University of Virginia Library

8. CHAPTER VIII.

To those who wish to know, without a trial, what is
the character of a residence in a village, Zimmerman
“on Solitude,” will be a profitable book. If there are
peculiar advantages appended to such a residence, there
are also peculiar disadvantages. The stinted range of
society, the eager and garrulous inquisitiveness, the
concentrated bitterness of all the bad passions, that are
put in operation in such a place, are great evils. There
are those, who think it easy to live in a village, without
mingling with its society, or suffering from its inconveniences.
Such will find themselves mistaken, when
they make the experiment. They will find, that while
we are among men, we must, and ought to mix with
them, to respect them, consult their tastes and opinions,
and treat with deference even their prejudices. Such
views and feelings will soften the evils and asperities of
such a sojourn. Mrs. Mason's family had talked this
matter over, and had agreed to make an effort to be
pleased with every thing, and to treat every one respectfully,
but to engage in none of their feuds, and
meddle in none of their petty broils and divisions.
With these principles the family could not always avoid
mixing with the society of the place, though not much
in the habit of intimate intercourse with it. There were
many pleasant and intelligent people in it; and in the
summer time especially, when its reputed healthfulness,
and a mineral spring in it, made it a place of resort from
abroad, and from the lower country. Among the parties
which Mrs. Mason, George, and Eliza, attended,
this summer, I will give a very general sketch of the
character and the circumstances of one, with the double

purpose of explaining, how they passed their time in
this village, and of showing, that even in a village of the
third class, in the back-woods of the West, there are all
the elements of excitement, of ambition, and interest,
that there are in a levée, or a fashionable soirée.

The reader is probably aware, that the more remote
and secluded a village is, and the more reasons there
are, that it should possess the ease, freedom, and simplicity
of rural and village manners, the more scrupulously
rigid are its fashionable people in the observance
of all the rules, that their information has gleaned, as
belonging to the punctilio of fashion. For instance,
what is called the first circle in this village is more severe
in its punctilio, than in the city of C.; and fashion
there is more strict, than at Washington; and at Washington,
than in Paris. Thus, if the hour is 2 in Paris,
it will be 3 in Washington, half past 3 in the next
place, 4 in the village, and so down.

In the large tea-party, that was assembled this evening,
the silence at first was ominously awful; and when
that was broken, there was much more said about fashion,
and much clearer indications, by the different speakers,
that it was a thing understood in the extent of all its mysteries
here, than we usually witness among people of the
haut ton at Saratoga Springs. There were certainly a
great many good-looking young men and ladies, among
whom were the half a dozen belles of the vicinity, whose
several claims to superiority of beauty had not yet been
adjusted. There were magnificently broad Leghorn
hats, on which waved a whole flower-garden; there
were a goodly number of dandy coats; and, on the whole,
a party, who, if they had been simple, easy, unaffected,
and unambitious, might have passed, not only a pleasant,
but an improving evening together. But odious affectation
and vanity, and the would-be estimation of being
acquainted with the great world, and distinguished in it,
spoiled all.

Two or three of the persons here, who gave the tone

to the fashions of this village, had been distinguished
abroad, and as far off as Washington. During the past
winter, they had been at New Orleans. They had
been present at what are there very significantly termed,
“behaving parties.” In these, as the name imports,
the persons present are supposed to be on their good
behaviour. At first a word only is spoken, under the
breath, and the chief part of the amusement consists in
looking intently round the apartments, and occasionally
giving one foot, as it lies across the other, a gentle
shake, and then drawing a deep sigh, which echoes
through the circle. Meantime by looking at the foot,
you may count, by its gentle and regular movement,
the pulsations of the party, and the state of his health
and his freedom from fever may be ascertained.

But in this case, after tea, and before the candles
were brought in, there was a kind of interregnum, or
democratic rising against etiquette. One person, who
seemed to have been collecting courage for the emergency,
pronounced, by a strong effort, a broken and
kind of oracular sentence, and instantly looked round,
somewhat alarmed, to see what he had done. Hardened
by his example, forthwith another ventured a part
of a sentence, and then a third, at intervals, like the
minute guns at a funeral. In a few minutes, it became
a general discharge of small arms. The restrained
propensity of the “gab” burst forth, and there was a
confusion of voices, male and female, which has generally
been compared to that at Babel; but which, in
my ear, much more resembles the chattering of a full
flock of blackbirds, that have just rested upon a tree.

George, the handsome captain, was a general favorite,
and his attention was sought by each of the rival
beauties, who strove to gain it by praising the appearance
of his sister, which they had just settled by themselves,
in private, to be nothing extraordinary, or in any
way worthy of the fuss made about it. Eliza, too, was
surrounded by beaux, who were teasing her about her

fine looks, and Mr. Leonard, and her allowing concealment
to feed on her damask cheek, &c. A very conspicuous
character in this kind of witty conversation
was a small man, much dressed, who had been originally
bred to some kind of mechanical employment in
New-England, but had been, for some years past, employed,
very much to his own individual emolument,
however it may have been to his patients, in administering
pills in the lower country. His language was a
most curious and amusing compound of yankee dialect,
west country phrase, and murdered, pedantic, medical
terms. He was administering, in his way, copious
doses of flattery to Eliza. Another distinguished personage
was a limb of the law, and candidate for Congress;
and he made love to her by technicals from the
law, as barbarous and ludicrous as ancient law-latin.

But the central planet of attraction was a young married
lady, from New Orleans, who had preceded her
husband on a tour to the north, and by an accident,
which had happened to the steam-boat, had been dropped
from the upper spheres of fashion into this village,
to await the passing of the next steam-boat. Her husband
was rich, and she was reputed at once an oracle, a
blue-stocking, a beauty, and a wit. It is certain, that she
was called “a sweet woman, a most delightful woman,
a heavenly woman, a most accomplished woman,” &c.
in common language, in New Orleans. Finding herself
cast among, what she considered the canaille of this
village, her pride suggested to her to remain profoundly
silent. But vanity and garrulity carried it against pride.
She soon talked incessantly, used snatches of bad
French, and repeated, for the tenth time, exactly all that
she had said, or heard said, on good authority, during
the past winter, about the theatres, French and English,
the actors and the plays, the balls and the dancers,
Scott and Cooper, and various other unfortunate wights
of authors. Up went one to the clouds, with one puff,
and away went another to the shades, with a counter-puff;

and all this very much to the annoyance of an
old maid in the village, who read all the novels in the
circulating library, and had been accustomed to do up
the literary decisions of this village for the people. She
felt, this evening, like a sceptreless monarch, to no purpose.
The great lady from New Orleans clearly carried
the authority and the conversation, and the other
had nothing but the cold comfort of listening.

A very considerable circle was gathered round a
young French planter from Louisana, who sojourned in
this village from the same cause with the preceding
personage. He was handsome, flippant, volatile, vain,
and extremely desirous of playing the amiable; and
was delighted with the circle of ruddy cheeks, that were
gathered round him by the reputation of his wealth and
amiability. His name was “Polycarp Boisvert,” and
the ladies were immensely civil to him, under the name
of “Pulliker Bosware.” He seemed to think it the
proper English of his name, and said, in great glee,
“By gar! his Hinglees name was more sweet, as his
French one.” To the few, who really saw through the
fact, the most amusing personage of the whole party
was a stout young attorney from Louisiana, who personated
a German duke, who was actually travelling in
that vicinity. He had taken up a clear conception of
his part, and sustained it extremely well, answering with
great gravity, in broken English, all the questions that
were proposed to him, touching Germany; and supporting
with due humility all the homage which was
paid to him as duke.

There was much laughter, and much wit, real or attempted,
criticism, scanning of character, discussion of
politics and great men, and the chances of candidates,
and books, and religion. To be short. Call the thing
a soirée, and suppose the scene at Washington or London,
and I am confident, it was precisely the same kind
of Olla podrida, the same kind of mental entertainment,
a little differently garnished. This village had its little

and great world, its looking up and looking down, its
envious and envied, its rival belles, and ambitious doctors
and lawyers; not forgetting the editor of the village
newspaper, nor a bitter feud between Methodist, Baptist,
and Presbyterian ministers, which should gather
the chief harvest of the people into his society. As
I have said bofore, there is no good reason why one
place should call itself the city, par eminence, and
think that politeness will die with it. In this little village,
and in this evening party, there was as much scope
for love, hate, envy, revenge, ambition, hope, and fear, as
there was about the throne of Napoleon, in his most flourishing
days. This party, with some little allowance for
variety, in consequence of variety of guests, may serve,
as a sample of all that preceded, and all that followed.

From August until October, the steam-boat was laid
up, and George spent all this happy interval with his
mother. As they were continually receiving advances
from the people to form acquaintances, it could hardly
fail to raise painful impressions, in regard to human nature,
by bringing up the remembrance, how people had
shrunk away from them in the day of their adversity.
But let the youthful reader remember, that while our acceptableness
and standing with society depend much upon
appearance and circumstances of that kind, our real
respectability, and, we may add, capacity for enjoyment,
are in our own keeping, and depend upon ourselves.
A family, like this, in which the good will of the world
is met by corresponding good will, but which does not
at all depend upon that for enjoyment, is fitted for any
condition, solitude or society, poverty or riches.

Before I take leave of George, I wish to satisfy the
curiosity of the reader, touching another important point
of his fortune. I count nothing on keeping him in suspense.
Our hero is now married, and is considered a
young man of the most rising fortunes of any in the vicinity
of his residence. He has already been solicited
to stand a poll, as candidate for congress, and has been

seriously advised to open a lawyer's office, and get a
touch of the law, for by the unhappy consent of the
country, all great officers must enter the temple of
Fame through that vestibule. Even in the circumstances,
that determined him in the choice of his wife, he evinced
his kind feelings, his nobleness of mind, and his peculiar
character. He was returning, in the following
spring, from New-Orleans, and was passing by a small
town in Indiana, not far above the mouth of the Wabash,
with his cabin crowded with passengers; among
whom were many fastidious ladies, who affected great
delicacy. Every birth had been already taken. The
ladies' cabin had been extended, so as to take in a
number of the gentlemen's births, by drawing a curtain
across the apartment. While the boat stopped, just
above this village, to take in wood, a couple of young
ladies came down the bank, and requested a passage,
stating, that they were on their way to Wheeling, in
Virginia. They were tall, slender, flaxen-haired girls,
dressed plainly in crape, and in deep mourning, and, as
those who saw, declared, with countenances of uncommon
interest and beauty. Such was the report of them
that was made by the gentlemen among the ladies. As
it happened, when they made this application, the captain
was busy on deck, and knew nothing of it. In his
absence, the clerk acted for him. He came into the
cabin, stated the circumstances of the application, and
asked the ladies, if any arrangements could be made
for their admission, adding, that they seemed to be exceedingly
eager to obtain a passage at any rate, and
that they appeared to be in trouble, for that he had observed
them in tears, when he expressed to them his
doubts, about their being able to get a place in the
ladies' cabin. A gentleman from the shore, at the
same time, informed, that they were orphan mourners,
and young ladies of uncommon interest, and that, although
he knew little about them, he was anxious that
they should be accommodated with a place. The gentlemen,
generally, seemed to feel as he did, and proposed
to the ladies, to allow them to come in, if it were
only to have a place to spread a mattrass on the floor.

Sorry I am to state, that the circumstance of their
being lovely, orphans, mourners, and in tears, did not
appear at all to make in their favor with the ladies.
They almost unanimously affirmed, that they were
crowded beyond bearing already; and the fair conclave
began to exercise their inventive talents, in discussing
them, and their case, with very little ceremony, and not
with an excess of mercy either. Particularly, a young
lady with a pug nose, a scornful toss of the head, and
an uncommonly fine dress, declared, that for her part,
she wanted no weeping, die-away young ladies, with
their weeds on, she dared to say, only because they
thought they rendered them lovely and interesting; and
that she was sufficiently dull, and melancholy already.
Another young lady said, “pretty they might be, but
they were the most awkward and unfashionable things
in the world, that their dowdy clothes were made like
nothing she had ever seen, and that she wondered,
where the gentlemen could find any thing interesting in
such people.” Others said, “if they were poor, as seemed
to be generally supposed, let them go on deck with
the other poor people.” In short, the ladies decided, by
a great majority, against admitting them into the cabin.

The clerk went out, and reported this decision to the
young applicants on the bank. They were observed to
weep, and converse together a moment, and then they
came to the clerk and told him, that circumstances
were imperious with them, and that they wished to
come on board, even if they went on deck. He informed
them, that they could take a passage there, if
they chose, and begged them to make their election,
for that the boat was just ready to start. The elder
gave her hand to the younger, and led her on board,
and the plank was taken in, and the boat got under
way. The clerk showed them on deck, where there

were two hundred passengers, among whom were many
families with females of reputable character, but evidently
altogether ill assorted with theirs. As soon as
they reached the top of the ladder, and took a survey
of the company above, they turned as pale as death, and
recoiled from mounting any higher, than the first roof,
On a vacant space, just above the companion ladder,
the fair and shrinking girls sat down on chairs, which
the clerk handed them. They drew down their veils,
and sat with their faces towards each other under the
full sun, and as motionless as statues.

Before night many of the gentlemen had felt a desire
to walk upon deck, and, in so doing, had scrutinized
the countenances of the mourners through their
veils. If any of the cabin-ladies dreaded, as is possible,
the interest they might create on board, they could
not have taken a more effectual method, to create it in
the highest degree, than by causing them to be excluded
from the cabin. A strong feeling of sympathy was excited
in their favor. Their beauty, loveliness, and apparent
grief started every generous and romantic feeling,
and instantly put in operation the creative powers
of imagination, to eke out a romance for them. Every
gentleman on board had been to examine their names
on the clerk's book. It was a warm and pleasant Sabbath
morning in spring, when the woods were in blossom,
the air inspired languor, and the day forbade cards
and the usual modes of killing time; and the men were
tormented with ennui; and this was just the kind of
subject to relieve them, by curiosity, from the oppressive
burden of their time. I know not how it happened,
that so strong and immediate an interest was created in
the strangers' favor. But so it was. It seemed to be generally
made out, that they were of good family, but poor,
and had seen better days, and had now but just so much
money, as would carry them on their way, and not
enough, to allow them to remain and board, until another
boat should come along. A benevolent gentleman,

on this presumption, started a subscription in their favor,
and it was immediately filled up, to the extent to
pay their passage in the cabin. The clerk, whose wife
was on board, and who occupied one of the state cabins,
was persuaded to relinquish it in their favor, making arrangements
with the pilot to occupy his cabin.

All these circumstances were told to the captain,
whose imagination and feelings were awakened in a
moment by the story. He was requested to carry the
mourners the amount of the subscription, and inform
them of the arrangements in their favor, and invite them
to descend to the cabin. The captain's bosom was
thus made bare for the infliction of a wound. His
heart misgave him, as he saw these interesting figures,
arm in arm, in a dress of deep mourning. which
indicated all the ingenious devices of proud and inventive
poverty, to make it decent. The thought of his
mother and sister, immediately after the death of his
father, rushed upon him. Under such circumstances
he executed his commission. The elder of the mourners
drew up her veil, as the captain addressed her, and
showed a face so lovely, pale, and subdued by sorrow,
as could not fail to awaken pity, and with that a deeper
feeling in a heart constituted like his. She appeared
to be touched and affected with such an unexpected
expression of sympathy by people, who could not be
supposed to know any thing about them. She said in
reply, that she wished only to explain so much of their
circumstances, as to prove to their benefactors, that
their kindness had not been bestowed either upon the
unworthy, or the ungrateful. She wished them to be
informed, that they thankfully accepted, what was
thus generously offered, and that they were orphans,
who had lost both father and mother during the past
winter; that they had resided on the Wabash, that they
were returning to the residence of their grandfather in
Pennsylvania, and that their friends might easily divine,
without the humiliation of any acknowledgment on their

part, why they were so anxious to get on, as to be willing
to take a passage on deck, rather than not be forwarded
at that time; but that they might explain one circumstance
of the urgency of their case, that they expected
a relative at C. who would be prepared to attend
them on their journey, and defray the expenses of
it, if they were there within a given period; and that,
she hoped, these circumstances would be a sufficient
apology for the seeming impropriety of their being found
on deck.

It was but a few moments, that they conversed
with George, and in those few moments, they had, indeed,
shown themselves intelligent, beyond what could
have been expected, in their case; but otherwise had
said nothing, but what any well informed girls would
have said in the same case. But the clearness and
simplicity of expression, the music of her tones of voice,
the mingled dignity, humility, and pensiveness of the
countenance and manner of the elder of the girls, (her
name was Jane,) left an indelible impression upon his
heart. He returned, and related the result of his commission
to the almoners, and naturally conveyed something
of the coloring of his own imagination and feelings
into the story. In fact, in conveying their thanks
and their apology, he had unconsciously given a most
vivid encomium of the orphans, and the ladies rallied
him on the spot, as heart-smitten by these all-conquering
“deckers,” as they were called.

There was on board one of those ancient maidens,
who, by the help of a little ivory in front, false curls, a
little touch of the mineral pigments, and sweet-scented
washes, hold time at bay. But the depth of their experience
proves, against all appearances, and all efforts
to the contrary, that they have heard, seen, and reflected
much, that days have spoken to them, and years
taught them wisdom. This lady knew every body, and
especially every body's genealogy. The marriages of
any consequence, that had been contracted, or were

now ripening within three hundred miles, were all well
known to her, with all the whys and wherefores, and
how the thing began, proceeded, and terminated. She
knew all the beauties in the Mississippi Valley, especially
those of any fame, and the exact amount of the
expectation of every heir and heiress. In short, she
was a living newspaper tablet, an immense slate, on
which all the passing news was written out, to be effaced,
when a new and more important edition of news
was to be circulated. With less data, than will enable
an algebraist to make out an equation, she was able to
tell every thing about every body. Withal she possessed
one of the essential requisites of poetry, invention,
and such a happy talent at guessing, that she seldom
failed to make out a story, that corresponded pretty
accurately with the fact.

When the little romance of the orphans began to circulate
in the boat, with the help of the facts that the
captain had communicated, she instantly divined them
from alpha to omega. “Why, la!” said she, “sure
enough; it is wonderful, I should not have known them
at sight; they are the Misses Belden. Their father,
I knew him well, was Michael Belden, only child of the
famous old miser Belden of Lancaster county, Pennsylvania.
The old hunks owns half the county. Michael,
the father of these girls, fell in love with a pretty
Yankee tailoress, that was hired to make clothes in the
family, and besides was fool enough to marry her.
You know, I came from Lancaster, and I have met
both the parties often. The only apology for Michael,
in the case, was, that this poor girl was as beautiful, as
wise, and as good, as an angel. As soon as the father
was apprized of it, he made the house too warm for
them at once. He drove them out, bag and baggage.
Neither of the parties had a sous. The father was
compelled to give his son a few hundred dollars, by
way of compensation for having lived with him, after he
was twenty-one. But, after all, they were so destitute,

that some of their Dutch relatives made them up a purse,
by way of charity and for the credit of the name. So
the two lovers gathered their all together, and moved
off to this Western country, and settled on the edge of
a beech-forest, by a beautiful prairie, on the Wabash.
I have been told, that it was a perfect love-a-cottage
life, that they led. They had many children. But
the country was sickly, and all the children died, but
these pretty girls. Last winter both the parents died
of typhus fever, and left these orphans nothing but
a log-house and prairie field, that they tried in vain to
sell. A friend wrote about their case to the relatives of
the old miserly grandfather. The story spread, and they
were represented as more destitute than they were. A
very considerable breeze was raised in the case, and
such was the indignation against the old man, that they
talked of putting a guardian over him. Terror at the
idea of the possibility of taking his estate out of his
hands, caused him so far to open his purse, as to send
for them, to come on, and live with him. I dare warrant,
that he sent money on a calculation, that they
should take passage on deck. For the old fellow himself,
it is well understood, that he intends all his immense
property shall go to a rich relative in the old
country.”

It was found, by comparing her story with what others
knew, that the ancient chronicler had spelled out
the narrative nearly according to the fact. In any
point of view, the more George saw them, the deeper
were his impressions. Their manners, their astonishing
acquisitions, considering where they had been reared,
their loveliness, their being disinherited orphans,
even their humiliation in being driven on deck, concurred
to raise a spell round his imagination, in their
favor. I cannot say, whether they slept well the following
night, but it is said, that the captain was more
nervous and wakeful than usual, often returning wrong
answers to those who asked him questions. The first

half of the night, he voluntarily consented to take the
helm on deck, though out of his turn. As it was a clear
and lovely night, and as the boat skimmed prosperously
up the beautiful wave of the Ohio, he chose to spend
the other half of the night on the how, watching the
stars, and, no doubt, occupied with a multitude of
pleasant thoughts, associated with the study of astronomy.

To be brief. He had only two days, in which he
could expect to have the lovely orphans as passengers.
He had a special inclination to say something private and
particular to them. But every body on board seemed to
have the same object, and they appeared solicitous to
shrink, as much as possible, from notice and observation.
Fifty times he thought his courage up to the point of telling
Miss Jane, how she had made him feel. Fifty times
he found his duties, as captain, leading him to the part
of the boat, where they sat. But still, when he came
up to them, his speech clung to the roof of his mouth.
At length, he walked resolutely up to a chair, near
where they sat, breathed hard three or four times, and
inly repeated his adage. Upon that, he soon began to
be so particular in his conversation, as to give Miss
Jane the hue of high health, however pale she had been
a moment before. But, let not the reader imagine,
that he was abrupt, or awkward, in ordering his speech.
It was well studied, and he was much in earnest. He
was, as I have attempted to show the reader, a fine
young man, in the best and highest sense of the word.
But, independently of that, he was a fine fellow, in the
sense in which the ladies understand the term; that is
to say, he was remarkably handsome, a fine, upright,
square figure, with a bright eye, and the nobility of nature
marked upon his manners, without a touch of any
thing awkward or vulgar about him. Besides, those
who have powers and keen sensibilities themselves, instinctively
ken these attributes in others; and it is a
fact, that Miss Jane had seen all this in George, and

had imagined more than she had seen. In truth, she
had heard from the ancient maiden, aforesaid, all about
him. That good soul was an icicle, as touched any
hopes for herself, and desponded of ever managing such
a concern, for her own particular benefit. But still she
divined, how others felt, and had a kind of reflected enjoyment
in managing such an affair for them. This
kind of agency had something of the pleasure, and none
of the penalties and dangers of love-making. So she
told Miss Jane, what she had inflicted upon the captain,
and from that ran on in the most wonderful eulogium of
him, painting him, in every relation, thrice more a miracle,
pattern, and mirror of chivalry, generosity, and
saintship, than he or any other person ever was; and
she added, “My dear, you have him fast in your
chains. Only manage your power right.”

So Miss Jane was somewhat prepared for the declaration
in question; and she heard George to the end,
for he fairly made love to her, and offered himself in
form. After all the usual preliminaries of blushing, and
sighing, &c. she told him, in the customary style, “how
much obliged she was for his good opinion, &c.; but
she thought him altogether too sudden in coming to
such a decisive resolution, and the acquaintance too
short to warrant it, and that she was in no condition to
make any definite reply to such a proposition.” But,
when she saw his countenance fall very much, on receiving
such a damping reply, she told him, that “although
she could not warrant it, she could not doubt,
but her grandfather would be happy to see him at his
house.” Upon this hint other conversation ensued, until
it was understood, that George was to make an excursion
over the mountains, to the county of Lancaster,
when his boat should be laid up, this summer. George
made this promise of a journey something in the form
of a threat, and Miss Jane answered in a tone of good
natured defiance, that she was sure sister Sarah would
be peased to see him, to which sister Sarah very
graciously assented.

When they arrived at C., George gave himself particular
interest in all that related to sending them on
their journey from that place in the stage. An ancient
Dutch relative of their grandfather's was there, and
waiting to accompany them. George assured them,
that he had much rather it had been himself, who should
perform that office; and as the Dutchman aforesaid
was a little, old, time-dried, and hard-hearted fellow,
as little promising in the inner, as the outer man, I have
no doubt, that Miss Jane, in her heart, would have
wished the same thing. The next day after their arrival,
George saw them safely deposited in the stage
with the little Dutchman; and the stage drove off, with
very little parting remark between them. But it is supposed,
that this speech had been made in private, and
that Miss Jane had said some words of comfort, which,
interpreted by a lover's glossary, had a considerable degree
of explicitness.

Be that as it may, it was understood that George
was to marry Miss Jane Belden. His mother approved
his disinterested spirit; for it was generally remarked
by the young ladies, that George had been caught by
a pretty face, and nothing else. His disinterestedness,
as some called it, and his folly, as others had it, was
the more famous, for it was matter of common parlance,
that he could have married an heiress, in the vicinity,
if he would. On the first day of the following August,
George was on his way over the mountains. Sometimes
it seemed to him a wild-goose chase in reflection
upon his object. But he comforted and assured himself
in these misgivings, by taking the flattering unction
of disinterestedness and sympathy to his soul. He was
set down from the stage at a tavern, on the declivity of
a noble hill, from which a broad sweep of a valley was
to be seen. In the view there were mountains, rivers,
noble country-houses, villages, and two large towns,
and a dozen spires, and much beautiful still scenery
near at hand. In the distance, the grand, turreted mansion

of Mr. Belden displayed itself, above the summits
of orchards and forest trees. George inquired, in a
faltering voice, of the landlord, about the young ladies;
whether they had arrived safely; how they were; and
whether they were kindly received. The landlord was
a Dutchman himself, though he spoke good English.
George began to tremble; for he saw by the tones and
manner of the host, that the young persons, about whom
he asked, were persons of very different estimation in
his mind, in regard to their wealth and importance,
from what they had been in his own. He immediately
put himself in an attitude of respectful oratory, and began
to relate, how they arrived, and were received.

“Two months ago,” said he, “they got out of the stage
at my house; and sweet girls they were, and admired
by every body. They asked me about their grandfather,
and you would have thought Miss Jane would
have fainted, as she inquired about him. I could see
how their dear hearts trembled, for fear he would not
receive them kindly. I gave them all the comfort I
could. But heaven help them! There was but little
comfort in the case. It was thought he had invited
them from the back country, only out of fear, and that
he hated them for making him afraid. At any rate,
he set about making a will, to leave every thing he had
to his uncle, Vandergraff, in Germany.

“He received the dear girls, but not as grand children.
He dressed them only as servant girls, and wanted
them to run about after the cows and sheep, and would
fain have put them to loading hay and wheat. It may
be, they did not manage to suit him; for he was said
to be particularly hard with them, and people began to
stir more briskly for them than before, now they had
seen them. Every body was indignant, that such lovely
orphans should be disinherited, and that all his riches
should go to a person beyond the seas, that nobody
cared any thing about. The old talk of a guardianship
was renewed, and stronger than ever. The people

were as one man about it. Every body signed a petition
to the orphan's court, setting forth that the old
man was in his dotage, and requesting that a guardian
might be put over him. The affair got wind, and
reached him at the same time with an order of notice,
to attend the said court, and show cause, if any he had,
why the prayer of the petition should not be granted.
He took the best step in the world to prove his sanity,
by making a will immediately, in the most authentic
form, giving every thing to his grand daughters, as soon
as he died—which happened in a few days; for he was
so prodigiously frightened, at the idea of having the disposal
of his property taken out of his hands, that he
took immediately to his bed, and died in a week.”

Alas! poor George. Away went his sympathy and
disinterestedness to the winds. The tables were sadly
turned against him. He had been jolted over the
mountains, night and day; and he had soothed his
aching bones, and his misgiving mind, with the idea of
kindly rescuing two pensive, and ill-treated, and disinherited
girls from a brute of a grandfather. He had
imagined their grateful tears. He had fancied the impression,
that his manifest freedom from all mercenary
motives would make upon such a heart as that of Miss
Jane. Indeed, he well remembered, that she had
dwelt upon that aspect of his offer, when he made it.
What a complete reverse of the case offered itself! It
had now an appearance, as if he had come with views
diametrically opposite. The paternal mansion was full
in view, and of an aspect of opulence and grandeur to
petrify him. The family, too, was precisely the cap of
the climax of the ancient German grandees in the country.
The landlord affected to speak of the defunct
with familiarity, and to call him by hard names; but
his tones and his looks manifested, that the wealth and
grandeur of the family, in his eye, were not unlike the
sanctity and importance of the Grand Lama to a devout
disciple. He evidently felt, that though the man had

died, his houses and farms, his name and influence, had
revived in the young ladies, representatives of the first
Dutch family in the country. He took advantage of
the astounded silence of George, to run over the catalogue
of the estates and mansions, left to the young
heiresses, and to state, that they were already looked
upon as game for fortune-hunters, all the way to Philadelphia.
To mend the matter, he added, that they would
have good advisers, and would not be likely to be caught
easily; but that he hoped, Miss Jane would lend a
favorable ear to the suit of the young gentleman who
represented them in Congress, and that he rather believed,
she had given him encouragement, that it would
be received graciously. Miss Sarah, too, it was gene
rally believed, was spoken for. At any rate, they were
matches for the first and best in the land.

George pretended to hearken to a great deal more,
and to some indirect inquiries, what his business was
with them. But before the conclusion of the speech of
his host, his thoughts were a thousand leagues off. His
first reflection was, that as affairs stood, his chance was
not worth a farthing; and that he should only show
himself a fool, to expect Jane to be the same, now
that their relative standing was so completely reversed.
He had seen enough of the hardening influence of the
world, not to expect that she would catch it like the
rest. He could hardly forbear a bitter smile at the
thought of his fancied condescension and disinterestedness.
His pride, his courage, and his hopes, were all
sinking together. But, said he, recurring to his old
maxim, “ `Don't let us give up the ship.' Faint heart
never won fair lady. Such were my feelings, and so
free from all mercenary mixture. True, she may never
know that. What care I? I am a free man, and the
son of a free man. My noble father was worth a
dozen Dutchmen, however rich. I am his son, and I
have that here,” (laying his hand on his bosom,) “that is
as proud as the best of them. Suicide is against my principles.

My heart may swell awhile with pride and love.
But I will try to survive it all. I took the pretty mourning
witch into my cabin, when I was the patron, and
her fortunes kicked the beam. It was her humility and
her weepers, that stole my heart away. Now let her
marry the Congress man, and dismiss the steam-boat
captain, if she will. For my part, I think I had best
whistle back, and not go near her to get the flat. Her
head is turned, no doubt, with her change of fortune.
Why such a mercenary and proud woman would have
made a bad wife.”

So thought George with himself. In short, the
young man had goaded himself up to a passion of jealousy,
by the creations of his own brain, and he was
trying to lay in a stock of courage and submission, to
stand him back, by crying, “Sour grapes!” But he
mentally added, “Suppose I were just to go, and show
myself as proud as they, and let them see, with what a
careless face I can say, Good bye.” This view of the
matter determined him to go and try his fortune. Thus
ruminating with himself, in a most uncomfortable brown
study, he walked down the hill. Just to prove to himself
that he was indifferent how matters were like to go,
he hummed a tune, and began to affect that apparent
indifference, that might have imposed upon another.
But when he opened the gate, and walked up the grand
avenue, his pulse were one hundred and twenty to the
minute. When he seized the bell-knob—for it was one
of your grand houses—his heart was in his shoes. A
servant in livery came to the door. George observed,
that “he wished to call on the young ladies, if they
were at home, and at leisure.”

“Please to send up your name,” said the servant;
“the ladies only receive particular company at present.”

“The Congress man, I suppose,” thought George.
By mere accident he happened to have a card in his
pocket. So he wrote on it, that, passing that way, he

wished to send his respects, &c. The servant took up
his name, and during his absence, George was convinced,
that the metaphysicians had reason, who said,
that, “the only true measure of time is the succession
of ideas.” In a minute, as clocks measure time, and in
a day by the other measure, the sweet and low voice of
Miss Jane was heard, asking, “Is it possible, that Mr.
Mason could think of passing without visiting us?” He
had whipped himself up to such an idea of being a lover
rejected from mercenary motives, and to such an
effort of right and allowable pride and resentment in the
case, that he could not instantly let himself down to her
affectionate and heart-felt tones. Her countenance and
manner banished all such thoughts in a moment. But
they could not in a moment banish all traces of the
storm from his brow. He went in, and took the seat
that was placed for him, between the two sisters. Before
the visible cloud had passed away from his face,
Jane had drawn from him a partial avowal of his recent
thoughts, touching the premises. The cloud was immediately
transferred from his brow to hers. He had
never seen any expression in her countenance, but what
was as mild as the sweet South. But there was now
considerable flashing in her eye, and a somewhat stern
remark, that, “she should always distrust the man, who
could think so meanly of her, as to suppose, that her
views of any one would be changed by her fortunes,”
adding, that “a jealous lover would be sure to make
a bad husband.” Her feelings were evidently aroused,
and there had like to have been a counter scene of heroics.
But Sarah, who saw how the wind was setting,
and the paleness on the cheek of the agitated parties,
took the hand of George, and said with great self-composure,
“Never mind, Mr. Mason, you and I have
had no quarrel in this matter. I will see what can be
done for you, if my sister continues in a passion.” This
well timed interlude enabled the parties to recover their
good temper, and it was manifest, that they were too
much in earnest, to dare torment one another, and
George had soon an entire confidence, that she had the
same heart, as an heiress, that she had, as an orphan.

A few words more will bring the history of the family
down to the present time. Jane returned over the
mountains, as Mrs. Mason, and brought her sister with
her. Mr. Leonard, too, contrary to all the sinister predictions
of the young ladies in the village, came back a
fortnight sooner, than Eliza Mason expected him, and
they were married. The whole happy party made an
autumnal trip to the Iron Banks. Pompey, the converted
slave, according to George's promise, was purchased
from his master, and set free. But his grateful
heart bound him to Mrs. Mason and her family by the
new and delightful tenure of gratitude. I do not say,
that these people are all perfectly happy. But they
love one another, and are the helpers of each other's
joy. Though they have the other evils of mortality to
struggle with, they have no fear of poverty, and as they
have benevolent and generous hearts, affluence has descended
upon them, as a refreshing shower, spreading
happiness and abundance all around them.

My dear youthful reader, whenever you are in any
way tempted to discouragement, remember the old maxim,
that “the darkest time in the night is just before
day.” Exert yourself in hope. Be industrious, and
while innocent and diligent, respect yourself, and hold
yourself inferior to no one. Trust in God. Never
despond, and assume the genuine American motto,
“Don't give up the ship.”