University of Virginia Library

4. CHAPTER IV.

The imperious Gertrude, relieved from the restraint
imposed by the immediate presence of Livingston, no
longer set limits to her pride. Her sister had daily
to bear some new variety of contumely, and as for
poor Seth, his would have been a slight discernment
indeed, if he had not read in every glance that encountered
him from the bride elect, the simple mental
element of contempt. In vain did his generous spirit
fret and chafe to contemplate the sumptuous preparations
which were making for the approaching nuptials.
In vain did he quarrel with Jessie for lending so willing
a hand in furtherance of a match, which, wherever
it may have originated, he stoutly contended was
never made in Heaven. Old Burley meanwhile
groaned under the daily exactions levied upon his
purse, but consoled himself for his diminishing guilders,
by the rising honors of his family.

“Donner and blitzen, Getty!” would the old man

exclaim, his looks really expressing the last degree of
alarm, “her you come again for money?”

But Getty condescended to no explanations; but
with the slightest perceptible smile, and not the slightest
curl of a scornful lip, replied only that she must
have it. And have it she did, no matter what denials
or privations it occasioned the less distinguished
members of the family. The alderman's purse was,
indeed, none of the longest, and he began to look
forward with some anxiety to the time when he
should get so expensive a piece of property off his
hands.

But Spring, beauteous Spring, began to give token
of her approach. The venturous red-breast was her
earliest herald; the tiny blue-bird soon followed in
its path; the swallow began to caracole through the
air; and the little daisy, wakened, perhaps, by their
voices, peeped timidly from the earth. Coquettish
April came, like her fickler type, dispensing alternating
smiles and frowns, now making bright skies the
prelude to a storm, now threatening wrathful gusts,
only to burst forth in sunlight, or dissolve in tears.

“Thirty days later from Albany,” were the eye-catching

words, paraded at column-head of a digny,
diminutive newspaper, issued at this period; and following
this startling announcement was a long account
of an overland express, two months from Oswego,
through the Genesee country, and giving tidings of the
pending troubles with the French. But the vessel
which brought this important intelligence, and which
now lay at the wharf, thronged by the curious, was the
bearer also of despatches from Kenterhook, where it
had put in for provisions and repairs. The great
family seal of General Van Ness was easily recognized
upon the neat-looking packet which was put
into Burley's hands, addressed to “Ye Honorable Burleigh
Van Corlear, whilom Alderman of New York.”

“Reet it again,” said the old man, as Seth announced
the pompous superscription.

Seth gravely repeated the address.

“Dat ish very goot,” said Burley, lowering his
pipe, after a moment's reflection; “dush he say anything
elsh?”

Seth proceeded to open the missive, and found
something else within decidedly more to the point,
that is to say, that the great patroon and his nephew

were about to embark for the city, and were to be
looked for from the first to the fifteenth of May inclusive.
But the letter also told of the serious indisposition
of the general, and that he would not venture
upon the voyage but for the advantage afforded by
the vicinity of the city in procuring medical advice.
This was really afflicting news to Van Corlear and
his kind-hearted vrow, the latter of whom, however,
“warranted” that she could cure him. The poor
old man, she said, knew nothing about coddling himself;
the doctors might be hanged, as she had known
more than one to be in her day, and she began to
enumerate a list of herbs on hand, of which one
would be certain to cure him, if another failed,
although, to be sure, she did not yet know whether
his disease was the gout, the measles, or St. Vitus's
dance. But the letter proceeded to say that the
patroon desired the wedding to take place as soon
after his arrival as possible, for he thought, benevolent
old man, that the very sight of so much joy
would infuse new life into his veins.

They came. It was on one of the brightest mornings
in May that the manly and noble-looking Livingston

might have been seen, with earnest solicitude,
assisting his feeble relative to alight from a carriage
at Van Corlear's door. No noisy salutations now welcomed
his approach. The family, indeed, thronged
to the carriage, anxious to learn how much to hope
or fear in his behalf; but he who had seen the good
dame rush smilingly out, and catching a distant
glimpse of the invalid's face, stop midway, and return
silently to the house, with her apron at her eyes,
would have needed little other information than that
simple gesture. But if his friends looked sad, the
patroon himself was still merry. His unfavorable
appearance, indeed, was partly owing to the fatigues
of travel, and after a little rest, and some of the good
vrow's doses, and the still better medicine for him,
of smiling faces and cheerful words on every side,
he began to exhibit a returning vitality that gave
promise of better things. The carriage, which had
approached the door with a slow and hearse-like
motion, was immediately seen dashing away at a
fearful speed, for Seth was within, despatched express
by Livingston for the city's most eminent
physician. Nor was Doctor Schwackhammer tardy
in obeying the summons to the bedside of the distinguished
patient, who had travelled so far to obtain
the benefit of his advice. He was an old practitioner,
to whom half of the existing population of the island
had been indebted for assistance at quite too early a
period of their lives to admit of their appreciating
the favor, and to whom many of their cotemporaries
were under unspeakable obligations for a somewhat
hasty exodus from this troublesome world. The
doctor was older even than the patroon, and he
consequently saw no evidence of natural decay in
his patient. There was no breaking up of the constitution,
not a bit of it. There was a little of one
disease, and a slight touch of another, and some
symptoms of a third, but altogether the eminent
physician thought he would be a great deal better
on the next day, provided he had a good night's rest,
and had no bad turns. And so he was. The hushed
voices of the children were changed, on the morrow,
to gleeful tones, and merriment was again the order
of the day. The wedding was now in every mouth,
and was arranged for the first of the ensuing week.

Harry Livingston was a happy man. His own

heart was full of all noble emotions, and he easily
discovered the same qualities in one to whom they
were as foreign as flowers to the iceberg. There
was indeed a winning beauty in the expression of
Gertrude's soft, dark eyes, as they rested upon her
fascinated lover, and a thrush-like melody in the tone
of her voice, although one might have taken many a
safer wager, than that she was not at those very
moments calculating how soon it would be prudent
to broach the subject of a fashionable house in town.

“You will surely return with us,” said Livingston,
addressing Jessie, “and aid to cheer up our poor
uncle. The magnificent scenery of the river, of
which you have so often heard, ought, of itself, to be
a sufficient inducement.”

Jessie hesitated to reply, but the considerate Gertrude
came to her relief. “I fear that dear sister,”
she said, “can hardly be spared from home; it would
be indeed cruel to leave our kind parents to the tender
mercies of Seth, and the other children.”

“Let Seth also go with us,” rejoined Harry; “he
will find abundance of game in our forests, of every
variety; even deer and moose are not scarce.”

“Seth's vagrant propensities are already sufficiently
developed, I fear,” was Gertrude's reply,
“and need no such encouragement; besides which,
he will certainly be needed at home.”

Seth heard this conversation, and for once his ready
smile took somewhat of a hyenal cast. His spirits
had gone up to fever heat on the mention of the deer
and moose, and had sunk as suddenly to zero, under
the cold-water treatment of his sister. But he was
not quick at repartee, and he quietly swallowed the
affront, for the amiable Gertrude had taught him to
perform some remarkable feats in that kind of deglutition.
Livingston continued to urge his wishes in
regard to Jessie, confident that her society would be
invaluable to his uncle; but the subject was postponed
for future consideration.

The great day came. The patroon's continued illness
had in some measure frustrated the design of
having a large party; but there were such quantities
of good things prepared to be eaten and drunk, and
carried away, that it was absolutely necessary to have
somebody come. There were some relations, too,
whom it would not do to slight. A few were therefore

invited from fear and a few from affection. The
Van Dingles were asked out of spite. They came,
too, from the same laudable motive, for if anybody
could pick flaws, and make surmises, and hint dark
inuendos of shadowy suspicions, it was “the fates.”
The bride might look to her dress, for if there was a
crease in the flowing satin, the world would know it.
But Gertrude was above criticism both in person and
apparel, and that she herself was not unconscious of
this fact her deportment very plainly proclaimed.
Jessie, too, who had donned the magnificent robe
which the patroon, mindful of his promise, had presented
to her, Jessie was faultless in her beauty. Not
lynx-eyed malice itself could have whispered aught
against the perfect charms of the little Houri. The
budding moss-rose, the daisy, the dew-drop, the sunbeam,
all things bright and beautiful in nature, were
emblems of Jessie. So at least thought Harmon Van
Dingle, a wilted bachelor brother of the fates, who,
his own word for it, had been “turned of thirty”
any time within the last fifteen years, and who had
begun seriously to contemplate the idea of sharing his
future patrimony with the pretty bridesmaid. Everybody
knows that Cupid follows in the train of Hymen
to select new victims. Ill-natured people might say,
indeed, that part of his errand is to reclaim the darts
which he had implanted in the breasts of the married
pair, and for which they would have no further use.
At any rate, the little archer was present on this occasion,
fully equipped, and his shafts flew in more directions
than one; for the youngest Miss Van Dingle was
observed to gaze tenderly and oft at the ruddy cheeks
of Seth, who was unfortunately too busily engaged in
looking daggers at a costly necklace of the bride
elect, to observe his conquest. For Gertrude was
already present. There was no parade of an imposing
entrée of the bridal party, with the rustling of silks
and a gale of perfumery. Quietly awaiting the arrival
of the clergyman, who made it a point of dignity
to be a few minutes behind his time, the family and
visitors were seated about the room, chatting as yet
with a little restraint. In a large easy chair, eligibly
posted to command a view of the ceremony, sat the
patroon. He was wan of face, but his bright beaming
eye seemed to give token of returning health. If
there had been any limit to his stock of smiles and
good wishes, they would have been long ago expended;
but the fountain was inexhaustible, and poured
forth its generous streams as freshly as ever. His
eyes rested frequently with a patriarchal expression
upon Harry and Gertrude, but occasionally strayed
past them, through an open window beyond, and onward
to the cloudless skies. There were noiseless
motions, too, of his lips, and a calm assurance on his
face, which spoke of hopes and communings far away
from earth.

The clergyman was at length announced, and reannounced,
alas, in the sudden pallor of poor Jessie's
face. Giddy and faint, her heart flutters and stands
still, and starts again with a labored and violent
motion. One eye only observes her distress, and
turns hastily away. Ah, unhappy Seth! these are
thy doings. But she soon became calm, the color returned
to her cheeks, and she faltered no more. There
was a little further delay, and then the clergyman
arose, and the bride and the groom, and Seth and
Jessie at their side, and a silence deep and breathless
prevailed. Deep and breathless, and broken only by
the chirp of the swallow, as he darted past the open

window, and the hum of the noisy bee, loitering
among the flowering vines on the porch. But at this
moment, a faint scream issued from the lips of Jessie,
and darting past the priest, she knelt at the old patroon's
chair, and caught his hand within her own.
His head had dropped upon his chest, his eyes were
quietly closed, and his spirit was in Heaven.