Authors: James Fenimore Cooper
"Harkee, Rupert," said I: "I trust Miss Merton does not think I
endeavoured to mislead her as to my true position, or to make her
think I was a greater personage than I truly am?"
"I'll not answer for that. When we were first acquainted, I found she
had certain notions about Clawbonny, and your
estate
, and all
that, which were rather English, you know. Now, in England an
estate
gives a man a certain consideration, whereas land is so
plenty with us, that we think nothing of the man who happens to own a
little of it.
Stock
, in America, as it is so much nearer
ready-money, is a better thing than land, you know."
How true was this, even ten years since; how false is it to-day! The
proprietor of tens of thousands of acres, was, indeed, under the
paper-money
regime
, a less important man than the owner of a
handful of scrip, which has had all its value squeezed out of it,
little by little. That was truly the age when the representative of
property was of far more importance than the property itself; and all
because the country existed in a fever, that set everything in motion.
We shall see just such times, again, I fear.
"But what had Emily Merton to do with all this?"
"Miss Merton? Oh! she is English, you know, and felt as English
persons always do, at the sound of acres. I set it all right, however,
and you need be under no concern."
"The devil you did! And, pray, in what manner was this done?
How
was the matter set right?"
Rupert took the segar from his mouth, suffered the smoke to issue, by
a small, deliberate jet, cocking his nose up at the same time as if
observing the stars, and then deigned to give me an answer. Your
smokers have such a disdainful, ultra-philosophical manner, sometimes!
"Why, just in this way, my fine fellow. I told her Clawbonny was a
farm
, and not an
estate
, you know; that did a good deal,
of itself. Then, I entered into an explanation of the consideration of
farmers in this country, you know, and made it all as plain as A B
C. She is a quick girl, is Emily, and takes a thing remarkably soon."
"Did Miss Merton say anything to induce you to suppose she thought the
less of me, for these explanations."
"Of course not—she values you, amazingly—quite worships you,
as a
sailor
—thinks you a sort of merchant-captain Nelson, or Blake,
or Truxtun, and all that sort of thing. All young ladies, however, are
exceedingly particular about professions, I suppose you know, Miles,
as well as I do myself."
"What, Lucy, Rupert?—Do you imagine Lucy cares a straw about my not
being a lawyer, for instance?"
"Do I?—out of all question. Don't you remember how the girls
wept—Grace as well as Lucy—when we went to sea, boy. It was all on
account of the
un
gentility of the profession, if a fellow can
use such a word."
I did not believe this, for I knew Grace better, to say the least; and
thought I understood Lucy sufficiently, at that time, to know she wept
because she was sorry to see me go away. Still, Lucy had grown from a
very young girl, since I sailed in the Crisis, into a young woman, and
might view things differently, now, from what she had done three years
before. I had not time, however, for further discussion at that
moment, and I cut the matter short.
"Well, Rupert, what am I to expect?" I asked; "Clawbonny, or no
Clawbonny?"
"Why, now you say the Mertons are to be of the party I suppose I shall
have to go; it would be inhospitable else. I do wish, Miles, you
would manage to establish visiting relations with some of the families
on the other side of the river. There are plenty of respectable people
within a few hours' sail of Clawbonny."
"My father, and my grandfather, and my great-grand-father, managed, as
you call it, to get along, for the last hundred years, well enough on
the west side; and, although we are not quite as genteel as the
east
, we will do well enough. The Wallingford sails early in
the morning, to save the tide; and I hope your lordship will turn out
in season, and not keep us waiting. If you do, I shall be
ungenteel
enough to leave you behind."
I left Rupert with a feeling in which disgust and anger were
blended. I wish to be understood, more particularly as I know I am
writing for a stiff-necked generation. I never was guilty of the
weakness of decrying a thing because I did not happen to possess it
myself. I knew my own place in the social scale perfectly; nor was I,
as I have just said, in the least inclined to fancy that one man was
as good as another. I knew very well that this was not true, either in
nature or in the social relations; in political axioms, any more than
in political truths. At the same time, I did not believe nature had
created men unequal, in the order of primogeniture from male to
male. Keeping in view all the facts, I was perfectly disposed to admit
that habits, education, association, and sometimes chance and caprice,
drew distinctions that produced great benefits, as a whole; in some
small degree qualified, perhaps, by cases of individual injustice.
This last exception, however, being applicable to all things human, it
had no influence on my opinions, which were sound and healthful on all
these points; practical, common-sense-like, and in conformity with the
decisions of the world from the time of Moses down to our own, or, I
dare say, of Adam himself, if the truth could be known; and, as I have
said more than once in these rambling memoir's, I was not disposed to
take a false view of my own social position. I belonged, at most, to
the class of small proprietors, as they existed in the last century,
and filled a very useful and respectable niche between the yeoman and
gentleman, considering the last strictly in reference to the upper
class of that day. Now, it struck me that Emily Merton, with her
English notions, might very well draw the distinctions Rupert had
mentioned; nor am I conscious of having cared much about it, though
she did. If I were a less important person on
terra firma
, with
all the usages and notions of ordinary society producing their
influence, than I had been when in command of the Crisis, in the
centre of the Pacific, so was Miss Merton a less important young lady,
in the midst of the beauty of New York, than she had been in the
isolation of Marble Land. This I could feel very distinctly. But
Lucy's supposed defection did more than annoy me. I felt humbled,
mortified, grieved. I had always known that Lucy was better connected
than I was myself, and I had ever given Rupert and her the benefit of
this advantage, as some offset to my own and Grace's larger means; but
it had never struck me that either the brother or sister would be
disposed to look down upon us in consequence. The world is
everywhere—and America, on account of its social vicissitudes, more
than most other countries—constantly exhibiting pictures of the
struggles between fallen consequence and rising wealth. The last may,
and does have the best of it, in the mere physical part of the strife;
but in the more moral, if such a word can be used, the quiet
ascendency of better manners and ancient recollections is very apt to
overshadow the fussy pretensions of the vulgar aspirant, who places
his claims altogether on the all-mighty dollar. It is vain to deny it;
men ever have done it, and probably ever will defer to the past, in
matters of this sort—it being much with us, in this particular, as it
is with our own lives, which have had all their greatest enjoyments in
bygone days. I knew all this—felt all this—and was greatly afraid
that Lucy, through Mrs. Bradfort's influence, and her town
associations, might have learned to regard me as Captain Wallingford,
of the merchant-service, and the son of another Captain Wallingford of
the same line in life. I determined, therefore, to watch her with
jealous attention, during the few days I was to remain at Clawbonny.
With such generous intentions, the reader is not to be surprised if I
found some of that for which I so earnestly sought—people being very
apt to find precisely the thing for which they look, when it is not
lost money.
The next morning we were all punctual, and sailed at the proper
hour. The Mertons seemed pleased with the river, and, having a fresh
southerly wind in our favour, with a strong flood-tide, we actually
landed at the mill the same afternoon. Everything is apt to be
agreeable when the traveller gets on famously; and I thought I never
saw Emily in better spirits than she was when we first reached the top
of the ascent that lies above the landing. I had given her my arm, as
due to hospitality, while the others got up as they could; for I
observed that Rupert assisted no one. As for Lucy, I was still too
much vexed with her, and had been so all day, to be as civil as I
ought. We were soon at a point that commanded a view of the house,
meadows, orchards and fields.
"This, then, is Clawbonny!" exclaimed Emily, as soon as I pointed out
the place to her. "Upon my word, a very pretty farm, Captain
Wallingford. Even prettier than you represented it to be, Mr. Rupert
Hardinge."
"Oh! I always do justice to everything of Wallingford's, you know. We
were children together, and became so much attached in early life,
that it's no wonder we remain so in these our later days."
Rupert was probably nearer the truth than he imagined, when he made
this speech; my regard for him, by this time, being pretty much
reduced to habit; and certainly it had no increase from any fresh
supplies of respect. I began to hope he might not marry Grace, though
I had formerly looked forward to the connection as a settled
thing. "Let him get Miss Merton, if he can," I said to myself: "it
will be no great acquisition, I fancy, to either side."
How different was it with his father, and, I may add, with Lucy! The
old gentleman turned to me, with tears in his eyes; pointed to the
dear old house, with a look of delight; and then took my arm, without
reference to the wants of Miss Merton, and led me on, conversing
earnestly of my affairs, and of his own stewardship. Lucy had her
father's arm, on the other side; and the good divine was too much
accustomed to her, to mind the presence of his daughter. Away we
three went, therefore, leading the way, while Rupert took charge of
Emily and Grace. Major Merton followed, leaning on his own man.
"It is a lovely—it is a lovely spot, Miles," said Mr. Hardinge; "and
I do most sincerely hope you will never think of tearing down that
respectable-looking, comfortable, substantial, good old-fashioned
house, to build a new one."
"Why should I, dear sir? The house, with an occasional addition, all
built in the same style, has served us a century, and may very well
serve another. Why should I wish for more, or a better house?"
"Why, sure enough? But, now you are a sort of a merchant, you may grow
rich, and wish to be the proprietor of a
seat
."
The time had been, when such thoughts often crossed my mind; but I
cared less for them, then. To own a
seat
, was the great object
of my ambition in boyhood; but the thought had weakened by time and
reflection.
"What does Lucy think of the matter? Do I want, or indeed deserve, a
better house?"
"I shall not answer either question," replied the dear girl, a little
saucily, I thought. "I do not understand your wants, and do not choose
to speak of your deservings. But I fancy the question will be settled
by a certain Mrs. Wallingford, one of these days. Clever women
generally determine these things for their husbands."
I endeavoured to catch Lucy's eye, when this was said, by leaning a
little forward myself; but the girl turned her head in such a manner
as prevented my seeing her face. The remark was not lost on
Mr. Hardinge, however, who took it up with warmth, and all the
interest of a most pure and disinterested affection.
"I suppose you
will
think of marrying one of these days,
Miles," he said; "but, on no account, marry a woman who will desert
Clawbonny, or who would wish materially to alter it. No good-hearted
woman, indeed—no
true
-hearted woman—would ever dream of
either. Dear me! dear me! the happy days and the sorrowful days—the
gracious mercies of Providence, and the chastening afflictions—that I
myself have seen, and felt, and witnessed, under these same roofs!"
This was followed by a sort of enumeration of the events of the last
forty years, including passages in the lives of all who had dwelt at
the farm; the whole concluding with the divine's solemnly
repeating—"No, no! Miles; do not think, even, of marrying a woman who
would wish you to desert, or materially alter, Clawbonny."
"If thou be'st rated by thy estimation,
Thou dost deserve enough; and yet enough
May not extend so far as to the lady."
Merchant of Venice
.
Next morning, I was early afoot, and I found Grace as much alive to
the charms of home, as I was myself. She put on a gypsy, and
accompanied me into the garden, where to my surprise, I found Lucy. It
looked like old times to be in that spot, again, with those two dear
girls. Rupert alone was wanting to complete the picture; but, I had
an intimate conviction that Rupert, as he had been at least, could
never come within the setting of the family group again. I was
rejoiced, however, to see Lucy, and more so, just where I found her,
and I believe told her as much with my eyes. The charming girl looked
happier than she had appeared the day before, or for many previous
days indeed, and I felt less apprehension than of late, concerning her
having met with any agreeable youth of a more
genteel
profession than that of a merchant-captain.
"I did not expect to find you here, Miss Lucy," cried Grace, "eating
half-ripe currants, too, or my eyes deceive me, at this early hour in
the morning. It is not twenty minutes since you were in your own room,
quite unadorned."