University of Virginia Library

4. CHAPTER IV.

Wordsworth.

On the following morning, the warlike gentleman
sallied forth to view the beautiful, though rather
muddy village, and to pay his respects to the important
personage, who had sent him his card on
the previous evening. Mr. Littleworth was at home
to the warlike gentleman, and was delighted to embrace
the opportunity of making the acquaintance
of so distinguished an individual, although he, to
speak truth, had never heard of the warlike gentleman
before. However, that was nothing; the
captain's name was a sufficient guarantee of his
nobility. Mr. Littleworth loved any thing that
smacked of aristocracy, notwithstanding his declarations
about his thorough democracy to his constituents.

He claimed some of the first men who
have ever lived as his ancestors, and should any
one require it, he could trace his genealogy back,
almost, if not quite, as far as to the greatest man of
his time, namely, Noah. Mrs. Timothy Littleworth
was, in every way, her husband's equal, not
even excepting in size of body. In fact, Mr. Littleworth
looked upon her as the most astonishing
woman in the country. He would frequently say
that Mrs. L.'s beauty was not alone comprised in
her face and form; but her intellect was equally
gigantic and beautiful. Besides, she was born in
France, and being a very distant relative to Napoleon,
he felt that he was not going too far, when
he acknowledged that he held her in divine admiration.
She conversed in English quite as well as in
French, and in Italian quite as well as either. In
truth, she spoke all of the useful languages beautifully,
giving the accent of each to perfection. And
his daughters, too; their mother had taught them
the different languages. He was happy to say that
they promised to equal, in every way, their more
than talented parent. Mr. Littleworth had no less
than seven daughters, averaging from two to sixteen
years of age. Mr. L. left the warlike gentleman
to amuse himself with the books and prints, while
he hurried to the nursery to inform his precocious
daughters, that a very great man was to dine there,
and they must each try and improve by his example
— they must watch him closely at table,
and imitate all of his graces.

“Remember, my daughters,” he said, “remember,
and be an ornament to your papa, and an
honor to your mamma. You, Napoleana, be very
proper; there 's no knowing what may grow out of
a very small circumstance. It has always been
your papa's saying, my dears, that great events
turn on remarkably small pivots. And you,
Josephine, Maria Louisa, Austerlitziana, Lodina,
Elbaena, and my sweet little Helena, you are to sit
at the table with a nobleman! Just think of it!
Do remember, and be very proper.”

“Oh yes, papa!”

“And remember, Napoleana, if he addresses
you in French, answer the gentleman promptly and
sweetly as possible, for, as your papa has said
before, there 's no knowing what may grow out of
a small circumstance.”

The daughter addressed replied “we, papa,” and
“we, papa” passed from mouth to mouth, like the
running of the upper octave of a flute, the last little
note winding off with a very sharp screech. Ah!
that was a proud time for Mr. Littleworth. “Captain,”
said he, as he entered the parlor again, “I
trust that you have been amused. Here are some
of the first engravings of the age; but it is needless,
however, that I should tell a gentleman of your
taste such a thing. These are all English prints.
There, sir, that is a likeness of George the Fourth,
if you have never seen his likeness. Oh! I ask
your pardon, you have seen it then, in London.

Large city that London! I correspond with several
of the greatest men of that metropolis. Here is a
likeness of Scott — quite a clever man — English
I mean. Oh! ah! you 've seen that before. But
here, sir, here — this picture — did you observe
this? It is a picture of Napoleon crossing the
Alps, executed by David, pronounced Dah-vede in
French. Yes, I presumed you knew the fact, but
all do not! Ah! sir, I pray you think nothing of
my weakness, excuse it — but I never look upon
this picture of Bonaparte, on the island of St.
Helena, without dropping a tear to his memory.
You may think this weakness — yes, I knew you
would — well, then, sir, for your sake I will not
contemplate that picture at present. Here, sir, if
you are fond of wit, here are the works of the
greatest humorist of his age. There, take a seat,
you can't understand them in a moment, they are
so far in advance of the age! They are generally
political pieces, hits at the administration. You
will not understand them — allow me to explain.
Ah! here on the first page we have the likeness of
the artist himself, Christopher Scrapp, Esq.; fine
intellectual face that; the small twinkling eye indicative
of wit; how expressive the nose is, turned
slightly up, showing his sneering disposition to a
charm. Were it not for the hair, sir, you would
observe what a forehead he has. I advised Mr.
Scrapp to have it shaved, a thing frequently done.
He writes me in his last letter that he has followed
the suggestion, and thanks me for the advice. He
is a wonderful man. By the way, I will give you
his address; mention my name, that will be sufficient.
Observe that figure; you do n't understand it, I presume
not, but, sir, that picture produced an alarming
excitement. It represents a figure standing on
its head; there are the two legs up in the air; the
feet are rather large, but that is a part of Mr.
Scrapp's style, one of his peculiarities. The figure
is allegorical; it represents the present condition of
the administration; capital! is n't it? That book,
sir, has done more for my cause in this town than
you could imagine. Those spirited satires, sir,
when I held them up to the people, and gave them
the proper explanations, the effect was miraculous;
unlike other senseless satires, they were not laughed
at. No! there is too much truth, sir, and whenever
I presented them, a solemn silence pervaded the
spectators. I have the greatest admiration for the
genius of my friend Scrapp. His illustrations of
Mother Goose give general satisfaction among the
smaller members of my family. Ah! yes sir, I
look upon this artist as one of the greatest benefactors
of his age, if in nothing else than amusing les
enfans.”

In this manner did Mr. Timothy Littleworth
entertain his distinguished visiter until the dinner-hour,
when he conducted the captain into the
dining-room, where was presented a formidable
array of young Littleworths, each having her hair

done into two long stiff braids, tied over with any
quantity of blue ribbon, arranged into very systematic
bow-knots.

“Allow me to introduce my daughters. Miss
Napoleana, Captain Cutlass; Josephine, Maria
Louisa, Austerlitziana, Lodina, and these two are
the youngest, Elbaena and Helena. Be seated,
captain, there, if you please, opposite my eldest.
Ah! here comes madam. Madam Littleworth,
Captain Cutlass.” Now the lady L. was enormously
fat, and as she waddled into the room, her
appearance was almost too much for the rigid
risibilities of the warlike gentleman. She bowed,
for who ever saw a fat woman courtesy? No one,
I imagine — in fact, it would be hazardous.

“Bon apres — midi — Monsieur,” said the lady,
taking a seat next to her husband.

“I am vere mush glad to have ze pleasure, oui.
You are in ze — ze — armee?” The captain
bowed, and the young ladies bowed.

“You have been in ze battle, eh, Monsieur?”
The warlike gentleman coughed, and replied that it
was warm, oppressively so.

“Oui, oui, — you have been in oppressive warm
battle! Vere you ever shot?”

“Hem! no, not exactly shot, that is, slightly
wounded.”

“Indeed! Where?”

“Ah! hem! it happened in a — a — vessel,
madam — a sea engagement.”

“Oh! possible? in ze blood vessel?”

“Oh! ah! yes, rather a bloody vessel, just at
that time.”

“But where is ze wound? Do let me see ze
wound.”

The captain was confused, and could make no
reply for some time. At last he observed, that the
wound could not be discerned very easily.

“My daughters!” whispered Mr. Littleworth,
shaking his head and frowning forbiddingly, “hush!”

“The fact is, madam,” continued the warlike
gentleman — “The fact is, a confounded piece of
lead came very abruptly just across my chin, and
dislocated several individual members of my imperial;
a very serious loss, I assure you.”

“Ah! captain,” continued Mrs. Littleworth, as
she emptied a dish of chicken salad on her plate;
“Come, captain, tell some more about ze war, just
to amuse ze daughters, do.”

“Oh, do, do, do!” cried two or three of the
young Littleworths.

“My children, be silent!” said Mr. L., firmly.
“Elbaena, my daughter, take that soup dish off of
your head; papa will you send right away from the
table. Helena, dear, take her fingers out of the
butter-plate; she should n't do so, pet.”

“A battle is a very dreadful thing,” said the
captain, wiping the moisture from his mustaches.
“A very dreadful thing. You Americans know
nothing of the horrors of war, nothing. I hope you
will not. War is a dreadful thing.”

“Oui — oui — so I tink, so I have tell my husband
one, three, several times. He sall nevare go
to war. Eh, mon cher?”

“Yes, frequently, my dear. Ah! she is very
affectionate — always in this beautiful serene spirit
of tenderness that you now behold her in. Oh,
is n't it delightful?”

“Exceedingly.”

“Napoleon was a vere great war-man, captain,
eh?”

“Yes, clever.”

“A vere great war-man, I say!”

“Circumstances, you know, did every thing for
him.”

“I do n't know ze man Circumstanz, but I nevare
tink of Waterloo wizout saying, Mon Dieu —!”

“Oh, my dear,” said Mr. L.

“Yes, you know, husband, ve bot hate dem
Englishmen like ze —”

“Hush — sh — sh!”

“Vot for hush? Do n't tell me hush! I nevare
was told hush! — I love my country, and hate ze
English like, like —”

“Madam,” said the captain, “I look upon Napoleon
as the greatest curse that ever fell upon the
world!”

“Sare, you are not gentleman!” screamed Mrs.
Littleworth, coloring deeply up to the very edges
of her wig, and as much farther as you may choose
to imagine. “You are von grand coward!”

“Was it to be insulted, madam, that I permitted
my person to grace your table?” exclaimed the
warlike gentleman, rising.

“Grace MY table! You are disgrace, sare!”

“I 'll not be insulted! Mr. Littleworth, you
shall answer for this. We gentlemen of standing
always go prepared to repel injury — remember
that!” roared the captain.

“Mrs. Littleworth, Oh! Mrs. Littleworth, you will
be my ruin!” exclaimed the trembling husband.

“Ha! such words to me!” screamed the lady
at the top of her voice, “Ha! ha!” The three
youngest Littleworths caught up the scream of the
infuriated mother, and clenching their little fists, at
arms' length, and shutting their eyes very tight,
prolonged it.

“I 'll do something dreadful, Mr. Littleworth!
I 'll be the death of you!” cried the warlike gentleman,
as he left the apartment. It was in vain
that Mr. Littleworth followed him to the door, and
implored his pardon; for the warlike gentleman
was neither butter nor sugar, and therefore would
not melt. When Mr. Littleworth returned to the
room, he found the young ladies undergoing certain
gymnastic exercises with their enraged mamma, not
altogether pleasant, which performance being over,
Mrs. Littleworth, with great determination, seated
herself upon the table, unmindful of cracking plates
and squashing contents, placed her arms akimbo,
and, gazing around on her husband and progeny,

she felt, not for the first time either, that she was
“monarch of all she surveyed; her right there was
none to dispute.”