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12. CHAPTER XII.
“In sooth, thou wast in very gracious fooling last night, when thou
spokest of Pigrogromotus, of the Vapians passing the equinoctial of Queubus;
't was very good i' faith.”
— Sir Andrew Ague-Cheek.
The progress of society, it has just been said, in what
is termed a “new country,” is a little anomalous. At
the commencement of a settlement, there is much of
that sort of kind feeling and mutual interest, which
men are apt to manifest towards each other, when they
are embarked in an enterprise of common hazards.
The distance that is unavoidably inseparable from education,
habits and manners, is lessened by mutual wants
and mutual efforts; and the gentleman, even while he
may maintain his character and station, maintains them
with that species of good-fellowship and familiarity,
that marks the intercourse between the officer and the
soldier, in an arduous campaign. Men, and even women,
break bread together, and otherwise commingle,
that, in different circumstances, would be strangers;
the hardy adventures and rough living of the forest,
apparently lowering the pretensions of the man of cultivation
and mere mental resources, to something very
near the level of those of the man of physical energy,
and manual skill. In this rude intercourse, the parties
meet, as it might be, on a sort of neutral ground, one
yielding some of his superiority, and the other laying
knows, however, is the result of the peculiar circumstances
in which he is placed. In short, the state
of society is favourable to the claims of mere animal
force, and unfavourable to those of the higher qualities.
This period may be termed, perhaps, the happiest of
the first century of a settlement. The great cares of
life are so engrossing and serious, that small vexations
are overlooked, and the petty grievances that would
make us seriously uncomfortable in a more regular
state of society, are taken as matters of course, or
laughed at as the regular and expected incidents of the
day. Good-will abounds; neighbour comes cheerfully
to the aid of neighbour; and life has much of the reckless
gaiety, careless association, and buoyant merriment
of childhood. It is found that they who have
passed through this probation, usually look back to it
with regret, and are fond of dwelling on the rude
scenes and ridiculous events that distinguish the history
of a new settlement, as the hunter is known to
pine for the forest.
To this period of fun, toil, neighbourly feeling and
adventure, succeeds another, in which society begins to
marshal itself, and the ordinary passions have sway.
Now it is, that we see the struggles for place, the
heart-burnings and jealousies of contending families,
and the influence of mere money. Circumstances
have probably established the local superiority of a few
beyond all question, and the condition of these serves
as a goal for the rest to aim at. The learned professions,
the ministry included, or what, by courtesy, are
so called, take precedence, as a matter of course, next
to wealth, however, when wealth is at all supported by
appearances. Then commence those gradations of
social station, that set institutions at defiance, and
which as necessarily follow civilization, as tastes and
habits are a consequence of indulgence.
This is, perhaps, the least inviting condition of society
that belongs to any country that can claim to be
free and removed from barbarism. The tastes are too
uncultivated to exercise any essential influence; and
when they do exist, it is usually with the pretension
and effort that so commonly accompany infant knowledge.
The struggle is only so much the more severe,
in consequence of the late pèle mèle, while men lay
claim to a consideration that would seem beyond their
reach, in an older and more regulated community. It
is during this period that manners suffer the most, since
they want the nature and feeling of the first condition,
while they are exposed to the rudest assaults of the
coarse-minded and vulgar; for, as men usually defer to
a superiority that is long established, there being a
charm about antiquity that is sometimes able to repress
the passions, in older communities the marshalling of
time quietly regulates what is here the subject of strife.
What has just been said, depends on a general and
natural principle, perhaps; but the state of society we
are describing has some features peculiar to itself. The
civilization of America, even in its older districts,
which supply the emigrants to the newer regions, is
unequal; one state possessing a higher level than
another. Coming as it does, from different parts of
this vast country, the population of a new settlement,
while it is singularly homogenous for the circumstances,
necessarily brings with it its local peculiarities. If to
these elements be added a sprinkling of Europeans of
various nations and conditions, the effects of the commingling,
and the temporary social struggles that follow,
will occasion no surprise.
The third and last condition of society in a “new
country,” is that in which the influence of the particular
causes enumerated ceases, and men and things
come within the control of more general and regular
laws. The effect, of course, is to leave the community
in possession of a civilization that conforms to
and with the division into castes that are more or less
rigidly maintained, according to circumstances.
The periods, as the astronomers call the time taken
in a celestial revolution, of the two first of these
epochs in the history of a settlement, depend very much
on its advancement in wealth and in numbers. In
some places, the pastoral age, or that of good fellowship,
continues for a whole life, to the obvious retrogression
of the people, in most of the higher qualities,
but to their manifest advantage, however, in the pleasures
of the time being; while, in others, it passes
away rapidly, like the buoyant animal joys, that live
their time, between fourteen and twenty.
The second period is usually of longer duration, the
migratory habits of the American people keeping society
more unsettled than might otherwise prove to
be the case. It may be said never to cease entirely,
until the great majority of the living generation are
natives of the region, knowing no other means of comparison
than those under which they have passed their
days. Even when this is the case, there is commonly
so large an infusion of the birds of passage, men who
are adventurers in quest of advancement, and who
live without the charities of a neighbourhood, as they
may be said almost to live without a home, that there
is to be found, for a long time, a middle state of society,
during which it may well be questioned whether a
community belongs to the second or to the third of the
periods named.
Templeton was properly in this equivocal condition,
for while the third generation of the old settlers were
in active life, so many passers-by came and went, that
the influence of the latter nearly neutralized that of
time and the natural order of things. Its population
was pretty equally divided between the descendants
of the earlier inhabitants, and those who flitted like
swallows and other migratory birds. All of those who
and had been active in converting the wilderness
into the abodes of civilized men, if they had not been
literally gathered to their fathers, in a physical sense,
had been laid, the first of their several races, beneath
those sods that were to cover the heads of so many of
their descendants. A few still remained among those
who entered the wilderness in young manhood, but the
events of the first period we have designated, and
which we have imperfectly recorded in another work,
were already passing into tradition. Among these
original settlers some portion of the feeling that had
distinguished their earliest communion with their neighbours
yet continued, and one of their greatest delights
was to talk of the hardships and privations of their
younger days, as the veteran loves to discourse of his
marches, battles, scars, and sieges. It would be too
much to say that these persons viewed the more ephemeral
part of the population with distrust, for their
familiarity with changes accustomed them to new
faces; but they had a secret inclination for each other,
preferred those who could enter the most sincerely into
their own feelings, and naturally loved that communion
best, where they found the most sympathy. To this
fragment of the community belonged nearly all there
was to be found of that sort of sentiment which is connected
with locality; adventure, with them, supplying
the place of time; while the natives of the spot, wanting
in the recollections that had so many charms for
their fathers, were not yet brought sufficiently within
the influence of traditionary interest, to feel that hallowed
sentiment in its proper force. As opposed in
feeling to these relics of the olden time, were the birds
of passage so often named, a numerous and restless
class, that, of themselves, are almost sufficient to destroy
whatever there is of poetry, or of local attachment, in
any region where they resort.
In Templeton and its adjacent district, however, the
the descendants of the fathers of the country beginning
to make a manly stand against the looser sentiment,
or the want of sentiment, that so singularly distinguishes
the migratory bands. The first did begin to
consider the temple in which their fathers had worshipped
more hallowed than strange altars; the sods
that covered their fathers' heads more sacred than the
clods that were upturned by the plough; and the
places of their childhood and childish sports dearer
than the highway trodden by a nameless multitude.
Such, then, were the elements of the society into
which we have now ushered the reader, and with
which it will be our duty to make him better acquainted,
as we proceed in the regular narration of the incidents
of our tale.
The return of the Effinghams, after so long an absence,
naturally produced a sensation in so small a
place, and visiters began to appear in the Wigwam as
soon as propriety would allow. Many false rumours
prevailed, quite as a matter of course: and Eve, it was
reported, was on the point of being married to no less
than three of the inmates of her father's house, within
the first ten days, viz: Sir George Templemore, Mr.
Powis, and Mr. Bragg; the latter story taking its rise
in some precocious hopes that had escaped the gentleman
himself, in the “excitement” of helping to empty
a bottle of bad Breton wine, that was dignified with
the name of champagne. But these tales revived and
died so often, in a state of society in which matrimony
is so general a topic with the young of the gentler sex,
that they brought with them their own refutation.
The third day, in particular, after the arrival of our
party, was a reception day at the Wigwam; the gentlemen
and ladies making it a point to be at home and
disengaged, after twelve o'clock, in order to do honour
to their guests. One of the first who made his appearance
was a Mr. Howel, a bachelor of about the same
quiet habits. Nature had done more towards making
Mr. Howel a gentleman, than either cultivation or association;
for he had passed his entire life, with very
immaterial exceptions, in the valley of Templeton,
where, without being what could be called a student,
or a scholar, he had dreamed away his existence in an
indolent communication with the current literature of
the day. He was fond of reading, and being indisposed
to contention, or activity of any sort, his mind
had admitted the impressions of what he perused, as
the stone receives a new form by the constant fall of
drops of water. Unfortunately for Mr. Howel, he understood
no language but his mother tongue; and, as
all his reading was necessarily confined to English
books, he had gradually, and unknown to himself, in
his moral nature at least, got to be a mere reflection of
those opinions, prejudices, and principles, if such a
word can properly be used for such a state of the mind,
that it had suited the interests or passions of England to
promulgate by means of the press. A perfect bonne foi
prevailed in all his notions; and though a very modest
man by nature, so very certain was he that his authority
was always right, that he was a little apt to be
dogmatical on such points as he thought his authors
appeared to think settled. Between John Effingham
and Mr. Howel, there were constant amicable skirmishes
in the way of discussion; for, while the latter
was so dependent, limited in knowledge by unavoidable
circumstances, and disposed to an innocent credulity,
the first was original in his views, accustomed to see
and think for himself, and, moreover, a little apt to estimate
his own advantages at their full value.
“Here comes our good neighbour, and my old school-fellow,
Tom Howel,” said Mr. Effingham, looking out
at a window, and perceiving the person mentioned
crossing the little lawn in front of the house, by following
a winding foot-path—“as kind-hearted a man,
American, for he has scarcely quitted the county half-a-dozen
times in his life, and one of the honestest fellows
of my acquaintance.”
“Ay,” put in John Effingham, “as real an American
as any man can be, who uses English spectacles for
all he looks at, English opinions for all he says, English
prejudices for all he condemns, and an English palate
for all he tastes. American, quotha! The man is no
more American than the Times' newspaper, or Charing
Cross! He actually made a journey to New-York,
last war, to satisfy himself with his own eyes that a
Yankee frigate had really brought an Englishman
into port.”
“His English predilections will be no fault in my
eyes,” said the baronet, smiling—“and I dare say we
shall be excellent friends.”
“I am sure Mr. Howel is a very agreeable man,”
added Grace—“of all in your Templeton côterie, he is
my greatest favourite.”
“Oh! I foresee a tender intimacy between Templemore
and Howel,” rejoined John Effingham; “and
sundry wordy wars between the latter and Miss Effingham.”
“In this you do me injustice, cousin Jack. I remember
Mr. Howel well, and kindly; for he was ever
wont to indulge my childish whims, when a girl.”
“The man is a second Burchell, and, I dare say,
never came to the Wigwam when you were a child,
without having his pockets stuffed with cakes, or bonbons.”
The meeting was cordial, Mr. Howel greeting the
gentlemen like a warm friend, and expressing great
delight at the personal improvements that had been
made in Eve, between the ages of eight and twenty.
John Effingham was no more backward than the others,
for he, too, liked their simple-minded, kind-hearted, but
credulous neighbour.
“You are welcome back—you are welcome back,”
added Mr. Howel, blowing his nose, in order to conceal
the tears that were gathering in his eyes. “I did
think of going to New-York to meet you, but the distance
at my time of life is very serious. Age, gentlemen,
seems to be a stranger to you.”
“And yet we, who are both a few months older than
yourself, Howel,” returned Mr. Effingham, kindly,
“have managed to overcome the distance you have
just mentioned, in order to come and see you!”
“Ay, you are great travellers, gentlemen, very great
travellers, and are accustomed to motion.—Been quite
as far as Jerusalem, I hear!”
“Into its very gates, my good friend; and I wish,
with all my heart, we had had you in our company.
Such a journey might cure you of the home-malady.”
“I am a fixture, and never expect to look upon the
ocean, now. I did, at one period of my life, fancy
such an event might happen, but I have finally abandoned
all hope on that subject. Well, Miss Eve, of all
the countries in which you have dwelt, to which do you
give the preference?”
“I think Italy is the general favourite,” Eve answered,
with a friendly smile; “although there are some
agreeable things peculiar to almost every country.”
“Italy!—Well, that astonishes me a good deal! I
never knew there was any thing particularly interesting
about Italy! I should have expected you to say,
England.”
“England is a fine country, too, certainly; but it
wants many things that Italy enjoys.”
“Well, now, what?” said Mr. Howel, shifting his
legs from one knee to the other, in order to be more
convenient to listen, or, if necessary, to object. “What
can Italy possess, that England does not enjoy in a
still greater degree?”
“Its recollections, for one thing, and all that interest
which time and great events throw around a region.”
“And is England wanting in recollections and great
events? Are there not the Conqueror? or, if you
will, King Alfred? and Queen Elizabeth, and Shakspeare—think
of Shakspeare, young lady—and Sir
Walter Scott, and the Gun-Powder Plot; and Cromwell,
Oliver Cromwell, my dear Miss Eve; and West-minster
Abbey, and London Bridge, and George IV.,
the descendant of a line of real kings,—what, in the
name of Heaven, can Italy possess, to equal the interest
one feels in such things as these?”
“They are very interesting no doubt;” said Eve,
endeavouring not to smile—“but Italy has its relics of
former ages too; you forget the Cæsars.”
“Very good sort of persons for barbarous times, I
dare say, but what can they be to the English monarchs?
I would rather look upon a bonâ fide English
king, than see all the Cæsars that ever lived. I never
can think any man a real king but the king of England.”
“Not King Solomon!” cried John Effingham.
“Oh! he was a Bible king, and one never thinks
of them. Italy! well, this I did not expect from your
father's daughter! Your great-great-great-grandfather
must have been an Englishman born, Mr. Effingham?”
“I have reason to think he was, sir.”
“And Milton, and Dryden, and Newton, and Locke!
These are prodigious names, and worth all the Cæsars
put together. And Pope, too; what have they got in
Italy to compare to Pope?”
“They have at least the Pope,” said Eve, laughing.
“And, then, there are the Boar's Head in East-Cheap;
and the Tower; and Queen Anne, and all the wits of
her reign; and—and—and Titus Oates; and Bosworth
Field; and Smithfield, where the martyrs were burned,
and a thousand more spots and persons of intense
interest in Old England!”
“Quite true,” said John Effingham, with an air of
Tom of Coventry, and the climate!”
“And Holyrood-House; and York-Minster; and St.
Paul's;” continued the worthy Mr. Howel, too much
bent on a catalogue of excellencies, that to him were
sacred, to heed the interruption, “and, above all, Windsor
Castle. What is there in the world to equal Windsor
Castle as a royal residence?”
Want of breath now gave Eve an opportunity to
reply, and she seized it with an eagerness that she was
the first to laugh at herself, afterwards.
“Caserta is no mean house, Mr. Howel; and, in my
poor judgment, there is more real magnificence in its
great stair-case, than in all Windsor Castle united, if
you except the chapel.”
“But, St. Paul's!”
“Why, St. Peter's may be set down, quite fairly, I
think, for its pendant at least.”
“True, the Catholics do say so;” returned Mr.
Howel, with the deliberation one uses when he greatly
distrusts his own concession; “but I have always considered
it one of their frauds. I don't think there can
be any thing finer than St. Paul's. Then there are the
noble ruins of England! They, you must admit, are
unrivalled.”
“The Temple of Neptune, at Pæstum, is commonly
thought an interesting ruin, Mr. Howel.”
“Yes, yes, for a temple, I dare say; though I do not
remember to have ever heard of it before. But no
temple can ever compare to a ruined abbey!”
“Taste is an arbitrary thing, Tom Howel, as you
and I know when as boys we quarrelled about the beauty
of our ponies,” said Mr. Effingham, willing to put an
end to a discussion that he thought a little premature,
after so long an absence. “Here are two young
friends who shared the hazards of our late passage
with us, and to whom, in a great degree, we owe our
present happy security, and I am anxious to make you
Powis, and this is an English friend, who, I am certain,
will be happy to know so warm an admirer of his
own country—Sir George Templemore.”
Mr. Howel had never before seen a titled Englishman,
and he was taken so much by surprise that he
made his salutations rather awkwardly. As both the
young men, however, met him with the respectful ease
that denotes familiarity with the world, he soon recovered
his self-possession.
“I hope you have brought back with you a sound
American heart, Miss Eve,” resumed the guest, as soon
as this little interruption had ceased. “We have had
sundry rumours of French Marquisses, and German
Barons; but I have, all along, trusted too much to your
patriotism to believe you would marry a foreigner.”
“I hope you except Englishmen,” cried Sir George,
gaily: “we are almost the same people.”
“I am proud to hear you say so, sir. Nothing flatters
me more than to be thought English; and I certainly
should not have accused Miss Effingham of a
want of love of country, had—”
“She married half-a-dozen Englishmen,” interrupted
John Effingham, who saw that the old theme was in
danger of being revived. “But, Howel, you have
paid me no compliments on the changes in the house.
I hope they are to your taste.”
“A little too French, Mr. John.”
“French!—There is not a French feature in the
whole animal. What has put such a notion into your
head?”
“It is the common opinion, and I confess I should
like the building better were it less continental.”
“Why, my old friend, it is a nondescript-original—
Effingham upon Doolittle, if you will; and, as for models,
it is rather more English than any thing else.”
“Well, Mr. John, I am glad to hear this, for I do
confess to a disposition rather to like the house. I am
contemporaries when in Europe?—That to
me, would be one of the greatest delights of travelling!”
“To say that we saw them all, might be too much;
though we certainly did meet with many.”
“Scott, of course.”
“Sir Walter we had the pleasure of meeting, a few
times, in London.”
“And Southey, and Coleridge, and Wordsworth,
and Moore, and Bulwer, and D'Israeli, and Rogers,
and Campbell, and the grave of Byron, and Horace
Smith, and Miss Landon, and Barry Cornwall, and—”
“Cum multis aliis,” put in John Effingham, again,
by way of arresting the torrent of names. “Eve saw
many of these, and, as Tubal told Shylock, `we often
came where we did hear' of the rest. But you say
nothing, friend Tom, of Goethe, and Tieck, and Schlegel,
and La Martine, Chateaubriant, Hugo, Delavigne,
Mickiewicz, Nota, Manzoni, Niccolini, &c. &c. &c.
&c. &c. &c.”
Honest, well-meaning Mr. Howel, listened to the
catalogue that the other ran volubly over, in silent
wonder; for, with the exception of one or two of these
distinguished men, he had never even heard of them;
and, in the simplicity of his heart, unconsciously to
himself, he had got to believe that there was no great
personage still living, of whom he did not know something.
“Ah, here comes young Wenham, by way of preserving
the equilibrium,” resumed John Effingham,
looking out of a window—“I rather think you must
have forgotten him, Ned, though you remember his
father, beyond question.”
Mr. Effingham and his cousin went out into the hall
to receive the new guest, with whom the latter had
become acquainted while superintending the repairs of
the Wigwam.
Mr. Wenham was the son of a successful lawyer in
the county, and, being an only child, he had also succeeded
to an easy independence. His age, however,
brought him rather into the generation to which Eve
belonged, than into that of the father; and, if Mr.
Howel was a reflection, or rather a continuation, of
all the provincial notions that America entertained of
England forty years ago, Mr. Wenham might almost
be said to belong to the opposite school, and to be as
ultra-American, as his neighbour was ultra-British.—
If there is la jeune France, there is also la jeune Amerique,
although the votaries of the latter march with
less hardy steps than the votaries of the first. Mr.
Wenham fancied himself a paragon of national independence,
and was constantly talking of American excellencies,
though the ancient impressions still lingered
in his moral system, as men look askance for the ghosts
which frightened their childhood on crossing a churchyard
in the dark. John Effingham knew the penchant
of the young man, and when he said that he came
happily to preserve the equilibrium, he alluded to this
striking difference in the characters of their two friends.
The introductions and salutations over, we shall resume
the conversation that succeeded in the drawing-room.
“You must be much gratified, Miss Effingham,”
observed Mr. Wenham, who, like a true American,
being a young man himself, supposed it de rigueur to
address a young lady in preference to any other present,—“with
the great progress made by our country
since you went abroad.”
Eve simply answered that her extreme youth, when
she left home, had prevented her from retaining any
precise notions on such subjects.
“I dare say it is all very true,” she added, “but one,
like myself, who remembers only older countries, is, I
think, a little more apt to be struck with the deficiencies,
they still fall short of excellence.”
Mr. Wenham looked vexed, or indignant would be
a better word, but he succeeded in preserving his coolness—a
thing that is not always easy to one of provincial
habits and provincial education, when he finds
his own beau idéal lightly estimated by others.
“Miss Effingham must discover a thousand imperfections,”
said Mr. Howel, “coming, as she does, directly
from England. That music, now,”—alluding to
the sounds of a flute that were heard through the open
windows, coming from the adjacent village—“must be
rude enough to her ear, after the music of London.”
“The street music of London is certainly among
the best, if not the very best, in Europe,” returned Eve,
with a glance of the eye at the baronet, that caused
him to smile, “and I think this fairly belongs to the
class, being so freely given to the neighbourhood.”
“Have you read the articles signed Minerva, in the
Hebdomad, Miss Effingham,” inquired Mr. Wenham,
who was determined to try the young lady on a point
of sentiment, having succeeded so ill in his first attempt
to interest her—“they are generally thought to be a
great acquisition to American literature.”
“Well, Wenham, you are a fortunate man,” interposed
Mr. Howel, “if you can find any literature in
America, to add to, or to substract from. Beyond almanacs,
reports of cases badly got up, and newspaper
verses, I know nothing that deserves such a name.”
“We may not print on as fine paper, Mr. Howel, or
do up the books in as handsome binding as other people,”
said Mr. Wenham, bridling and looking grave,
“but so far as sentiments are concerned, or sound
sense, American literature need turn its back on no
literature of the day.”
“By the way, Mr. Effingham, you were in Russia;
did you happen to see the Emperor?”
“I had that pleasure, Mr. Howel.”
“And is he really the monster we have been taught
to believe him?”
“Monster!” exclaimed the upright Mr. Effingham,
fairly recoiling a step in surprise. “In what sense a
monster, my worthy friend? surely not in a physical?”
“I do not know that. I have somehow got the notion
he is any thing but handsome. A mean, butchering,
bloody-minded looking little chap, I'll engage.”
“You are libelling one of the finest-looking men of
the age.”
“I think I would submit it to a jury. I cannot believe,
after what I have read of him in the English
publications, that he is so very handsome.”
“But, my good neighbour, these English publications
must be wrong; prejudiced perhaps, or even malignant.”
“Oh! I am not the man to be imposed on in that
way. Besides, what motive could an English writer
have for belying an Emperor of Russia?”
“Sure enough, what motive!” exclaimed John Effingham.—“You
have your answer, Ned!”
“But you will remember, Mr. Howel,” Eve interposed,
“that we have seen the Emperor Nicholas.”
“I dare say, Miss Eve, that your gentle nature was
disposed to judge him as kindly as possible; and, then,
I think most Americans, ever since the treaty of
Ghent, have been disposed to view all Russians too
favourably. No, no; I am satisfied with the account
of the English; they live much nearer to St. Petersburg
than we do, and they are more accustomed, too,
to give accounts of such matters.”
“But living nearer, Tom Howel,” cried Mr. Effingham,
with unusual animation, “in such a case, is of no
avail, unless one lives near enough to see with his own
eyes.”
“Well—well—my good friend, we will talk of this
another time. I know your disposition to look at every
body with lenient eyes. I will now wish you all a
Eve, I have one word to say, if you dare trust yourself
with a youth of fifty, for a minute in the library.”
Eve rose cheerfully, and led the way to the room
her father's visiter had named. When within it, Mr.
Howel shut the door carefully, and then with a sort of
eager delight, he exclaimed—
“For heaven's sake, my dear young lady, tell me
who are these two strange gentlemen in the other
room.”
“Precisely the persons my father mentioned, Mr.
Howel; Mr. Paul Powis, and Sir George Templemore.”
“Englishmen, of course!”
“Sir George Templemore is, of course, as you say;
but we may boast of Mr. Powis as a countryman.”
“Sir George Templemore!—What a superb-looking
young fellow!”
“Why, yes,” returned Eve, laughing; “he, at least,
you will admit is a handsome man.”
“He is wonderful!—The other, Mr.—a—a—a—I
forget what you called him—he is pretty well too; but
this Sir George is a princely youth.”
“I rather think a majority of observers would give
the preference to the appearance of Mr. Powis,” said
Eve, struggling to be steady, but permitting a blush to
heighten her colour, in despite of the effort.
“What could have induced him to come up among
these mountains—an English baronet!” resumed Mr.
Howel, without thinking of Eve's confusion. “Is he
a real lord?”
“Only a little one, Mr. Howel. You heard what
my father said of our having been fellow-travellers.”
“But what does he think of us. I am dying to know
what such a man really thinks of us?”
“It is not always easy to discover what such men
really think; although I am inclined to believe that he
is disposed to think rather favourably of some of us.”
“Ay, of you, and your father, and Mr. John. You
have travelled, and are more than half European; but
what can he think of those who have never left America?”
“Even of some of those,” returned Eve, smiling, “I
suspect he thinks partially.”
“Well, I am glad of that. Do you happen to know
his opinion of the Emperor Nicholas?”
“Indeed I do not remember to have heard him mention
the Emperor's name; nor do I think he has ever
seen him.”
“That is extraordinary! Such a man should have
seen every thing, and know every thing; but I'll engage,
at the bottom, he does know all about him. If
you happen to have any old English newspapers, as
wrappers, or by any other accident, let me beg them
of you. I care not how old they are. An English journal
fifty years old, is more interesting than one of ours
wet from the press.”
Eve promised to send him a package, when they
shook hands and parted. As she was crossing the
hall, to rejoin the party, John Effingham stopped her.
“Has Howel made proposals?” the gentleman inquired,
in an affected whisper.
“None, cousin Jack, beyond an offer to read the old
English newspapers I can send him.”
“Yes, yes, Tom Howel will swallow all the nonsense
that is timbré à Londres.”
“I confess a good deal of surprise at finding a respectable
and intelligent man so weak-minded as to
give credit to such authorities, or to form his serious
opinions on information derived from such sources.”
“You may be surprised, Eve, at hearing so frank
avowals of the weakness; but, as for the weakness
itself, you are now in a country for which England
does all the thinking, except on subjects that touch the
current interests of the day.”
“Nay, I will not believe this! If it were true, how
to war against her.”
“The man who has attained his majority is independent
of his father's legal control, without being independent
of the lessons he was taught when a child.
The soldier sometimes mutinies, and after the contest
is over, he is usually the most submissive man of the
regiment.”
“All this to me is very astonishing! I confess that
a great deal has struck me unpleasantly in this way,
since our return; especially in ordinary society; but I
never could have supposed it had reached to the pass
in which I see it existing in our good neighbour
Howel.”
“You have witnessed one of the effects, in a matter
of no great moment to ourselves; but, as time and
years afford the means of observation and comparison,
you will perceive the effects in matters of the last moment,
in a national point of view. It is in human nature
to undervalue the things with which we are familiar,
and to form false estimates of those which are
remote, either by time, or by distance. But, go into
the drawing-room, and, in young Wenham, you will
find one who fancies himself a votary of a new school,
although his prejudices and mental dependence are
scarcely less obvious than those of poor Tom Howel.”
The arrival of more company, among whom were
several ladies, compelled Eve to defer an examination
of Mr. Wenham's peculiarities to another opportunity.
She found many of her own sex, whom she had left
children, grown into womanhood, and not a few of
them at a period of life when they should be cultivating
their physical and moral powers, already oppressed
with the cares and feebleness that weigh so heavily on
the young American wife.
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