Her breast was a brave palace, a broad street, Where all heroic,
ample thoughts did meet, Where nature such a tenement had ta'en,
That other souls, to hers, dwelt in 'a lane.
JOHN NORTON.
The village of Templeton, it has been already intimated, was a
miniature town. Although it contained within the circle of its
houses, half-a-dozen residences with grounds, and which were
dignified with names, as has been also said, it did not cover a
surface of more than a mile square; that disposition to
concentration, which is as peculiar to an American town, as the
disposition to diffusion is peculiar to the country population, and
which seems almost to prescribe that a private dwelling shall have
but three windows in front, and a _facade_ of twenty-five feet,
having presided at the birth of this spot, as well as at the birth of
so many of its predecessors and contemporaries. In one of its more
retired streets (for Templeton had its publicity and retirement, the
latter after a very village fashion, however,) dwelt a widow--
bewitched of small worldly means, five children, and of great
capacity for circulating intelligence. Mrs. Abbott, for so was this
demi-relict called, was just on the verge of what is termed the "good
society" of the village, the most uneasy of all positions for an
ambitious and _ci-devant_ pretty woman to be placed in. She had not
yet abandoned the hope of obtaining a divorce and its _suites_; was
singularly, nay, rabidly devout, if we may coin the adverb; in her
own eyes she was perfection, in those of her neighbours slightly
objectionable; and she was altogether a droll, and by no means an
unusual compound of piety, censoriousness, charity, proscription,
gossip, kindness, meddling, ill-nature, and decency.
The establishment of Mrs. Abbott, like her house, was necessarily
very small, and she kept no servant but a girl she called her help, a
very suitable appellation, by the way, as they did most of the work
of the _mènage_ in common. This girl, in addition to cooking and
washing, was the confidant of all her employer's wandering notions of
mankind in general, and of her neighbours in particular; as often,
helping her mistress in circulating her comments on the latter, as in
anything else.
Mrs. Abbott knew nothing of the Effinghams, except by a hearsay that
got its intelligence from her own school, being herself a late
arrival in the place. She had selected Templeton as a residence on
account of its cheapness, and, having neglected to comply with the
forms of the world, by hesitating about making the customary visit to
the Wigwam, she began to resent, in her spirit at least, Eve's
delicate forbearance from obtruding herself, where, agreeably to all
usage, she had a perfect right to suppose she was not desired. It was
in this spirit, then, that she sat, conversing with Jenny, as the
maid of all work was called, the morning after the conversation
related in the last chapter, in her snug little parlour, sometimes
plying her needle, and oftener thrusting her head out of a window
which commanded a view of the principal street of the place, in order
to see what her neighbours might be about.
"This is a most extraordinary course Mr. Effingham has taken
concerning the Point," said Mrs. Abbott, "and I _do_ hope the people
will bring him to his senses. Why, Jenny, the public has used that
place ever since I can remember, and I have now lived in Templeton
quite fifteen months.--What _can_ induce Mr. Howel to go so often to
that barber's shop, which stands directly opposite the parlour
windows of Mrs. Bennett--one would think the man was all beard."
"I suppose Mr. Howel gets shaved sometimes," said the logical Jenny.
"Not he; or if he does, no decent man would think of posting himself
before a lady's window to do such a thing.--Orlando Furioso," calling
to her eldest son, a boy of eleven, "run over to Mr. Jones's store,
and listen to what the people are talking about, and bring me back
the news, as soon as any thing worth hearing drops from any body; and
stop as you come back, my son, and borrow neighbour Brown's gridiron.
Jenny, it is most time to think of putting over the potatoes."
"Ma'--" cried Orlando Furioso, from the front door, Mrs. Abbott being
very rigid in requiring that all her children should call her 'ma','
being so much behind the age as actually not to know that 'mother'
had got to be much the genteeler term of the two; "Ma'," roared
Orlando Furioso, "suppose there is no news at Mr. Jones's store?"
"Then go to the nearest tavern; something must be stirring this fine
morning, and I'm dying to know what it can possibly be. Mind you
bring something besides the gridiron back with you. Hurry, or never
come home again as long as you live! As I was saying, Jenny, the
right of the public, which is our right, for we are a part of the
public, to this Point, is as clear as day, and I am only astonished
at the impudence of Mr. Effingham in pretending to deny it. I dare
say his French daughter has put him up to it. They say she is
monstrous arrogant!"
"Is Eve Effingham, French," said Jenny, studiously avoiding any of
the usual terms of civility and propriety, by way of showing her
breeding--"well, I had always thought her nothing but Templeton
born!"
"What signifies where a person was born? where they _live_, is the
essential thing; and Eve Effingham has lived so long in France, that
she speaks nothing but broken English; and Miss Debby told me last
week, that in drawing up a subscription paper for a new cushion to
the reading-desk of her people, she actually spelt 'charity'
'carrotty.'"
"Is that French, Miss Abbott?"
"I rather think it is, Jenny; the French are very niggardly, and give
their poor carrots to live on, and so they have adopted the word, I
suppose. You, Byansy-Alzumy-Ann, (Bianca-Alzuma-Ann!)"
"Marm!"
"Byansy-Alzumy-Ann! who taught you to call me marm! Is this the way
you have learned your catechism? Say, ma', this instant."
"Ma'."
"Take your bonnet, my child, and run down to Mrs. Wheaton's, and ask
her if any thing new has turned up about the Point, this morning;
and, do you hear, Byansy-Alzumy-Ann Abbott--how the child starts
away, as if she were sent on a matter of life and death!"
"Why, ma', I want to hear the news, too."
"Very likely, my dear, but, by stopping to get your errand, you may
learn more than by being in such a hurry. Stop in at Mrs. Green's,
and ask how the people liked the lecture of the strange parson, last
evening--and ask her if she can lend me a watering-pot, Now, run, and
be back as soon as possible. Never loiter when you carry news,
child."
"No one has a right to stop the man, I believe, Miss Abbott," put in
Jenny, very appositely.
"That, indeed, have they not, or else we could not calculate the
consequences. You may remember, Jenny, the pious, even, had to give
up that point, public convenience being; too strong for them. Roger-
Demetrius-Benjamin!"--calling to a second boy, two years younger than
his brother--"your eyes are better than mine--who are all those
people collected together in the street. Is not Mr. Howel among
them?"
"I do not know, ma'!" answered Roger-Demetrius-Benjamin, gaping.
"Then run, this minute, and see, and don't stop to look for your hat.
As you come back, step into the tailor's shop and ask if your new
jacket is most done, and what the news is? I rather think, Jenny, we
shall find out something worth hearing, in the course of the day. By
the way, they do say that Grace Van Cortlandt, Eve Effingham's
cousin, is under concern."
"Well, she is the last person I should think would be troubled about
any thing, for every body says she is so desperate rich she might eat
off of silver, if she liked; and she is sure of being married, some
time or other."
"That ought to lighten her concern, you think. Oh! it does my heart
good when I see any of those flaunty people right well exercised!
Nothing would make me happier than to see Eve Effingham groaning
fairly in the spirit! That would teach her to take away the people's
Points."
"But, Miss Abbott, then she would become almost as good a woman as
you are yourself,"
"I am a miserable, graceless, awfully wicked sinner! Twenty times a
day do I doubt whether I am actually converted or not. Sin has got
such a hold of my very heart-strings, that I sometimes think they
will crack before it lets go. Rinaldo-Rinaldini-Timothy, my child, do
you toddle across the way, and give my compliments to Mrs. Hulbert,
and inquire if it be true that young Dickson, the lawyer, is really
engaged to Aspasia Tubbs or not? and borrow a skimmer, or a tin pot,
or any thing you can carry, for we may want something of the sort in
the course of the day. I do believe, Jenny, that a worse creature
than myself is hardly to be found in Templeton."
"Why, Miss Abbott," returned Jenny, who had heard too much of this
self-abasement to be much alarmed at it, "this is giving almost as
bad an account of yourself, as I heard somebody, that I won't name,
give of you last week."
"And who is your somebody, I should like to know? I dare say, one no
better than a formalist, who thinks that reading prayers out of a
book, kneeling, bowing, and changing gowns, is religion! Thank
Heaven, I'm pretty indifferent to the opinions of such people.
Harkee, Jenny; if I thought I was no better than some persons I could
name, I'd give the point of salvation up, in despair!"
"Miss Abbott," roared a rugged, dirty-faced, bare-footed boy, who
entered without knocking, and stood in the middle of the room, with
his hat on, with a suddenness that denoted great readiness in
entering other people's possessions; "Miss Abbott, ma' wants to know
if you are likely to go from home this week?"
"Why, what in nature can she want to know that for, Ordeal Bumgrum?"
Mrs. Abbott pronounced this singular name, however, "Ordeel."
"Oh! she _warnts_ to know."
"So do I _warnt_ to know; and know I will. Run home this instant, and
ask your mother why she has sent you here with this message. Jenny, I
am much exercised to find out the reason Mrs. Bumgrum should have
sent Ordeal over with such a question."
"I did hear that Miss Bumgrum intended to make a journey herself, and
she may want your company."
"Here comes Ordeal back, and we shall soon be out of the clouds. What
a boy that is for errands. He is worth all my sons put together. You
never see him losing time by going round by the streets, but away he
goes over the garden fences like a cat, or he will whip through a
house, if standing in his way, as if he were its owner, should the
door happen to be open. Well, Ordeal?"
But Ordeal was out of breath, and although Jenny shook him, as if to
shake the news out of him, and Mrs. Abbott actually shook her fist,
in her impatience to be enlightened, nothing could induce the child
to speak, until he had recovered his wind.
"I believe he does it on purpose," said the provoked maid.
"It's just like him!" cried the mistress; "the very best news-carrier
in the village is actually spoilt because he is thick-winded."
"I wish folks wouldn't make their fences so high," Ordeal exclaimed,
the instant he found breath. "I can't see of what use it is to make a
fence people can't climb!"
"What does your mother say?" cried Jenny repeating her shake, _con
amore_.
"Ma, wants to know, Miss Abbott, if you don't intend to use it
yourself, if you will lend her your name for a few days, to go to
Utica with? She says folks don't treat her half as well when she is
called Bumgrum, as when she has another name, and she thinks she'd
like to try yours, this time."
"Is that all!--You needn't have been so hurried about such a trifle,
Ordeal. Give my compliments to your mother, and tell her she is quite
welcome to my name, and I hope it will be serviceable to her."
"She says she is willing to pay for the use of it, if you will tell
her what the damage will be."
"Oh! it's not worth while to speak of such a trifle I dare say she
will bring it back quite as good as when she took it away. I am no
such unneighbourly or aristocratical person as to wish to keep my
name all to myself. Tell your mother she is welcome to mine, and to
keep it as long as she likes, and not to say any thing about pay; I
may want to borrow hers, or something else, one of these days,
though, to say the truth, my neighbours _are_ apt to complain of me
as unfriendly and proud for not borrowing as much as a good neighbour
ought."
Ordeal departed, leaving Mrs. Abbot in some such condition as that of
the man who had no shadow. A rap at the door interrupted the further
discussion of the old subject, and Mr. Steadfast Dodge appeared in
answer to the permission to enter. Mr. Dodge and Mrs. Abbott were
congenial spirits, in the way of news, he living by it, and she
living on it.
"You are very welcome, Mr. Dodge," the mistress of the house
commenced; "I hear you passed the day, yesterday, up at the
Effinghamses."
"Why, yes, Mrs. Abbott, the Effinghams insisted on it, and I could
not well get over the sacrifice, after having been their shipmate so
long. Besides it is a little relief to talk French, when one has been
so long in the daily practice of it."
"I hear there is company at the house?"
"Two of our fellow-travellers, merely. An English baronet, and a
young man of whom less is known than one could wish. He is a
mysterious person, and I hate mystery, Mrs. Abbott."
"In that, then, Mr. Dodge, you and I are alike. I think every thing
should be known. Indeed, that is not a free country in which there
are any secrets. I keep nothing from my neighbours, and, to own the
truth, I do not like my neighbours to keep any thing from me."
"Then you'll hardly like the Effinghams, for I never yet met with a
more close-mouthed family. Although I was so long in the ship with
Miss Eve, I never heard her once speak of her want of appetite; of
sea-sickness, or of any thing relating to her ailings even: no? can
you imagine how close she is on the subject of the beaux; I do not
think I ever heard her use the word, or so much as allude to any walk
or ride she ever took with a single man. I set her down, Mrs. Abbott,
as unqualifiedly artful!"
"That you may with certainty, sir, for there is no more sure sign
that a young woman is all the while thinking of the beaux, than her
never mentioning them."
"That I believe to be human nature; no ingenuous person ever thinks
much of the particular subject of conversation. What is your opinion,
Mrs. Abbott, of the contemplated match at the Wigwam?"
"Match!" exclaimed Mrs. Abbott.--"What, already! It is the most
indecent thing I ever heard of! Why, Mr. Dodge, the family has not
been home a fortnight, and to think so soon of getting married! It is
quite as bad as a widower's marrying within the month."
Mrs. Abbott made a distinction, habitually, between the cases of
widowers and widows, as the first, she maintained, might get married
whenever they pleased, and the latter only when they got offers; and
she felt just that sort of horror of a man's thinking of marrying too
soon after the death of his wife, as might be expected in one who
actually thought of a second husband before the first was dead.
"Why, yes," returned Steadfast, "it is a little premature, perhaps,
though they have been long acquainted. Still, as you say, it would be
more decent to wait and see what may turn up in a country, that, to
them, may be said to be a foreign land."
"But, who are the parties, Mr. Dodge."
"Miss Eve Effingham, and Mr. John Effingham"
"Mr. John Effingham!" exclaimed the lady, who had lent her name to a
neighbour, aghast, for this was knocking one of her own day-dreams in
the head, "well this is too much! But he shall not marry her, sir;
the law will prevent it, and we live in a country of laws. A man
cannot marry his own niece."
"It is excessively improper, and ought to be put a stop to. And yet
these Effinghams do very much as they please."
"I am very sorry to hear that; they are extremely disagreeable," said
Mrs. Abbott, with a look of eager inquiry, as if afraid the answer
might be in the negative.
"As much so as possible; they have hardly a way that you would like,
my dear ma'am; and are as close-mouthed as if they were afraid of
committing themselves."
"Desperate bad news-carriers, I am told, Mr. Dodge. There is Dorindy
(Dorinda) Mudge, who was employed there by Eve and Grace one day; she
tells me she tried all she could to get them to talk, by speaking of
the most common things; things that one of my children knew all
about; such as the affairs of the neighbourhood, and how people are
getting on; and, though they would listen a little, and that is
something, I admit, not a syllable could she get in the way of
answer, or remark. She tells me that, several times, she had a mind
to quit, for it is monstrous unpleasant to associate with your
tongue-tied folks."
"I dare say Miss Effingham could throw out a hint now and then,
concerning the voyage and her late fellow-travellers," said
Steadfast, casting an uneasy glance at his companion.
"Not she. Dorindy maintains that it is impossible to get a sentiment
out of her concerning a single fellow-creature. When she talked of
the late unpleasant affair of poor neighbour Bronson's family--a
melancholy transaction that, Mr. Dodge, and I shouldn't wonder if it
went to nigh break Mrs. Bronson's heart--but when Dorindy mentioned
this, which is bad enough to stir the sensibility of a frog, neither
of my young ladies replied, or put a single question. In this respect
Grace is as bad as Eve, and Eve is as bad as Grace, they say. Instead
of so much as seeming to wish to know any more, what does my Miss Eve
do, but turn to some daubs of paintings, and point out to her cousin
what she was pleased to term peculiarities in Swiss usages. Then the
two hussies would talk of nature, 'our beautiful nature' Dorindy says
Eve had the impudence to call it, and, as if human nature and its
failings and backsliding wore not a fitter subject for a young
woman's discourse, than a silly conversation about lakes, and rocks,
and trees, and as if she _owned_ the nature about Templeton. It is my
opinion, Mr. Dodge, that downright ignorance is at the bottom of it
all, for Dorindy says that they actually know no more of the
intricacies of the neighbourhood than if they lived in Japan."
"All pride, Mrs. Abbott; rank pride. They feel themselves too great
to enter into the minutiae of common folks' concerns. I often tried
Miss Effingham coming from England; and things touching private
interests, that I know she did and must understand, she always
disdainfully refused to enter into. Oh! she is, a real Tartar, in her
way; and what she does not wish to do, you never can make her do!"
"Have you heard that Grace is under concern?"
"Not a breath of it; under whose preaching was she sitting, Mrs.
Abbott?"
"That is more than I can tell you; not under the church parson's,
I'll engage; no one ever heard of a real, active, regenerating, soul-
reviving, spirit-groaning and fruit-yielding conversion under _his_
ministry."
"No, there is very little unction in that persuasion generally. How
cold and apathetic they are, in these soul-stirring times! Not a
sinner has been writhing on _their_ floor, I'll engage, nor a wretch
transferred into a saint, in the twinkling of an eye, by _that_
parson. Well, _we_ have every reason to be grateful, Mrs. Abbott."
"That we have, for most glorious have been our privileges! To be sure
that is a sinful pride that can puff up a wretched, sinful being like
Eve Effingham to such a pass of conceit, as to induce her to think
she is raised above thinking of, and taking an interest in the
affairs of her neighbours. Now, for my part, conversion has so far
opened _my_ heart, that I do actually feel as if I wanted to know all
about the meanest creature in Templeton."
"That's the true spirit, Mrs. Abbott; stick to that, and your
redemption is secure. I only edit a newspaper, by way of showing an
interest in mankind."
"I hope, Mr. Dodge, the press does not mean to let this matter of the
Point sleep; the press is the true guardian of the public rights, and
I can tell you the whole community looks to it for support, in this
crisis."
"We shall not fail to do our duty," said Mr. Dodge, looking over his
shoulder, and speaking lower. "What! shall one insignificant
individual, who has not a single right above that of the meanest
citizen in the county, oppress this great and powerful community!
What if Mr. Effingham does own this point of land--"
"But he does _not_ own it," interrupted Mrs. Abbott. "Ever since I
have known Templeton, the public has owned it. The public, moreover,
says it owns it, and what the public says, in this happy country, is
law."
"But, allowing that the public does not own--"
"It _does_ own it, Mr. Dodge," the nameless repeated, positively.
"Well, ma'am, own or no own, this is not a country in which the press
ought to be silent, when a solitary individual undertakes to trample
on the public. Leave that matter to us, Mrs. Abbott; it is in good
hands, and shall be well taken care of."
"I'm piously glad of it!"
"I mention this to you, as to a friend," continued Mr. Dodge,
cautiously drawing from his pocket a manuscript, which he prepared to
read to his companion who sat with a devouring curiosity, ready to
listen.
The manuscript of Mr. Dodge contained a professed account of the
affair of the Point. It was written obscurely, and was not without
its contradictions, but the imagination of Mrs. Abbott supplied all
the vacuums, and reconciled all the contradictions. The article was
so liberal of its professions of contempt for Mr. Effingham, that
every rational man was compelled to wonder, why a quality, that is
usually so passive, should, in this particular instance, be aroused
to so sudden and violent activity. In the way of facts, not one was
faithfully stated; and there were several deliberate, unmitigated
falsehoods, which went essentially to colour the whole account.
"I think this will answer the purpose," said Steadfast, "and we have
taken means to see that it shall be well circulated."
"This will do them good," cried Mrs. Abbott; almost breathless with
delight. "I hope folks will believe it."
"No fear of that. If it were a party thing, now, one half would
believe it, as a matter of course, and the other half would not
believe it, as a matter of course; but, in a private matter, lord
bless you, ma'am, people are always ready to believe any thing that
will give them something to talk about."
Here the _tête à tête_ was interrupted by the return of Mrs. Abbott's
different messengers, all of whom, unlike the dove sent forth from
the ark, brought back something in the way of hopes. The Point was a
general theme, and, though the several accounts flatly contradicted
each other, Mrs. Abbott, in the general benevolence of her pious
heart, found the means to extract corroboration of her wishes from
each.
Mr. Dodge was as good as his word, and the account appeared. The
press throughout the country seized with avidity on any thing that
helped to fill its columns. No one appeared disposed to inquire into
the truth of the account, or after the character of the original
authority. It was in print, and that struck the great majority of the
editors and their readers, as a sufficient sanction. Few, indeed,
were they, who lived so much under a proper self-control, as to
hesitate; and this rank injustice was done a private citizen, as much
without moral restraint, as without remorse, by those, who, to take
their own accounts of the matter, were the regular and habitual
champions of human rights!
John Effingham pointed out this extraordinary scene of reckless
wrong, to his wondering cousin, with the cool sarcasm, with which he
was apt to assail the weaknesses and crimes of the country. His
firmness, united to that of his cousin, however, put a stop to the
publication of the resolutions of Aristabulus's meeting, and when a
sufficient time had elapsed to prove that these prurient denouncers
of their fellow-citizens had taken wit in their anger, he procured
them, and had them published himself, as the most effectual means of
exposing the real character of the senseless mob, that had thus
disgraced liberty, by assuming its professions and its usages.
To an observer of men, the end of this affair presented several
strong points for comment. As soon as the truth became generally
known, in reference to the real ownership, and the public came to
ascertain that instead of hitherto possessing a right, it had, in
fact been merely enjoying a favour, those who had commit ted
themselves by their arrogant assumptions of facts, and their indecent
outrages, fell back on their self-love, and began to find excuses for
their conduct in that of the other party. Mr. Effingham was loudly
condemned for not having done the very thing, he, in truth, had done,
viz: telling the public it did not own his property; and when this
was shown to be an absurdity, the complaint followed that what he had
done, had been done in precisely such a mode, although it was the
mode constantly used by every one else. From these vague and
indefinite accusations, those most implicated in the wrong, began to
deny all their own original assertions, by insisting that they had
known all along, that Mr. Effingham owned the property, but that they
did not choose he, or any other man, should presume to tell them what
they knew already. In short, the end of this affair exhibited human
nature in its usual aspects of prevarication, untruth, contradiction,
and inconsistency, notwithstanding the high profession of liberty
made by those implicated; and they who had been the most guilty of
wrong, were loudest in their complaints, as if they alone had
suffered.
"This is not exhibiting the country to us, certainly, after so long
an absence, in its best appearance," said Mr. Effingham, "I must
admit, John; but error belongs to all regions, and to all classes of
institutions."
"Ay, Ned, make the best of it, as usual; but, if you do not come
round to my way of thinking, before you are a twelvemonth older, I
shall renounce prophesying. I wish we could get at the bottom of Miss
Effingham's thoughts, on this occasion."
"Miss Effingham has been grieved, disappointed, nay, shocked," said
Eve, "but, still she will not despair of the republic. None of our
respectable neighbours, in the first place, have shared in this
transaction, and that is something; though I confess I feel some
surprise that any considerable portion of a community, that respects
itself, should quietly allow an ignorant fragment of its own numbers,
to misrepresent it so grossly, in an affair that so nearly touches
its own character for common sense and justice."
"You have yet to learn, Miss Effingham, that men can get to be so
saturated with liberty, that they become insensible to the nicer
feelings. The grossest enormities are constantly committed in this
good republic of ours, under the pretence of being done by the
public, and for the public. The public have got to bow to that
bugbear, quite as submissively as Gesler would have wished the Swiss
to bow to his own cap, as to the cap of Rodolph's substitute. Men
will have idols, and the Americans have merely set up themselves."
"And you, cousin Jack, you would be wretched were you doomed to live
under a system less free. I fear you have the affectation of
sometimes saying that which you do not exactly feel."