University of Virginia Library

12. CHAPTER XII.

“Tinker,” said the old continental, after the departure
of his daughter—“Tinker—or to ennoble thy calling,
and render thee worthy of the high honour I intend
thee, silversmith—or if you aspire still higher,
goldsmith—you shall dine with me to-day. You have
brought good news, and the bearer of glad tidings
should always be made welcome. You shall dine
with the hero of Ticonderoga, eat, drink, and be merry,
or die the death of a flincher. I have that in my cellar,
that will inspire an old pewter spoon to twinkle
like silver. What say you, tinker? I mean goldsmith—
shall we be merry, roaring merry—hey?”

“With all my heart, colonel; but my dress—my
outward and visible man is rather inglorious to sit
down in your company. I have left all my wardrobe
at home, and am rather out at the elbows, you see.”

“Yes, and your face—meaning no offence—is none
of the cleanest; but that may be easily remedied.
Let me see—aye, that will do. I have a suit of regimentals,

which I wore in the old French war, and
never mean to put on again, for I don't much stomach
the red waistcoat and breeches, just now. They are
not much the worse for wear, only a little moth-eaten.”

“Oh! never mind, colonel, they'll pass for bullet
holes.”

“Well, I'll make you a present of them, on this glorious
occasion. But, now I think of it, did you ever
hear of my carrying Pine's bridge sword in hand?”

“Never, colonel.”

“Well, I'll tell you that story at dinner. You shall
wear my uniform; and that you may be worthy of
the honour, I'll promote you. You shall be General
Tinkerman. What say you, old gold?”

“I say aye, colonel, only I shall then be your commanding
officer. How will that answer? I'll make
you drink like a fish, depend upon it.”

“Thunder and Mars! no, I must be commander in
mine own house. But we will not quarrel about rank,
as some of the militia officers did at old Ti; I'll tell
you that story at dinner. But come, general—go and
dress yourself, while I dig up the creature.”

“Why, colonel, are we to dine on potatoes, that you
talk of digging up our dinner?”

“Potatoes! potatoes be — no, general, I mean old
stuff imported in Noah's Ark, with a pedigree three
times as long as a full blooded racer. I buried it in the
cellar, to keep it out of the way of the red coats, who
would smell it above ground. I had a case of it at old
Ti, and whenever I wanted to do anything desperate,
always charged myself with a full bottle. It made me
fight like a catamount. But come along, general.”

In good time the colonel appeared with the creature,
and General Tinkerman in his old colonial uniform,
consisting of a blue coat, scarlet waistcoat and breeches,
edged with silver lace, a little cocked hat, and a
rusty sword at his side. These were reinforced by an
old pair of military boots, which had no fellowship
with the breeches, for General Tinkerman, be it known,
was a tall, raw-boned figure, and the colonel square
and stumpy. The breeches absolutely declined to
cover his knee-pan; and the boots just reached the
calves of his legs, leaving, what the learned call, a
hiatus in manuscriptus between them; to hide which,
the general had ingeniously made use of his leather
apron, all stratagems being allowed in war. The old
continental was delighted with his appearance, and
they sat down to dinner, where they remained some
time better employed than in talking. At length the
colonel said:

“General, you look like a veteran. One would suppose
you were born a field-officer.”

“And so I was, colonel. I was born on the field of
battle. My father was an illustrious corporal, and my
mother a dispenser of spiritual comfort to valiant soldiers.
You see, I eat fire by instinct.”

“Drink, you mean, general. I reverence a soldier,
let him be born where he will. But come, Thunder
and Mars! you don't drink—you don't honour your
father and mother. And yet, now I look at you, faith,
you seem to be rather ticklish in the saddle. Zounds!
how you see-saw about, general!”

“No, I don't—no I don't, colonel. I'm as steady as

a steeple. It's you that begin to be top-heavy,
colonel.”

“Me! Thunder and Mars! it would take two dozen
such fellows as you to force me out of the perpendicular.
Come, fill a bumper, and I'll give you a sentiment.
Fill, I say, to the brim, and we'll drink supernaculem.”

“Well, general, with all my heart, here's the great
General Sup—Super—never mind, here he goes.”

“What an illiterate blockhead you are, tinker—I
mean general. Supernaculem means—it means—
hip—here's luck, general.”

“Good! I must drink that standing, and in solemn
silence. There's nothing I reverence like luck. An
ounce of luck is worth a pound of understanding.”

“A pound of pewter spoons, you mean—hey, tinker?
But drink, valiant Vulcan, drink, I say!”

“Why, colonel, it seems to me you have a queer
lot of acquaintance. General Super—what d'ye call
'em? and General Vulcan—why, I never heard of them
before.”

“Not Vulcan! why he is the friend and patron of
all tinkers, blacksmiths, and whitesmiths, since the
time of Tubal Cain, and before, for aught I know. But
drink—drink, I say! standing, sitting, or lying, drink,
I say! I'll give you a bumper for every spoon you've
run, since you were cradled on the field of glory.
Here's to the memory of the immortal Wolfe!”

“Standing!” cried the general.

“Standing!” echoed the colonel, both rising with no
small difficulty, the creature now beginning to operate.

“Bravo! Thunder and Mars! general, one would

think you had just come out of a long drought. You
drink like a sand hill, and roll about like an empty
hogshead in a high sea. Steady—steady—you old
rusty horn spoon.”

“I roll? Damme, colonel, I'll cashier you for insulting
your superior officer! I'm as sober as a deacon,
but you—you go round like a big spinning-wheel,
and make such a humming I can hardly hear myself
speak. But talking of humming, what say you to a
song, most noble continental?”

“Oh! by all means, general—tol, lol, de rol! `Why,
soldiers, why;' I could find in my heart to strike up a
stave myself, if I could only remember a song or a
tune. But come, general, give us a ranting roaring
song, about love and murder.”

Hereupon, the general began to tune his pipes, and
make most villainous wry faces, perfectly original with
him, for to the best of our knowledge he had never
seen an opera singer in all his life.

“Fa, sol, la—hem—la, la, la—hem—hah—I've got
a terrible cold. Fa, sol, la—hem!”

“Get on, and don't sit there cackling like a Dutch
guinea-hen!”

“Fa, sol, la—ah! yes, now I have found the right
pitch at last.”

“Thunder and Mars! pitch away, then, head foremost.”

“Ah! yes, I remember, I was there,” mumbled the
colonel to himself.

“Yes, yes, it was cold enough, I remember; one of
the sentinels had his fingers froze fast to his musket—
um—um,” and the old continental began to nod.

“How do you like it, colonel?”

“Capital!—first-rate, general! `Why, soldiers,
why—”'

“That's a lie!” muttered the colonel.

“I meant sixteen hours, colonel—

Here, the colonel, who had gradually fallen asleep
in his chair, suiting the action to the word, began to
snore most lustily.

“Why, colonel, have you no more manners than to
join chorus in the middle of a verse? He sleeps like
an alderman at afternoon service.”

The colonel heard not this expostulation, but continued

his nap and his accompaniment, which had all
the various modulations of an organ, with the newly
invented stops. Sometimes it rolled up in a lofty diapason,
and then suddenly sunk into thorough bass;
sometimes it seemed whistling through a quill, and
anon it burst forth with such stupendous and transcendant
exuberance, as to threaten the total disruption
of the instrument itself. Its variety was inexhaustible;
its transitions, sometimes gentle and insinuating,
at others abrupt and ferocious; and occasionally
it sent forth a long, lingering, Alexandrine
note, that gradually dwindled away like a distant expiring
echo. Its variety was, indeed, inexhaustible,
and as the colonel seemed in no haste to finish the
concert, the general, it being now dark, reclined back
in his chair, and soon accompanied him in his visit to
the land of Nod, as well as in his music. Nor were
they in the least disturbed by Mingo bringing in candles.

From this harmonious repose, the general, who, as
he affirmed, always slept with one eye open, was
roused by the unceremonious intrusion of a party of
red coats, consisting of some half dozen, who rushed
in with drawn swords, crying out, “Surrender, you
rebel rascals, surrender!” The colonel, partly between
sleeping and waking, being still inspired by the
creature, exclaimed, at hearing the word rebels—

“Thunder and Mars! who talks of rebels? D—n
the red coats, d—n the tories, and most emphatically
d—n the Yagers! Down with them, boys; huzza
for old Ti!”

“What's that you say, you old rebel scoundrel?”

said the commanding officer, “we'll teach you another
tune presently.”

During this brief colloquy, the tinker had mounted
his cocked hat, and ensconcing himself behind the table
in order to hide his leather apron, cried out in a
most magisterial tone—

“Rebel scoundrel! Is that the way you speak to a
gentleman under my protection, and of whose hospitality
I am now partaking, sir? Do you see this uniform,
sirrah? Put up your sword and troop off this
instant, or you shall run the gauntlet through the
whole British army.”

“I—I—beg pardon, sir, I—I—may I ask your honour
who I have the honour of speaking to?” said the petty
officer who led the party, taking off his hat and bowing
with great humility.

“Speaking to, sir? Know, fellow, you are speaking
to General Tinkerman, of the Trudging Heroes. Who
are you, fellow, that you don't know me?”

“I beg pardon, sir, but I—I—really, though I've
been all my life in the service, I don't think—I'm
sure I never heard your name before. You probably
served—”

“Served! Know, fellow, I never served. I always
commanded. I have had ten thousand such ragamuffins
as you under me at one time. So troop, sir, troop,
I say, or I'll have you tried by a drum-head court-martial,
and shot for disobedience of orders before you
can say your prayers.”

During this lofty harangue, General Tinkerman
had imprudently advanced from behind his entrenchment,
so that he exposed himself not to the fire, but

the reconnoisance of the enemy, who detected his
leather apron. The crest-fallen officer, not recollecting
that particular uniform, began to see through the
deception. Advancing, and lifting up the unlucky
garment, he cried out—

“Why, general, what's this? You must be a freemason,
as well as a field-officer. Pray, what corps do
you belong to? Here, my men, take the general into
custody, and mind he don't cut all your throats.”

Accordingly they laid hold of the general with such
loud shouts of laughter, that they at length fairly roused
the colonel, who, yawning, and rubbing his eyes.
mumbled out—

“Hey! yaw—w—w—why tinker, you laugh double.
You seem as merry as a cricket. Well, to it again, my
son. Another glass of the stuff, and we'll drink confusion
to King George, and all his rascally red coats.”

“You will, will you?” said the officer. “Tinker!
and so, sir, you are a general, sir. You've commanded
ten thousand such ragamuffins as me. You'll make
us run the gauntlet before the whole army, will you?
You'll try us by a drum-head court-martial, and hang
us before we can say our prayers, will you?” And he
turned the tinker round and round, to the infinite diversion
of his comrades. The colonel, who was now
wide awake, if not duly sober, gradually came to his
recollection, and gazing around him, at length asked:

“Why, what is all this? Why, Thunder and Mars!
who are you, and what business have you here, hey?”

“We'll soon let you know, old gentleman. You
have lately become known at head-quarters for one
of the most malignant old rebels in the whole county,

and I am sent here to gallant you to the city, where
you will stay till you learn to cry God save the king!”

“I'll be shot first!” said the colonel.

“Well, we shall see. But come, my men, here is
wine, I see—fill a bumper to King George, and may
all the rebels be hanged! Why, zounds! where did
you get this wine, old dog? It is fit for the king. But
you have not done honour to the toast; come, sir, drink,
I entreat you!” And he bowed low in derision.

“Well, I'll drink, because I love good wine, and I
like to make people welcome, though I must say you
have come rather unceremoniously. But I'll not drink
your toast, because I don't like it. A man has a right
to his own toast, to his own wine; so here's success to
liberty!”

“And here's God save the king—of good fellows,”
cried General Tinkerman, sinking his voice to a whisper
at the concluding part of his toast.

“Down with the old rebel!” exclaimed the officer,
“or rather up with him. I'll hang him on the spot,
unless he drinks my toast, as I am gentleman and a
Christian.”

“He'll hang a man on the spot for not drinking a
toast, to prove himself a gentleman and a Christian,”
thought the general.

The old continental resolutely refused to establish
his loyalty by drinking the king, and a halter being
procured from the stable, where they found Mingo fast
asleep, he having verified the old adage, like master,
like man, they proceeded to fasten it round the colonel's
neck by a slipping noose, to the great consternation
of the general, who began to feel a disagreeable

sensation about the throat, and believed his turn would
come next. All things being prepared, and the toast
once more proposed, and rejected by the stout old continental
with disdain, they were proceeding seriously
to execute their purpose; and had actually raised him
on tiptoe, when, at this critical moment, our hero,
who, as before stated, having been delayed by losing
his way, approached the house, accompanied by Jane.

His attention was first attracted by seeing various
figures moving backwards and forwards past the windows;
and he had not proceeded many steps further,
when the sight of several horses tied to the paling of
the garden fence, greatly increased his alarm. He
saw that there were visiters, and a closer inspection
convinced him they were not friends, for he could distinguish
through the window, that they were offering
violence to the colonel. He hastily returned to Jane,
and in as few words as possible, informed her of the
state of things within. This information was followed
by the proposal of a plan, which was the only one that
occurred to him in this sudden emergency. He asked
if she had the resolution to play her part, and was
eagerly assured, that to save her father, she was capable
of anything. He then pulled off his coat and hat,
with which he equipped the young maiden, at the same
time giving her the necessary instructions. He next
approached the window, and dashing a pane of glass
to atoms, roared out in a voice of thunder:

“Surrender! you rascally red coats, or you are dead
men! Down with your arms this instant!”

“Surrender! you rascally red coats!” echoed Jane
from another window in the rear, while both moved

about rapidly, making as much noise as possible, and
in every variety of tone.

They were just in the nick of time; for the officer
having allowed the colonel five minutes to say his
prayers, was just on the point of making good his
claim to the character of a gentleman and a Christian,
when the summons to surrender, which seemed to
come from fifty different quarters, brought them to a
dead pause. After a few moments of reflection, the
valiant subaltern responded:

“Who are we to surrender to?”

“To Captain Flashfire's troop of dragoons, eight
and forty strong! Deliver your arms out of the
window, or you are all dead men!”

“Down with your arms, villains!” cried Jane, “or
we'll cut the throats of every man, woman, and child,
in fifty miles round!”

“Bless my heart!” said General Tinkerman, “what
a bloodthirsty fellow that Captain Flashfire is! I tell
you what, my friends, you'd better hand out your arms
at once, or in less than fifteen minutes, you'll all be as
dead as mutton! I know him of old; if he once gets
his dander up, it's all over with you. There! there!
there! he begins again!”

“Hand out your arms this minute, or we'll blow
you all sky high!” cried John, in a terrible voice.

The officer finding such odds against him, obeyed
the summons, and the arms were handed out through
the broken window. John then entered the house,
accompanied by Captain Flashfire; and his first
act was to free the colonel, who had scarcely yet recovered
his breath, and stood staring around, half unconscious

of what was going forward. Indeed, he had
been all but suffocated. Our hero then very courteously
addressed himself to the officer, stating that his
men had become so exasperated by the reports of the
ill-usage of their countrymen during their imprisonment
in New York, that they had sworn vengeance
against the first red coats that fell into their hands.
He could, at present, think of no other way to protect
them from their fury, than tying their hands behind
them. His men were on the whole generous fellows,
and would never think of doing violence to defenceless
prisoners. The officer at once assented, at the same
time begging his protection; and additional halters
being procured, the valiant commander and his party
had their arms well secured behind their backs.

John having thus released the colonel, and secured
his prisoners, proceeded to interrogate them, as to who
they were, whence they came, and the object of their
coming; in the course of which he detected his old
friend Boshin, who had retired into a corner, and seemed
by no means desirous of exciting observation. His
blood boiled at sight of the caitiff, and he called out in
a loud voice, “Case Boshin, stand forth!” Case crawled
out, trembling like a detected criminal.

“How come you by that uniform?”

“I have enlisted in the regiment of loyal Americans.”

“Since when?”

“About three months ago.”

“Liar and rascal! Within less than that time you
robbed, and almost murdered my grandfather. Do
you remember the ghost of the bridge? You see I
know all about it. You have now come here to rob

and murder in the disguise of a uniform, already sufficiently
disgraced by atrocities which no circumstances
can justify. I owe you two good turns for
myself, and one for my country. You did all you
could to bring me to a disgraceful death; you deprived
my poor old grandfather of his reason, and you
have deserted your country, to side with her enemies.
The day of reckoning has come, and you shall pay it
to the last farthing, as sure as you live.”

Case made no reply, but retired in dogged silence to
his corner. After some little consultation, it was decided
to confine the prisoners in the root-house, whither
they were conducted, and placed under guard of General
Tinkerman, assisted by old Mingo, who having previously
refreshed himself with a long nap, declared he could
keep awake the rest of the night, if the general would
only talk to him. The next day Mingo was despatched
with a letter to the commandant at West Point, and
the day following, the prisoners were marched under
a guard sent down for them, to that post. Here
Case, being recognised as a deserter, suffered the severest
penalty of military law, and the others were
treated according to their demerits.

The colonel having by this time sufficiently recovered
his breath and recollection, recognised his deliverer,
whom he welcomed with all the warmth of grateful
affection. After which, he inquired for Captain
Flashfire, who stood ensconced behind General Tinkerman,
that worthy having left Mingo on guard, while
he came to light his pipe, as he said, though the truth
is, he was anxious to see what would be the end of
this affair.

“I beg pardon, sir,” said John, in answer to the colonel's
inquiry, “permit me to introduce Captain Flashfire,
as brave an officer as ever drew trigger. He is bullet
proof. He fears no man living, I'll say that for him.
Lieutenant Flashfire, Colonel Hammond; a gallant
officer who distinguished himself at the siege of Ticonderoga,
in the old French war.”

“Your hand, Captain Flashfire,” said the old continental.
“Thunder and Mars! it feels like velvet!
Sir, you have saved my life from these hang-dogs, and
mine is at your service. Permit me to bid you welcome,
and to assure you my house, and everything in
it is yours,” and the colonel bowed profoundly, with
the halter still hanging about his neck.

“A trifle—a trifle, colonel,” replied the captain,
disguising his voice a little. “Don't mention it—don't
mention it, I beg of you. It isn't the first time by a
hundred. I generally kill half a dozen men of a morning,
and quiet my conscience by saving as many in
the afternoon.”

“The d—I you do!” He talks like a militia-man
who has looked the enemy in the face across a river,
thought the colonel. “But come, captain, pull off
your coat, which, by the way—you will excuse me,
sir—looks as if it had outgrown you; and your hat,
which—hem! A glass of wine, sir. Permit me—I drink
your good health, and yours, John, and yours, General
Tinkerman. But now I think of it, where is the rest
of your company? Let them come in, there is room
and welcome for them all.”

“You see all our company, sir; Captain Flashfire
and I,” said John.

“What, hey! Thunder and Mars! a ruse, as the
French used to say at old Ti. You young rascal, you
learnt that of me. Isn't it so? I'll never forgive you,
if it isn't a ruse.”

“Something like it, colonel. But, captain, suppose
you pull off your hat and coat, and make yourself
at home. No one has a better right.”

“I can deny you nothing;” and the captain complied.

“What, hey! why, sure! Why, you impudent baggage,
are you not ashamed of campaigning about in
men's clothes? Who made you a captain?”

“My commander, here. I would be made anything,
to assist in saving the life of my dear father.”

“Ah! a chip of the old block. And so you two
alone have saved me from these scoundrels. John,”
added the colonel, with dignified solemnity, “John, I
owe my life to you, and—and Captain Flashfire.
You have preserved me from a death unworthy of a
soldier. In what way can I repay the obligation?
Zounds! I have it. I'll give you half my estate.”

John shook his head.

“No? well, what say you to the whole?”

Again John shook his head.

“Why, you unreasonable dog! Well, I have nothing
else to give, except what you once rejected. I am
too proud of myself and my daughter, to send her begging
for a husband, especially since I hear you are
grown such a great man all at once; thanked by General
Washington; thanked by Congress; voted a medal,
and all that. Thunder and Mars! I suppose you
will look down on the old continental colonel and his

daughter, now!”—and the colonel began to wax
wroth.

“Ask your daughter,” said John.

“What! has he made the amen honourable, as the
French used to say at old Ti? Has he gone down
on his knees, acknowledged himself a puppy, and
begged your pardon with his nose in the dirt?”

“He has given me satisfactory reasons, sir.”

“And what were they?”

“I can't remember them,” replied Jane, blushing.

“Ah—well—um—I suppose it is all right. Come
hither, Captain Flashfire;—ah! you little vixen!
Here, John, take her, you puppy; but mind you keep
a tight rein. Thunder and fire! how she strutted and
swore! Surrender, this instant, or we'll blow you sky
high! Surrender! you scoundrels, or we'll cut the
throats of every man, woman and child in fifty miles
round! and then she kills six men a day, and saves
the lives of as many more to quiet her conscience!
But come to my arms, that I may kiss you once more
before I give you away. There, take her, John, with
all my heart, and all my money—witness, General
Tinkerman.”

“I do,” said the general, “and may I have the running
of all the pewter spoons.”

“Silver, you old empty tin canister! They shall
have nothing but silver in the house! Hey! Johnny,
my son?”

“Silver, pewter, horn or wood, all one, sir. To me,
her only treasure is herself; silver and gold are nothing
to such a heart, enshrined in such a casket.”

“Hey diddle, diddle! the puppy grows poetical. But

take her, John, such as heaven made her. I give her
to you as the best of daughters, and such ever make
the best of wives. I give her to you as the reward of
patriotism and fidelity.”

The wedding took place shortly afterwards; but the
consummation of his love, did not subdue our hero's
patriotism. He remained at home during the remainder
of the winter; but joined the American army at
the commencement of the campaign, with the consent
of Jane, who said with tears in her eyes, and blushes
on her cheeks, “I know it is your duty to go, and mine
to part with you, though it cuts me to the heart. But
I never wish to be the wife of any but a freeman, or
the mother of slaves.” He served during the remainder
of the war; performed many hardy exploits, was
present at the closing scene at York Town; and returned
home with the rank of major, to enjoy the
blessings of that liberty for which he had so faithfully laboured,
and so severely suffered. Nor should it be
forgotten that his two companions, Isaac and David,
attended the wedding, where the latter made the bride
not a little jealous by joking the bridegroom about the
beautiful fortune-teller. The two equally shared with
John the gratitude of their country, and lived long
after the conclusion of the war, in credit and renown.

The old couple at the stone house, did not, however,
live to see and share the blessings of freedom. They
died within a few weeks of each other, and slid out
of the world so easily, that their last sleep came on
like the hour of balmy rest, after a long summer day
of toil. The last words of the old man were—“Yes,
yes, a tory is a highway robber.” They were quietly

borne to the grave, where they lay side by side, awaiting
the unfolding of that awful mystery which the living
never penetrate, and the dead never disclose.

General Tinkerman—once a general, always a general—survived
the war, during which he had saved
money enough to set up in business in New York, in
the pewter and tin line. Being a long-sighted man,
he purchased a swamp just at the outskirts of the
city, which in process of time became at length so
valuable, that the general deserted his caste, and went
over to the aristocracy. The more the price of the
swamp rose, the more weighty became his influence,
both in politics, morals, and religion, and his opinions
concerning public measures and the weather, were
decisive. He bore his honours as if he had inherited
them from the time of William the Conqueror, and it
was exceedingly edifying to hear him dilate on the
“mushroom nobility,” or the intolerable impudence of
tag-rag and bobtail democracy, as he termed the good
people, who had fought for their country while he was
running pewter spoons and selling pins and needles.
To sustain his pretensions, he selected for his carriage
a great coat of arms, of sixteen quarterings, which he
found in an old book of heraldry in the city library,
and, in short, became one of the granite pillars of the
aristocracy of the great emporium. Finally, when he
died—for all men must die—the newspapers of the
time solemnly announced, that “A great man had
fallen in Israel.”

Artemas Day, in like manner, lived to a good old
age, doubtless by virtue of his devotion to dried apples
and molasses and water, and became a richer

man than his neighbour, the old continental, by the
aid of hard bargains and labour-saving machines.
Such was the rigid propriety of his outward man, that
it was taken for granted by those who never had anything
to do with him, that the inward man must be
equally unexceptionable. He was consequently highly
respected abroad, though it must be confessed he was
marvellously despised nearer home, thereby verifying
the saying, that “prophets have no honour in their
own country.” The little mischievous boys of the
neighbourhood, those shrewd judges of human character,
seldom missed an opportunity of doing him an
ill turn, by robbing his orchard and flouting his spare-ribbed
horse, as he rode along with the resignation of
a martyr. The last act of his life which has come to
our knowledge, was his contriving, by some means or
other, to get a pension for his revolutionary services,
which consisted in holding friendly intercourse with
the enemy, and taking a protection for his person and
property. There was a sermon preached at his funeral,
in which he was greatly exalted, and Zoroaster
Fisk tasked his genius in works of fiction so successfully,
that neither man, woman, nor innocent babe, in
all the churchyard, left behind them such a character
for piety, integrity, and benevolence.

Our heroine, in the opinion of those who best knew
her, made a wife of at least a hundred thousand,
though it is traditionary that she paid such exclusive
attention to her first-born, that both John and the colonel
were sometimes a little jealous. It was considered
somewhat remarkable that she dressed plainer as she

grew older, and that her husband actually thought she
became handsomer every day, although she had a bad
habit of giving him advice which cannot be sufficiently
reprehended. She was pious, without being priestridden,
and never went to a night meeting but once,
when she caught a great cold, which the colonel swore
by Thunder and Mars, was a judgment upon her. Her
greatest fault was a blameable indifference to the concerns
of her neighbours, into which she never pried
except with a view of relieving their necessities, so
that never was woman more deficient in that knowledge
which concerns everybody but ourselves. With
this exception, we would venture to pronounce her
perfect, had she not once nearly fainted at a proposition
of John to apprentice his third son to a trade, instead
of making him a lawyer.

The old continental, after the marriage of his daughter,
abandoned all his contemplated improvements and
labour-saving machines, having got a new set of playthings
in the person of divers little grandchildren,
whom he did his best to spoil, and then swore by
Thunder and Mars, it was all owing to the weak indulgence
of the mother. John found him a very
amusing companion of evenings, only he told the stories
of old Ti and Pine's bridge rather too often. But
to do the good man justice, he made all the amends in
his power, by adding, altering, or diminishing something
at every repetition, thereby producing a perpetual
variety. Old Mingo sometimes took the liberty
of setting him right, but such is the ingratitude of
mankind that all he got for his pains was either a

sharp reprimand, or a provoking insinuation that the
poor old negro had outlived his recollection. He not
unfrequently scolded Jane, and generally when she
least deserved it. This, her husband did not much
relish, either because he thought it unmerited, or that
this was his exclusive privilege. The old continental
lived to a patriarchal age, without ever suffering any
severe pain, or actual disease, except on one occasion,
when he nearly died of laughter on reading in the
newspapers a pompous eulogium on that pillar of aristocracy,
General Tinkerman, and that a great man had
fallen in Israel. Towards the close of his life, his
daughter succeeded in persuading him, that it was
unbecoming his years to deal so much in Thunder and
Mars, and he promised to do his best to abstain. The
good gentleman succeeded during three days, by
scarcely opening his mouth at all, but on the morning
of the fourth, it was observed that he broke out
again, and made himself ample amends for his abstinence.

Our happy trio—for happy they were, notwithstanding
the little rubs of domestic life—lived to enjoy the
blessings of that freedom, for the attainment of which,
each in their appropriate sphere, had paid a just proportion
of anxieties and suffering. They lived to see
their country increasing in prosperity and happiness,
beyond all former examples; to see it expanding in
extent, growing in vigour, and giving new force to the
principles, new sanctity to the name of liberty, by exhibiting
an example of its glorious consequences.
While enjoying the present, and anticipating still

greater triumphs in the future, they often reverted to
the past, and recalled to mind the hardships and sufferings
of the revolutionary struggle, John would often
exclaim—“It was the Price of Liberty!”