[figure description] Page 132.[end figure description]

It is now time to return, and take a look at
the worthy inhabitants of Elsingburgh, who had
long ago rebuilt their habitations, and were now
each one pursuing his usual avocations, under
the salutary pressure of that necessity, which
obliges mankind to forget the past, in providing
for the wants of the present and the future.

As we before premised, the house of Dominie
Kanttwell was rebuilt and furnished, by the pious
exertions of his flock, before any body else had
provided for his own necessities; and, notwithstanding
the zeal with which that worthy
man declaimed against good works, on this occasion
he was pleased to exempt those which
were done in his especial behoof from his

[figure description] Page 133.[end figure description]

malediction. Indeed, it must be confessed, the Dominie
looked upon charity, especially that charity
which was exercised in his own favour, as
belonging to a species of good works, which
might, under certain circumstances, be tolerated.
Still he continued to rail against the luxuries
and indulgences of this world, although
his capacious rotundity of figure, his double
chin, and large square silver buckles, furnished
shrewd indications, that the Dominie did not feel
it absolutely necessary to reinforce his precepts
by the authority of his example.

The good aunt Edith, according to the testimony
of Dominie Kanttwell, who had lately
induced her to make a will in favour of the
church, grew every day more perfect. So far
did she carry her contempt for the things of this
world, that she extended it to all mankind, except
a small circle of the elect, who listened to
her edifying instructions, and talked scandal
against all the rest of the villagers, whom they
were pleased to denominate “vessels of wrath.”
Considering all these as objects of the Divine
vengeance, the good people thought themselves
bound to hate them also, and to decline any exchange
of kindness or social intercourse with
such wicked sinners. These simple,

[figure description] Page 134.[end figure description]

well-meaning souls, thought that they became saints, by
strictly following the example of aunt Edith and
the Dominie. But they were mistaken. They
became spiritually proud, (the worst species of
pride,) hard-hearted, arrogant, and supercilious,
to all but the chosen set; incapable of social or
kindred affection; strangers to the indulgence
of pity; bad fathers, mothers, husbands, and
wives; and incorrigible in their faults, because
they cherished them as virtues. In fine, while
complacently viewing themselves as exclusively
belonging to the elect, they treated all others as
outcasts; as beings having no sort of affinity
with themselves, and no common interest with
them, either in this world or the world to come.
Hence, all the kindnesses of good neighbourhood,
the civilities of social life, the customary
exchange of acts of courtesy and friendship, all
those little ties which knit society together by
the best bonds, those of mutual benefits, producing
mutual good will—all these gave place to
a harsh contempt, an arrogant superiority, on
one hand, and a settled hatred, or contemptuous
indifference, on the other. Such is ever the result
of carrying to extremes the application of
those excellent precepts, which were doubtless
only intended to check, but not destroy, those

[figure description] Page 135.[end figure description]

worldly feelings and pursuits, which are essential,
not only to the happiness, but the very existence
of mankind, and are only pernicious to
society, or individuals, when operating without
either moral or religious restraints.

As to the good aunt Edith, she might with
truth be said to wallow every day deeper and
deeper in the mire of pious abstraction. Her
time, during the intervals between going to church,
night meetings, and love feasts, was usually
passed in bed, where she kept all the family
waiting upon her, and where she and the virago,
Bombie of the Frizzled Head, used to have divers
keen encounters of that sharpest of all sharp
weapons, the tongue. While the disconsolate
Heer, to whom she was indebted for an asylum,
a home, and all the comforts of life, was
sitting in solitary sorrow, remembering and lamenting
his gentle and affectionate child, without
a soul to sympathize in his cureless grief,
the excellent Edith, considering him as little
better than one of the wicked, paid no attention
to his infirmities or his woes, except occasionally
to comfort him with the assurance that the
loss of his only child was a judgment upon him,
for loving her better than the church and the
Dominie.

[figure description] Page 136.[end figure description]

Sometimes the Frizzled Head, who, though a
shrew and a termagant of the first order, was
not altogether destitute of that carnal and
worldly-minded sympathy, which is held in
such abomination by the elect, when exercised
towards the sinful sons and daughters of men,
would prepare some favourite dish, or little
nick-nack, to tempt the waning appetite of her
master. But so sure as aunt Edith heard of
this, though ever so sick and weak, she would
rise from her bed, as it were by miracle, lay
violent hands on the portion of the good Heer,
who fared, on these occasions like poor Esau,
and carry it off to comfort Dominie Kanttwell,
or some one of the elect who had caught cold
attending upon a night meeting. Indeed, it was
the great object of the Dominie's policy, to govern
the community of Elsingburgh, by establishing
a sort of imperium in imperio in
every house of the village. This he effected by
gaining an ascendency over the married females,
and thus governing the household, in
spite of the sinful and inordinate grumblings of
its liege and legitimate lord. Some people may
think this mode of acquiring influence was not
exactly either fair or honest; but it is not our
business (being bachelors) to contest the point.

[figure description] Page 137.[end figure description]

We only profess to tell what is necessary to the
progress and final catastrophe of our history.

Numerous, not to say innumerable, were the
little societies established, under the influence
and patronage of aunt Edith and Dominie
Kanttwell, whose industry in collecting donations
from men, women, and children, was such,
that there was not a bit of molasses candy, or
pennyworth of gingerbread, wickedly devoured
by the little urchins of Elsingburgh. All went
to the Dominie, and through him—nobody
knew where. One society was the parent of
half a dozen more, until they multiplied so fast,
that the good women of the village had no time
to attend to domestic affairs; and no traveller
could sojourn a night at Elsingburgh, without
rising pale in the morning, in consequence of
having sufficed to satiate the appetites of innumerable
caitiffs of the carniverous species,
whose numbers always furnish shrewd indications
of good or evil housekeeping. The Dominie
was the prime mover of all these, and it
was observed of him, that, like Goldsmith's
“man in black,” he always went about with his
three-cornered cocked hat, to collect subscriptions,
but never was seen to put any thing in it
himself. Hence it was affirmed by his

[figure description] Page 138.[end figure description]

admirers, that he was a truly charitable person, who
hated ostentation, and always gave in secret.
Like Falstaff, however, though nobody, such
was the care he took to avoid discovery, ever
detected him in being charitable himself, he was
certainly the cause of charity in others. So
much, indeed, did he excel in the art of levying
contributions on the necessities of the poor, that,
at one period of our history, there was hardly a
labouring man in the village that had a whole
coat to his back, or a child that was not sorely
out at the elbows; nay, it may with perfect veracity
be affirmed, that the majority of them
were in the situation of the veritable “Dicky
Doubt,” as set forth in the famous couplet of
which Dicky is the hero. The following colloquy,
between a worthy, hard-working man,
called Fospe Ontstout, and his wife, relative to
these matters, has been preserved by the Historical
Society of Elsingburgh, and will better
illustrate the effects of the Dominie's exertions,
than any general details. There is a notice of
Fospe Ontstout appended to the article, stating,
that, being at length reduced to actual poverty,
by the attention his wife paid to every body's
wants and affairs but those of her family, and
the charity she bestowed every where but at

[figure description] Page 139.[end figure description]

home, he retrieved his affairs entirely, by the
lucky thought of getting appointed beggar to
two or three societies: “thus,” as the old sly
boots of an author adds, “thus cunnynglie deportynge
hymselfe, belike untoe certaine greenehornes,
who, after beyinge sorely plucked, doe
incontinentlye turne ymselves aboute, and plucke
others ynne theire turne.” It is likewise noted
in the old manuscript, that Fospe's wife was a
plump, rosy-faced dame, and reckoned one of
the prettiest women in the whole village.

It was a cold, raw evening, and Fospe, after
being out all day in the sleet and rain cutting
wood, returned home, cold, wet, and hungry,
and addressed his wife as follows:

Fospe. Terese, my good girl, my feet are
as wet as a drowned rat. Give me a pair of dry
stockings from those I bought the other day of
the pedler from New-York.

Terese. I can't, my dear; I gave them all to
the society last night. The Dominie says we
must give all our sparings to the poor, and tells
us we shall never miss what we give away in this
manner.

Fospe. Hum! I wish the Dominie would
make his words good, for I feel just now very uncomfortable,
and miss very much the dry

[figure description] Page 140.[end figure description]

stockings you gave away to the society. But I suppose
there's no help for it; so, as I have no money
just now, I must borrow the shilling I gave
Hans for Christmas, and step over to the shop to
buy a pair.

Terese. But, my dear, Hans has parted with
his money already.

Fospe. What, the young rogue has been at
the cake-shop, I suppose?

Terese. No, my dear, Dominie Kanttwell
persuaded us to give it to the society, and promised
to mention Hans, in his sermon next Sunday,
before the whole congregation.

Fospe. Well, what's done can't be undone;
we must sell the pig, for my stockings are not
only wet, but worn out, and I must have a dry
pair, wife.

Terese. To-be-sure, but, my dear, the pig is
gone too.

Fospe. What, has he run away, or been stolen?

Terese. No, my dear; but the Dominie begged
him for the society: he assured me the pig
would be returned tenfold to us.

Fospe. Um! ay! Well, Terese, just run to
the pig-stye, and see if the ten pigs have arrived.
We must part with one of them immediately.

[figure description] Page 141.[end figure description]

But stay; it is wet, and you'd better not go out
this evening. Call Hans, and I'll send him.

Terese. Here he comes, my dear.

Fospe. Why, he looks like a beggar's brat,
all in rags. I wish, my dear, you would mend
his trowsers, for you see his knees are all naked.

Terese. I would, my dear, but really I havn't
time. The society has agreed to make up six
dozen suits for the poor children of Greenland,
who, the Dominie assures us, are starving with
cold, and all my time is taken up in labouring
for these dear little sufferers. The Dominie says
it will bring a blessing on the family.

Fospe. Well, well, the Dominie, I dare say,
is right. Here, Hans, run to the pig stye, and
see if the ten pigs are come.

Terese. Lord, my dear, you don't—you're
not such a fool as to believe they are come already.

Fospe. Why not, my dear? The Dominie
told you so, and every thing he says is true.
But, my dear, what have you got for supper?
you know I've had nothing since breakfast.
Can't you cook some of the fat venison, left this
morning?—come, bustle, my dear, I'm as hungry
as a wolf.

[figure description] Page 142.[end figure description]

Terese. But, my dear, all the fat venison is
gone; I—

Fospe. What! you, and Hans, and the rest
of the fat rogues, have made away with it, hey?
Well, never mind, I'm glad you've got good stomachs
and something to fill them.

Terese. No, no, my dear, we made our dinner
of the fresh fish you caught yesterday, from
under the ice. The Dominie begged the venison
for a poor family, he said had given all they
could spare to the society, and were now sick
and starving.

Fospe. Very well, Terese, we mustn't refuse
to help people that are sick and starving. But
though I'm not sick, I'm almost starved myself.
Do bake me a warm Indian cake, will you?
come, that's a good girl.

Terese. I would, my dear, but how worldly
minded you are! The Dominie says we mustn't
think of such things: don't you see the fire is
all gone out?

Fospe. Yes, and feel it too; but how came
you to let it go out, my dear, this raw, cold day?

Terese. Why, my dear, Dominie Kanttwell
called for me to go with him to a meeting, and
so—

[figure description] Page 143.[end figure description]

Fospe. Hum! but what became of the children
while you were gone?

Terese. Why, I locked them all up together,
and put out the fire, for fear of accidents.

Fospe. Careful mother! Well, I'll go and
make a fire, and then you shall bake me the Indian
cake, while I dry myself by the blaze.

Terese. Yes, my dear, but—

Fospe. But what, Terese?

Terese. Why, to tell you the truth, my dear,
I am engaged to go with the Dominie to a love
feast this evening, and it is now about the time.
The Dominie says, that baking cakes, mending
our children's clothes, and all that, is but filthy
rags, compared with love feasts and prayer meetings.

The patience of poor Fospe was now quite
exhausted;—“the d—l take the Dominie,” cried
he, “I wish he had my wet feet and empty stomach
for his night's portion with all my heart.”
Just then the Dominie entered, with a stately step,
and sonorous “hem!” that awed the spirit of the
good yeoman into silent acquiescence. Terese
put on her bonnet and cloak, and accompanied
the Dominie to the love feast, whence she did
not return till almost midnight. Poor Fospe
went to bed wet and hungry, and could not help

[figure description] Page 144.[end figure description]

thinking, as he said his prayers, that the Dominie
might be better employed than in teaching
well-meaning women, that the neglect of their
domestic duties in this world was the surest
passport to happiness in the world to come.

Before concluding this chapter, it is our desire
to have it distinctly understood, that we enter
not, either directly or indirectly, upon any
questions connected with religious controversies
or the utility of any of those numerous societies,
which the zeal, the humanity, or the ostentatious
vanity of mankind have instituted for the
propagation of the faith, or the alleviation of
distress. All we design is, to relate what
happened in the famous village of Elsingburgh;
and if, in so doing, it should appear that indiscreet
zeal, sometimes, is found at war with social
duties and social happiness, and that ill-directed
charity often improverishes the industrious without
relieving the idle, let us not be blamed for
these consequences. They only furnish additional
proof, that excess is in itself the root
of all evil, and that whenever the blessed institution
of religion interferes with our social
and moral obligations, it ceases to be the conservator
of human happiness, as well as of human
virtue. As the excesses of sensual

[figure description] Page 145.[end figure description]

indulgence destroy the capacity for more refined
gratifications, so do those of a fanatical religion
blight and wither the most amiable feelings of the
heart, rendering us insensible to many of the purest,
the most exalted delights of which our nature
is susceptible.

Previous section

Next section