University of Virginia Library

16. CHAPTER XVI.
ORATORY.

As some adventurous schoolboy, who, having
but lately learned to swim, has gone, upon a fair
summer evening, to the river hard by, to disport himself
in the cool and limpid wave, so did I first sit
down to write this book: And as that same urchin,
all diffident of his powers, has never risked himself
beyond the reach of some old, stranded hulk, not far
from shore; but now, enchanted by the fragrance of
the season, by the golden and purple-painted clouds,
and by the beauty of the wild-flowers that cluster at
the base of the shady headland on the farther side of
a narrow cove; and incited by the jollity of his boyhood,
and seduced by the easy, practick eloquence
of a heedless, good-natured playfellow, he has
thoughtlessly essayed to reach the pleasant promontory
which he has gained in safety, albeit, faint-hearted
and out of breath:—so have I waywardly
ventured on the tide of Ned's courtship; but, having
reached such a sheltered headland, do, in imitation
of my daunted schoolboy, here break up my voyage;
like him, thinking it safest to get back by trudging
round the pebbly margin of the cove.

In other words, I esteem myself lucky in having
followed Ned's love-affair into a convenient resting-place,
where I am willing, at least for the present, to

leave it; and shall indeed be thankful if no future
event, during my sojourn at Swallow Barn, shall impose
upon me the duty of tracing out to my readers
the sequel of this tortuous and difficult history. For
wisely has it been said, “that the current of true love
never did run smooth;”—to me it seems that its path
is like that of the serpent over the rock: And that
chronicler shall have reason to count himself sadly
tasked, whose lot it may be to follow the lead of a
capricious maiden wheresoever it shall please her
fickleness to decoy her charmed and fretful lover.
Little did I dream, indulgent reader, that when I
came to the Old Dominion to write down the simple
scenes that are acted in a gentleman's hall, I should,
in scarce a month gone by, find myself tangled up in
a web of intricate love-plots that should so overmatch
my slender powers! But I have borne me, as you
have witnessed, like a patient and trusty historian,
through the labyrinth of my story; and now, right
gladly, escape to other matters more german to my
hand.

To say nothing, then, of the manner in which Ned
Hazard bore his present doubtful fortune, nor what
resolves he took in this emergency; nor even dwelling
upon his frequently repeated visits to the Brakes,
during which, I rejoice to think, nothing especially
worthy of note occurred; I pass over some days, in
order that I may introduce my reader to a new
scene.

Meriwether, one night when we were about to retire
to rest, suggested to Ned and myself,—and the
suggestion was made half in the tone of a request,

implying that he would be pleased if we adopted it,
—that we might have an agreeable jaunt if we would
consent to accompany him, the next morning, in his
ride to the Quarter. Now, this Quarter is the name
by which is familiarly known that part of the plantation
where the principal negro population is established.

“You, doubtless, Mr. Littleton,” said he, “take
some interest in agricultural concerns. The process
of our husbandry,—slovenly to be sure,—may, nevertheless,
be worthy of your observation. But I can
add to your amusement by showing you my blooded
colts, which, it is not vanity to affirm, are of the finest
breed in Virginia; and when I say that,—it is equivalent
to telling you that there is nothing better in
the world.”

Here Meriwether paused for a moment, with that
thoughtful expression of countenance that indicates
the gathering up of one's ideas; then changing the
tone of his voice to a lower key, he continued,—

“The improvement of the stock of horses,—notwithstanding
this matter is undervalued in some
portions of our country,—I regard as one of the
gravest concerns to which a landed proprietor can
devote his attention. The development of the animal
perfections of this noble quadruped, by a judicious
system of breeding, requires both the science
and the talent of an accomplished naturalist. We
gain by it symmetry, strength of muscle, soundness
of wind, ease of action, speed, durability, power of
sustaining fatigue, and fitness for the multiform uses
to which this admirable beast is subservient. What,

sir, can be more worthy of a portion of the care of a
patriotic citizen? But look, my dear sir, at the relation
which the horse holds to man. We have no
record in history of an age wherein he has not been
intimately connected with the political and social
prosperity of the most powerful and civilized nations.
He has always assisted to fight our battles, to bear
our burthens, to lighten our fatigues, and to furnish
our subsistence. He has given us bread by tillage
and meat by the chase. He has even lodged in the
same homestead with his master man, frequently
under the same roof: He has been accustomed to receive
his food from our hands, and to be caressed by
our kindness. We nurse him in sickness, and guard
him in health. He has been, from one age to
another, the companion of the warrior at home, his
trusty friend in travel, and his sure auxiliary and defence
in battle. What more beautiful than the sympathy
between them? when the cockles of his master's
heart rise up at the sound of distant war, he
neighs at the voice of the trumpet, and shakes his
mane in his eagerness to share the glory of the
combat.”

Frank had now got to striding backward and forward
through the room; and, at this last flourish,
came up to the table, where he stood erect; then, in
that attitude, went on.

“And yet,—however martial his temper,—he will
amble gently under the weight of the daintiest dame,
and yield obedience to her tender hand and silken
rein. I have horses in my stable now, that, in the

field upon a chase, will champ their bits, and bound
with an ardour that requires my arm to check;
whilst the same animals, at home here, are as passive
to Lucretia's command as a lady's pony.”

“You say so,” interrupted my cousin Lucretia,
“but, indeed Mr. Meriwether, I do not like to ride
these blooded horses!”

Meriwether continued, without heeding the interruption.

—“The horse has a family instinct, and knows
every member of the household: he recognizes his
master's children when they come to his stall, and
is pleased to be fondled by them. Then, see how
faithfully he drudges in the field, and wears away his
life in quiet and indispensable services. I venerate
the steady sobriety of the robust, broad-chested, massive-limbed
wagon-horse, that toils without repining,
through the summer heats and winter snows. I contemplate,
with a peculiar interest, the unremitting
labour of the stage-horse, as he performs his daily
task with unrelaxed speed from one year's end to
another: and,—you may smile at it,—but I have a
warm side of my heart for the thoughtful and unobtrusive
back that our little negroes creep along with
to mill. But, above all, where do you find such a
picture of patience, considerateness, discretion, long
suffering, amiable obedience, (here Frank began to
smile,) as in the faithful brute that bears his master,—
say a country-doctor, for example, or a deputy sheriff,
or one of your weather-beaten, old, tippling,—(at each
of these epithets the orator laughed)—gossipping,
night-wandering—”

“Noctua bundus,” said Mr. Chub, who was sitting
all the time at one of the windows.—

—“Right!” replied Meriwether, turning towards
the parson and waving his hand,—“night-wandering
politicians? I say, where is there a finer type of resignation,
christian resignation, than in the trusty
horse that bears such a master, through all seasons,
no matter how inclement,—fast, without refusing,
and slow, without impatience,—for hours together;
and then stands, perhaps, as I have often seen him,
with his rein fastened to a post, or to a fence corner,
without food or drink; and, as likely as not,
(for he is subject to all discomforts,) facing a drifting
snow or a pelting hail-storm, for the livelong day; or
through the dreary watches of the night, solitary, silent,
unamused, without one note of discontent; without
one objurgatory winnow to his neglectful master?
And then, at last, when the time arrives when he is
to measure his homeward way, with what a modest
and grateful undertone he expresses his thanks! The
contemplation of these moral virtues in the horse, is
enough to win the esteem of any man for the whole
species. Besides, what is a nation without this excellent
beast? What machinery or labour-saving
inventions of man could ever compensate him for
the deprivation of this faithful ally?”—

I do not know how long Meriwether would have
continued this laudatory oration, for he was every
moment growing more eloquent, both in manner and
matter, and, no doubt, would very soon have struck
out into some episodes that would have carried him
along, like a vessel caught up in the trade winds, had

not my cousin Lucretia warned him that it was
growing too late for so promising a discourse; which
having the effect to bring him to a stop, I availed myself
of the opportunity to say, that I should be highly
gratified with the proposed ride. So did Ned.

“Then,” said he, “remember I ride at sunrise:
Lucretia will give us a cup of coffee before we set
out. Be up, therefore, at the crowing of the cock!”