University of Virginia Library

25. CHAPTER XXV.
THE OLD SCHOOL.

I AROSE on the following morning soon after daylight,
and was quietly descending the staircase when
I was saluted by the voices of Lucy and Vic, who,
at this early hour, were equipped for the day. They
were looking out with some eagerness at the clouds.
A heavy rain had fallen during the night, but the
eastern horizon was nevertheless tinted with the rosy
flush of morning, and the indications were favourable
to the dispersion of the few black vapours that still
rolled across the heavens. My little cousins soon
made me acquainted with the cause of their early
appearance. They were to accompany us to the
Brakes, and had planned it to ask me to take a seat
with them in the carriage, telling me, that if I did
not go with them they would be obliged to take Rip,
which, as Vic said, “Rip never did like.”

I assented heartily to their proposal; and upon
this they fell to dancing round me, and amusing me
with a great deal of prattle. They insisted upon
my going with them to the stable yard, “just to
make sure that uncle Carey was cleaning up the
carriage, and getting ready.” Here we found the

old menial with a bucket of water and sponge, busily
employed in the task the little girls had coaxed him
to perform. He was affectionately obliging to his
young mistresses, and spoke to them in a tone that
showed how largely he partook of the family interest
in them, although it was sufficiently apparent that
he deferred but little to their authority.

As soon as breakfast was over, Carey brought the
coach to the door. It was a capacious old vehicle,
that had known better days, being somewhat faded
in its furniture, and still clothed with its original
cover of yellow oil-cloth, of which, I suppose, it had
never been stripped, although now arrived at the
latter stage of its existence. The plainness of this
part of the equipage was compensated in a pair of
high-mettled, full-blooded chesnut horses, in excellent
keeping, but rather light in comparison with the size
of the coach to which they were harnessed.

Meriwether having unexpectedly received intelligence
that rendered his presence necessary at a remote
part of the farm, was obliged to forego his visit
to the Brakes; and Ned was accordingly commissioned
by him to make his excuses and act as his
representative. This matter being arranged, and all
things being in readiness for our departure, Mr.
Wart, attended by Ned Hazard and Rip, set out on
horseback; whilst the two little girls and myself
took our seats in the carriage, and old Carey, mounting
the box, put off his horses at a brisk speed.

As we ascended the hill, and came in full view of
the mansion house at the Brakes, we could observe

Mr. Tracy walking backward and forward with his
arms behind him, on a level plat at the door; and
as soon as our party attracted his attention, he was
seen to halt, with his hat raised off his head, and held
in such a manner as to shield his eyes from the sun,
until we got near enough for recognition. There
was an unwonted alacrity in his salutations; and he
helped Lucy and Vic from the carriage himself,
with a gallantry that showed the cheerful state of
his feelings, not forgetting to take a kiss from each as
he handed them to the door.

When we entered the house, Harvey Riggs and
Bel were observed walking leisurely up the lawn,
from the direction of the river. At a parlour window
sat Catharine and Prudence, in an absorbing
conversation with Mr. Swansdown, who was apparently
regaling his interested auditors with a narrative
of deep attraction; and perhaps it may have
been an idle preconception of mine, but I thought
Prudence, especially, listened with a more intelligent
and changeful sympathy than was her wont.
What was the topic, and in what language urged, I
am altogether ignorant; but to my prejudiced vision
it seemed that either the story or the speaker had
charmed “never so wisely.”

In describing the mansion house at the Brakes, in
a former chapter, I have informed my reader that it
is without architectural embellishment. One front
faces the river, from which it is separated by a long,
sloping and unshaded hill. At the foot of this slope
the bank of the river is some eight or ten feet above

the water, and is clothed with a screen of native
shrubbery. The road winds round the hill from the
river, so as to approach the house on the opposite
side. This front of the dwelling differs widely from
that I have described. Its plainness is relieved by
a portico supported by stuccoed columns, massive
and rough, and over which the second story of the
building projects, so as to form a small apartment
that has rather a grotesque appearance,—as it may
be said to resemble a box perched upon a four-legged
stool. This superstructure is built of wood painted
blue, though a good deal weather-beaten; and it is
illustrated with a large bow-window in the front,
surrounded with a heavy white cornice filled with
modillions and other old-fashioned ornaments: it
strikes the observer as an appendage to the edifice of
questionable utility, and as somewhat incongruous
with the prevailing simplicity that characterizes the
exterior of the mansion. A range of offices, old, and
interpolated with modern additions, sweeps rectangularly
along the brow of the hill, and shows the
ample provision made for the comforts of solid housekeeping.
The whole of this quarter is thickly embowered
with trees, amongst which the line of lombardy
poplars, that I have before had occasion to
notice, is marshalled along the avenue, from the
mansion downwards, like a gigantic array of sylvan
grenadiers. Over all the grounds in the vicinity of
the buildings, an air of neatness prevails, even to an
extent that might be called pedantic.

The interior of the house is in full contrast with its

outward appearance, and shows the relics of a costly
grandeur. The rooms are large, and decorated with
a profusion of wood work, chiselled into the gorgeous
forms of ancient pomp. The doors have huge pediments
above them, with figures carved upon the entablatures;
garlands of roses, as stiff as petrifactions,
are moulded, with a formal grace, upon the jambs of
the window-frames; and the mantel-pieces are thickly
embossed with odd little mythological monsters,
as various as the metamorphoses of Ovid. The
walls are enriched with a fretted cornice, in the
frieze of which cupids, satyrs and fauns are taking
hands, and seem to be dancing country-dances
through thickets of nondescript vegetables. The
fire-places are noble monuments of ancient hospitality,
stately and vast, and on either side of them are
deep recesses, surmounted by ornamented arches,
and lighted by windows that look out from the gableends
of the building.

The furniture of these apartments retains the vestiges
of a corresponding splendour. The tables
seem to have turned into iron from age, and are supported
upon huge, crooked legs: the chairs, sofas,
fire-screens, and other articles of embellishment,
though damaged by time, still afford glimpses of the
lacker and varnish that gave effulgence to their days
of glory. Amongst these remnants of the old time I
recognized, with an affectionate interest, two elliptical
mirrors,—no doubt the marvel of the country
when they first reached this strand,—set in frames of

tarnished gilt, and curiously carved into droll resemblances
of twisted serpents, each swallowing his
own tail.

I must return from this digression to continue my
narrative of the important affair that had now brought
us to the Brakes.

From an early hour, Mr. Tracy had been in a
state of agitated spirits with the thoughts of the arbitration.
Although his zeal had latterly subsided, it
had been waked up by the recent movements, like a
snake at the return of spring. The old gentleman
rises from his bed, at all seasons, with the dawn of
day; but this morning he was observed to make an
unusual stir. It was remarked that his dress was
even more scrupulously adjusted than ordinarily; the
ruffles of his sleeves protruded over his hands with a
more pregnant strut; his cravat was drawn, if possible,
tighter round his neck; and his silvery hair was
combed back into the small, taper cue that played
upon his cape, with a sleekness that indicated more
minute attention to personal decoration than the
family were accustomed to expect. He is the very
picture of a man for a law-suit. His tall figure and
care-worn face have such an emaciated air! and
when to this is added the impression made by his
tight, brown kerseymere small-clothes, and his long,
stocking-like boots, buttoned by straps to his knees,
and the peculiar capacity of stride which this costume
discloses, we have the personation of a man eminently
calculated to face the biting blast of the law, or to

worm through the intricacies of a tangled and long-winded
suit, with the least possible personal obstruction.

Harvey Riggs told us that Mr. Tracy had scarcely
eaten any breakfast, being in that fidgety state of
mind that takes away the appetite; and, what was
a little out of his common behaviour, he was even
jocose upon the existing relations betwixt himself
and Meriwether. It was also observable that, notwithstanding
this elevation of spirits, he would occasionally
break out into a slight expression of peevishness
when any thing baulked his humour. It fell
upon Ned Hazard to encounter one of these passing
rebukes, as will appear in the dialogue I am about to
detail.

Mr. Tracy has reached that age at which old persons
lose sight of the true relations of society. He
considers all men, not yet arrived at middle age, as
mere hair-brained boys; and does not scruple, especially
in matters of business, to treat them accordingly.
I believe he is of opinion that Frank
Meriwether himself has scarcely attained to manhood.
But as for Ned Hazard, or even Harvey
Riggs, he thinks them not yet out of their teens.
This temper is apparent when the old gentleman experiences
any contradiction; for he is then apt to
become dogmatic and peremptory, and sometimes a
little harsh. But he likes Ned very well; and frequently,
when he is in good humour, laughs at his
pranks, until the tears come into his eyes, and roll

over his dry cheeks, like vinegar trickling over a
piece of leather.

Now it happens that Ned stands precisely in that
category that renders him nervously solicitous to appear
well in the eyes of Mr. Tracy. He is sadly
aware that Bel's father has taken up an idea that he
is a thoughtless, unballasted youth, and utterly deficient
in those thrifty business-habits that are most
pleasing to the contemplation of age; and he is
therefore perpetually making awkward attempts to
produce a different opinion. My reader has perhaps
already had occasion to remark that Ned's
character is utterly inauspicious to the management
of such a matter. He is purblind to all the consequences
of his own conduct, and as little calculated
to play the politician as a child.

When the gentlemen of our party had gathered
together, Mr. Tracy was anxious that no time should
be lost to the prejudice of the principal concern of
our meeting; and having announced this, he was
approached by Ned, who, with a solemn face,—endeavouring
to assume as much of the look of a negotiator
as he was able,—made a formal communication
of the cause of Meriwether's absence, and of
the arrangement that he himself was to appear as
the representative of Swallow Barn. Mr. Tracy
did not like it; he could not imagine how any domestic
engagement could claim precedence over one
so important as this. He was on the verge of saying
so; but, as if struck with a sudden thought, he
paused, stared at Ned, without uttering a word,

grasped his nether lip with his left hand, and fell into
a study. Ned stood by, looking as respectfully as he
could. The conclusion was favourable; for the old
gentleman brightened up, and delivered himself, with
some hesitation, pretty much in this way:—

“Well, well! It is all right that you should give
your attention to this matter. We old folks labour
altogether for the young; and they that come after
us must live and learn. I wish I could make my
Ralph feel the interest he ought to take in this subject;
but he is wayward, and plays his own game.
As to you, Mr. Hazard, although you are young and
thoughtless, and not of an age to take care of your
property, this may be said to be your own case, sir,
seeing that you are the heir to Swallow Barn under
your father's will. And I am told Mr. Meriwether
is clearing the track for you; he is wiping off the incumbrances.
So it is your own case you have to
look after.”

“For my part, Mr. Tracy,” replied Ned, with a
timid deference, and with a singular want of shrewdness,
considering the person he addressed, “I have
never seen the use of this controversy. Our family
ought to have given up to you, rather than trouble
the courts with such an inconsiderable matter. I
have always expressed my willingness to end the affair
by making you a deed.”

“Young gentleman,” said Mr. Tracy, rather briskly,
and looking with an air of surprise at Ned, “you
reckon without your host if you consider this a matter

of acres at all. Your father, sir, and I had
an honest difference of opinion; he thought he was
right; I thought I was; and we both knew that the
other would expend twenty times the value of the
land, before he would take an inch of it but as matter
of right. I am not accustomed to take up or put
down opinions upon light grounds. In such matters
I do not count the cost. A deed, sir!”—

“I beg pardon,” replied Ned confusedly, and
alarmed by this flash of temper, which set him, like
a boy who has mistaken the mood of his master,
to a speedy recantation. “You mistook my meaning,—I
meant to say—”

“Yes, yes,” interrupted the old gentleman, relapsing
into the opposite tone of kindness, as if aware
that his feelings had been unnecessarily roused, “so
I suppose, my young friend! You are but a novice
in the world; but you know Isaac Tracy well
enough to be quite certain that he does not fling
away five hundred pounds,—aye, twice five hundred,
—to maintain his title to a bed of splatterdocks, unless
there was something at the bottom of the dispute
that belonged to his character.”

This remark was concluded with an emotion that
amounted almost to a laugh; and so completely reassured
Ned, as to embolden him to venture upon a
joke.

“Such character,” said Ned, “is like the goose in
the fable; it lays golden eggs.”

“And there is nothing in it when you cut it up,

Mr. Edward, that is what you were going to say,”
added the old gentleman, greatly amused with the
remark. “You are a facetious young gentleman.
You say pretty sharp things now and then, Edward,
and don't spare such old codgers as I, ha, ha!” he
continued, laughing, and tapping Ned familiarly on
the back. “Why, what a plague! Here we are
wasting our time with this merry Ned Hazard, when
we ought to be at our business. Dogs take you,
for a jester as you are!” he exclaimed, jogging Ned
with his elbow, “You will trick us out of our proper
vocation with a laugh, would ye! Harvey, call Mr.
Swansdown from the parlour; tell him he must
leave the women; we have our hands full.”

After this burst from the old gentleman, he opened a
door that admitted us to a small room that he calls his
study. It is an inner shrine that is deemed a prohibited
spot to the members of the household, as the
key of it is generally carried in Mr. Tracy's own
pocket. This apartment is so characteristic of its
inhabitant, that I must take advantage of my introduction
to it, to make my reader acquainted with its
general appearance.

Some heavy volumes in quarto, such as constituted
the guise in which the best authors of Queen Anne's
time were accustomed to be exhibited to the public,
were scattered over a range of shelves that occupied
one side of the room. There was one large window
only to the apartment, through which the sun
flung a broad light, that served to heighten the forlorn

impression made by the obsolete and almost
shabby air of the furniture; on the sill of this window
a collection of pods and garden seeds were laid
out to be dried. In another quarter of the room, a
shelf was appropriated to the accommodation of a
motley assemblage of old iron, of which the principal
pieces were rusty hinges, bolts, screws, bridle-bits,
stirrups, and fragments of agricultural implements;
and upon the floor, below these, stood a chest of
tools. The fire-place had a ragged appearance, being
strewed with scraps of paper and other rubbish,
and upon one side of it was placed an old-fashioned
secretary, with a lid like the roof of a house. One
or two paintings, too obscure to be guessed at, hung
over the mantel-piece; and on the wall near the
door, was suspended an almost illegible map of Virginia.
A small table was opened out in the middle
of the floor, and provided with a writing apparatus:
around this table were three or four broad, high-backed
mahogany chairs, with faded crimson seats stuck
round with brass nails. The cobwebs on various
parts of the walls, and the neglected aspect of the
room, showed it to be an apartment not much resorted
to or used by the old gentleman, except as a
mere place of deposit for lumber.

When Mr. Swansdown, at Harvey's summons,
made his appearance, our friend Philly Wart indulged
in some little raillery upon the mischances of the
day before, and accused the sentimental gentleman
of deserting him; but finding old Mr. Tracy already

provided with a mass of documents, and standing
ready, with spectacles on nose, to plunge into the
middle of affairs, the several parties sat down and
addressed themselves to their tasks like men determined
to make an end of matters. Ned put on a
farcical gravity, and began to rummage over the papers,
as if he was thoroughly acquainted with every
document in the bundle, until Mr. Tracy, raising his
glasses up to his forehead, asked him, with a fretful
earnestness, what he was in search of. This simple
interrogatory, and the look that accompanied it, so
disconcerted the representative of Swallow Barn,
that he was obliged to reply, for lack of something
better to say, that “he was looking for nothing in particular!”

“I thought so, by your haste,” said the old gentleman,
as he brought his spectacles back to their original
position. Ned, to conceal his confusion, picked
up a large sheet of parchment, and set about reading
its contents regularly through from the beginning.

As soon as we saw this little wittenagemote fairly
at work with the law-suit, Harvey and myself quietly
stole away, not, however, without receiving a
glance from Ned Hazard, who turned his head and
gave us a look of sly perplexity as we disappeared at
the door.

The ladies had retired to their rooms. Ralph had
taken away our young cavalier Rip to the river; and
being thus left to ourselves, Harvey and I sat down
at the front door, attracted by the commanding view

of the scenery, and the appearance of a large ship
that, with all her canvass spread, was winging her
way round the headlands of the James River, towards
the Atlantic.

In this situation, Harvey gave me the particulars
of the scene I am about to describe in the next
chapter.