 | CHAPTER X. Home as found |  |
10. CHAPTER X.
My father's ancient burial place—
It is the spot—I know it well.
Of which our old traditions tell.”
Bryant.
From the day after their arrival in New-York, or
that on which the account of the arrests by the English
cruiser had appeared in the journals, little had
been said by any of our party concerning Paul Powis,
or of the extraordinary manner in which he had left
the packet, at the very moment she was about to enter
her haven. It is true that Mr. Dodge, arrived at
Dodgeopolis, had dilated on the subject in his hebdomadal,
with divers additions and conjectures of his
own, and this, too, in a way to attract a good deal of
attention in the interior; but, it being a rule with those
intelligence, not to receive any thing from those who
ought not to be better informed than themselves, the
Effinghams and their friends had never heard of his
account of the matter.
While all thought the incident of the sudden return
extraordinary, no one felt disposed to judge the young
man harshly. The gentlemen knew that military censure,
however unpleasant, did not always imply moral
unworthiness; and as for the ladies, they retained too
lively a sense of his skill and gallantry, to wish to
imagine evil on grounds so slight and vague. Still, it
had been impossible altogether to prevent the obtrusion
of disagreeable surmises, and all now sincerely rejoiced
at seeing their late companion once more among them,
seemingly in a state of mind that announced neither
guilt nor degradation.
On quitting the mountain, Mr. Effingham, who had
a tender regard for Grace, offered her his arm as he
would have given it to a second daughter, leaving Eve
to the care of John Effingham. Sir George attended
to Mademoiselle Viefville, and Paul walked by the side
of our heroine and her cousin, leaving Aristabulus to
be what he himself called a “miscellaneous companion;”
or, in other words, to thrust himself into either
set, as inclination or accident might induce. Of course
the parties conversed as they walked, though those in
advance would occasionally pause to say a word to
those in the rear; and, as they descended, one or two
changes occurred to which we may have occasion to
allude.
“I trust you have had pleasant passages,” said John
Effingham to Paul, as soon as they were separated in
the manner just mentioned. “Three trips across the
Atlantic in so short a time would be hard duty to a
landsman, though you, as a sailor, will probably think
less of it.”
“In this respect I have been fortunate; the Foam,
and Ducie is altogether a fine fellow and an agreeable
messmate. You know I had him for a companion
both going and coming.”
This was said naturally; and, while it explained so
little directly, it removed all unpleasant uncertainty,
by assuring his listeners that he had been on good terms
at least, with the person who had seemed to be his
pursuer. John Effingham, too, well understood that
no one messed with the commander of a vessel of
war, in his own ship, who was, in any way, thought
to be an unfit associate.
“You have made a material circuit to reach us, the
distance by Quebec being nearly a fourth more than
the direct road.”
“Ducie desired it so strongly, that I did not like to
deny him. Indeed, he made it a point, at first, to obtain
permission to land me at New-York, where he had
found me, as he said; but to this I would not listen, as
I feared it might interfere with his promotion, of which
he stood so good a chance, in consequence of his success
in the affair of the money. By keeping constantly
before the eyes of his superiors, on duty of interest, I
thought his success would be more certain.”
“And has his government thought his perseverance
in the chase worthy of such a reward?”
“Indeed it has. He is now a post, and all owing to
his good luck and judgment in that affair; though in
his country, rank in private life does no harm to one in
public life.”
Eve liked the emphasis that Paul laid on “his country,”
and she thought the whole remark was made in
a spirit that an Englishman would not be apt to betray.
“Has it ever occurred to you,” continued John Effingham,
“that our sudden and unexpected separation,
has caused a grave neglect of duty in me, if not in both
of us?”
Paul looked surprised, and, by his manner, he demanded
an explanation.
“You may remember the sealed package of poor
Mr. Monday, that we were to open together on our
arrival in New-York, and on the contents of which, we
were taught to believe depended the settling of some
important private rights. I gave that package to you,
at the moment it was received, and, in the hurry of
leaving us, you overlooked the circumstance.”
“All very true, and to my shame I confess that, until
this instant, the affair has been quite forgotten by
me. I had so much to occupy my mind while in England,
that it was not likely to be remembered, and then
the packet itself has scarce been in my possession
since the day I left you.”
“It is not lost, I trust!” said John Effingham quickly.
“Surely not—it is safe, beyond a question, in the
writing-desk in which I deposited it. But the moment
we got to Portsmouth, Ducie and myself proceeded to
London together, and, as soon as he had got through
at the Admiralty, we went into Yorkshire, where we
remained, much occupied with private matters of great
importance to us both, while his ship was docked; and
then it became necessary to make sundry visits to our
relations—”
“Relations!” repeated Eve involuntarily, though she
did not cease to reproach herself for the indiscretion,
during the rest of the walk.
“Relations—” returned Paul, smiling. “Captain Ducie
and myself are cousins-german, and we made pilgrimages
together, to sundry family shrines. This
duty occupied us until a few days before we sailed for
Quebec. On reaching our haven, I left the ship to
visit the great lakes and Niagara, leaving most of my
effects with Ducie, who has promised to bring them on
with himself, when he followed on my track, as he expected
soon to do, on his way to the West Indies,
where he is to find a frigate. He owed me this attention,
to go so far out of my way, with so much luggage, to
oblige him. The packet is, unluckily, left behind with
the other things.”
“And do you expect Captain Ducie to arrive in
this country soon?—The affair of the packet ought
not to be neglected much longer, for a promise to a
dying man is doubly binding, as it appeals to all our
generosity. Rather than neglect the matter much
longer, I would prefer sending a special messenger to
Quebec.”
“That will be quite unnecessary, as, indeed, it would
be useless. Ducie left Quebec yesterday, and has sent
his and my effects direct to New-York, under the care
of his own steward. The writing-case, containing
other papers that are of interest to us both, he has
promised not to lose sight of, but it will accompany
him on the same tour, as that I have just made; for,
he wishes to avail himself of this opportunity to see
Niagara and the lakes, also: he is now on my track,
and will notify me by letter of the day he will be in
Utica, in order that we may meet on the line of the
canal, near this place, and proceed to New-York, in
company.”
His companions listened to this brief statement with
an intense interest, with which the packet of poor
Mr. Monday, however, had very little connection.
John Effingham called to his cousin, and, in a few
words, stated the circumstances as they had just been
related to himself, without adverting to the papers of
Mr. Monday, which was an affair that he had hitherto
kept to himself.
“It will be no more than a return of civility, if we
invite Captain Ducie to diverge from his road, and
pass a few days with us, in the mountains,” he added.
“At what precise time do you expect him to pass,
Powis?”
“Within the fortnight. I feel certain he would be
expressed his sincere regrets at having been employed
on a service that exposed the ladies to so much peril
and delay.”
“Captain Ducie is a near kinsman of Mr. Powis,
dear father,” added Eve, in a way to show her parent,
that the invitation would be agreeable to herself, for
Mr. Effingham was so attentive to the wishes of his
daughter, as never to ask a guest to his house, that he
thought would prove disagreeable to its mistress.
“I shall do myself the pleasure to write to Captain
Ducie, this evening, urging him to honour us with his
company,” returned Mr. Effingham. “We expect
other friends in a few days, and I hope he will not find
his time heavy on his hands, while in exile among us.
Mr. Powis will enclose my note in one of his letters,
and will, I trust, second the request by his own solicitations.”
Paul made his acknowledgments, and the whole
party proceeded, though the interruption caused such
a change in the figure of the promenade, as to leave the
young man the immediate escort of Eve. The party,
by this time, had not only reached the highway, but it
had again diverged from it, to follow the line of an
old and abandoned wheel-track, that descended the
mountain, along the side of the declivity, by a wilder
and more perilous direction than suited a modern enterprise;
it having been one of those little calculated
and rude roads, that the first settlers of a country are
apt to make, before there are time and means to investigate
and finish to advantage. Although much more
difficult and dangerous than its successor, as a highway,
this relic of the infant condition of the country was
by far the most retired and beautiful; and pedestrians
continued to use it, as a common foot-path to the
Vision. The seasons had narrowed its surface, and
the second growth had nearly covered it with their
branches, shading it like an arbour; and Eve expressed
both were, with so pleasant a seclusion, as they descended
along a path as safe and convenient as a
French allée. Glimpses were constantly obtained of
the lake and the village, while they proceeded; and
altogether, they who were strangers to the scenery,
were loud in its praises.
“Most persons, who see this valley for the first time,”
observed Aristabulus, “find something to say in its favour;
for my part, I consider it as rather curious myself.”
“Curious!” exclaimed Paul; “that gentleman is, at
least, singular in the choice of his expressions.”
“You have met him before to-day,” said Eve, laughing,
for Eve was now in a humour to laugh at trifles.
“This we know, since he had prepared us to meet a
poet, where we only find an old friend.”
“Only, Miss Effingham!—Do you estimate poets so
high, and old friends so low?”
“This extraordinary person, Mr. Aristabulus Bragg,
really deranges all one's notions and opinions in such
a manner, as to destroy even the usual signification of
words, I believe. He seems so much in, and yet so
much out of his place; is both so rusé and so unpractised;
so unfit for what he is, and so ready at every
thing, that I scarcely know how to apply terms in any
matter with which he has the smallest connection. I
fear he has persecuted you since your arrival in Templeton?”
“Not at all; I am so much acquainted with men of
his cast, that I have acquired a tact in managing them.
Perceiving that he was disposed to suspect me of a
disposition to `poetize the lake,' to use his own term,
I took care to drop a couple of lines, roughly written
off, like a hasty and imperfect effusion, where I felt
sure he would find them, and have been living for a
whole week on the fame thereof.”
“You do indulge in such tastes, then?” said Eve,
smiling a little saucily.
“I am as innocent of such an ambition, as of wishing
to marry the heiress of the British throne, which,
I believe, just now, is the goal of all the Icaruses of our
own time. I am merely a rank plagiarist—for the
rhyme, on the fame of which I have rioted for a glorious
week, was two lines of Pope's, an author so effectually
forgotten in these palmy days of literature, in
which all knowledge seems so condensed into the productions
of the last few years, that a man might almost
pass off an entire classic for his own, without the
fear of detection. It was merely the first couplet of
the Essay on Man, which, fortunately, having an allusion
to the `pride of Kings,' would pass for original,
as well as excellent, in nineteen villages in twenty in
America, in these piping times of ultra-republicanism.
No doubt Mr. Bragg thought a eulogy on the `people'
was to come next, to be succeeded by a glorious picture
of Templeton and its environs.”
“I do not know that I ought to admit these hits at
liberty from a foreigner,” said Eve, pretending to look
graver than she felt; for never before, in her life, had
our heroine so strong a consciousness of happiness, as
she had experienced that very morning.
“Foreigner, Miss Effingham! — And why a foreigner?”
“Nay, you know your own pretended cosmopolitism;
and ought not the cousin of Captain Ducie to be an
Englishman?”
“I shall not answer for the ought, the simple fact
being a sufficient reply to the question. The cousin
of Captain Ducie is not an Englishman; nor, as I see
you suspect, has he ever served a day in the British
navy, or in any other navy than that of his native land.”
“This is indeed taking us by surprise, and that most
agreeably,” returned Eve, looking up at him with undisguised
pleasure, while a bright glow crimsoned her
face. “We could not but feel an interest in one who
Mr. John Effingham—”
“Cousin Jack—” interrupted the smiling Paul.
“Cousin Jack, then, if you dislike the formality I
used; both my father and cousin Jack examined the
American navy registers for your name, without success,
as I understood, and the inference that followed
was fair enough, I believe you will admit.”
“Had they looked at a register of a few years' date,
they would have met with better luck. I have quitted
the service, and am a sailor only in recollections. For
the last few years, like yourselves, I have been a traveller
by land as well as by water.”
Eve said no more, though every syllable that the
young man uttered was received by attentive ears,
and retained with a scrupulous fidelity of memory.
They walked some distance in silence, until they
reached the grounds of a house that was beautifully
placed on the side of the mountain, near a lovely wood
of pines. Crossing these grounds, until they reached
a terrace in front of the dwelling, the village of Templeton
lay directly in their front, perhaps a hundred
feet beneath them, and yet so near, as to render the
minutest object distinct. Here they all stopped to take
a more distinct view of a place that had so much interest
with most of the party.
“I hope you are sufficiently acquainted with the
localities to act as cicerone,” said Mr. Effingham to
Paul. “In a visit of a week to this village, you have
scarcely overlooked the Wigwam.”
“Perhaps I ought to hesitate, or rather ought to
blush to own it,” answered the young man, discharging
the latter obligation by colouring to his temples; “but
curiosity has proved so much stronger than manners,
that I have been induced to trespass so far on the politeness
of this gentleman, as to gain an admission to
your dwelling, in and about which more of my time
to its inmates.”
“I hope the gentleman will not speak of it,” said
Aristabulus. “In this country, we live pretty much in
common, and with me it is a rule, when a gentleman
drops in, whether stranger or neighbour, to show him
the civility to ask him to take off his hat.”
“It appears to me,” said Eve, willing to change the
conversation, “that Templeton has an unusual number
of steeples; for what purpose can so small a place
possibly require so many buildings of that nature?”
“All in behalf of orthodoxy, Miss Eve,” returned
Aristabulus, who conceived himself to be the proper
person to answer such interrogatories. “There is a
shade of opinion beneath every one of those steeples.”
“Do you mean, sir, that there are as many shades
of faith in Templeton, as I now see buildings that have
the appearance of being devoted to religious purposes?”
“Double the number, Miss, and some to spare, in
the bargain; for you see but five meeting-houses,
and the county-buildings, and we reckon seven regular
hostile denominations in the village, besides the
diversities of sentiment on trifles. This edifice that
you perceive here, in a line with the chimneys of the
first house, is New St. Paul's, Mr. Grant's old church,
as orthodox a house, in its way, as there is in the diocese,
as you may see by the windows. This is a gaining
concern, though there has been some falling off of
late, in consequence of the clergyman's having caught
a bad cold, which has made him a little hoarse; but I
dare say he will get over it, and the church ought not
to be abandoned on that account, serious as the matter
undoubtedly is, for the moment. A few of us are determined
to back up New St. Paul's in this crisis, and I
make it a point to go there myself, quite half the time.”
“I am glad we have so much of your company,”
said Mr. Effingham, “for that is our own church, and
your religious opinions in halves, Mr. Bragg?”
“In as many parts, Mr. Effingham, as there are denominations
in the neighbourhood, giving a decided
preference to New St. Paul's, notwithstanding, under
the peculiar circumstances, particularly to the windows.
The dark, gloomy-looking building, Miss, off in the
distance, yonder, is the Methodist affair, of which not
much need be said; Methodism flourishing but little
among us since the introduction of the New Lights,
who have fairly managed to out-excite them, on every
plan they can invent. I believe, however, they stick
pretty much to the old doctrine, which, no doubt, is
one great reason of their present apathetic state; for
the people do love novelties.”
“Pray, sir, what building is this nearly in a line
with New St. Paul's, and which resembles it a little, in
colour and form?”
“Windows excepted; it has two rows of regular
square-topped windows, Miss, as you may observe.
That is the First Presbyterian, or the old standard; a
very good house, and a pretty good faith, too, as times
go. I make it a point to attend there, at least once
every fortnight; for change is agreeable to the nature
of man. I will say, Miss, that my preference, so far
as I have any, however, is for New St. Paul's, and I
have experienced considerable regrets, that these Presbyterians
have gained a material advantage over us,
in a very essential point, lately.”
“I am sorry to hear this, Mr. Bragg; for, being an
Episcopalian myself, and having great reliance on the
antiquity and purity of my church, I should be sorry
to find it put in the wrong by any other.”
“I fear we must give that point up, notwithstanding,
for these Presbyterians have entirely outwitted the
church people in that matter.”
“And what is the point in which we have been so
signally worsted?”
“Why, Miss, their new bell weighs quite a hundred
more than that of New St. Paul's, and has altogether
the best sound. I know very well that this advantage
will not avail them any thing to boast of, in the last
great account; but it makes a surprising difference in
the state of probation. You see the yellowish looking
building across the valley, with a heavy wall around
it, and a belfry? That, in its regular character, is the
county court-house, and gaol; but, in the way of religion,
it is used pretty much miscellaneously.”
“Do you mean, really, sir, that divine service is
ever actually performed in it, or that persons of all
denominations are occasionally tried there?”
“It would be truer to say that all denominations
occasionally try the court-house,” said Aristabulus,
simpering; “for I believe it has been used in this way
by every shade of religion short of the Jews. The
Gothic tower in wood, is the building of the Universalists;
and the Grecian edifice, that is not yet painted,
the Baptists. The Quakers, I believe, worship chiefly
at home, and the different shades of the Presbyterians
meet, in different rooms, in private houses, about the
place.”
“Are there then shades of difference in the denominations,
as well as all these denominations?” asked
Eve, in unfeigned surprise; “and this, too, in a population
so small?”
“This is a free county, Miss Eve, and freedom loves
variety. `Many men, many minds.' ”
“Quite true, sir,” said Paul; “but here are many
minds among few men. Nor is this all; agreeably to
your own account, some of these men do not exactly
know their own minds. But, can you explain to us
what essential points are involved in all these shades
of opinion?”
“It would require a life, sir, to understand the half
of them. Some say that excitement is religion, and
others, that it is contentment. One set cries up practice,
that he will be saved if he does good, and that
man affirms that if he only does good, he will be
damned; a little evil is necessary to salvation, with
one shade of opinion, while another thinks a man is
never so near conversion as when he is deepest in sin.”
“Subdivision is the order of the day,” added John
Effingham; “every county is to be subdivided that
there may be more county towns, and county offices;
every religion decimated, that there may be a greater
variety and a better quality of saints.”
Aristabulus nodded his head, and he would have
winked, could he have presumed to take such a liberty
with a man he held as much in habitual awe, as John
Effingham.
“Monsieur,” inquired Mademoiselle Viefville, “is
there no église, no véritable église, in Templeton?”
“Oh, yes, Madame, several,” returned Aristabulus,
who would as soon think of admitting that he did not
understand the meaning of véritable église, as one of
the sects he had been describing would think of admitting
that it was not infallible in its interpretation of
Christianity—“several; but they are not be seen from
this particular spot.”
“How much more picturesque would it be, and
even christian-like in appearance, at least,” said Paul,
“could these good people consent to unite in worshipping
God!—and how much does it bring into strong
relief, the feebleness and ignorance of man, when you
see him splitting hairs about doctrines, under which he
has been told, in terms as plain as language can make
it, that he is simply required to believe in the goodness
and power of a Being whose nature and agencies
exceed his comprehension.”
“All very true,” cried John Effingham, “but what
would become of liberty of conscience in such a case?
Most men, now-a-days, understand by faith, a firm reliance
on their own opinions!”
“In that case, too,” put in Aristabulus, “we should
want this handsome display of churches to adorn our
village. There is good comes of it; for any man
would be more likely to invest in a place that has five
churches, than in a place with but one. As it is, Templeton
has as beautiful a set of churches as any village
I know.”
“Say, rather, sir, a set of castors; for a stronger
resemblance to vinegar-cruets and mustard-pots, than
is borne by these architectural prodigies, eye never
beheld.”
“It is, nevertheless, a beautiful thing, to see the high
pointed roof of the house of God, crowning an assemblage
of houses, as one finds it in other countries,”
said Eve, “instead of a pile of tavern, as is too much
the case in this dear home of ours.”
When this remark was uttered, they descended the
step that led from the terrace, and proceeded towards
the village. On reaching the gate of the Wigwam,
the whole party stood confronted with that offspring
of John Effingham's taste; for so great had been his
improvements on the original production of Hiram
Doolittle, that externally, at least, that distinguished
architect could no longer have recognized the fruits of
his own talents.
“This is carrying out to the full, John, the conceits
of the composite order,” observed Mr. Effingham,
drily.
“I shall be sorry, Ned, if you dislike your house, as
it is amended and corrected.”
“Dear cousin Jack,” cried Eve, “it is an odd jumble
of the Grecian and Gothic. One would like to know
your authorities for such a liberty.”
“What do you think of the facade of the cathedral
of Milan, Miss,” laying emphasis on the last words, in
imitation of the manner of Mr. Bragg. “Is it such a
novelty to see the two styles blended; or is architecture
the unpardonable sin.”
“Nay, nothing that is out of rule ought to strike
one, in a country where imitation governs in all things
immaterial, and originality unsettles all things sacred
and dear.”
“By way of punishment for that bold speech, I wish
I had left the old rookery in the state I found it, that
its beauties might have greeted your eyes, instead of
this uncouth pile, which seems so much to offend them.
Mademoiselle Viefville, permit me to ask how you like
that house?”
“Mais, c'est un petit château.”
“Un château, Effinghamisé,” said Eve, laughing.
“Effinghamisé si vous voulez, ma chère; pourtant
c'est un château.”
“The general opinion in this part of the country
is,” said Aristabulus, “that Mr. John Effingham has
altered the building on the plan of some edifice of Europe,
though I forget the name of the particular temple;
it is not, however, the Parthenon, nor the temple
of Minerva.”
“I hope, at least,” said Mr. Effingham, leading the
way up a little lawn, “it will not turn out to be the
Temple of the Winds.”
| CHAPTER X. Home as found | |