Capt. Littlepage, and I protest I shall feel it necessary to
send him a note of apology for not calling. These
things ought not to be done, Dirck, among persons of a
certain stamp, and who are supposed to know what is
proper.”

“This would be all right enough, Corny, had Herman
Mordaunt, or his daughter, been at Lilacsbush; but they
live in Crown Street, in town, in winter, and never come out
here until after the Pinkster holidays, let them come when
they may.”

“Oh! he is as great a man as that, is he? — a town and
country house; after all, I do not know whether it would
do to be quite so free with one of his standing, as to go to
dine with him without sending notice.”

“Nonsense, Corny. Who hesitates about stopping at a
gentleman's door, when he is travelling? Herman Mordaunt
would have given us a hearty welcome, and I should
have gone on to Lilacsbush, did I not know that the family
is certain to be in town at this season. Easter came early
this year, and to-morrow will be the first day of the Pinkster
holidays. As soon as they are over, Herman Mordaunt
and Anneke will be out here to enjoy their lilacs and
roses.”

“Oh, ho! there is an Anneke, as well as the old gentleman.
Pray, how old may Miss Anneke be, Master
Dirck?”

As this question was asked, I turned to look my friend in
the face, and I found that his handsome, smooth, fair Dutch
lineaments were covered with a glow of red, that it was not
usual to see extended so far from his ruddy cheeks. Dirck
was too much of a man, however, to turn away, or to try to
hide blushes so ingenuous; but he answered stoutly—

“My cousin, Anneke Mordaunt, is just turned of seventeen;
and, I 'll tell you what, Corny—”

“Well — I am listening, with both ears, to hear your
what—Out with it, man; both ears are open.”

“Why, Anneke (On-na-kay), is one of the very prettiest
girls in the colony! — What is more, she is as sweet and
goot”—Dirck grew Dutch, as he grew animated—“as she
is pretty.”

I was quite astounded at the energy and feeling with which
this was said. Dirck was such a matter-of-fact fellow, that
I had never dreamed he could be sensible to the passion of
love; nor had I ever paused to analyze the nature of our
own friendship. We liked each other, in the first place,
most probably, from habit; then, we were of characters so
essentially different, that our attachment was influenced by
that species of excitement which is the child of opposition.
As we grew older, Dirck's good qualities began to command
my respect, and reason entered more into my affection for
him. I was well convinced that my companion could, and

would, prove to be a warm friend; but the possibility of his
ever becoming a lover, had not before crossed my mind.
Even then, the impression made was not very deep or lasting,
though I well remember the sort of admiration and
wonder with which I gazed at his flushed cheek, animated
eye, and improved mien. For the moment, Dirck really
had a commanding and animated air.

“Why, Anneke is one of the prettiest girls in the colony!”
my friend had exclaimed.

“And your cousin?”

“My second cousin.—Her mother's father and my mother's
mother were brother and sister.”

“In that case, I shall hope to have the honour of being
introduced, one of these days, to Miss Anneke Mordaunt,
who is just turned of seventeen, and is one of the prettiest
girls in the colony, and is as good as she is pretty.”

“I wish you to see her, Corny, and that before we go
home,” Dirck replied, all his philosophy, or phlegm, whichever
the philosophy of other people may term it, returning;
“come; let us go back to the inn; our dinner will be getting
cold.”

I mused on my friend's unusual manner, as we walked
back towards the inn; but it was soon forgotten, in the
satisfaction produced by eating a good, substantial meal of
broiled ham, with hot potatoes, boiled eggs, a beefsteak,
done to a turn, with the accessions of pickles, cold-slaw,
apple-pie, and cider. This is a common New York tavern
dinner, for the wayfarer; and, I must say, I have got to
like it. Often have I enjoyed such a repast, after a sharp
forenoon's ride; ay, and enjoyed it more than I have relished
entertainments at which have figured turkies, oysters,
hams, hashes, and other dishes, that have higher reputations.
Even turtle-soup, for which we are somewhat famous in
New York, has failed to give me the same delight.

Dirck, to do him justice, ate heartily; for it is not an easy
matter to take away his appetite. As usual, I did most of
the talking; and that was with our landlady, who, hearing
I was a son of her much-esteemed and constant customer,
Major Littlepage, presented herself with the dessert and
cheese, and did me the honour to commence a discourse.
Her name was Light; and light was she certain to cast on

everything she discussed; that is to say, innkeeper's light;
which partakes somewhat of the darkness that is so apt
to overshadow no small portion of the minds of her many
customers.

“Pray, Mrs. Light,” I asked, when there was an opening,
which was not until the good woman had exhausted her
breath in honour of the Littlepages, “do you happen to
know anything of a family, hereabouts, of the name of Mordaunt?”

“Do I happen to know, sir!—Why, Mr. Littlepage, you
might almost as well have asked me, if I had ever heard of
a Van Cortlandt, or a Philipse, or a Morris, or any other of
the gentry hereabouts. Mr. Mordaunt has a country-place,
and a very pretty one it is, within two miles and a half of
us; and he and Madame Mordaunt never passed our door,
when they went into the country to see Madame Van Cortlandt,
without stopping to say a word, and leave a shilling.
The poor lady is dead; but there is a young image of her
virtues, that is coming a'ter her, that will be likely to do
some damage in the colony. She is modesty itself, sir; so
I thought it could do her no harm, the last time she was
here, just to tell her, she ought to be locked up, for the
thefts she was likely to commit, if not for them she had
committed already. She blushed, sir, and looked for all the
world like the shell of the most delicate boiled lobster you
ever laid eyes on. She is truly a charming young lady!”

“Thefts of hearts, you mean of course, my good Mrs.
Light?”

“Of nothing else, sir; young ladies are apt to steal
hearts, you know. My word for it, Miss Anneke will turn
out a great robber, after her own fashion, you know, sir.”

“And whose hearts is she likely to run away with, pray?
I should be pleased to hear the names of some of the sufferers.”

“Lord, sir!—she is too young to have done much yet;
but wait a twelvemonth, and I'll answer the question.”

I could see all this time that Dirck was uneasy, and had
some amusement in watching the workings of his countenance.
My malicious intentions, however, were suddenly
interrupted. As if to prevent further discourse, and, at the

same time, further espionage, my young friend rose from
table, ordering the horses and the bill.

During the ride to town, no more was said of Lilacsbush,
Herman Mordaunt, or his daughter Anneke. Dirck was
silent, but this was his habit after dinner, and I was kept a
good deal on the alert in order to find the road which
crossed the common, it being our desire to go in that direction.
It is true, we might have gone into town by the way
of Bloomingdale, Greenwich, the meadows and the Collect,
and so down past the common upon the head of Broadway;
but my mother had particularly desired we would fall into
the Bowery Lane, passing the seats that are to be found in
that quarter, and getting into Queen Street as soon as possible.
By taking this course she thought we should be less
likely to miss our way within the town itself, which is certainly
full of narrow and intricate passages. My uncle
Legge had removed into Duke Street, in the vicinity of
Hanover Square; and Queen Street, I well knew, would lead
us directly to his door. Queen Street, indeed, is the great
artery of New York, through which most of its blood circulates.

It was drawing towards night when we trotted up to the
stable, where we left our horses, and obtaining a black to
shoulder our portmanteaus, we began to thread the mazes
of the capital on foot. New York was certainly, even in
1757, a wonderful place for commerce! Vessels began to
be seen some distance east of Fly Market, and there could
not have been fewer than twenty ships, brigs, and schooners,
lying in the East river, as we walked down Queen Street.
Of course I include all descriptions of vessels that go to
sea, in this estimate. At the present moment, it is probable
twice that number would be seen. There Dirck and I
stopped more than once, involuntarily, to gaze at the exhibitions
of wealth and trade that offered themselves as we
went deeper into the town. My mother had particularly
cautioned me against falling into this evidence of country
habits, and I felt much ashamed at each occurrence of the
weakness; but I found it irresistible. At length my friend
and I parted; he to go to the residence of his aunt, while
I proceeded to that of mine. Before separating, however,
we agreed to meet next morning in the fields at the head of

Broadway, on the common, which, as it was understood,
was to be the scene of the Pinkster sports.

My reception in Duke Street was cordial, both on the
part of my uncle and on the part of my aunt; the first
being a good-hearted person, though a little too apt to run
into extravagance on the subject of the rights of the rabble.
I was pleased with the welcome I received, enjoyed an excellent
hot supper, to which we sat down at half-past eight,
my aunt being fond of town hours, both dining and supping
a little later than my mother, as being more fashionable and
genteel.[1] As I was compelled to confess fatigue, after so
long a ride, as soon as we quitted the table I retired to my
own room.

The next day was the first of the three that are devoted
to Pinkster, the great Saturnalia of the New York blacks.
Although this festival is always kept with more vivacity at
Albany than in York, it is far from being neglected, even
now, in the latter place. I had told my aunt, before I left
her, I should not wait for breakfast, but should be up with

the sun, and off in quest of Dirck, in order that we might
enjoy a stroll along the wharves before it was time to repair
to the common, where the fun was to be seen. Accordingly
I got out of the house betimes, though it was an hour later
than I had intended; for I heard the rattling of cups in the
little parlour, the sign that the table was undergoing the
usual process of arrangement for breakfast. It then occurred
to me that most, if not all of the servants, seven in number,
would be permitted to enjoy the holiday; and that it might
be well if I took all my meals, that day, in the fields. Running
back to the room, I communicated this intention to
Juno, the girl I found doing Pompey's work, and left the
house on a jump. There was no great occasion for starving,
I thought, in a town as large and as full of eatables as
New York; and the result fully justified this reasonable
opinion.

Just as I got into Hanover Square, I saw a grey-headed
negro, who was for turning a penny before he engaged in
the amusements of the day, carrying two pails that were
scoured to the neatness of Dutch fastidiousness, and which
were suspended from the yoke he had across his neck and
shoulders. He cried “White wine—white wine!” in a clear
sonours voice; and I was at his side in a moment. White
wine was, and is still, my delight of a morning; and I
bought a delicious draught of the purest and best of a Communipaw
vintage, eating a cake at the same time. Thus
refreshed, I proceeded into the square, the beauty of which
had struck my fancy as I walked through it the previous
evening. To my surprise, whom should I find in the very
centre of Queen Street, gaping about him with a most indomitable
Connecticut air, but Jason Newcome! A brief
explanation let me into the secret of his presence. His boys
had all gone home to enjoy the Pinkster holiday, with the
black servants of their respective families; and Jason had
seized the opportunity to pay his first visit to the great capital
of the colony. He was on his travels, like myself.

“And what has brought you down here?” I demanded,
the pedagogue having already informed me that he had put
up at a tavern in the suburbs, where horse-keeping and
lodgings were “reasonable.” “The Pinkster fields are up
near the head of Broadway, on the common.”

“So I hear,” answered Jason; “but I want to see a ship,
and all the sights this way, in the first place. It will be
time enough for Pinkster, two or three hours hence, if a
Christian ought even to look at such vanities. Can you tell
me where I am to find Hanover Square, Corny?”

“You are in it now, Mr. Newcome; and to my fancy, a
very noble area it is!”

“This Hanover Square!” repeated Jason. “Why, its
shape is not that of a square at all; is is nearer a triangle.”

“What of that, sir? By a square in a town, one does
not necessarily understand an area with four equal sides
and as many right angles, but an open space that is left for
air and beauty. There are air and beauty enough to satisfy
any reasonable man. A square may be a parallelogram,
or a triangle, or any other shape one pleases.”

“This, then, is Hanover Square!—a New York square,
or a Nassau Hall square, Corny; but not a Yale College
square, take my word for it. It is so small, moreover!”

“Small!—the width of the street at the widest end must
be near a hundred feet; I grant you it is not half that at
the other end, but that is owing to the proximity of the
houses.”

“Ay, it is all owing to the proximity of the houses, as
you call it. Now, according to my notion, Hanover Square,
of which a body hears so much talk in the country, ought
to have had fifty or sixty acres in it, and statues of the
whole House of Brunswick, besides. Why is that nest of
houses left in the middle of your square?”

“It is not, sir. The square ceases when it reaches them.
They are too valuable to be torn down, although there has
been some talk of it. My uncle Legge told me, last evening,
that those houses have been valued as high as twelve thousand
dollars; and some persons put them as high as six
thousand pounds.”

This reconciled Jason to the houses; for he never failed
to defer to money, come in what shape it would. It was
the only source of human distinction that he could clearly
comprehend, though he had some faint impressions touching
the dignity of the crown, and the respect due to its representatives.

“Corny,” said Jason, in an under tone, and taking me

by the arm to lead me aside, though no one was near, like
a man who has a great secret to ask, or to communicate,
“what was that I saw you taking for your bitters, a little
while ago?”

“Bitters! I do not understand you, Jason. Nothing
bitter have I tasted to-day; nor can I say I have any great
wish to put anything bitter into my mouth.”

“Why, the draught you got from the nigger who is now
coming back across the square, as you call it, and which
you seemed to enj'y particularly. I am dry, myself, and
should wonderfully like a drink.”

“Oh! that fellow sells `white wine,' and you will find it
delicious. If you want your `bitters,' as you call them,
you cannot do better than stop him, and give him a penny.”

“Will he let it go so desperate cheap as that?” demanded
Jason, his eyes twinkling with a sort of “bitters” expectation.

“That is the stated price. Stop him boldly; there is no
occasion for all this Connecticut modesty. Here, uncle, this
gentleman wishes a cup of your white wine.”

Jason turned away in alarm, to see who was looking on;
and, when the cup was put into his hand, he shut his eyes,
determined to gulp its contents at a swallow, in the most
approved “bitters” style. About half the liquor went down
his throat, the rest being squirted back in a small white
stream.

“Buttermilk, by Jingo!” exclaimed the disappointed pedagogue,
who expected some delicious combination of spices
with rum. St. Jingo was the only saint, and a “darnation”
or “darn you,” were the only oaths his puritan education
ever permitted him to use.