University of Virginia Library

11. CHAPTER XI.

As the road from the ferry into the town ran along the
bank of the river, we reached the point where the Rev. Mr.
Worden had landed precisely at the same instant with his
pursuers, who had been obliged to make a little circuit, in
order to get off the ice. I do not know which party regarded
the other in the greatest astonishment,—the hunted,
or the hunters. The sleigh had in it two fine-looking
young fellows, that spoke English with a slight Dutch
accent, and three young women, whose bright coal-black
eyes betokened surprise a little mitigated by a desire to
laugh. Seeing that we were all strangers, I suppose, and
that we claimed the runaway as belonging to our party,
one of the young men raised his cap very respectfully, and
opened the discourse by asking in a very civil tone—

“What ails the reverent gentleman, to make him run so
fast?”

“Run!” exclaimed Mr. Worden, whose lungs had been
playing like a blacksmith's bellows — “Run! and who
would not run to save himself from being drowned?”

“Drowned!” repeated the young Dutchman, looking
round at the river, as if to ascertain whether the ice were
actually moving—“why does the Dominie suppose there
was any danger of that?”

As Mr. Worden's bellows were still hard at work, I explained
to the young Albanians that we were strangers just
arrived from the vicinity of New York; that we were unaccustomed
to frozen rivers, and had never crossed one on
the ice before; that our reverend companion had chosen to
walk at a distance from the road, in order to be in less
danger should any team break in, and that he had naturally
run to avoid their sleigh when he saw it approaching. The
Albanians heard this account in respectful silence, though I

could see the two young men casting sly glances at each
other, and that even the ladies had some little difficulty in
altogether suppressing their smiles. When it was through,
the oldest of the Dutchmen—a fine, dare-devil, roystering-looking
fellow of four or five-and-twenty, whose dress and
mien, however, denoted a person of the upper class,—begged
a thousand pardons for his mistake, quitting his sleigh and
insisting on having the honours of shaking hands with the
whole of us. His name was `Ten Eyck,' he said;' `Guert
Ten Eyck,' and he asked permission, as we were strangers,
of doing the honour of Albany to us. Everybody in the
place knew him, which, as we afterwards ascertained, was
true enough, for he had just as much reputation for fun and
frolic as at all comported with respectability; keeping along,
as it were, on the very verge of the pale of reputable people,
without being thrown entirely out of it. The young
females with him were a shade below his own natural position
in society, tolerating his frolics on account of this circumstance,
aided as it was by a singularly manly face and
person, a hearty and ready laugh, a full purse, and possibly
by the secret hope of being the happy individual who was
designed by Providence to convert `a reformed rake into the
best of husbands.' In a word, he was always welcome with
them, when those a little above them felt more disposed to
frown.

Of course, all this was unknown to us at the time, and
we accepted Guert Ten Eyck's proffers of civility in the
spirit in which they were offered. He inquired at what
tavern we intended to stop, and promised an early call.
Then, shaking us all round by the hand again with great
cordiality, he took his leave. His companion doffed a very
dashing, high, wolf-skin cap to us, and the black-eyed trio,
on the hind seat, smiled graciously, and away they drove at
a furious rate, startling all the echoes of Albany with their
bells. By this time Mr. Worden was seated, and we followed
more moderately, our team having none of the Dutch
courage of a pair of horses fresh from the stable. Such
were the circumstances under which we made our entrance
into the ancient city of Albany. We were all in hopes, the
little affair of the chase would soon be forgotten, for no one
likes to be associated with a ridiculous circumstance; but

we counted without our host. Guert Ten Eyck was not of
a temperament to let such an affair sleep, but, as I afterwards
ascertained, he told it with the laughing embellishments
that belonged to his reckless character, until, in turn,
the Rev. Mr. Worden came to be known, throughout all that
region, by the nickname of the “Loping Dominie.”

The reader may be assured our eyes were about us, as
we drove through the streets of the second town in the
colony. We were not unaccustomed to houses constructed
in the Dutch style, in New York, though the English mode
of building had been most in vogue there, for half a century.
It was not so with Albany, which remained, essentially, a
Dutch town, in 1758. We heard little beside Dutch, as we
passed along. The women scolded their children in Low
Dutch, a use, by the way, for which the language appears
singularly well adapted; the negroes sang Dutch songs;
the men called to each other in Dutch, and Dutch rang in
our ears, as we walked our horses through the streets, towards
the tavern. There were many soldiers about, and
other proofs of the presence of a considerable military force
were not wanting; still, the place struck me as very provincial
and peculiar, after New York. Nearly all the
houses were built with their gables to the streets, and each
had heavy wooden Dutch stoops, with seats, at its door. A
few had small court-yards in front, and, here and there, was
a building of somewhat more pretension than usual. I do
not think, however, there were fifty houses in the place,
that were built with their gables off the line of the streets.[1]

We were no sooner housed, than Dirck and I sallied forth
to look at the place. Here we were, in one of the oldest
towns of America; a place that could boast of much more

than a century's existence, and it was natural to feel curious
to look about one. Our inn was in the principal street,—
that which led up the hill towards the fort. This street was
a wide avenue, that quite put Broadway out of countenance,
so far as mere width was concerned. The streets that led
out of it, however, were principally little better than lanes,
as if the space that had been given to two or three of the
main streets had been taken off of the remainder. The High
Street, as we English would call it, was occupied by sleds
filled with wood for sale; sleds loaded with geese, turkeys,
tame and wild, and poultry of all sorts; sleds with venison,
still in the skin, piled up in heaps, &c.,—all these eatables
being collected, in unusual quantities as we were told, to
meet the extraordinary demand created by the different
military messes. Deer were no strangers to us; for Long
Island was full of all sorts of game, as were the upper counties
of New Jersey. Even Westchester, old and well
settled as it had become, was not yet altogether clear of
deer, and nothing was easier than to knock over a buck in
the highlands. Nevertheless, I had never seen venison,
wild turkeys and sturgeons, in such quantities as they were
to be seen that day in the principal street of Albany.

The crowd collected in this street, the sleighs that were
whirling past, filled with young men and maidens, the incessant
jingling of bells, the spluttering and jawing in Low
Dutch, the hearty English oaths of serjeants and sutlers'men
and cooks of messes, the loud laughs of the blacks,
and the beauty of the cold clear day, altogether produced
some such effect on me, as I had experienced when I went
to the theatre. Not the least striking picture of the scene,
was Jason, in the middle of the street, gaping about him, in
the cocked-hat, the pea-green coat, and the striped woollen
stockings.

Dirck and myself naturally examined the churches.
These were two, as has been said already, — one for the
Dutch, and the other for the English. The first was the
oldest. It stood at the point where the two principal streets
crossed each other, and in the centre of the street, leaving
sufficient passages all round it. The building was square,
with a high pointed roof, having a belfry and weathercock
on its apex; windows, with diamond panes and painted glass,

and a porch that was well suited both to the climate and to
appearances.[2]

We were examining this structure, when Guert Ten Eyck
accosted us, in his frank, off-hand way—

“Your servant, Mr. Littlepage; your servant, Mr. Follock,”
he cried, again shaking each cordially by the hand.
“I was on the way to the tavern to look you up, when I
accidentally saw you here. A few gentlemen of my acquaintance,
who are in the habit of supping together in the
winter time, meet for the last jollification of the season to-night,
and they have all express't a wish to have the pleasure
of your company. I hope you will allow me to say you
will come? We meet at nine, sup at ten, and break up
at twelve, quite regularly, in a very sedate and prudent
manner.”

There was something so frank and cordial, so simple and
straight-forward in this invitation, that we did not know how
to decline it. We both knew that the name of Ten Eyck
was respectable in the colony; our new acquaintance was
well dressed, he seemed to be in good company when we
first met him, his sleigh and horses had been actually of a
more dashing stamp than usual, and his own attire had all
the peculiarities of a gentleman's, with the addition of something
even more decided and knowing than was common.
It is true, the style of these peculiarities was not exactly
such as I had seen in the air, manners and personal decorations
of those of Billings and Harris; but they were none
the less striking, and none the less attractive; the two Englishmen
being “macaronis,” from London, and Ten Eyck
being a “buck” of Albany.

“I thank you, very heartily, Mr. Ten Eyck,” I answered,
“both for myself and for my friend”—

“And will let me come for you at half-past eight, to show
you the way?”

“Why, yes, sir; I was about to say as much, if it be
not giving you too much trouble.”

“Do not speak of tr-r-ouple”—this last word will give a
very good notion of Guert's accent, which I cannot stop to
imitate at all times in writing—“and do not say your
fre'nt, but your fre'ntz.”

“As to the two that are not here, I cannot positively answer;
yonder, however, is one that can speak for himself.”

“I see him, Mr. Littlepage, and will answer for him, on
my own account. Depent on it, he will come. But the
Dominie—he has a hearty look, and can help eat a turkey
and swallow a glass of goot Madeira — I think I can rely
on. A man cannot take all that active exercise without
food.”

“Mr. Worden is a very companionable man, and is excellent
company at a supper-table. I will communicate
your invitation, and hope to be able to prevail on him to be
of the party.”

“T'at is enough, sir,” returned Ten Eyck, or Guert, as I
shall henceforth call him, in general; “vere dere ist a vill,
dere ist a vay.” Guert frequently broke out in such specimens
of broken English, while at other times he would
speak almost as well as any of us. “So Got pless you
my dear Mr. Littlepage, and make us lasting friends. I
like your countenance, and my eye never deceives me in
these matters.”

Here, Guert shook us both by the hand again, most cordially,
and left us. Dirck and I next strolled up the hill,
going as high as the English church, which stood also in
the centre of the principal street, an imposing and massive
edifice in stone. With the exception of Mother Trinity in
New York, this was the largest, and altogether the most
important edifice devoted to the worship of my own church
I had ever seen. In Westchester, there were several of
Queen Anne's churches, but none on a scale to compare
with this. Our small edifices were usually without galleries,
steeples, towers, or bells; while St. Peter's, Albany,
if not actually St. Peter's, Rome, was a building of which
a man might be proud. A little to our surprise, we
found the Rev. Mr. Worden and Mr. Jason Newcome had
met at the door of this edifice, having sent a boy to the
sexton in quest of the key. In a minute or two, the urchin
returned, bringing not only the key of the church, but the

excuses of the sexton for not coming himself. The door
was opened, and we went in.

I have always admired the decorous and spiritual manner
in which the Rev. Mr. Worden entered a building that had
been consecrated to the services of the Deity. I know not
how to describe it; but it proved how completely he had
been drilled in the decencies of his profession. Off came
his hat, of course; and his manner, however facetious and
easy it may have been the moment before, changed on the
instant to gravity and decorum. Not so with Jason. He
entered St. Peter's, Albany, with exactly the same indifferent
and cynical air with which he had seemed to regard
everything but money, since he entered “York Colony.”
Usually, he wore his cocked-hat on the back of his head,
thereby lending himself a lolloping, negligent, and, at the
same time, defying air; but I observed that, as we all uncovered,
he brought his own beaver up over his eye-brows,
in a species of military bravado. To uncover to a church,
in his view of the matter, was a sort of idolatry; there
might be images about, for anything he knew; “and a man
could never be enough on his guard ag'in being carried
away by such evil deceptions,” as he had once before answered
to a remonstrance of mine, for wearing his hat in
our own parish church.

I found the interior of St. Peter's quite as imposing as its
exterior. Three of the pews were canopied, having coats
of arms on their canopies. These, the boy told us, belonged
to the Van Rensselaer and Schuyler families. All these
were covered with black cloth, in mourning for some death
in those ancient families, which were closely allied. I was
very much struck with the dignified air that these patrician
seats gave the house of God.[3] There were also several
hatchments suspended against the walls; some being placed
there in commemoration of officers of rank, from home, who

had died in the king's service in the colony; and others to
mark the deaths of some of the more distinguished of our
own people.

Mr. Worden expressed himself well pleased with appearances
of things, in and about this building; though Jason
regarded all with ill-concealed disgust.

“What is the meaning of them pews with tops to them,
Corny?” the pedagogue whispered me, afraid to encounter
the parson's remarks, by his own criticism.

“They are the pews of families of distinction in this
place, Mr. Newcome; and the canopies, or tops, as you call
them, are honourable signs of their owners' conditions.”

“Do you think their owners will sit under such coverings
in paradise, Corny?” continued Jason, with a sneer.

“It is impossible for me to say, sir; it is probable, however,
the just will not require any such mark to distinguish
them from the unjust.”

“Let me see,” said Jason, looking round and affecting to
count; “there are just three—Bishop, Priest, and Deacon,
I suppose. Waal, there's a seat for each, and they can be
comfortable here, whatever may turn up herea'ter.”

I turned away, unwilling to dispute the point, for I knew
it was as hopeless to expect that a Danbury man would feel
like a New Yorker, on such a subject, as it was to expect
that a New Yorker could be made to adopt Danbury sentiments.
As for the argument, however, I have heard others
of pretty much the same calibre often urged against the three
orders of the ministry.

On quitting St. Peter's, I communicated the invitation of
Guert Ten Eyck to Mr. Worden, and urged him to be of the
party. I could see that the notion of a pleasant supper was
anything but unpleasant to the missionary. Still he had
his scruples, inasmuch as he had not yet seen his reverend

brother who had the charge of St. Peter's, did not know
exactly the temper of his mind, and was particularly desirous
of officiating for him, in the presence of the principal
personages of the place, on the approaching Sunday. He
had written a note to the chaplain; for the person who had
the cure of the Episcopalians held that rank in the army,
St. Peter's being as much of an official chapel as a parish
church; and he must have an interview with that individual
before he could decide. Fortunately, as we descended the
street, towards our inn, we saw the very person in question.
The marks of the common office that these two divines bore
about their persons in their dress, sufficed to make them
known to each other at a glance. In five minutes, they had
shaken hands, heard each man's account of himself, had
given and accepted the invitation to preach, and were otherwise
on free and easy terms. Mr. Worden was to dine in
the fort, with the chaplain. We then walked forward towards
the tavern.

“By the way, Mr. —,” said Mr. Worden, in a parenthesis
of the discourse, “the family of Ten Eyck is quite
respectable, here in Albany.”

“Very much so, sir — a family that is held in much
esteem. I shall count on your assisting me, morning and
evening, my dear Mr. Worden.”

It is surprising how the clergy do depend on each other
for `assistance!'

“Make your arrangements accordingly, my good brother
—I am quite fresh, and have brought a good stock of sermons;
not knowing how much might remain to be done in
the army. Corny,” in a half-whisper, “you can let our
new friends know that I will sup with them; and, harkee—
just drop a hint to them, that I am none of your puritans.”

Here, then, we found everything in a very fair way to
bring us all out in society, within the first two hours of our
arrival. Mr. Worden was engaged to preach the next day
but one; and he was engaged to supper that same day. All
looked promising, and I hurried on in order to ascertain if
Guert Ten Eyck had made his promised call. As before,
he was met in the street, and the acceptance of the Dominie
was duly communicated. Guert seemed highly pleased

at this success; and he left me, promising to be punctual to
his hour. In the mean time, we had to dine.

The dinner proved a good one; and, as Mr. Worden
remarked, it was quite lucky that the principal dish was
venison, a meat that was so easy of digestion, as to promise
no great obstacle to the accommodation of the supper. He
should dine on venison, therefore; and he advised all three
of us to follow his example. But, certain Dutch dishes attracted
the eye and taste of Dirck; while Jason had alighted
on a hash, of some sort or other, that he did not quit until
he had effectually disposed of it. As for myself, I confess,
the venison was so much to my taste, that I stuck by the
parson. We had our wine, too, and left the table early, in
order not to interfere with the business of the night.

After dinner, it was proposed to walk out in a body, to
make a further examination of the place, and to see if we
could not fall in with an army contractor, who might be disposed
to relieve Dirck and myself of some portion of our
charge. Luck again threw us in the way of Guert Ten
Eyck, who seemed to live in the public street. In the
course of a brief conversation that took place, as a passing
compliment, I happened to mention a wish to ascertain
where one might dispose of a few horses, and of two or three
sleigh-loads of flour, pork, &c., &c.

“My dear Mr. Littlepage,” said Guert, with a frank smile
and a friendly shake of the hand, “I am delighted that you
have mentioned these matters to me; I can take you to the
very man you wish to see; a heavy army-contractor, who
is buying up everything of the sort he can lay his hands
on.”

Of course, I was as much delighted as Guert could very
well be, and left my party to proceed at once to the contractor's
office, with the greatest alacrity; Dirck accompanying
me. As we went along, our new friend advised us
not to be very backward in the way of price, since the king
paid, in the long run.

“Rich dealers ought to pay well,” he added; “and, I
can tell you, as a useful thing to know, that orders came on,
no later than yesterday, to buy up everything of the sort
that offered. Put sleigh and harness, at once, all in a heap,
on the king's servants.”

I thought the idea not a bad one, and promised to profit
by it. Guert was as good as his word, and I was properly
introduced to the contractor. My business was no sooner
mentioned, than I was desired to send a messenger round to
the stables, in order that my conveyance, team, &c., might
make their appearance. As for the articles that were still
on the road, I had very little trouble. The contractor knew
my father, and he no sooner heard that Mr. Littlepage, of
Satanstoe, was the owner of the provisions, than he purchased
the whole on the guaranty of his name. For the
pork I was to receive two half-joes the barrel, and for the
flour one. This was a good sale. The horses would be
taken, if serviceable, as the contractor did not question, as
would the lumber-sleighs, though the prices could not be set
until the different animals and objects were seen and examined.

It is amazing what war will do for commerce, as well as
what it does against it! The demand for everything that
the judgment of my father had anticipated, was so great,
that the contractor told me very frankly the sleighs would
not be unloaded in Albany at all, but would be sent on
north, on the line of the expected route of the army, so as
to anticipate the disappearance of the snow and the breaking
up of the roads.

“You shall be paid liberally for your teams, harness and
sleighs,” he continued, “though no sum can be named until
I see them. These are not times when operations are to
be retarded on account of a few joes, more or less, for the
King's service must go on. I very well know that Major
Littlepage and Col. Follock both understand what they are
about, and have sent us the right sort of things. The
horses are very likely a little old, but are good for one
campaign; better than if younger, perhaps, and were they
colts we could get no more than that out of them. These
movements in the woods destroy man and beast, and cost
mints of money. Ah! There comes your team.”

Sure enough, the sleigh drove round from the tavern, and
we all went out to look at the horses, &c. Guert now became
an important person. On the subject of horses he
was accounted an oracle, and he talked, moved, and acted
like one in all respects. The first thing he did was to step

up to the animal's head, and to look into the mouth of each
in succession. The knowing way in which this was done,
the coolness of the interference, and the fine, manly form
of the intruder, would have given him at once a certain
importance and a connection with what was going on, had
not his character for judgment in horse-flesh been well established,
far and near, in that quarter of the country.

“Upon my word, wonderfully good mouths!” exclaimed
Guert, when through. “You must have your grain ground,
Mr. Littlepage, or the teeth never could have stood it so
well!”

“What age do you call the animals, Guert?” demanded
the contractor.

“That is not so easily told, sir. I admit that they are
aged horses; but they may be eight, or nine, or even ten,
as for what can be told by their teeth. By the looks of
their limbs, I should think they might be nine coming
grass.”

“The near-horse is eleven,” I said, “and the off-horse
is supposed to be—”

“Poh! poh! Littlepage,” interrupted Guert, making signs
to me to be quiet—“you may think the off-horse ten, but
I should place him at about nine. His teeth are excellent,
and there is not even a wind-gall on his legs. There is a
cross of the Flemish in that beast.”

“Well, and what do you say the pair is worth, Master
Guert,” demanded the contractor, who seemed to have a
certain confidence in his friend's judgment, notwithstanding
the recklessness and freedom of his manner. “Twelve
half-joes for them both?”

“That will never do, Mr. Contractor,” answered Guert,
shaking his head. “In times like these, such stout animals,
and beasts too in such heart and condition, ought to bring
fifteen.”

“Fifteen let it be then, if Mr. Littlepage assents. Now
for the sleigh, and harness, and skins. I suppose Mr. Littlepage
will part with the skins too, as he can have no use for
them without the sleigh?”

“Have you, Mr. Contractor?” asked Guert, a little
abruptly. “That bear-skin fills my eye beautifully, and if
Mr. Littlepage will take a guinea for it, here is his money.”

As this was a fair price, it was accepted, though I pressed
the skin on Guert as a gift, in remembrance of our accidental
acquaintance. This offer, however, he respectfully, but
firmly resisted. And here I will take occasion to say, lest
the reader be misled by what is met with in works of fiction,
and other light and vain productions, that in all my dealings,
and future connection with Guert, I found him strictly
honourable in money matters. It is true, I would not have
purchased a horse on his recommendation, if he owned the
beast; but we all know how the best men yield in their
morals when they come to deal in horses. I should scarcely
have expected Mr. Worden to be orthodox, in making such
bargains. But, on all other subjects connected with money,
Guert Ten Eyck was one of the honestest fellows I ever dealt
with.

The contractor took the sleigh, harness, and skins, at
seven more half-joes; making twenty-three for the whole
outfit. This was certainly receiving two half-joes more
than my father had expected; and I owed the gain of sixteen
dollars to Guert's friendly and bold interference. As
soon as the prices were settled, the money was paid me in
good Spanish gold; and I handed over to Dirck the portion
that properly fell to his father's share. As it was understood
that the remaining horses, sleighs, harness, provisions,
&c., were to be taken at an appraisal, the instant they
arrived, this hour's work relieved my friend and myself
from any further trouble on the subject of the property entrusted
to our care. And a relief it was to be so well rid of
a responsibility that was as new as it was heavy to each
of us.

The reader will get some idea of the pressure of affairs,
and how necessary it was felt to be on the alert in the month
of March — a time of the year when twenty-four hours
might bring about a change in the season—by the circumstance
that the contractor sent his new purchase to be loaded
up from the door of his office, with orders to proceed on
north, with supplies for a dépôt that he was making as near
to Lake George as was deemed prudent; the French being
in force at Ticonderoga and Crown Point, two posts at the
head of Champlain; a distance considerably less than a
hundred miles from Albany. Whatever was forwarded as

far as Lake George while the snow lasted, could then be
sent on with the army, in the contemplated operations of the
approaching summer, by means of the two lakes, and their
northern outlets.

“Well, Mr. Littlepage,” cried Guert, heartily; “that
affair is well disposed of. You got goot prices, and I hope
the King has got goot horses. They are a little venerable,
perhaps; but what of that? The army would knock up
the best and youngest beast in the colony, in one campaign
in the woots; and it can do no more with the oldest and
worst. Shall we walk rount into the main street, gentlemen?
This is about the hour when the young ladies are
apt to start for their afternoon sleighing.”

“I suppose the ladies of Albany are remarkable for their
beauty, Mr. Ten Eyck,” I rejoined, wishing to say something
agreeable to a man who seemed so desirous of serving
me. “The specimens I saw in crossing the river this
morning, would induce a stranger to think so.”

“Sir,” replied Guert, walking towards the great avenue
of the town, “we are content with our ladies, in general,
for they are charming, warm-hearted and amiable; but
there has been an arrival among us this winter, from your
part of the colony, that has almost melted the ice on the
Hudson!”

My heart beat quicker, for I could only think of one being
of her sex, as likely to produce such a sensation. Still,
I could not abstain from making a direct inquiry on the
subject.

“From our part of the colony, Mr. Ten Eyck!—You
mean from New York, probably?”

“Yes, sir, as a matter of course. There are several
beautiful English women who have come up with the army;
but no colonel, major, or captain, has brought such paragons
with him, as Herman Mordaunt, a gentleman who
may be known to you by name?”

“Personally too, sir. Herman Mordaunt is even a kinsman
of Dirck Follock, my friend here.”

“Then is Mr. Follock to be envied, since he can call
cousin with so charming a young lady as Anneke Mordaunt.”

“True sir, most true!” I interrupted, eagerly; “Anne
Mordaunt passes for the sweetest girl in York!”

“I do not know that I should go quite as far as that, Mr.
Littlepage,” returned Guert, moderating his warmth, in a
manner that a little surprised me, though his handsome face
still glowed with honest, natural admiration; “since there
is a Miss Mary Wallace in her company, that is quite as
much thought of, here in Albany, as her friend, Miss Mordaunt.”

Mary Wallace! The idea of comparing the silent,
thoughtful, excellent though she were, Mary Wallace, with
Anneke could never have crossed my mind. Still, Mary
Wallace certainly was a very charming girl. She was
even handsome; had a placid, saint-like character of countenance
that had often struck me, singular beauty and
development of form, and, in any other company than that
of Anneke's, might well have attracted the first attention of
the most fastidious beholder.

And Guert Ten Eyck admired,—perhaps loved, Mary
Wallace! Here, then, was fresh evidence how much we
are all inclined to love our opposites; to form close friendships
with those who resemble us least, principles excepted,
for virtue can never cling to vice, and how much more interest
novelty possesses in the human breast, than the
repetition of things to which we are accustomed. No two
beings could be less alike than Mary Wallace and Guert
Ten Eyck; yet the last admired the first.

“Miss Wallace is a very charming young lady, Mr.
Ten Eyck,” I rejoined, as soon as wonder would allow me
to answer, “and I am not surprised you speak of her in
terms of so much admiration.”

Guert stopped short in the street, looked me full in the
face with an expression of truth that could not well be
feigned, squeezed my hand fervently, and rejoined with a
strange frankness, that I could not have imitated, to be
master of all I saw—

“Admiration, Mr. Littlepage, is not a wort strong
enough for what I feel for Mary! I would marry her in
the next hour, and love and cherish her for all the rest of
my life. I worship her, and love the earth she treads on.”

“And you have told her this, Mr. Ten Eyck?”

“Fifty times, sir. She has now been two months in Albany,
and my love was secured within the first week. I
offered myself too soon, I fear; for Mary is a prutent, sensible
young woman, and girls of that character are apt to
distrust the youth who is too quick in his advances. They
like to be served, sir, for seven years and seven years, as
Joseph served for Potiphar.”

“You mean, most likely, Mr. Ten Eyck, as Jacob served
for Rachel.”

“Well, sir, it may be as you say, dough I t'ink that in
our Dutch Bibles, it stands as Joseph served for Potiphar—
but you know what I mean, Mr. Littlepage. If you wish to
see the ladies, and will come with me, I will go to a place
where Herman Mordaunt's sleigh invariaply passes at this
hour, for the ladies almost live in the air. I never miss
the occasion of seeing them.”

I had now a clue to Guert's being so much in the street.
He was as good as his word, however, for he took a stand
near the Dutch church, where I soon had the happiness of
seeing Anneke and her friend driving past, on their evening's
excursion. How blooming and lovely the former
looked! Mary Wallace's eye turned, I fancied understandingly,
to the corner where Guert had placed himself, and
her colour deepened as she returned his bow. But, the
start of surprise, the smile, and the lightening eye of Anneke,
as she unexpectedly saw me, filled my soul with delight,
almost too great to be borne.