Chapter IV (2)

Her father, after seeing that all were well supplied with the good things on his table, took up his pewter tankard, and with a respectful nod to the old gentleman said, “Father, my sarvice to you; Miss Stimpson, my sarvice; sarvice, sarvice,” nodding to Judith and Mr. Tarbox; then applying the vessel to his lips, he took a long and apparently a very refreshing draught. Judith, though a beauty and a heroine, despised not the vulgar enjoyments of eating and drinking, but valued them as social pleasures.

After ample justice being done to the meal by all parties, Captain Stimpson and Mr. Tarbox went off to the rope-walk. Grandsir, removing his chair to a window, where the afternoon breeze blew in refreshingly, and placing his Bible, his favorite companion, on his knees, was soon in a gentle slumber; his head thrown back on his comfortable chair, and his hands folded on the pages of the sacred volume before him, opened at his favorite last of Revelations. Mrs. Stimpson, taking up her knitting-work, sat herself down by the side of the table, to superintend the clearing away of the tea-things. She followed Judith with her fond eyes, as the little maiden tripped lightly about in her neat, speckled apron, putting every thing in its place in the most housewifely manner, and directing old Mary in an affectionate and cheerful tone of voice.

She put away the tea-things in their accustomed places, in the little buffet with glass-doors, at the corner of the room, in which three mandarins of china were conspicuous, one on the middle projection of each shelf: then seating herself down at the window, she began to ply her needle in the embroidering of various figures in fine cat-gut to imitate lace; a kind of ladies’ work as much in vogue in those days as the worsted and crochet-work has been in our day.

Captain Stimpson soon joined them with his pipe, but their conversation was interrupted by a gentle rap at the tea-room door, and on the captain’s opening it, George Fayerweather appeared, with a lame excuse for so soon repeating his visit. He was cordially received by the captain, who invited him to sit down, which he immediately did, in such a manner as to occupy the whole width of a window in the front parlor, to which the family now all adjourned; grandsir rousing and going with them, as he loved to doze by the sound of his children’s voices. The evening being fairly set in, a light was brought by old Mary; but being placed in a little cupboard, the door of which was nearly closed, the rest of the room was left in obscurity.

The little party remained for some time almost in silence; the coolness of the hour, after the heat of the day, bringing to each a sense of tranquil enjoyment, which none felt disposed to interrupt by conversation. It is in such moments, that throwing off the cares of life, and forgetting its sorrows and disappointments, in the presence of those best loved, one feels possessed of a treasure of happiness—though the hoard maybe small—which wholly fills the mind and satisfies the wishes. “The heart” does not “distrustful ask if this be joy,” secure in the sober certainty. These are the moments, which, in their flight, mark their traces most deeply in the memory, over which we brood as a miser over his gold, and which, when past never to return, leave the heart most desolate.

The beauty of the evening drew many from their dwellings to enjoy it in the open air, and others whom thrift or need forbade to suspend longer their occupations, resumed them with fresh vigor—a murmur of voices, mingled with other sounds of busy life, softened and blended by distance, found its way into the open windows of the apartment.

At intervals, a faint and distant strain of music was heard, at first scarcely perceptible, and which each one might have attributed to imagination as it occasioned no remark; but on the breeze freshening the sounds drew nearer, and at length a strange and beautiful melody was poured forth, melancholy though delicious, which drew an exclamation of surprise and delight from the whole party.

“Oh, what is it!” exclaimed Judith; “what can it be, and where does it come from?” as a sensation almost amounting to superstition stole over her.

“It sounds,” said the father, “almost like the music which I’ve heard many a time, when I was before the mast, from some of the big churches in foreign parts, as it came over the water, whilst I kept watch on deck of a moonlight night, when the vessel was near port.”

Here the old gentleman arousing, cried out, “I’ve been asleep, I declare—what a beautiful dream I’ve had. I dreamed I was in the New Jerusalem, and was walking by the side of the river, where was the Tree of Life, with twelve manner of fruits hanging from its branches. I heard the angels with their golden harps—though somehow I couldn’t see them—why, there it is again!”

Here a swell of wild harmony filled the room, prolonged and varied for a moment, and dying away in a low wail. Judith felt her eyes fill with tears as the strain ceased, and looking in the direction where George was sitting, exclaimed, “Oh, it comes from that window! I know it does! I thought so all the time.”

George now spoke—“Well, come let us see if we can find it.”

On her approach, as he sought her hand to draw her to the window, she drew back, saying she must get the light; on bringing which, a long, slender box of polished wood was discovered, filling the space in the window, which was opened just wide enough to admit it. The sounds were now found to proceed from strings stretched across its upper surface, (which was carved and gilded,) and fastened at each end by pegs of ivory and brass. The delighted girl asked in wonder—

“What is it? Where did it come from? Whose is it?”

The latter of which interrogatories George answered by pointing to her name carved at full length at one end, his own initials, in very small characters, appearing beneath.

“It is an Eolian harp,” he said, “it is played upon by the winds, and is a little conjuror—if you should happen to have an acquaintance at sea”—here he looked full in her blushing face with an expression of much feeling, his voice slightly trembling—“and should care to know any thing how he fared, put the harp in the window, and the winds will waft the intelligence across the ocean, and as the strains are in harmony or in discord you may judge of his welfare.”

She replied—“Oh, how much I thank you for it. But I am sure I should not forget you without it—oh, I am sure I should not,” she added, in a lower tone.

He then seized her scissors, which hung at her side by its silver chain, and looking into her face for permission, separated a silken ringlet from her head, and, folding it carefully, placed it in his bosom, then, the evening being somewhat advanced, he took his leave.

When the point of George’s going to sea was first settled, his mother’s lamentations were loud and deep; but at length, when the voyage was engaged, and the time drew near for his departure, as was usual with her when an evil was unavoidable, she bore it as well as any one could, and busied herself with alacrity in his equipments. She made great complaints that he could be allowed but one sea-chest; in which, however, she managed to find room for two plum-puddings, half a dozen minced pies, and a roast-turkey, that he might at least keep Thanksgiving, which was near at hand, if not Christmas, on board the vessel.

On the day before he was to sail, a new idea seemed to strike her. She called Mrs. Wendell, who was present and assisting, as usual, when any thing extraordinary was going on in her aunt’s family; and they both went again to the chest. It had been packed and repacked six times already; but with Amy’s assistance, a closely-folded pile of sea-clothes was once more taken out, and by still closer packing, and a different arrangement, room was made for an oblong pasteboard box. She then went to the high chest of drawers of black mahogany, which stood in frowning majesty in her chamber, and was taking out an article laid with great care in one of the drawers, when her husband, who had thought all was finished, entered to see what more she had found to do.

“High! high! what are you doing with my best cravat with the Brussels lace?” he cried.

“La, Mr. Fayerweather, my dear, you know you never wear it only on great occasions—such as a wedding or so; and there is nobody to be married now, before George comes home. I am going to let him have it, for there’s no time to send to Boston for any; and if any thing should happen, you shall have my best set of lace, which is handsomer than this.”

“I don’t know that; but what upon earth can George do with a Brussels’ laced cravat at sea?”

“Oh, my dear, when he’s in London, you know, he may be invited to dine with the king; and I should want to have him dressed suitably.”

“To dine with the king!” cried Mr. Fayerweather, shouting with laughter; “what could have put such an idea into your head?”

Madam was quite offended, and said with great dignity, “Phillis Wheatly drank tea with the queen and I am sure, I do not see why our son may not be invited to dine with the king.”

“Oh, well, my dear, I ask your pardon; let George have the cravat, by all means; and you had better let him have my blue-satin waistcoat, laced with silver, to wear also, when he dines with his majesty,” said Mr. Fayerweather, turning away to hide a good-natured smile.

“Why, I was thinking of that, but we can’t find room for it in the chest; and I suppose he may find one ready made in London.”

This weighty affair settled, and the chest packed again for the seventh and last time, it was locked to go on board the vessel.

The morning came, the wind was fair, and the young sailor took his way to the wharf. “Good-bye, Cousin Amie!” he cried, to Mrs. Wendell, who was waiting at her door to shake hands with him; “when I go up the Straits, I’ll get you the handsomest brocade that was ever seen in Salem.”

In a few weeks after George’s departure, which time passed gloomily away with his family, Madam Brinley, a sister of Mrs. Fayerweather, came to Salem, and moved into the large house, opposite the Fayerweather mansion, which was a joyful event to Madam. The two sisters bore a strong resemblance to each other in features, with some shades of difference in character. Madam Brinley was a few years the elder; her nose might have been a little more pointed, and, perhaps, her temper rather sharper; then she was more worldly, and took more state upon herself. She was a widow of about ten years standing, with a handsome estate. Having lost several children in infancy, she had remaining only two daughters. Molly, the then fashionable cognomen for Mary, was then just fifteen, and Lizzy, two years younger. The three families residing so near together, made the winter a more pleasant one to the little neighborhood—George’s absence furnishing a subject of joyful anticipation in his return.

Early the next spring an important personage made his appearance in Paved Street—no less than a son to Mr. Wendell. He was, as is generally the case with the first, the wonder of the age. Madam Fayerweather declared, “He was the beautifullest baby that ever was seen.” Madam Brinley said, “It was certainly a remarkably fine infant;” while Mr. Fayerweather declared it was the exact counterpart of all the babies he ever saw. I am sorry to say that Mr. Wendell did not comport himself with all the dignity to be expected from his new character; for he only laughed as if he would kill himself, whenever his son was presented to him; but could not be prevailed upon by any means, to take it into his arms, for fear of its falling to pieces; to the great scandal of the little wizened old woman from Marblehead, in whose lap it usually lay, its long robes touching the floor; she averred, “It was a sin and a shame that its sir wouldn’t take to it more, when it was as much like him as two peas in a pod—it was the most knowinist and the most remarkablest baby ever she seed in her baarn days.”

When the young gentleman was in its fourth week, his mother, according to custom, received visitors in her chamber. In these visits, scarcely less state was observed than in those to the bride; but matrons and elderly ladies were alone privileged to make them. If any young damsel had the hardihood to make her appearance within the sacred precincts, though under shelter of her mother’s wing, she was immediately pronounced as cut out for an old maid—and the oracle seldom failed of fulfillment.

The first day on which Mrs. Wendell sat up for company, when she was just attired in a handsome undress, made expressly for the occasion, and was seated in state in her easy chair, while nurse was preparing the baby to display him to the best advantage, Scipio thrust in his black head at the door with a “He! ho! he! Missy Amy, Scip’ got suthen for de picaninny.” Here Madam Fayerweather’s voice was heard reproving him for going before her, when the door was thrown open, and in she came with Scipio after her, bearing a beautiful wicker cradle, lined with white satin. Madam unfolded the cradle-quilt with great pomp and circumstance; and now the grand secret came out—Amy’s wondering eyes beheld the great work—the very work! which had employed all her aunt’s moments of leisure for upward of three years.

It was composed of pieces of silk of every pattern that had been worn in the family for two generations, and cut into every form which Madam’s imagination could devise, or her scissors shape. There were squares, triangles, and hexagons; there were stripes perpendicular, horizontal, and diagonal, with stars, double and single; of brocade, watered tabby, paduasoy, damask, satin, and velvet; in short, it was a very grand affair. After having sufficiently enjoyed her niece’s surprise and pleasure, the happy and triumphant aunt took her grand-nephew from his nurse, and laid him on his new couch, then placed the quilt over him, turned down at the head, to display the lining of pink sarsnet; and being quite satisfied with the additional splendor which the _tout ensemble_ gave to the apartment, she took the baby up again, (he was fortunately a very quiet one,) and put him into the lap of his nurse, until visitors should be heard coming, when he was to be reinstated in all the magnificence of his luxurious cradle. He was christened the next Sunday at church. Mr. Fayerweather having consented to stand as one of the godfathers, Madam, feeling some qualms of conscience, sent to Boston privately for a very rich lace, to replace the one which she had abstracted for George.

The succeeding summer they received two letters from George; both written in high spirits, and discovering a degree of intelligence and good sense which highly gratified his father. That same season, John, the younger son, entered college. Being of bright parts and fond of study, he bade fair to realize all the expectations his father had formed for his brother.

Dark November came again, with its naked trees and sad-colored skies. This gloomy month, in which the inhabitants of _old_ England are said to be most prone to hang themselves, the Puritan fathers of New England, with greater wisdom, enlivened by the only festival they ever instituted—Thanksgiving. On this occasion, after offering up solemn thanks in public to the bountiful Hand, “who had crowned the year with his goodness,” with all the scattered branches of their families gathered under the patriarchal roof, they indulged in Thanksgiving-dinner—the only approach they ever made to merry-making—an abundant feast of every good thing the seasons had afforded; imparting to the poor a liberal portion. It is to be regretted, that abuses, in time, crept in, in the train of this—it might otherwise be truly called—sacred festival—that cruel sports became connected with its celebration, which have since continued almost to form a part of it. It is like associating the bloody rites of paganism with our most pure and holy worship.

On the Thanksgiving of this year, a family-party was collected at Mr. Fayerweather’s, with the addition of the Episcopal clergyman, Mr. McGregor, the family physician, Dr. Holly, and one or two other friends. In the evening, the accustomed game of Blind Man’s Buff was called for, in which no one was privileged to refuse joining. George’s absence was now loudly lamented, but he was not expected until Christmas. Much merriment and noise, however, succeeded. The good clergyman, an Oxford scholar, and a deep and sound divine, who always went into company ready prepared with a particular subject to debate upon, with all his weapons sharpened for the contest; and who had at length succeeded in engaging Mr. Wendell in a grave discussion on some knotty point in divinity, was obliged to break off, just as he had established the premises to an important conclusion. He joined in the “mad game” with a very bad grace, but by degrees, warming with the sport, he enjoyed it the most of the party, and shouted the loudest when Mr. Fayerweather, on being caught by Lizzy Brinley, left his wig in her hand, and escaped with his bare poll.

Dr. Holly, who loved sport better than his life, on being caught and blindfolded, managed, by a little cheating, to catch Madam Fayerweather, to her unfeigned astonishment. At this juncture, Flora tripped lightly into the room, and whispered to her master, who immediately followed her out, when Vi’let, in a flaming red gown, popped in her head for a moment with a most remarkable expression of countenance. As she closed the door softly, she gave a significant nod to the company, to let them know she was in possession of a great secret.

Mr. Fayerweather a moment after returned, bringing in with him a tall stranger, and made signs to the company to take no notice of the interruption. All passed so silently that Madam did not perceive either the going out or the returning, but continued to sail round the room in her green damask, without being able to catch any one. At length her husband thrust the tall stranger in her way, whom she caught amidst shouts of laughter, succeeded by deep silence, while she was naming him. All eyes were fixed on the stranger with different expressions, which we will not attempt to describe.

Madam cried out, “Well, I’ve caught somebody at last!—who upon earth is it! John, it’s you, I know; you are standing on something to deceive me, you saucy boy.”

Here she felt the clustering curls of the stranger’s head—John’s hair was straight, and all the other masculine heads in company wore peruques—when reminiscences of earlier days seemed suddenly to strike her, and she threw off her blinder, bringing with it fly-cap and lappets, and exclaiming with a shriek—“Can it be George!”

George, indeed, it was; standing six feet one inch in his shoes. We would describe, if we could, what is indescribable, but which may easily be imagined—the exclamations—the shakes of the hand—the congratulations which followed. After the parents of the newly arrived son had sufficiently admired him, and had expended their stock of wondering expressions at his growth, the rest of the party took their turn, inwardly deciding in their own minds that he was the finest looking fellow they had ever seen. He was, in truth, a noble specimen of manhood; but his curling hair, the overflowing and almost child-like good-humor—the fun, which shone in his full blue eye, and extended his somewhat large mouth and full lips, displaying his brilliantly white teeth, seemed to bespeak him still the boy, despite his giant frame, and the brown tinge which darkened his cheek. The salutations over, the company very considerately took their leave, excepting George’s relatives, who lingered a few moments after the rest to welcome him home again, and to bid him more affectionate adieus.

During breakfast, next morning, the young mariner related his adventures, and the wonders he had beheld in foreign parts; from the first whale he saw, which awoke out of a comfortable afternoon’s nap, just after they had passed “the Banks,” and which, lazily yawning, opened its huge jaws and then closed them again, spouting water as high as the top-gallant mast, to Stromboli, spouting fire for the express entertainment of sailors on a dark night, as they neared the coast of Sicily. Not omitting the Tower of London, where he had held his head in the lion’s mouth for full five minutes.

“You naughty, wicked boy!” exclaimed his mother, almost breathless with terror; “I really believe I should have been tempted to box your ears. Did you ever hear any thing like it, Amy?” The latter during the recital having quietly slipped in, and taken her seat at the table. “Mr. Wendell being obliged to go away by daylight, and the baby not having yet awakened.”

George made no reply, but continued his narrative, eating lump after lump of sugar out of the basin, and escaping the rap over the knuckles, which he would once have had. Then the Cross of St. Paul’s—on the right arm of which he had stood upon one leg, whilst Dick did the same on the left, shaking hands together over the top.

John, who had been listening in silent wonder and delight, at this climax clapped his brother on the shoulder in an ecstasy.

“It is a pity you hadn’t both broken your necks,” exclaimed Mrs. Wendell, in indignation. “What upon earth did you play such pranks for?”

Mr. Fayerweather wore his comical look.

“Why, now, cousin—when I’ve brought you home such a beautiful gown—a rich yellow calamanco, the brightest there was in the shop. Dick went with me on purpose to help me choose it.”

“Where’s the brocade you promised me, you scapegrace?”

“Why, I’m sorry, but I forgot all about it until I came back to London; but I thought being an old married woman now, a nice calamanco would do as well.”

This turn in the conversation changed the current of his mother’s thoughts, and she wished to see the rarities he had brought home. In her impatience, before her husband had half-finished his second cup of coffee, she ordered—I am wrong. The perogative of ordering the servants in this family, Vi’let allowed to none but herself—she desired Scipio to bring in the ponderous sea-chest, the weight of which was a sufficient excuse for the appearance of the other three, each bearing a corner. Aunt Vi’let indulgently making allowances for the curiosity of Flora and Peter, and telling them, patronizingly, “to bear a hand.” Madam and her niece, full of eager expectation, seated themselves on the floor beside the chest, both ready to dive into its deepest recesses, the moment it should be opened.

The first thing which presented itself to view, was a red worsted cap with a famous red tassel. This George threw to Scipio, telling him, it was for him. It was received with a grin from ear to ear.

“Tank you, massa, now Scip got suthen to put on his head nex ’lection. Primus shan’t be king no longer. Scip king heself! He! he! he!”

The others withdrew, they having too much of the pride of the family to be willing to have it supposed they were expecting there was any thing for them. Scipio not being able to restrain his impatience to try on his new finery, pulled it on as he went into the kitchen, exclaiming—

“It fits dizackly!” and in his exultation at the favor shown himself, losing his awe of Vi’let, appealed to her, without her usual title of respect, “if it wasn’t mighty becoming?”

At which, with some indignation, she told him—“He looked like a black monkey with that red cap on his head, and that great thing jigging up and down behind,” betraying some of the infirmity of human nature, at the preference shown her rival.

Mrs. Wendell now pounced upon a package of some size, and opening it, cried—

“Oh, here’s my yellow calamanco; well, it’s really a beauty! Nobody could tell it from a rich satin! I’ll have it made up for Christmas—it’s full handsome enough, aunt, isn’t it? I’m sure, I am much obliged to you, George.”

“Stop, cousin,” said he, taking it from her, “upon second thoughts, I cannot let you have that—I remember now, I bought it for Aunt Vi’let.”

Aunt Vi’let was called in, the others following in her wake, and the present unfolded before her admiring eyes. Her usually grim features were softened into benignity at the sight.

“That aint for me, Misser George! Well, it is a parfec’ speck, I ’clare!”

She could say no more. Her vocabulary, rich in epithets of vituperation only, was soon exhausted, when drawn upon for expressions of satisfaction. Her pleasure was shown in silence. A gay Madras handkerchief for the head was given to Flora, who received it with a modest curtsey, and displaying a row of ivory, and a dimple which many a fairer belle might have envied. On Peter’s looking rather solemn at thinking himself forgotten, his young master told him that his present had not come up from the vessel yet, he had brought him a fine parrot, which could talk nearly as well as himself; at which Peter’s joy knew no bounds. He capered about the room, regardless where he was, and in whose presence, until brought to his senses by a smart rap upon the head by Vi’let, with—

“Please to walk off into the kitchen, sir, till you can larn to ’have yeself.” Off went Peter, Vi’let and Flora following, each with her present tucked under her arm.

George now brought from under a pile of other things a large roll, carefully wrapped in several covers. He put it into Mrs. Wendell’s hand.

“There, cousin, I’ve brought you something, but I’m afraid you will not like it so well as the yellow calamanco.”

Mrs. Wendell took the roll, and with her aunt’s assistance removed wrapper after wrapper. When the last was off, the wrong side of some fabric appeared, presenting a brown surface, without lustre, on which were seen rows of floss silk of various gay colors, lying without any apparent order. The right side drew an exclamation of admiration from both aunt and niece, for never had eyes in Salem, beheld a brocade so magnificent. The figure was a gigantic crimson peony, and a bunch of cherries alternately, each with its appropriate green leaves; on a ground of lustrous chocolate colored satin, firm and thick as leather.

“Oh, George!” his cousin exclaimed, “how could you have brought such a silk for me! I had no idea you were in earnest—how much it must have cost! (looking at her uncle.) I really cannot take it.”

“Oh! if you do not like it, you can let Mr. Wendell have it for a _robe de chambre_.”

“Take it, Amy,” interrupted his father. “I am glad he has shown so good a taste.”

“Yes,” added her aunt, “he has only done just what we could have wished; remember you are our only daughter, and Mr. Wendell is like another son to us.”

Amy did not attempt to reply, but laid the rich present aside, carefully. A black case of dog-fish skin of peculiar form was now brought forth. Mr. Fayerweather seized upon this, and undoing the little hooks which served as fastenings, opened it, and displayed a gold watch with its chain and seals, all richly chased, luxuriously reposing on crimson velvet.

“You gave Haliburton my letter then,” he said, as he took the measure of old Time from its bed, and examined the whole carefully. Then appearing to be satisfied with the workmanship, he wound up the watch, and fastening its large golden hook into the binding of madam’s apron, it hung at her side, on its chain, loaded with rich seals, and ticked away merrily, as if wonderfully refreshed by its long nap, and in liable to show off with its new mistress.

She, finding the costly present really for herself, expressed her gratification, though with glistening eyes, in the quiet way which best pleased her husband. George then rapped his brother over the head with a silver-mounted flute. His father finding that all had had their presents, then asked him if he brought nothing for _him_.

“I have something here, sir, which Mr. Haliburton said, he thought would be valuable to you.”

All looked in eager expectation, when George diving with his hand down to the very bottom of the chest, and bringing up something, which in its egress turned topsy turvy check-shirts, trowsers, pea-jackets, etc., etc. It was a stout oaken staff, which he put into his father’s hand. The latter bore quietly the merriment which succeeded; though madam could not forbear expressing some indignation, at what she took almost as an insult from their old friend to her husband, who, moving the huge baton slowly through his fingers, appeared to be examining closely the grain of the wood for some time in silence.

“Haliburton judged right,” at length he said; “there are few things I should have valued so much. This staff came from Narley Wood, the old family estate in Leicestershire, and was cut from an oak planted by my great grandfather’s own hand. (He pointed to some letters rudely cut in the wood.) Wendell shall have my gold-headed cane. I shall never carry any but this in future.”

Mrs. Wendell was beginning to speak, when a violent uproar was heard from the precincts of the kitchen, in which the yelping of a dog and the screams of a cat predominated. It drew near, and the door burst open suddenly, when in rushed a large black and white dog, yelling fearfully, as if in the extremity of pain and terror, with old tabby on his back, her tail erect, and looking like the cylindrical brush used in these latter days to clear stove-pipes, her talons apparently dug deep into his skin; while Vi’let followed, belaboring him with a broom-handle. Leaping over the chest, he made his way to George, on whose knees he laid his head, whining piteously.

“Why, Jaco! how did you find your way here? I left you in the vessel—poor fellow,” said George. The dog was released from his feline foe by Vi’let, when she found to whom he belonged. He then leaped upon his master, with strenuous endeavors to lick his face, and made other extravagant demonstrations of joy at finding him.

George then mentioned that he had bought him in Italy, of a person who kept him to show off in the celebrated Grotto del cane.

“I had no great curiosity to see the poor devil die and come to life again, so I tried to beg him off. His master only laughed, and was forcing him into the cave by blows, when he seemed to have understood what I said, for he made out to clear himself, and came and fawned on me. After this, I could not help taking him under my protection, so I persuaded the rascal to sell him to me.”

“It would have been more like you to have knocked the fellow down, and taken the dog away in spite of him,” said his father. “I am glad you have learned a little prudence. What did you call him? Jaco.”

“That’s the name the sailors called him; it is a corruption they made of his Italian name, Cicco, meaning blind—he’s blind of one eye. He’s a good fellow, though no great beauty.”

“Poor fellow!” said madam, patting him, “he must be hungry. John, my dear—do ask Vi’let to give him something to eat.”

John immediately disappeared, and soon returned bringing in nearly half the contents of Vi’let’s larder, when all gathered round to see Jaco eat; Mrs. Wendell for the time forgetting the baby at home. Poor Jaco, forgetting his first rough reception, thought he was in Elysium, having doubtless heard of such a blissful region in the classic land of his nativity, and in his poor silly brain, not conceiving it could be appropriated to one species only of created beings, and that, the remorseless tyrant of all the others. He stuffed till he could scarcely see out of his remaining eye; then laying himself down at his master’s feet, “the sober certainty of waking bliss” was soon lost in a comfortable nap.

After a short time, George went out to see some of his numerous friends. He made a call at his Aunt Brinley’s, and laughed and jested with his cousins; he then shaped his course to Neptune street, where he made so long a stay that dinner had been ready to put on the table some time before he came home. Whom he could have gone to see it is not easy to conjecture; not his friend Dick, for the latter had called twice to see him during his absence. Where-ever he might have been, he came home in high good-humor.

Seeing his brother, who was watching for him at the gate, he stooped and took him, passive and unresisting, on his arm, as a nurse would a child of a year old, and carried him into the house. Peter was bringing in dinner as he opened the door, and his mother had already taken her seat at table. He then went up to his father, who had not yet risen from his seat by the fire, slipped softly behind him, and seizing the chair on which Mr. Fayerweather was sitting, by the two arms, he said, “By your leave, sir,” and holding the chair out at arm’s length, he described with it a semi-circle, himself the centre, which brought his father directly before the smoking sirloin. He then stood at his own place at table while Mr. Fayerweather asked the blessing. The remainder of the day George passed by the fireside, making his mother laugh and scold alternately, as he related the pranks of Dick and himself on board the vessel, as well as on shore.

This winter George remained at home, and managed to pass away the time in making the model of a fine ship he had seen at Deptford; a little mathematics with John during the college vacation, but more skating; and occasionally a sleigh-ride with his aunt and cousins, with whom he was a great favorite. Molly had arrived at an age to be admitted to the assemblies, and was the acknowledged belle of the season; she, moreover, had made a decided impression on Sir Harland Hartley, a young baronet who had arrived in Boston with some dispatches the previous year, and was visiting Salem.

The next spring young Fayerweather and his friend Seaward again set sail. With intervals of a month or two between, they made several succeeding voyages together; during one of which, their vessel was captured by a French privateer, part of the crew taken out, and a French captain and crew, nearly double their own remaining number, put on board. This event gave the two young men the glorious occasion they had long desired, for displaying their courage and prowess, which until then had been wasted or thrown away in feats of strength or hardihood to excite the wonder of the bystanders. With their little band they rose upon their captors, and succeeded in retaking their vessel, which they carried in triumph to its destined British port. Their promotion followed of course, and each returned home master of a fine merchantman.

George’s engagement with Judith Stimpson took place soon after, naturally occasioning some dissatisfaction to his family on account of her plebeian origin; this, however, soon wore off, or was conquered by the sweetness of the fair young girl, who soon gained so entirely upon Madam Fayerweather’s affections, that she declared, “She could not have loved Judith better if she had been the daughter of King George himself;” which was saying much, for madam prided herself on her loyalty.

Sir Harland Hartley was now the declared suitor of Molly Brinley, and great preparations were making for the wedding. The baronet, being anxious to return to Quebec as soon as possible, in order to present his bride to some of his near connections, who were soon to embark for England, could not remain in Salem long enough for the three weeks’ sitting up for company. In this dilemma Madam Brinley concluded, after several long and deep consultations with her sister and niece, to make a great wedding, to be followed by a ball and supper, and to invite all the Salem world, with the court which was then sitting, and the _élite_ of Boston.

The preparations for this grand event occupied the heads and hands of all the female part of the three families for ten days. Aunt Vi’let being great in the roasting line, was a very important personage, and the whole direction of this department was given to her, she felt her consequence accordingly.

Molly Brinley was glad to choose a bridemaid in Judith, whose beauty would contribute to the _éclat_ of her wedding; feeling too secure in her own charms and in Sir Harland’s devotion to her to fear a rival, and Captain and Mrs. Stimpson were among the earliest bidden. What was the trepidation of the latter on her own account in preparing for her first appearance in the _beau monde_. The captain, determined to spare no expense for his wife and daughter on so proud an occasion, took a journey to Boston to make the necessary purchases; his taste, in dress being unquestioned. The whole family were up by daybreak to set him off; the expedition requiring the whole of a long day at that time, though now the distance is traversed by the rail-cars in half an hour.

After ransacking every shop in Boston, he bought for his wife a grass-green damask for a sack, with a bright-pink lustring for a petticoat; these being the colors in which she had captivated him, at the never-to-be-forgotten ordination of Parson Slocum. It may be well to inform the reader that the sack was a dress, open before, discovering half the petticoat, which was usually of the same material. For Judith he chose better; a delicate buff-colored satin. This was so much admired that Madam Brinley sent for some of the same piece for Lizzy, who was her sister’s other bridemaid. For himself, the captain bought a full suit of mulberry color, with a blue-satin waistcoat, magnificently flowered with red, green and purple; and a new wig, with a bag, lately come into fashion, he had always worn a tie.

On the day of the wedding it was thought expedient to try on their new habiliments to see if they fitted, and how they all looked together. Mrs. Stimpson, after surveying herself in the glass before and behind and on each side, pleased and slightly agitated at the unwonted elegance of her appearance, threw herself into a chair and heaving a deep sigh, to throw off her embarrassment, said to her husband—

“Oh dear! Mr. Stimpson, we must think over a little what we shall have to do. I suppose, when we go into the room, Judith must be on your right hand, and I on your left—no, I must be on your right hand and Judith on your left—”

“I think, Miss Stimpson,” said the captain, consequentially, “it will be more becoming for me to go in first, and for you and Judith to take hold of hands and follow me.”

“Why, no, Mr. Stimpson; that doesn’t seem to me to be the right way—it wasn’t so at Nanny Dennis’s wedding, if I remember me rightly.”

“But, ma,” interrupted their daughter gently, “I do not think this will be exactly like Mrs. Brayton’s wedding.”

“No more it wont,” replied her father, “and we must go and take pattern by the others; I was always a good hand at taking a hint, and I don’t doubt we shall appear as well as any on ’em.”

Here Mrs. Stimpson broke in with—“Oh, Judith, do think me on’t to make a courtesy when I go in; like as not I shall forget it in my hurry. I remember we all courtesied round at Nanny Dennis’s, we had each of us a white rosy in our hands, and it was the beautifullest sight! But, where’s my fan? Do run and get it Judith.”

Judith tripped out of the room to get the fan, and as she closed the door, grandsir, who was not as usual dozing, but was listening to their conversation, and in fact, taking considerable interest in it, spoke out—

“I am sorry, my children, to see you are so much overtaken with the pomps and vanities of this world; more it seems to me than that young child, that we might expect it of. You should strive to have the ornament of a meek and quiet spirit, and remember that pride comes before destruction, and a haughty spirit before a fall.”

“So it does, grandsir,” answered his daughter-in-law meekly, after a moment of silence; “and I wont wear this elegant dress, but will put on my brown paduasoy; that was always thought good enough for me.” Showing that she had the requisite ornament, and that the Scripture he quoted was not applicable to her.

“No, no child,” he replied quickly; “that would be disrespectful to your husband. I suppose you will be expected to have some worthy adornments, and I must say you become the dress.”

“That she does,” added his son, forgetting the old gentleman’s exordium in his conclusion, “and I don’t believe there will be a more personable woman there than Captain Robert Stimpson’s wife.”

“Oh, Mr. Stimpson,” said his wife, with recovered spirits, “do remember to shut up Trip; if you don’t he’ll follow us to the wedding; and if I was to see him in that room I do believe I should be mortified to pieces.”

The evening at length arrived, and the company assembled in Madam Brinley’s parlor, which was used on this occasion for the reception-room. This was a fine room in the fashion of the day, and so lofty that a reasonably tall man might walk across it with his hat on, without fear of having it knocked off by the large beam which crossed the centre of the ceiling. A rich Turkey carpet, betokening very high style in those days of sanded floors, formed the centre-piece of the room. High-backed leather-seated chairs, thickly studded with brass nails, stood stiffly against the walls. The fireplace, ornamented with Dutch tiles, was furnished with andirons of polished steel; and the shovel and tongs of the same metal, seemed, as the merry blaze danced on their bright surfaces, to cast significant glances at each other across the hearth. A large mantel-glass surmounted the fireplace, on each side of which hung in rich black and gold frames, the respective arms of the Brinley and Borland families, the lady of the house belonging to the latter. A large pier-glass hung between the two front windows, in which each lady might survey her goodly person, and compare it with that of her neighbor; beneath this was a slab of gray marble, with highly ornamented iron supporters fastened into the wall. A tall, oaken desk and book-case stood in one corner of the room, opposite to which, a round snap-table of black mahogany, with claw feet, displayed its disc turned down, of so remarkable a polish, that little Trip—who, notwithstanding all his master’s care in shutting him up at home, had managed to escape from his confinement, and had followed his mistress into the room unperceived—on seeing his image so truly reflected, ran up to it with great glee, sniffing and wagging his tail, delighted at having found, as he supposed, a comrade of his own species to bear him out in his audacity. Mrs. Stimpson turned all manner of colors, and cast many imploring looks at her husband, who pretended to be wholly absorbed in the contemplation of a fire-screen which stood near. On a servant’s attempting to drive Trip out, he set up a shrill bark, and ran on his little bow-legs, with his feet turned out, to his mistress for protection; jumped into her lap—on her very pink lustring petticoat—and, putting his black paws on her shoulders, began whining and licking her face with great affection. On seeing which, John Fayerweather took his little four-footed acquaintance in his arms, and put him in a place of safety; while Captain Stimpson electrified the company by a more than usually sonorous h-m-gh.

Madam Brinley in crimson velvet, and looking finely, occupied a large arm-chair, curiously carved, on one side the fireplace. Madam Fayerweather, in a beautiful white-grounded brocade, and looking as if she was wishing every body joy, was on her right. Next to her sat Mrs. Wendell, plainly, though handsomely dressed. She could boast of but little beauty, excepting a pair of fine eyes, beaming with intellect and benevolence; her wit and fine sense, however, rendered her the centre of attraction at every party.

Mrs. Stimpson had the honor of sitting next Madam Brinley on the left, her husband as near her as possible, as if for mutual protection. The other guests stationed themselves with great exactness, according to their rank and affinity to the hostess.

The bridal party entered. The bride, a sparkling brunette, with an exquisite figure, was arrayed in a sack of white brocade, embroidered with large silver-flowers; a necklace of oriental pearl encircled her throat, and pendants of the same hung from her ears. Her hair combed back from her beautiful forehead, was turned over a cushion on the top of her head, where it was confined by a diamond bodkin, falling from the back of her head in glossy ringlets, whose jetty hue contrasted finely with her white neck. Altogether she was as fair a bride as one would wish to see.

The bridegroom, a handsome man of two and thirty, appeared to be fully sensible of his importance, at the same time to be sufficiently enamored of his bride, and to applaud himself on the taste he had displayed in his choice. The fair bridemaids “looked sweetly” in their buff-colored satins, with aprons of Brussels’ lace, and triple ruffle cuffs of the same. The groomsmen were Mr. Lindsey, a gay young Englishman, and George Fayerweather. The latter, from his stature and noble proportions, was the most conspicuous figure in the assemblage; towering over every other by at least three inches. He was in a coat of light-blue, with under-garments of white silk. His countenance was an expansion of all the good-humor and happiness of his mother’s, with a dash of fun and frolic, under which might be detected traces of thought and deep feeling. John, “a pale, intellectual-looking student,” was too reserved and diffident to become an actor in the scene, but sat retired, and observed every thing going on in quiet enjoyment, admiring Judith nearly as much as his brother.

The solemn ceremony, which was very impressively performed by Mr. McGregor, being over and the cake cut and distributed, arrangements were made by the master-of-ceremonies, Mr. Wendell, for the ball. The door being thrown open, the company were ushered into the dancing-room, brilliantly lighted up for the occasion. After a short pause, Mr. Wendell called upon the governor to lead out the bride for the opening minuet, which was danced in a very gubernatorial and bridal manner. The bridegroom and Madam Brinley followed, and then Judge Wentworth of Boston and Madam Fayerweather, who was still celebrated for her minuet. Her husband never danced, and Mr. Wendell then called out Captain Fayerweather and Miss Stimpson, though scarcely expecting that Judith would be prevailed upon to dance.

To his surprise, after a little hesitation, with a smile and a blush, she rose, and as her partner led her to the head of the room, an involuntary murmur of admiration ran round the assembly—for never had a pair appeared of more singular beauty. They stood side by side, while the accustomed prelude was played, the blue and white of his habit, contrasting beautifully with the color of hers, as did his stately figure with hers of bird-like lightness; she extended her dress to its greatest width in her delicate fingers; she cast a timid glance around the room, he one of manly greeting, her little foot slid to the right, and she made a low and graceful courtsey, while his tall figure was bending to the floor in perfect time to the measure, in this salute to the company. Then rising slowly, they stood for a moment with one foot in advance, awaiting the proper signal from the music, when they turned, and he, with sparkling eyes, and she, with the delicate bloom on her cheek heightened to a rose, made a like lowly reverence to each other. Then, as the pair became animated with the music, and they floated round the room, now advancing now receding, in their magic evolutions crossing and re-crossing, their graceful forms rising and falling in measured waves to the time—all their attitudes, and all their motions of elegance and delicacy combined; they might have seemed some fair beings of another sphere, weaving a mystic spell to drive afar all sorrow. This was the old-fashioned minuet. How has its place been supplied in the ball-room, by the waltz and its varieties, the mazurka, the polka, etc.

What were Judith’s father and mother doing all the while? Entirely forgetting the rest of the company, and following their daughter with their eyes, Captain Stimpson, with his lips firmly compressed, moved his head from side to side in time to the music, or rather with involuntary imitation of Judith’s motions.

“Did you ever! Mr. Stimpson,” said his wife, in an irrepressible ecstasy, as Judith slowly glided through a peculiarly beautiful part of the figure.

“I sartainly never did,” said the captain, drawing in a very long breath.

“But, after all,” rejoined Mrs. Stimpson, “she has the same solemn eyes of my poor, dear mother; and it seems to me more so than ever to-night.”

“Look like her grandmother!” said her husband, with strong emphasis; “she looks more like a bird of paradise, such as I’ve seen in Ingee. That yaller satin becomes her most remarkably; she sartainly is the comeliest person that ever I clapped my eyes on.”

Here Madam Fayerweather joined them, and laying her hand impressively on the arm of Mrs. Stimpson, interrupted them as she pointed to Judith, “She’s the prettiest, the dearest creature that ever was seen, and as good as she is pretty;” and as the object of her encomiums came up to them with glowing cheeks, the minuet being finished, Madam could not refrain from kissing her, saying, “My dear, you did dance charmingly.”

George would willingly have made one of the group, but was called away reluctantly by his co-adjutor, the young Englishman, who asked him with more freedom than George approved of, “What he would take for his bargain?” then surveying his noble figure with internal admiration, he added, after a short pause, “Fayerweather, you are a lucky dog.” Afterward, in the course of the evening, he managed to pay Judith so much attention as to distress the modest girl not a little, and to give some pain to George, whose office as groomsman, did not allow him to be exclusively devoted to her. Mr. Lindsey manœuvered to be beforehand with every one else in inviting her to be his partner in the country dances, and her refusal necessarily obliging her to sit still, he took his seat by her, and persisted in keeping it until supper was announced, when he took her hand, which she had no pretence for refusing, and led her in triumph to the supper-table.

Mr. Fayerweather, who had intended to perform this office himself, in order to do particular honor to his son’s choice, felt no slight displeasure at such presumption, with a strong disposition to make known to Mr. Lindsey, that “he considered him an impertinent coxcomb.” He refrained, however, and advancing toward Judith’s father and mother, he begged to have the honor of leading _Madam_ Stimpson to the supper-table. Madam Stimpson bridled up and looked at her husband; the dignified frown on whose brow was contradicted by the complacent smile which, in spite of his endeavor, lurked about his mouth; then making her courtsey—and a very good one it was—she gave her hand to Mr. Fayerweather; and the three proceeded in state to the supper-room—the captain marching with head erect on the other side of his wife. It was a proud evening for Captain Bob Stimpson.