 | CHAPTER II. Home as found |  |
2. CHAPTER II.
“I know that Deformed; he has been a vile thief this seven year;
he goes up and down like a gentleman.”
Much Ado About Nothing.
Eve, and her cousin, found Sir George Templemore
and Captain Truck in the drawing-room, the former
having lingered in New-York, with a desire to be near
his friends, and the latter being on the point of sailing
for Europe, in his regular turn. To these must be
added Mr. Bragg and the ordinary inmates of the
house, when the reader will get a view of the whole
party.
Aristabulus had never before sat down to as brilliant
a table, and for the first time in his life, he saw candles
lighted at a dinner; but he was not a man to be disconcerted
at a novelty. Had he been a European of
the same origin and habits, awkwardness would have
betrayed him fifty times, before the dessert made its
appearance; but, being the man he was, one who overlooked
a certain prurient politeness that rather illustrated
him to pass among the oi polloi of the world, were it
not for a peculiar management in the way of providing
for himself. It is true, he asked every one near him
to eat of every thing he could himself reach, and that
he used his knife as a coal-heaver uses a shovel; but
the company he was in, though fastidious in its own
deportment, was altogether above the silver-forkisms,
and this portion of his demeanour, if it did not escape
undetected, passed away unnoticed. Not so, however,
with the peculiarity already mentioned as an exception.
This touch of deportment, (or management, perhaps,
is the better word,) being characteristic of the
man, it deserves to be mentioned a little in detail.
The service at Mr. Effingham's table was made in
the quiet, but thorough manner that distinguishes a
French dinner. Every dish was removed, carved by
the domestics, and handed in turn to each guest. But
there were a delay and a finish in this arrangement
that suited neither Aristabulus's go-a-head-ism, nor his
organ of acquisitiveness. Instead of waiting, therefore,
for the more graduated movements of the domestics,
he began to take care of himself, an office that
he performed with a certain dexterity that he had
acquired by frequenting ordinaries—a school, by the
way, in which he had obtained most of his notions of
the proprieties of the table. One or two slices were
obtained in the usual manner, or by means of the
regular service; and, then, like one who had laid the
foundation of a fortune, by some lucky windfall in the
commencement of his career, he began to make
accessions, right and left, as opportunity offered.
Sundry entremets, or light dishes that had a peculiarly
tempting appearance, came first under his grasp. Of
these he soon accumulated all within his reach, by
taxing his neighbours, when he ventured to send his
plate, here and there, or wherever he saw a dish that
promised to reward his trouble. By such means,
unobtrusive assiduity that escaped much observation,
Mr. Bragg contrived to make his own plate a sample
epitome of the first course. It contained in the centre,
fish, beef, and ham; and around these staple articles,
he had arranged croquettes, rognons, râgouts, vegetables,
and other light things, until not only was the
plate completely covered, but it was actually covered
in double and triple layers; mustard, cold butter, salt,
and even pepper, garnishing its edges. These different
accumulations were the work of time and address,
and most of the company had repeatedly changed
their plates before Aristabulus had eaten a mouthful,
the soup excepted. The happy moment when his
ingenuity was to be rewarded, had now arrived, and
the land agent was about to commence the process
of mastication, or of deglutition rather, for he troubled
himself very little with the first operation, when the
report of a cork drew his attention towards the champaigne.
To Aristabulus this wine never came amiss,
for, relishing its piquancy, he had never gone far
enough into the science of the table to learn which
were the proper moments for using it. As respected
all the others at table, this moment had in truth
arrived, though, as respected himself, he was no nearer
to it, according to a regulated taste, than when he
first took his seat. Perceiving that Pierre was serving
it, however, he offered his own glass, and enjoyed a
delicious instant, as he swallowed a beverage that
much surpassed any thing he had ever known to issue
out of the waxed and leaded nozles that, pointed like
so many enemies' batteries, loaded with headaches
and disordered stomachs, garnished sundry village
bars of his acquaintance.
Aristabulus finished his glass at a draught, and
when he took breath, he fairly smacked his lips. That
was an unlucky instant, his plate, burthened with
all its treasures, being removed, at this unguarded
fancying that a dislike to the dishes could alone have
given rise to such an omnium-gatherum.
It was necessary to commence de novo, but this
could no longer be done with the first course, which
was removed, and Aristabulus set-to, with zeal, forthwith,
on the game. Necessity compelled him to eat, as
the different dishes were offered; and, such was his
ordinary assiduity with the knife and fork, that, at the
end of the second remove, he had actually disposed
of more food than any other person at table. He now
began to converse, and we shall open the conversation
at the precise point in the dinner, when it was in
the power of Aristabulus to make one of the interlocutors.
Unlike Mr. Dodge, he had betrayed no peculiar
interest in the baronet, being a man too shrewd and
worldly to set his heart on trifles of any sort; and Mr.
Bragg no more hesitated about replying to Sir George
Templemore, or Mr. Effingham, than he would have
hesitated about answering one of his own nearest associates.
With him age and experience formed no particular
claims to be heard, and, as to rank, it is true
he had some vague ideas about there being such a
thing in the militia, but as it was unsalaried rank, he
attached no great importance to it. Sir George Templemore
was inquiring concerning the recording of
deeds, a regulation that had recently attracted attention
in England; and one of Mr. Effingham's replies
contained some immaterial inaccuracy, which Aristabulus
took occasion to correct, as his first appearance
in the general discourse.
“I ask pardon, sir,” he concluded his explanations
by saying, “but I ought to know these little niceties,
having served a short part of a term as a county
clerk, to fill a vacancy occasioned by a death.”
“You mean, Mr. Bragg, that you were employed
to write in a county clerk's office,” observed John
not hesitate much about refuting it; or what he now
fancied to be an untruth.
“As county clerk, sir. Major Pippin died a year
before his time was out, and I got the appointment.
As regular a county clerk, sir, as there is in the fifty-six
counties of New-York.”
“When I had the honour to engage you as Mr.
Effingham's agent, sir,” returned the other, a little
sternly, for he felt his own character for veracity
involved in that of the subject of his selection, “I
believe, indeed, that you were writing in the office,
but I did not understand it was as the clerk.”
“Very true, Mr. John,” returned Aristabulus, without
discovering the least concern, “I was then
engaged by my successor as a clerk; but a few
months earlier, I filled the office myself.”
“Had you gone on, in the regular line of promotion,
my dear sir,” pithily inquired Captain Truck,
“to what preferment would you have risen by this
time?”
“I believe I understand you, gentlemen,” returned
the unmoved Aristabulus, who perceived a general
smile. “I know that some people are particular about
keeping pretty much on the same level, as to office:
but I hold to no such doctrine. If one good thing
cannot be had, I do not see that it is a reason for
rejecting another. I ran that year for sheriff, and
finding I was not strong enough to carry the county,
I accepted my successor's offer to write in the office,
until something better might turn up.”
“You practised all this time, I believe, Mr. Bragg,”
observed John Effingham.
“I did a little in that way, too, sir; or as much as
I could. Law is flat with us, of late, and many of
the attorneys are turning their attention to other
callings.”
“And pray, sir,” asked Sir George, “what is the
favourite pursuit with most of them, just now?”
“Some our way have gone into the horse-line; but
much the greater portion are, just now, dealing in
western cities.
“In western cities!” exclaimed the baronet, looking
as if he distrusted a mystification.
“In such articles, and in mill-seats, and rail-road
lines, and other expectations.”
“Mr. Bragg means that they are buying and selfing
lands on which it is hoped all these conveniences
may exist, a century hence,” explained John Effingham.
“The hope is for next year, or next week, even, Mr.
John,” returned Aristabulus, with a sly look, “though
you may be very right as to the reality. Great fortunes
have been made on a capital of hopes, lately, in
this country.”
“And have you been able, yourself, to resist these
temptations?” asked Mr. Effingham. “I feel doubly
indebted to you, sir, that you should have continued
to devote your time to my interests, while so many
better things were offering.”
“It was my duty, sir,” said Aristabulus, bowing so
much the lower, from the consciousness that he had
actually deserted his post for some months, to
embark in the western speculations that were then so
active in the country, “not to say my pleasure. There
are many profitable occupations in this country, Sir
George, that have been overlooked in the eagerness to
embark in the town-trade—”
“Mr. Bragg does not mean trade in town, but trade
in towns,” explained John Effingham.
“Yes, sir, the traffic in cities. I never come this
way, without casting an eye about me, in order to see
if there is any thing to be done that is useful; and I
confess that several available opportunities have
offered, if one had capital. Milk is a good business.”
“Le lait!” exclaimed Mademoiselle Viefville, involuntarily.
“Yes, ma'am, for ladies as well as gentlemen.
Sweet potatoes I have heard well spoken of, and
peaches are really making some rich men's fortunes.”
“All of which are honester and better occupations
than the traffic in cities, that you have mentioned,”
quietly observed Mr. Effingham.
Aristabulus looked up in a little surprise, for with
him every thing was eligible that returned a good
profit, and all things honest that the law did not actually
punish. Perceiving, however, that the company
was disposed to listen, and having, by this time, recovered
the lost ground, in the way of food, he cheerfully
resumed his theme.
“Many families have left Otsego, this and the last
summer, Mr. Effingham, as emigrants for the west.
The fever has spread far and wide.”
“The fever! Is old Otsego,” for so its inhabitants
loved to call a county of half a century's existence,
it being venerable by comparison, “is old Otsego losing
its well established character for salubrity?”
“I do not allude to an animal fever, but to the western
fever.”
“Ce pays de l'ouest, est-il bien malsain?” whispered
Mademoiselle Viefville.
“Apparemment, Mademoiselle, sur plusieurs rapports.”
“The western fever has seized old and young, and
it has carried off many active families from our part
of the world,” continued Aristabulus, who did not understand
the little aside just mentioned, and who, of
course, did not heed it; “most of the counties adjoining
our own have lost a considerable portion of their
population.”
“And they who have gone, do they belong to the
permanent families, or are they merely the floating inhabitants?”
inquired Mr. Effingham.
“Most of them belong to the regular movers.”
“Movers!” again exclaimed Sir George—“is there
this name?”
“As much so as the man who shoes a horse ought
to be called a smith, or the man who frames a house a
carpenter,” answered John Effingham.
“To be sure,” continued Mr. Bragg, “we have a
pretty considerable leaven of them in our political
dough, as well as in our active business. I believe,
Sir George, that in England, men are tolerably stationary.”
“We love to continue for generations on the same
spot. We love the tree that our forefathers planted,
the roof that they built, the fire-side by which they sat,
the sods that cover their remains.”
“Very poetical, and I dare say there are situations
in life, in which such feelings come in without much
effort. It must be a great check to business operations,
however, in your part of the world, sir!”
“Business operations!—what is business, as you
term it, sir, to the affections, to the recollections of ancestry,
and to the solemn feelings connected with history
and tradition?”
“Why, sir, in the way of history, one meets with
but few incumbrances in this country, but he may do
very much as interest dictates, so far as that is concerned,
at least. A nation is much to be pitied that is
weighed down by the past, in this manner, since its industry
and enterprize are constantly impeded by obstacles
that grow out of its recollections. America
may, indeed, be termed a happy and a free country,
Mr. John Effingham, in this, as well as in all other
things!”
Sir George Templemore was too well-bred to utter
all he felt at that moment, as it would unavoidably
wound the feelings of his hosts, but he was rewarded
for his forbearance by intelligent smiles from Eve and
Grace, the latter of whom the young baronet fancied,
just at that moment, was quite as beautiful as her
most interesting naiveté.
“I have been told that most old nations have to struggle
with difficulties that we escape,” returned John Effingham,
“though I confess this is a superiority on our
part, that never before presented itself to my mind.”
“The political economists, and even the geographers
have overlooked it, but practical men see and feel its
advantages, every hour in the day. I have been told,
Sir George Templemore, that in England, there are
difficulties in running high-ways and streets through
homesteads and dwellings; and that even a rail-road,
or a canal, is obliged to make a curve to avoid a
church-yard or a tomb-stone?”
“I confess to the sin, sir.”
“Our friend Mr. Bragg,” put in John Effingham,
“considers life as all means and no end.”
“An end cannot be got at without the means, Mr.
John Effingham, as I trust you will, yourself, admit.
I am for the end of the road, at least, and must say
that I rejoice in being a native of a country in which
as few impediments as possible exist to onward impulses.
The man who should resist an improvement,
in our part of the country, on account of his forefathers,
would fare badly among his contemporaries.”
“Will you permit me to ask, Mr. Bragg, if you feel
no local attachments yourself,” enquired the baronet,
throwing as much delicacy into the tones of his voice,
as a question that he felt ought to be an insult to a
man's heart, would allow—“if one tree is not more
pleasant than another; the house you were born in
more beautiful than a house into which you never
entered; or the altar at which you have long worshipped,
more sacred than another at which you never
knelt?”
“Nothing gives me greater satisfaction than to
answer the questions of gentlemen that travel through
our country,” returned Aristabulus, “for I think, in
trade and render business more secure. To
reply to your inquiry, a human being is not a cat, to
love a locality rather than its own interests. I have
found some trees much pleasanter than others, and the
pleasantest tree I can remember was one of my own,
out of which the sawyers made a thousand feet of
clear stuff, to say nothing of middlings. The house I
was born in was pulled down, shortly after my birth,
as indeed has been its successor, so I can tell you nothing
on that head; and as for altars, there are none
in my persuasion.”
“The church of Mr. Bragg has stripped itself as
naked as he would strip every thing else, if he could,”
said John Effingham. “I much question if he ever
knelt even; much less before an altar.”
“We are of the standing order, certainly,” returned
Aristabulus, glancing towards the ladies to discover
how they took his wit, “and Mr. John Effingham is as
near right as a man need be, in a matter of faith. In
the way of houses, Mr. Effingham, I believe it is the
general opinion you might have done better with your
own, than to have repaired it. Had the materials been
disposed of, they would have sold well, and by running
a street through the property, a pretty sum might have
been realized.”
“In which case I should have been without a home,
Mr. Bragg.”
“It would have been no great matter to get another
on cheaper land. The old residence would have made
a good factory, or an inn.”
“Sir, I am a cat, and like the places I have long
frequented.”
Aristabulus, though not easily daunted, was awed by
Mr. Effingham's manner, and Eve saw that her father's
fine face had flushed. This interruption, therefore,
suddenly changed the discourse, which has been related
at some length, as likely to give the reader a
in our narrative, than a more laboured description.
“I trust your owners, Captain Truck,” said John
Effingham, by way of turning the conversation into
another channel, “are fully satisfied with the manner
in which you saved their property from the hands of
the Arabs?”
“Men, when money is concerned, are more disposed
to remember how it was lost than how it was recovered,
religion and trade being the two poles, on such a
point,” returned the old seaman, with a serious face.
“On the whole, my dear sir, I have reason to be satisfied,
however; and so long as you, my passengers and
my friends, are not inclined to blame me, I shall feel
as if I had done at least a part of my duty.”
Eve rose from table, went to a side-board and returned,
when she gracefully placed before the master
of the Montauk a rich and beautifully chased punchbowl,
in silver. Almost at the same moment, Pierre
offered a salver that contained a capital watch, a pair
of small silver tongs to hold a coal, and a deck trumpet,
in solid silver.
“These are so many faint testimonials of our feelings,”
said Eve—“and you will do us the favour to
retain them, as evidences of the esteem created by
skill, kindness, and courage.”
“My dear young lady!” cried the old tar, touched
to the soul by the feeling with which Eve acquitted
herself of this little duty, “my dear young lady—well,
God bless you—God bless you all—you too, Mr. John
Effingham, for that matter—and Sir George—that I
should ever have taken that runaway for a gentleman
and a baronet—though I suppose there are some silly
baronets, as well as silly lords—retain them?”—glancing
furiously at Mr. Aristabulus Bragg, “may the Lord
forget me, in the heaviest hurricane, if I ever forget
whence these things came, and why they were given.”
Here the worthy captain was obliged to swallow
Aristabulus, profiting by the opportunity, coolly took
the bowl, which, to use a word of his own, he hefted
in his hand, with a view to form some tolerably accurate
notion of its intrinsic value. Captain Truck's eye
caught the action, and he reclaimed his property quite
as unceremoniously as it had been taken away, nothing
but the presence of the ladies preventing an outbreaking
that would have amounted to a declaration of war.
“With your permission, sir,” said the captain, drily,
after he had recovered the bowl, not only without the
other's consent, but, in some degree, against his will;
“this bowl is as precious in my eyes as if it were
made of my father's bones.”
“You may indeed think so,” returned the land-agent,
“for its cost could not be less than a hundred dollars.”
“Cost, sir!—But, my dear young lady, let us talk
of the real value. For what part of these things am I
indebted to you?”
“The bowl is my offering,” Eve answered, smilingly,
though a tear glistened in her eye, as she witnessed
the strong unsophisticated feeling of the old tar. “I
thought it might serve sometimes to bring me to your
recollection, when it was well filled in honour of
`sweethearts and wives.' ”
“It shall—it shall, by the Lord; and Mr. Saunders
needs look to it, if he do not keep this work as bright
as a cruising frigate's bottom. To whom do I owe
the coal-tongs?”
“Those are from Mr. John Effingham, who insists
that he will come nearer to your heart than any of us,
though the gift be of so little cost.”
“He does not know me, my dear young lady—nobody
ever got as near my heart as you; no, not even
my own dear pious old mother. But I thank Mr. John
Effingham from my inmost spirit, and shall seldom
smoke without thinking of him. The watch I know
is Mr. Effingham's, and I ascribe the trumpet to Sir
George.”
The bows of the several gentlemen assured the captain
he was right, and he shook each of them cordially
by the hand, protesting, in the fulness of his heart, that
nothing would give him greater pleasure than to be
able to go through the same perilous scenes as those
from which they had so lately escaped, in their good
company again.
While this was going on, Aristabulus, notwithstanding
the rebuke he had received, contrived to get
each article, in succession, into his hands, and by dint
of poising it on a finger, or by examining it, to form
some approximative notion of its inherent value. The
watch he actually opened, taking as good a survey of
its works as the circumstances of the case would very
well allow.
“I respect these things, sir, more than you respect
your father's grave,” said Captain Truck sternly, as
he rescued the last article from what he thought the
impious grasp of Aristabulus again, “and cat or no
cat, they sink or swim with me for the remainder of
the cruise. If there is any virtue in a will, which I
am sorry to say I hear there is not any longer, they
shall share my last bed with me, be it ashore or be it
afloat. My dear young lady, fancy all the rest, but
depend on it, punch will be sweeter than ever taken
from this bowl, and `sweethearts and wives' will
never be so honoured again.”
“We are going to a ball this evening, at the house
of one with whom I am sufficiently intimate to take
the liberty of introducing a stranger, and I wish, gentlemen,”
said Mr. Effingham, bowing to Aristabulus
and the captain, by way of changing the conversation,
“you would do me the favour to be of our party.”
Mr. Bragg acquiesced very cheerfully, and quite as
a matter of course; while Captain Truck, after protesting
his unfitness for such scenes, was finally prevailed
on by John Effingham, to comply with the request
also. The ladies remained at table but a few
having dropped into the old custom of sitting at the
bottle, until summoned to the drawing-room, a usage
that continues to exist in America, for a reason no
better than the fact that it continues to exist in England;
—it being almost certain that it will cease in New-York,
the season after it is known to have ceased in London.
| CHAPTER II. Home as found | |