University of Virginia Library

6. CHAPTER VI.

“Ah! here are some charming French vignettes!” cried
Opportunity, running up to a table where lay some inferior
coloured engravings, that were intended to represent the
cardinal virtues, under the forms of tawdry female beauties.
The workmanship was French, as were the inscriptions.
Now, Opportunity knew just enough French to translate
these inscriptions, simple and school-girl as they were, as
wrong as they could possibly be translated, under the circumstances.

“La Vertue,” cried Opportunity, in a high, decided way,
as if to make sure of an audience, “The Virtue; La Solitude,”
pronouncing the last word in a desperately English
accent, “The Solitude; La Charité, The Charity. It is
really delightful, Mary, as `Sarah Soothings' would say, to
meet with these glimmerings of taste in this wilderness of
the world.”

I wondered who the deuce “Sarah Soothings” could be,
but afterwards learned this was the nom-de-guerre of a
female contributor to the magazines, who, I dare say, silly
as she might be, was never silly enough to record the sentiments
Opportunity had just professed to repeat. As for
The la Charité, and The la Vertue, they did not in the
least surprise me; for Martha, the hussy, often made herself
merry by recording that young lady's tours de force in
French. On one occasion I remember she wrote me, that
when Opportunity wished to say On est venu me chercher,
instead of saying “I am come for,” in homely English,
which would have been the best of all, she had flown off in
the high flight of “Je suis venue pour.”

Mary smiled, for she comprehended perfectly the difference

between la Solitude and the Solitude; but she said
nothing. I must acknowledge that I was so indiscreet as to
smile also, though, Opportunity's back being turned towards
us, these mutual signs of intelligence that escaped us both
through the eyes, opened a species of communication that,
to me at least, was infinitely agreeable.

Opportunity, having shown the owner of the strange
figure at which she had just glanced on entering the room,
that she had studied French, now turned to take a better
look at him. I have reason to think my appearance did not
make a very happy impression on her; for she tossed her
head, drew a chair, seated herself in the manner most opposed
to the descent of down, and opened her budget of news,
without the least regard to my presence, and apparently
with as little attention to the wishes and tastes of her companions.
Her accent, and jumping, hitching mode of speaking,
with the high key in which she uttered her sentiments,
too, all grated on my ears, which had become a little accustomed
to different habits, in young ladies in particular, in
the other hemisphere. I confess myself to be one of those
who regard an even, quiet, graceful mode of utterance, as
even a greater charm in a woman than beauty. Its effect
is more lasting, and seems to be directly connected with the
character. Mary Warren not only pronounced like one
accustomed to good society; but the modulations of her
voice, which was singularly sweet by nature, were even and
agreeable, as is usual with well-bred women, and as far as
possible from the jerking, fluttering, now rapid, now drawling
manner of Opportunity. Perhaps, in this age of “loose
attire,” loose habits, and free and easy deportment, the
speech denotes the gentleman, or the lady, more accurately
than any other off-hand test.

“Sen is enough to wear out anybody's patience!” exclaimed
Opportunity. “We must quit Troy in half an
hour; and I have visits that I ought to pay to Miss Jones,
and Miss White, and Miss Black, and Miss Green, and Miss
Brown, and three or four others; and I can't get him to
come near me.”

“Why not go alone?” asked Mary, quietly. “It is but
a step to two or three of the houses, and you cannot possibly
lose your way. I will go with you, if you desire it.”

“Oh! lose my way? no, indeed! I know it too well for
that. I wasn't educated in Troy, not to know something of
the streets. But it looks so, to see a young lady walking
in the streets without a beau! I never wish to cross a room
in company without a beau; much less to cross a street.
No; it Sen don't come in soon, I shall miss seeing every
one of my friends, and that will be a desperate disappointment
to us all; but it can't be helped: walk without a beau
I will not, if I never see one of them again.”

“Will you accept of me, Miss Opportunity?” asked Mr.
Warren. “It will afford me pleasure to be of service to
you.”

“Lord! Mr. Warren, you don't think of setting up for a
beau at your time of life, do you? Everybody would see
that you 're a clergyman, and I might just as well go alone.
No, if Sen don't come in at once, I must lose my visits;
and the young ladies will be so put out about it, I know!
Araminta Maria wrote me, in the most particular manner,
never to go through Troy without stopping to see her, if I
didn't see another mortal; and Katherine Clotilda has as
much as said she would never forgive me if I passed her
door. But Seneca cares no more for the friendships of
young ladies, than he does”—Miss Newcome pronounced
this word “doos,” notwithstanding her education, as she did
“been,” “been,” and fifty others just as much out of the
common way—“But Seneca cares no more for the friendships
of young ladies, than he does for the young patroon.
I declare, Mr. Warren, I believe Sen will go crazy unless
the anti-renters soon get the best of it; he does nothing but
think and talk of `rents,' and `aristocracy,' and `poodle
usages,' from morning till night.”

We all smiled at the little mistake of Miss Opportunity,
but it was of no great consequence; and I dare say she
knew what she meant as well as most others who use the
same term, though they spell it more accurately. “Poodle
usages” are quite as applicable to anything now existing in
America, as “feudal usages.”

“Your brother is then occupied with a matter of the last
importance to the community of which he is a member,”
answered the clergyman, gravely. “On the termination of
this anti-rent question hangs, in my judgment, a vast amount

of the future character, and much of the future destiny, of
New York.”

“I wonder, now! I 'm surprised to hear you say this,
Mr. Warren, for generally you 're thought to be unfriendly
to the movement. Sen says, however, that everything looks
well, and that he believes the tenants will get their lands
throughout the State before they 've done with it. He tells
me we shall have Injins enough this summer at Ravensnest.
The visit of old Mrs. Littlepage has raised a spirit that will
not easily be put down, he says.”

“And why should the visit of Mrs. Littlepage to the house
of her grandson, and to the house built by her own husband,
and in which she passed the happiest days of her life,
`raise a spirit,' as you call it, in any one in that part of the
country?”

“Oh! you 're episcopal, Mr. Warren; and we all know
how the Episcopals feel about such matters. But, for my
part, I don't think the Littlepages are a bit better than the
Newcomes, though I won't liken them to some I could name
at Ravensnest; but I don't think they are any better than
you, yourself; and why should they ask so much more of
the law than other folks?”

“I am not aware that they do ask more of the law than
others; and, if they do, I 'm sure they obtain less. The
law in this country is virtually administered by jurors, who
take good care to graduate justice, so far as they can, by a
scale suited to their own opinions, and, quite often, to their
prejudices. As the last are so universally opposed to persons
in Mrs. Littlepage's class in life, if there be a chance
to make her suffer, it is pretty certain it will be improved.”

“Sen says he can't see why he should pay rent to a
Littlepage, any more than a Littlepage should pay rent to
him.”

“I am sorry to hear it, since there is a very sufficient
reason for the former, and no reason at all for the latter.
Your brother uses the land of Mr. Littlepage, and that is a
reason why he should pay him rent. If the case were
reversed, then, indeed, Mr. Littlepage should pay rent to
your brother.”

“But what reason is there that these Littlepages should
go on from father to son, from generation to generation, as

our landlords, when we 're just as good as they. It 's time
there was some change. Besides, only think, we 've been
at the mills, now, hard upon eighty years, grandpa having
first settled there; and we have had them very mills, now,
for three generations among us.”

“High time, therefore, Opportunity, that there should be
some change,” put in Mary, with a demure smile.

“Oh! you 're so intimate with Marthy Littlepage, I 'm
not surprised at anything you think or say. But reason is
reason, for all that. I haven't the least grudge in the world
against young Hugh Littlepage; if foreign lands haven't
spoilt him, as they say they 're desperate apt to do, he 's an
agreeable young gentleman, and I can't say that he used to
think himself any better than other folks.”

“I should say none of the family are justly liable to the
charge of so doing,” returned Mary.

“Well, I 'm amazed to hear you say that, Mary Warren.
To my taste, Marthy Littlepage is as disagreeable as she
can be. If the anti-rent cause had nobody better than she
is to oppose it, it would soon triumph.”

“May I ask, Miss Newcome, what particular reason you
have for so thinking?” asked Mr. Warren, who had kept his
eye on the young lady the whole time she had been thus
running on, with an interest that struck me as somewhat
exaggerated, when one remembered the character of the
speaker, and the value of her remarks.

“I think so, Mr. Warren, because everybody says so,”
was the answer. “If Marthy Littlepage don't think herself
better than other folks, why don't she act like other folks.
Nothing is good enough for her in her own conceit.”

Poor little Patt, who was the very beau idéal of nature
and simplicity, as nature and simplicity manifest themselves
under the influence of refinement and good-breeding, was
here accused of fancying herself better than this ambitious
young lady, for no other reason than the fact of the little
distinctive peculiarities of her air and deportment, which
Opportunity had found utterly unattainable, after one or two
efforts to compass them. In this very fact is the secret
of a thousand of the absurdities and vices that are going up
and down the land at this moment, like raging lions, seeking
whom they may devour. Men often turn to their statute-books

and constitution to find the sources of obvious evils,
that, in truth, have their origin in some of the lowest passions
of human nature. The entrance of Seneca at that
moment, however, gave a new turn to the discourse, though
it continued substantially the same. I remarked that Seneca
entered with his hat on, and that he kept his head covered
during most of the interview that succeeded, notwithstanding
the presence of the two young ladies and the divine.
As for myself, I had been so free as to remove my cap,
though many might suppose it was giving myself airs, while
others would have imagined it was manifesting a degree of
respect to human beings that was altogether unworthy of
freemen. It is getting to be a thing so particular and aristocratic
to take off the hat on entering a house, that few of
the humbler democrats of America now ever think of it!

As a matter of course, Opportunity upbraided her delinquent
brother for not appearing sooner to act as her beau;
after which, she permitted him to say a word for himself.
That Seneca was in high good-humour, was easily enough
to be seen; he even rubbed his hands together in the excess
of his delight.

“Something has happened to please Sen,” cried the sister,
her own mouth on a broad grin, in her expectation of
coming in for a share of the gratification. “I wish you
would get him to tell us what it is, Mary; he 'll tell you
anything.”

I cannot describe how harshly this remark grated on my
nerves. The thought that Mary Warren could consent to
exercise even the most distant influence over such a man as
Seneca Newcome, was to the last degree unpleasant to me;
and I could have wished that she would openly and indignantly
repel the notion. But Mary Warren treated the
whole matter very much as a person who was accustomed
to such remarks would be apt to do. I cannot say that she
manifested either pleasure or displeasure; but a cold indifference
was, if anything, uppermost in her manner. Possibly,
I should have been content with this; but I found it
very difficult to be so. Seneca, however, did not wait for
Miss Warren to exert her influence to induce him to talk,
but appeared well enough disposed to do it of his own
accord.

“Something has happened to please me, I must own,” he
answered; “and I would as lief Mr. Warren should know
what it is, as not. Things go ahead finely among us anti-renters,
and we shall carry all our p'ints before long!”

“I wish I were certain no points would be carried but
those that ought to be carried, Mr. Newcome,” was the
answer. “But what has happened, lately, to give a new
aspect to the affair?”

“We 're gaining strength among the politicians. Both
sides are beginning to court us, and the `spirit of the institutions'
will shortly make themselves respected.”

“I am delighted to hear that! It is in the intention of
the institutions to repress covetousness, and uncharitableness,
and all frauds, and to do nothing but what is right,”
observed Mr. Warren.

“Ah! here comes my friend the travelling jeweller,” said
Seneca, interrupting the clergyman, in order to salute my
uncle, who at that instant showed himself in the door of the
room, cap in hand. “Walk in, Mr. Dafidson, since that is
your name: Rev. Mr. Warren—Miss Mary Warren—Miss
Opportunity Newcome, my sister, who will be glad to look
at your wares. The cars will be detained on some special
business, and we have plenty of time before us.”

All this was done with a coolness and indifference of
manner which went to show that Seneca had no scruples
whatever on the subject of whom he introduced to any one.
As for my uncle, accustomed to these free and easy manners,
and probably not absolutely conscious of the figure he
cut in his disguise, he bowed rather too much like a gentleman
for one of his present calling, though my previous
explanation of our own connexion and fallen fortunes had
luckily prepared the way for this deportment.

“Come in, Mr. Dafidson, and open your box—my sister
may fancy some of your trinkets; I never knew a girl that
didn't.”

The imaginary pedlar entered, and placed his box on a
table near which I was standing, the whole party immediately
gathering around it. My presence had attracted no
particular attention from either Seneca or his sister, the
room being public, and my connexion with the vender of
trinkets known. In the mean time, Seneca was too full of

his good nows to let the subject drop; while the watches,
rings, chains, brooches, bracelets, &c. &c., were passed
under examination.

“Yes, Mr. Warren, I trust we are about to have a complete
development of the spirit of our institutions, and that
in futur' there will be no privileged classes in New York, at
least.”

“The last will certainly be a great gain, sir,” the divine
coldly answered. “Hitherto, those who have most suppressed
the truth, and who have most contributed to the circulation
of flattering falsehoods, have had undue advantages
in America.”

Seneca, obviously enough, did not like this sentiment;
but I thought, by his manner, that he was somewhat accustomed
to meeting with such rebuffs from Mr. Warren.

“I suppose you will admit there are privileged classes
now among us, Mr. Warren?”

“I am ready enough to allow that, sir; it is too plain to
be denied.”

“Wa-all, I should like to hear you p'int 'em out; that I
might see if we agree in our sentiments.”

“Demagogues are a highly privileged class. The editors
of newspapers are another highly privileged class; doing
things, daily and hourly, which set all law and justice at
defiance, and invading, with perfect impunity, the most precious
rights of their fellow-citizens. The power of both is
enormous; and, as in all cases of great and irresponsible
power, both enormously abuse it.”

“Wa-all, that 's not my way of thinking at all. In my
judgment, the privileged classes in this country are your
patroons and your landlords; men that 's not satisfied with
a reasonable quantity of land, but who wish to hold more
than the rest of their fellow-creature's.”

“I am not aware of a single privilege that any patroon—
of whom, by the way, there no longer exists one, except in
name—or any landlord, possesses over any one of his fellow-citizens.”

“Do you call it no privilege for a man to hold all the
land there may happen to be in a township? I call that a
great privilege; and such as no man should have in a free
country. Other people want land as well as your Van

Renssalaers and Littlepages; and other people mean to
have it, too.”

“On that principle, every man who owns more of any
one thing than his neighbour is privileged. Even I, poor
as I am, and am believed to be, am privileged over you, Mr.
Newcome. I own a cassock, and have two gowns, one old
and one new, and various other things of the sort, of which
you have not one. What is more, I am privileged in another
sense; since I can wear my cassock and gown, and
bands, and do wear them often; whereas you cannot wear
one of them all without making yourself laughed at.”

“Oh! but them are not privileges I care anything about;
if I did I would put on the things, as the law does not prohibit
it.”

“I beg your pardon, Mr. Newcome; the law does prohibit
you from wearing my cassock and gown contrary to
my wishes.”

“Wa-all, wa-all, Mr. Warren; we never shall quarrel
about that I don't desire to wear your cassack and gown.”

“I understand you, then; it is only the things that you
desire to use that you deem it a privilege for the law to leave
me.”

“I am afraid we shall never agree, Mr. Warren, about
this anti-rent business; and I 'm very sorry for it, as I
wish particularly to think as you do,” glancing his eye
most profanely towards Mary as he spoke. “I am for the
movement principle, while you are too much for the standstill
doctrine.”

“I am certainly for remaining stationary, Mr. Newcome,
if progress mean taking away the property of old and long
established families in the country, to give it to those whose
names are not to be found in our history; or, indeed, to give
it to any but those to whom it rightfully belongs.”

“We shall never agree, my dear sir, we shall never
agree;” then, turning towards my uncle with the air of superiority
that the vulgar so easily assume—“What do you
say to all this, friend Dafidson—are you up-rent or down-rent?”

“Ja, mynheer,” was the quiet answer;” “I always downs
mit der rent vens I leave a house or a garten. It is goot to
pay de debts; ja, it ist herr goot.”

This answer caused the clergyman and his daughter to
smile, while Opportunity laughed outright.

“You won't make much of your Dutch friend, Sen,”
cried this buoyant young lady; “he says you ought to
keep on paying rent!”

“I apprehend Mr. Dafidson does not exactly understnad
the case,” answered Seneca, who was a good deal disconcerted,
but was bent on maintaining his point. “I have
understood you to say that you are a man of liberal principles,
Mr. Dafidson, and that you 've come to America to
enjoy the light of intelligence and the benefits of a free government.”

“Ja; ven I might coome to America, I say, vell, dat 'tis
a goot coontry, vhere an honest man might haf vhat he
'arns, ant keep it, too. Ja, ja! dat ist vhat I say, ant vhat
I dinks.”

“I understand you, sir; you come from a part of the
world where the nobles eat up the fat of the land, taking
the poor man's share as well as his own, to live in a country
where the law is, or soon will be, so equal that no citizen
will dare to talk about his estates, and hurt the feelin's
of such as haven't got any.”

My uncle so well affected an innocent perplexity at the
drift of this remark as to make me smile, in spite of an effort
to conceal it. Mary Warren saw that smile, and another
glance of intelligence was exchanged between us; though
the young lady immediately withdrew her look, a little consciously
and with a slight blush.

“I say that you like equal laws and equal privileges,
friend Dafidson,” continued Seneca, with emphasis; “and
that you have seen too much of the evils of nobility and of
feudal oppression in the old world, to wish to fall in with
them in the new.”

“Der noples ant der feudal privileges ist no goot,” answered
the trinket-pedlar, shaking his head with an appearance
of great distaste.

“Ay, I knew it would be so; you see, Mr. Warren, no
man who has ever lived under a feudal system can ever feel
otherwise.”

“But what have we to do with feudal systems, Mr. Newcome?
and what is there in common between the landlords

of New York and the nobles of Europe, and between their
leases and feudal tenures?”

“What is there? A vast deal too much, sir, take my
word for it. Do not our very governors, even while ruthlessly
calling on one citizen to murder another—”

“Nay, nay, Mr. Newcome,” interrupted Mary Warren,
laughing, “the governors call on the citizens not to murder
each other.”

“I understand you, Miss Mary; but we shall make anti-renters
of you both before we are done. Surely, sir, there
is a great deal too much resemblance between the nobles of
Europe and our landlords, when the honest and free-born
tenants of the last are obliged to pay tribute for permission
to live on the very land that they till, and which they cause
to bring forth its increase.”

“But men who are not noble let their lands in Europe;
nay, the very serfs, as they become free and obtain riches,
buy lands and let them, in some parts of the old world, as I
have heard and read.”

“All feudal, sir. The whole system is pernicious and
feudal, serf or no serf.”

“But, Mr. Newcome,” said Mary Warren, quietly, though
with a sort of demure irony in her manner that said she was
not without humour, and understood herself very well, “even
you let your land—land that you lease, too, and which you
do not own, except as you hire it from Mr. Littlepage.”

Seneca gave a hem, and was evidently disconcerted; but
he had too much of the game of the true progressive movement—which
merely means to lead in changes, though they
may lead to the devil—to give the matter up. Repeating
the hem, more to clear his brain than to clear his throat, he
hit upon his answer, and brought it out with something very
like triumph.

“That is one of the evils of the present system, Miss
Mary. Did I own the two or three fields you mean, and to
attend to which I have no leisure, I might sell them; but
now it is impossible, since I can give no deed. The instnat
my poor uncle dies—and he can't survive a week, being, as
you must know, nearly gone—the whole property, mills,
tavern, farms, timber-lot and all, fall in to young Hugh Littlepage,
who is off frolicking in Europe, doing no good to

himself or others, I 'll venture to say, if the truth were
known. That is another of the hardships of the feudal system;
it enables one man to travel in idleness, wasting his
substance in foreign lands, while it keeps another at home,
at the plough-handles and the cart-tail.”

“And why do you suppose Mr. Hugh Littlepage wastes
his substance, and is doing himself and country no good in
foreign lands, Mr. Newcome? That is not at all the character
I hear of him, nor is it the result that I expect to see
from his travels.”

“The money he spends in Europe might do a vast deal
of good at Ravensnest, sir.”

“For my part, my dear sir,” put in Mary again, in her
quiet but pungent way, “I think it remarkable that neither
of our late governors has seen fit to enumerate the facts just
mentioned by Mr. Newcome among those that are opposed
to the spirit of the institutions. It is, indeed, a great hardship
that Mr. Seneca Newcome cannot sell Mr. Hugh Littlepage's
land.”

“I complain less of that,” cried Seneca, a little hastily,
“than of the circumstance that all my rights in the property
must go with the death of my uncle. That, at least, even
you, Miss Mary, must admit is a great hardship.”

“If your uncle were unexpectedly to revive, and live
twenty years, Mr. Newcome—”

“No, no, Miss Mary,” answered Seneca, shaking his
head in a melancholy manner; “that is absolutely impossible.
It would not surprise me to find him dead and buried
on our return.”

“But, admit that you may be mistaken, and that your
lease should continue—you would still have a rent to pay?”

“Of that I wouldn't complain in the least. If Mr. Dunning,
Littlepage's agent, will just promise, in as much as
half a sentence, that we can get a new lease on the old
terms, I 'd not say a syllable about it.”

“Well, here is one proof that the system has its advantages!”
exclaimed Mr. Warren, cheerfully. “I 'm delighted
to hear you say this; for it is something to have a class of
men among us whose simple promises, in a matter of money,
have so much value! It is to be hoped that their example
will not be lost.”

“Mr. Newcome has made an admission I am also glad to
hear,” added Mary, as soon as her father had done speaking.
“His willingness to accept a new lease on the old
terms is a proof that he has been living under a good bargain
for himself hitherto, and that down to the present moment
he has been the obliged party.”

This was very simply said, but it bothered Seneca amazingly.
As for myself, I was delighted with it, and could
have kissed the pretty, arch creature who had just uttered
the remark; though I will own that as much might have
been done without any great reluctance, had she even held
her tongue. As for Seneca, he did what most men are apt
to do when they have the consciousness of not appearing
particularly well in a given point of view; he endeavoured
to present himself to the eyes of his companions in another.

“There is one thing, Mr. Warren, that I think you will
admit ought not to be,” he cried, exultingly, “whatever Miss
Mary thinks about it; and that is, that the Littlepage pew in
your church ought to come down.”

“I will not say that much, Mr. Newcome, though I rather
think my daughter will. I believe, my dear, you are of
Mr. Newcome's way of thinking in respect to this canopied
pew, and also in respect to the old hatchments?”

“I wish neither was in the church,” answered Mary, in
a low voice.

From that moment I was fully resolved neither should be,
as soon as I got into a situation to control the matter.

“In that I agree with you entirely, my child,” resumed
the clergyman; “and were it not for this movement connected
with the rents, and the false principles that have been
so boldly announced of late years, I might have taken on
myself the authority, as rector, to remove the hatchments.
Even according to the laws connected with the use of such
things, they should have been taken away a generation or
two back. As to the pew, it is a different matter. It is
private property; was constructed with the church, which
was built itself by the joint liberality of the Littlepages and
mother Trinity; and it would be a most ungracious act to
undertake to destroy it under such circumstances, and more
especially in the absence of its owner.”

“You agree, however, that it ought not to be there?”
asked Seneca, with exultation.

“I wish with all my heart it were not. I dislike every
thing like worldly distinction in the house of God; and heraldic
emblems, in particular, seem to me very much out of
place where the cross is seen to be in its proper place.”

“Wa-all, now, Mr. Warren, I can't say I much fancy
crosses about churches either. What 's the use in raising
vain distinctions of any sort. A church is but a house, after
all, and ought so to be regarded.”

“True,” said Mary, firmly; “but the house of God.”

“Yes, yes, we all know, Miss Mary, that you Episcopalians
look more at outward things, and more respect outward
things, than most of the other denominations of the
country.”

“Do you call leases `outward things,' Mr. Newcome?”
asked Mary, archly; “and contracts, and bargains, and
promises, and the rights of property, and the obligation to
`do as you would be done by?”'

“Law! good folks,” cried Opportunity, who had been
all this time tumbling over the trinkets, “I wish it was
`down with the rent' for ever, with all my heart; and that
not another word might ever be said on the subject. Here
is one of the prettiest pencils, Mary, I ever did see; and its
price is only four dollars. I wish, Sen, you 'd let the rent
alone, and make me a present of this very pencil.”

As this was an act of which Seneca had not the least intention
of being guilty, he merely shifted his hat from one
side of his head to the other, began to whistle, and then he
coolly left the room. My uncle Ro profited by the occasion
to beg Miss Opportunity would do him the honour to
accept the pencil as an offering from himself.

“You an't surely in earnest!” exclaimed Opportunity,
flushing up with surprise and pleasure. “Why, you told
me the price was four dollars; and even that seems to me
desperate little!”

“Dat ist de price to anudder,” said the gallant trinket-dealer;
“but dat ist not de price to you, Miss Opportunity.
Ve shall trafel togedder; ant vhen ve gets to your coontry,
you vill dell me de best houses vhere I might go mit my
vatches ant drinkets.”

“That I will; and get you in at the Nest House, in the
bargain,” cried Opportunity, pocketing the pencil without
further parley.

In the mean time my uncle selected a very neat seal, the
handsomest he had, being of pure metal, and having a real
topaz in it, and offered it to Mary Warren, with his best
bow. I watched the clergyman's daughter with anxiety,
as I witnessed the progress of this galantérie, doubting and
hoping at each change of the ingenuous and beautiful countenance
of her to whom the offering was made. Mary coloured,
smiled, seemed embarrassed, and, as I feared, for a
single moment doubting; but I must have been mistaken,
as she drew back, and, in the sweetest manner possible,
declined to accept the present. I saw that Opportunity's
having just adopted a different course added very much to
her embarrassment, as otherwise she might have said something
to lessen the seeming ungraciousness of the refusal.
Luckily for herself, however, she had a gentleman to deal
with, instead of one in the station that my uncle Ro had voluntarily
assumed. When this offering was made, the pretended
pedlar was ignorant altogether of the true characters
of the clergyman and his daughter, not even knowing that
he saw the rector of St. Andrew's, Ravensnest. But the
manner of Mary at once disabused him of an error into
which he had fallen through her association with Opportunity,
and he now drew back himself with perfect tact, bowing
and apologizing in a way that I thought must certainly
betray his disguise. It did not, however; for Mr. Warren,
with a smile that denoted equally satisfaction at his daughter's
conduct, and a grateful sense of the other's intended
liberality, but with a simplicity that was of proof, turned to
me and begged a tune on the flute which I had drawn from
my pocket and was holding in my hand, as expecting some
such invitation.

If I have any accomplishment, it is connected with music;
and particularly with the management of the flute. On this
occasion I was not at all backward about showing off, and
I executed two or three airs, from the best masters, with as
much care as if I had been playing to a salon in one of the
best quarters of Paris. I could see that Mary and her father
were both surprised at the execution, and that the first was

delighted. We had a most agreeable quarter of an hour
together; and might have had two, had not Opportunity—
who was certainly well named, being apropos of everything—began
of her own accord to sing, though not without
inviting Mary to join her. As the latter declined this
public exhibition, as well as my uncle Ro's offering, Seneca's
sister had it all to herself; and she sang no less than
three songs, in quick succession, and altogether unasked. I
shall not stop to characterize the music or the words of
these songs, any further than to say they were all, more or
less, of the Jim Crow school, and executed in a way that
did them ample justice.

As it was understood that we were all to travel in the
same train, the interview lasted until we were ready to proceed;
nor did it absolutely terminate then. As Mary and
Opportunity sat together, Mr. Warren asked me to share
his seat, regardless of the hurdy-gurdy; though my attire,
in addition to its being perfectly new and neat, was by no
means of the mean character that it is usual to see adorning
street-music in general. On the whole, so long as the instrument
was not en evidence, I might not have seemed
very much out of place seated at Mr. Warren's side. In
this manner we proceeded to Saratoga, my uncle keeping
up a private discourse the whole way with Seneca, on matters
connected with the rent movement.

As for the divine and myself, we had also much interesting
talk together. I was questioned about Europe in general,
and Germany in particular; and had reason to think
my answers gave surprise as well as satisfaction. It was
not an easy matter to preserve the Doric of my assumed
dialect, though practice and fear contributed their share to
render me content to resort to it. I made many mistakes,
of course, but my listeners, for I soon ascertained that Mary
Warren, who sat on the seat directly before us, was a profoundly
attentive listener to all that passed. This circumstance
did not render me the less communicative, though it
did increase the desire I felt to render what I said worthy
of such a listener. As for Opportunity, she read a newspaper
a little while, munched an apple a very little while,

and slept the rest of the way. But the journey between
modern Troy and Saratoga is not a long one, and was soon
accomplished.