University of Virginia Library

2. CHAPTER II.

As the fowler spreads his snares for the unwary
bird, as the spider weaves his toils for the unconscious
fly, so, saith tradition, did the belles of the seventeenth
century entrap the harmless and unsuspecting
beaux. But Fortune be thanked, that this cruel
fashion, if ever it existed, has passed away, and that
not a lady now, in all this broad land, pretends to exercise
the art.

The commotion caused by the expected arrival of
the young patroon was far from being confined to the
family of Van Corlear. Many a plump Dutch maiden
in the neighborhood, and some even in the great city
adjacent, were calculating the chances against the
beautiful Gertrude, as they lingered, innocently enough,
at the labors of the toilet. None thought of Jessie,
nor did ever so treasonable an idea enter her guileless
breast as that of competition with the commanding
charms of her sister. She even looked forward with

delight to the expected triumph of Gertrude, albeit it
was a stinted measure of kindness which she might
ever expect from the future lady of Kenterhook. But
her good nature seemed, for once, to be fairly reciprocated.
Gertrude became suddenly very kind and
considerate toward her, and in the excess of her solicitude,
began even to discover symptoms of impaired
health in the bright blue eyes and ruby lips of her sister.
A little change of air, and a respite from domestic
duties, was clearly requisite for so decided an invalid,
and inasmuch as old Aunt Schermerhorn, who
resided in the adjacent city, had long been importuning
her for a visit, Gertrude advised that the invitation
should at once be accepted. Doubting and wondering
much, Jessie was still too ingenuous for suspicion,
and too much overjoyed at the prospect of the
proposed visit to analyze motives. Her parents' permission
was accordingly obtained, and she was posted
off without further ceremony. But while the sagacious
Gertrude had taken such pains to get rid of
internal enemies, she found herself suddenly subjected
to an unexpected attack from without. There
were in the immediate neighborhood of the Van Corlears,
three single sisters, not youthful, to whom some
mischievous wag had given the appellation of “the
fates”—a name which, unfortunately for them, proved
as adhesive as diachylum. They were daughters of
old Baltus Van Dingle, a man half as rich as the patroon
himself, and they now became suddenly gracious
to Gertrude, and made her some long-deferred
visits, with many a condescending reason for their
delay. Not the least curiosity had they about the
expected guests, and when the subject was casually
mentioned, they were jointly and severally surprised
beyond all measure. The figures of two of these ladies
belonged to the style of beauty known as the squabby,
and their faces, round as a dumpling, had an expression
not entirely dissimilar to that viand. The
youngest—Eve by name—was tall and not a little
lank, with very long and very yellow ringlets, which
were taught to twine, in many a golden convolution,
adown her neck. Her eyes were, in color, of an unexceptionable
pea-green, but they were unfortunately
somewhat at variance, and her nasal organ, a little
upturned, seemed ever bent on learning the cause of
the difficulty. If, however, the visual organs of Miss
Eve were ill-arranged, she was favored with a corresponding
mental obliquity which prevented her
from discovering the magnitude of the defect. One
eye, she argued to herself, was certainly true, and if
the other manifested a disposition to disclaim companionship
with its fellow, the aberration was too
slight to attract attention. When it is further said
that Miss Van Dingle's brow was always a little corrugated,
probably by an ineffectual effort to keep the
refractory member in position, a more adequate portraiture
of this lady will be presented. But there is
a wonderfully transforming power in the alembic of a
vivid imagination, and, by its aid, Eve had learned to
believe herself quite handsome, though certainly, as
she admitted to herself that very morning, while unpinning
her sixteenth blazing curl at the mirror—certainly
of a different style of beauty from either of the
Misses Van Corlear. The exploring party tarried
long enough to glean the information for which expressly
they had set out, and then took their leave
with some discouraging presentiments; but they had
long been taught the potency of gold, and possessing
so powerful an auxiliary, they did not altogether
despair.

Time rolled on. The little obstinate weather-cocks,
which had so long pointed pertinaciously to the south,
suddenly veered about, and a fresh northerly breeze
came sweeping down the river. On the wings of the
wind therefore, if not on the wings of love, came the
gallant young Livingston, all unconscious of the gins
and pitfalls which were set for his capture. Overjoyed
was Burley Van Corlear, delighted was his worthy
spouse, and as glad as propriety would permit was
the more discreet Gertrude, at the arrival of the
guests. So boisterous in his merriment was the old
patroon, and so many were the alderman's words of
welcome, that both, in unison with the good dame,
poured forth a long, continuous, and commingled
stream of double and twisted words, to which none
made the least pretence of listening or reply.

But if there was an uproar of welcome within the
hospitable house, there was “confusion worse confounded”
without. The well-packed wagon, which
had transported the guests from the city, where the
sloop had found moorings, was darkened by a cloud

of jabbering negroes of every age and size, making
the air ring with their merriment, as they clambered
upon the sides and wheels of the vehicle, and eagerly
assisted to discharge its contents. Of these, while the
greater part belonged to Van Corlear, a few had been
attracted by the commotion from the neighboring
farm-houses, and two, a little more staid and sober,
yet grinning broadly, were servants of the patroon,
rejoicing in the euphonious names of Josh and Squash.
These last were themselves the objects of no small
degree of admiration to their less favored brethren;
nor did the horses, well-fed and shining, which were
their especial care, fail to attract their share of attention,
for restive and champing, the noble steeds manifested
their delight at regaining the use of faculties,
of which, on sloopboard, they had been so long restrained.
The travellers, it will be seen, had judiciously
provided themselves with the means of returning
home by land, if their more unstable highway
should become unnavigable before their visit was
brought to a close.

Great was the surprise of Livingston and Miss Van
Corlear on being introduced to each other; for

instead of the fat, dumpy, and peony-faced girl
of Harry's imagination, he met an elegant and
graceful lady, while she, anticipating the awkward
salute of a bashful youth, found herself confronted by
a gentleman, courtly, refined, and self-possessed.

It will be unnecessary to dwell at any length upon
the events of the few succeeding weeks. Miss Van
Corlear had a clear field, and it would have been
strange indeed, if, without a competitor, she could not
have gained the winning-post. Harry was a student,
fond of books, and fond of nature. Of human nature
he was not the best judge in the world, and least of
all, of that variety designated by bachelor Oldbuck as
“woman-kind.” He was a Dutchman, and rather
phlegmatic. But there was no resisting the perpetual
recurrence of one beautiful face, the continuous
harmony of one gentle and melodious voice. His
books were gradually laid aside, his walks were suspended,
his favorite steed, unmounted, stood stamping
idly in the stable, turning his graceful neck, wistfully
and oft, to look for the master that came no more.
Sitting at Gertrude's side, and telling her tales of the
olden world, leaning over her harp as she warbled the

airs which he had taught her, reading aloud from her
favorite authors, these became now the more prominent
features in Harry's daily life. The fountain of
his feelings had burst its icy surface, and like his native
Hudson, released from its wintry chains, revealed
a strong, deep, rapid current beneath. Harry was
in love. In vain did the Misses Van Dingle, Goth-like,
make a second irruption upon the Van Corlears.
The ancient family carriage, with its fat, glossy steeds,
and its grinning black driver, in vain proclaimed the
aristocratic rank of the dumpling faces and the long
yellow curls. Nature's aristocracy carried it clear,
against the broad acres of Van Dingle; and if the
visit of “the fates” had any effect, it was to enhance,
by contrast, the charms of Gertrude, and thus to hasten
the catastrophe which they would have averted.
Harry's fate was nearer at home. Christmas came
not, ere Gertrude Van Corlear, the cold, calculating,
ambitious Gertrude, was affianced to the young patroon
as his future bride.