Chapter XVII

Now he weighs time, Even to the utmost grain. KING HENRY V.

"Mannahatta, Dec. -- 1813.

"My dear friends at home,

"I am as well and as happy as I can be anywhere away from you. That to be sure is but a modicum of happiness and good condition -- very far from the full perfection which I have known is possible; but you will all be contented, will you not, to hear that I have so much, and _that I have no more?_ I don't know -- I think of your dear circle at home -- and though I cannot wish the heaven over your heads to be a whit less bright, I cannot help wishing that you may miss one constellation. You can't have any more than that from poor human nature -- selfish in the midst of its best generosity. And yet, mother and Winifred, your faces rise up to shame me; and I must correct my speech and say _man's_ nature; I do believe that some at least of your side of the world are made of better stuff than mine.

"'All are not such.'

"But you want to hear of me rather than of yourselves, and I come back to where I began.

"I went to see Mr. De Wort the day after I reached here. I like him very well. He received me politely, and very handsomely waived the customary fee ($250) and admitted me to the privileges of his office upon working terms. So I am working now, for him and for myself, as diligently as I ever worked in my life -- in a fair way to be a lawyer, Winnie. By day engrossing deeds and copying long-winded papers, about the quarrels and wrongs of Mr. A. and Mr. B. -- and at night digging into parchment-covered books, a dryer and barrener soil than any near Wut-a-qut-o or on the old mountain itself, and which must nevertheless be digged into for certain dry and musty fruits of knowledge to be fetched out of them. I am too busy to get the blues, but when I go out to take an exercise walk now and then at dusk or dawn, I do wish I could transport myself to the neighbourhood of that same mountain, and handle the axe till I had filled mother's fireplace, or take a turn in the barn at father's wheat or flax. I should accomplish a good deal before you were up; but I wouldn't go away without looking in at you.

"I am in the same house where Rufus lived when he was in Mannahatta, with his friend Mr. Inchbald; and a kinder friend I do not wish for. He is an Englishman -- a fine-looking and fine-hearted fellow -- ready to do everything for me, and putting me upon terms almost too easy for my comfort. He is a miniature painter, by profession, but I fear does not make much of a living. That does not hinder his being as generous as if he had thousands to dispose of. His heart does not take counsel with his purse, nor with anything but his heart. He lives with a widowed sister who keeps his house; and she is as kind in her way as he is in his, though the ways are different. I am as much at home here as I can be. I have Rufus's old room; it is a very pleasant one, and if there is not much furniture, neither do I want much. It holds my bed and my books; and my wardrobe at present does not require very extensive accommodations; and when I am in the middle of one of those said parchment-covered tomes, it signifies very little indeed what is outside of them or of me, at the moment. So you may think of me as having all I desire, so far as I myself am concerned; for my license and my use of it, must be worked and waited for. I shall not be a _great_ lawyer, dear Winnie, under three years at least.

"For you all, I desire so much that my heart almost shuts up its store and says nothing. So much that for a long time, it may be, I can have no means of helping you to enjoy. Dear father and mother, I hope I have not on the whole lessened your means of enjoyment by striking out this path for myself. I trust it will in the end be found to be the best for us all. I have acted under the pressure of an impulse that seemed strong as life. I _could_ do no other than as I have done. Yet I can hardly bear to think of you at home sometimes. Dear Winnie and Asahel, our images rise up and lie down with me. Asahel must study hard every minute of time he can get. And Winnie, you must study too every minute that it does not tire you, and when mother does not want you. And write to me. That will do you good, and it will do me good too.

"Give my love to Karen.

"Yours all, faithfully,

"Winthrop Landholm.

"P. S. -- I have seen nobody yet but Mr. Herder."

When Winthrop went to put this letter in the post, he drew out the following:

"To Winthrop Landholm, Esq.:

At Mr. George Inchbald's,

"Cor. Beaver and Little South Sts., Mannahatta.

"I am so tired, Governor, with the world and myself to-night, that I purpose resting myself at your expense, -- in other words, to pour over all my roiled feelings from my own heart into yours, hoping benevolently to find my own thereby cleared. What will be the case with yours, I don't like to stop to think; but incline to the opinion, which I have for many years held, that _nothing can roil it_. You are infinitely better than I, Governor; you deserve to be very much happier; and I hope you are. The truth is, for I may as well come to it, -- I am half sick of my work. I can see your face from here, and know just what its want of expression expresses. But stop. You are not in my place, and don't know anything about it. You are qualifying yourself for one of the first literary professions -- and it is one of the greatest matters of joy to me to think that you are. You are bidding fair to stand, where no doubt you will stand, at the head of society. Nothing is beyond your powers; and your powers will stop short of nothing within their reach. I know you, and hug myself (not having you at hand) every day to think what sort of a brother I have got.

"Governor, I have something in me too, and I am just now in a place _not_ calculated to develope or cultivate the finer part of a man's nature. My associates, without an exception, are boors and donkeys, not unfrequently combining the agreeable properties of both in one anomalous animal yclept a clown. With them my days, for the greater part, are spent; and my nights in a series of calculations almost equally extinguishing to any brightness of mind or spirit. The consequence is I feel my light put out! -- not hid under a bushel, but absolutely quenched in its proper existence. I felt so when I began to write this letter; but by dint of looking steadily for so long a time towards you, I perceive a reflection of light and warmth coming back upon me and beginning to take effect upon my own tinder, whereby I gather that it is capable of being ignited again. Seriously, Winthrop, I am sick of this. _This_ was not what we left home for. I suppose in time, and with business enough, one might make money in this way, but money is not our object in life. It cannot satisfy me, and I trust not you. What shall I do? I must finish this piece of work -- that will keep me in the wilds and fastnesses of this beautiful region (for it is a superb country, Winthrop; nature goes far here to make up for the want of all other discoursers whatever. I have sometimes felt as if she would make a poet of me, would I, nold I,) the finishing of my work here will detain me in the North at least till June or July of the coming summer; perhaps August. And then it is intimated to me my services would be acceptable out West -- somewhere near Sawcusto. I have a great mind to come to Mannahatta -- perhaps take a tutorship till something better offers -- Herder said I would have no sort of difficulty in getting one, or at least he said what amounted to that -- and perhaps, eventually, enter the political line. I am undecided, except in my disapprobation and dislike of what and where I now am. I have half an inclination to study law with you. It is hard to do anything with Fortune's wheel when one is at the very bottom; and the jade seems to act as if you were a drag upon her. And it is hard that you and I should be at opposite sides of the world while we are both tugging at said wheel. I sometimes think we could work to more advantage nearer together; we could work with somewhat more comfort. I am in exile here. Write me as soon as you can.

"My pleasantest thoughts are of you. Herder is as good as he can be, and you are his favourite; you will presently have the best literary society, through his means. You don't speak of Haye. Don't you go there? You had better, Winthrop; -- you may find a short cut to the top of Fortune's wheel through the front door of his house. At any rate, there are two very pretty girls there and a number of other pleasant things, with which you will do well to make yourself acquainted, come thereafter what may. I wrote to them at home a week or two ago.

W. Landholm.

"P. S. Isn't Inchbald a good fellow?"

The next post went out with the answer.

"To William Landholm, Esq., North Lyttleton, Sassafras Co.

"My dear Rufus,

"Stick to your choice. Go West, and do _not_ come here. Do not be discouraged by the fact of making money. And don't try to turn Fortune's wheel by force, for it will break your arms.

"Yours ever,

"Winthrop Landholm."

Winthrop did not tell them at home that he was giving lessons in the classics several hours daily, in order to live while he was carrying on his own studies; nor that, to keep the burden of his kind hosts, as well as his own burden, from growing any heavier, he had refused to eat with them; and was keeping himself in the most frugal manner, partly by the help of a chop-house, and partly by the countenance and support of a very humble little tin coffee-pot and saucepan in his own attic at home. Mr. Haye's front door he had never entered, and was more than indifferent where or what it led to.

"Why for do you not come to your friend, Mr. Haye, ever?" said Mr. Herder to him one day.

"I am short of time, Mr. Herder."

"Time! -- But you come to see me?"

"I have time for that."

"I am glad of it," said the naturalist, "for there is no person I like to see better come into my room; but ozer people would like to see you come in too."

"I am not sure of that, Mr. Herder."

"I am sure," said his friend looking kindly at him. "You are working too much."

"I can't do that, sir."

"Come wiz me to Mr. Haye to-night!"

"No sir, thank you."

"What for do you say that?"

"Because it is kind in you to ask me," said Winthrop smiling.

"You will not let nobody be of no use to you," said the naturalist.

Winthrop replied by a question about a new specimen; and the whole world of animate nature was presently buried in the bowels of the earth, or in the depths of philosophy, which comes to about the same thing.

But it fell out that same day that Winthrop, going into the chop-house to fit himself for hard work with a somewhat better dinner than usual, planted himself just opposite a table which five minutes after was taken by Mr. Haye. It happened then that after the usual solitary and selfish wont of such places, the meals were near over before either of the gentlemen found out he had ever seen the other. But in the course of Mr. Haye's second glass of wine, his eye took a satisfied fit of roving over the company; and presently discovered something it had seen before in the figure and face opposite to him and in the eye which was somewhat carelessly running over the columns of a newspaper. Glass in hand Mr. Haye rose, and the next instant Winthrop felt a hand on his shoulder.

"Mr. Landholm -- isn't it? I thought so. Why, I've been on the point of coming to look after you this last fortnight past, Mr. Landholm, but business held me so tight by the button -- I'm very glad to meet you -- Will you join me? --"

"Thank you, sir -- I must not; for business holds me by the hand at this moment."

"A glass of wine?"

"Thank you sir, again."

"You will not?"

"No, sir. I have no acquaintance in that quarter, and do not wish to be introduced."

"But my dear Mr. Landholm! -- are you serious?"

"Always, sir."

"Most extraordinary! -- But can't you be persuaded? I think you are wrong."

"I must abide the consequences, I am afraid."

"Well, stay! -- Will you come to my house to-night and let me give you some other introductions?"

"I cannot refuse that, sir."

"Then come up to tea. How's your father? --"

So Winthrop was in for it, and went about his afternoon business with the feeling that none would be done in the evening. Which did not make him more diligent, because it could not.

Mr. Haye's house was near the lower end of the Parade, and one of the best in the city. It was a very handsome room in which Winthrop found the family; as luxuriously fitted up as the fashion of those times permitted; and the little group gathered there did certainly look as if all the business of the world was done without them, and a good part of it _for_ them; so undoubtedly easy and comfortable was the flow of their laces and the sweep of their silk gowns; so questionless of toil or endurance was the position of each little figure upon soft cushions, and the play of pretty fingers with delicate do-nothing bobbins and thread. Rose was literally playing with hers, for the true business of the hour seemed to be a gentleman who sat at her feet on an ottoman, and who was introduced to Winthrop as Mr. Satterthwaite. Elizabeth according to her fashion sat a little apart and seemed to be earnestly intent upon some sort of fine net manufacture. They three were all.

Winthrop's reception was after the former manner; from Rose extremely and sweetly free and cordial; from Elizabeth grave and matter-of-fact. She went back to her net-work; and Rose presently found Mr. Satterthwaite very interesting again, and went back to him, so far as looks and talk were concerned. Winthrop could but conclude that he was not interesting, for neither of the ladies certainly found him so. He had an excellent chance to make up his mind about the whole party; for none of them gave him any thing else to do with it.

Rose was a piece of loveliness, to the eye, such as one would not see in many a summer day; with all the sweet flush of youth and health she was not ill-named. Fresh as a rose, fresh-coloured, bright, blooming; sweet too, one would say, for a very pretty smile seemed ever at home on the lips; -- to see her but once, she would be noted and remembered as a most rare picture of humanity. But Winthrop had seen her more than once. His eye passed on.

Her cousin had changed for the better; though it might be only the change which years make in a girl at that age, rather than any real difference of character. She had grown handsomer. The cheek was well rounded out now, and had a clear healthy tinge, though not at all Rose's white and red. Elizabeth's colour only came when there was a call for it and then it came promptly. And she was not very apt to smile; when she did, it was more often with a careless or scornful turn, or full and bright with a sense of the ludicrous; never a loving or benevolent smile, such as those that constantly graced Rose's pretty lip. Her mouth kept its old cut of grave independence, Winthrop saw at a glance; and her eye, when by chance she lifted it and it met his, was the very same mixture of coolness and fire that it had been of old; the fire for herself, the coolness for all the rest of the world.

She looked down again at her netting immediately, but the look had probably reminded her that nobody in her father's house was playing the hostess at the moment. A disagreeable reminder it is likely, for she worked away at her netting more vigorously than ever, and it was two or three minutes before her eyes left it again to take note of what Rose and Mr. Satterthwaite were thinking about. Her look amused Winthrop, it was so plain an expression of impatient indignation that they did not do what they left her to do. But seeing they were a hopeless case, after another minute or two of pulling at her netting, she changed her seat for one on his side of the room. Winthrop gave her no help, and she followed up her duty move with a duty commonplace.

"How do you like Mannahatta, Mr. Landholm?"

"I have hardly asked myself the question, Miss Haye."

"Does that mean you don't know?"

"I cannot say that. I like it as a place of business."

"And not as a place of pleasure?"

"No. Except in so far as the pushing on of business may be pleasure."

"You are drawing a distinction in one breath which you confound in the next," said Elizabeth.

"I didn't know that you would detect it," he said with a half smile.

"Detect what?"

"The distinction between business and pleasure."

"Do you think I don't know the difference?"

"You cannot know the difference, without knowing the things to be compared."

"The things to be compared! --" said she, with a good look at him out of her dark eyes. "And which of them do you think I don't know?"

"I supposed you were too busy to have much time for pleasure," he said quietly.

"It is possible to be busy in more ways than one," said Elizabeth, after a minute of not knowing how to take him up.

"That is just what I was thinking."

"What are _you_ busy about, Mr. Landholm, in this place of business?"

"I am only learning my trade," he answered.

"A trade! -- May I ask what?" she said, with another surprised and inquisitive look.

"A sort of cobbling trade, Miss Elizabeth -- the trade of the law."

"What does the law cobble?"

"People's name and estate."

"_Cobble?_" said Elizabeth. "What is the meaning of 'cobble?'"

"I don't recollect," said Winthrop. "What meaning do you give it, Miss Haye?"

"I thought it was a poor kind of mending."

"I am afraid there is some of that work done in the profession," said Winthrop smiling. "Occasionally. But it is the profession and not the law that is chargeable, for the most part."

"I wouldn't be a lawyer if that were not so," said Elizabeth. "I wouldn't be a _cobbler_ of anything."

"To be anything else might depend on a person's faculties."

"I don't care," said Elizabeth, -- "I _would_ not be. If I could not mend, I would let alone. I wouldn't cobble."

"What if one could neither mend nor let alone?"

"One would have less power over himself than I have, or than you have, Mr. Landholm."

"One thing at least doesn't need cobbling," he said with a smile.

"I never heard such a belittling character of the profession," she went on. "Your mother would have given it a very different one, Mr. Landholm. She would have told you, 'Open thy mouth, judge' -- what is it? -- 'and plead the cause of the poor.'"

Whether it were the unexpected bringing up of his mother's name, or the remembrance of her spirit, something procured Miss Elizabeth a quick little bright smile of answer, very different from anything she had had from Winthrop before. So different, that her eyes went down to her work for several minutes, and she forgot everything else in a sort of wonder at the change and at the beauty of expression his face could put on.

"I didn't find those words myself," she added presently; -- "a foolish man was shewing me the other day what he said was my verse in some chapter of Proverbs; and it happened to be that."

But Winthrop's answer went to something in her former speech, for it was made with a little breath of a sigh.

"I think Wut-a-qut-o is a pleasanter place than this, Miss Haye."

"O, so do I! -- at least -- I don't know that it signifies much to me what sort of a place I am in. If I can only have the things I want around me, I don't think I care much."

"How many things do you want to be comfortable?"

"O, -- books, -- and the conveniences of life; and one or two friends that one cares about."

"Cut off two of those preliminaries, -- and which one would you keep for comfort, Miss Elizabeth?"

"Couldn't do without either of 'em. What's become of my Merry- go-round, Mr. Winthrop?"

"It lies in the upper loft of the barn, with all the seams open."

"Why?"

"You remember, nobody was to use it but me."

A curious recollection of the time when it was given and of the feeling, half condescending, half haughty, with which it had been given, came over Elizabeth; and for a moment or two she was a little confused. Whether Winthrop recollected it too or whether he had a mischievous mind that she should, he said presently,

"And what's become of your horse, Miss Elizabeth?"

"He's very well," she said. "At least -- I don't know I am sure how he is, for he is up in the country."

Winthrop rose at the instant to greet Mr. Herder, and Elizabeth did not know whether the smile on his lips was for him or at her.

"Ah! Wint'rop," said the new-comer, "how do you do! I thought you would not come here wiz me this morning?"

"I thought not too, sir."

"How did you come? Miss Elisabet' did make you."

"Miss Elizabeth's father."

"He is a strange man, Miss Elisabet'! -- he would not come for me -- I could not bring him -- neizer for de love of me, nor for de love of you, nor for love of himself. He does like to have his way. And now he is here -- I do not know what for; but I am very glad to see him."

He walked Winthrop off.

"He _is_ a strange man," thought Elizabeth; -- "he don't seem to care in the least what he ever did or may do; he would just as lief remind me of it as not. It is very odd that he shouldn't want to come here, too."

She sat still and worked alone. When Mr. Haye by and by came in, he joined Winthrop and Mr. Herder, and they three formed a group which even the serving of tea and coffee did not break up. Elizabeth's eye glanced over now and then towards the interested heads of the talkers, and then at Rose and Mr. Satterthwaite, who on the other side were also enough for each other's contentment and seemed to care for no interruption. Elizabeth interrupted nobody.

But so soon as awhile after tea Mr. Satterthwaite left the company, Rose tripped across to the other group and placed her pretty person over against the naturalist and his young friend.

"Mr. Herder, you are taking up all of Mr. Landholm -- I haven't seen him or spoken to him the whole evening."

"Dere he is, Miss Rose," said the naturalist. "Do what you like wiz him."

"But you don't give a chance. Mr. Landholm, are you as great a favourite with everybody as you are with Mr. Herder?"

"Everybody does not monopolize me, Miss Cadwallader."

"I wished so much you would come over our side -- I wanted to make you acquainted with Mr. Satterthwaite."

Winthrop bowed, and Mr. Haye remarked that Mr. Satterthwaite was not much to be acquainted with.

"No, but still -- he's very pleasant," Rose said. "And how is everything up at your lovely place, Mr. Landholm?"

"Cold, at present, Miss Cadwallader."

"O yes, of course; but then I should think it would be lovely at all times. Isn't it a beautiful place, Mr. Herder?"

"Which place, Miss Rose?"

"Why, Mr. Landholm's place, up the river, where we were that summer. And how's your mother, Mr. Landholm, and your sister? -- so kind Mrs. Landholm is! And have you left them entirely, Mr. Landholm?"

"I have brought all of myself away that I could," he said with a smile.

"Don't you wish yourself back there every day?"

"No."

"Don't you! I should think you would. How's your brother, Mr. Landholm, and where is he?"

"He is well, and in the North yet."

"Is he coming back to Mannahatta soon?"

"I have no reason to think so."

"I wish he would. I want to see him again. He is such good company."

"Mr. Wint'rop will do so well, Miss Rose," said the naturalist.

"I dare say he will," said Rose with a very sweet face.

"He won't if he goes on as he has begun," said Mr. Haye. "I asked him to dine here the day after to-morrow, Rose."

"He'll come? --"

But Mr. Landholm's face said no, and said it with a cool certainty.

"Why, Mr. Landholm! --"

"He is very -- you cannot do nozing wiz him, Miss Rose," said the naturalist. "Miss Elisabet'! --"

"Well, Mr. Herder?"

"I wish you would come over here and see what you can do."

"About what, Mr. Herder?"

"Wiz Mr. Wint'rop here."

"I just heard you say that nobody can do anything with him, Mr. Herder."

"Here he has refuse to come to dinner wiz all of us."

"If he can't come for his own pleasure, I don't suppose he would come for anybody else's," said Elizabeth.

She left her solitary chair however, and came up and stood behind Mr. Herder.

"He pleads business," said Mr. Haye.

"Miss Elisabet', we want your help," said Mr. Herder. "He is working too hard."

"I am not supposed to know what that means, sir."

"What?" said Mr. Haye.

"Working too hard."

"Work!" said Mr. Haye. "What do you know about work?"

"The personal experience of a life-time, sir," said Winthrop gravely. "Not much of the theory, but a good deal of the practice."

"I'll bear her witness of one thing," said Mr. Haye; "if she can't work herself, she can make work for other people."

"You've got it, Lizzie," said her cousin, clapping her hands.

"I don't take it," said Elizabeth. "For whom do I make work, father?"

"For me, or whoever has the care of you."

Elizabeth's cheek burned now, and her eye too, with a fire which she strove to keep under.

"It's not fair!" she exclaimed. "If I make work for you, I am sure it is work that nobody takes up."

"That's true," said her father laughing, -- "it would be too much trouble to pretend to take it all up."

"Then you shouldn't _bring_ it up!" said Elizabeth, trembling.

"It's nothing very bad to bring up," said her father. "It's only a little extra strong machinery that wants a good engineer."

"That's no fault in the machinery, sir," said Winthrop.

"And all you have to do," suggested Mr. Herder, "is to find a good engineer."

"I am my own engineer!" said Elizabeth, a little soothed by the first remark and made desperate by the second.

"So you are!" said her cousin. "There's no doubt of that."

"Are you a good one, Miss Elisabet'?" said the naturalist, smiling at her.

"You must presume not! -- after what you have heard," she answered with abundant haughtiness.

"It is one mark of a good engineer to be a match for his machinery," said Winthrop quietly.

It was said so coolly and simply that Elizabeth did not take offence. She stood, rather cooled down and thoughtful, still at the back of Mr. Herder's chair. Winthrop rose to take leave, and Mr. Haye repeated his invitation.

"I will venture so far as to say I will come if I can, sir."

"I shall expect you," said the other, shaking his hand cordially.

Mr. Herder went with his friend. Mr. Haye soon himself followed, leaving the two ladies alone. Both sat down in silence at the table; Elizabeth with a book, Miss Cadwallader with her fancy work; but neither of them seemed very intent on what she was about. The work went on lazily, and the leaves of the book were not turned over.

"I wish I was Winthrop Landholm," said Rose at length.

"Why?" -- said her cousin, after a sufficient time had marked her utter carelessness of what the meaning might have been.

"I should have such a good chance."

"Of what?" -- said Elizabeth dryly enough.

"Of a certain lady's favour, whose favour is not very easy to gain."

"You don't care much for my favour," said Elizabeth.

"I should, if I were Winthrop Landholm."

"If you were he, you wouldn't get it, any more than you have now."

"O no. I mean, I wish I were he and not myself, you know."

"You must think well enough of him. I am sure no possible inducement could make me wish myself Mr. Satterthwaite, for a moment."

"I don't care for Mr. Satterthwaite," said Rose coolly. "But how Mr. Haye takes to him, don't he?"

"To whom?"

"Winthrop Landholm."

"I don't see how he shews it."

"Why, the way he was asking him to dinner."

"It is nothing very uncommon for Mr. Haye to ask people to dinner."

"No, but such a person."

"What 'such a person'?"

"O, a farmer's boy. Mr. Haye wouldn't have done it once. But that's the way he always comes round to people when they get up in the world."

"This one hasn't got much up in the world yet."

"He is going to, you know. Mr. Herder says so; and President Darcy says there are not two such young men seen in half a century as he and his brother."

Elizabeth laid down her book and looked over at her companion, with an eye the other just met and turned away from.

"Rose, -- how _dare_ you talk to me so!"

"So how?" said the other, pouting and reddening, but without lifting her face from her work.

"You know, -- about my father. No matter what he does, if it were the worst thing in the world, your lips have no business to mention it to my ears."

"I wasn't saying anything _bad_," said Rose.

"Your notions of bad and good, and honourable and dishonourable, are very different from mine! If he did as you say, I should be bitterly ashamed."

"I don't see why."

"I will not have such things _spoken_ of to me, -- Rose, do you understand? What my father does, no human being has a right to comment upon to me; and none shall!"

"You think you may talk as you like to _me_," said Rose, between pouting and crying. "I was only laughing."

"Laugh about something else."

"I wish Winthrop Landholm had been here."

"Why?"

"He'd have given you another speech about engineering."

Elizabeth took her candle and book and marched out of the room.