Though utterly unlike, it would be difficult to conceive of two more beautiful creatures than Faith Armstrong and Anne Bernard. The dark hair of Faith, the large black eyes, the nose slightly aquiline, an expression of countenance ordinarily composed, though not sad, but which could be lighted up into enthusiasm, and a graceful dignity that marked every action, while it seemed only a necessary part of herself, forcibly reminded one sometimes of the heroines of the ancient Scriptures. So in her youthful years, before her eyes were fully opened to the vision, and before to the sound of the clanging timbrel her voice responded to the triumph song of the children of Israel, might have looked the prophetess, Miriam.
No contrast could be stronger than that presented by sweet Anne Bernard. Light colored hair fell in graceful curls around an oval and perfectly regular face, of the most delicate complexion. So thin, so almost transparent was the skin, that the veins seemed hardly hidden, and a very slight emotion was sufficient to suffuse it with a tint that needed to fear no rivalry with the rose. No heaven could be bluer than the soft eyes that seemed "to love whate'er they looked upon," and whether dimmed with the tear of pity, or flashing with mirth, revealed a pure, but not a timid spirit. But among features which all were beautiful, if one could be called more beautiful than another, it was the mouth, and white as snow were the regular and perfectly formed teeth which the crimson lips concealed. Her figure was rather below than above the ordinary height, and its roundness indicated the most perfect health. Let not this description be deemed a picture of romance. Those acquainted with the beautiful daughters of New England will acknowledge its truth, or, at least, confess, it errs not on the side of exaggeration.
The intermediate time between the arrival of the company and the serving up of dinner, was spent by them in such conversation as usually takes place on occasions of the kind. Somebody has said, that two Americans cannot meet without talking politics, but we can vouch for the fact, that although Mr. Armstrong, the doctor, and divine were federalists, and the Judge a democrat, having spent several of his early years in France, where he was supposed to have imbibed his sentiments, not a word on the subject was uttered. A reference or two was made to the minister's discourse; the flourishing condition of the country and its prospects adverted to; and some items of domestic news and village anecdotes narrated. Such was the conversation of the elders: as for what passed between the young people, we know there was some laughing, but have forgot what they talked about. We regret this irreparable loss, and promise to be more attentive for the future.
Al length, the ebony disc of Felix's face, rising pleasantly above a snow-bank of neck-cloth, appeared at the door, and announced dinner, when Mr. Armstrong offering his arm to Mrs. Bernard, preceded his friends into the dining-room. Faith accepted the Judge's escort, and Pownal tried to wait on Anne, but somehow or other (and we suspect her of complicity in the affair), the divine secured the prize.
Before the company sat down, which was in an order having reference to their supposed tastes and attractions, at a request from the host, an appropriate grace was said by the minister, which happily avoided the extremes of too much brevity on the one hand, and of too great prolixity on the other; or, in other words, it was neither irreverently short, nor impertinently long.
The dinner was of that kind which still graces the hospitable boards of old Connecticut. At one end of the table a roasted turkey, which had been stuffed a couple of days before, in order that the spices, composing a part of the ingredients, might penetrate and flavor the flesh of the noble bird, turned up his round full breast to the carving-knife; at the other end, another turkey, somewhat smaller, boiled and served with oyster sauce, kept company with her mate, while near the centre, which was occupied by bleached celery in a crystal vase, a mighty ham balanced a chicken pie of equal size. Besides these principal dishes there were roasted and boiled fowls, and ducks, and tongues, flanked by cranberry and apple sauces, and mashed turnips and potatoes. On the sideboard (for be it remembered, it was "when this old cap was new," and a practice which now is considered, at least, questionable, was then held in all honor, and its neglect was never dreamed of, and would have drawn down an imputation of nigardliness and want of breeding) stood bottles of wine, and flagons containing still stronger liquors, together with a large pitcher of delicious cider. Upon the removal of the first course followed various kinds of puddings, and pies, and custards, and tarts, and sillabubs, and they, in their turn, were succeeded by apples and different sorts of nuts, with raisins and figs, with which the repast was concluded. Such was an old Thanksgiving dinner. The present preliminary soup was unusual or unknown. It was an array capable of supplying the wants of a much larger company, and but a small part could be consumed, but it was the fashion, and it still continues. They were celebrating the bounty of Providence, and it was meet that the liberality of man should be in harmony with it. Felix, grave and decorous, as became the importance of the occasion, and his assistant, multiplied themselves into a thousand waiters, sedulous to anticipate the wants of the host and his guests.
The conversation, which at first ran in several distinct rills being confined to each one's immediate neighborhood mostly, and interrupted by the serious business of dinner, seemed gradually, after a time, to unite its various streams into one common current. The attention of the doctor was first attracted from an unsuccessful attempt to quote to Mrs. Bernard Shakspeare's famous recipe for cooking a beef-steak by an observation of Mr. Robinson to Mr. Armstrong, at whose left hand he sat, the seat at the right being occupied by Mrs. Bernard, next to whom sat the doctor.
"The results," said the minister, "furnish, I fear, little encouragement for the future. Unless divine grace shall manifest itself in a more signal manner than has heretofore been vouchsafed, they seemed destined to die in their sins."
"Is there, then, no escape from a doom so horrible?" inquired the low voice of Mr. Armstrong. "After being hunted from their ancient possessions, and denied even the graves of their fathers, must they perish everlastingly?"
"Can the clay say to the potter, 'What doest thou?'" said Mr.
Robinson. "He maketh one vessel to honor and another to dishonor.
Repeated attempts have been made to civilize and Christianize them,
but in vain. Whom He will He hardeneth."
Mr. Armstrong sighed, and another sigh, so low it was unheard, stole from the bosom of his daughter.
"You are speaking of the Indians?" inquired the doctor.
"Yes," said Mr. Robinson, "and of the failure of all attempts by
Christians to ameliorate their condition."
"And are you surprised it should be so?" inquired the doctor.
"The ways of Providence are inscrutable," replied Mr. Robinson. "I pretend not to explain the reasons why they are deaf to the pleadings of the Gospel."
"What," cried the doctor, slightly altering his favorite author, "'hath not an Indian eyes? Hath not an Indian hands, organs, dimensions, senses, affections, passions? fed with the same food, hurt with the same weapons, subject to the same diseases, healed by the same means, warmed and cooled by the same winter and summer as a Christian is? If an Indian wrong a Christian, what is his humility? revenge; if a Christian wrong an Indian, what should his sufferance be, by Christian example? why, revenge.' There, you have the whole in a nut-shell."
"In addition to the difficulty growing out of their treatment by the whites, suggested by the doctor," said the Judge, "there is another, which I consider insuperable, arising out of a difference of race."
"I do not quite understand you," observed Mr. Robinson.
"It is said by naturalists," answered the Judge, "that man comprehends, within himself, the peculiarities of all inferior animals. Now, there are some capable of domestication, while others are irreclaimable. You may tame the horse, but not the tiger. The wild element controls the one, and is controllable in the other. In my opinion, this wild element so predominates in the Indian as to make him incapable of civilization. He is the tiger."
"But some have been civilized," remarked Mr. Armstrong.
"A quasi civilization, I grant," said the Judge; "and were I to concede more, the exceptions are so few as only to confirm the rule."
"Your theory opens a wide field for speculation," said Mr. Robinson, "and I could bring many objections to it. In the first place"——
"No doubt, no doubt," cried the Judge, hastily, and desirous to avoid the arising collision, "and I shall be happy to examine the subject, at some future time, with you. I throw out these ideas only as hints. But there is another rule operative, if, indeed, it is not the same differently expressed—the inferior must always give place to the superior race"
"That is not clear, either," said the divine. "What race ever existed superior to the Jews? Yet, observe their condition."
"I am not understood. Why, the Jews prove my theory. If they had not been a superior race, they would long ago have been extinct. But their number now is probably as great as it ever was. The Indians, however, are vanishing."
"And, really, Mr. Bernard," said his wife, "on your own principles, they will be no loss, if they do vanish. If a superior race succeeds, all the better."
"Right, right, my dear," cried her husband, "rem acu—pshaw! I was going to quote Latin. They have had their day, and fulfilled their design."
"It seems to me a deplorable necessity," said Mr. Armstrong.
"There are many laws and purposes at work in the rise and fall of nations," said the minister, "beyond our view. A peculiar mystery hangs over the devoted tribes; and, assign what reasons we please for their decay, there is only one satisfactory reason into which all the others are resolvable, viz: the determination of Providence. That determination is obvious. As the inhabitants of Canaan, were swept away for their iniquities, so is the red race destined to be extinguished; and it may be for a like reason—they will not abandon their abominations."
"They are as moral as the whites, generally, I believe," said William
Bernard.
"Alas, that word morality!" exclaimed the divine. "It is an ignis fatuus to mislead—a broken reed to lean on."
"But," inquired Faith, anxiously, "do you think, sir, that nothing can be done for those who are left?"
"I see but little prospect of it," said Mr. Robinson.
"There are some good people among them," said the doctor, warmly. "I wish I was as sure of my own salvation as I am of poor Esther's."
This discussion scarcely disturbed the conversation between Anne Bernard and Pownal, who, much to his delight, found himself seated by her side. Nor did the contiguity seem displeasing to the lovely girl. What is the charm that gives boldness to the timid, and eloquence to the hesitating; which kindles the eye with a brighter lustre, and imparts a softer tone to the voice: which colors the cheek with frequent blushes, and fills the heart with unwonted flutterings? Sweet maiden, can you tell? Yet, what could they have so much to say to one another? They who are young, and they who have not forgotten the feelings of youth will readily find an answer.
"My heart warms to the Indians," said Pownal, in a low tone, "whenever I hear them spoken of. It appears to me, sometimes," continued he, smiling, "as if I were a sort of relation. Were I a believer in the transmigration of souls, I should think I had been, in some previous existence, an Indian myself."
"Probably a Sachem, with your hair nicely shaved, except a little which was caught up into a knot like a cock's comb, on top to hold an eagle's feather," said the laughing Anne. "How elegantly you must have looked after having made your toilette, preparatory to wooing some Indian Princess, with your face beautifully painted in all the colors of the rainbow, only handsomer. How I should have liked to see you. Hard-hearted must have been the fair who could resist such charms."
"You have reason to laugh at me; it is very ridiculous, but"—
"And then to think of the sad change that has befallen you! To subside from an eagle-feathered Sachem, eating succatash with an Indian Princess, into a tame civilized gentleman, in a swallow-tailed coat, handing apples to a poor little Yankee girl! I do not wonder you were melancholy and tried to shoot yourself."
"It was the most fortunate shot I ever made, since"—
"I am not sure of that. Perhaps if you had succeeded you might have been transmigrated back into the wigwam, and resumed your addresses to the Princess."
"Your fancy outstrips mine. I find it hard, by the side of a real
Princess, to think of an imaginary one."
"Faithless, like all your fickle sex. Ah me, poor princess!"
Here Mrs. Bernard made a motion to rise, which was followed by the other ladies, and as Anne turned away she said:—
"You who have set me an example of desertion can not be surprised at my leaving you, which please to consider a punishment for the Princess' wrongs."
"And a severe one," said Pownal.
But a short time elapsed before the ladies were rejoined by the gentlemen in the withdrawing room, where we will leave them to look after some other friends of ours.
Upon the conclusion of his duties, Felix had opportunity to extend the rights of hospitality to General Ransome, who, true to his promise, had not failed to make his appearance in due time in the kitchen. There the worthy warrior had been received with all customary forms of politeness by Miss Rosa, and, installed in a high-back chair, awaited his share of the entertainment. And when the time arrived, seated between his friends, and opposite two other servants, there were few, if any, lighter and more careless hearts that day than the General's. And of the whole company it may be said, that if they were not refined, they were at least merry.
"Ladies and genlmn," said the General, soon after the repast had commenced, and seeming to think the toasts could not begin too soon, "do me de satisfacshum to fill you glasses. Wid you leave I'm going to gib a toast."
On this day it was customary to extend an unusual degree of license to the servants, and hence there was no lack of generous liquors on the board, of the same descriptions as those drank by their superiors. And to do them justice, it was seldom the privilege was abused.
The glasses were quickly filled, and the General proposed "de healt' ob de fair sec." This was drunk with acclamation, and a gentleman observed, "dat de whole world acknowledge de superur beauty ob de 'Merican ladies." This toast was followed by "De day we celumbrate;" and it was admitted on all sides that Thanksgiving was one of the most important institutions of the country. Felix, then, looking at his friend gave, "the heroes of the 'Merican Revolution;" whereupon, the old soldier considering it incumbent upon him to return thanks for the array, requested permission to make some remarks. Of course leave was readily granted, and the orator, gracefully rising and steadying himself on the sound leg, with the other a little drawn back, extended his right hand, and bowing all round began.
"Dere is noting," he said, "so sweet as liberty. 'Tis dis dat make de eagle fedder light, and de bob-o-link sich a good singer. See de grand bird how he wheel right about face up to de sun, and hear de moosic ob de merry little fellow!
"Liberty, liberty,
Berry nice to be free!
Bob-o-link where he please,
Fly in de apple trees,
O, 'tis de Freedom note
Guggle sweet in him troat!
Jink-a-jink, jink-a-jink,
Winky wink, winky wink,
Ony tink, ony tink,
How happy, Bob-o-link!
Sweet! Sweet!
"King George, he want to make de Yankees drink tea instead ob coffee. Now dere is no comparishum 'atween de two, and who is dere would drink de little tea leaves dat look as dey been all chew and den roll up, when he can git good coffee? Now King George he hab a great lot ob dis tea on hand, and it sell berry slow, and he want to git rid ob it, so he send it to dis country wid orders dat ebery man, woman, and child shall drink at least four cup a day, and no coffee. So Broder Jonatan he rise like a cat back, and he say (begging you pardon, ladies), 'dam if I drink de tea.' And a great many ob dem dress demselves up like Injuns, and one dark night dey heab all de tea oberboard in Bosson harbor, and all de fish get sick, dey say for a week. Now King George when he hear ob all dis he git mad and jerk his old wig on de ground, an stamp on it, and kick it in de fire, and say he make de 'Mericans pay for de tea. And after dat he send a big army to dis country, but it was no use. De 'Mericans whip dem orfully at Bunker Hill, and dat was de beginning ob de famous Resolution. And dey continues to drink de coffee; and I nebber drink no better dan Miss Rosa make in dis house (bowing to her). And for my 'sploits in de glorious Resolution you is welcome wid all my heart, ladies and genlmn; and for de complemen to de officers and sogers I gib dere best knowledgmn on dis 'casion."
The General sat down amid a storm of applause. Miss Rosa after the excitement caused by his eloquence had subsided, observing that no toast had been given by any lady, offered to make up the deficiency herself, which proposal being eagerly accepted, she gave "Miss Faith; and when she marry may she be happy as the angels." The toast was drank with right good will, though with somewhat more decorum than the others. Faith was greatly beloved by the servants, to that degree indeed, that the affectionate creatures doubted whether there was any man in the world fit to be her husband. But, enough of toasts and fine speeches. As the General very judiciously observed when Miss Rosa, who seemed to think he could not have too many delicacies, nor too much of them, offered to add to his already overfilled plate, "dere is 'bundance of cranberry saace for dis turkey."
According to custom, as soon as it began to be dark, the bonfires were lighted, and flashing from various eminences made luminous the night, while joyous shouts of boys answered each other across the rivers and ravines.
At nine o'clock the bell rang out its usual warning, and before the clock struck the next hour, the inhabitants of Hillsdale had courted the repose of their pillows.
CHAPTER IX.
He was a man
Whom no one could have passed without remark,
Active and nervous was his gait; his limbs
And his whole figure breathed intelligence.
Time had compressed the freshness of his cheek
Into a narrow circle of deep red,
But had not tamed his eye; that under brows,
Shaggy and grey, had meanings which it brought
From years of youth.
WORDSWORTH'S EXCURSION.
There were certain seasons of the year when the malady of the Solitary assumed a more serious character than at others. From what circumstance this proceeded was unknown. It might arise from an association of ideas, connected in some manner with the events of his life, the particulars of which, although curious persons had, at various times, endeavored to draw them from him, he had never revealed more plainly than in the conversations with Ohquamehud and the doctor. The imagination was left to wander, therefore, among whatever speculations respecting him it chose to indulge in, and, accordingly, there was no hypothesis that could be started, however absurd, that did not find advocates.
By some, he was supposed to be a murderer, whom remorse had driven from the haunts of men, and who was endeavoring to expiate his crimes by self-denial and suffering; others, asserted that he was the Wandering Jew, though his long residence at the island militated a little with the idea: however, that was balanced by his marked reverence for the New Testament, and frequent references to the coming of the Son of Man; while others insisted he was a pirate, who had buried treasure on the lonely island, and there watched over its security. This last opinion was received with especial favor by the gaping vulgar, and further confirmed by the fact that the Solitary never asked alms or was destitute of money, of which, indeed, he gave away to those whom he considered poorer than himself. But whatever was the truth, or however anxious the good people of Hillsdale might be to discover the secret, no one ventured to meddle with him, though more than one old woman had hinted that it was a shame he should be allowed to run about with so long a beard, and a resolute fellow even once suggested the expediency of arresting him on suspicion. As, however, his life was perfectly harmless, and he had never been, nor seemed likely to become, a burden to the town, nor had committed any act of violence, such counsels were considered too harsh, especially as the attempt to execute them might involve the town in expense and other unpleasant consequences. Besides, it was known he had strong friends in influential families, who would not permit him to be wronged or quietly see the least of his rights invaded. The curiosity of the place, therefore, was obliged to content itself with surmises, and to wait until some more favorable period for its gratification.
The time of the year had now arrived when Holden was wont to show himself more than usually restless and excitable. He had been wandering one day since early in the morning, shooting partridges and squirrels, until late in the afternoon he found himself at the Falls of the Yaupáae. This was for him a favorite place of resort, and here, stretched on the ground, he would lie for hours, with his eyes fastened on the foaming water, listening to the cataract's roar, as if it soothed his humor. Holden threw himself on the moss that exuberantly covers the rocks, and essayed the spell. But this time, in vain. He lay but a moment, when, starting up, he seized the rifle he had laid aside, and making a considerable detour, in order to reach a small bridge higher up the stream, he crossed it, and pursued his way to the village.
Holden, notwithstanding he had lived so long in the vicinity and had often been in the village, never made his appearance without attracting attention. The little boys and girls, and even their elders, seldom passed him without turning to look again. The singularity of his dress, and fine tall person, as straight as his rifle, and a beard, that waved like a prophet's, on his breast, would have commanded observation anywhere. Joined to this was an air of dignity and gravity that, in spite of the coarseness of his apparel, insured respect. However much the rude and vulgar might feel disposed to insult, they were too much awed by his presence to attempt it. They might speak disrespectfully, indeed, of him in his absence, but before him they were cowed and mute. The mystery, besides, with which their imaginations surrounded him, invested him with a power the greater, perhaps, on account of its indefiniteness. They forgot in gazing at him, that his only means of living they were acquainted with was derived from the sale of the oysters and fish he caught in the river, and of the large baskets he made with his own hands. The meanness of the occupation was lost sight of when they saw his majestic appearance and heard the grand tones of his deep voice.
Holden proceeded down the street, hardly recognizing—though such was not his wont—the friendly greetings with which he was sainted by many that passed, until he arrived opposite the house of Mr. Armstrong. Here his progress was arrested by a tap on a window, and looking up he saw the bright face of Miss Armstrong, who was beckoning to him. He stopped; the face disappeared to re-appear at the door, and Faith invited him to come in. He hesitated, but the irresolution was only momentary, for instantly he turned and entered the house.
"I doubted," he said, "whether it were right to inflict the gloom of an old man on one so young. What have age and despondency in common with youth and happiness?"
"But you do not doubt my sympathy? Is there anything I would not do to make you happy, Father Holden?"
"No. I trust in thee as a parent in his child. Thou art as incapable of deception as the heavens of a stain. I have known thee, Faith, since thou wast a child, and thou hast always had an influence over me. As the notes of the youthful harper of Israel scared away the demons from the bosom of Saul, so do the tones of thy voice thrill me like a melody from the past. So tell me of thyself and of all that concerns thee, so far, at least, as thou canst impart thy thoughts and feelings to one like me."
"The subjects that engage the attention of a young woman can have little interest for you, father."
"Believe it not. Though my heart be sore, it has not lost all its earlier feelings."
"I cannot speak of myself," said Faith. "My life has been too destitute of incident to deserve mention, and it is already known to you."
"What callest thou life? Is it," he continued, fixing his eyes on the carpet, and speaking in a low tone, "the few gasps that agitate the bosom here? If that were all, it were of but little more consequence than any other sigh. But this is only the beginning. It is the lighting of the spark that shall blaze a glorious star, or burn a lurid conflagration for ever." He stopped; he raised his eyes to the face of Faith, whose own were fastened on him, and gazed fondly on her; his features assumed a softened expression; and, as if a new train of thought had driven out the old, he added, "blessed are the pure in heart, for they shall see God."
Apparently, these exclamations affected Faith with no surprise. She had probably listened to similar conversations, and simply replied:
"Who shall say his heart is pure?"
"If not thou, then none. Sad thought, that the poisoned tongue of the snake in Eden, should taint even a being so fair as thou."
"Father," said Faith, who was desirous of changing a conversation which began to be embarrassing, for to such ejaculations it was impossible to return reasonable answers, "do you love the loneliness, of your island as much as ever? Would it not be more prudent to pass the winter months in the village?"
"Thou art not the only one whose kindness hath asked the question. But, in my youth I learned to love solitude, though it was forced on me in the beginning. The dungeon and the chain introduced me to its acquaintance; yet, such is the kindness of Providence, that, what at first I hated, I afterwards learned to love. Know, too, that I have lived in the boundless forest, until an inhabited street cramps my breast and stifles my breath; nor am I ever less alone than when alone with God. Ask me not, then, though thy intentions be kind, to renounce a mode of life which habit hath made a second nature."
"Tell me of your adventures."
"Hold! Wouldst thou hear of a youth blasted by unkindness; of prostrate hopes, and scenes of revenge and horror? Nay, thou knowest not what thou askest."
"It was not through mere curiosity I made the request. Those who love you would willingly know more, that they may be the better able to promote your welfare."
"The motive," said Holden, taking her hand, and holding it an instant, "is kind, my child; but what purpose would it serve? The time will come when the secrets of all hearts shall be revealed: then let the story of my crimes and wrongs be blazoned to the world."
Faith attached little credence to confessions of crimes which Holden intimated he had committed. Had she done so, she might have felt alarm at being thus alone with him. But his presence, so far from inspiring her with terror, had something unaccountable of attraction. His self-accusation she considered exaggerations of a morbid fancy that converted common errors into unpardonable sins. Hers was a charity that could think no evil, and in her imagination she had long since formed a theory that, to her pure mind, made him an object of deep interest. In Holden she saw a man of superior endowments and breeding—his manners and language so far above those of most around her, proved both; who, by undeserved misfortunes had partially lost his reason, and, like the stricken deer, left the herd to die alone. Sometimes she would fill up the picture with scenes from his supposed life, at one time of one character, and at another time of another; but they were merely sports of the Imagination, changing figures of a kaleidoscope which employed without satisfying the mind. Of the truth of her general hypothesis she was quite convinced, nor without hope that her old friend would be restored to society and the position which she considered his due. As children instinctively know those who love them, so must Holden have originally had some idea of the feelings of Faith, and by it been drawn closer to her. Certainly, there was no one in whose society he took more pleasure, or whom he was more desirous to please.
At this stage of the conversation, the door opened, and Mr. Armstrong entered. He advanced to Holden, whose hand he took, and welcomed with much cordiality. It was no new thing for him to see the Recluse in his parlor. His daughter's partiality he well knew, of course; and although, in his opinion, it was somewhat extraordinary that a young lady should be attracted by Holden, he accounted for the circumstance by ascribing it to the romance in her nature, of which she had no common share.
The contrast was strong betwixt the appearance of the two men. On the one hand, in perfect harmony with the adornment of the handsome parlor, stood the delicate person of Mr. Armstrong, with cropped hair and close-shaven face, in a suit of fine black cloth and muslin cravat of spotless white, representing a refined, perhaps enervated phase of civilization; on the other, the stately and vigorous form of Holden, in a clean but coarse gray frock, girt around the waist with a sash, with long hair falling on his neck, and unshorn beard, looking like one better acquainted with the northern blast than with the comforts of curtains and carpets.
"It is not often, brother Holden," said Mr. Armstrong, addressing him by an epithet sometimes applied to him, "that I am so fortunate as to meet you in my house."
"Dost thou speak from the heart, James Armstrong," replied Holden, "or art thou flattering me with empty conventionalities?"
The melancholy face of Mr. Armstrong looked distressed, but, remembering the wayward humor of the other, he gently answered:
"I am sorry the form of expression displeases you; but I assure you I am glad to see you."
"Nay," said Holden, "let me rather beg pardon for my rudeness; and that I fully believe thee, be my presence here the proof. I owe thee many obligations through thy daughter, and there are times when it does me good to be with her. It is then I fancy I hear in her voice the tones of the long lost, and they come not with a wail of sorrow, but like a welcome and an invitation."
"The lost!" softly said Armstrong, falling insensibly, and as by some mesmeric process, into a corresponding train of feeling, "the lost! how soon drop away from our sides those who made the morning of life so pleasant!"
"Man is born to trouble, as the sparks fly upward," said Holden. "He cometh from the womb of darkness, and returneth thither again."
The two men drew their chairs nearer each other. It seemed as if a new community of thought and feeling had been established between them.
"You have suffered," said Armstrong, "perhaps lost all your dear ones, and, in that, more miserable than I; for, have I not left my Faith? But the hand that inflicted the wound can heal, and I trust the balm has been poured in."
The countenance of Holden was agitated; his lips trembled, and, in a broken voice, he replied:
"The nearest and dearest are gone. Yet hath God left me some comfort in my affliction. I am not entirely bereft."
"In the promises of the Holy Scriptures you find consolation. Happy the soul that draws comfort from their sacred pages!"
"I meant not entirely so. But it avails not now to explain. Yet art thou right. I do find in the precious Book my dearest hope. Without it, I were miserable indeed."
"And it sustains you under every trial and temptation?"
"Assuredly. For that very purpose was it given, that man might not sink under the mystery of existence; that in its pages he should find hope."
"And you find in it the warrant of your salvation?"
"I strive to work out my salvation, with fear and trembling."
"There are many who strive to enter, who shall not be able. How may one be assured of safety?"
"There is a justification by faith. Hast thou never tasted of its sweetness?"
"Alas! no," exclaimed Armstrong. "I have prayed for it, and longed for it in vain. The threatenings of the Gospel and not its promises are mine."
"Father, dear father, how can you speak so wildly?" cried his daughter, throwing her arms around his neck and kissing his pale cheek.
He looked at her a moment, then putting her away, gently, again addressed Holden:
"Have you no word of comfort for me?"
"Faint not; neither be tired of well-doing," answered Holden, "and I doubt not that the cloud which now concealeth the divine countenance will depart, and thou shalt attain the peace that passeth understanding."
"Have you attained it? Do you know what it is to be justified by faith?"
"I have that blessed experience," cried the enthusiast. "Those whom He called He justified. I am a brand plucked from the burning—a monument of abounding mercy."
"Tell me, then," exclaimed Armstrong, "what are the signs by which it may be known?" He said this eagerly, and with an air of the intensest interest.
"I feel it," cried Holden, rising and standing before him, "in the hatred that I bear towards all that conflicts with His will; in the love with which I read His word; in the willingness to suffer all things for the glory of His name, and to be damned for ever, if such be His purpose; I feel it in that, through His grace, I can trample the world under foot, and bear whatever cross His decree imposes; in the struggle and the aspiration to be more like Him, and in that His sovereign grace hath chosen me to reveal unto me His salvation and the knowledge of His speedy coming."
It is impossible to convey an adequate idea of the manner in which this was spoken. Words cannot describe the voice, or paint the wild gleams of enthusiasm that, like lightning-flashes, coursed each other over the features of Holden, as, without a gesture, and immovable as a rock, an image of undoubting confidence, he delivered himself of this extraordinary speech. Nor, carried away by its impassioned utterance, were either Armstrong or his daughter aware of its full fanaticism. But the impression made upon the two was somewhat diverse, and marked how differently the chords of their minds were tuned. With all her reverence for the Enthusiast, Faith could not hear his wild avowal without pain, notwithstanding it was stamped with all the honesty of conviction, and her own creed taught that such a degree of spiritual elevation might be attained; while her father listened with a sad admiration, not unmixed with self-abasement and almost envy.
After a pause, Armstrong said: "If such are the evidences of justification and a saving faith, then have I had them, too; but why bring they to me no confidence or holy joy? Why is my soul cast down, and why do I feel like one who stumbles towards a pit? Alas! my flesh quivers and my heart trembles at the thought of falling into His hands."
"It is prayer that opens heaven," said Holden. "If thou wilt, we will unite our hearts in supplication. Peradventure the Lord may send a blessing."
A mute assent was the reply from Armstrong; the three knelt down together, and Holden poured out a prayer, into which he concentrated his glowing feelings. He described themselves as covered all over with crimes, like a leprosy; as willful and determined rebels; as not only unworthy of the least of God's mercies, of the warm sun and refreshing rain, but deserving of the torments of the bottomless pit; but entreated that, devoid of all merit, as they were, and justly exposed to His wrath, their aggravated offences might be pardoned for the sake of One who had taken their burden upon Himself, and that they might be of the number of the elect, whom the foreordination of God had predestined to salvation. He concluded with beseeching that the balm of peace might be poured into his afflicted brother's heart, that his ears might be opened to hear the truth, and his eyes to see how near was the great and terrible day of the Lord, and that, as in ancient days chosen women were raised up to do mighty works, even so Faith might be made an instrument to proclaim His power abroad.
As the three rose from their knees, a change seemed, during the prayer, to have passed over the little circle. Holden was invested with an authority not felt before. Neither his speech nor dress was as strange as formerly. He had become a teacher to be honored. It was the influence of a mind originally powerful, and which, though shattered, exercised the control of a strong will, guided by an earnest fanaticism.
CHAPTER X.
Thus as he spake, his visage waxed pale,
And chaunge of hew great passion did bewray,
Yett still he strove to cloke his inward bale,
And hide the smoke that did his fire display.
SPENSER'S FAERY QUEENE.
The request of Mr. Armstrong, supported by the pleadings of his daughter, prevailed upon Holden to remain to tea, and afterwards to accompany them to the "conference," as a meeting for religious purposes held usually on some particular evening of the week, was called. Upon the conclusion of the service he was to return with them and pass the night at the house of his host. It was not without difficulty he allowed his objections to be overruled, nor was he ever known before to have accepted such an invitation. But it had seemed of late that as his influence with Miss Armstrong increased, so did hers over him, until he became unable to deny her slightest wish. Perhaps, too, the events of the afternoon, by bringing him more intimately into communion with sufferings like those through which he had passed, had softened his sternness and disposed him more for human companionship.
The little building where the "conference" met was of the humblest pretensions. It was a weather-stained, unpainted wooden edifice of one story, standing at no great distance from the meeting-house, and capable of containing comfortably, probably a hundred people. The interior was almost as rude and unattractive as the exterior, the walls being coarsely plastered and dingy with smoke that had escaped from a cast-iron stove which stood in the centre of the room. Benches with backs were placed parallel to one another, and facing a sort of rostrum or reading-desk, to which a passage betwixt the benches led. The inside work was equally innocent of paint as the outside.
On the arrival of Mr. Armstrong with his companions, they found the room only partly occupied, nor had the exercises commenced. According to a custom which would have struck a stranger as singular, but which, doubtless, was founded in a knowledge of the nature of young men and young women, the males were seated on one side of the passage, and the females on the other. The separation, as might be expected, only partly answered the purpose, being unable to arrest the glances which, with quite as much of earth as of heaven in them, crossed the intervening space. These, however, were stolen, and managed in such a quiet way as not materially to affect the devotions of the elders. In compliance with an usage, a breach of which would have violated propriety, Faith, withdrawing her arm from her father's, glided into a seat among her own sex on the right, while Mr. Armstrong and Holden sought places on the left.
The appearance of the Solitary entering the little place of worship, striding up the passage with his usual air of dignity and composure, and taking a seat among the principal members of the church, occasioned great surprise. Although differing little, probably, in religious sentiments (except in one point) from those around him, he had never united with them in religious worship. He was, therefore, notwithstanding his frequent allusions to the Scriptures, considered generally more in the light of a heathen than of a Christian man, and the apparition of Plato or Socrates would hardly have excited more observation. Many, in consequence, were the looks bent on him by those present, and those who afterwards came in.
But of them, or of any sensation caused by his presence, he seemed utterly unconscious. With arms folded and head drooped upon his chest, he shut his eyes and abandoned himself to meditation.
"Massy on us," whispered Miss Green, the mantua-maker, to her next neighbor, Miss Thompson, the tailoress, "if here ain't old Holden. I wonder what fetches him here."
"And did you see!" said Miss Thompson, whispering in like manner, "he came in with the Armstrongs. I always did admire what they could see in him to like."
"I guess," said Miss Green, "he feels kind o' awkward. Look how he's folded his arms. It's so long since he's been to meeting or conference, if he was ever in such a place before; he don't know how to behave."
"There's no sort o' set about his clothes," observed Miss Thompson.
"They look as if he made them himself."
"Perhaps he did, but they're good enough to go with Faith Armstrong's cloak" (which had been made by a rival artiste), responded Miss Green. "What dark colors she wears, no variety, and how dreadful old they make her look!"
"Hush!" said Miss Thompson, "the deacon's going to open."
During the colloquy of the two spinsters a grave, respectable-looking man, somewhat advanced in years, had taken a seat behind the reading-desk, and opening the large Bible that lay upon it, selected a chapter, and now invited the attention of the audience to its contents. Upon its conclusion he gave out a hymn, the tune of which was announced by another person, who immediately on naming it pulled out a pitch-pipe from his pocket and making a slight sound, furnished the starting note. The singing proceeded principally from a certain part of the room, as if by some understanding the singers had been collected together, although scattered sounds also, of either rumbling bass or shrill treble whose trembling modulations betrayed the advanced age of the performers, were here and there heard. Some of these guerrilla passages were sadly out of time and tune, and according to the humor of the hearer might either provoke a smile or start a tear. The gay and thoughtless might, indeed, laugh at the wavering and undecided notes, but to the reflecting mind there was something profoundly pathetic in the feeble tribute to the praise of their Maker, of those whose voices in the ordinary course of nature must soon be silent in the grave.
After the singing was ended, the person who had hitherto officiated invited Deacon Baldwin, calling him by name, to make a prayer. Hereupon the deacon rose, and folding his hands complied with the request, while most of the congregation respectfully bent forward, or covered their faces with their handkerchiefs. The prayer evidently came from a sincere and earnest heart, but contained nothing that requires it should be recorded. Another hymn was then sung, upon the conclusion of which followed the sermon.
The person who came forward to perform this office was a short, thick-set man, of middle age, with a bull neck. His features were harsh and severe, and stamped with an expression of mortification, though the gross animality of the mouth and chin too plainly revealed how many and desperate were the conflicts it must have cost him to become a saint. As he passed to the reading-desk his clothes brushed Holden, who shrunk from the touch. The Solitary looked up, but as if what he saw was displeasing, he averted his face and shut his eyes.
The first thing done by Davenport on reaching the desk, and casting a furtive glance around, was to draw an East India silk handkerchief out of his pocket, and having noticed a spittoon by his side, to blow his nose sonorously. He then cleared his throat two or three times, and commenced reading.
It happened, singularly enough, that the subject was prophecy, considered as evidence of the divine inspiration of the Scriptures. The writer, after referring to the fulfillment of many prophecies contained in the Old Testament, came to those in the New, and amongst others he spoke of that in which Christ alludes to the destruction of Jerusalem. He said that even in the times of the Apostles, there were persons who, by putting too literal a construction upon the words, were misled into believing that the end of the world was at hand, and that there had never been a time when there were not victims to the same delusion.
It was impossible, with reference to the condition of Holden's mind, to have selected either a topic or reader more unsuitable. The aversion he had manifested at first increased every moment. It was one of those antipathies as unquestionable as they are unaccountable. It at first exhibited itself in restlessness, and an inability to remain quiet, and afterwards in half-suppressed groans and sighs. If he opened his eyes and looked at the reader, he saw a devilish figure, with a malignant leer glaring at him; if he shut them to exclude the disagreeable image it was converted into a thousand smaller figures, dancing up and down like motes in a distempered vision, all wearing that intolerable grin, while the whole time a hissing sound, as if it came from a snake, whispered in his ears temptations to some deadly sin. It was a trial the shattered nerves of the enthusiast were ill qualified to bear, and, finally, a torture beyond his powers of endurance. The very force of the reasons urged by the writer distressed him more and more. They seemed to his disordered imagination the subtle enticements of an evil spirit to lure him from the truth, and Davenport an emissary of Satan, if not the arch-deceiver himself. No adequate answers to doctrines which he was persuaded were false presented themselves to his mind, and this he ascribed to some hellish spell, which fettered his reason, and must soon be broken, or he was lost. Mentally, then, first ejaculating a prayer, he suddenly sprung to his feet, and in a loud voice bade the reader to stop.
"Forbear," he cried, "man of sin, to seduce the people with these soul-damning and abominable lies. I conjure thee, Satan, to leave the body of this man, and depart. Ha! thou wouldst lull them into security that they may slumber and have no oil in their lamps when the Bridegroom cometh, when He cometh in the clouds of heaven. My soul have not thou thy portion with the unbelievers."
The words were uttered with wonderful vehemence and rapidity, and upon their conclusion, he strode with long strides down the passage towards the door. Not an exclamation was heard, not a hand raised to stay his departure, so stupefied were all with astonishment. Upon leaving the room he rushed into the street, and, forgetful of his promise to Mr. Armstrong, took his way to his own hut. The tything man, awakening from his lethargy, and a few others recovering their presence of mind, went at last to the door, and gazed up and down the street, but the disturber of the meeting was not in sight, nor, sooth to say, were any of the number sorry, or wished to meet him that night. Contenting themselves, therefore, with this slight demonstration of zeal, they returned to the Conference-room. There, great as was the scandal occasioned by the interruption, all things soon settled down into their usual course, and the meeting was regularly concluded and dismissed.
CHAPTER XI.
Angelo.—We must not make a scarecrow of the law,
Setting it up to fear the birds of prey,
And let it keep one shape, till custom make it
Their perch, and not their terror.
MEASURE FOR MEASURE.
The events of the preceding evening caused quite a sensation in the village. We shall better understand the various opinions and feelings of the inhabitants by stepping, at about eleven o'clock the following morning, into the shop, or, as it was called in those days, and would generally be called now, the "store" of Truman and Jenkins. This was an establishment at the foot of the hill, where it hung out its sign, in company with several others of the same character, which professed to supply all the wants of the community. Here everything was to be had from a gallon of molasses to a skein of thread, or a quintal of codfish, to a pound of nails. On one side, as you entered, were ranges of shelves, protected by a counter, on which were exposed rolls of flannels of divers colors, and calico and broadcloth, and other "dry goods," while a showcase on the counter contained combs, and tooth-brushes, and soaps, and perfumery, and a variety of other small articles. The back of the store was used as a receptacle for hogsheads of molasses, and puncheons of rum and wine, and barrels of whisky and sugar. Overhead and on the posts were hung pails, and rakes, and iron chains, and a thousand things necessary to the complete enjoyment of civilization. On the other side was a small counting-room partitioned off, with a door, the upper part of which was glass, for the convenience of looking into the shop, in order to be ready to attend to the wants of such customers as might come in. This little room, scarcely eight feet square, contained a small close stove, around which were gathered some half a dozen persons.
"I say, squire," exclaimed Tom Gladding, a tall, awkward, good-natured looking fellow, with legs sprawling out, and heels on the top of the stove, addressing himself to a man in a black suit, rather better dressed than the others, "what do you think of this here rusty old Father Holden cut up last night at Conference?"
Squire Miller, as one in authority, and who might be called to adjudicate upon the case, and for other reasons of his own, was not disposed to commit himself, he, therefore, cautiously replied, more Novo Anglicano, by asking another question, "Were you there, Mr. Gladding?"
"No," said Tom, laughing; "the old folks used to make me go so regular, when I was a boy, I guess I've done my part. So after a while I give it up."
"It is a pity you ever gave it up," said the squire. "You might get a great deal of good from it."
"There's two opinions about that," said Tom. "You see, squire, as long as mother was alive, I always went with her regular, 'cause it kind o' comforted her, though somehow or other I never took to it. So when she died I sort o' slacked off 'till now it's 'een amost two year since I been in."
"They say," observed Mr. Jenkins, "they've took the old man up."
"I'm sorry for that," cried Tom. "To go to take up a kind o' half-crazy man for speaking in meetin'!"
"Why," inquired the squire, "would you allow the man to go about disturbing the neighbors as he pleased?"
"I never heard tell of his disturbing nobody," said Tom. "Just take him off his notions about the ten vargins and their lamps, and the judgment day, and I don't know a likelier man than old Holden. In my opinion, he's a cleverer fellow than Davenport, by a long shot."
"I don't believe he's been caught," said a man in a pee-jacket, who, from his appearance, was a fisherman. "I passed his island this morning about sunrise, with a boatload of oysters, and I see the old man at his door."
"Well," observed Mr. Jenkins, "I hope he isn't. It's enough to make a body puke up his boots to hear Davenport, and I don't much blame Holden for cutting him short."
"I heard somebody say," said Gladding, "that the old man shook his fist right in old Davenport's face, and told him up and down he was a good for nothing liar. I want to know if he can sue him, squire?"
"Why, as to that," answered Miller, who being appealed to on a question of law, conceived it necessary to show his learning, "if a man strikes at me within striking distance, I can sue him for assault, though he shouldn't touch me. That I call one of the nice pints of the law. I decided so myself in the case of Samuel Pond versus Ezekiel Backus. You see Pond and Backus had a little quarrel about some potatoes Pond sold him, and Pond got mad, and told Backus he lied. Backus is rather hasty, and doubled up his fist, and put it near Pond's nose, and insinuated that if he said that again he would knock him down." Here the squire paused, and looked round to see what impression he was making on his audience, and the momentary silence was taken advantage of by Gladding to observe:
"That Pond's a mean cuss."
The justice took no further notice of honest Tom's not very complimentary remark than to cast at him a look of angry surprise, which the other endured with complete indifference.
"So," continued Squire Miller, "Pond went to Lawyer Tippit, and he brought the suit before me. Backus pleaded his own case, but he had a fool for a client; the law was all against him, and I had to fine him a dollar and cost."
"That's considerable to pay," exclaimed Tom, "just for skinning such a fellow's nose as Sam Pond's (I've heard of the case afore), but you ain't said nothing, squire, about calling a man a liar."
"Well," said Squire Miller, "that's what we call a mute point. I heard the affirmative and negative argued once by Lawyer Ketchum and Lawyer Tippit. Lawyer Tippit was the affirmative, and Lawyer Ketchum the negative. Lawyer Tippit's principle was in medio pessimus ibis, while Lawyer Ketchum held qui facit per alien facit per se. They, therefore, couldn't agree, they were so wide apart, you see. So they separated without either giving up, though I think Lawyer Tippit had a little the best of the argument."
"Lawyer Tippit knows a thing or two," said the fisherman, in a low tone.
Here Squire Miller handed to Mr. Jenkins twelve and a half cents, for the four glasses of Jamaica he had drank, a portion of which some way or other seemed to have got into his last speech, and took his leave.
He had hardly left the store when who should come in but Constable Basset, bearing in his hand a black staff, "having a head with the arms of the State thereon," the badge of his office, as provided by law, and which he was required to carry "upon proper occasions." Some such occasion had, in the judgment of the constable, evidently arisen, else it would not now be forthcoming.
He was a bullet-headed, carroty-haired little fellow, with a snub nose and eyes so diminutive and deeply sunken, that but for the sparks of light they emitted, they would have been undiscernible. The expression of his face was like that of a wiry terrier, being derived partly from his occupation, which, in his opinion, required him to be as vigilant in spying out offenders as the aforesaid peppery animal, in scenting vermin, and being partly the gift of nature. But though the person of Basset was small, such was not his opinion of himself. That was in an inverse ratio to his size, and at once the source of his highest joys, and, sooth to say, of an occasional mortification. But the former greatly preponderated, and, on the whole, it was a pleasure to a benevolent mind to look at him, if for no other reason than to consider how much enjoyment there may be in ignorance.
As soon as Gladding set his eyes on the constable, he hailed him:
"Here, Basset," he cried, "what are you going to do this morning with that are stick?"
The constable did not much relish hearing the badge of an office which he esteemed one of the most important in the State thus lightly spoken of and degraded to a common stick; he, therefore, replied somewhat shortly—
"I guess, Mr. Gladding, you don't see the head of my staff, do ye?"
"Don't I?" said Gladding. "I know old Authority-by-the-State-of-Connecticut a mile off, without seeing his head, I rather think. But what are you up to now?"
Basset, who, though no Solomon, had too much wit to admit every one into his confidence, answered:
"O, nothing; I was only looking for Squire Miller."
"Why," said Gladding, "he only left the store a minute ago. I say
Basset, you got a warrant agin old Holden?"
"Why," said Basset, "what makes you ask?"
"Because," replied Gladding, mischievously, who strongly suspecting an intention to arrest Holden, and knowing the constable's cowardice, was determined to play upon his fears, "I shouldn't like to be in your skin when you go for to take him."
"I'd like to see the man what would dare to resist when I showed him my authority," said the constable. "I guess I'd make him cry copeevy in less than no time."
"Well," said Gladding, who all this while had been leisurely whittling a bit of white pine, "well, Basset, you know your own business best, and I'm not a man to interfere. My principle is, let every man skin his own skunks. You haint no wife nor children, have you?"
"No," said Basset. "What makes you ask?"
"Well, I'm glad to hear it. I always think it judgmatical, you see, to choose a man for constable who haint got no family; 'cause, if any accident should happen, 'twouldn't be of so much consequence."
"I don't catch your meaning clear," said Basset.
"You'll catch it clear enough, I guess," answered Gladding, "if Holden gits hold o' ye."
"Now, Tom Gladding, you needn't think you're going to frighten me," cried Basset, on whom the charm was beginning to work.
"I never had sich an idea," said Tom. "But folks does say he's a desperate fighting character. Did you never hear tell of Kidd the pirate, and his treasures, ever so much gold and silver, and rings and watches, and all sorts o' trinkets and notions, buried somewhere along shore, or perhaps on the old fellow's island? Folks does say that when it was kivered, two men was murdered on the spot, so that their sperits should watch it, and hender other folks from gitting on't. But them may be all lies. I heard tell, too," he added, bending down towards the constable, and speaking in a low, confidential tone, as if he wished to be overheard by no one, "that Holden's Kidd himself; but I don't believe a word on't. I tell you this as a friend of your'n, and I advise you to be prudent."
Poor Basset left the shop, with a much less confident air than that with which he had entered it. The truth is, he had in his pocket, all the while, a warrant issued by Squire Miller to arrest Holden, which he now most heartily wished he had never burnt his fingers with. He had heard before, the strange stories in circulation about the Solitary, but had listened to them with only a vague feeling of curiosity, without any personal interest therein, so that no impression of any consequence had been made upon his mind. But now the case was different. The matter was brought home to his own bosom. Here was he, Constable Basset, required and commanded, "by authority of the State of Connecticut," to arrest a man of the most violent character, "for," said Basset to himself, "he must be a dangerous fellow, else how would he venture to insult a whole conference? Tom Gladding's more'n half right, and I must look sharp." Gladly would he have abandoned the whole business, notwithstanding his cupidity was not a little excited by the fees, but he doubted whether the sheriff, his deputy, or any other constable would execute the warrant in his stead; nor did any plausible excuse present itself to account for transferring it to other hands. Thus musing, with fear and avarice contending in his breast, he walked up the street. But it may be necessary to tell how Basset got into the dilemma, and, in order to do so, we must retrace our steps.
The interruption at the conference had not a little offended Davenport. A pompous and conceited man, any slight to himself, any failure to accord a deference he considered his due, he felt sensibly as an injury; much more, then, an open defiance and direct attack. That Holden or any one should have the hardihood, before an assemblage of his friends and acquaintances, to interrupt him and load him with reproaches, wounded his self love to the quick, and he fancied it would affect his reputation and influence in the community were the offence to be passed over without notice. He therefore resolved that something should be done to punish the offender, though unwilling to appear himself in the matter, as that might expose his motives; and all the way home, his mind was engrossed with schemes to accomplish his purpose. It was little attention, then, he be stowed upon the "good gracious" and "massy on us" of his better half, as, with indignation becoming the provocation, she kept herself warm, and shortened the way. But, notwithstanding, he was forced to hear them, and they affected him like so many little stings to urge him to revenge. So excited were his feelings, that it was some time before he fell asleep that night, long after notes other than those of music had announced the passage of Mrs. Davenport to a land of forgetfulness, though not before her husband had matured a plan for the morrow.
Accordingly, after breakfast, Davenport walked round to the office of Mr. Ketchum. Ketchum was a young man, who, but a short time before, had, in the fortunate town of Hillsdale, hung out his professional sign, or shingle, as people generally called it, whereon, in gilt letters, were emblazoned his name and the titles of "Attorney and Counsellor at Law," whereby the public were given to understand that the owner of the aforesaid name and titles was prepared with pen or tongue, or both, to vindicate, à entrance, the rights of all who were able and willing to pay three dollars for an argument before a Justice Court, and in proportion before the higher tribunals. He was a stirring, pushing fellow, whose business, however, was as yet quite limited, and to whom, for that reason, a new case was a bonne bouche on which he sprung with the avidity of a trout.
This gentleman Davenport found apparently lost in the study of a russet sheep-skin covered book. A few other books, bound in like manner, were lying on the table, with pens and loose paper and an ink-stand, among which were mingled files of papers purporting to be writs and deeds. Against the walls were two or three shelves containing some dingy-looking books having a family likeness to the former.
After the usual compliments, Davenport made known his business. "A scandal," he said, "had been occasioned by the conduct of Holden, and a great injury inflicted on the cause of religion. It was for that reason," he intimated, "and not from any private feeling he wanted him brought to justice. Some people think him a little touched," he said, "though I don't believe it, and if it was only my own case I should overlook his insults, for it is the part of a Christian to suffer wrong without complaining, but there's others to be thought of, and I'd sooner cut off my right hand than not do my duty. So, squire," he concluded, "we must see if we can't learn him reason, and stop his disturbing the worship of God."
"There is no difficulty about that, Squire Davenport," said Ketchum, who was acquainted with the particulars of the occurrence of the night previous, before the arrival of his client, having heard them discussed over breakfast at his boarding-house. "You have the plainest case in the world. We'll soon put him through a course of sprouts."
"How do you think we had better proceed?" said Davenport.
"Why," replied the other, opening the Statute Book, "you have at least two causes of action; you can bring a civil action for the slander, and also proceed against him on the part of the State for the interruption of the meeting."
"I don't care about suing him on my own account," said the client, who, perhaps, not reposing unlimited confidence in the young man's knowledge of law, and doubting the success of a civil action, had visions of possible costs he might be obliged to pay floating before his imagination. Besides, Davenport was a shrewd fellow who had been "in the law" before; and experience taught him how to make allowance for the natural anxiety of a new practitioner to obtain business. "No, I have no feeling about it myself," said Davenport, "and it is my opinion we had better take him on the part of the State."
"It is just as well," said the attorney; "one suit will not interfere with the other. We can first proceed against him criminally, and afterwards bring an action for damages."
"Well, well," said Davenport, "now about the prosecution."
"Then," said Ketchum, opening the Statute Book at the title "Meetings," after first running though the index; "we can take him under the Act on the 492d page, entitled, 'An Act for preserving due order in town meetings, society meetings, and in the meetings of other communities, and for preventing tumults therein,'" and he read the act aloud.
"I don't exactly like that," observed Davenport, "The fine, in the first place, is only eighty-four cents, except the case is aggravated, when it is a binding over, and then the County Court cannot go over thirty-four dollars fine. There's no imprisonment and Tom Pownal or Armstrong would go bail, and pay the fine too, if it comes to that; so there would be nothing gained by the operation."
"Let as see if we cannot find something else," said Ketchum, "to suit your taste better I think (for he now perfectly understood the temper of his client, and read the vindictive purpose of his soul, and, alas! was willing to descend to the meanness of ministering to its gratification,)—I think it would be a reproach to the law if such a high-handed outrage should be permitted to pass unpunished." He again referred to the index and apparently finding what he wanted turned the leaves till he came to the title, "Workhouses." "Here," cried he, "at the 688th page, in the seventh section, we have got him;" and he read from the Statutes a provision, authorising and empowering an associate or Justice of the Peace to send "'all rogues, vagabonds, sturdy beggars, and other lewd, idle, dissolute, profane and disorderly persons that have no settlement in this State, to such workhouses, and order them to be kept to hard labor' &c.; and here on the next page, 'also such as are guilty of reviling and profane speaking.'"
"That last will do, if the law will hold him," said Davenport.
"Leave that to me," said Ketchum. "That section will hold water or nothing will. Give me the names of your witnesses, and we will set the mill a grinding. I suppose," he added, carelessly, "you have no objection to bringing the case before Squire Miller?"
"Oh, none in the world," answered the other, who knew perfectly well the influence he exercised over the Justice. "But you haven't said a word about the Grand Juror to make the complaint."
"That will be all straight," replied Ketchum. "Two Grand Jurors I know were at the meeting, either of whom will answer our purpose. Trust that to me, and I will attend to it."
Hereupon, Davenport mentioned the names of the witnesses he wished subp[=oe]ned. "And now, Squire," he added, "that this matter is concluded between us, how comes on my case with Fanning?"
Ketchum felt some surprise at the question, although his countenance expressed none, for it was only a short time since he had gone over the whole subject with his client, and the plan of operations had been agreed on between them. He understood, however, the character of Davenport too well not to know that he had a reason of his own for asking, and not doubting it would come out in the course of the conversation, he replied very composedly that it would probably be reached the next term.
Davenport went on for awhile, talking of his case, Ketchum all the time wondering at his drift, until, having concluded what it pleased him to say, he rose to take leave. After bidding good morning by way of farewell, he walked to the door, when suddenly turning, as if the thought had just struck him, he observed—"By the way, if anybody should happen to notice that I had called on you, I have no objections to your saying I had a talk with you about that case of Fanning's."
As soon as the door was closed, Ketchum leaned back in his chair and indulged in a low sarcastic laugh. "The old sinner," he said, aloud; "he is a cute one; sharp as a pin, but needles are sharper. What a knack he has of whipping the devil round the stump! To look at that man you would suppose he was too good for preaching. And he flatters himself he is imposing on me! He must get up earlier for that. It is my opinion his only chance when his turn comes will be in cheating his Satanic Majesty. Well, practice makes perfect, and he has enough of it. I do declare," he added, after a pause, as if scruples of conscience were arising in his mind, "I am almost sorry I undertook this business. But all trades must live."