is permitted to toast a person present, if you happen to respect and esteem that person!”
“By which, sir, we are to understand how much Miss Mordaunt respects and esteems Mr. Dirck Van Valkenburgh,” answered Bulstrode gravely. “I am afraid there is only too much justice in an opinion that might, at the first blush, seem to savour of self-love.”
“An imputation I am far from denying,” returned Anneke, with a steadiness that showed wonderful self-command, did she really return any of Dirck’s attachment. “My kinsman gives me as his toast, and I give him as mine. Is there anything unnatural in that?”
Here there was an outbreak of raillery at Anneke’s expense, which the young lady bore with a calmness and composure that at first astonished me. But when I came to reflect that she had been virtually at the head of her father’s house for several years, and that she had always associated with persons older than herself, it appeared more natural; for it is certain we can either advance or retard the character by throwing a person into intimate association with those who, by their own conversation, manners, or acquirements, are most adapted for doing either. In a few minutes the interruption was forgotten by those who had no interest in the subject, and the singing commenced. I had obtained so much credit by my attempt at dinner, that I had the extreme gratification of being asked to sing another song by Anneke herself. Of course I complied, and I thought the company seemed pleased. As for my young hostess, I knew she looked more gratified with my song than with the afterpiece, and that I felt to be something. Dirck had an occasion to renew a little of the ground lost by the toast, for he sang a capital comic song in Low Dutch. It is true, not half the party understood him, but the other half laughed until the tears rolled down their cheeks, and there was something so droll in my friend’s manner, that everybody was delighted. The clocks struck twelve before we broke up.
I staid in town but a day or two longer, meeting my new acquaintances every day, and sometimes twice a-day, however, on Trinity Church Walk. I paid visits of leave-taking with a heavy heart, and most of all to Anneke and her father.
“I understood from Follock,” said Herman Mordaunt, when I explained the object of my call, “that you are to leave town to-morrow. Miss Mordaunt and her friend, Miss Wallace, go to Lilacsbush this afternoon; for it is high time to look after the garden and the flowers, many of which are now in full bloom. I shall join them in the evening and I propose that you young men, take a late breakfast with us, on your way to Westchester. A cup of coffee before you start, and getting into your saddle at six, will bring all right. I promise you that you shall be on the road again by one, which will give you plenty of time to reach Satanstoe before dark.”
I looked at Anneke, and fancied that the expression of her countenance was favourable. Dirck left everything to me, and I accepted the invitation. This arrangement shortened my visit in Crown Street, and I left the house with a lighter heart than that with which I had entered it. It is always so agreeable to get an unpleasant duty deferred!
Next day Dirck and I were in the saddle at six precisely, and we rode through the streets just as the blacks were washing down their stoops and side-walks; though there were but very few of the last, in my youth. This is a commodious improvement, and one that it is not easy to see how the ladies could dispense with, and which is now getting to be pretty common; all the new streets, I see, being provided with the convenience.
It was a fine May morning, and the air was full of the sweet fragrance of the lilac, in particular, as we rode into the country. Just as we got into the Bowery Lane, a horseman was seen walking out of one of the by-streets, and coming our way. He no sooner caught sight of two travellers going in his own direction, than he spurred forward to join us; being alone, and probably wishing company. As it would have been churlish to refuse to travel in company with one thus situated, we pulled up, walking our horses until the stranger joined us; when, to our surprise, it turned out to be Jason Newcome. The pedagogue was as much astonished when he recognised us, as we were in recognising him; and I believe he was a little disappointed; for Jason was so fond of making acquaintances, that it was always a pleasure to him to be thus employed. It appeared that he had been down on the island to visit a relative, who had married and settled in that quarter; and this was the reason we had not met since the morning of the affair of the lion. Of course we trotted on together, neither glad nor sorry at having this particular companion.
I never could explain the process by means of which Jason wound his way into everybody’s secrets. It is true he had no scruples about asking questions; putting those which most persons would think forbidden by the usages of society, with as little hesitation as those which are universally permitted. The people of New England have a reputation this way; and I remember to have heard Mr. Worden account for the practice in the following way: Everything and everybody was brought under rigid church government among the Puritans; and, when a whole community gets the notion that it is to sit in judgment on every act of one of its members, it is quite natural that it should extend that right to an inquiry into all his affairs. One thing is certain; our neighbours of Connecticut do assume a control over the acts and opinions of individuals that is not dreamed of in New York; and I think it very likely that the practice of pushing inquiry into private things, has grown up under this custom.
As one might suppose, Jason, whenever baffled in an attempt to obtain knowledge by means of inquiries, more or less direct, sought to advance his ends through conjectures; taking those that were the most plausible, if any such could be found, but putting up with those that had not even this questionable recommendation, if nothing better offered. He was, consequently, for ever falling into the grossest errors, for, necessarily making his conclusions on premises drawn from his own ignorance and inexperience, he was liable to fall into serious mistakes at the very outset. Nor was this the worst; the tendency of human nature not being very directly to charity, the harshest constructions were sometimes blended with the most absurd blunders, in his mind, and I have known him to be often guilty of assertions, that had no better foundation than these conjectures, which might have subjected him to severe legal penalties.
On the present occasion, Jason was not long in ascertaining where we were bound. This was done in a manner so characteristic and ingenious, that I will attempt to relate it.
“Why, you’re out early, this morning, gentlemen,” exclaimed Jason, affecting surprise. “What in natur’ has started you off before breakfast?”
“So as to be certain not to lose our suppers at Satanstoe, this evening,” I answered.
“Suppers? why, you will almost reach home (Jason would call this word hum) by dinner-time; that is, your York dinner-time. Perhaps you mean to call by the way?”
“Perhaps we do, Mr. Newcorne; there are many pleasant families between this and Satanstoe.”
“I know there be. There’s the great Mr. Van Cortlandt’s at Yonker’s; perhaps you mean to stop there?”
“No, sir; we have no such intention.”
“Then there’s the rich Count Philips’s, on the river; that would be no great matter out of the way?”
“It’s farther than we intend to turn.”
“Oh! so you do intend to turn a bit aside! Well, there’s that Mr. Mordaunt, whose daughter you pulled out of the lion’s paws;—he has a house near King’s-Bridge, called Lilacsbush.”
“And how did you ascertain that, Jason?”
“By asking. Do you think I would let such a thing happen, and not inquire a little about the young lady? Nothing is ever lost by putting a few questions, and inquiring round; and I did not forget the rule in her case.”
“And
