CHAPTER VIII.

RELATES AN ACCIDENT WHICH ALMOST BRINGS THIS HISTORY
TO A CONCLUSION.

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ALTHOUGH Mr. Tuck loved money for its own sake,
and hoarded it up for no other purpose than to see how
much he could die possessed of, and was of course extremely
parsimonious, yet he was not entirely destitute of human feelings;
and if he was never generous he was always very exact
in performing a promise. His younger brother had died a few
years before the commencement of this history and having
left but slender means for the support of his widow and three
children, Mr. Tuck had, perhaps in an unguarded moment
when the sluices of his heart were forced open by a flood of
grief, promised to educate the children at his own expense,
and he had continued to do so, but by way of a set off, perhaps
to check any undue expectations in their mother, he manifested
not the least regard for them in any other manner.

When Mr. Tremlett related to him the terrific meeting at
the house of Mr. Bates, and told him of the embarrassment he
laboured under in respect to a tutor for his son, Mr. Tuck
advised him to send the boy to the same school where he had
placed his nephews; and it being in the immediate neighborhood
of Mr. Tremlett's house, he determined to do so, and the
boy was accordingly put under the charge of the Rev. Doctor
Hodges who found him quick to learn, extremely docile, and
although not wanting in spirit, yet gentle and affectionate in
his manners. Being beautiful in his person and presumptive

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heir to a large fortune, it will not be thought a strange thing
that the school-master conceived a great liking for his new
pupil, and that he took great pains in teaching him, and great
pride in his advancement. Under the tutelage of the good
doctor, the boy soon learned a good deal of Latin and something
about fluxions and decimal fractions; but under the tutelage
of the two young Tucks he learned a good many things which
boys generally learn at school, but for which no extra charge
is made in the bill, although they have to be paid for at a dear
rate in some other shape. In those days young ladies' seminaries
and female colleges were not as common as they are at
the present enlightened period of the world, and little girls
generally received the rudiments of their education under the
same roofs with little boys; it was the case in the present instance
and little Julia Tuck was always accompanied to school
by one or both of her brothers. She was about the same age
as John Tremlett, but her brothers were both older, and the
first time that she saw him she showed a decided preference
for him, and she would persist in calling him her beau, notwithstanding
her mother punished her for it. And although
he joined in all her hilarious frolics, yet he did not manifest
that liking for her that she did for him. But they were
only children and the attachments of children are seldom lasting:
they easily accommodate themselves to the company of
whatever companions chance throws in their way, and as
easily forget them when separated; they are seldom capricious
in their tastes, and rarely show decided preferences. But
sometimes attachments formed in early childhood continue
through life, because the same sympathies would have attracted
the same individuals at any period of their existence.

Julia Tuck was by no means a beautiful child: she had a
dark complexion, and regular features; her hair was black
and luxuriant, but her forehead was low, and her figure
slight; there was a peculiar charm in her voice, and she always
appeared joyous and happy, and was somewhat of a

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romp. But she was very passionate, and when her inclinations
were opposed, she showed a stubborness of purpose uncommon
in a girl of her years. Her brothers, Tom and Fred
could both boast of more personal beauty than their sister.
Tom Tuck was a forward boy; he was a favorite both with
his mother and teacher, and indeed with all elderly people
who knew him; and although he was known among the boys
to be the greatest rogue in the school, he always contrived to
escape punishment, and was very rarely found out in any of
his misdoings. Fred Tuck was the youngest of the brothers,
and although not a whit more virtuous than Tom, yet he had
such an innocent manner, that nobody ever believed him to
be intentionally guilty whenever he was detected in any mischief
that he undertook, and he was always sure to be found
out, let him do what he would. He was forever poring
over a book, but it never happened to be the one that
contained his lesson. If Robinson Crusoe and Rinaldo Rinaldini
had been elementary works in the Rev. Mr. Hodges'
school, there can be no doubt that Fred Tuck would have
been the best scholar in it; but as they were not, he was perhaps
the very worst. He was very fond of history; that is,
the history of impossible personages and improbable events;
and he would sit in his mother's kitchen, of a winter's evening,
and listen to the tales of rebellions and fairies, related by
an old Irish servant, until the purring of the cat would make
him start with fear, and he would not have looked behind him
for all the world. He was a comely boy; he had a fair round
face and a clear complexion, light blue eyes, and soft curly
hair. These two boys took young Tremlett under their protection
as soon as he made his appearance at school. Whether
it was that they took compassion on his lone condition, or
that they discovered he had more money to spend than themselves,
does not appear; but they would not allow anybody
else to be intimate with him; and whenever there was a fight
which was once a day at least, the three boys were sure to be

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found ranged on one side. But for some cause or other, the
mother of these children declared hostilities against him as
soon as she heard of him. She not only would not allow
him to enter her house, but she commanded her children not
to speak to him. Perhaps it was some excuse for Mrs. Tuck,
that she came from a very good family, and like all descendants
of good families, she held in utter scorn everybody that
was base-born or vulgar, unless they were rich; the genuine
aristocratic principle being, that wealth can atone for the want
of birth and talents, or that birth can atone for both, but that
talents cannot atone for the want of either. Children, however,
are not apt to be aristocratic in their ideas; and as the
young Tucks coud not enter into their mother's feelings, they
did not pay the least regard to her commands, but continued
to cultivate a very good understanding with their companion.

It was almost a year since he had been at school; he had
made great improvement, and all effects of his early associations
had disappeared. He was the pet and the darling of a
little circle, where there was no one to contend with him for
empire in the hearts of those who loved him. Mrs. Swazey,
from at first appearing to love him, had got to loving him in
reality, and Mr. Tremlett every day discovered some fresh
cause for admiration. He had become essential to the old
man's happiness, and he began to feel that life would be a
burden without him. But an event soon occurred which for
a time threatened to sever all those ties which had become so
closely drawn together, and to deprive the fond old merchant
of his chief solace and source of pleasure, and to drive his son
into the world again, to encounter all its trials and privations.

It was on the occason of some great gathering on the Battery,
when all the idle people of the great city of New York
appeared to have been attracted by a common sympathy to
that beautiful spot, that the two Tucks, in company with their
companion, made their appearance among the crowd, and by
their shouts helped to increase the hubbub and confusion.

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Of course there were many personages present, of greater importance
than these three young gentlemen, and who probably
attracted more attention at the time; but as we believe
there were none there for whom the reader will feel a greater
interest.

Whether it was the arrival of some great man, or the execution
of some great rogue, that caused the gathering, is not
material to the right understanding of this history; but it was
a gay and exhilarating scene. The day was warm, yet not
oppressive; and a timely shower in the morning had washed
the dust from the trees, and given to the grass on the Battery,
and the opposite shores of New-Jersey and Governor's Island,
an appearance of verdant beauty. The bay was covered
with boats, which were moving about in all directions, with
gay pennons flying, and from some strains of martial music
proceeded, and from others, the reports of fire-arms. On shore
crowds of elegantly-dressed women were jostled by crowds
of badly-dressed men; and nurses were out-screaming the interesting
little creatures placed under their protection; while
numerous companies of citizen soldiery were performing evolutions
that Napoleon never dreamed of, to the immense delight
of innumerable little black boys, who were perched on the over
hanging branches of the elms and sycamores; and sentinels,
as fierce as regimentals could render them, were repelling the
invasion of any stray cow or old apple-woman that might
chance to encroach upon the district placed for the time under
martial law. Bands of music were playing, and guns were
popping off in every direction. Every body seemed resolutely
bent upon making a noise, and our three young gentlemen
had every disposition to increase the tumult, by letting off a
few squibs and crackers; but on examining their pockets,
they discovered that they could not muster a sixpence between
them. It chanced unluckily, that Mr. Tremlett was out of
town, and John could think of no way to procure some
money. Tom Tuck tried to persuade him to pawn his watch

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but that he resolutely refused to do, because his father (for so he
called Mr. Tremlett,) had given it to him but a few days before.
He said he would not part with it to procure himself
bread, much less squibs. While they were trying to hit upon
some plan for raising the necessary funds for a frolic, their
mortification was increased, and their desires were excited, by
a party of youngsters of their acquaintance, who rowed past
in a boat, with a horse pistol and a flask of powder. At last
Fred Tuck said he knew where his mother kept her purse,
and he promised, if the two would wait for him, to go and
bring it. Accordingly he started off, and his brother Tom
and his companion indulged themselves during his absence
with a couple of hard boiled eggs, and a bottle of ginger-beer,
meaning to pay for them as soon as the adventurer returned
But that enterprizing young gentleman soon came back, quite
out of breath, and as destitute of money as when he left.
His mother had caught him in the very act of breaking open her
bureau, and he had to fight hard to escape. They were now
placed in a very disagreeable situation. They had before
them a practical illustration of the evils of the credit system.
They had contracted a debt, with the expectation of paying
it out of the proceeds of an uncertain adventure, and being
dissappointed in its issue, they were involved in great distress
which was very much heightened by a boatman coming up
to them, and offering to row them about the bay for a dollar.
It was such a gay exciting scene upon the water; the boat
lay rocking so temptingly, with a white awning stretched
fore and aft; what should they do? The Tucks knew nothing
about restraining their desires; it was a part of their
education that had been neglected. Their mother was always
fearful of spoiling their dispositions by crossing their
inclinations; and so she always let them have their own way
when it did not interfere very much with her own.

Here I would willingly pause, and either bring this history
to a close, or blot out from it the transactions of this gala-day;

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but as we have already promised to record all the controlling
events of our hero's life, we feel ourselves bound to do so, however
prejudicial it may prove to his reputation, or repugnant
to our feelings.

After many idle suggestions on the part of the Tucks, Tom
at last hit upon one that promised to afford the required
funds.

“I know how I could get some money, and our own money
too,” said Tom Tuck.

“How? how?” eagerly inquired the other two.

“I know exactly where my uncle Gris. keeps his pocket-book,
in his desk, and I could very easily get it,” said Tom;
“and it would only be taking it a little in advance, you know,
Fred, because mother says he will leave all his money to us
when he dies; and he can't live much longer, so what difference
does it make, whether we take it now, or after he is
dead?”

“That is prime!” said Fred; “that is first rate—isn't it
Johnny? That is capital! That is equal to Rinaldo Rinaldini.
Come, let us have it right off, Tom.”

Whether it was because Johnny thought he had no right to
interfere in family arrangements, we cannot determine, but he
remained perfectly silent, and neither opposed nor approved
the proposition of the brothers to rob their uncle. It was
finally arranged between them that Tom and Fred should
proceed to their uncle's counting-room, and that while one of
them called the old gentlemen away, the other should riffle
his desk. Their companion in the mean time, was to remain
as a hostage with the dealer in hard-boiled eggs and gingerbeer.
But just as the two adventurers were about starting on
their perilous expedition, Tom Tuck said: “I tell you how
it is Johnny, you are putting all the work upon us, while you
are not going to do any thing.” At this imputation, young
Tremlett blushed, and held dawn his head.

“Don't be a sneak, now,” said Tom.

“I have done all I can do,” replied the boy.

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“Well then, if you don't do something, you shall not have
anything,” said the wily Thomas, tauntingly.

“What can I do,” said the youngster.

“You can go with me, and let Fred remain here,” replied
Tom.

“But I won't steal, if I do,” replied our hero.

“Nobody is going to steal; it's our own money; mother
has said so fifty times; hasn't she Fred?”

“Yes, fifty thousand times,” said Fred.

John could think of no argument to oppose to the specious
reasoning of the young lawyers; and although he felt it was
wrong yet as he had been accustomed to look upon them as
his superiors, he thought they must be better judges than himself
of what was right and proper. Besides, he could not bear
the idea of sharing in their money, while he incurred no part
of the risk of obtaining it; although he always shared his own
allowance with the two brothers, without expecting any thing
in return. And so he allowed himself to be led by them to
do what he knew was wrong, lest they should reproach him
with a want of courage.

All the clerks in the employ of Tremlett & Tuck had left
their desks, and gone down to see the parade upon the Battery,
with the exception of Mr. Bates, who remained in the
counting-room to post his books: but the unusual silence and
stillness of the office had such a soothing influence upon the
book-keeper's nerves, that he fell fast asleep while in the very
act of footing up a long column of figures; his head dropped
down upon his opened ledger, and being quite unconscious of
what he was doing, as all sleepy people are, with the exception
of professed somnambulists, he had contrived to overturn
a bottle of red ink, and the contents of it were running down in
streams across the ledger, and along the side of his face;
giving him very much the appearance of a man with his
throat cut from ear to ear. Mr. Tuck was alone in the private
office, apparently engaged in some absorbing calculations

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at his desk, when his nephew Tom walked in, though a private
entrance which led directly into the street.

“Ah! Thomas, is that you?” said Mr. Tuck, laying down
his pen.

“How do you do, Uncle;—are you pretty well?” inquired
the young gentleman, affectionately.

“Yes, pretty well; or rather, I am not very well; I took a
slight cold yesterday at an auction,” replied the uncle.

“I hope you are not going to be sick, uncle,” said his
nephew.

“I hope not, I hope not,” said the uncle, coughing slightly;
“but what, what brought you here just now?”

“I wanted you to see the soldiers,” said Tom; “they are
just marching along at the foot of the street.”

“What! soldiers? What a foolish boy! Do you think I
want to look at a regiment of counter-jumpers with bob-tail
coats on? I have got more profitable business than that to
attend to, Thomas.”

“Ah, but you never saw any thing so handsome!” said
the boy; “these are real soldiers, with great long swords
and guns: hark! hear the drums! You don't know how
fine they look; you can see them without going off the
stoop, too.”

“Well, well,” said Mr. Tuck, “since you have taken so
much trouble on my account, I will just step down to the foot
of the stairs to gratify you; but I would as soon look at a
drove of sheep with their fleeces painted red, as at a parcel of
men dressed up in regimentals, and marching through the
streets, without any object in view. I tell you it's a poor
way of making money, Thomas; there is no profit in it; it is
a most ridiculous waste of time; because, Thomas, it requires
but a few hours to make a soldier of an able-bodied
man, when there is any real occasion for his services; and to
compel a poor white-livered denizen of a counting-room, or
one of the human fixtures in a cobbler's stall, or a tailor's shop

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to shoulder a musket for a part of two days in the year, with
the idea of preparing him the better to defend his country, if
he should ever be called upon to do it, is too nonsensical.”

By the time that Mr. Tuck had delivered himself of these
remarks, they had reached the bottom of the stairs that led to
the street door, and on looking out, there was not a soldier to
be seen.

“But where are the soldiers, Thomas?” inquired the old
gentleman.

“They will soon be along, uncle; only wait a moment,'
replied Tom. “I hear the drums now.”

“And then, Thomas, the thing is unjust, as well as absurd,'
continued Mr. Tuck; “because the burden has to be borne
by those who are least able to bear it; but that is always the
case in public affairs. You see, Thomas, if it be actually
necessary for the safety of the country that men should learn
to be soldiers, a trifling fine of a few dollars ought not to be
considered a sufficient punishment for neglecting so important
a duty, because the rich can easily discharge the penalty,
while the poor cannot; and consequently they are compelled
to fight for their country, not because they have property at
stake, to protect which armies are raised, but because they
have not. You see the unreasonableness of it, Thomas.”

“Yes, uncle,” said Thomas, “but I don't see the soldiers
yet; I am afraid they have gone up the next street.”

“And if I had my way, Thomas, I would make the women
train, too,” said Mr. Tuck.

“That would be funny!” said Tom; “my! how I should
laugh to see a regiment of women go a-soldiering!”

“You see, Thomas,” said the gallant old bachelor, “the
women are eternally talking about their rights; they want to
vote, confound them! and if they will vote, they ought to
fight!”

“O, I have seen women fight, many a time,” said the youngster:
“only yesterday morning, I saw two great fat women

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fighting, down in Fulton market: one of them took up a weak-fish,
and struck the other right in the face with it; my! didn't
they call each other names!”

Just then John Tremlett was seen to pass the corner of the
street and although he must have heard Mr. Tuck and his
affectionate nephew talking together, yet he never turned his
head but walked quickly along.

“I am afraid, uncle, you will take cold, standing here,”
said Tom; “you had better step back into the office, while I
run down the next street, and if I see the soldiers coming, I
will call you.”

So saying, the youngster ran down the street, and Mr. Tuck
returned to his office, saying to himself, as he went: `What
an affectionate boy that Thomas is!—most remarkable child;
always so considerate and respectful to old people! I shouldn't
wonder if I gave that boy something one of these days: if I
was sure of having just such a boy as that, I do n't know but
I might get married after a while, when the times get better:
plenty of women that would have me, I dare say; it wouldn't
cost much to bring up a boy like that; he never asks for
money, like some children.”

“I wonder,” thought Mr. Tuck, “what Mr. Bates is doing
I don't hear him stirring;” and so, to satisfy his curiosity, he
lifted up a corner of the green curtain that hung before a little
window that looked into the outer office; but he suddenly let
it drop again, and came very near dropping himself; and if
he did not scream murder, it was because fright had deprived
him of utterance. Such a spectacle as met his eyes, would
have frightened a butcher. It requires but a very short space
of time to jump at a conclusion; and Mr. Tuck was not so terrified
as to prevent his drawing an inference. Seeing, as he
supposed, his book-keeper lying with his throat cut, his first
thought was, that somebody had robbed him, and then murdered
his clerk; and going to his desk he discovered that his pocket-book
it was gone, which confirmed his suspicion, and

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quickened his senses as much as the first glance at Mr. Bates had
stunned them; and running out into the street, he shouted,
Murder! murder!” with all his might. The noise awoke the
book-keeper, who perceived at a glance the mischief he had
done; and he jumped at a conclusion and jumped off his stool
at the same moment. His first thought was, what his wife
would say to him, and his next to run to the nearest bath and
wash himself, before any body should see him. So he shut
up his ledger, and hurried down stairs in an opposite direction
to Mr. Tuck, for the store was on a corner, and as we have
already stated, there were two entrances to the counting-room.

A murder is a matter of interest to every body, and therefore
Mr. Tuck was soon surrounded by a multitude of men
anxiously inquiring for particulars. But he was too much
excited to give any details: but told them to follow him,
and see for themselves; upon which a great number crowded
up the narrow stairs, all anxious to have the first sight
of the horrid spectacle.

“There he lies!” said Mr. Tuck, turning away his head,
but pointing with his out-stretched arm to the door of the outer
office; “and here is the place from which the murderer took
the pocket book.”

“Where is he? where is he?” exclaimed half a dozen
voices; “we don't see him.”

“Not see him!” exclaimed Mr. Tuck with astonishment
as he elbowed his way into the outer office.

“I see nothing that looks like a murdered man, but this
bottle of red ink that is spilled here,” said one of the crowd.

Mr. Tuck was a second time rendered speechless with astonishment;
so he said nothing; but he looked as blank as a
new ledger.

Some of the men tittered, and some winked very knowingly,
but none of them indulged in outright laughter, because
they all knew that Mr. Tuck was very rich, and it would not
have been genteel to make light of a rich man's mishaps.

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“All I can say is, gentlemen,” said Mr. Tuck, at last, “it
is a very strange world that we live in. I know I have been
robbed of my pocket-book, and I am very certain that my
head book-keeper lay here a moment ago, with his throat
cut; but what has become of him, is more than I can say.”

As Mr. Bates' house was but a few steps from the counting-room,
some humane individual, who had heard an exaggerated
account of the disaster, had run there in great haste, and
informed Mrs. Bates that her husband had been murdered by
his employer, Mr. Tuck.

As the book-keeper's wife had promised herself the prolonged
gratification of harrassing her husband to death by piecemeal,
she was not disposed to view the summary process of
Mr. Tuck in a very favorable light; but she hesitated a moment,
on first hearing the awful news, between going into hysterics,
and going down to the counting-room, to make a display
of her outraged feelings: she determined, however, on
the latter course, as she would there have the greatest number
of spectators. So, without stopping to put on her bonnet, she
threw a shawl over her head, and ran with all speed to the
office of Tremlett & Tuck, where she arrived before all the
men had dispersed, who had been collected together by the
outcries of the junior partner. As she ran up the stairs with
great agility, the first intimation that Mr. Tuck had of
her presence, was a piercing shriek that went to his very
soul.

“You sanguinary wretch! you old hoary-headed, brown-wigged
murderer! You villain! you have made my poor
children fatherless, and me a widow! Where is his body!—
let me see him!” exclaimed Mrs. Bates in the first agony of
her lacerated feelings.

“Woman, be still!” exclaimed Mr. Tuck.

“I won't be still!” replied the imaginary widow; “give
me my husband! O where is he!—where is his murdered
body!”

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“Poor creature!” said one of the by-standers; “it is a very
hard case; very hard case indeed.”

Nothing feeds grief like sympathy, and these few words
had such an effect on Mrs. Bates, that she redoubled her
shrieks, and gave vent to her feelings in such piercing tones,
that Mr. Tuck was compelled to put his hands to his ears.

“Don't let that woman come near me!” he exclaimed;
“take her away, take her away!”

“Give me my dear husband!—give me back my husband!”
still shrieked the lady, when in walked Mr. Bates, with his
face washed clean, and his coat buttoned up to his chin, to
hide the stains of the red ink on his shirt-bosom.

“Here I am, dear,” said Mr. Bates, in his most placid manner;
“what is the matter dear?”

People should be very cautious how they work themselves
up into a high passion, as it is one of the most difficult things
in the world to descend again to an ordinary level with ease
and credit to themselves. Mrs. Bates felt the full force of this
truth, when her husband made his appearance; and thinking
probably, that the most unnatural conduct would be the most
becoming on the occasion, she uttered another piercing scream,
and fell senseless into the arms of Mr. Tuck, who being quite
unprepared for her reception, fell with her, to the great danger
of both their necks; but fortunately, neither was much hurt,
although the merchant was very much frightened. The lady
obstinately refused to be brought to her senses, and she was
conveyed home in an omnibus, where the book-keeper learned
for the first time, the cause of all the confusion.

As soon as Mr. Tuck had collected his scattered senses, he
began to think about his pocket-book; and when he remembered
that it must have been taken by some one who entered
his office through the room in which Mr. Bates sat writing at
his desk, he began to have suspicions of him.

“A man with such a wife as that would do any thing!”
said Mr. Tuck to himself; “confound her! she called me a
brown-wigged old villain, and I'll have revenge of her!”

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Just as he had come to the determination of sending
for a police-officer to arrest him, Mr. Tremlett returned
to the counting-room, and on hearing Mr. Tuck's suspicions
of his book-keeper, he put them all at rest, by reminding his
partner that Mr. Bates had it in his power to rob them of any
amount he pleased, without any risk to himself, by false entries
in their books; and it was not at all likely that he would
do so foolish a thing as to steal his pocket-book, when he must
know that suspicion would immediately attach to him.

But Mr. Tuck was unwilling to relinquish the idea that
there had been a conspiracy to rob him, and that Mrs. Bates
was at the bottom of it.

And while the two partners were arguing about the most
prudent means to be taken for the recovery of the pocket-book,
a messenger came in great haste to inform Mr. Tremlett that
his adopted son had been upset in a boat, and that he had been
taken from the water, as was supposed, lifeless. The old
merchant turned ghastly pale at the intelligence, and sank
back in his chair, quite overcome. But he revived again immediately,
and took his hat and cane, and hurried to his house,
where he found the boy, who had just begun to show signs
of life. A physician had been summoned, and all the means
that could be made use of, had been put in requisition for his
recovery. The old gentleman fell on his knees by the side of
the boy, and kissed his wet cheeks. “Poor, dear child!” he
exclaimed, “I did not know that I loved you half so well. May
God in his mercy, spare you to me a little longer!” Mrs.
Swazey was busily engaged rubbing him with hot flannels,
while Bridget was wringing her hands, and crying piteously.
After a while, the color returned to his cheeks, and he opened
his eyes and stared wildly around for a moment, and then relapsed
into a lethargy again. But the physician pronounced
him out of danger, and he was put to bed, where Mr. Tremlett
watched by him until morning.

`Ah! my poor boy!' said he, “you shall never stir so far

[figure description] Page 080.[end figure description]

from me again, until you are better able to take care of yourself.”
He was anxious to learn all about the accident which
had so nearly proved fatal to the boy, but the physicians having
advised him not to ask him any questions that would be
likely to excite him, he refrained from doing so. But as soon as
it was light, he despatched his coachman to find out the boatman
who had rescued him, as he wished to reward him, as
well as learn from him all the particulars of the accident. In
about an hour the man returned, bringing the boatman with
him, whose name was Bill Van Tyne.

“Brave fellow!” said Mr. Tremlett, in the warmth of his
gratitude, “you shall be rewarded for your exertions.”

“Well, I always like to save a gentlemen's son from drowning
when I kin,” said Mr. Van Tyne, “because then I know
I shall get well paid for it; and I don't mind it if I do get
hurted a little. I have had a good many dollars given me for
saving people's lives sence I have first followed the water for
a living.”

“And how did this accident happen?” inquired Mr. Tremlett.

“Why you see,” said Mr. Van Tyne, “it was all the same
as if you was sitting here, and I was sitting there, and this
here table was a bar'l of 'ysters: then up gets one of the boys
on top, and begins to say how he will fling the pocket-book
overboard, because he said if he didn't 'twould be found out
arter he got hum.”

“The pocket-book!” said Mr. Tremlett.

“Yes, a yellow sheep-skin pocket-book, tied up with a piece
of red tape,” said Mr. Van Tyne. “Then little John, the littlest
boy, which almost got drownded, got up and swore he
should'nt do no such thing.”

“Did he swear?” asked Mr. Tremlett.

“Well, I can't rightly say whether he did or not,” said the
boatman, “but he said to the other, I believe he called him
Tom, that he shouldn't throw it overboard, because he was

[figure description] Page 081.[end figure description]

going to carry it back again. Then all three on'em had a
clinch, and I jumped in between 'em, and fust I perceived, I'm
blest if I don't wish I may never see another 'yster, if the boat
didn't capsize; and before I know'd what I was doing, I was
ten foot under water. So says I to myself, “Fanny you are
done for this heat, any how you can fix it!”

“What, was there a woman on board?” asked Mr. Tremlett.

“No, not exactly a woman,” replied Mr. Van Tyne, “only
Fanny Kemble, that's the boat's name.”

“Ah,” said Mr. Tremlett; “then what became of little
Johnny, as you call him?”

“Well, when I come up and blowed,” he said “I looked
round and there was two of the youngsters clinging to the
boat, but the littlest one I couldn't see; so I looked down in
the water, and there I seen him. He looked green enough, I
tell you, and all crinkling like; so says I, it won't do to let a
gentleman's son go off in that way, no how; so I fetched a
good long breath, and down I div, and just caught him by
the hair of his head. And so another boat picked us up; and
that was the way of it.”

“And this pocket-book,” said Mr. Tremlett; “what did
the boys say about it?”

“Well, perhaps I shouldn't like to tell,” said the boatman.

“Why not, Sir?” asked Mr. Tremlett.

“Well I don't know; perhaps I might, if I had any thing
giv to me to make it a consideration,” replied Mr. Van Tyne.

“We shall see about that another time,” said Mr. Tremlett;
“call here again at three o'clock, and I will then pay you.”
So Mr. Van Tyne left the house, and Mr. Tremlett returned
to his son's bed-side, with sad misgivings in his mind. As
the youngster was quite recovered, he asked him about the
pocket book, how it came into his possession, and what it contained.
At first he was going to deny any knowledge of it;

[figure description] Page 082.[end figure description]

but Mr. Tremlett told him if he detected him in a falsehood,
he would send him back to the Asylum from whence he had
taken him, and that he would never see him again. And
thereupon, the boy made a full confession of how Tom Tuck
called his uncle out of the office, while he slipped in at the
other door, and finding Mr. Bates asleep, softly opened the
door of the private office, and took the pocket-book out of Mr.
Tuck's desk, and then slipped out again by the same way he
had entered, without waking Mr. Bates.

Although he made a full confession of the manner in which
he had stolen the pocket-book, yet he did not attempt to criminate
the Tucks by relating the specious arguments by which
they had overcome his aversion to the act, but on the contrary,
he rather strove to shield them from any blame. But
Mr. Tremlett could not fail to perceive that Tom Tuck was
the principal instigator in the business; and therefore he resolved
that the two brothers should bear their full share of
the blame; for although he would have gladly hushed the
matter up, yet it was of too serious a nature to be passed lightly
over. The pocket-book was still missing, and John could not
tell what had become of it. Tom Tuck had it in his possession
when the boat upset, but whether it had been lost, or
whether he still had it, could not be known. Mr. Tremlett
was too much agitated by the discovery he had made, to attend
to any business. He sent a note, therefore, to his partner,
stating that he had some important information to impart
to him, which brought him immediately to his house.

Mr. Tuck was overwhelmed with astonishment and indignation,
when he heard how his pocket-book had been stolen;
he sent for his two nephews and their mother, who soon made
their appearance; the lady looking very grand, and the two
boys very demure and innocent. Their sister also came with
them, and she contrived to seat herself in a chair by the side
of her favorite, which Mrs. Tuck no sooner perceived, than she

[figure description] Page 083.[end figure description]

made her remove her seat to the opposite side of the room.
On hearing the accusation against her two boys, the lady
burst into tears, while the youngsters themselves swore it was
a lie from beginning to end; and that they had never seen the
pocket-book, nor heard a syllable about it before. Their
mother called little Johnny a thieving, lying brat, and said
she always knew some harm would come to her children, by
their associating with such a creature. Just then Bill Van
Tyne, the boatman, made his appearance, and not only confirmed
all that young Tremlett had disclosed, but also related
the conversation which passed between the boys, while they
were proving so clearly that they had a perfect right to the
property of their uncle. This the two brothers also denied;
and their mother bestowed some very choice expressions not
only upon the boatman, but upon Mr. Tremlett and his son,
whom she called by a name that it is not necessary to repeat.

“Well,” exclaimed Mr. Van Tyne, “if that don't beat all my
wife's relations! I never seen taller lying than that at a ward
meeting! Face it out, young fellers; you'll make first rate
lawyers, when you grow up!”

Mr. Tuck was beginning to think that there was in
reality a conspiracy to injure his two nephews, when the
door opened, and in ran little Julia Tuck, who had stolen
out of the room unperceived, at the commencement of the
dispute, and put the lost pocket-book into the hands of her
uncle.

“They shan't lie about little Johnny!” said the little girl
exultingly. Mrs. Swazey and Bridget had been listening at
the key hole, in a state of great excitement, during the whole
examination; but they now broke through all restraints, and
rushed into the room. The latter caught young Tremlett
round the neck, and almost stifled him with kisses, while
the house-keeper threw herself into a chair, and burst into
tears.

[figure description] Page 084.[end figure description]

As it would be quite impossible accurately to describe the
scene which ensued, we will not make the attempt, but leave
it to the imagination of the reader to form such a tableau
out of the materials which we have furnished him, as will
best agree with his feelings.

CHAPTER IX.

WILL INTRODUCE A NEW PERSONAGE TO THE READER'S
NOTICE.

[figure description] Page 085.[end figure description]

THIS life is called a chequered state of existence, and with
the majority of human beings it doubtless is so. But
there are instances in which it would appear that one long
black shadow has rested upon a man's destiny, from the time
he first opened his eyes upon the world, until he has closed
them in death. Unhappy wretches there have been, across
whose path no bright gleams of sunshine have ever darted;
in whose ear no gentle tones of love and affection have ever
been breathed; doomed mortals, whose misfortunes were
hoarded for them by their ancestors; whose chains were forged
by those whose duty it was to smoothe their pillows, and
strew flowers in their way. There are some to whom a seeming
affliction brings a counteracting benefit, while there are
others whose apparent turns of good fortune are always accompanied
by a more than over-balancing evil.

Of this class of unfortunate beings, was Jeremiah Jernegan.
He was a clerk in the counting-room of Tremlett & Tuck;
and in addition to the ordinary duties of the office, he was
made, through his own gentle and obliging nature, to perform
the duty of a butt for the whole establishment. His keen
sensibilities and lively apprehensions, added to a very weak
frame, and forgiving disposition, rendered him a very suitable
person for fools and cowards to exercise their talents upon;

[figure description] Page 086.[end figure description]

and scarce a day was allowed to pass, without his being made
to feel the misery of his uncomfortable situation. Even Mr.
Bates used to domineer over him, by way of revenge for the
indignities that his wife put upon him.

The retrospective pleasures, which to some are a source of
happiness, under afflicting circumstances, were wholly denied
to him. His infancy and childhood had been the most
wretched part of his existence. A brutal father, and a weak-minded
mother, whom he more than suspected of crimes that
chilled his heart to think of, embittered his earliest recollections.
His parents were both dead, but he was denied the
satisfaction of thinking of them as divinized existences, with
whom he could hope to mingle hereafter; for neither their
lives nor the manner of their death, afforded cause for such
a belief. He had a brother, but he was brutal in his temper
and dissipated in his habits; and instead of proving a consolation
to him, he was a continual source of mortification and grief
Jeremiah was possessed of none of those nameless little
graces, that are so worthless in themselves, and yet so powerful
in winning the esteem of others; but, on the contrary, there
was an expression in his emaciated face, and a hesitation in
his manner, which rendered him almost personally disagreeable,
even to them who really esteemed him for his good
qualities. He had but few relations, and they were all in the
humblest walks of life, and were withal extremely poor; so
that whatever his earnings or savings might have been, his
generous feelings would not allow him to keep what he knew
those who were closely related to him stood in need of. He
was accordingly not only very poor, but there was every prospect
of his always remaining so. But even the happiness
which springs from contented poverty, was denied to him.
He was very proud and very ambitious; but his pride was
not of that kind which feeds upon riches, neither was his
ambition of that nature which aims at mercantile greatness;
and although he was forced to make the humiliating

[figure description] Page 087.[end figure description]

confession to himself, that he did not possess the qualifications requisite
to give him a claim to the world's notice, yet that did
not abate in the least his desire for distinction, or make him
more contented with his humble position in society. He had
not received even the poorest education that the poorest school
could afford in his younger days; but having, by some chance,
acquired a knowledge of the alphabet, he had learned just
enough of books by employing his leisure hours, and stealing
from his body the moments it might justly claim for refreshment
and sleep, to devote them to reading, for the benefit of
his mind, to make him more sensible of his ignorance than he
would have been, if even this slight glimmer of knowledge
had been denied him: like some poor wretch, the light of
whose dungeon is but just sufficient to reveal to him the narrow
bounds of his prison walls. Jeremiah never had a friend
to whom he could impart his secret griefs, or upon whom he
could rely for reciprocal consolation and assistance; while
he saw every body around him paired off with a mate or a
companion, he wondered why it was that he had never met
with a congenial spirit. He was too honorable to flatter, and
too proud to solicit. As he never frequented places of public
amusement, nor wore fine clothes, he was, of course, not a
suitable companion for the other clerks in the counting-room
of Tremlett & Tuck. But he had begun to possess his soul
in patience; his thoughts had been directed to the meek sufferer
of Nazareth; and looking up to the cross on which he
expired, the poor clerk discovered a bright star, whose light
gave a holy calm to his soul; but its rays were sometimes
obscured by clouds of darkness and distrust.

Jeremiah had become greatly attached to young Tremlett,
for the youngster had been in the habit of making frequent
visits to the counting-room, where he was an universal favorite.
Mr. Bates treated him with the most profound respect,
and never disputed or denied him any thing, because he was
his employer's pet; and he gained the good-will of the other

[figure description] Page 088.[end figure description]

clerks, by his good nature, and the smart replies he made to
their teasing questions: but Jeremiah loved him because he
was an orphan, like himself; and instead of feeling envious of
the boy's handsome person, and flattering prospects, he exulted
in the thought that there was happiness in store for at least
one outcast, and that the world was full of gentleness, and
beauty, and love, even though they were all denied to him.
And when it was made known that his favorite was the thief
who had stolen Mr. Tuck's pocket-book, while all the clerks
agreed in saying that they always thought he had a thievish
look, Jeremiah wiped a tear from his eye, and said, “Poor boy!
I cannot condemn him, for I might have done the same thing
myself, if I had been tempted like him.”

“Yes, I dare say you would, Mr. Jernegan,” said the cash-keeper
“and I shall keep a sharp look-out for you in future.”

“Why, the fact is,” said Mr. Bates, “they do say, that is, I
have heard the remark often, that birds of a feather will fly
together; and I shouldn't be suprised if Jeremiah did feather
his nest one of these days.”

“It is very hard,” said Jeremiah, “if one cannot express
sympathy for an unfortunate boy, without being subjected to
such cruel suspicions.”

“I think Jerry,” said another of the clerks, “you are just
fit for a black guard missionary.”

“Ah!” replied Jeremiah, “I wish I were.”

“Well, I will give you a certificate, if you wish,” said the
clerk; “my father is one of the directors of the Board of
Missions, and I heard him say at breakfast this morning, that
they wanted a nice young man to act as chaplain in the Grand
Turk's harem.”

This was such an exquisite joke, that every body laughed
of course, except Jeremiah, who continued writing at his
desk. Many more jokes would have been uttered at his expense,
but the entrance of Mr. Tremlett caused an immediate
silence, and every body caught up a pen, and began to write
very fiercely.

[figure description] Page 089.[end figure description]

Mr. Tremlett looked very serious; and after giving some
directions to the cash-keeper, he told Jeremiah he wished to
see him in private. The poor clerk trembled with apprehension,
being fearful that he had been guilty of some indiscretion
that would cause him to be discharged; as he followed
his employer into his private office, his kness almost sank
under him.

CHAPTER X.

CONTAINS SEVERAL SURPRISING ADVENTURES, WHICH
WILL PROBABLY BE QUITE NEW TO THE READER.

[figure description] Page 090.[end figure description]

THE immediate consequences of the recovery of Mr.
Tuck's pocket-book, and the discovery of the thief, were,
the disgrace of the two brothers, and their high-spirited mother,
in the estimation of their uncle, who swore he would
neither spend another copper for their benefit while living,
nor leave them a dollar at his death; and the determination,
on the part of Mr. Tremlett, to abandon his adopted son
to his fate, and never see him again.

As it may appear somewhat unaccountable to the reader
that Julia Tuck should have got possession of the pocket-book
we will explain that circumstance. When the two brothers
were taken home to their mother, after they had been picked
up in the river, she found the pocket-book in Tom's cap; and
on being accused of stealing it, his brother Fred made a full
confession, while the other justified himself on the ground
that she had herself taught them to look upon their uncle's
property as their own. Upon which the lady read them a
lecture upon the enormity of their guilt, and endeavored to
explain to them the difference between taking possession of
their uncle's money before and after his death; a distinction
which Tom Tuck still persisted in saying he could not
clearly comprehend. His mother, in examining the pocket-book,
found that it contained but little money, and that the
other papers, which she supposed to be valuable, were but

[figure description] Page 091.[end figure description]

little injured by the water. She intended to inclose it in a
wrapper, and drop it into the post office, directed to her brother-in-law,
as soon as it should be dry; but the unexpected
summons to appear at the house of Mr. Tremlett, had prevented
her from doing so. Little Julia heard all the conversation
between her mother and her brothers; and when she
heard her favorite accused of the crime that she knew they
were guilty of, she ran home and took the pocket-book from
her mother's bureau, and returned it to her uncle, as has been
already related. And in doing this, the young lady was not
influenced solely by a love of justice; she had conceived a
great fondness for young Tremlett which she evinced on all
occasions, without much reserve; and her brothers not having
always treated her with becoming kindness, she was glad
of an opportunity to do them an injury, at the same time that
she gave her favorite a proof of her regard for him. The
mortification and anger of her mother was intense. They almost
converted her maternal love into hatred to her own off-spring;
and she returned to her home with her heart full of
revengeful feelings, which she burned for an opportunity to
gratify.

Although Mr. Tremlett determined, in the first excitement
of his feelings, to turn his adopted son into the street, and to
steel his heart forevermore against all kindly feelings toward
the human race, and particularly orphan boys, yet when he
reviewed the whole affair in his mind, and considered the
youth of the boy, his temptations, the examples that bad been
set him in his earlier years, and his own culpability in not
teaching him more pointedly than he had done, to do no evil,
the guilt of the youngster did not appear so enormous, nor his
nature so depraved as at first. And then the gratitude of the
lad in refusing to pawn his watch, because it had been given
to him by his father, was a proof that he was not destitute of
generous qualities. In truth, Mr. Tremlett did not reason
with himself long, before he was astonished that he should

[figure description] Page 092.[end figure description]

ever have thought of parting with his son; and on visiting
the boy in his chamber, as he lay asleep, all his fond feelings
were revived, and he felt that he loved him more tenderly
than ever. “If the good and pious only were entitled to our
love,” thought Mr. Tremlett, “how many would go through
the world unfriended and desolate!”

On consulting with Dr. Hodges the boy's teacher, that discreet
gentleman, against his own interest, advised Mr. Tremlett
to send the boy to a private school in the country, where
he would be free from the influence of such companions as
the Tucks, and not exposed to the thousand temptations that
surround him in the city. This advice Mr. Tremlett could
not but acknowledge was very just and proper; and although
he would gladly have kept the boy with him at home, yet
professing to have the child's permanent good at heart, he
agreed to be governed by it; and Mr. Hodges having recommended
a school kept by a clergyman of his acquaintance in
one of the pleasant towns in the interior of Massachusetts, it
was resolved that the boy should be sent there without delay.
As he was too young to travel alone, and his father's engagements
being such that he could not accompany him, Jeremiah
Jernegan was selected, as being the most suitable person in
the employment of Tremlett & Tuck, to take charge of the
young gentleman, and deliver him at his place of destination;
and it was on this important business that Mr. Tremlett
wanted to speak with Jeremiah, when he called him into his
private office. The poor clerk was overjoyed at this proof of
his employer's confidence, as well as delighted at the thought
of travelling in company with the boy, although this pleasure
was not without its draw-back; as he would be deprived, on
his return, of the gratification of seeing the lad for a very long
period, if not for ever.

The next day young Tremlett left his happy home, in company
with Jeremiah. They were accompanied to the steamboat
by Mr. Tremlett, who had reserved some very solemn

[figure description] Page 093.[end figure description]

advice to be imparted to his son just before they parted, thinking
it might make a more lasting impression upon his mind,
if delivered at such an impressive moment. But when the
time arrived, the old gentleman was so full of grief, that he
found it impossible to utter a word; so he pressed the boy's
hand, and silently invoking the blessing of heaven upon his
head, he turned from the boat and left him.

Now, although Jeremiah was a very suitable person, in one
respect, for the charge entrusted to him, yet he was in another
quite the opposite, seeing that he had never been but a short
distance from home, and that he was totally unacquainted
with the ways of the world, as well as the ways of stage-drivers
and steam-boat agents. It was almost night when the steamboat
left the dock, and as it soon grew dark, our travellers
went up on the promenade-deck to look at the stars, and to
enjoy the novelty of being afloat in the night. While they
were leaning over the railing, making their remarks on every
thing that struck them as novel, a stranger approached them
with a segar in his mouth, and after listening to their conversation
a few moments, he ventured to address them.

“Charming evening, gentlemen,” said the stranger.

“Yes, Sir, it is, very lovely,” replied Jeremiah; “I was just
remarking to my young friend here, that the solemn grandeur
of the scene was very impressive.”

“Upon my soul,” said the stranger, “I was just thinking
that very thing myself; what a liquid appearance the water
has!”

“Very,” replied Jeremiah; “It is a pleasant thing to travel;
there is such a constant succession of new and surprising
scenes, that one has hardly time to dwell upon his own sad
feelings.”

“Yes,” replied the stranger; “but d—n it! I have got
sick of it, and I am now going home to settle down quietly
on my own farm, where I can eat my own eggs, and drink
my own cider.”

[figure description] Page 094.[end figure description]

“Ah! there's a pleasure in that, too,” said Jeremiah.
“Pray have you travelled much?”

“Not much,” said the stranger; “I have been as fur as
Rome, and once, I was as fur from hum as Batavia. I have
got a sister married in Vienna, which I go to see once a year;
and once in a great while, I go to see my uncle, in Pekin.”

“You must have been a very great traveller,” said Jeremiah.

“I don't call that nothing at all,” said the stranger; “I
mean to go to Niagara next fall.”

“How long since you were in Batavia?” asked Jeremiah.

“Only last spring,” replied the stranger.

“Our house has some correspondents in Batavia,” said
Jeremiah; “we received a large consignment from them last
week. I suppose you know the firm of Gluttstiver & Gruntwitchel?”

“No, I can't say I do,” said the stranger. “I thought I
knowd all the merchants in that place, too. Have they been
long in business?”

“Oh, it is a very old house,” replied Jeremiah; “our firm
have been in correspondence with them for a great many
years. And pray what is the quality of the coffee there?”
asked Jeremiah.

“The d—st stuff I ever swallowed in my life!—nothing
like as good as you get at the Eagle, in Palmyra. I would
as soon drink the water out of the Grand Canawl,” replied
the stranger, with some warmth.

“Your account does not agree with my impressions at all,”
said Jeremiah; “I thought the coffee was very fine.”

“All humbug!” said the stranger snapping his fingers;
“it was not worth that!”

“Palmyra must be a very interesting spot,” said Jeremiah.

“So-so,” said the stranger; “the fact is it was built up too
suddenly. Folks said 't was a very flourishing place, and so
't was; but 't was all flourish; and now it's going down hill
fast enough.

[figure description] Page 095.[end figure description]

“Perhaps its rise was too sudden,” replied Jeremiah; “but
it was always a matter of wonder to me, how such a city ever
sprung up in such a place.”

“It is no wonder at all to me,” said the stranger; “it was
all done by speculators.”

“Not unlikely,” replied Jeremiah; “human nature has
doubtless been the same in all ages; and I suppose there were
speculators even among the Palmyrenes.”

The stranger now perceived that his segar had gone out
while he had been talking to our travellers, and he left them
to get a light.

“That is a very remarkable man!” said Jeremiah. “Only
think of it, John; he says his sister lives in Vienna, and his
uncle in Pekin; and that he has been in Batavia, and Palmyra
and Rome! Perhaps he has kissed the Pope's toe.”

The bell now rang for supper, and our travellers went
down into the cabin, where they sat opposite to the communicative
stranger; but as they were all very hungry, Jeremiah
asked no farther questions about Palmyra, neither did the
great traveller appear at all disposed to communicate any
farther intelligence respecting the famous places where his
aunts and uncles resided. But when they landed the next
morning, another agreeable gentleman addressed Jeremiah, and
asked him if he had much luggage.

“Not much,” replied Jeremiah, “but what I have, is of
some consequence; and I am very anxious about it, because
the most of it belongs to this young gentleman, who is placed
in my charge.”

“I suppose there is nothing of much value in it?” said the
stranger.

“Yes, it is rather valuable,” said Jeremiah; “and for the
greater safety, I have put my purse into my valise, as I have
heard of a good many robberies on board of steam-boats.”

“You did right,” said the stranger; I always keep a bright
look-out myself; which is your luggage?”

[figure description] Page 096.[end figure description]

“Those two trunks,” said Jeremiah pointing to them.

“Where did you say you were going to?” inquired the
stranger.

“We are going to Willow-mead Academy,” said Jeremiah,
“in Berkshire Massachusetts.”

“Ah! it's the very place I am going to myself!” said the
stranger; “my youngest brother is there at school. But I
forget the name of the principal?”

“The Reverend Doctor Whippy,” said Jeremiah.

“Yes, that is it,” said the stranger; “and a most appropriate
name, too, for my brother writes me he is a devil of a fellow
for whipping.”

This piece of intelligence was rather unpleasant to John,
who seemed to have taken a dislike to the stranger. When
their trunks were taken up to the stage-office, the stranger
very kindly offered to take charge of them, upon which Jeremiah
thanked him for his politeness, and told him, as they
were not much used to travelling, he would be obliged if he
would keep them with his own luggage until they got to Willow-mead;
all of which the stranger very obligingly promised
to do. They rode all day, and about eight o'clock in the evening,
at the place where they stopped to change horses, they
met the returning coach. It was a cloudy night, the wind
blew strong from the east, and it was very dark. When Jeremah
and his fellow travellers got into the stage again, they did
not observe that one of their number was missing, and being
fatigued with riding, they soon fell asleep, and did not wake
again until it was midnight, when they stopped at an out-of
the-way tavern to change horses. The wind had increased
and it rained very hard and our travellers were stiff and cold;
their legs were cramped, and they felt very wretched. It was
a long time before the tavern-keeper opened his door; and
when he did, his bar-room presented a most cheerless and
dreary appearance. There was no fire, and only one small
fallow candle burning in a huge tin candle-stick. The tavern

[figure description] Page 097.[end figure description]

keeper himself was very tall and thin; his hair was long, and
so was his face, and in fact every thing else about him, except
his answers, which were very short and crusty. And indeed
his ill-humor was not to be wondered at: to be roused out of
a pleasant sleep, in the middle of a cold, rainy night, to admit
half a dozen temperance customers, could not have been very
soothing to the feelings of a publican.

As it was necessary to pay for the next stage at this house,
Jeremiah put his hand into his pocket to take out his purse,
and to his great horror discovered it was not there. He procured
a lantern from the landlord, and searched the coach,
without finding it; and then he remembered that he had
put it into his valise for safe-keeping. Jeremiah now began
to make inquiries for the obliging stranger and was terrified
beyond expression, when he was told how that kind gentleman
had pretended to have left one of his trunks behind him
and had taken a seat in the returning coach, which they met
at eight o'clock. On inspecting the boot of the stage, it was
farther discovered that he had taken with him the boy's trunk
and Jeremiah's valise.

Our travellers were now in a most uncomfortable situation
for the driver of the coach not only refused to take them a
mile farther, unless their fare was first paid, but the tavernkeeper
refused to give them a bed, although he consented to
their remaining in the bar room until it was day-light. Jeremiah
begged hard for a little fire, as the night was cold, and
their clothes were damp; but this the host also refused; and
indeed he would not even allow them the light of the miserable
tallow candle; but, having first locked all the doors, and
taken a five cent piece and two rusty coppers out of the till
he retired to bed, and the left our two travellers in darkness.
They were too cold to sleep, and so they sat close together
on a wooden bench, without any back to it, and tried to divert
their thoughts from their uncomfortable situation, by relating
the many unpleasant dilemmas in which they had both been

[figure description] Page 098.[end figure description]

placed before. “Once,” said Jeremiah, “I should have considered
it a great happiness to have obtained such a shelter as
this cheerless bar room affords, on a night like this. Then
why should I repine at what I should once have felt myself
called upon to give thanks for? I will not; but let us rather
John, kneel down, and thank the Giver of all good things,
that we are not exposed to the piercing wind, and the cold,
driving rain.”

“I have no objection,” said the boy; and so they knelt
down, and Jeremiah prayed thus:

“O, Lord, God! we give thee humble and hearty thanks,
that thou hast created us in such wise that our happiness is
not dependant upon the outward circumstances and conditions
of our bodies; and though we do not exult because that
they who are clothed in soft raiment, and who fare sumptuously
in rich men's houses, are not happier than we, to
whom thou hast wisely denied these things, yet we rejoice, O
Lord! that to the meek and humble, the outcast and the
wretched, thou hast graciously been pleased to manifest thyself,
and hast condescended to pour into their hearts an oil of
gladness, of which those know but little, who look only upon
their outward seeming. And we beseech thee, O Lord! that
thine outstretched wings may be over this house, and that its inmates
may be kept from all harm; and that he who has kindly
given us a shelter beneath his roof, may never be exposed,
himself, to the inclemency of the elements. And we beseech
thee, O Lord! to remember in mercy that misguided wayfarer,
who has unjustly deprived us of our little property—”

“Stop! Jeremiah,” said John; “I am not going to pray for
that scamp who stole our trunks!”

“Certainly we must,” said Jeremiah, “for we are commanded
to pray for our enemies; and we do not yet positively
know whether the gentleman has wronged us or not.”

“O, I know he did it,” said John; “for I saw him wink at
the great traveller two or three times, while he was talking
to you.”

[figure description] Page 099.[end figure description]

“I am strongly inclined to believe, myself,” said Jeremiah
“that he is guilty, but still he may not be; and even if he
is, we do not know how sorely he may have been tempted,
nor how much he may have resisted.”

Jeremiah would not hurt the feelings of the youngster by
reminding him of his own temptation and fall; but lifting up
his voice again, he continued his prayer. And when he had
finished, he declared he had never felt more comfortable in
his life. So huddling close together, the two fell into a sound
sleep, from which they did not awake until the entrance of
the landlord in the morning aroused them.

CHAPTER XI.

AMONG OTHER THINGS SHOWS THE BAD EFFECT OF ENTERTAINING
TOO GOOD AN OPINION OF OUR OWN SPECIES.

[figure description] Page 100.[end figure description]

OUR Travellers rose refreshed from their hard couches, and
went out to perform their morning ablutions at the moss-covered
horse-trough at the tavern door. But neither of them
murmured at having to perform that necessary duty in such
a place; but on the contrary, they both acknowledged that it
was more invigorating, and far pleasanter, to wash in the open
air, from a clear mountain stream, than to perform the same
office in a confined chamber, with stagnant Manhattan
water.

Although it was cold and stormy the night before, the sun
was now shining bright and warm; the wind had died away
and the soft balmy air was filled with the pleasant and cheerful
notes of myriads of twittering birds. The tavern was
situated in one of the pleasantest valleys in Massachusetts,
with a shallow but swift and sparkling stream running close
by the door. The hills, which rose to a great height on either
side, were covered to their very summits with beautiful trees,
while all the level lands were under a high state of cultivation;
and although the white farm-houses which were scattered
along the valley did not wear a very comfortable appearance,
on close inspection, yet they were highly picturesque at
a distance. There were large flocks of snowy sheep feeding upon
the delicate white clover that grew upon the hilly fields, and
numerous herds of fat and lordly-looking cattle were grazing

[figure description] Page 101.[end figure description]

in the rich meadows by the side of the little stream. Jeremiah
declared he had never looked upon so fair a scene before,
and he thought that the demon of avarice must have a
strong hold upon a man's heart, to cause him to leave the
pleasant hills and valleys of New-England, to seek for richer
soils in the flat prairies of the West.

“I know it is very fine,” said John, whose taste for the
sublime and beautiful was not fully matured, “but for my
part I should much prefer to look upon a good plate of toast
and some hot coffee, for I am very hungry.”

“And so am I,” said Jeremiah; “this fresh air, and these
pleasant sights and sounds, have given me a very keen appetite.”

On returning to the tavern, they found the breakfast table
spread, and a lady and gentleman, whom they had not seen before,
just sitting down. John looked upon the table and
smacked his lips, as his eyes took an accurate inventory of
the good things with which it was covered; there were eggs
and fried ham, apple-pies and waffles, butter and cheese, and
rye-and-Indian bread, together with a great variety of dishes
of the composite order, the names of which he did not know.
But neither he nor Jeremiah offered to sit down, because there
were but two chairs in the room, and they were occupied by
the lady and gentleman, who apparently wished to be quite
exclusive, and who certainly gave proofs, by their conversation,
that they were no common kind of people.

As John had never seen the inside of a New-England
tavern before, he took particular notice of the painted floors,
the wooden-bottom chairs, the green paper curtains at the
windows; of an old-fashioned mahogany secretary, with a
large Bible and two or three hymn books placed with religious
care on top; and of the profiles of the family, cut in white
paper, and hung up in black frames around a yellowish sampler,
with the name and age of the feminine prodigy who
worked it somewhat ostentatiously emblazoned in gilded

[figure description] Page 102.[end figure description]

letters upon the glazing; and of several other little matters,
which appeared very odd to him, as every thing will appear
to travellers, which they may not have been in the habit of
seeing at home. But all these curiosities did not divert John's
mind from the breakfast upon which he feasted with his eyes
until his appetite increased to such a degree of intensity, that
he came very nigh behaving with great rudeness. A modest
little hazel-eyed girl waited upon the table, and poured out
coffee for the gentleman and lady.

“Young geurl!” said the lady to the little waiter, “does
your father keep this establishment?”

“Yes m'am,” replied she.

“Then have the kindness, if you please, Miss,” said the
lady, “to request him to come to me.”

The little girl tripped out, and in a few minutes returned
with her father.

“Are you the proprietor of this hotel, Sir?” inquired the
lady.

“Wal, I own this house, I believe,” said the tavern keeper.

“Do you?—ah, very well,” said the lady; “I wished to
inquire if these eggs are fresh laid.”

“Wal, I can't exactly say as to that,” said the tavern-keeper,
“but you can try and see.”

“That is my lady, Sir,” said the gentleman, starting upon
his feet; “she is very choice in her eggs, and she isn't up to
that kind of talk.”

“Wal, then I guess she might as well go where she can get
better,” replied the landlord.

Here the gentleman gave evident signs of strangulation,
upon which the lady exclaimed, “Don't, my dear, get excited;
don't, I beg of you, for my sake; do be composed;
I would rather eat addled eggs, and rancid butter, and stale
bread, and drink muddy coffee, all the rest of my days, than
see you unhappy.”

The gentleman then assured his lady, that for her sake

[figure description] Page 103.[end figure description]

he would be patient, but that nothing but a due regard for her
peculiar situation could induce him to remain quiet under
such treatment. “However,” said the gentleman, shaking his
head, “I'll put the whole thing in the papers, as soon as I
return to the city; if I don't, my name ain't Jacobs, no how
you can fix it!”

“My dear!” exclaimed the lady, “what do you mean?”

“I mean my name ain't G. Washington Mortimer, no how:
I am blest, my dear, if I warn't thinking of your maiden name
when I spoke.”

The lady and gentleman continued to eat their breakfast,
and to find fault with every thing before them. But the
tavern-keeper left them to make such comments as they
pleased upon his provisions.

Jeremiah followed him out, and requested breakfast for
himself and companion upon credit; promising to pay as
soon as he could get an answer to a letter he had just sent off
by the mail stage. The tavern-keeper hesitated a long time,
but at last consented to give them a bowl of bread and milk
in the kitchen.

Our travellers now went into the kitchen to get their bread
and milk, where they found the tavern-keeper's wife, a very
different sort of a person from her husband. She was very
fat, with a florid complexion, and a thick short neck, which
was ornamented with a string of gold beads, as big as goose-berries.
She was seated in a capacious arm chair, and one of
her hands was employed in holding a large horn snuff-box,
while the other was occupied in conveying the yellow dust to
her nostrils. Altogether, she appeared disposed to take the
world very easy. “Do tell me,” she said, addressing Jeremiah
“if you are all the way from York?”

“Yes, madam,” said Jeremiah; “we left there the day before
yesterday.”

“Well, I want to know if York isn't quite a place?”

“It is a large city,” said Jeremiah.

[figure description] Page 104.[end figure description]

“Well, I shouldn't wonder if it was,” said the lady; “do
tell me if you know a man that keeps a shoe-store in Chatham
street?”

“Perfectly well, madam,” replied Jeremiah.

“Well now, do you know he is our son-in-law?”

“Is he indeed,” said Jeremiah; “what is the gentleman's
name to whom you allude?”

“Well, it is Pinkum, to be sure,” said the lady.

“Then I don't know him,” said Jeremiah.

“Do tell me!” said the lady; “I thought you said you did.”

“But there are several shoe-stores in Chatham-street,” said
Jeremiah.

“Do tell me if there are!” said the lady; “I want to know!
What a pretty creature that young man is!”—looking at
John; “I want to know if he is your brother?”

“No, madam,” replied Jeremiah.

“Well, I thought you didn't look much alike,” said the
lady. “Do tell me if his mother warn't dreadful sorry to let
him leave her?”

“He has got no mother,” said Jeremiah.

“I want to know!” said the lady; “precious soul! Huldah,
bring out a currant pie. And do tell me if either of you
has ever experienced religion?”

“I am afraid not,” replied Jeremiah.

“Do tell!” replied the querist; “what a pity that such a
sweet pretty creature shouldn't get religion! Huldah, bring
out some ham and coffee, and give 'em. Precious souls!”

So our travellers made a hearty breakfast; and then the
kind hearted landlady called John to her side, and having
smoothed down his hair, she gave him a kiss; and begged
him, for her sake, to try and get religion, which he promised
to do.

Jeremiah met the gentleman, whom he had seen at the
breakfast table, smoking a segar on the piazza after his breakfast,
and he told the stranger of his mishap, and of the

[figure description] Page 105.[end figure description]

unpleasant situation in which he found himself in consequence

“I see you have got a watch,” said the stranger; “why
don't you pledge it with the landlord, and then you will be
under no obligation to him.”

“I would not do that upon any account,” said Jeremiah,
“because the watch is not my own; it is one that I borrowed
from a fellow clerk.”

“Is it waluable?” inquired the gentleman.

“I believe it is,” replied Jeremiah, showing it to the
stranger.

“Yes, it's very waluable,” said the stranger; “too much
so to put into the hands of such a rascal as the keeper of this
house is, any how. But I will tell you what I will do for
you. I am going to wusticate here with my wife some time
and I'll keep it for you, and come under obligation to the
landlord for your expenses, until you get your wemittances
by mail.”

“I should be very thankful if you would,” said Jeremiah:
“and as I am going to take a ramble in the woods with my
young companion, you would oblige me by taking care of it
until I return, for I should be extremely sorry to injure it.”

“With the gwatest pleasure into the world, Sir,” replied
the stranger, “and I will give you a weceipt for it, to prevent
accidents.”

“That will be quite desirable,” said Jeremiah, “as we are
strangers to each other.”

Accordingly the gentleman took out his memorandum
book and wrote a receipt for the watch, and Jeremiah bade
him a good morning, and went to look after his companion
who was having fine sport with a large watch-dog in the
stable. And then they set out on a ramble in the woods, and
a long way they rambled too, and much longer they would
have continued to do so, but they began to grow hungry, and
were obliged to leave all the pleasant allurements of the woods
to return to the tavern for their dinner. But when they got

[figure description] Page 106.[end figure description]

there, dinner was over, and Jeremiah being too modest to
make a bustle, especially as he was living upon credit, they
had to wait a long time before they could get any thing to
eat; and then it was given to them very grudgingly. The
fat good-natured landlady was taking her afternoon nap, and
Jeremiah told the tavern keeper that he need be under no apprehension
about getting his pay for their board, as he had
put abundant security into the hands of Mr. Washington
Mortimer, who would be responsible for all charges.

“Wal, Mister,” said the tavern-keeper, “I thought you
said you was from the city?”

“So we are,” replied Jeremiah.

“Wal, I never knew before that any green-horns quite
as green as you, ever came from there,” said the tavernkeeper.

“What do you mean!” exclaimed Jeremiah, a sudden suspicion
flashing on his mind; “you don't mean to say that
Mr. Mortimer is gone.”

“Wal, I expect he has,” replied the tavern-keeper; “he
started off in his shay more than two hours ago.”

“And has he taken his baggage with him?” inquired Jeremiah.

“Wal, all the baggage he had was that she critter of his'n,
and he took her,” replied the tavern-keeper.

“O, oh!” groaned Jeremiah; “he has taken the gold watch,
that I borrowed from one of the clerks! What shall I say, or
what can I do!”

“Never mind, Jeremiah,” said John, “I will give you my
watch in the place of it, when I get it from the watch-maker's.”

But Jeremiah was so much overcome at this intelligence
and at the recollection of his want of discretion, that he could
not eat his dinner, and he left his companion and went away
by himself; and when John saw him again, his eyes were
red, as though he had been crying. That night the tavern
keeper gave them a bed, but the next day he was so cross and

[figure description] Page 107.[end figure description]

surly, that Jeremiah resolved that he would not stop another
hour in the tavern, but that he would travel on foot to Willow-mead
Academy, and send a conveyance back for his companion.
But John would not listen to such a proposition;
he insisted on accompanying Jeremiah, and accordingly they
set out on their journey toward Willow-mead, which was
forty miles distant. As their road lay through a pleasant
country, the time passed swiftly, and they travelled a
long distance without feeling at all weary. Sometimes they
would stop to slake their thirst in a clear running book, and
sometimes they would stretch themselves out on the dry
leaves, beneath the shade of a sycamore or a walnut tree, until
they were refreshed, and then they would continue their
journey again. At last, however, they were driven by hunger
to beg for something to eat at a farm-house door. The
farmer's wife civilly asked them to walk in, and then placed
before them, on a nice white table, a piece of cold veal, some
brown bread and cheese, and a pitcher of hard cider, of which
they partook heartily, and having thanked the good woman
for her kindness, they continued on their way; but night overtook
them at a desolate-looking place. It was on the summit
of a bleak hill, with but few signs of civilization around them.
There were no farm houses near; and to add to their uncomfortable
prospects, the sky became suddenly overcast with
heavy clouds; and sudden gusts of wind, forewarned them of
an approaching storm. Jeremiah now bethought himself
that they had done a very foolish thing in leaving the tavern,
as he had directed Mr. Tremlett to write to him at that place
and it was probable that a letter with money would arrive
there for him that very evening. But it was too late to
return, and they had no other alternative but to push ahead
until they should arrive at a farm house or a tavern. Having
looked about them in vain for some signs of a dwelling house
they began to descend the hill, which was very rugged, although
it was a gradual slope. By the time they reached the

[figure description] Page 108.[end figure description]

bottom, it was pitch dark, and the rain had begun to pour
down in torrents; and notwithstanding it was in the summer
time, the weather was very cold, the wind blew fiercely from
the north east, and the big drops of rain struck upon the flesh
of our travellers with such force that they thought it was
hail.

“Poor John!” exclaimed Jeremiah, “I am afraid you will
not be able to bear up under this pelting storm. I do not care
for myself; this cold rain and these rough roads do not make
me feel half as uncomfortable and wretched as I have often
felt, when under the warm shelter of a roof, at the harsh replies
I have received from a brutal employer. Indeed I do not
know, Johnny that I should feel very bad, even though I
were certain that I should never see the sun's light again, for
there are none who would shed a tear over me when they
heard of my death. But there is one, at least, who would
weep for you, and for his sake as well as your own, I hope
we may soon find a shelter.”

“And there is one that would weep for you, Jeremiah,”
said the boy: “for I should cry very hard if any thing should
happen to you. So cheer up, and don't be cast down on my
account, for I do love you, indeed I do.”

By this time they had reached the foot of the hill, when
they soon came to a wooden bridge which crossed a mill
stream, that foamed and fretted over its rocky bottom, and
made a much louder noise than does many a deeper river.
As soon as they crossed the bridge, they discovered a mill
and a little farther on they perceived a small but bright light
glimmering through the darkness. They ran toward it, and
very happy they felt when they discovered that it proceeded
from the kitchen window of a large farm house. The numerous
outhouses and a large barn gave promise of good
quarters, and our travellers entered the house with great confidence
of a kind reception. As they opened the door, a truly
pleasant sight met their eyes. A long table was spread on the

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floor, and a bright, cheerful fire, of good stout hickory sticks,
burned in the capacious fire place; a steaming tea-kettle and
a frying pan, full of thick slices of ham which sputtered merrily,
gave assurance that supper was nearly ready. And long
shelves full of tin pans and pewter dishes, as bright as silver
reflected back the bright light which the hickory fire threw
out. A buxom, rosy-cheeked girl, with a blue-striped long-short,
and arms bared to her elbow, was busied about the
fire-place, while an elderly woman, with three or four young
children were seated in the chimney corner.

But few words were necessary to relate the necessities of
the travellers, and the woman bade them seat themselves
by the fire before they were half told. The preparations for
supper were carried on with great spirit by the buxom young
woman in the striped long-short, and John thought he had
never seen a comelier specimen of her sex. Presently three
young men came in looking very grave and steady, as though
supper was a serious business and not to be made light of,
and shortly afterwards the master of the house made his appearance.
He was a very saintly personage, altogether too
much so for an every day existence, and Jeremiah, with his
accustomed ingenuousness, congratulated himself upon falling
into the hands of such a pious looking individual; for Jeremiah
never could learn to put a proper value upon external
appearances, which is not to be wondered at, for how is it
possible to believe, upon theory alone, that a human being
should be such a half way admirer of goodness, as to care
no more for it than only to wish to seem good. But a keener
sighted man than Jeremiah might have been deceived by the
very smooth exterior of the farmer. He wore a coat of an
exceedingly doubtful hue, cut after the straightest manner
of his sect, and adorned with a formidable row of horn buttons;
his hair was trimmed with a precision that hair scarce
seemed capable of; and his plain speech left no doubt in the
minds of the travellers that he belonged to the society of

[figure description] Page 110.[end figure description]

friends. Upon hearing Jeremiah's story, friend Hogshart, for
that was the farmer's name, smoothed down his hair and hemmed
two or three times with a solemnity that went to the
hearts of the benighted travellers.

“Although we have no money now,” said Jeremiah, “we
shall soon have it in our power to pay you well, if you
will allow us to sleep here to night.”

“Doubtless thee will my friend,” said the farmer, “but we
do not keep a house of entertainment, except for friends at
yearly meetings; and then the discipline of society does not
allow us to claim money.”

“It is a generous discipline,” replied Jeremiah, “but I hope
it will not prevent your taking pay from us, as we shall
never have it in our power to return your kindness.”

“Thee is kind,” said friend Hogshart, “but we have got
no spare beds in the house; and it is not, moreover, in conformity
with our customs to entertain strangers.”

“I would not insist, or even expect it, but we are strangers
to the road,” said Jeremiah, “and the night is so stormy that
I fear my young companion would not survive until morning
if he were exposed to the weather.”

“Truly friend, thee cannot expect that we should depart
from our established customs because the night is stormy,”
replied friend Hogshart in a bland and convincing manner.

“I must not insist,” replied Jeremiah, “and I would not,
for I do not pretend to have any claim upon you, but for the
sake of this poor lad; if you will allow him to sleep by your
kitchen fire I will willingly sleep in your barn myself.”

“Thee is very plausible my friend,” said the farmer, “but
if thee did not understand what I have been saying I will repeat
it.”

“I understand perfectly,” replied Jeremiah, “but I hoped
that you might he persuaded to alter your determination.”

“I perceive thee is a stranger to friends,” said the farmer,
“but as supper is waiting, I will not detain thee from

[figure description] Page 111.[end figure description]

proceeding on thy journey. Thee will find a large house with a
small family a mile or two beyond, where they may be disposed
to entertain thee.”

John had been twitching Jeremiah by the sleeve with
manifest impatience to be gone, for some time, and now Jeremiah
caught him by the hand, and with a degree of spirit he
had never shown before dragged him hastily out into the
pelting rain again. Friend Hogshart accompanied them to
the door, and as they emerged into the drakness he said
“farewell friends, farewell, I wish thee good night, farewell.”

Jeremiah could not say farewell, without, belying his
feelings, and he wouldn't be rude, so he said nothing, and his
young companion was at first so bewildered by coming suddenly
into the darkness that he could not speak, and they
felt their way along the road, with the rain beating in their
faces, for some distance in silence; at last John said, “I
wouldn't care about being turned out of doors Jeremiah, if
that nice old fellow hadn't said farewell to us.”

“We are certainly under obligation to him for civil language,”
said Jeremiah, “and he doubtless had good reasons
for not allowing us to remain in his house, although they may
not appear so to us.”

“But he might have given us some supper,” said the boy,
“and if he had I would have liked his reasons better. I can't
reason at all in this cold rain while I am so hungry.”

The wind now blew so fiercely in their faces and the roads
had become so slippery and uncertain, that they were obliged
to stop and take breath; indeed they could hardly move
ahead at all. The blustering little river which they had
crossed was swollen to double its usual width and the
ricketty wooden bridge cracked and quivered, as the flood
rushed past its old piers, and seemed every moment on the
point of giving away. Fearful of losing themselves on the
road the travellers had retreated to the old mill and sheltered

[figure description] Page 112.[end figure description]

themselves under its projecting eaves, where they stood wet
to the skin and shivering with cold, when their attention
was suddenly arrested by the noise of a carriage coming down
the hill on the opposite side of the river. Although they
could distinctly hear the tramp of horses' feet and the
rattling of wheels, it was so dark they could see nothing
of carriage or horses. It approached very rapidly and the
horses' hoofs were soon heard upon the hollow sounding
bridge, and then a loud crash and a cry, rose above the
howling of the wind and the roaring of the waters. The
white foam of the turbulent water enabled them to catch a
glimpse of the horses' heads and the top of the carriage as they
were hurried along towards the edge of the dam. John ran
to the farm house shouting for help with all his might, while
Jeremiah ran down the stream to give such aid as he could,
but he could do nothing to aid them except encourage the
driver who still clung to his seat and bid him hold on as
help was at hand. John soon returned with friend Hogshart
and his three sons, who were soon joined by the young lady
in the long-short carrying a lantern which she contrived to
hold in such a manner that the light blinded their eyes and
almost prevented them from doing any thing but run afoul
of each other. The carriage had fortunately floated against
some obstruction in the stream where it hung, and the driver
was crying to them to hurry for God's sake, as there was a
gentleman in the carriage who would certainly be drowned.
There was a large pile of boards near at hand with which a
loose raft was soon constructed and floated to the carriage,
from which they rescued the driver and the inside passenger,
but the horses they could not get ashore and they were carried
over the dam. The unfortunate passenger was quite exhausted
and unable to speak, but they bore him to the house,
John supporting his feet and Jeremiah his head. Friend
Hogshart humanely waived all considerations of discipline

[figure description] Page 113.[end figure description]

and suffered them all to enter his house, where they placed
the gentleman upon the floor and began rubbing him with hot
flannels, while the farmer unlocked a corner cupboard and
took out a small phial of French brandy, a few drops of which
he poured down the gentleman's throat who very soon after
began to revive, and when he opened his eyes Jeremiah fell
upon his knees, and to the astonishment of every body exclaimed
“merciful heavens!” and John clasped his arms
around the gentleman's neck and kissed him. It was Mr.
Tremlett.

CHAPTER XII.

WILL BRING THE FIRST PART OF THIS HISTORY, AND THE
EXPEDITION TO WILLOW-MEAD ACADEMY TO A CLOSE.

[figure description] Page 114.[end figure description]

IF any inhabitant of the earth, who may favor our history
by conferring upon it the honor of a perusal, shall have
felt any dissatisfaction at the close of the last chapter, caused
by his never having met with a surprise during his actual
experience of worldly affairs, we must be allowed the privilege
of expressing our belief that the individual has had a
very poor time of it in the course of his pilgrimage, since all
our pleasures, if closely analysed, will be found to consist of
surprises altogether. But for the benefit of such, few as they
may be, who are never satisfied with an effect without a clearly
explained cause, and who would not believe in life itself
if they could help it, since it is wholly unaccountable, we will
explain the cause of Mr. Tremlett's being met with at a time
when the reader could have had no reasonable expectation of
seeing him.

Although Mr. Tremlett was not, as the reader knows, the
father of the subject of this history, yet so strong was his attachment
to the lad, so much had he added to the old gentleman's
pleasures, that perhaps he felt more keenly the loss of
his society than if he had been his natural parent, for he was
not willing to forego his own gratification for the sake of the
boy's eventual good; when, therefore, he returned to his house
alone, after parting with the youngster at the steam-boat, he

[figure description] Page 115.[end figure description]

reproached himself with having acted too hastily in sending
him away to a distant school. He missed him at his solitary
supper, and he felt very lonely and dispirited at his breakfast
when he glanced towards the vacant seat which the boy had
occupied so long. Mrs. Swazey guessed at the thoughts
which haunted the old man's mind and she `hoped that master
John would, get a good breakfast, but she was afraid something
had happened to him, for she had dreamed twice the
night before of losing one of her teeth, and she never knew
the sign to fail; something was going to happen to somebody,
she was sure.'

Now Mr. Tremlett's mind was as free from superstitious
taint as most men of his age, but he felt annoyed at his housekeeper's
dream, for he remembered to have heard his mother
relate a similar dream, and attach similar consequences to it,
but a short time before his father's death, when he was a young
boy; the circumstance had probably never occured to him
before, and he felt very sad, but he did not care that his
housekeeper should know how much he missed his adopted
son, and he coldly replied to her remarks that the boy would
be well taken care of where he had sent him.

The day passed wearily, and at night the old merchant
found himself again in the boy's little chamber gazing at his
vacant bed, and fondly examining one of the school books
which he had left behind. “I see that I am getting old and
childish, he said to himself, as a tear trickled down his cheek;
after living all my life for myself alone, here I am unhappy
at the absence of a nameless little rogue who has no possible
claim upon my sympathy. I will overcome this weakness.
I will drive the boy from my thoughts and attend to my business
as usual. If he were a nephew, or the son of an old
friend, or indeed the child of anybody whom I had ever
known, there would be less folly in it, but—I shall soon
forget him, and that I may hear of him no more, I will instruct
my book-keeper to open all letters from Willow-mead and

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make such remittances as may be necessary without speaking
to me on the subject.”

Having made these brave resolutions, Mr. Tremlett wiped
his eyes and coughed two or three times to clear his throat
of a choking sensation; and then he ordered Mrs. Swazey to
have everything removed from the boy's room and the door
locked, after which, that his heart might be hardened against
all tender emotions and the love of his own species, and particularly
of the destitute and juvenile portion of it, he walked
off to a ward meeting where his presence created an immense
sensation, and he met with nothing there to remind him in
the least degree that he was a man, but everything to make
him think that he was affiliated to a race of animals, if any
such exist, whose insticts lead them to devour each other.
He left the meeting at a late hour with his thoughts full of
of political patriotism, determined to go there again the next
evening, so entirely had he succeeded in getting all the kindly
feelings of his nature smothered; but when he retired to his
chamber he could not help opening the door of the little room
which adjoined his own, just to see whether or not his
housekeeper had obeyed his instructions, and his heart felt
cold as he looked in and saw its bare walls and naked little
cot; the door made a hollow reproachful sound as he suddenly
closed it, and the face of its banished tenant seemed to
look upon him with melancholy tenderness. He turned uneasily
upon his bed until morning, and when he went down
to his office he found a letter from Jeremiah lying upon his
desk. His hand trembled as he opened it, but he felt beyond
measure happy when he read its contents. Jeremiah had
given a simple detail of the accidents which had befallen him
and requested a remittance to enable him to get to Willowmead
with his charge. But Mr. Tremlett forgot all his resolutions
of the night before, and pretending to be afraid of trusting
Jeremiah, but secretly determined to bring his adopted
son back to New York, he set off for the place at which the

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letters was dated with the avowed purpose of seeing him safe
at Willow-mead. When he arrived at the tavern he learned
that the travellers had set out for Willow-mead on foot, some
hours before, and being fearful that some accident might
happen to them, he hired a carriage of the tavern keeper, and
in spite of the earnest entreaties of the feeling landlady, who
predicted a storm, he proceeded after them without stopping
to take any refreshment. But the roads were bad, one of the
horses was lame, and the driver was sleepy; so they did not
travel very fast, until it began to rain, when the driver felt a
sudden anxiety to get to the end of his journey, and he began
to lay his whip upon the backs of his cattle, with such a
hearty good will, and to pour such a strain of odd expressions
into their ears that they galloped on the road at a greater
speed than was pleasant to all parties, when they were suddenly
precipitated into the stream by the breaking down of
the old bridge as has already been related in the last chapter.

As soon as Mr. Tremlett was sufficiently recovered he was
clothed in a suit of friend Hogshart's linsey woolsey, which so
completely metamorphesed him, that John could not help indulging
in a most uproarious burst of laughter for which he
was reproved by the Friend after this manner.

“Thee laughs, my young friend, because thy father is covered
with a good warm suit of comfortable clothing, and well
thee might, if it was properly done, for I dare say he feels
more like laughing himself than he did when he lay half
drowned in his cold and wet garments. But is thee laughing
at thy father? if so thee is transgressing the inspired word,
which thou shouldst not do; and if thee is laughing at the
outward covering of thy father, thee is doing worse, for thee
is making light of God's gifts.” It would be quite impossible
to determine what were the precise feelings which prompted
this speech, whether it were pride or godliness, because the
farmer having been schooled to keep his expressions at the
same temperature let his feelings be what they might, his

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motives rarely obtruded themselves in his speech; but John
felt the full force of this reproof, without attempting to analyse
the reprover's motives, and he looked very grave and shamefaced;
although his father could not help smiling himself, as
he glanced at his small clothes and blue stockings and long
skirted drab coat. But Jeremiah apologised for his young
friend's rudeness, and thanked the quaker with great earnestness
for having turned him out of doors, as but for his apparent
unkindness he could not have been instrumental in
saving the life of his benefactor.

“So thee sees, friends,” replied the Friend, “it is always
safest to stick close to the discipline of society.”

“May God forgive me,” replied Jeremiah, “but I fear I
I entertained some hard feelings towards you although I
strove not to.”

“I doubt not thee did, it is likely,” replied friend Hogshart
“but I experienced some mental promptings within, which
would not allow me to do otherwise; it was doubtless the
workings of the spirit, since thee sees it was to work out a
good end.”

“I should like to feel the operation of some spirits too and
no mistake,” said the driver who stood drying himself by the
fire, with a cloud of steam rising from his wet clothes, “for I
am as dry as a fish and at the same time as wet as old Nabby
Dibletts after she had been ducked in a horse-pond for being
a witch; and as for inward promptings, I tell you how it is
neighbor, I have them no ways slow, and grumblings too,
although I will acknowledge in confidence to you, that they
are not so unusual as they should be to a man of my bringing
up, and I swear to gracious if I don't have something to eat
deuced soon, I shall be forced to break through the discipline
of society and the cup-board door too.”

“Thy thoughts should be placed on something higher, my
friend,” said the quaker, “after escaping from death as thee
has. I think my friends, that this will be a very suitable

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occasion for an exercise of prayer; according to the good Book, we
should be constant in prayer; and we are commanded to give
thanks in all things. So saying friend Hogshart, dropped
upon his knees and without further ceremony prayed with
great solemnity of voice, and in tones long drawn out, which
affected Jeremiah to such a degree that he shed tears; he felt
that he should never forgive himself for having thought ill
of so good a person.

When the Friend had made an end of his prayer he gave
orders for supper, which the travellers were very glad to
hear.

“I tell you how it is neighbor longskirts,” said the driver
whose tongue run very glibly as his clothes were getting dry,
“I never could pray on an empty stomach, and I don't believe
you could either. I'll bet you a horn of Monongahela whiskey,
old fellow, that you have had your supper. Heu quam
difficiles and so forth, I can talk Latin to you by the wholesale,
which I don't believe that you can do, and I'll beat you
at praying after I have laid in a good supply of that fried ham
and apple sauce, or you may beat me and I'll acknowledge
myself no christian Ne sutor crepidam, let the parson go and
pray and you peg away.”

“Friend,” replied the quaker, “I have given thee shelter
and saved thy life, and I would have given thee food and a
bed for the night, but thy profane language has proved thee
unworthy to remain beneath this roof. Thee must go, and
the next time thee is taken into a friend's house, perhaps thee
will know how to behave thyself. Walk out.”

“Not I,” said the driver as he braced himself against the
jamb of the fire place and began to smooth down the fur of
his shabby beaver hat with his coat sleeve, “I couldn't prevail
upon myself to do so, no how. You must call some
other time. I must have some supper first, and something hot
to drink, and after that I shall feel too sleepy to comply with

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your polite request. I hope you have got plenty of Dos
Amigos, because I must have a smoke after supper; and
here's this pretty young lady that I must become acquainted
with too.” And without more ado he put his arm round the
neck of the quaker's daughter and gave her a kiss. The
young lady did not faint as some young ladies would have
done, but she blushed very red, although her face was already
as hot as scarlet with frying the ham for the traveller's supper,
and she returned the compliment by a cuff on his ears from
her plump hands that must have made him hear strange
sounds.

“Well friend, if thee don't see proper to go of thy own
will, I shall put thee out,” said the quaker.

The driver would now willingly have begged pardon for
his rude behaviour, for he saw that friend Hogshart was not
a person to be trifled with; but his repentance came too late,
as repentance generally does. The farmer called his two
eldest sons to his aid, and in spite of the drivers kicks, and
struggles, they lifted him up and deposited him outside the door,
where they left him in the pelting rain to make such disposition
of himself as he pleased. He rapped upon the window
and begged piteously to be admitted, and Mr. Tremtett and
Jeremiah interceded in his behalf, but the quaker could not
be moved from his purpose.

“I know him very well,” said friend Hogshart, “he is the
son of Judge Hupstart, a man who has taken so much interest
in public affairs that he has entirely neglected his own; this
fellow is his eldest son, whom the government took care of
and fed at the soldier shop, down at West Point, until he behaved
so bad that he was turned away; and then the government
gave him an appointment among the marines, because
his father being a bad politician, they wanted to show their
affection for him by taking care of his bad progeny, which is
the general way, thee knows, with our government; and he

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came home to his father's house with a sword by his side and
a red collar to his coat, but he did something amiss, what it
was I know not, although it must have been quite unhuman
for them not to have thought him fit for the marines, which I
am told is the very lowest grade of the war service, and he
was turned away from that place. As government could do
nothing more for him, he came home to his father, who
being a lawyer as well as a politician, for thee knows they
generally go together, thought that he would bring his son
up to his own profession and he was finally admitted to
practice the law, but he did not do well at that; and as thee
knows he could go no lower, why his father had to turn him
off to find his own level, and now he has got to be a stage
driver. But government was not entirely discouraged with
the family, they have put his two brothers into the navy, to
preserve the honor of the American flag, as I think they call
it, and you and I neighbor,” turning to Mr. Tremlett, “have
to pay our share towards supporting them; but for my own
part I would prefer to support the honor of my part of the
American flag myself, or if I had to delegate others to do it
for me, I should prefer to select people who had a little
honor themselves. And the father of this young man I hear
has just received an appointment to go abroad to support the
honor of the American nation at some foreign court, but I am
sure that if his townsmen were to select a man to support the
honor of their town he would be one of the last men they
would fix upon. But government always makes the most
of a bad family.”

Mr. Tremlett remarked that friend Hogshart was rather
severe upon government and politicians, but as he only
named facts he could not of course dispute him, but he hoped
that all the government appointments were not quite so bad.

But Jeremiah was horror-struck at the profane boldness of
the quaker, for he had never dabbled in politics and seldom
read any thing in the newspapers except the advertisements,

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and he looked upon government as a kind of divine abstraction,
or an embodiment of political power and wisdom which
dispensed justice infallibly and potently, and it had never entered
his mind that any mere layman had any right even to
think or to call in question the doings of this mysterious
power; and as for the officers of the army and navy, he looked
upon them with awe, believing them to be the most gallant
and perfect heroes in the world, and that without them the
whole twenty-four states of the union would immediately be
fallen upon and chopped into mince-meat by foreign nations;
and he had never once dreamed that it was possible for a man
to get into the navy without he first manifested all the bravery
and genius of Admiral Blake and Lord Nelson and Hull and
Perry combined, and he was grieved beyond measure to hear
that a sneaking poltroon, without even animal courage, or
mental energy enough to command an oyster boat, could by
political influence alone, be entrusted with the honor of the
American flag, and receive pay and rations for disgracing it.

Supper being placed on the table, the farmer's rosy cheek'd
daughter who had prepared it, sat down at the tea board, her
mother having gone out to put the young children to bed, and
the weary and hungry travellers gathered around it and partook
of the smoking hot and delicious meal in a spirit of exulting
happiness and gratitude. The old merchant, who had
never before met with an adventure having the slightest tinge
of marvelousness, looked upon himself as a perfect hero of romance,
little dreaming, however, that his exploits would ever
be recorded in history, and he chuckled with immense inward
satisfaction at the noise his adventure would make in
South street when it should be known there. As for Jeremiah
and John, they were both too much engaged with their
present delightful feelings to think of anything but their
present condition, but they were both unspeakably happy when
Mr. Tremlett told them he intended to return with them to
New York the very next day, if the weather would permit.

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While they were enjoying themselves at their supper, the
farmer sat with a huge volume open before him, which Jeremiah
discovered was Fox's Book of Martyrs bound up with
Barclay's Apology. The supper was acknowledged on all
hands to be the best that ever was eaten, and when the reader
is informed that it consisted, first of a huge loaf of rye and
indian bread, supported, on one side, by a brown dish of apple
sauce, on the other, by a pewter platter of fried ham and eggs,
and flanked by a roll of new butter and almost an entire old
cheese; second, a hot apple pie, accompanied by a plate of hot
rolls, a loaf of wheaten bread and part of a loin of roasted veal;
third, a loaf of pound cake and a dish of preserved peaches
swimming in fresh cream; and fourth, a cup, or rather a dozen
of them, of very choice old hyson, and a dish of honey comb,
which we forgot to put in its proper place, perhaps he will
not be disposed to doubt the fact.

As the evening was far advanced before the supper table
was cleared away, preparations were immediately made for
going to bed; the farmer had stated truly that he had no
spare beds, for it appeared that he had a couple of extra hands
at work upon his farm; but there was no deficiency of bedding,
as presently appeared, a field bed having been made in
an adjoining room where the travellers retired to rest, after
having each of them emptied a brown mug of old cider at
the pressing request of friend Hogshart and his wife, who both
assured them it would do them good, and to encourage them
to do so, first set the example themselves, in which they were
followed by the three sons, and even the young lady herself
who said she would take a little tiny drop, which she did, for
drops are only tiny in comparison with other drops, as a
bucket full is but a drop in the ocean.

The next morning, the weather being clear and pleasant, a
carriage was hired of friend Hogshart, and the three travellers
set out on their return to the city, with light hearts and very
light pockets, and without the encumbrance of any superfluous

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baggage, Mr. Tremlett's trunk having been carried over the
dam of the river the night before.

Here we shall rest at the first stage of our journey and bring
the first part of our history to a close, but before we part with
our reader we will inform him of a fact of which he would
otherwise remain a long time ignorant.

However unaccountable a man's actions may sometimes
appear, they can generally be traced to a sufficient cause;
murders, suicides, robberies, treasons, are never accidents; but
in nine cases out of ten when a man falls in love, it would
puzzle the most profound philosopher of the new school to
discover a satisfactory reason for his doing so. While men
act from conviction in the most trifling affairs of life, in the
most important of falling in love, he shuts the eyes of his reason
and leaves all to chance, and he gets punished accordingly,
he succeeds better in every thing than in getting married,
generally of course. What opportunities for becoming acquainted
with Huldah Hogshart, the farmer's daughter, Jeremiah
Jernegan may have enjoyed, has never transpired, but
when these two young persons bade each other farewell, it
was plain enough to the most careless observer that a tender
regard had sprung up between them, which was the more
manifest from the great pains which both took to conceal
it. Jeremiah was in love.

BOOK II.

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