University of Virginia Library

4. CHAPTER IV.

Although an immense progress has been made in liberating
this country from the domination of England, in the
way of opinion and usages, a good deal remains to be done
yet. Still, he who can look back forty years, must see the
great changes that have occurred in very many things; and
it is to be hoped that he who lives forty years hence, will
find very few remaining that have no better reasons for their
existence among ourselves than the example of a people so
remote, with a different climate, different social organization,
and different wants. I am for no more condemning a usage,
however, simply because it is English, than I am for approving
it, simply because it is English. I wish everything
to stand on its own merits, and feel certain that no nation
ever can become great, in the higher signification of the
term, until it ceases to imitate, because it is imitation of a
certain fixed model. One of the very greatest evils of this
imitative spirit is even now developing itself in what is called
the “progress” of the country, which is assailing principles

that are as old as the existence of man, and which may
almost be said to be oternal as social truths, at the very
moment that notions derived from our ancestors are submitted
to in the highest places, the Senate of the United
States for example, that are founded in facts which not only
have no existence among ourselves, but which are positively
antagonist to such as have. So much easier is it to join in
the hurrah! of a “progress,” than to ascertain whether it
is making in the right direction, or whether it be progress
at all. But, to return from things of moment to those of
less concern.

Among other customs to be condemned that we have
derived from England, is the practice of the men sitting at
table after the women have left it. Much as I may wish to
see this every-way offensive custom done away with, and the
more polished and humanizing usage of all the rest of
christendom adopted in its stead, I should feel ashamed at
finding, as I make no doubt I should find it, that our custom
would be abandoned within a twelvemonth after it might be
understood it was abandoned in England. My uncle had
long endeavoured to introduce into our own immediate circle
the practice of retaining the ladies at table for a reasonable
time, and of then quitting it with them at the expiration of
that time; but it is hard to `kick against the pricks.' Men
who fancy it `society' to meet at each other's houses to
drink wine, and taste wine, and talk about wine, and to
outdo each other in giving their guests the most costly
wines, are not to be diverted easily from their objects. The
hard-drinking days are past, but the hard `talking days' are
in their vigour. If it could be understood, generally, that
even in England it is deemed vulgar to descant on the
liquor that is put upon the table, perhaps we might get rid
of the practice too. Vulgar in England! It is even
deemed vulgar here, by the right sort, as I am ready to
maintain, and indeed know of my own observation. That
one or two friends who are participating in the benefits of
some particularly benevolent bottle, should say a word in
commendation of its merits, is natural enough, and well
enough; no one can reasonably find any fault with such a
sign of grateful feeling; but I know of nothing more revolting

than to see twenty grave faces arrayed round a table,
employed as so many tasters at a Rhenish wine sale, while
the cheeks of their host look like those of Boreas, owing to
the process of sucking syphons.

When my dear grandmother rose, imitated by the four
bright-faced girls, who did as she set the example, and
said, as was customary with the old school, “Well, gentlemen,
I leave you to your wine; but you will recollect
that you will be most welcome guests in the drawing-room,”
my uncle caught her hand, and insisted she
should not quit us. There was something exceedingly
touching, to my eyes, in the sort of intercourse, and in the
affection which existed between my uncle Ro and his mother.
A bachelor himself, while she was a widow, they were particularly
fond of each other; and many is the time that I
have seen him go up to her, when we were alone, and pat
her cheeks, and then kiss them, as one might do so to a
much-beloved sister. My grandmother always received
these little liberties with perfect good-humour, and with evident
affection. In her turn, I have frequently known her to
approach `Roger,' as she always called him, and kiss his
bald head, in a way that denoted she vividly remembered
the time when he was an infant in her arms. On this occasion
she yielded to his request, and resumed her seat, the
girls imitating her, nothing loth, as they had done in rising.
The conversation then, naturally enough, reverted to the
state of the country.

“It has much surprised me, that the men in authority
among us have confined all their remarks and statements to
the facts of the Rensselaer and Livingston estates,” observed
my grandmother, “when there are difficulties existing in
so many others.”

“The explanation is very simple, my good mother,”
answered uncle Ro. “The Rensselaer estates have the
quarter-sales, and chickens, and days' works; and there is
much of the ad captandum argument about such things, that
does very well to work up for political effect; whereas, on
the other estates, these great auxiliaries must be laid aside.
It is just as certain, as it is that the sun has risen this day,
that an extensive and concerted plan exists to transfer the
freehold rights of the landlords, on nearly every property

in the State, to the tenants; and that, too, on conditions
unjustly favourable to the last; but you will find nothing
of the sort in the messages of governors, or speeches of
legislators, who seem to think all is said, when they have
dwelt on the expediency of appeasing the complaints of the
tenants, as a high political duty, without stopping to inquire
whether those complaints are founded in right or not. The
injury that will be done to the republic, by showing men
how much can be effected by clamour, is of itself incalculable.
It would take a generation to do away the evil consequences
of the example, were the anti-rent combination
to be utterly defeated to-morrow.”

“I find that the general argument against the landlords
is a want of title, in those cases in which nothing better can
be found,” observed Mr. Warren. “The lecturer, to-day,
seemed to condemn any title that was derived from the
king, as defeated by the conquest over that monarch, by the
war of the revolution.”

“A most charming consummation that would have been
for the heroic deeds of the Littlepages! There were my
father, grandfather, and great-grandfather, all in arms, in
that war; the two first as general officers, and the last as
a major; and the result of all their hardships and dangers
is to be to rob themselves of their own property! I am
aware that this silly pretence has been urged, even in a
court of justice; but folly, and wrong, and madness, are
not yet quite ripe enough among us, to carry such a doctrine
down. As `coming events cast their shadows before,'
it is possible we are to take this very movement, however,
as the dawn of the approaching day of American reason,
and not as a twilight left by the departed rays of a sun of
a period of mental darkness.”

“You surely do not apprehend, uncle Ro, that these
people can really get Hugh's lands away from him!” exclaimed
Patt, reddening with anxiety and anger.

“No one can say, my dear; for, certainly, no one is
safe when opinions and acts, like those which have been
circulated and attempted among us of late years, can be
acted on without awakening very general indignation. Look
to the moneyed classes at this very moment; agonized and
excited on the subject of a war about Oregon—a thing very

little likely to occur, though certainly possible; while they
manifest the utmost indifference to this anti-rentism, though
the positive existence of everything connected with just
social organization is directly involved in its fate. One is
a bare possibility, but it convulses the class I have named;
while the other is connected with the existence of civilized
society itself; yet it has ceased to attract attention, and is
nearly forgotten! Every man in the community, whose
means raise him at all above the common level, has a direct
interest in facing this danger, and in endeavouring to put it
down; but scarcely any one appears to be conscious of the
importance of the crisis. We have only one or two more
steps to make, in order to become like Turkey; a country
in which the wealthy are obliged to conceal their means,
in order to protect it from the grasp of the government;
but no one seems to care at all about it!”

“Some recent travellers among us have said that we have
nearly reached that pass already, as our rich affect great
simplicity and plainness in public, while they fill their houses
in private with all the usual evidences of wealth and luxury.
I think de Tocqueville, among others, makes that remark.”

“Ay, that is merely one of the ordinarily sagacious remarks
of the European, who, by not understanding the American
history, confounds causes and makes mistakes. The
plainness of things in public is no more than an ancient
habit of the country, while the elegance and luxury in private
are a very simple and natural consequence of the tastes
of women who live in a state of society in which they are
limited to the very minimum of refined habits and intellectual
pleasures. The writer who made this mistake is a very clever
man, and has exceeding merit, considering his means of ascertaining
truth; but he has made very many similar blunders.”

“Nevertheless, Mr. Littlepage,” resumed the rector, who
was a gentleman, in all the senses of the word, and knew
the world, and the best part of it, too, even while he had
preserved an admirable simplicity of character, “changes
have certainly taken place among us, of the nature alluded
to by M. de Tocqueville.”

“That is quite true, sir; but they have also taken place
elsewhere. When I was a boy, I can well remember to
have seen coaches-and-six in this country, and almost every

man of fortune drove his coach-and-four; whereas, now,
such a thing is of the rarest occurrence possible. But the
same is true all over christendom; for when I first went to
Europe, coaches-and-six, with outriders, and all that sort of
state, was an every-day thing; whereas it is now never, or
at least very seldom, seen. Improved roads, steam-boats,
and railroads, can produce such changes, without having
recourse to the oppression of the masses.”

“I am sure,” put in Patt, laughing, “if publicity be what
Mons. de Tocqueville requires, there is publicity enough in
New York! All the new-fashioned houses are so constructed,
with their low balconies and lower windows, that anybody
can see in at their windows. If what I have read and
heard of a Paris house be true, standing between cour et
jurdin, there is infinitely more of privacy there than here;
and one might just as well say that the Parisians bury themselves
behind porte cochères, and among trees, to escape the
attacks of the Faubourg St. Antoine, as to say we retreat
into our houses to be fine, lest the mobocracy would not
tolerate us.”

“The girl has profited by your letters, I see, Hugh,” said
my uncle, nodding his head in approbation; “and what is
more, she makes a suitable application of her tuition, or,
rather, of yours. No, no, all that is a mistake; and, as
Martha says, no houses are so much in the street as those
of the new style in our own towns. It would be far more
just to say that, instead of retiring within doors to be fine,
as Patt calls it, unseen by envious neighbours, the Manhattanese,
in particular, turn their dwellings wrong side out,
lest their neighbours should take offence at not being permitted
to see all that is going on within. But, neither is
true. The house is the more showy because it is most under
woman's control; and it would be just as near the truth to
say that the reason why the American men appear abroad
in plain blue, and black, and brown clothes, while their
wives and daughters are at home in silks and satins — ay,
even in modern brocades—is an apprehension of the masses,
as to ascribe the plainness of street life, compared to that
within doors, to the same cause. There is a good deal of
difference between a salon in the Faubourg, or the Chaussée
d'Autin, and even on the Boulevard des Italiens. But, John

is craning with his neck, out there on the piazza, as if our
red brethren were at hand.”

So it was, in point of fact, and everybody now rose from
table, without ceremony, and went forth to meet our guests.
We had barely time to reach the lawn, the ladies having
run for their hats in the meantime, before Prairiefire, Flintyheart,
Manytongues, and all the rest of them, came up, on
the sort of half trot that distinguishes an Indian's march.

Notwithstanding the change in our dresses, my uncle and
myself were instantly recognised, and courteously saluted
by the principal chiefs. Then our wigs were gravely offered
to us, by two of the younger men; but we declined
receiving them, begging the gentlemen who had them in
keeping, to do us the honour to accept them, as tokens of
our particular regard. This was done with great good will,
and with a pleasure that was much too obvious to be concealed.
Half an hour later, I observed that each of the
young forest dandies had a wig on his otherwise naked head,
with a peacock's feather stuck quite knowingly in the lank
hair. The effect was somewhat ludicrous; particularly on
the young ladies; but I saw that each of the warriors himself
looked round, as if to ask for the admiration that he
felt his appearance ought to awaken!

No sooner were the salutations exchanged, than the red-men
began to examine the house—the cliff on which it stood
—the meadows beneath, and the surrounding ground. At
first, we supposed, that they were struck with the extent and
solidity of the buildings, together with a certain air of finish
and neatness, that is not everywhere seen in America, even
in the vicinity of its better-class houses; but Manytongues
soon undeceived us. My uncle asked him, why all the red-men
had broken off, and scattered themselves around the
buildings, some looking here, others pointing there, and all
manifestly earnest and much engaged with something;
though it was not easy to understand what that something
was; intimating his supposition that they might be struck
with the buildings.

“Lord bless ye, no sir,” answered the interpreter; “they
don't care a straw about the house, or any house. There's
Flintyheart, in particular; he's a chief that you can no more
move with riches, and large housen, and sich like matters,

than you can make the Mississippi run up stream. When
we went to Uncle Sam's house, at Washington, he scarce
condescended to look at it; and the Capitol had no more effect
on any on 'em, than if it had been a better sort of wigwam;
not so much, for that matter, as Injins be curious in
wigwams. What's put 'em up, on a trail like, just now, is
the knowledge that this is the spot where a battle was fit,
something like ninety seasons ago, in which the Upright
Onondago was consarned, as well as some of their own people
on t'other side—that's what's put 'em in commotion.”

“And why does Flintyheart talk to those around him
with so much energy; and point to the flats, and the cliff,
and the ravine yonder, that lies beyond the wigwam of
Susquesus?”

“Ah! Is that, then, the wigwam of the Upright Onondago!”
exclaimed the interpreter, betraying some such interest
as one might manifest on unexpectedly being told that
he saw Mount Vernon or Monticello, for the first time in his
life. “Well, it's something to have seen that; though it
will be more to see the man himself; for all the tribes on the
upper prairies, are full of his story and his behaviour. No
Injin, since the time of Tamenund himself, has made as
much talk, of late years, as Susquesus, the Upright Onondago,
unless it might be Tecumthe, perhaps. But, what occupies
Flintyheart, just at this moment, is an account of the
battle, in which his father's grandfather lost his life, though
he did not lose his scalp. That disgrace he is now telling
on 'em, he escaped, and glad enough is his descendant, that
it was so. It's no great matter to an Injin to be killed; but
he'd rather escape losing his scalp, or being struck at all by
the inimy, if it can possibly be made to turn out so. Now
he's talking of some young pale-face that was killed, whom
he calls Lover of Fun—and, now he's got on some nigger,
who he says fit like a devil.”

“All these persons are known to us, by our traditions,
also!” exclaimed my uncle, with more interest than I had
known him manifest for many a day. “But I 'm amazed to
find that the Indians retain so accurate an account of such
small matters, for so long a time.”

“It isn't a small matter to them. Their battles is seldom
on a very great scale, and they make great account of any

skrimmage in which noted warriors have fallen.” Here
Manytongues paused for a minute, and listened attentively
to the discourse of the chiefs; after which he resumed his
explanations. “They have met with a great difficulty in
the house,” he continued, “while everything else is right.
They understand the cliff of rocks, the position of the buildings
themselves, that ravine thereaway, and all the rest of
the things hereabouts, except the house.”

“What may be the difficulty with the house? Does it
not stand in the place it ought to occupy?”

“That 's just their difficulty. It does stand where it ought
to stand, but it isn't the right sort of house, though they say
the shape agrees well enough — one side out to the fields,
like; two sides running back to the cliff, and the cliff itself
for the other. But their traditions say that their warriors
indivour'd to burn out your forefathers, and that they built
a fire again' the side of the buildin', which they never would
have done had it been built of stone, as this house is built.
That 's what partic'larly puzzles them.”

“Then their traditions are surprisingly minute and accurate!
The house which then stood on, or near this spot,
and which did resemble the present building in the ground
plan, was of squared logs, and might have been set on fire,
and an attempt was actually made to do so, but was successfully
resisted. Your chiefs have had a true account;
but changes have been made here. The house of logs stood
near fifty years, when it was replaced by this dwelling,
which was originally erected about sixty years ago, and
has been added to since, on the old design. No, no — the
traditions are surprisingly accurate.”

This gave the Indians great satisfaction, as soon as the
fact was communicated to them; and from that instant all
their doubts and uncertainty were ended. Their own knowledge
of the progress of things in a settlement, gave them
the means of comprehending any other changes; though the
shape of this building having so nearly corresponded with
that of which their traditions spoke, they had become embarrassed
by the difference in the material. While they
were still continuing their examinations, and ascertaining
localities to their own satisfaction, my uncle and myself
continued the discourse with Manytongues.

“I am curious to know,” said my uncle, “what may be
the history of Susquesus, that a party of chiefs like these
should travel so far out of their way, to pay him the homage
of a visit. Is his great age the cause?”

“That is one reason, sartainly; though there is another,
that is of more account, but which is known only to themselves.
I have often tried to get the history out of them,
but never could succeed. As long as I can remember, the
Onondagoes, and Tuscaroras, and the Injins of the old New
York tribes, that have found their way up to the prairies,
have talked of the Upright Onondago, who must have been
an old man when I was born. Of late years, they have
talked more and more of him; and so good an opportunity
offering to come and see him, there would have been great
disappointment out West, had it been neglected. His age
is, no doubt, one principal cause; but there is another, though
I have never been able to discover what it is.”

“This Indian has been in communication, and connected
with my immediate family, now near, if not quite ninety
years. He was with my grandfather, Cornelius Littlepage,
in the attack on Ty, that was made by Abercrombie, in
1758; and here we are within twelve or thirteen years of a
century from that event. I believe my great-grandfather,
Herman Mordaunt, had even some previous knowledge of
him. As long as I can remember, he has been a grey-headed
old man; and we suppose both he and the negro
who lives with him, to have seen fully a hundred and twenty
years, if not more.”

“Something of importance happened to Susquesus, or the
Trackless, as he was then called, about ninety-three winters
ago; that much I've gathered from what has fallen from
the chiefs at different times; but, what that something was,
it has exceeded my means to discover. At any rate, it has
quite as much to do with this visit as the Withered Hemlock's
great age. Injins respect years; and they respect wisdom
highly; but they respect courage and justice most of all.
The tarm `Upright' has its meaning, depend on't.”

We were greatly interested by all this, as indeed were my
grandmother and her sweet companions. Mary Warren, in
particular, manifested a lively interest in Susquesus' history,
as was betrayed in a brief dialogue I now had with her,

walking to and fro in front of the piazza, while the rest of
the party were curiously watching the movements of the
still excited savages.

“My father and I have often visited the two old men,
and have been deeply interested in them,” observed this
intelligent, yet simple-minded girl, — “with the Indian, in
particular, we have felt a strong sympathy, for nothing is
plainer than the keenness with which he still feels on the
subject of his own people. We have been told that he is
often visited by red-men—or, at least, as often as any come
near him; and they are said ever to exhibit a great reverence
for his years, and respect for his character.”

“This I know to be true, for I have frequently seen those
who have come to pay him visits. But they have usually
been merely your basket-making, half-and-half sort of savages,
who have possessed the characteristics of neither
race, entirely. This is the first instance in which I have
heard of so marked a demonstration of respect—how is that,
dear grandmother? can you recall any other instance of
Susquesus's receiving such a decided mark of homage from
his own people as this?”

“This is the third within my recollection, Hugh. Shortly
after my marriage, which was not long after the revolution,
as you may know, there was a party here on a visit to Susquesus.
It remained ten days. The chiefs it contained
were said to be Onondagoes altogether, or warriors of his
own particular people; and something like a misunderstanding
was reported to have been made up; though what it was,
I confess I was too thoughtless then to inquire. Both my
father-in-law, and my uncle Chainbearer, it was always
believed, knew the whole of the Trackless' story, though
neither ever related it to me. I do not believe your grandfather
knew it,” added the venerable speaker, with a sort of
tender regret, “or I think I should have heard it. But that
first visit was soon after Susquesus and Jaaf took possession
of their house, and it was reported, at the time, that the
strangers remained so long, in the hope of inducing Sus to
rejoin his tribe. If such was their wish, however, it failed;
for there he is now, and there he has ever been since he
first went to the hut.”

“And the second visit, grandmother — you mentioned
that there were three.”

“Oh! tell us of them all, Mrs. Littlepage,” added Mary
earnestly, blushing up to the eyes the moment after at her
own eagerness. My dear grandmother smiled benevolently
on both, and I though she looked a little archly at
us, as old ladies sometimes will, when the images of their
own youth recur to their minds.

“You appear to have a common sympathy in these red-men,
my children,” she answered, Mary fairly blushing
scarlet at hearing herself thus coupled with me in the term
`children,'—“and I have great pleasure in gratifying your
curiosity. The second great visit that Susquesus received
from Indians occurred the very year you were born, Hugh,
and then we really felt afraid we might lose the old man;
so earnest were his own people in their entreaties that he
would go away with them. But he would not. Here he
has remained ever since, and a few weeks ago he told me
that here he should die. If these Indians hope to prevail
any better, I am sure they will be disappointed.”

“So he told my father, also,” added Mary Warren, “who
has often spoken to him of death, and has hoped to open
his eyes to the truths of the gospel.”

“With what success, Miss Warren? That is a consummation
which would terminate the old man's career most
worthily.”

“With little, I fear,” answered the charming girl, in a
low, melancholy tone. “At least, I know that my father
has been disappointed. Sus listens to him attentively, but
he manifests no feeling beyond respect for the speaker. Attempts
have been made to induce him to enter the church
before, but—”

“You were about to add something, Miss Warren, which
still remains to be said.”

“I can add it for her,” resumed my grandmother, “for
certain I am that Mary Warren will never add it herself.
The fact is, as you must know, Hugh, from your own observation,
that Mr. Warren's predecessor was an unfaithful and
selfish servant of the church—one who did little good to
any, not even himself. In this country it takes a good deal,

in a clergyman, to wear out the patience of a people; but it
can be done; and when they once get to look at him
through the same medium as that with which other men are
viewed, a reaction follows, under which he is certain to suffer.
We could all wish to throw a veil over the conduct of
the late incumbent of St. Andrew's, but it requires one so
much thicker and larger than common, that the task is not
easy. Mary has merely meant that better instruction, and
a closer attention to duty, might have done more for Trackless
twenty years ago, than they can do to-day.”

“How much injury, after all, faithless ministers can do
to the church of God! One such bad example unsettles
more minds than twenty good examples keep steady.”

“I do not know that, Hugh; but of one thing I am certain—that
more evil is done by pretending to struggle for
the honour of the church, by attempting to sustain its unworthy
ministers, than could be done by at once admitting
their offences, in cases that are clear. We all know that
the ministers of the altar are but men, and as such are to
be expected to fall—certain to do so without Divine aid—but
if we cannot make its ministers pure, we ought to do all we
can to keep the altar itself from contamination.”

“Yes, yes, grandmother — but the day has gone by for ex
officio religion in the American branch of the church”—here
Mary Warren joined the other girls—“at least. And it is
so best. Suspicions may be base and unworthy, but a blind
credulity is contemptible. If I see a chestnut forming on
yonder branch, it would be an act of exceeding folly in me
to suppose that the tree was a walnut, though all the nursery-men
in the country were ready to swear to it.”

My grandmother smiled, but she also walked away, when
I joined my uncle again.

“The interpreter tells me, Hugh,” said the last, “that
the chiefs wish to pay their first visit to the hut this evening.
Luckily, the old farm-house is empty just now, since Miller
has taken possession of the new one; and I have directed
Mr. Manytongues to establish himself there, while he and
his party remain here. There is a kitchen, all ready for
their use, and it is only to send over a few cooking utensils,
that is to say, a pot or two, and fifty bundles of straw, to
set them up in housekeeping. For all this I have just given

orders, not wishing to disturb you, or possibly unwilling to
lay down a guardian's authority; and there is the straw
already loading up in yonder barn-yard. In half an hour
they may rank themselves among the pot-wollopers of Ravensnest.”

“Shall we go with them to the house before, or after they
have paid their visit to Susquesus?”

“Before, certainly. John has volunteered to go over and
let the Onondago know the honour that is intended him, and
to assist him in making his toilet; for the red man would
not like to be taken in undress any more than another.
While this is doing, we can instal our guests in their new
abode, and see the preparations commenced for their supper.
As for the `Injins,' there is little to apprehend from them, I
fancy, so long as we have a strong party of the real Simon
Pures within call.”

After this, we invited the interpreter to lead his chiefs
towards the dwelling they were to occupy, preceding the
party ourselves, and leaving the ladies on the lawn. At that
season, the days were at the longest, and it would be pleasanter
to pay the visit to the hut in the cool of the evening
than to go at an earlier hour. My grandmother ordered
her covered wagon before we left her, intending to be present
at an interview which everybody felt must be most interesting.

The empty building which was thus appropriated to the
use of the Indians was quite a century old, having been
erected by my ancestor, Herman Mordaunt, as the original
farm-house on his own particular farm. For a long time it
had been used in its original character; and when it was
found convenient to erect another, in a more eligible spot,
and of more convenient form, this old structure had been
preserved as a relic, and from year to year its removal had
been talked of, but not effected. It remained, therefore, for
me to decide on its fate, unless, indeed, the `spirit of the
Institutions' should happen to get hold of it, and take its
control out of my hands, along with that of the rest of
my property, by way of demonstrating to manking how
thoroughly the great State of New York is imbued with a
love of rational liberty!

As we walked towards the “old farm-house,” Miller came

from the other building to meet us. He had learned that
his friends, the pedlars, were his—what shall I call myself?
`Master' would be the legal term, and it would be good
English; but it would give the “honourable gentleman”
and his friends mortal offence, and I am not now to learn
that there are those among us who deny facts that are as
plain as the noses on their faces, and who fly right into the
face of the law whenever it is convenient. I shall not,
however, call myself a “boss” to please even these eminent
statesmen, and therefore must be content with using a term
that, if the moving spirits of the day can prevail, will soon
be sufficiently close in its signification, and call myself Tom
Miller's—nothing.

It was enough to see that Miller was a good deal embarrassed
with the dilemma in which he was placed. For a
great many years he and his family had been in the employment
of me and mine, receiving ample pay, as all such men
ever do—when they are so unfortunate as to serve a malignant
aristocrat—much higher pay than they would get in
the service of your Newcomes, and Holmeses, and Tubbses,
besides far better treatment in all essentials; and now he had
only to carry out the principles of the anti-renters to claim
the farm he and they had so long worked, as of right. Yes,
the same principles would just as soon give this hireling my
home and farm as it would give any tenant on my estate
that which he worked. It is true, one party received wages,
while the other paid rent; but these facts do not affect the
principle at all; since he who received the wages got no
other benefit from his toil, while he who paid the rent was
master of all the crops—I beg pardon, the boss of all the
crops. The common title of both—if any title at all exist—
is the circumstance that each had expended his labour on a
particular farm, and consequently had a right to own it for
all future time.

Miller made some awkward apologies for not recognising
me, and endeavoured to explain away one or two little things
that he must have felt put him in rather an awkward position,
but to which neither my uncle nor myself attached any
moment. We knew that poor Tom was human, and that
the easiest of all transgressions for a man to fall into were
those connected with his self-love; and that the temptation

to a man who has the consciousness of not being anywhere
near the summit of the social ladder, is a strong inducement
to err when he thinks there is a chance of getting up a
round or two; failing of success in which, it requires higher
feelings, and perhaps a higher station, than that of Tom
Miller's, not to leave him open to a certain demoniacal
gratification which so many experience at the prospect of
beholding others dragged down to their own level. We
heard Tom's excuses kindly, but did not commit ourselves
by promises or declarations of any sort.