Atlantic Monthly, Vol. XI., April, 1863, No. LXVI. by Various

V >> Various >> Atlantic Monthly, Vol. XI., April, 1863, No. LXVI.

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The Colonel, to do him justice, wrote very entertaining letters, despite
the somewhat antiquated phraseology in which his sentiments were
clothed. Indeed, I soon found in his epistles all the variety of the
_grab-bag_ at a country-fair, in which the purchaser of the right of
_grab_ fumbles with pleasing uncertainty as to whether he is to draw
forth a hymn-book or a shaving-brush, a packet of note-paper or a box
of patent polish for stoves. At one time he would communicate the
particulars of some antiquarian discovery at Foxden; at another he would
copy for me the weekly bill of the town mortality, or journalize the
parish quarrels about the repairs of the stove-funnel in Mr. Clifton's
church.

I was well pleased to find that the little notes of acknowledgment
which I despatched after the receipt of these leviathans seemed to
be considered a sufficient representation of capital to justify the
enormous rate of epistolary interest which the Colonel bestowed. I liked
the style of my correspondent. It did me good to meet with the strong
old expressions of our ancestors that were turning up in unexpected
places. If the dear old phrases were sometimes better or worse than the
fact they expressed, they must have improved what was good, and gibbeted
more effectually what to the times seemed evil. Who would now think of
designating a parcel of serious savages "the praying Indians of Natick"?
And yet there is a sound and a power about the words that would go far
to convert the skeptical aborigines in their own despite. Why, there
was something rich and nervous in the talk of the very lawmakers. "The
accursed sect of the Quakers,"--what a fine spirit such an accusative
case gives to the dry formula of a legal enactment! the beat of the drum
by which the edict was proclaimed in the streets of Boston seems only an
appropriate accompaniment to so stirring a denunciation. Then to invite
a brother to "exercise prophecy,"--as Winthrop used to call the business
of preaching,--there is really something soul-invigorating in the very
sound. No wonder the people could stand a good two-hours' discourse
under so satisfactory a title!

I suppose, then, that much of my original relish for the communications
of my Foxden correspondent came from his mastery over the antique
glossary, and perhaps the rather ancient style of thought that fitted
well the method of conveyance. Indeed, a good course of Bishop
Copleston's "magic-lanthorn school" made me peculiarly susceptible to
the refreshment of changing the gorgeous haze of modern philosophers for
the sharpness and vitality with which old-fashioned people clothe such
ideas as are vouchsafed to them.

I soon found that my friend had that passion for what may be called
petty antiquarian research which is so puzzling to those who escape its
contagion. Also that a pride of family, that lingers persistently in
some parts of New England, seemed to concentrate itself and envelop him
as in a cloud. He had attained the age of sixty a bachelor,--perhaps
from finding no person in Foxden of sufficiently clear lineage to be
united with the Squire's family,--or perhaps because he had a sister,
five years older than himself, who fulfilled the duties of companion and
housekeeper.

How strange a sensation it is to feel a real friendship and familiarity
with one we have never seen! Yet if people are drawn together by those
mysterious affinities which, like the daughters of the horse-leech, are
ever crying, "Give, give," a few bits of paper bridge over space well
enough, and enable us to recognize abroad the scattered fragments that
complete ourselves.

The Colonel studied up my ancestors, who, it appears, were once people
of sufficient consideration in the land, and finally transferred the
interest to myself. At one time he took the trouble to go down to
Branton, about forty miles from Foxden, for the purpose of verifying
inquiries about progenitors of mine who had originally settled in that
place. He advised me, as a son, in my reading and business; and although
I often dismissed his suggestions as the whims of an old-fashioned
recluse, I was always touched by the simplicity and sincere interest
that prompted them. He would mysteriously hint that something might one
day occur to give tangible proof of the regard in which he held me; but
as I paid little heed to such warnings, I was totally unprepared for the
plan developed in the letter of which an extract is here presented:--

"Concerning the propriety of your marrying, my dear young friend, my
sister and myself have long known but one opinion; the only difficulty
that has exercised us being, whom, among my divers correspondents, we
could most heartily commend to your selection. Now it is known to you
that I have striven for some time past to trace the descendants of the
old family of Hurribattel, who seem to have disappeared from Branton
about the year ten in the present century. The interest I have taken in
the research comes from the fact that your great-great-uncle appears
at one time to have been affianced to a lady of that family. For what
reason an alliance which had everything to recommend it was broken off
I have sorely puzzled myself to conjecture, but linger always in the
labyrinths of doubt. Some months ago I received a catalogue from the
Soggimarsh College in the Far West, to whose funds I had contributed a
modest subscription. I was thrown into an ecstasy of astonishment, when,
in glancing over the names of the honorable Faculty, my attention was
arrested by words to this effect: _Miss Hurribattle, Professor of
Calisthenics and Female Deportment_. Of course, I wrote to her
immediately, and received right cordial replies to all inquiries. She
seemed much interested in the union of the families that was formerly
contemplated, and much desires to see you as the representative of your
great-great-uncle. I need only add, that, so far as may be judged by the
happy vein of her correspondence, she has at present no ensnarement
of the heart, and has agreed to pay me a visit at Foxden the first of
August next, when, by reason of the vacation, she will be at liberty for
five weeks. Your own visit to me, so often postponed, is, as I believe,
definitively fixed for the same time. So I expect you both, and need not
enlarge on the strange delight it would give me, if a family-engagement
of seventy years' standing should be closed by a marriage beneath my
roof."

There was something so preposterous in this desperate match-making
between people whom they had never seen, that Colonel Prowley and
his sister had taken into their hands, that it really made a greater
impression upon me than if the parties had been less unlikely to
come together. A Professor of Calisthenics! Could anything be more
unpromising? Yet, when my friend copied for me some extracts from the
lady's letters that were sensible and feminine, I thought how odd it
would be, if something should come of it, after all. I often found
myself skipping Colonel Prowley's accounts of old Doctor Dastick, Mrs.
Hunesley, and other great people of his town, and pondering upon the
notices of his Western correspondent. I began to have a mysterious
presentiment--which, in view of the calisthenics, I could not
explain--that we might be not unadapted to each other. In any case,
the lady's fine family-name was a recommendation that I knew how to
appreciate. They have very young professors out West, I thought, and
this is merely a temporary position; besides, I had a friend who married
a female physician, and the match has turned out a very happy one. So
I played with the idea, half in jest and half seriously, and looked
forward with much interest to my visit to Foxden.

CHAPTER II

It was near noon, on an August day, when the train left me at the Foxden
station. Upon casting my eyes about to see what was to be done next,
I observed a very shabby and rickety carryall, with the legend
"Railway-Omnibus" freshly painted upon its side.

"It is better than a mile and a half up to Colonel Prowley's; but I
calculate I can take you there, after I've left this lady," responded
the proprietor of this turnout, in reply to a question of mine.

"But I want to go to Colonel Prowley's, too," said a feminine voice at
my side.

"Well, now that's _com_plete," acquiesced the driver. "I'll just go get
the baggage, and put you both through right away."

Of course I turned to view my companion. She was a middle-aged
lady, something disordered in dress and hair, with a sharply marked
countenance, and that diffusive sort of eye that seems to take one in as
a speck which breaks the view of more interesting objects lying on the
verge of the horizon. Yet her face was dimpled by those indescribable
changing lines which indicate that a cessation of impulse has not marked
the wearer's retreat from youth, and make us feel anew how blessed a
thing it is for the character to keep our impulses strong within us, and
to be strong ourselves in their restraint.

I was doubting whether to begin those little shivers and sidelings with
which people who feel that they ought to be acquainted, but have nobody
to introduce them, endeavor to supply the deficiency, when the lady
abruptly pronounced my name, and inquired if I responded thereto.

"I thought it must be you," she said, on being satisfied regarding my
identity, "for the Colonel wrote me that he expected you about this
time. I feel we shall become friends. I am Miss Hurribattle."

Although I had a strong suspicion who it must be, yet a cold surprise
seemed to run through me, when the dire certainty so suddenly declared
itself. I dropped my carpet-bag, as if all my daintily built castles
were in it, and it was best to crush them to pieces at once and have it
over. I pondered, and helped tie a bandbox on behind the vehicle, and
after some time found myself in the carryall staring at the felt hat
of the driver an inch or two before my nose, and Miss Hurribattle
established by my side. It occurred to me that it was my place to resume
the conversation, and, in a sudden spasm of originality, I changed a
remark respecting the beauty of the day into an observation on the
steepness of the hill we began to ascend.

"It is very steep," assented the lady, "and I have a particular
objection to riding up-hill: it always appears to me I am helping the
horses draw. However, it may sometimes be pleasant; for I remember
paying a visit of a fortnight to Boston, when I was a girl, and there I
really thought that hills could not have been placed more conveniently."

"How so?" inquired I.

"Why, I stayed with some friends who lived in Charles Street, just on
the bay; consequently we always drove up-hill when we went to a party,
and downhill when we came home."

"And you were always so much more content to return than to go, that the
accelerated speed of a down-hill passage was agreeable," suggested I,
after having cast about vaguely for an explanation.

"Oh, dear! no! It was all on account of my back-hair: for in going
up-hill one naturally leans forward,--so, of course, it couldn't get
tumbled; but when we were coming home, it was no matter."

I glanced slightly at Miss Hurribattle, and thought it strange that a
lady of her present disorderly and straggly appearance could have ever
felt so much interest in fashionable proprieties. She seemed to be
conscious of what was passing in my mind, and suddenly said,--

"Did you ever see a lady throw a stone?"

"I probably have," I replied; "though I do not at present recall any
particular instance."

"Very well, then,--you will remember that it always seems as if she was
going to throw herself after it. Now I recognize in this a portion of
the mystic instruction that natural phenomena may give us, if we look at
them earnestly; for is it not intended that woman should pursue with her
whole being whatever she undertakes? The man throws his stone with a
little jerk of the hand: he may be a legislator, a philanthropist, a
father, and a merchant, each with distinct portions of himself, and be
each with all the better effect to the others; but when a woman throws
her stone, it is better for her to project herself along with it."

"But, surely, you cannot believe that she is entitled only to a single
fling at the mark?"

"On the contrary, let her change her mark as often as she finds it too
easy or too hard to hit. All I insist upon is a temporary concentration
upon one pursuit. You wondered just now that I could ever have cared for
display, or have thought much of my appearance; but at that time I knew
no better, and followed the world with a devotion for which I have now,
I trust, a better object."

I began to be quite interested in the sincerity and confidence with
which my companion talked to me, and, after a few remarks expressing
concurrence, I framed a question that would draw out the motives of her
connection with the college, should she care to communicate them.

"It has been fortunate for me," answered Miss Hurribattle, "to have been
born with an activity of temperament that has kept me from that _maladie
des desabuses_ which, when the freshness of youth has passed, frequently
attacks ladies of some intellectual culture who do not marry. A strong
principle of self-assertion, that has long been characteristic of my
family, has left us unbound by that common propriety of sacrificing
our best happiness for the sake of appearing happy to the world. This
induced my father to quit Branton in pretty much the same spirit of
opposition with which Chatterton quitted Bristol. Disgusted with its
local celebrities, and chafing under the petty exactions and petty
gossip to which a sudden loss of fortune had exposed him, he left the
town without communicating to the neighbors his future destination. But
I will not poach upon our friend the Colonel's speciality, and give you
a family-history. It is sufficient to say that a year or two ago I
was led to interest myself in the Soggimarsh College as a ground
unincumbered by the old incredulities of man's best inspirations
which grow so thickly in what are called the highest
civilizations,--incredulities, indeed, which, in the fine figure of
Coleridge, are nothing but credulities after all, only seen from behind,
as they bow and nod assent to the habitual and the fashionable. But I
see you are wondering at the particular position in the Academy which
our catalogue assigns me, and you shall have the explanation. I have for
a long time been painfully impressed with the total neglect of physical
education by the women of America. It seems to me that no very important
moral advance can be achieved while the exquisite organism through which
our impressions come, and through which they should go forth again in
acts, is so perverted. I was very anxious that the Soggimarsh College
should distinctly recognize a correct physical training as being at
least as important as any branch of mental discipline. Accordingly, when
the titles of the professorships were under discussion, it seemed right
not to take my designation from the classes I instruct in history and
philosophy, but from the general gymnastic development of the female
members of the college, which it is likewise my duty to oversee. I know,
of course, that the prejudices of the public would hold me in greater
esteem as a teacher of some ancient lore than in the capacity I assume
before them; but you see I throw my stone in the womanish fashion, and
do not leave enough of myself behind to be troubled about the matter."

I believe I have good Sir Thomas Browne's fancy of rejoicing to find
people individual in something beside their proper names; and by this,
as well as much more conversation not set down, I had the satisfaction
to discover that Miss Hurribattle had something more than her bold
patronymic to distinguish her from the Misses Smith and Robinson of my
city-acquaintance. I could hardly believe that we had advanced so far to
the footing of old friends, before we reached our destination. As
our carryall turned into Colonel Prowley's avenue, however, a sudden
recollection of the little romance the proprietor had arranged for his
arriving guests came over me like a terrible dream. What a pity it is, I
thought, that a friendly intercourse which I should highly prize must be
disturbed by the awkward consciousness that this old letter-writer
and his sister are watching and misinterpreting with all the zeal of
match-makers who have baited their trap, and are ready to mistake
anything for a nibble!

We drew up before a formal-looking, old-fashioned house, with piazzas
to the two stories, each bordered with a good extent of unquestionably
modern gutter. The staple growth of the place, in which the house was
set, like the centre of an antique breastpin, seemed to lie in the shrub
called box. This ornamental vegetable stretched down each side of the
gravel walk, hedged in all sorts of ugly geometrical figures that
contained flower-beds, and stood sentinel to the lower line of the
piazza; farther on, you would see it allowed to grow to the height
of three or four feet, to be curiously cut into cubes, pyramids, and
miniature arches.

Colonel Prowley, who was soon at the door to receive us, was a much less
imposing sort of man than I had imagined him. He appeared short and
modest, and showed a kind face set about half-way up the chin in one of
the old section-of-stove-pipe stocks that buckle up from behind; there
was a little embarrassment in his manner, as if he found it hard to
receive with proper cordiality two dear friends whose faces he had
never before seen. We were taken to the parlor, stiffly neat in all its
appurtenances, introduced to Miss Prowley, and soon after summoned to
dinner.

There was much satisfaction in sitting down to such a repast as the
Colonel knew how to give, only it made one shudder a little when he told
us the names of great people long passed away who had ranged themselves
about the same piece of mahogany during the days of his father and
grandfather, for fourscore years into the past. However, if such
reminiscences make us reflect upon the mutable character of human
affairs, and send grave speculations of the "fleeting show" and "man's
illusion" concerning which the poet has told us, I find that the best
way is to remember that it is well to make our humble department in the
show as entertaining as we can, and our little fragment of the illusion
as illusive as possible.

At the head of the table sat the sister of our host, arrayed in the lank
bombazine skirt, tight sleeves, and muslin cravat, which constituted the
old-lady uniform of the past generation, and which in rare instances yet
survives in the country. Upon her right hand was placed the clergyman,
Mr. Clifton, who came to dine every Monday,--it being a convenient
arrangement on account of the washing; and on her left was one Deacon
Reyner, who kept the parish records, and was the local antiquary of the
town.

One of the pleasantest diversions with which I am acquainted is a dinner
among elderly people of character and originality, who are content to
toss about the ball of conversation among themselves, and allow me to
watch the game. And in this way was I entertained on my arrival at
Foxden; for Miss Hurribattle was directly at her ease, and had plenty
to say; while the brother and sister were content to offer the best
of everything, and did not attempt to draw me out of my silence. I
perceived they were thinking what a pity it was that Miss Hurribattle
and myself had not the equality of age and temper that they had fancied
for us; for I observed how they would follow the streaks of gray that
straggled through the lady's locks, and then glance at the neatly turned
moustache upon which in those days I prided myself, and realize that
their agreeable plans might be destined to disappointment.

I remember the conversation first fell upon a certain general history
of the Prowley family that its present masculine representative had in
preparation.

"By the way," said Deacon Reyner, addressing the future historian on
this head, "I have secured a correct copy of poor Prosody's epitaph, as
you asked me the other day."

Miss Hurribattle, who looked as if she had some doubt whether poor
Prosody was a man or an animal, returned a non-committal, "Indeed! I am
very glad of it," but soon after added, "Was he a favorite dog?"

"A dog!" exclaimed the Colonel, whose family-history, dates and all,
seemed to course his veins instead of blood, "he was my many times great
uncle! I have surely told you how Noah Prowllie, who came to New England
in 1642, and is supposed to have settled at Foxden some years later,
married Desire, daughter of the Reverend Jabez Pluck. Being a rigid
grammarian,--a character sufficiently rare at that period,--he named
his three sons Orthography, Syntax, and Prosody,--a proceeding that
is understood to have offended the Reverend Jabez, who was naturally
partial to the Scriptural nomenclature then in vogue. His scruples,
I regret to say, were more than justified in the conduct of his
grandchildren. Poor Orthography Prowllie was an idle fellow, who never
got beyond making his mark upon paper, and consequently made none in the
world; Syntax could never agree with anybody; while as for Prosody, poor
fellow"----

"It is enough to say that neither his verses nor his life would bear
scanning!" said the Deacon, desiring to keep the conversation off
unpleasant topics.

"But you certainly had a poet in your family?" said Miss Hurribattle,
determined to repair her blunder by suggesting a potent cause of
congratulation.

"Indeed we had, Madam!" said the Colonel, with creditable emotion;
"though unfortunately none of his productions have come down to us. But
we have the highest contemporary testimony to his excellence in a copy
of verses prefixed to his posthumous discourse entitled 'The New Snare
of a Maypole, or Satan's own Trap for a Slippery Church.' The lines
were written by his colleague, the Reverend Exaltation Brymm, and are
certainly much to the purpose: I generally keep a copy of them in my
pocket-book."

"Oh, do read them, brother!" said Miss Prowley, with strong interest.

Thus adjured, the Colonel produced a piece of paper, put on his
spectacles, and read to this effect:--

"New Englande! weep: Thy tuncfull Prowllie's gone,
Who skillfully his Armour buckled on
Agaynst Phyllystine Scorn and Revelrie:
His Sword well-furbished was a Sight to see!
This littel Booke of his shall still be greene
While Sathan's Fangles lorden stand betweene:
Now Pet of Sinne boil up thy dolefull Skum!
Ye juggelling Quakers laugh: his Inkhorn's dumb.
He put XIII Pslames in verse for our Quire,
And with XXVII Pastorals witcht Apollo's Lyre."

"Do you recollect John Norton's funeral elegy on Ann Bradstreet, the Eve
of our female minstrelsy?" interrogated Miss Hurribattle; "there are two
lines in it which are still in my memory:--

'Could Maro's muse but hear her lively strain,
He would condemn his works to fire again.'

What a launch upon the sea of fame! and how sad it is that an actual
freight of verses should be preserved in the ship's hold!"

"Well, well, my kinsman was perhaps wise in trusting none of his psalms
or pastorals to the press, especially as that greatest of poets,
Pope, has since been in the world. But I truly regret that he left no
portrait, nor even so much as an outline in black from which something
might be made up by an imaginative artist. I have judges, majors, and
attorneys, all properly labelled, in the other room, who would be much
improved by a slight dash of the aesthetic element; however, I suppose
it can't be helped now!"

"Not unless you substitute Saint Josselyn for an ancestor, as Mrs.
Hunesley did the other day," said Miss Prowley.

"Ha, ha! it might not be a bad plan to follow out the lady's suggestion:
but do tell the story of her strange mistake."

"Why, you must know that the other day old Doctor Dastick brought his
New-York niece to call upon us. She began to talk to my brother, and
when at last topics of conversation failed, turned to look at the
picture of Saint Josselyn, which could be seen through the open
folding-doors."

"The gentleman whose sole garment consists of some sort of skin thrown
over his shoulders: you must all have observed it as we came in to
dinner," said our host, in parenthesis.

"Well, immediately below the Saint hangs a small painting of Uncle
Joshua, in white stockings, cocked hat, and coat of maroon velvet, the
poor gentleman's favorite dress.

"'Ah!' said Mrs. Hunesley, with her eyes fixed upon the Saint, 'quite a
fine portrait!'

"'Why, yes,' said my brother, naturally supposing she meant the small
picture below, 'a very fine portrait, and a capital likeness of my Uncle
Joshua.'

"'Indeed!' said the lady, with a well-bred effort to conceal her
surprise; 'he was taken in a--a--fancy dress, I suppose.'

"'On the contrary, it was his ordinary costume,' insisted the Colonel.
'I can remember him walking up the broad-aisle at church, dressed just
as you see him there.'

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