 | CHAPTER XIV. Home as found |  |
14. CHAPTER XIV.
“For my part, I care not: I say little; but when the time comes, there
shall be smiles.”
—Nym.
Although Paul Effingham was right, and Eve
Effingham was also right, in their opinions of the art
of gossiping, they both forgot one qualifying circumstance,
that, arising from different causes, produces
the same effect, equally in a capital and in a province.
In the first, marvels form a nine days' wonder from
the hurry of events; in the latter, from the hurry
of talking. When it was announced in Templeton
that Mr. John Effingham had discovered a son in Mr.
Powis, as that son had conjectured, every thing but
the truth was rumoured and believed, in connection
with the circumstance. Of course it excited a good
deal of a natural and justifiable curiosity and surprise
passed for a confirmed bachelor; but they were generally
content to suffer a family to have feelings and
incidents that were not to be paraded before a neighbourhood.
Having some notions themselves of the
delicacy and sanctity of the domestic affections, they
were willing to respect the same sentiments in others.
But these few excepted, the village was in a tumult
of surmises, reports, contradictions, confirmations,
rebutters, and sur-rebutters, for a fortnight. Several
village élégants, whose notions of life were obtained
in the valley in which they were born, and who had
turned up their noses at the quiet, reserved, gentleman-like
Paul, because he did not happen to suit their tastes,
were disposed to resent his claim to be his father's son,
as if it were an injustice done to their rights; such commentators
on men and things uniformly bringing
every thing down to the standard of self. Then the
approaching marriages at the Wigwam had to run the
gauntlet, not only of village and county criticisms, but
that of the mighty Emporium itself, as it is the fashion
to call the confused and tasteless collection of flaring
red brick houses, marten-box churches, and colossal
taverns, that stands on the island of Manhattan; the
discussion of marriages being a topic of never-ending
interest in that well regulated social organization,
after the subjects of dollars, lots, and wines, have been
duly exhausted. Sir George Templemore was transformed
into the Honourable Lord George Templemore,
and Paul's relationship to Lady Dunluce was converted,
as usual, into his being the heir apparent of a Duchy
of that name; Eve's preference for a nobleman, as a
matter of course, to the aristocratical tastes imbibed
during a residence in foreign countries; Eve, the intellectual,
feminine, instructed Eve, whose European
associations, while they had taught her to prize the
refinement, grace, retenue, and tone of an advanced
condition of society, had also taught her to despise its
against falsehood, so is there no reasoning with
ignorance.
A sacred few, at the head of whom were Mr. Steadfast
Dodge and Mrs. Widow-Bewitched Abbott, treated
the matter as one of greater gravity, and as possessing
an engrossing interest for the entire community.
“For my part, Mr. Dodge,” said Mrs. Abbott, in
one of their frequent conferences, about a fortnight
after the éclaircissement of the last chapter, “I do not
believe that Paul Powis is Paul Effingham at all. You
say that you knew him by the name of Blunt when he
was a younger man?”
“Certainly, ma'am. He passed universally by that
name formerly, and it may be considered as at least
extraordinary that he should have had so many aliases.
The truth of the matter is, Mrs. Abbott, if truth could
be come at, which I always contend is very difficult in
the present state of the world—”
“You never said a juster thing, Mr. Dodge!” interrupted
the lady, feelings impetuous as hers seldom
waiting for the completion of a sentence, “I never can
get hold of the truth of any thing now; you may
remember you insinuated that Mr. John Effingham
himself was to be married to Eve, and, lo and behold!
it turns out to be his son!”
“The lady may have changed her mind, Mrs. Abbott;
she gets the same estate with a younger man.”
“She's monstrous disagreeable, and I'm sure it will
be a relief to the whole village when she is married,
let it be to the father, or to the son. Now, do you
know, Mr. Dodge, I have been in a desperate taking
about one thing, and that is to find that, bony fie-dy,
the two old Effinghams are not actually brothers! I
knew that they called each other cousin Jack and cousin
Ned, and that Eve affected to call her uncle cousin
Jack, but then she has so many affectations, and the
old people are so foreign, that I looked upon all
ought to know better about a man's family than
he can know himself, and the neighbourhood all declared
they were brothers; and yet it turns out, after
all, that they are only cousins!”
“Yes, I do believe that, for once, the family was
right in that matter, and the public mistaken.”
“Well, I should like to know who has a better right
to be mistaken than the public, Mr. Dodge. This is a
free country, and if the people can't sometimes be
wrong, what is the mighty use of their freedom? We
are all sinful wretches, at the best, and it is vain to
look for any thing but vice from sinners.”
“Nay, my dear Mrs. Abbott, you are too hard on
yourself, for every body allows that you are as exemplary
as you are devoted to your religious duties.”
“Oh! I was not speaking particularly of myself,
sir; I am no egotist in such things, and wish to leave
my own imperfections to the charity of my friends and
neighbours. But, do you think, Mr. Dodge, that a
marriage between Paul Effingham, for so I suppose he
must be called, and Eve Effingham, will be legal?
Can't it be set aside, and if that should be the case,
wouldn't the fortune go to the public?”
“It ought to be so, my dear ma'am, and I trust the
day is not distant when it will be so. The people are
beginning to understand their rights, and another century
will not pass, before they will enforce them by
the necessary penal statutes. We have got matters
so now, that a man can no longer indulge in the aristocratic
and selfish desire to make a will, and, take my
word for it, we shall not stop until we bring every thing
to the proper standard.”
The reader is not to suppose from his language that
Mr. Dodge was an agrarian, or that he looked forward
to a division of property, at some future day; for, possessing
in his own person already, more than what
could possibly fall to an individual share, he had not
In point of fact he did not know his own
meaning, except as he felt envy of all above him, in
which, in truth, was to be found the whole secret of
his principles, his impulses, and his doctrines. Any
thing that would pull down those whom education,
habits, fortune, or tastes, had placed in positions more
conspicuous than his own, was, in his eyes, reasonable
and just—as any thing that would serve him, in person,
the same ill turn, would have been tyranny and oppresssion.
The institutions of America, like every thing
human, have their bad as well as their good side; and
while we firmly believe in the relative superiority of
the latter, as compared with other systems, we should
fail of accomplishing the end set before us in this
work, did we not exhibit, in strong colours, one of the
most prominent consequences that has attended the
entire destruction of factitious personal distinctions in
the country, which has certainly aided in bringing out
in bolder relief than common, the prevalent disposition
in man to covet that which is the possession of another,
and to decry merits that are unattainable.
“Well, I rejoice to hear this,” returned Mrs. Abbott,
whose principles were of the same loose school as
those of her companion, “for I think no one should
have rights but those who have experienced religion,
if you would keep vital religion in a country. There
goes that old sea-lion, Truck, and his fishing associate,
the commodore, with their lines and poles, as usual,
Mr. Dodge; I beg you will call to them, for I long to
hear what the first can have to say about his beloved
Effinghams, now?”
Mr. Dodge complied, and the navigator of the ocean
and the navigator of the lake, were soon seated in Mrs.
Abbott's little parlour, which might be styled the focus
of gossip, near those who were so lately its sole occupants.
“This is wonderful news, gentlemen,” commenced
had subsided. “Mr. Powis is Mr. Effingham, and it
seems that Miss Effingham is to become Mrs. Effingham.
Miracles will never cease, and I look upon this
as one of the most surprising of my time.”
“Just so, ma'am,” said the commodore, winking his
eye, and giving the usual flourish with a hand; “your
time has not been that of a day neither, and Mr. Powis
has reason to rejoice that he is the hero of such a history.
For my part, I could not have been more astonished,
were I to bring up the sogdollager with a
trout-hook, having a cheese paring for the bait.”
“I understand,” continued the lady, “that there are
doubts after all, whether this miracle be really a true
miracle. It is hinted that Mr. Powis is neither Mr.
Effingham nor Mr. Powis, but that he is actually a
Mr. Blunt. Do you happen to know any thing of the
matter, Captain Truck?”
“I have been introduced to him, ma'am, by all
three names, and I consider him as an acquaintance
in each character. I can assure you, moreover, that
he is A, No. 1, on whichever tack you take him; a man
who carries a weather helm in the midst of his enemies.”
“Well, I do not consider it a very great recommendation
for one to have enemies, at all. Now, I dare
say, Mr. Dodge, you have not an enemy on earth?”
“I should be sorry to think that I had, Mrs. Abbott.
I am every man's friend, particularly the poor man's
friend, and I should suppose that every man ought to
be my friend. I hold the whole human family to be
brethren, and that they ought to live together as
such.”
“Very true, sir; quite true—we are all sinners, and
ought to look favourably on each other's failings. It
is no business of mine—I say it is no business of ours,
Mr. Dodge, who Miss Eve Effingham marries; but
were she my daughter, I do think I should not like her
the bargain!”
“The Effinghams hold their heads very much up,
though it is not easy to see why; but so they do, and
the more names the better, perhaps, for such people,”
returned the editor. “For my part, I treat them with
condescension, just as I do every body else; for it is a
rule with me, Captain Truck, to make use of the same
deportment to a king on his throne, as I would to a
beggar in the street.”
“Merely to show that you do not feel yourself to be
above your betters. We have many such philosophers
in this country.”
“Just so,” said the commodore.
“I wish I knew,” resumed Mrs. Abbott; for there
existed in her head, as well as in that of Mr. Dodge,
such a total confusion on the subject of deportment,
that neither saw nor felt the cool sarcasm of the old
sailor; “I wish I knew, now, whether Eve Effingham
has really been regenerated! What is your opinion,
commodore?”
“Re-what, ma'am,” said the commodore, who was
not conscious of ever having heard the word before;
for, in his Sabbaths on the water, where he often
worshipped God devoutly in his heart, the language
of the professedly pious was never heard; “I can only
say she is as pretty a skiff as floats, but I can tell you
nothing about resuscitation—indeed, I never heard of
her having been drowned.”
“Ah, Mrs. Abbott, the very best friends of the
Effinghams will not maintain that they are pious. I
do not wish to be invidious, or to say unneighbourly
things; but were I upon oath, I could testify to a great
many things, which would unqualifiedly show, that
none of them have ever experienced.”
“Now, Mr. Dodge, you know how much I dislike
scandal,” the widow-bewitched cried affectedly, “and
I cannot tolerate such a sweeping charge. I insist on
gentlemen will join me.”
By proofs, Mrs. Abbott meant allegations.
“Well, ma'am, since you insist on my proving what
I have said, you shall not be disappointed. In the first
place, then, they read their family prayers out of a
book.”
“Ay, ay,” put in the captain; “but that merely shows
they have some education; it is done every where.”
“Your pardon, sir; no people but the Catholics and
the church people commit this impiety. The idea of
reading to the Deity, Mrs. Abbott, is particularly
shocking to a pious soul.”
“As if the Lord stood in need of letters! That
is very bad, I allow; for at family prayers, a form
becomes mockery.”
“Yes, ma'am; but what do you think of cards?”
“Cards!” exclaimed Mrs. Abbott, holding up her
pious hands, in holy horror.
“Even so; foul paste-board, marked with kings and
queens,” said the captain. “Why this is worse than a
common sin, being unqualifiedly anti-republican.”
“I confess I did not expect this! I had heard that
Eve Effingham was guilty of indiscretions, but I did
not think she was so lost to virtue, as to touch a card.
Oh! Eve Effingham; Eve Effingham, for what is your
poor diseased soul destined!”
“She dances, too, I suppose you know that,” continued
Mr. Dodge, who finding his popularity a little
on the wane, had joined the meeting himself, a few
weeks before, and who did not fail to manifest the zeal
of a new convert.
“Dances!” repeated Mrs. Abbott, in holy horror.
“Real fi diddle de di!” echoed Captain Truck.
“Just so,” put in the commodore; “I have seen it
with my own eyes. But, Mrs. Abbott, I feel bound to
tell you that your own daughter—”
“Biansy-Alzumy-Anne!” exclaimed the mother in
alarm.
“Just so; my-aunty-all-suit-me-anne, if that is her
name. Do you know, ma'am, that I have seen your
own blessed daughter, my-aunty-Anne, do a worse
thing, even, than dancing!”
“Commodore, you are awful! What could a child
of mine do that is worse than dancing?”
“Why, ma'am, if you will hear all, it is my duty to
tell you. I saw aunty-Anne (the commodore was
really ignorant of the girl's name) jump a skipping-rope,
yesterday morning, between the hours of seven
and eight. As I hope ever to see the sogdollager,
again, ma'am, I did!”
“And do you call this as bad as dancing?”
“Much worse, ma'am, to my notion. It is jumping
about without music, and without any grace, either,
particularly as it was performed by my-aunty-Anne.”
“You are given to light jokes. Jumping the skipping-rope
is not forbidden in the bible.”
“Just so; nor is dancing, if I know any thing about
it; nor, for that matter, cards.”
“But waste of time is; a sinful waste of time; and
evil passions, and all unrighteousness.”
“Just so. My-aunty-Anne was going to the pump
for water—I dare say you sent her—and she was
misspending her time; and as for evil passions, she did
not enjoy the hop, until she and your neighbour's
daughter had pulled each other's hair for the rope, as
if they had been two she-dragons. Take my word for
it, ma'am, it wanted for nothing to make it sin of the
purest water, but a cracked fiddle.”
While the commodore was holding Mrs. Abbott at
bay, in this manner, Captain Truck, who had given him
a wink to that effect, was employed in playing off a
practical joke at the expense of the widow. It was
one of the standing amusements of these worthies, who
had gotten to be sworn friends and constant associates,
after they had caught as many fish as they wished, to
retire to the favourite spring, light, the one his cigar,
their ennui, when tired of discussing men and things,
by playing cards on a particular stump. Now, it
happens that the captain had the identical pack which
had been used on all such occasions in his pocket, as
was evident in the fact that the cards were nearly as
distinctly marked on their backs, as on their faces.
These cards he showed secretly to his companion, and
when the attention of Mrs. Abbott was altogether engaged
in expecting the terrible announcement of her
daughter's errors, the captain slipped them, kings,
queens and knaves, high, low, jack and the game, without
regard to rank, into the lady's work-basket. As soon
as this feat was successfully performed, a sign was given
to the commodore that the conspiracy was effected,
and that disputant in theology gradually began to give
ground, while he continued to maintain that jumping
the rope was a sin, though it might be one of a
nominal class. There is little doubt, had he possessed
a smattering of phrases, a greater command of
biblical learning, and more zeal, that the fisherman
might have established a new shade of the Christian
faith; for, while manking still persevere in disregarding
the plainest mandates of God, as respects humility, the
charities, and obedience, nothing seems to afford them
more delight than to add to the catalogue of the
offences against his divine supremacy. It was perhaps
lucky for the commodore, who was capital at casting
a pickerel line, but who usually settled his polemics
with the fist, when hard pushed, that Captain Truck
found leisure to come to the rescue.
“I'm amazed, ma'am,” said the honest packet-master,
“that a woman of your sanctity should deny that
jumping the rope is a sin, for I hold that point to have
been settled by all our people, these fifty years. You
will admit that the rope cannot be well-jumped without
levity.”
“Levity, Captain Truck! I hope you do not insinuate
that a daughter of mine discovers levity?”
“Certainly, ma'am; she is called the best rope-jumper
in the village, I hear; and levity, or lightness
of carriage, is the great requisite for skill in the art.
Then there are `vain repetitions' in doing the same
thing over and over so often, and `vain repetitions'
are forbidden even in our prayers. I can call both
father and mother to testify to that fact.”
“Well, this is news to me! I must speak to the minister
about it.”
“Of the two, the skipping-rope is rather more sinful
than dancing, for the music makes the latter easy;
whereas, one has to force the spirit to enter into the
other. Commodore, our hour has come, and we must
make sail. May I ask the favour, Mrs. Abbott, of a
bit of thread to fasten this hook afresh?”
The widow-bewitched turned to her basket, and
raising a piece of calico, to look for the thread “high,
low, jack and the game,” stared her in the face.
When she bent her eyes towards her guests, she perceived
all three gazing at the cards, with as much apparent
surprise and curiosity, as if two of them knew
nothing of their history.
“Awful!” exclaimed Mrs. Abbott, shaking both
hands,—“awful — awful — awful! The powers of
darkness have been at work here!”
“They seem to have been pretty much occupied,
too,” observed the captain, “for a better thumbed pack
I never yet found in the forecastle of a ship.”
“Awful—awful—awful!—This is equal to the forty
days in the wilderness, Mr. Dodge.”
“It is a trying cross, ma'am.”
“To my notion, now,” said the captain, “those cards
are not worse than the skipping-rope, though I allow
that they might have been cleaner.”
But Mrs. Abbott was not disposed to view the matter
so lightly. She saw the hand of the devil in the
affair, and fancied it was a new trial offered to her
widowed condition.
“Are these actually cards!” she cried, like one who
distrusted the evidence of her senses.
“Just so, ma'am,” kindly answered the commodore;
“This is the ace of spades, a famous fellow to hold
when you have the lead; and this is the Jack, which
counts one, you know, when spades are trumps. I
never saw a more thorough-working pack in my
life.”
“Or a more thoroughly worked pack,” added the
captain, in a condoling manner. “Well, we are not
all perfect, and I hope Mrs. Abbott will cheer up and
look at this matter in a gayer point of view. For
myself I hold that a skipping-rope is worse than the
Jack of spades, sundays or week days. Commodore,
we shall see no pickerel to-day, unless we tear ourselves
from this good company.”
Here the two wags took their leave, and retreated
to the skiff; the captain, who foresaw an occasion to
use them, considerately offering to relieve Mrs. Abbott
from the presence of the odious cards, intimating that
he would conscientiously see them fairly sunk in the
deepest part of the lake.
When the two worthies were at a reasonable distance
from the shore, the commodore suddenly ceased rowing,
made a flourish with his hand, and incontinently began
to laugh, as if his mirth had suddenly broken through
all restraint. Captain Truck, who had been lighting a
cigar, commenced smoking, and, seldom indulging in
boisterous merriment, he responded with his eyes,
shaking his head from time to time, with great satisfaction,
as thoughts more ludicrous than common came
over his imagination.
“Harkee, commodore,” he said, blowing the smoke
upward, and watching it with his eye until it floated
away in a little cloud, “neither of us is a chicken.
You have studied life on the fresh water, and I have
studied life on the salt. I do not say which produces
Christians than the jack-screw system.”
“Just so. I tell them in the village that little is
gained in the end by following the blind; that is my
doctrine, sir.”
“And a very good doctrine it would prove, I make
no doubt, were you to enter into it a little more
fully—”
“Well, sir, I can explain—”
“Not another syllable is necessary. I know what
you mean as well as if I said it myself, and, moreover,
short sermons are always the best. You mean that a
pilot ought to know where he is steering, which is perfectly
sound doctrine. My own experience tells me,
that if you press a sturgeon's nose with your foot, it
will spring up as soon as it is loosened. Now the
jack-screw will heave a great strain, no doubt; but the
moment it is let up, down comes all that rests on it,
again. This Mr. Dodge, I suppose you know, has been
a passenger with me once or twice?”
“I have heard as much—they say he was tigerish
in the fight with the niggers—quite an out-and-outer.”
“Ay, I hear he tells some such story himself; but
harkee, commodore, I wish to do justice to all men,
and I find there is very little of it inland, hereaway.
The hero of that day is about to marry your beautiful
Miss Effingham; other men did their duty too, as, for
instance, was the case with Mr. John Effingham; but
Paul Blunt-Powis-Effingham finished the job. As for
Mr. Steadfast Dodge, sir, I say nothing, unless it be to
add that he was nowhere near me in that transaction;
and if any man felt like an alligator in Lent, on that
occasion, it was your humble servant.”
“Which means that he was not nigh the enemy, I'll
swear before a magistrate.”
“And no fear of perjury. Any one who saw Mr.
John Effingham and Mr. Powis on that day, might
have sworn that they were father and son; and any
once, that he did not belong to their family. That is
all, sir; I never disparage a passenger, and, therefore,
shall say no more than merely to add, that Mr. Dodge
is no warrior.”
“They say he has experienced religion, lately, as
they call it.”
“It is high time, sir, for he had experienced sin quite
long enough, according to my notion. I hear that the
man goes up and down the country disparaging those
whose shoe-ties he is unworthy to unloose, and that he
has published some letters in his journal, that are as
false as his heart; but let him beware, lest the world
should see, some rainy day, an extract from a certain
log-book belonging to a ship called the Montauk. I
am rejoiced at this marriage after all, commodore, or
marriages rather, for I understand that Mr. Paul
Effingham and Sir George Templemore intend to make
a double bowline of it to-morrow morning. All is
arranged, and as soon as my eyes have witnessed that
blessed sight, I shall trip for New-York again.”
“It is clearly made out then, that the young gentleman
is Mr. John Effingham's son?”
“As clear as the north-star in a bright night. The
fellow who spoke to me at the Fun of Fire has put us
in a way to remove the last doubt, if there were any
doubt. Mr. Effingham himself, who is so cool-headed
and cautious, says there is now sufficient proof to
make it good in any court in America. That point
may be set down as settled, and, for my part, I rejoice
it is so, since Mr. John Effingham has so long passed
for an old bachelor, that it is a credit to the corps to
find one of them the father of so noble a son.”
Here the commodore dropped his anchor, and the
two friends began to fish. For an hour neither talked
much, but having obtained the necessary stock of
perch, they landed at the favourite spring, and prepared
a fry. While seated on the grass, alternating between
fish, these worthies again renewed the dialogue in
their usual discursive, philosophical, and sentimental
manner.
“We are citizens of a surprisingly great country,
commodore,” commenced Mr. Truck, after one of his
heaviest draughts; “every body says it, from Maine
to Florida, and what every body says must be true.”
“Just so, sir. I sometimes wonder how so great a
country ever came to produce so little a man as myself.”
“A good cow may have a bad calf, and that explains
the matter. Have you many as virtuous and
pious women in this part of the world, as Mrs. Abbott?”
“The hills and valleys are filled with them. You
mean persons who have got so much religion that they
have no room for any thing else?”
“I shall mourn to my dying day, that you were not
brought up to the sea! If you discover so much of the
right material on fresh-water, what would you have
been on salt? The people who suck in nutriment from
a brain and a conscience like those of Mr. Dodge, too,
commodore, must get, in time, to be surprisingly clear-sighted.”
“Just so; his readers soon overreach themselves.
But it's of no great consequence, sir; the people of this
part of the world keep nothing long enough to do
much good, or much harm.”
“Fond of change, ha?”
“Like unlucky fishermen, always ready to shift the
ground. I don't believe, sir, that in all this region you
can find a dozen graves of sons, that lie near their
fathers. Every body seems to have a mortal aversion
to stability.”
“It is hard to love such a country, commodore!”
“Sir, I never try to love it. God has given me a
pretty sheet of water, that suits my fancy and wants,
a beautiful sky, fine green mountains, and I am satisfied.
love nothing else.”
“Well, I suppose if you love nothing, nothing loves
you, and no injustice is done.”
“Just so, sir. Self has got to be the idol, though in
the general scramble a man is sometimes puzzled to
know whether he is himself, or one of the neighbours.”
“I wish I knew your political sentiments, commodore;
you have been communicative on all subjects but
that, and I have taken up the notion that you are a
true philosopher.”
“I hold myself to be but a babe in swaddling-clothes
compared to yourself, sir; but such as my poor opinions
are, you are welcome to them. In the first place,
then, sir, I have lived long enough on this water to
know that every man is a lover of liberty in his own
person, and that he has a secret distaste for it in the
persons of other people. Then, sir, I have got to understand
that patriotism means bread and cheese, and
that opposition is every man for himself.”
“If the truth were known, I believe, commodore, you
have buoyed out the channel!”
“Just so. After being pulled about by the salt of
the land, and using my freeman's privileges at their
command, until I got tired of so much liberty, sir, I
have resigned, and retired to private life, doing most
of my own thinking out here on the Otsego-Water, like
a poor slave as I am.”
“You ought to be chosen the next President!”
“I owe my present emancipation, sir, to the sogdollager.
I first began to reason about such a man as
this Mr. Dodge, who has thrust himself and his ignorance
together into the village, lately, as an expounder
of truth, and a ray of light to the blind. Well, sir,
I said to myself, if this man be the man I know him
to be as a man, can he be any thing better as an
editor?”
“That was a home question put to yourself, commodore;
how did you answer it?”
“The answer was satisfactory, sir, to myself, whatever
it might be to other people. I stopped his paper,
and set up for myself. Just about that time the sogdollager
nibbled, and instead of trying to be a great man,
over the shoulders of the patriots and sages of the
land, I endeavoured to immortalize myself by hooking
him. I go to the elections now, for that I feel to be a
duty, but instead of allowing a man like this Mr. Dodge
to tell me how to vote, I vote for the man in public
that I would trust in private.”
“Excellent! I honour you more and more every
minute I pass in your society. We will now drink to
the future happiness of those who will become brides
and bridegrooms to-morrow. If all men were as philosophical
and as learned as you, commodore, the human
race would be in a fairer way than they are today.”
“Just so; I drink to them with all my heart. Is it
not surprising, sir, that people like Mrs. Abbott and
Mr. Dodge should have it in their power to injure such
as those whose happiness we have just had the honour
of commemorating in advance?”
“Why, commodore, a fly may bite an elephant, if
he can find a weak spot in his hide. I do not altogether
understand the history of the marriage of John Effingham,
myself; but we see the issue of it has been a fine
son. Now I hold that when a man fairly marries, he
is bound to own it, the same as any other crime; for
he owes it to those who have not been as guilty as
himself, to show the world that he no longer belongs
to them.”
“Just so; but we have flies in this part of the world
that will bite through the toughest hide.”
“That comes from there being no quarter-deck in
your social ship, commodore. Now aboard of a well-regulated
packet, all the thinking is done aft; they who
being compelled to wait till the observations are taken,
or to sit down in their ignorance. The whole difficulty
comes from the fact that sensible people live so far
apart in this quarter of the world, that fools have more
room than should fall to their share. You understand
me, commodore?”
“Just so,” said the commodore, laughing, and winking.
“Well, it is fortunate that there are some people
who are not quite as weak-minded as some other people.
I take it, Captain Truck, that you will be present
at the wedding?”
The captain now winked in his turn, looked around
him to make sure no one was listening, and laying a
finger on his nose, he answered, in a much lower key
than was usual for him—
“You can keep a secret, I know, commodore. Now
what I have to say is not to be told to Mrs. Abbott, in
order that it may be repeated and multiplied, but is to
be kept as snug as your bait, in the bait-box.”
“You know your man, sir.”
“Well then, about ten minutes before the clock
strikes nine, to-morrow morning, do you slip into the
gallery of New St. Paul's, and you shall see beauty
and modesty, when `unadorned, adorned the most.'
You comprehend?”
“Just so,” and the hand was flourished even more
than usual.
“It does not become us bachelors to be too lenient
to matrimony, but I should be an unhappy man, were
I not to witness the marriage of Paul Powis to Eve
Effingham.”
Here both the worthies, “freshened the nip,” as Captain
Truck called it, and then the conversation soon
got to be too philosophical and contemplative for this
unpretending record of events and ideas.
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