University of Virginia Library

22. CHAPTER XXII.
THE PHILOSOPHER UNBENT.

The next morning opened upon us in all the
beauty of the season. Every necessary preparation
had been completed for the definite adjustment of
the long abiding law-suit. The household was in motion
at an hour much earlier than usual, and a general
anxiety seemed to prevail throughout the family
to speed the issues of the day. Meriwether was
animated by unwonted spirits; and Hazard and myself
anticipated, with some eagerness, the entrance
upon a business that promised to us nothing but
amusement in its progress. The notoriety which
all the preliminary movements in this matter had
gained from the frequent conversations of Meriwether
relating to it, had magnified its importance in a
degree much disproportioned to its intrinsic merit.
The day was therefore considered a kind of jubilee.
Mr. Chub had expressed a strong wish to be present
at the settlement; and had, accordingly, proclaimed
a holiday in the school. The children were all in a
state of riotous excitement. Rip was especially delighted
with the prospect of the approaching bustle.
Prudence partook of the common feeling with rather

more restlessness than any one else. There was a
studied sedateness upon her features, which was not
altogether natural; and this was contrasted with her
motions, that seemed to be unsettled, variable and
perplexed.

Philly Wart had risen soon after the dawn, and
had taken a walk of two or three miles before the
family began to assemble. About an hour before
breakfast, he had seated himself on the bench of the
porch, alone with Mr. Chub, and was there chipping
a stick with his penknife, as he kept up a desultory
discourse with the parson, upon divers matters connected
with the history, doctrine and discipline of the
Presbyterian Church. What were the particulars
of this conversation I could not learn, but it had a
stimulating effect upon his companion, who took occasion
to call me aside, as soon as it was finished,
and said to me, “Faith, that Philly Wart, as you
call him, is a sensible old fellow! He's a man of a
great deal of wit, Mr. Littleton! He is a philosopher
of the school of Democritus of Abdera, and
knows as much about the kirk of Scotland as if he
had been at the making of the covenant. And not
very starched in his creed neither, ha, ha, ha! a
queer genius!”

Philly himself, after leaving the parson, was sauntering
up and down in the hall, with his coat buttoned
close about him, so as to cause a roll of papers
that was lodged in one of his pockets to protrude
somewhat oddly from above his hip. In this situation
I joined him. “Your parson there, is a great

scholar,” said he, smiling; “we have had a bout together
concerning church matters; and the old gentleman
has been entertaining me with a speech, for
an hour past. He is a very vehement orator, and has
puzzled me with his Grecian heroes until I had'nt
a word to say. I think he likes a good listener:
But I am entirely too rusty for him. I must rub up
the next time I talk with him.”

Just before breakfast Harvey Riggs and Ralph,
having in convoy Catharine and Bel Tracy, rode up
to the door; and our attention was called to the
party, by the loud salutations of Harvey Riggs.
“Hark you, Ned! spring to your post, and catch
Bel before she touches ground.”

Hazard succeeded in reaching the outer side of
the gate just in time—not to catch Bel, who had already
dismounted with the nimbleness of a bird—
but to take the rein of her horse and fasten it to the
fence, and then to lead her to the door.

It was not long before we were all ranged around
the ample breakfast board. Mr. Wart was inclined
to be jocular, and Meriwether indulged in some
good natured speculations upon the certainty of his
success in the case. Harvey Riggs was placed next
to Bel at the table, and took occasion to whisper in
her ear, that he had no faith in these negotiations
for a peace, and added, that he rested his hopes entirely
upon the prophecy of old Diana; then, looking
towards Ned, who sat opposite, he remarked, loud
enough to be heard by the latter, “there is but one
way of giving permanency to these family treaties.”

Ned coloured up to the eyes—affected not to understand,
and asked for another cup of coffee. Bel
was more self-possessed, and replied with perfect
composure, “Cousin Harvey, look to yourself, or I
shall dismiss you from my service.”

After breakfast, it was determined that it would
be necessary for the contending powers to have a
personal inspection of the seat of war. The old mill
was proposed as the trysting place, and the principal
discussion, it was settled, should be held on
the banks of the famous Apple-pie. Mr. Tracy's
arrival with his privy counsellor, Swansdown, was
looked for with impatience; and, in the meantime,
our whole company had broken off into detachments.

Prudence and Catharine had gone out upon the
grass-plot in front of the house; and were slowly
walking to and fro, without any covering upon their
heads, and with their arms around each other's
waists, in deep and secret communion, under the
shade of the willow. Rip had gone off with a whoop
and halloo to the stable, to order up the necessary
cavalry for the expedition. The little girls were
jumping a rope on the gravel-walk. My cousin Lucretia
was busy with household matters. Wart and
Meriwether were conning over some papers in the
breakfast room; and Harvey Riggs, Ralph Tracy,
Hazard, and myself were seated in the porch, patiently
abiding the progress of events.

Bel, who had been roaming at large from group
to group, and making amusement for herself out

of all, like one whose spirits would not allow her
to remain stationary, had picked up the dice that
belonged to a back-gammon board in the parlour,
and now came to the porch where we were seated,
rattling them in the box, and making as much noise
as she could.

“I mean to tell the fortune of the day,” said she;
“why are not these dice just as good judges of boundary
lines as all the lawyers? Now, Mr. Littleton,
observe if this be not a true oracle. Here's for Mr.
Meriwether,” she continued, throwing the dice upon
the bench. “Four, one. That's a shabby throw for
Swallow Barn. Well, here's for Pa. Deuce, ace.”

“Good-bye to the Brakes!” exclaimed Harvey.

“No, indeed!” interrupted Bel. “There's a great
deal of luck in deuce, ace. But we will give Swallow
Barn another chance. There's six, four; that's
the parson's point, as Pa calls it.”

“And now for the Brakes, Bel,” said Ned; “this
throw must settle the question.”

“Trays,” cried Bel, flinging the dice, and clapping
her hands. “Hav'nt we gained it now?”

“No! certainly not!” said Hazard. “They make
but six together, and Swallow Barn had ten.”

“But,” answered Bel, “you forget, Edward, that
three is a luckier number than any other; and we
have got three, three times out of the dice.”

“The luck,” replied Ned, “is in the highest number.”

“Well, do you wait here, and I will go and ask
Mr. Chub,” said Bel, “who will give me all that he

has ever seen in the books about fortunate numbers.
Don't interrupt us, because the old gentleman is on
such good terms with me, that he says a great deal
to me that he would not let any of you hear. You
may listen to us through the windows.”

The reverend gentleman was seated in the parlour
window next to the porch, with a book in his
hand, when Bel entered and took a seat beside him;
and, thus arranged, both of their backs were towards
the window.

It is said in the family, that Mr. Chub is never so
happy as when he is able to show his scholarship.
It is not often that he has this good fortune, and,
therefore, when it arrives, he is not sparing of the liberty
he allows to his imprisoned stock of learning.
It was evident in the conversation which he now
had with Bel, that he fancied himself to be regaling
his auditress with that light and dainty food which is
most congenial to a lady's taste.

Bel's accost was very grave.

“Mr. Chub,” said she, with a gracious and respectful
voice, “do you think there is any thing in
numbers?”

“Ha, ha!” cried the tutor, in a kind of bewildered
laugh, as if he did not exactly comprehend her
purpose,“pon my honour, Madam, I don't know how
to answer the question. There are multipliers and
multiplicands, and —”

“I don't mean that,” said Bel, “do you think there
is any luck in numbers?”

“If you mean in a number of lawyers to try the

question of the old mill-dam, I think the more there
are, the worse the luck. Upon my veracity, I would
rather have Mr. Philpot Wart than the whole bar;
judges, juries, and all, Miss Bel! Ha, ha!”

“You don't understand me yet,” answered Bel.

“I beg your pardon, my dear!” interrupted the
tutor.

“I did'nt speak with reference to the mill-dam
question, either,” continued Bel, “but I wanted to
know, if there are not some numbers deemed more
fortunate than others. Were not the ancients a little
superstitious about the number of crows that flew
across the heavens of a morning, for instance?”

“Assuredly, madam!” replied the old gentleman,
now beginning to take Bel's meaning; “all nations
have had some leaning to be superstitious about
numbers. The number twelve has had a great deal
of distinction conferred upon it. The twelve Apostles,
and the twelve hours of the day, and the twelve
months of the year, in spite of the moon, Miss Bel!
That looks as if there was some virtue in the number.
And, you know, the Romans had their laws
written on twelve tables; and the Greeks celebrated
the twelve labours of Hercules. And I believe, up
to this day, it always takes twelve men to make a
jury. There is something heathenish in that, Miss
Isabella, ha, ha!”

This last burst was manifestly destined for a sally
of wit, and the good old gentleman continued to
laugh at it immoderately. Bel appeared to relish it
herself. “And there are imagined to be some occult

influences in the trines and nones,” continued the
tutor, after he had laughed his fill, “not to say any
thing of seven, of which number, nevertheless, I will
mention a few examples; for it was an especial favourite
both of Jew and Christian. We well know
that the week has seven days, Miss Isabella.”

“Yes,” said Bel, “that is very well known.”

“And the Jews thought we should forgive our enemy
seven times,—which the scripture says, with reason,
should be seventy times seven,—and the Revelation
speaks of the seven phials of wrath, with divers
other sevens: and we read of the seven ages of man,
which I need not enumerate. You have heard,
Mistress Isabella, of the seven sages of Greece, and
of the seven wonders of the world? Besides these,
and many more that I could think of, the monkish
legends tell us some strange adventures of the seven
sleepers”—

“Mercy, what a list of sevens!” cried Bel.

—“Who slept in a cave for two hundred and thirty-nine
years,—Saint Maximian, Saint Malchus, and
their comrades. Wherefore I conclude seven to be
a lucky number.”

“It was undoubtedly a very lucky thing for the
seven sleepers all to wake up again, after such a
long sleep,” said Bel.

“Ha, ha!” ejaculated the old gentleman, in another
fit of laughter, “that's very well said, Miss
Isabel! But the number three,” continued the tutor,
“is even more eminent in mystical properties. The
most ancient Egyptians worshipped the holy Triangle

Equilateral, as being the symbol of divine harmony;
and Pythagoras and Plato have both taught
the mysteries of this number. You are, moreover,
aware, Miss Bel, that there were three Gorgons.”

“I thought there were four!” said Bel, with an air
of astonishment.

“Three, madam,” replied the parson, “Stheno,
Euryale, and Medusa. And there were three Furies
too.”

“What were their names, Mr. Chub?”

“Tisiphone, Megara and Alecto,” said he, enumerating
his triads slowly upon his fingers. “And there
were the three Graces, my dear! You know their
names very well—Thalia, Euphrosyne, and Aglaia.
The Fates,—there were three of them, you remember;
and, faith, they have had work enough to do!
Clotho, Lachesis, and Atropos:—if you had studied
Greek, Miss Bel, you would understand how well
their names became them.”

“Listen, if you would live and laugh!” exclaimed
Harvey Riggs, who was sitting on the rail of the
porch, and taking in every word of this odd discourse.
“Here is the parson, pouring a whole
dictionary of outlandish nonsense into Bel's ear, and
she humouring all this pedantry with the most incomparable
gravity!”

“There might be cited many more of these triple
sisterhoods,” continued Mr. Chub,—Bel still looking
in his face with an encouraging earnestness,—“as
for another example, there were the Horæ; namely,
Dice, Irene, and Eunomia: the Harpies,—Celœ

no, Ocypete, Aello, (still counting with the same
precision as before;) we must not forget the Sirens,—
bless me! no—the ladies are often called Sirens
themselves, ha, ha! Parthenope—Parthenope—let
me see—” He paused, with the forefinger of his right
hand, upon the middle finger of his left: “Tut, it
slips my memory! I am very bad at remembering
names.”

“Particularly bad!” said Bel, interrupting him
and smiling.

“Parthenope, Miss Tracy, child, I had it on my
tongue! I am getting old, Miss Isabel! I dare say,
you can help me out.”

“Indeed, I dare say I cannot,” replied Bel; “you
have turned my brain so topsy-turvy with such a
list of hard names, that I have almost forgotten what
I came to ask you.”

“You have totally omitted, Mr. Chub, to mention
the three wise men of Gotham that went to sea
in a bowl,” said Hazard, speaking to the parson from
the porch.

“And the three blind mice, that lost their tails on
a visit to the farmer's wife,” said Harvey Riggs.

“And the three fiddlers of old king Cole,” said
Hazard.

“Poh! Get along, Mr. Edward and Mr. Harvey!
you are both too much given to be waggish.
I doubt you will never mend your ways while you
keep each other's company!” cried the good old
gentleman, completely overborne by this spirited
attack upon him; and, as he said this, he turned

round upon them a face full of queer perplexity at
being caught in the high career of this scholarly exercitation.
He is especially sensitive to the least
jest that is aimed at this peculiarity.

“Well,” said Bel, “I am really very much
obliged to you, Mr. Chub, for your instructive lecture;
and I shall always remember hereafter, that
the Graces were three young women, and the Furies,
three old ones: And that three is the luckiest number
in arithmetic.”

By this time two horsemen, followed by a servant,
had come in sight upon the road leading to the gate.
They advanced at a leisurely pace, and were soon
descried to be Mr. Tracy in company with Swansdown.
The old gentleman's face, even at a distance,
exhibited careful thought, and his bearing
was grave and mannerly. He was in deep conversation
with his friend, up to the moment of their arrival
at the gate. Meriwether went forth to meet
him, and assisted him from his horse with an affectionate
and highly respectful assiduity.

As soon as he was on his feet, he took off his hat
and made Meriwether a formal bow; and then
walked across the court-yard to the door, making
many obeisances to the company. Swansdown followed
with scarcely less ceremony; and they were
ushered into the parlour.

“We have an agreeable day's work before us, Mr.
Meriwether,” said Mr. Tracy, with an air of sprightly
politeness, but in a voice somewhat tremulous from
years. “Permit me to assure you it is not a small

gratification to me, that we come so amicably to the
close of a controversy, which, in other hands, might
have been embittered with many unkind feelings.
This has been conducted with so much courtesy,
from beginning to end, that I had almost flattered
myself with the hope, I should have had the luxury
of it for the rest of my life.”

He concluded this complimentary speech with a
dash of gaiety in his tone, and a vivacious gesticulation
of his body; and then turning round to the ladies,
with smiles upon his face, he made many civil
inquiries after family matters.

The parties now being all assembled, our next
move was to the old mill.