 | CHAPTER IX.
WHICH TREATS OF THINGS SEEN. The minister's wooing |  |
9. CHAPTER IX.
WHICH TREATS OF THINGS SEEN.
As, for example, the breakfast. It is six o'clock,
— the hired men and oxen are gone, — the breakfast-table
stands before the open kitchen-door,
snowy with its fresh cloth, the old silver coffee-pot
steaming up a refreshing perfume, — and the Doctor
sits on one side, sipping his coffee and looking
across the table at Mary, who is innocently
pleased at the kindly beaming in his placid blue
eyes, — and Aunt Katy Scudder discourses of
housekeeping, and fancies something must have
disturbed the rising of the cream, as it is not so
thick and yellow as wont.
Now the Doctor, it is to be confessed, was apt
to fall into a way of looking at people such as
pertains to philosophers and scholars generally, that
is, as if he were looking through them into the
infinite, — in which case his gaze became so earnest
and intent that it would quite embarrass an
uninitiated person; but Mary, being used to this
style of contemplation, was only quietly amused,
up before his mental vision, — in which case she
hoped to hear from him.
The good man swallowed his first cup of coffee
and spoke: —
“In the Millennium, I suppose, there will be
such a fulness and plenty of all the necessaries
and conveniences of life, that it will not be necessary
for men and women to spend the greater
part of their lives in labor in order to procure a
living. It will not be necessary for each one to
labor more than two or three hours a day, — not
more than will conduce to health of body and
vigor of mind; and the rest of their time they
will spend in reading and conversation, and such
exercises as are necessary and proper to improve
their minds and make progress in knowledge.”
New England presents probably the only example
of a successful commonwealth founded on a
theory, as a distinct experiment in the problem of
society. It was for this reason that the minds of
its great thinkers dwelt so much on the final solution
of that problem in this world. The fact of
a future Millennium was a favorite doctrine of the
great leading theologians of New England, and
Dr. Hopkins dwelt upon it with a peculiar partiality.
Indeed, it was the solace and refuge of
his soul, when oppressed with the discouragements
which always attend things actual, to dwell upon
future which was destined to glorify the
world.
Nobody, therefore, at the cottage was in the
least surprised when there dropped into the flow
of their daily life these sparkling bits of ore,
which their friend had dug in his explorations of
a future Canaan, — in fact, they served to raise the
hackneyed present out of the level of mere commonplace.
“But how will it be possible,” inquired Mrs.
Scudder, “that so much less work will suffice in
those days to do all that is to be done?”
“Because of the great advance of arts and sciences
which will take place before those days,”
said the Doctor, “whereby everything shall be performed
with so much greater ease, — also the great
increase of disinterested love, whereby the skill
and talents of those who have much shall make
up for the weakness of those who have less.
“Yes,” — he continued, after a pause, — “all the
careful Marthas in those days will have no excuse
for not sitting at the feet of Jesus; there will be
no cumbering with much serving; the Church
will have only Maries in those days.”
This remark, made without the slightest personal
intention, called a curious smile into Mrs.
Scudder's face, which was reflected in a slight
blush from Mary's, when the crack of a whip and
and drew all eyes to the door.
There appeared the vision of Mr. Zebedee Marvyn's
farm-wagon, stored with barrels, boxes, and
baskets, over which Candace sat throned triumphant,
her black face and yellow-striped turban
glowing in the fresh morning with a hearty, joyous
light, as she pulled up the reins, and shouted
to the horse to stop with a voice that might have
done credit to any man living.
“Dear me, if there isn't Candace!” said Mary.
“Queen of Ethiopia,” said the Doctor, who
sometimes adventured a very placid joke.
The Doctor was universally known in all the
neighborhood as a sort of friend and patron-saint
of the negro race; he had devoted himself to
their interests with a zeal unusual in those days.
His church numbered more of them than any in
Newport; and his hours of leisure from study
were often spent in lowliest visitations among
them, hearing their stories, consoling their sorrows,
advising and directing their plans, teaching
them reading and writing, and he often drew
hard on his slender salary to assist them in their
emergencies and distresses.
This unusual condescension on his part was
repaid on theirs with all the warmth of their
race; and Candace, in particular, devoted herself
to the Doctor with all the force of her being
There was a legend current in the neighborhood,
that the first efforts to catechize Candace were
not eminently successful, her modes of contemplating
theological tenets being so peculiarly from
her own individual point of view that it was hard
to get her subscription to a received opinion. On
the venerable clause in the Catechism, in particular,
which declares that all men sinned in Adam
and fell with him, Candace made a dead halt: —
“I didn't do dat ar', for one, I knows. I's got
good mem'ry, — allers knows what I does, — nebber
did eat dat ar' apple, — nebber eat a bit ob
him. Don't tell me!”
It was of no use, of course, to tell Candace of
all the explanations of this redoubtable passage,
— of potential presence, and representative presence,
and representative identity, and federal headship.
She met all with the dogged, —
“Nebber did it, I knows; should 'ave 'membered,
if I had. Don't tell me!”
And even in the catechizing class of the Doctor
himself, if this answer came to her, she sat black
and frowning in stony silence even in his reverend
presence.
Candace was often reminded that the Doctor
believed the Chatechism, and that she was differing
from a great and good man; but the argument
made no manner of impression on her, till,
one day, a far-off cousin of hers, whose condition
came in overjoyed to recount to her how,
owing to Dr. Hopkins's exertions, he had gained
his freedom. The Doctor himself had in person
gone from house to house, raising the sum for his
redemption; and when more yet was wanting,
supplied it by paying half his last quarter's limited
salary.
“He do dat ar'?” said Candace, dropping the
fork wherewith she was spearing doughnuts. “Den
I'm gwine to b'liebe ebery word he does!”
And accordingly, at the next catechizing, the
Doctor's astonishment was great when Candace
pressed up to him, exclaiming, —
“De Lord bress you, Doctor, for opening de
prison for dem dat is bound! I b'liebes in you
now, Doctor. I's gwine to b'liebe every word you
say. I'll say de Catechize now, — fix it any way
you like. I did eat dat ar' apple, — I eat de
whole tree, an' swallowed ebery bit ob it, if you
say so.”
And this very thorough profession of faith was
followed, on the part of Candace, by years of the
most strenuous orthodoxy. Her general mode of
expressing her mind on the subject was short and
definitive.
“Law me! what's de use? I's set out to b'liebe
de Catechize, an' I'm gwine to b'liebe it, — so!”
While we have been telling you all this about
eisurely up to the house with a basket on either
arm.
“Good morning, Candace,” said Mrs. Scudder.
“What brings you so early?”
“Come down 'fore light to sell my chickens an'
eggs, — got a lot o' money for 'em, too. Missy
Marvyn she sent Miss Scudder some turkey-eggs,
an' I brought down some o' my doughnuts for de
Doctor. Good folks must lib, you know, as well
as wicked ones,” — and Candace gave a hearty, unctuous
laugh. “No reason why Doctors shouldn't
hab good tings as well as sinners, is dere?” — and
she shook in great billows, and showed her white
teeth in the abandon of her laugh. “Lor' bress ye
honey, chile!” she said, turning to Mary, “why
ye looks like a new rose, ebery bit! Don't wonder
somebody was allers pryin' an' spyin' about here!”
“How is your mistress, Candace?” said Mrs.
Scudder, by way of changing the subject.
“Well, porly, — rader porly. When Massa Jim
goes, 'pears like takin' de light right out her eyes.
Dat ar' boy trains roun' arter his mudder like a
cosset, he does. Lor', de house seems so still
widout him! — can't a fly scratch his ear but it
starts a body. Missy Marvyn she sent down, an'
says, would you an' de Doctor an' Miss Mary
please come to tea dis arternoon.”
“Thank your mistress, Candace,” said Mrs. Scudder;
perhaps,” looking at the good man, who had relapsed
into meditation, and was eating his breakfast
without taking note of anything going on.
“It will be time enough to tell him of it,” she
said to Mary, “when we have to wake him up to
dress; so we won't disturb him now.”
To Mary the prospect of the visit was a pleasant
one, for reasons which she scarce gave a definite
form to. Of course, like a good girl, she had
come to a fixed and settled resolution to think of
James as little as possible; but when the path of
duty lay directly along scenes and among people
fitted to recall him, it was more agreeable than
if it had lain in another direction. Added to this,
a very tender and silent friendship subsisted between
Mrs. Marvyn and Mary; in which, besides
similarity of mind and intellectual pursuits, there
was a deep, unspoken element of sympathy.
Candace watched the light in Mary's eyes with
the instinctive shrewdness by which her race seem
to divine the thoughts and feelings of their superiors,
and chuckled to herself internally. Without
ever having been made a confidante by any party,
or having a word said to or before her, still the
whole position of affairs was as clear to her as
if she had seen it on a map. She had appreciated
at once Mrs. Scudder's coolness, James's devotion,
and Mary's perplexity, — and inly resolved,
in his absence, it should not be her fault.
“Laws, Miss Scudder,” she said, “I's right glad
you's comin'; 'cause you hasn't seen how we's
kind o' splendified since Massa Jim come home.
You wouldn't know it. Why, he's got mats from
Mogadore on all de entries, and a great big 'un
on de parlor; and ye ought to see de shawl he
brought Missus, an' all de cur'us kind o' tings to
de squire. 'Tell ye, dat ar' boy honors his fader
and mudder, ef he don't do nuffin else, — an' dats
de fus' commandment wid promise, Ma'am; an'
to see him a-settin' up ebery day in prayer-time,
so handsome, holdin' Missus's han', an' lookin'
right into her eyes all de time! Why, dat ar'
boy is one of de 'lect, — it's jest as clare to me;
and de 'lect has got to come in, — dat's what I
say. My faith's strong, — real clare, 'tell ye,” she
added, with the triumphant laugh which usually
chorused her conversation, and turning to the Doctor,
who, aroused by her loud and vigorous strain,
was attending with interest to her.
“Well, Candace,” he said, “we all hope you
are right.”
“Hope, Doctor! — I don't hope, — I knows. 'Tell
ye, when I pray for him, don't I feel enlarged?
'Tell ye, it goes wid a rush. I can feel it gwine
up like a rushin', mighty wind. I feels strong
I do.”
“That's right, Candace,” said the Doctor, “keep
on; your prayers stand as much chance with God
as if you were a crowned queen. The Lord is
no respecter of persons.”
“Dat's what he a'n't, Doctor, — an' dere's where
I 'gree wid him,” said Candace, as she gathered
her baskets vigorously together, and, after a sweeping
curtsy, went sailing down to her wagon, full
laden with content, shouting a hearty “Good
mornin', Missus,” with the full power of her
cheerful lungs, as she rode off.
As the Doctor looked after her, the simple,
pleased expression with which he had watched her
gradually faded, and there passed over his broad,
good face a shadow, as of a cloud on a mountain-side.
“What a shame it is,” he said, “what a scandal
and disgrace to the Protestant religion, that
Christians of America should openly practice and
countenance this enslaving of the Africans! I
have for a long time holden my peace, — may the
Lord forgive me! — but I believe the time is coming
when I must utter my voice. I cannot go
down to the wharves or among the shipping,
without these poor dumb creatures look at me so
that I am ashamed, — as if they asked me what
I, a Christian minister, was doing, that I did not
come to their help. I must testify.”
Mrs. Scudder looked grave at this earnest announcement;
and they always filled her with alarm, because
— — Shall we tell you why?
Well, then, it was not because she was not a
thoroughly indoctrinated anti-slavery woman. Her
husband, who did all her thinking for her, had
been a man of ideas beyond his day, and never
for a moment countenanced the right of slavery
so far as to buy or own a servant or attendant
of any kind; and Mrs. Scudder had always followed
decidedly along the path of his opinions
and practice, and never hesitated to declare the
reasons for the faith that was in her. But if any
of us could imagine an angel dropped down out
of heaven, with wings, ideas, notions, manners,
and customs all fresh from that very different
country, we might easily suppose that the most
pious and orthodox family might find the task of
presenting him in general society and piloting him
along the courses of this world a very delicate
and embarrassing one. However much they might
reverence him on their own private account, their
hearts would probably sink within them at the
idea of allowing him to expand himself according
to his previous nature and habits in the great
world without. In like manner, men of high, unworldly
natures are often reverenced by those who
are somewhat puzzled what to do with them
practically.
Mrs. Scudder considered the Doctor as a superior
being, possessed by a holy helplessness in all
things material and temporal, which imposed on
her the necessity of thinking and caring for him,
and prevising the earthly and material aspects of
his affairs.
There was not in Newport a more thriving and
reputable business at that time than the slave-trade.
Large fortunes were constantly being turned
out in it, and what better providential witness of
its justice could most people require?
Besides this, in their own little church, she reflected
with alarm, that Simeon Brown, the richest
and most liberal supporter of the society, had
been, and was then, drawing all his wealth from
this source; and rapidly there flashed before her
mind a picture of one and another, influential
persons, who were holders of slaves. Therefore,
when the Doctor announced, “I must testify,” she
rattled her tea-spoon uneasily, and answered, —
“In what way, Doctor, do you think of bearing
testimony? The subject, I think, is a very difficult
one.”
“Difficult? I think no subject can be clearer.
If we were right in our war for liberty, we are
wrong in making slaves or keeping them.”
“Oh, I did not mean,” said Mrs. Scudder, “that it
was difficult to understand the subject; the right
of the matter is clear, but what to do is the thing.”
“I shall preach about it,” said the Doctor; “my
mind has run upon it some time. I shall show
to the house of Judah their sin in this matter.”
“I fear there will be great offence given,” said
Mrs. Scudder. “There's Simeon Brown, one of
our largest supporters, — he is in the trade.”
“Ah, yes, — but he will come out of it, — of
course he will, — he is all right, all clear. I was
delighted with the clearness of his views the other
night, and thought then of bringing them to bear
on this point, — only, as others were present, I deferred
it. But I can show him that it follows
logically from his principles; I am confident of
that.”
“I think you'll be disappointed in him, Doctor;
— I think he'll be angry, and get up a commotion,
and leave the church.”
“Madam,” said the Doctor, “do you suppose
that a man who would be willing even to give
up his eternal salvation for the greatest good of
the universe could hesitate about a few paltry
thousands that perish in the using?”
“He may feel willing to give up his soul,” said
Mrs. Scudder, naïvely, “but I don't think he'll
give up his ships, — that's quite another matter, —
he won't see it to be his duty.”
“Then, Ma'am, he'll be a hypocrite, a gross
hypocrite, if he won't,” said the Doctor. “It is
not Christian charity to think it of him. I shall
“But, Doctor,” exclaimed Mrs. Scudder, with a
start, “pray, think a little more of it. You know
a great many things depend on him. Why! he
has subscribed for twenty copies of your `System
of Theology.' I hope you'll remember that.”
“And why should I remember that?” said the
Doctor, — hastily turning round, suddenly enkindled,
his blue eyes flashing out of their usual
misty calm, — “what has my `System of Theology'
to do with the matter?”
“Why,” said Mrs. Scudder, “it's of more importance
to get right views of the gospel before
the world than anything else, is it not? — and if,
by any imprudence in treating influential people,
this should be prevented, more harm than good
would be done.”
“Madam,” said the Doctor, “I'd sooner my system
should be sunk in the sea than it should be
a millstone round my neck to keep me from my
duty. Let God take care of my theology; I
must do my duty.”
And as the Doctor spoke, he straightened himself
to the full dignity of his height, his face kindling
with an unconscious majesty, and, as he
turned, his eye fell on Mary, who was standing
with her slender figure dilated, her large blue eye
wide and bright, in a sort of trance of solemn
heroic man started, to see this answer to his
higher soul in the sweet, tremulous mirror of womanhood.
One of those lightning glances passed
between his eyes and hers which are the freemasonry
of noble spirits, — and, by a sudden impulse,
they approached each other. He took both her
outstretched hands, looked down into her face
with a look full of admiration, and a sort of
naïve wonder, — then, as if her inspired silence
had been a voice to him, he laid his hand on her
head, and said, —
“God bless you, child! `Out of the mouth of
babes and sucklings hast thou ordained strength
because of thine enemies, that thou mightest still
the enemy and the avenger!'”
In a moment he was gone.
“Mary,” said Mrs. Scudder, laying her hand on
her daughter's arm, “the Doctor loves you!”
“I know he does, mother,” said Mary, innocently;
“and I love him, — dearly! — he is a noble,
grand man!”
Mrs. Scudder looked keenly at her daughter.
Mary's eye was as calm as a June sky, and she
began, composedly, gathering up the teacups.
“She did not understand me,” thought the
mother.
| CHAPTER IX.
WHICH TREATS OF THINGS SEEN. The minister's wooing | |