The redskins, or, Indian and Injin being the conclusion of the Littlepage manuscripts |
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 | CHAPTER IX. The redskins, or, Indian and Injin |  |
9. CHAPTER IX.
A cottage of gentility;
And the devil did grin, for his darling sin
Is the pride that apes humility.”
Devil's Thoughts.
It was now necessary to determine what course we ought
next to pursue. It might appear presuming in men of our
pursuits to go to the Nest before the appointed time; and
did we proceed on to the village, we should have the distance
between the two places to walk over twice, carrying
our instruments and jewel-box. After a short consultation,
it was decided to visit the nearest dwellings, and to remain
as near my own house as was practicable, making an arrangement
to sleep somewhere in its immediate vicinity.
Could we trust any one with our secret, our fare would probably
be all the better; but my uncle thought it most prudent
to maintain a strict incognito until he had ascertained
the true state of things in the town.
We took leave of the Indian and the negro, therefore,
promising to visit them again in the course of that or the
succeeding day, and followed the path that led to the farm-house.
It was our opinion that we might, at least, expect
to meet with friends in the occupants of the home farm.
The same family had been retained in possession there for
three generations, and being hired to manage the husbandry
and to take care of the dairy, there was not the same reason
for the disaffection, that was said so generally to exist among
the tenantry, prevailing among them. The name of this
family was Miller, and it consisted of the two heads and
some six or seven children, most of the latter being still
quite young.
“Tom Miller was a trusty lad, when I knew much of
him,” said my uncle, as we drew near to the barn, in which
we saw the party mentioned, at work; “and he is said to
have behaved well in one or two alarms they have had at
him into our secret as yet.”
“I am quite of your mind, sir,” I answered; “for who
knows that he has not just as strong a desire as any of them
to own the farm on which he lives? He is the grandson
of the man who cleared it from the forest, and has much the
same title as the rest of them.”
“Very true; and why should not that give him just as
good a right to claim an interest in the farm, beyond that
he has got under his contract to work it, as if he held a
lease? He who holds a lease gets no right beyond his bargain;
nor does this man. The one is paid for his labour
by the excess of his receipts over the amount of his annual
rent, while the other is paid partly in what he raises, and
partly in wages. In principle there is no difference whatever,
not a particle; yet I question if the veriest demagogue
in the State would venture to say that the man, or the family,
which works a farm for hire, even for a hundred years, gets
the smallest right to say he shall not quit it, if its owner
please, as soon as his term of service is up!”
“`The love of money is the root of all evil;' and when
that feeling is uppermost, one can never tell what a man
will do. The bride of a good farm, obtained for nothing, or
for an insignificant price, is sufficient to upset the morality
of even Tom Miller.”
“You are right, Hugh; and here is one of the points in
which our political men betray the cloven foot. They write,
and proclaim, and make speeches, as if the anti-rent troubles
grew out of the durable lease system solely, whereas
we all know that it is extended to all descriptions of obligations
given for the occupancy of land—life leases, leases for
a term of years, articles for deeds, and bonds and mortgages.
It is a wide-spread, though not yet universal attempt
of those who have the least claim to the possession
of real estate, to obtain the entire right, and that by agencies
that neither the law nor good morals will justify.
It is no new expedient for partizans to place en evidence
no more of their principles and intentions than suits their
purposes. But, here we are within ear-shot, and must resor
to the High Dutch. Guten tag, guten tag,” continued
uncle Ro, dropping easily into the broken English of our
of his older boys, and a couple of hired men were at work,
grinding scythes and preparing for the approaching hay-harvest.
“It might be warm day, dis fine mornin'.”
“Good day, good day,” cried Miller, hastily, and glancing
his eye a little curiously at our equipments. “What have
you got in your box —essences?”
“Nein; vatches and drinkets;” setting down the box
and opening it at once, for the inspection of all present.
“Von't you burchase a goot vatch, dis bleasant mornin'?”
“Be they ra-al gold?” asked Miller, a little doubtingly.
“And all them chains and rings, be they gold too?”
“Not true golt; nein, nein, I might not say dat. But
goot enough golt for blain folks, like you and me.”
“Them things would never do for the grand quality over
at the big house!” cried one of the labourers who was unknown
to me, but whose name I soon ascertained was Joshua
Brigham, and who spoke with a sort of malicious sneer that
at once betrayed he was no friend. “You mean 'em for
poor folks, I s'pose?”
“I means dem for any bodies dat will pay deir money
for 'em,” answered my uncle. “Vould you like a vatch?”
“That would I; and a farm, too, if I could get 'em
cheap,” answered Brigham, with a sneer he did not attempt
to conceal. “How do you sell farms to-day?”
“I haf got no farms; I sells drinkets and vatches, but I
doesn't sell farms. Vhat I haf got I vill sell, but I cannot
sells vhat I haf not got.”
“Oh! you 'll get all you want if you 'll stay long enough
in this country! This is a free land, and just the place for
a poor man; or it will be, as soon as we get all the lords
and aristocrats out of it.”
This was the first time I had ever heard this political
blarney with my own ears, though I had understood it was
often used by those who wish to give to their own particular
envy and covetousness a grand and sounding air.
“Vell, I haf heards dat in America dere might not be any
noples ant aristocrats,” put in my uncle, with an appearance
of beautiful simplicity; “and dat dere ist not ein graaf
in der whole coontry.”
“Oh! there 's all sorts of folks here, just as they are to
be found elsewhere,” cried Miller, seating himself coolly on
the end of the grindstone-frame, to open and look into the
mysteries of one of the watches. “Now, Josh Brigham,
here, calls all that 's above him in the world aristocrats, but
he doesn't call all that 's below him his equals.”
I liked that speech; and I liked the cool, decided way
in which it was uttered. It denoted, in its spirit, a man who
saw things as they are, and who was not afraid to say what
he thought about them. My uncle Ro was surprised, and
that agreeably, too, and he turned to Miller to pursue the
discourse.
“Den dere might not be any nopility in America, after
all?” he asked, inquiringly.
“Yes, there 's plenty of such lords as Josh here, who
want to be uppermost so plaguily that they don't stop to
touch all the rounds of the ladder. I tell him, friend, he
wants to get on too fast, and that he mustn't set up for a
gentleman before he knows how to behave himself.”
Josh looked a little abashed at a rebuke that came from
one of his own class, and which he must have felt, in secret,
was merited. But the demon was at work in him, and
he had persuaded himself that he was the champion of a
quality as sacred as liberty, when, in fact, he was simply
and obviously doing neither more nor less than breaking
the tenth commandment. He did not like to give up, while
he skirmished with Miller, as the dog that has been beaten
already two or three times growls over a bone at the approach
of his conqueror.
“Well, thank heaven,” he cried, “I have got some spirit
in my body.”
“That 's very true, Joshua,” answered Miller, laying
down one watch and taking up another; “but it happens to
be an evil spirit.”
“Now, here 's them Littlepages; what makes them better
than other folks?”
“You had better let the Littlepages alone, Joshua, seein'
they 're a family that you know nothing at all about.”
“I don't want to know them; though I do happen to
know all I want to know. I despise 'em.”
“No you don't, Joshy, my boy; nobody despises folks
they talk so spitefully about. What 's the price of this here
watch, friend?”
“Four dollars,” said my uncle, eagerly, falling lower
than was prudent, in his desire to reward Miller for his good
feeling and sound sentiments. “Ja, ja—you might haf das
vatch for four dollars.”
“I 'm afraid it isn't good for anything,” returned Miller,
feeling the distrust that was natural at hearing a price so
low. “Let 's have another look at its inside.”
No man, probably, ever bought a watch without looking
into its works with an air of great intelligence, though none
but a mechanician is any wiser for his survey. Tom Miller
acted on this principle, for the good looks of the machine
he held in his hand, and the four dollars, tempted him sorely
It had its effect, too, on the turbulent and envious Joshua,
who seemed to understand himself very well in a bargain.
Neither of the men had supposed the watches to be of gold,
for though the metal that is in a watch does not amount to
a great deal, it is usually of more value than all that was
asked for the “article” now under examination. In point
of fact, my uncle had this very watch “invoiced to him” at
twice the price he now put it at.
“And what do you ask for this?” demanded Joshua,
taking up another watch of very similar looks and of equal
value to the one that Miller still retained open in his hand.
“Won't you let this go for three dollars?”
“No; der brice of dat is effery cent of forty dollars,” answered
uncle Ro, stubbornly.
“The two men now looked at the pedlar in surprise.
Miller took the watch from his hired man, examined it attentively,
compared it with the other, and then demanded
its price anew.
“You might haf eider of dem vatches for four dollars,”
returned my uncle, as I thought, incautiously.
This occasioned a new surprise, though Brigham fortunately
referred the difference to a mistake.
“Oh!” he said, “I understood you to say forty dollars.
Four dollars is a different matter.”
“Josh,” interrupted the more observant and cooler-headed
Miller, “it is high time, now, you and Peter go and look
If you want a trade, you can have one when you get
back.”
Notwithstanding the plainness of his appearance and language,
Tom Miller was captain of his own company. He
gave this order quietly, and in his usual familiar way, but
it was obviously to be obeyed without a remonstrance. In
a minute the two hired men were off in company, leaving
no one behind in the barn but Miller, his sons, and us two.
I could see there was a motive for all this, but did not understand
it.
“Now he 's gone,” continued Tom quietly, but laying an
emphasis that sufficiently explained his meaning, “perhaps
you 'll let me know the true price of this watch. I 've a
mind for it, and may be we can agree.”
“Four dollars,” answered my uncle, distinctly. “I haf
said you might haf it for dat money, and vhat I haf said
once might always be.”
“I will take it, then. I almost wish you had asked eight,
though four dollars saved is suthin' for a poor man. It 's
so plaguy cheap I 'm a little afraid on 't; but I 'll ventur'.
There; there 's your money, and in hard cash.”
“Dank you, sir. Won't das ladies choose to look at my
drinkets?”
“Oh! if you want to deal with ladies who buy chains
and rings, the Nest House is the place. My woman wouldn't
know what to do with sich things, and don't set herself up
for a fine lady at all. That chap who has just gone for the
sheep is the only great man we have about this farm.”
“Ja, ja; he ist a nople in a dirty shirt: ja, ja; why hast
he dem pig feelin's?”
“I believe you have named them just as they ought to
be, pig's feelin's. It 's because he wishes to thrust his own
snout all over the trough, and is mad when he finds anybody
else's in the way. We 're getting to have plenty of
such fellows up and down the country, and an uncomfortable
time they give us. Boys, I do believe it will turn out,
a'ter all, that Josh is an Injin!”
“I know he is,” answered the oldest of the two sons, a
lad of nineteen; “where else should he be so much of
nights and Sundays, but at their trainin's?—and what was
month ago, as I told you on at the time?”
“If I find it out to be as you say, Harry, he shall tramp
off of this farm. I 'll have no Injins here!”
“Vell I dought I dit see an olt Injin in a hut up yonder
ast by der woots!” put in my uncle, innocently.
“Oh! that is Susquesus, an Onondago; he is a true Injin,
and a gentleman; but we have a parcel of the mock
gentry about, who are a pest and an eye-sore to every honest
man in the country. Half on 'em are nothing but
thieves in mock Injin dresses. The law is ag'in 'em, right
is ag'in 'em, and every true friend of liberty in the country
ought to be ag'in 'em.”
“Vhat ist der matter in dis coontry? I hear in Europe
how America ist a free lant, ant how efery man hast his
rights; but since I got here dey do nothin' but talk of barons,
and noples, and tenants, and arisdograts, and all der
bat dings I might leaf behint me, in der olt worlt.”
“The plain matter is, friend, that they who have got little,
envy them that 's got much; and the struggle is to see
which is the strongest. On the one side is the law, and
right, and bargains, and contracts; and on the other thousands—not
of dollars, but of men. Thousands of voters;
d' ye understand?”
“Ja, ja—I oonderstands; dat ist easy enough. But vhy
do dey dalk so much of noples and arisdograts? — ist der
noples and arisdograts in America?”
“Well, I don't much understand the natur' of sich things;
there sartainly is a difference in men, and a difference in
their fortun's, and edications, and such sort of things.”
“Und der law, den, favours der rich man at der cost of
der poor, in America, too, does it? Und you haf arisdograts
who might not pay taxes, and who holt all der offices,
and get all der pooblic money, and who ist petter pefore de
law, in all dings, dan ast dem dat be not arisdograts? Is
it so?”
Miller laughed outright, and shook his head at this question,
continuing to examine the trinkets the whole time.
“No, no, my friend, we 've not much of that, in this part
of the world, either. Rich men get very few offices, to begin
with; for it 's an argooment in favour of a man for an
ask who the office wants, as who wants the office. Then,
as for taxes, there isn't much respect paid to the rich, on
that score. Young 'Squire Littlepage pays the tax on this
farm directly himself, and it 's assessed half as high ag'in,
all things considered, as any other farm on his estate.”
“But dat ist not right.”
“Right! Who says it is?—or who thinks there is anything
right about assessments, anywhere? I have heard
assessors, with my own ears, use such words as these:—
`Sich a man is rich, and can afford to pay,' and `sich a
man is poor, and it will come hard on him.' Oh! they
kiver up dishonesty, now-a-days, under all sorts of argooments.”
“But der law; der rich might haf der law on deir side,
surely?”
“In what way, I should like to know? Juries be everything,
and juries will go accordin' to their feelin's, as well
as other men. I 've seen the things with my own eyes.
The county pays just enough a-day to make poor men like to
be on jories, and they never fail to attend, while them that
can pay their fines stay away, and so leave the law pretty
much in the hands of one party. No rich man gains his
cause, unless his case is so strong it can't be helped.”
I had heard this before, there being a very general complaint
throughout the country of the practical abuses connected
with the jury system. I have heard intelligent lawyers
complain, that whenever a cause of any interest is
to be tried, the first question asked is not “what are the
merits?” “which has the law and the facts on his side?”
but “who is likely to be on the jury?” — thus obviously
placing the composition of the jury before either law or evidence.
Systems may have a very fair appearance on paper
and as theories, that are execrable in practice. As for juries,
I believe the better opinion of the intelligent of all countries
is, that while they are a capital contrivance to resist
the abuse of power in narrow governments, in governments
of a broad constituency they have the effect, which might
easily be seen, of placing the control of the law in the
hands of those who would be most apt to abuse it; since it
is adding to, instead of withstanding and resisting the controlling
most of the abuses must unavoidably proceed.
As for my uncle Ro, he was disposed to pursue the subject
with Miller, who turned out to be a discreet and conscientious
man. After a very short pause, as if to reflect
on what had been said, he resumed the discourse.
“Vhat, den, makes arisdograts in dis coontry?” asked
my uncle.
“Wa-a-l”—no man but an American of New England
descent, as was the case with Miller, can give this word its
attic sound — “Wa-a-l, it 's hard to say. I hear a great
deal about aristocrats, and I read a great deal about aristocrats,
in this country, and I know that most folks look upon
them as hateful, but I 'm by no means sartain I know what
an aristocrat is. Do you happen to know anything about
it, friend?”
“Ja, ja; an arisdograt ist one of a few men dat hast all
de power of de government in deir own hands.”
“King! That isn't what we think an aristocrat in this
part of the world. Why, we call them critturs here DIMIGOGUES!
Now, young 'Squire Littlepage, who owns the
Nest House, over yonder, and who is owner of all this
estate, far and near, is what we call an aristocrat, and he
hasn't power enough to be named town clerk, much less to
anything considerable, or what is worth having.”
“How can he be an arisdograt, den?”
“How, sure enough, if your account be true! I tell you
'tis the dimigogues that be the aristocrats of America. Why,
Josh Brigham, who has just gone for the sheep, can get
more votes for any office in the country than young Littlepage!”
“Berhaps dis young Littlebage ist a pat yoong man?”
“Not he; he 's as good as any on 'em, and better than
most. Besides, if he was as wicked as Lucifer, the folks
of the country don't know anything about it, sin' he 's be'n
away ever sin' he has be'n a man.”
“Vhy, den, gan't he haf as many votes as dat poor, ignorant
fellow might haf? — das ist ott.”
“It is odd, but it 's true as gospel. Why, it may not be
so easy to tell. Many men, many minds, you know. Some
folks don't like him because he lives in a big house; some
themselves; others mistrust him because he wears a fine
coat; and some pretend to laugh at him because he got his
property from his father, and grand'ther, and so on, and
didn't make it himself. Accordin' to some folks' notions,
now-a-days, a man ought to enj'y only the property he
heaps together himself.”
“If dis be so, your Herr Littlebage ist no arisdograt.”
“Wa-a-l, that isn't the idee, hereaway. We have had a
great many meetin's, latterly, about the right of the people
to their farms; and there has been a good deal of talk at
them meetin's consarnin' aristocracy and feudal tenors; do
you know what a feudal tenor is, too?”
“Ja; dere ist moch of dat in Teutchland—in mine coontry.
It ist not ferry easy to explain it in a few vords, but
der brincipal ding ist dat der vassal owes a serfice to hist
lort. In de olten dimes dis serfice vast military, und dere
ist someding of dat now. It ist de noples who owe der feudal
serfice, brincipally, in mine coontry, and dey owes it to
de kings und brinces.”
“And don't you call giving a chicken for rent feudal service,
in Germany?”
Uncle Ro and I laughed, in spite of our efforts to the contrary,
there being a bathos in this question that was supremely
ridiculous. Curbing his merriment, however, as
soon as he could, my uncle answered the question.
“If der landlordt hast a right to coome and dake as many
chickens as he bleases, und ast often ast he bleases, den dat
wouldt look like a feudal right; but if de lease says dat so
many chickens moost be paid a-year, for der rent, vhy dat
ist all der same as baying so much moneys; und it might
be easier for der tenant to bay in chicken ast it might be to
bay in der silver. Vhen a man canst bay his debts in vhat
he makes himself, he ist ferry interpentent.”
“It does seem so, I vow! Yet there 's folks about here,
and some at Albany, that call it feudal for a man to have
to carry a pair of fowls to the landlord's office, and the landlord
an aristocrat for asking it!”
“But der man canst sent a poy, or a gal, or a nigger,
wid his fowls, if he bleases?”
“Sartain; all that is asked is that the fowls should come.”
“Und vhen der batroon might owe hist tailor, or hist
shoemaker, must he not go to hist shop, or find him and
bay him vhat he owes, or be suet for der debt?”
“That 's true, too; boys, put me in mind of telling that
to Josh, this evening. Yes, the greatest landlord in the
land must hunt up his creditor, or be sued, all the same as
the lowest tenant.”
“Und he most bay in a partic'lar ding; he most bay in
golt or silver?”
“True; lawful tender is as good for one as 'tis for
t' other.”
“Und if your Herr Littlebage signs a baper agreein' to
gif der apples from dat orchart to somebody on his landts,
most he send or carry der apples, too?”
“To be sure; that would be the bargain.”
“Und he most carry der ferry apples dat grows on dem
ferry dress, might it not be so?”
“All true as gospel. If a man contracts to sell the apples
of one orchard, he can't put off the purchaser with the
apples of another.”
“Und der law ist der same for one ast for anudder, in
dese t'ings?”
“There is no difference; and there should be none.”
“Und der batroons und der landlordts wants to haf der
law changet, so dat dey may be excuset from baying der
debts accordin' to der bargains, und to gif dem atfantages
over der poor tenants?”
“I never heard anything of the sort, and don't believe
they want any such change.”
“Of vhat, den, dost der beople complain?”
“Of having to pay rent at all; they think the landlords
ought to be made to sell their farms, or give them away.
Some stand out for the last.”
“But der landlordts don't vant to sell deir farms; und dey
might not be made to sell vhat ist deir own, and vhat dey
don't vant to sell, any more dan der tenants might be made
to sell deir hogs and deir sheep, vhen dey don't vant to sell
dem.”
“It does seem so, boys, as I 've told the neighbours, all
along. But I 'll tell this Dutchman all about it. Some folks
pretending he has no title.”
“But der State wilt do dat widout asking for it particularly,
vill it not?”
“I never heard that it would.”
“If anybody hast a claim to der broperty, vilt not der
courts try it?”
“Yes, yes—in that way; but a tenant can't set up a title
ag'in his landlord.”
“Vhy should he? He canst haf no title but his landlort's,
and it vould be roguery and cheatery to let a man get into
der bossession of a farm under der pretence of hiring it, und
den coome out und claim it as owner. If any tenant dinks
he hast a better right dan his landlort, he can put der farm
vhere it vast before he might be a tenant, und den der State
wilt examine into der title, I fancys.”
“Yes, yes—in that way; but these men want it another
way. What they want is for the State to set up a legal examination,
and turn the landlords off altogether, if they can,
and then let themselves have the farms in their stead.”
“But dat would not be honest to dem dat hafen't nothing
to do wid der farms. If der State owns der farms, it ought
to get as moch as it can for dem, and so safe all der people
from baying taxes. It looks like roguery, all roundt.”
“I believe it is that, and nothing else! As you say, the
State will examine into the title as it is, and there is no need
of any laws about it.”
“Would der State, dink you, pass a law dat might inquire
into de demandts dat are made against der batroons, vhen
der tratesmen sent in deir bills?”
“I should like to see any patroon ask sich a thing! He
would be laughed at, from York to Buffalo.”
“Und he would desarf it. By vhat I see, frient, your
denants be der arisdograts, und der landlordts der vassals.”
“Why you see — what may your name be? — as we 're
likely to become acquainted, I should like to know your
name.
“My name is Greisenbach, und I comes from Preussen.”
“Well, Mr. Greisenbach, the difficulty about aristocracy
is this. Hugh Littlepage is rich, and his money gives him
in some folks' crops.”
“Oh! den it ist meant to divite broperty in dis coontry;
und to say no man might haf more ast anudder?”
“Folks don't go quite as far as that, yet; though some
of their talk does squint that-a-way, I must own. Now,
there are folks about here that complain that old Madam
Littlepage and her young ladies don't visit the poor.”
“Vell, if deys be hard-hearted, und hast no feelin's for
der poor and miseraple—”
“No, no; that is not what I mean, neither. As for that
sort of poor, everybody allows they do more for them than
anybody else about here. But they don't visit the poor that
isn't in want.”
“Vell, it ist a ferry coomfortable sort of poor dat ist not
in any vant. Berhaps you mean dey don't associate wid
'em, as equals?”
“That 's it. Now, on that head, I must say there is
some truth in the charge, for the gals over at the Nest never
come here to visit my gal, and Kitty is as nice a young
thing as there is about.”
“Und Gitty goes to visit the gal of the man who lives
over yonter, in de house on der hill?” pointing to a residence
of a man of the very humblest class in the town.
“Hardly! Kitty 's by no means proud, but I shouldn't
like her to be too thick there.”
“Oh! you 're an arisdograt, den, after all; else might
your daughter visit dat man's daughter.”
“I tell you, Grunzebach, or whatever your name may
be,” returned Miller, a little angrily, though a particularly
good-natured man in the main, “that my gal shall not visit
old Steven's da'ghters.”
“Vell, I 'm sure she might do as she bleases; but I dinks
der Mademoiselles Littlepage might do ast dey pleases, too.”
“There is but one Littlepage gal; if you saw them out
this morning in the carriage, you saw two York gals and
parson Warren's da'ghter with her.”
“Und dis parson Warren might be rich, too?”
“Not he; he hasn't a sixpence on 'arth but what he gets
from the parish. Why he is so poor his friends had to edicate
his da'ghter, I have heern say, over and over!”
“Und das Littlepage gal und de Warren gal might be
goot friends?”
“They are the thickest together of any two young women
in this part of the world. I 've never seen two gals
more intimate. Now, there 's a young lady in the town,
one Opportunity Newcome, who, one might think, would
stand before Mary Warren at the big house, any day in the
week, but she doesn't! Mary takes all the shine out on
her.”
“Which ist der richest, Obbordunity or Mary?”
“By all accounts Mary Warren has nothing, while Opportunity
is thought to come next to Matty herself, as to
property, of all the young gals about here. But Opportunity
is no favourite at the Nest.”
“Den it would seem, after all, dat dis Miss Littlebage does
not choose her friends on account of riches. She likes Mary
Warren, who ist boor, und she does not like Obbordunity,
who ist vell to do in de vorlt. Berhaps der Littlepages be
not as big arisdograts as you supposes.”
Miller was bothered, while I felt a disposition to laugh.
One of the commonest errors of those who, from position
and habits, are unable to appreciate the links which connect
cultivated society together, is to refer everything to riches.
Riches, in a certain sense, as a means and through their
consequences, may be a principal agent in dividing society
into classes; but, long after riches have taken wings, their
fruits remain, when good use has been made of their presence.
So untrue is the vulgar opinion—or it might be better
to say the opinion of the vulgar—that money is the one
tie which unites polished society, that it is a fact which all
must know who have access to the better circles of even our
own commercial towns, that those circles, loosely and accidentally
constructed as they are, receive with reluctance,
nay, often sternly exclude, vulgar wealth from their associations,
while the door is open to the cultivated who have nothing.
The young, in particular, seldom think much of
money, while family connections, early communications,
similarity of opinions, and, most of all, of tastes, bring sets
together, and often keep them together long after the golden
band has been broken.
But men have great difficulty in comprehending things
the senses, while refinement, through its infinite gradations,
is visible principally, and, in some cases, exclusively to its
possessors, it is not surprising that common minds should
refer a tie that, to them, would otherwise be mysterious, to
the more glittering influence, and not to the less obvious.
Infinite, indeed, are the gradations of cultivated habits; nor
are as many of them the fruits of caprice and self-indulgence
as men usually suppose. There is a common sense, nay,
a certain degree of wisdom, in the laws of even etiquette,
while they are confined to equals, that bespeak the respect
of those who understand them. As for the influence of associations
on men's manners, on their exteriors, and even
on their opinions, my uncle Ro has long maintained that it
is so apparent that one of his time of life could detect the
man of the world, at such a place as Saratoga even, by an
intercourse of five minutes; and what is more, that he could
tell the class in life from which he originally emerged. He
tried it, the last summer, on our return from Ravensnest,
and I was amused with his success, though he made a few
mistakes, it must be admitted.
“That young man comes from the better circles, but he
has never travelled,” he said, alluding to one of a group
which still remained at table; “while he who is next him
has travelled, but commenced badly.” This may seem a
very nice distinction, but I think it is easily made. “There
are two brothers, of an excellent family in Pennsylvania,”
he continued, “as one might know from the name; the
eldest has travelled, the youngest has not.” This was a
still harder distinction to make, but one who knew the world
as well as my uncle Ro could do it. He went on amusing
me by his decisions—all of which were respectable, and some
surprisingly accurate—in this way for several minutes. Now,
like has an affinity to like, and in this natural attraction is
to be found the secret of the ordinary construction of society.
You shall put two men of superior minds in a room
full of company, and they will find each other out directly,
and enjoy the accident. The same is true as to the mere
modes of thinking that characterize social castes; and it is
truer in this country, perhaps, than most others, from the
mixed character of our associations. Of the two, I am really
one of moderate capacity, but of manners and social opinions
on a level with his own, has more pleasure in the communication
than with one of equal mind, but of inferior habits.
That Patt should cling to one like Mary Warren seemed
to me quite as natural as that she should be averse to much
association with Opportunity Newcome. The money of the
latter, had my sister been in the least liable to such an influence,
was so much below what she had been accustomed,
all her life, to consider affluence, that it would have had no
effect, even had she been subject to so low a consideration
in regulating her intercourse with others. But this poor
Tom Miller could not understand. He could “only reason
from what he knew,” and he knew little of the comparative
notions of wealth, and less of the powers of cultivation on
the mind and manners. He was struck, however, with a
fact that did come completely within the circle of his own
knowledge, and that was the circumstance that Mary Warren,
while admitted to be poor, was the bosom friend of her
whom he was pleased to call, sometimes, the “Littlepage
gal.” It was easy to see he felt the force of this circumstance;
and it is to be hoped that, as he was certainly a
wiser, he also became a better man, on one of the most
common of the weaknesses of human frailty.
“Wa-a-l,” he replied to my uncle's last remark, after
fully a minute of silent reflection, “I don't know! It would
seem so, I vow; and yet it hasn't been my wife's notion,
nor is it Kitty's. You 're quite upsetting my idees about
aristocrats; for though I like the Littlepages, I 've always
set 'em down as desp'rate aristocrats.”
“Nein, nein; dem as vat you calls dimigogues be der
American arisdograts. Dey gets all der money of der pooblic,
und haf all der power, but dey gets a little mads because
dey might not force demselves on der gentlemen and laties
of der coontry, as vell as on der lands und der offices!”
“I swan! I don't know but this may be true! A'ter all,
I don't know what right anybody has to complain of the
Littlepages.”
“Does dey dreat beoples vell, as might coome to see
dem?”
“Yes, indeed! if folks treat them well, as sometimes
Saxon in his figures, but their nature will prove their justification—“I
've seen hogs about here, bolt right in before
old Madam Littlepage, and draw their chairs up to her fire,
and squirt about the tobacco, and never think of even taking
off their hats. Them folks be always huffy about their own
importance, though they never think of other people's
feelin's.”
We were interrupted by the sound of wheels, and looking
round, we perceived that the carriage of my grandmother
had driven up to the farm-house door, on its return
home. Miller conceived it to be no more than proper to go
and see if he were wanted, and we followed him slowly, it
being the intention of my uncle to offer his mother a watch,
by way of ascertaining if she could penetrate his disguise.
| CHAPTER IX. The redskins, or, Indian and Injin | |