University of Virginia Library

8. CHAPTER VIII.

The reader will now accompany us to Geneva, one of the most
beautiful villages in Western New-York. On arriving at the
depot we are beset by a host of runners, who call out lustily,
“Temperance House!” “Franklin House!” “Geneva Hotel!”
“Carriage to any part of the village for a shilling!” but we
prefer walking, and passing up Water-street, and Seneca-street,
we soon come to Main-street, which we follow until
we reach a large elegant mansion, the property of Judge
Fulton, who is that evening entertaining a fashionable party.
No matter if we are not invited, we can enter unperceived,
and note down what is taking place.

Our attention is first directed towards the Judge and his
accomplished lady, who are doing the honors of the evening.
As we scan their looks closely, we are struck with the peculiarly
benevolent expression which rests upon their features,
and we feel sure that to them wealth was not given in vain,
and that the beggar never left their door unfed, or uncared
for.

Mrs. Fulton's countenance looks very familiar to us, and
we wonder much where we have seen her before, or if we
never have seen her, who it is that she so strongly reminds
us of. Before we can solve the mystery, we observe across
the room, a face which makes us start up and exclaim, “Is

it possible! Can that be Dr. Lacey?” A second look at
the gentleman in question, convinces us that he is two inches
shorter than Dr. Lacey, and also that he wears glasses; still
he bears a striking resemblance to the Doctor, and we inquire
who he is. We are told that his name is Robert Stanton.
He is a graduate of Yale, and a brother of Mrs. Fulton.
He is intending in a few days to start for Kentucky, in company
with Frederic Raymond, who was a classmate of his.

As we watch young Stanton's movements, we observe a
certain restlessness in his eye, as it wanders over the crowded
room, seemingly in quest of some one who is not there. At
last there is a new arrival, and Miss Warner, a very prim
lady, and a teacher in the Seminary, is announced, together
with three of her pupils. As the young girls enter the parlor,
Mr. Stanton seems suddenly animated with new life, and
we feel sure that one of those young ladies has a great attraction
for him. Nor are we mistaken, for he soon crosses
the room, and going up to one of them, a rosy-cheeked, blue-eyed
girl, he says in a low tone, “I am glad you have come,
Nellie. I had almost given you up, and concluded you were
doing penance for some misdemeanor, and so could not come
out.” Then taking her upon his arm, he kept her near him
all the evening.

There was a strange history connected with Helen Ashton,
or Nellie, as she was more familiarly called, but of this
we will speak hereafter. She was formerly a member of the
young ladies' school in New Haven, where she had become
acquainted with Robert Stanton, who was in college. An
intimacy sprang up between them, which at last ripened into
an engagement. Stanton's home was near Geneva, and
when he left college, he suddenly discovered that the Geneva
Seminary was superior to any other, and with but little
trouble he pursuaded Nellie to go there to school.

She had now been an inmate of the Seminary in that

place little more than a year, during which time Robert had
pursued the study of Law in Judge Fulton's office. He had
always possessed a great desire to visit Kentucky, and had
finally concluded to do so, determining if he liked it, to make
it his permanent residence. He was to return the next
autumn for Nellie, who was to remain in school until that
time.

As they stood together that evening conversing about
Kentucky, Nellie said, “I have an old schoolmate in Frankfort.
It is Kate Wilmot. Do you not remember having
seen her in New Haven?”

“Is she very beautiful?” asked Robert.

“Oh yes, exceedingly so. She turned half the student's
heads,” answered Nellie.

“Yes, I remember her perfectly well,” said Frederic Raymond,
who was standing near, “and so does Bob, but he
wants to pretend he does not. By the way, Miss Ashton,”
continued he, “are you not afraid that Kate's marvellous
beauty will endanger your claim upon Robert's heart, when
he shall be near her constantly, and can only think of your
blue eyes as `over the hills and far away?”'

Helen blushed, but did not answer, and Stanton said,
“Never fear for me, Fred., but rather keep your own heart
safely locked up, for fear some of those dark-eyed Kentucky
girls will, ere you are aware, rifle you of it.”

“I shall do no such thing,” returned Frederic. “I am
going there for the express purpose of losing my heart, and
the first Kentucky girl which pleases me shall be my wife,
any way.”

“Whether she likes you or not?” asked Nellie.

“Yes, whether she likes me or not,” answered Frederic;
“I shall marry her first, and make her like me afterwards.”

So saying he sauntered off to another part of the room,
little thinking that what he had spoken in jest would afterward

prove true. At a late hour the company began to disperse,
Miss Warner keeping a watchful eye upon her pupils,
lest some lawless collegiate should relieve her from the
trouble of seeing them safely home. This perpendicular
maiden had lived forty years on this mundane sphere, without
ever having had an offer, and she had come to think of
gentlemen as a race of intruding bipeds, which the world
would be much better without. However, if there were any
of the species which she could tolerate, it was Judge Fulton
and Robert Stanton. The former she liked, because every
body liked him, and said he was a “nice man, and what
every body said must be true.” Her partiality for the latter
arose from the fact that he had several times complimented
her fine figure and dignified manners; so when he that
night asked the privilege of walking home with Nellie, she
raised no very strong opposition, but yielded the point, by
merely saying something about “child's play.” She, however,
kept near enough to them to hear every word of their
conversation; but they consoled themselves by thinking that
her wide open ears could not penetrate into the recesses of
their well-filled letters which they saw in the future.

In a few days Stanton and Raymond started for Kentucky.
The evening before they left was spent by Stanton
in Nellie's company. Mrs. Fulton had invited her to pass the
night with her, as the Judge was absent from home. About
ten o'clock Mrs. Fulton very considerately grew sleepy, and
retired to her own room. But long after the town clock rang
out the hour of midnight, a light might have been seen
gleaming from the windows of Judge Fulton's sitting-room,
in which sat Robert and Nellie, repeating for the hundredth
time vows of eternal constancy.

The next morning when the last rumbling sound of the
eastern train died away in the streets of Geneva, Nellie Ashton
sat weeping in her little room at the Seminary. She felt

that now she was again alone in the wide, wide world.
Eight years before she had in the short space of three weeks
followed both father and mother to their last resting-place,
and upon their newly-made graves she had prayed the orphan's
prayer, that God would protect one who was without
father, mother, brother or sister in the world.

The little property of her father was sold for the payment
of his debts, and Nellie, who was then but twelve years old,
was obliged to labor both early and late for her daily bread.
Her father had lived near the city of New-York, and not
long after his death, she procured a situation in a wealthy
family of that city. She was called “the girl to do chores,”
which meant that she was kept running from garret to cellar,
from parlor to kitchen, first here and then there, from earliest
dawn to latest evening. It was almost always eleven o'clock
before she could steal away to her low bed in the dark garret,
and often, in the loneliness of the night, would the desolate
child pray that the God with whom her parents dwelt,
would look in pity upon the helpless orphan.

Ere long her prayer was answered, for there came to the
house where she lived a gentleman and lady, who saw the
“little kitchen girl.” Something there was in her sad, but
intelligent face, which attracted their notice, and they inquired
her history of Mrs. Stanley, the lady with whom she
lived.

“She is,” said Mrs. Stanley, “a good enough girl, if she
would only let books alone; but she seems to have a passion
for study, quite unsuitable for one in her station. When she
is cleaning the knives, she will have a book before her; and
instead of singing the baby to sleep, she will get down and
read to her, or repeat something which she has learned.”

“And has she no relatives?” asked the gentleman.

“None living that I know of,” said Mrs. Stanley, and
then she added, “Nellie says she had a brother who was

several years older than herself, and that three years ago, he
was one morning missing, and they found on his table a letter,
saying that he had gone to sea on a whaling voyage, and
would be gone three years. Her father afterwards heard
that the vessel in which his son sailed was supposed to be
lost with all its crew. This is her story; but you don't know
how much to believe of it.”

“Did you ever detect her in a falsehood?” asked the
gentleman.

“Why, no, I never did; but of course she will equivocate,
for all such paupers will.”

“With whom did she live before she came here?” continued
the gentleman.

“With a Mr. Barnard,” answered Mrs. Stanley; and she
continued laughingly, “you had better inquire about her of
him, as you seem so much interested in her. He lives out
a few miles in the country.”

The result of this conversation was, that the Mr. Barnard
mentioned above, received the next day a call from a stranger,
who made particular inquiry about little Helen Ashton. He
seemed satisfied with the result, and as he had before learned
that Mr. Barnard was a very good, honest man, he handed
him five hundred dollars, telling him to take Nellie home,—
as she called Mr. Barnard's house,—and to send her for two
years to the district school. At the end of that time, he
would furnish funds for her to be educated in New Haven.

There was a great excitement in Mrs. Stanley's family
when it was known that Nellie was to go away and be sent
to school in New Haven. “I wonder,” said Mrs. Stanley,
“who pays the expenses? It can't be Judge — (naming
the gentleman who had seemed so much interested in Nellie),
for I am sure he would not be stupid enough to take a street
beggar, as it were, and educate her.” A second thought
convinced the lady that it must be the said gentleman, and

she suddenly felt an inclination to do something herself for
the heretofore neglected kitchen girl.

Accordingly Nellie was summoned to the parlor and
the state of her wardrobe inquired into. It was found to be
lamentably deficient in even the necessary articles of clothing.
Mrs. Stanley then turned her rag bag inside out, and rummaged
through several boxes in the garret which had not
seen the light for several years. The result of her search
was three or four old cast-off garments, which the cook said
“were so bad the rag man would hardly buy them.” Mrs.
Stanley, however, thought them quite a gift, and gave Nellie
many injunctions as to when she should wear them. Nellie
thought it doubtful whether she should wear them at all;
but she said nothing, and in a few days she left Mrs. Stanley's
house for a more pleasant home at Mr. Barnard's.

It was a great mystery to Nellie who it could be that
had befriended her; but if Mr. Barnard knew, he kept the
knowledge to himself, and Nellie was obliged to remain in
ignorance. She was, however, satisfied that the gentleman,
whoever he was, was both able and willing to carry out his
plan, for money for the payment of her school-bills was regularly
remitted to Mr. Barnard. At the time when she
wished to leave New Haven, she had written to Mr. Barnard
on the subject, and in due time had received from him
a letter saying, that the gentleman who was educating her
was not only willing but anxious to have her sent to
Geneva.

Soon after her arrival there, she chanced to meet Judge
Fulton and his wife. Something in their looks seemed familiar,
and also awoke a painful reminiscence of the dark
kitchen and lone garret far off in the great city. She could
not remember ever having seen them, and so dismissed the
subject from her mind, merely wondering if they knew that

she who was to be their brother's wife, once lighted fires and
cleaned potatoes as a common servant girl.

The reader will perhaps have imagined that the gentleman
who befriended Nellie, was none other than Judge Fulton.
He was incited to this act of kindness by the same
benevolent feeling which prompted all his deeds of charity.
He had no daughters, and his intention was, first to see what
improvement she would make of her advantages, and if he
were satisfied, he would take her home as his adopted
daughter. He was somewhat surprised, when two years before
the time of which we are speaking, he received through
Mr. Barnard a letter from Nellie addressed to, “My unknown
benefactor,” and desiring his consent to an engagement
between herself and Robert Stanton. The same mail
brought a letter from Robert, saying that he had just made
an offer of his hand to a Miss Helen Ashton, who was only
waiting for her guardian to sanction her choice. Judge
Fulton's consent was given, and he wrote to Nellie that before
she was married, he would make himself known to her,
and give her a wedding at his own house.

A few weeks before Robert left for Kentucky, Judge
Fulton received another letter from Nellie, saying that it was
Mr. Stanton's wish to be married the ensuing autumn. To
this the Judge gave his approval, and determined as soon as
Robert was gone to enlighten Nellie as to who her guardian
was. This, then, was the history of Nellie Ashton, whom we
will leave for a time, and as our readers are probably anxious to
return to the bland climate of Kentucky, we will follow
young Stanton and Raymond on their journey. Having
arrived at Buffalo, they took passage in the steamboat Saratoga,
which landed them safely in Sandusky after a trip of
about twenty-four hours. At Sandusky they took the cars
for Cincinnati.

As they neared the Queen City, they noticed at one of

the stations, a tall, intelligent, but rather reckless looking
young man, who entered the cars and took a seat directly
opposite them. There was something peculiarly attractive
to Raymond in the confident, self-possessed manner of the
stranger, and ere long he had, to use a Yankee expression,
“scraped acquaintance” with him, and learned that his name
was Henry Ashton, and that he too was on his way to
Frankfort, where he resided. As the young man told his
name, Raymond turned to Stanton and said, “I should think
you'd feel acquainted with this gentleman, you are so partial
to his name.”

Stanton did not answer and Raymond proceeded to
question Mr. Ashton about Frankfort and its inhabitants.
“By the way,” said he, “are there any pretty girls there?
substantial ones, I mean, who have a purse long enough to
pay a fellow for the trouble of marrying them?”

Mr. Ashton smiled and answered, “Yes, we have a good
many, and rich ones too; but the belle of the city when I
left was a Mrs. Carrington,—”

“The plague it was!” interrupted Raymond, “and can't
we get rid of her husband somehow? Won't he die of
yellow fever, cholera, or something? Or is he a gouty old
wretch, who will live for ever?”

“You prevented me from telling you,” said Mr. Ashton,
“that Mr. Carrington has died since I left there. But you
will hardly win his fair, haughty lady, unless you can plank
about a million. But there are other faces, quite as pretty,
I think. There is a Julia Middleton, who is attending school.
She is a great beauty, but if report speaks truly, she would
keep you busily employed in curbing her high temper.”

“No matter about her temper—has she got the dimes?”
said Raymond.

“About one hundred thousand dollars, I think,” answered
Ashton; “but one would need to be paid that much for having

such a fury as she is, and such a queer old rat as her
father.”

He then proceeded to enumerate some of Mr. Middleton's
oddities, at all of which his auditors laughed heartily, and
expressed their determination to make the old man's acquaintance
as soon as possible. When the young men
reached Cincinnati, they concluded to take the stage route
to Lexington and Versailles, and pay Mr. Middleton a visit
before they proceeded to Frankfort. Accordingly, on Thursday
afternoon, just as the sun was setting, they entered Mr.
Middleton's yard, where they were received by the dogs,
with just such a demonstration of anger as had greeted Mr.
Wilmot more than a year before.

The master of the house was this time at home, and
soon appearing at the door, he called out to the negroes
who were in the yard, “Ho thar, boys! Stuff your woolley
heads down them tarnal dogs' throats, and make them stop
their yellin'!” then turning to the strangers, he said, “How
are you, sirs? Glad to see you—walk in. Moses and
Aaron! if this ain't Ashton from Frankfort. How d'ye do?
how d'ye do?”

Mr. Ashton shook hands with him, and then introduced
his companions, saying they were from New-York. The
word New-York seemed to thrill Mr. Middleton's nerves like
an electric shock. He seized both hands of the young men,
and exclaimed, “From New-York, hey? Then thrice welcome
to my old cabin and hominy; old Josh's door is allus
wide open to folks from New-York.” Then leading the way
to the sitting-room, he continued, “Yes, my own noble boy
was from New-York, but he died (this is my old woman
Nancy, gentlemen). I don't see why in the old Harry he
couldn't of lived. But he died, and they kivered him up while
I was gone, and I never seen him no more. Ho! Here,
Tilda, fetch some hot water and make a little sling for these

chaps. It'll do 'em good, as it's mighty cold and raw like
out o' door.”

The sling was made, and Ashton and Raymond drank
readily and freely; but when it was offered to Stanton, he
modestly but firmly refused. “What upon airth!” said Mr.
Middleton, “not drink when a frind asks you? Why, boy,
take just a swaller.”

Here Raymond, who was ready to adopt Mr. Middleton's
language and manners, exclaimed, “I'll tell you what, old
boy, Bob's left a sweetheart in New-York, and I fancy she
lectured him on intemperance, for you know the women are
dead set against it.”

Mr. Middleton looked first at Raymond, then at Stanton
and said, “Well, he shows good sense by not touchin' on't,
I reckon. Got a sweetheart, hey? That's better than to come
here and marry some of our spitfires. Poor boy! Dick was
engaged to one on' em, and I've hearn that she raised a tantareen
and broke his heart. But I'll fix her! I'll dock off fifty
thousand to pay for that caper.”

Here Mr. Ashton asked if Mr. Middleton's daughters
were still at Frankfort. “Yes,” returned Mr. Middleton,
“both thar, studyin' all the flat things you can think on, and
thummin' away on the pianner. You'll see 'em thar; but
mind me one and all, mind I say, don't fall in love with
Sunshine, for she's engaged, and I've gin my consent, and
whoever meddles in that match 'll find Josh arter 'em!”
By way of adding emphasis to his words, he brought his
fist back against a work-stand, on which stood his wife's
work-basket. The stand was upset, and all the articles of
the basket rolled on the floor. “Great Peter!” said Mr.
Middleton, “ho, Tilda, come pick up these 'ere things!”

Tilda came at the call of her master. While she was
replacing the articles in her mistress's basket, Raymond, who
wished to show that he was ready to adopt all the peculiarities

of the State, said, “That's a valuable looking negro girl.
I suppose your property mostly consists in such as she. I
don't wonder that you object to give them up just to please
the North. Have you many such?”

“Yes, quite a heap on 'em. Why? Want to steal 'em,
hey?”

Raymond reddened. His attempts at anti-abolition had
not succeeded as well as he had anticipated; but he soon
rallied and said, “Certainly not; I shouldn't know what to
do with your slaves, if I had them; besides I have no inclination
to interfere with your Southern institutions. I am too
much of a pro-slavery man myself.”

“Likely enough,” said Mr. Middleton, rather gruffly, for
he did not much like the appearance of Raymond, “likely
enough. But, young man, let old Josh give you a little
advice. I've seen more'n double your years, I reckon, and I
never seen a man come from the free States yit, that wasn't
a leetle tached with abolitionism. It's nateral like, and onnateral
to change their mind so mighty soon. So I advise
you to keep your opinions to yourself for a spell, any way.
A heap on 'em come here, and are surprised not to find a
whippin' post stuck up in a corner of every yard. I don't
say you are one on 'em; but we don't think no better of a
body when they jine in with us so soon.”

This speech somewhat disconcerted young Raymond,
who was anxious to get into Mr. Middleton's good graces;
but his discomfiture was soon removed by his saying, “Boy,
don't take what I've said in high dudgeon. Folks allus see
the roughest side on me first; I'm a frind to you, and allus
will be as long as you do well.” Then chancing to think
his guests were hungry, he called out, “Saints and angels!
Why don't you bring in supper, you lazy bones thar in the
kitchen? Do you hear?”

“Yes, marster,” said three or four negroes at once,
“supper 'll be done ready d'rectly.”

In a few moments the nicely-cooked spare-rib was smoking
on the table, together with hot coffee, boiled turnips, and
egg bread, which Southern cooks know so well how to make.
Besides this there was the golden-colored butter, white flaky
honey-comb, and the Sunday pitcher overflowing with rich
creamy milk. “Come, boys, set by and have some fodder!”
said Mr. Middleton.

The young gentlemen took their seats at the table and
Mr. Middleton continued, “Now lay into't and help yourselves.
I ain't used to perlite strains, and if I should try,
you'd all larf at me—mebby you want to now. Tempest says
I'm enough to make a dog larf.”

“Who is Tempest? one of your servants?” asked Stanton.

“Christopher Columbus! one of my servants!” answered
Mr. Middleton. “How Tempest would rar to hear that!
Why, she's my oldest gal.”

“I beg your pardon,” said Stanton.

“Not a bit on't,” answered Mr. Middleton. “I don't wonder
you thought so, such an oudun name! Her real name
is Julia, but I call her Tempest, 'cause that's jist like her.
She's a regular thunderstorm of lightning, hail, and iron
slugs. You'll see her in Frankfort. Goin' into the law thar,
are you?”

Stanton answered that he thought he should.

“Well,” said Mr. Middleton, “I'll give you all my suits,
just because you wouldn't drink and tell a lie to that little
gal at home. I despise liars. Let me catch a body tellin'
me a lie, I tell you—”

Here he lifted up his huge foot which was encased in a
cow-hide boot, something smaller than a canal boat. He
gave the table a kick which set all the spoons, knives and
forks to dancing, spilt the milk and upset the gravy pot.

“Why, Mr. Middleton!” interposed his wife.

“I am sorry, honey,” said he, “but I'll be hanged if that
ar sling ain't gettin' the better of the old man.”

After supper was over and the effects of the sling had
left Mr. Middleton's head, he inquired further into the intentions
of his guests. On learning that Raymond would
teach, if he could get a chance, Mr. Middleton said, “I reckon
you can teach in Mr. Miller's school. I'll write to him
about you.”

It was well for Raymond that Mr. Middleton did not observe
his smile of contempt at the idea of being recommended
by such an “old cur,” as he secretly styled him.

At a late hour Mr. Middleton conducted the young men
to their room, saying as he entered it, “This was Dick's
room, poor dear boy! For his sake I wish 'twas better, for
it was sometimes cold like in the winter; but he's warm
enough now, I reckon, poor fellow!” So saying he left the
room; but Stanton noticed upon the old tin candlestick which
his host had put upon the table, something which looked very
much like tears, so large that he was sure no one but Mr.
Middleton could have wept them.