CHAPTER XI.

  Bid physicians talk our veins to temper,
  And with an argument new-set a pulse,
  Then think, my lord, of reasoning unto love.

  YOUNG.

As the road from the ferry into the town ran along the bank of the river, we reached the point where the Rev. Mr. Worden had landed precisely at the same instant with his pursuers, who had been obliged to make a little circuit, in order to get off the ice. I do not know which party regarded the other in the greatest astonishment,—the hunted, or the hunters. The sleigh had in it two fine-looking young fellows, that spoke English with a slight Dutch accent, and three young women, whose bright coal-black eyes betokened surprise a little mitigated by a desire to laugh. Seeing that we were all strangers, I suppose, and that we claimed the runaway as belonging to our party, one of the young men raised his cap very respectfully, and opened the discourse by asking in a very civil tone—

“What ails the reverent gentleman, to make him run so fast?”

“Run!” exclaimed Mr. Worden, whose lungs had been playing like a blacksmith's bellows—“Run! and who would not run to save himself from being drowned?”

“Drowned!” repeated the young Dutchman, looking round at the river, as if to ascertain whether the ice were actually moving—“why does the Dominie suppose there was any danger of that?”

As Mr. Worden's bellows were still hard at work, I explained to the young Albanians that we were strangers just arrived from the vicinity of New York; that we were unaccustomed to frozen rivers, and had never crossed one on the ice before; that our reverend companion had chosen to walk at a distance from the road, in order to be in less danger should any team break in, and that he had naturally run to avoid their sleigh when he saw it approaching. The Albanians heard this account in respectful silence, though I could see the two young men casting sly glances at each other, and that even the ladies had some little difficulty in altogether suppressing their smiles. When it was through, the oldest of the Dutchmen—a fine, dare-devil, roystering-looking fellow of four or five-and-twenty, whose dress and mien, however, denoted a person of the upper class,—begged a thousand pardons for his mistake, quitting his sleigh and insisting on having the honours of shaking hands with the whole of us. His name was 'Ten Eyck,' he said; 'Guert Ten Eyck,' and he asked permission, as we were strangers, of doing the honour of Albany to us. Everybody in the place knew him, which, as we afterwards ascertained, was true enough, for he had just as much reputation for fun and frolic as at all comported with respectability; keeping along, as it were, on the very verge of the pale of reputable people, without being thrown entirely out of it. The young females with him were a shade below his own natural position in society, tolerating his frolics on account of this circumstance, aided as it was by a singularly manly face and person, a hearty and ready laugh, a full purse, and possibly by the secret hope of being the happy individual who was designed by Providence to convert 'a reformed rake into the best of husbands.' In a word, he was always welcome with them, when those a little above them felt more disposed to frown.

Of course, all this was unknown to us at the time, and we accepted Guert Ten Eyck's proffers of civility in the spirit in which they were offered. He inquired at what tavern we intended to stop, and promised an early call. Then, shaking us all round by the hand again with great cordiality, he took his leave. His companion doffed a very dashing, high, wolf-skin cap to us, and the black-eyed trio, on the hind-seat, smiled graciously, and away they drove at a furious rate, startling all the echoes of Albany with their bells. By this time Mr. Worden was seated, and we followed more moderately, our team having none of the Dutch courage of a pair of horses fresh from the stable. Such were the circumstances under which we made our entrance into the ancient city of Albany. We were all in hopes, the little affair of the chase would soon be forgotten, for no one likes to be associated with a ridiculous circumstance, but we counted without our host. Guert Ten Eyck was not of a temperament to let such an affair sleep, but, as I afterwards ascertained, he told it with the laughing embellishments that belonged to his reckless character, until, in turn, the Rev. Mr. Worden came to be known, throughout all that region, by the nick-name of the “Loping Dominie.”

The reader may be assured our eyes were about us, as we drove through the streets of the second town in the colony. We were not unaccustomed to houses constructed in the Dutch style, in New York, though the English mode of building had been most in vogue there, for half a century. It was not so with Albany, which remained, essentially, a Dutch town, in 1758. We heard little beside Dutch, as we passed along. The women scolded their children in Low Dutch, a use, by the way, for which the language appears singularly well adapted; the negroes sang Dutch songs; the men called to each other in Dutch, and Dutch rang in our ears, as we walked our horses through the streets, towards the tavern. There were many soldiers about, and other proofs of the presence of a considerable military force were not wanting; still, the place struck me as very provincial and peculiar, after New York. Nearly all the houses were built with their gables to the streets, and each had heavy wooden Dutch stoops, with seats, at its door. A few had small court-yards in front, and, here and there, was a building of somewhat more pretension than usual. I do not think, however, there were fifty houses in the place, that were built with their gables off the line of the streets. 19

We were no sooner housed, than Dirck and I sallied forth to look at the place. Here we were, in one of the oldest towns of America; a place that could boast of much more than a century's existence, and it was natural to feel curious to look about one. Our inn was in the principal street,—that which led up the hill towards the fort. This street was a wide avenue, that quite put Broadway out of countenance, so far as mere width was concerned. The streets that led out of it, however, were principally little better than lanes, as if the space that had been given to two or three of the main streets had been taken off of the remainder. The High Street, as we English would call it, was occupied by sleds filled with wood for sale; sleds loaded with geese, turkeys, tame and wild, and poultry of all sorts; sleds with venison, still in the skin, piled up in heaps, &c.,—all these eatables being collected, in unusual quantities as we were told, to meet the extraordinary demand created by the different military messes. Deer were no strangers to us; for Long Island was full of all sorts of game, as were the upper counties of New Jersey. Even Westchester, old and well settled as it had become, was not yet altogether clear of deer, and nothing was easier than to knock over a buck in the highlands. Nevertheless, I had never seen venison, wild turkeys and sturgeons, in such quantities as they were to be seen that day in the principal street of Albany.

The crowd collected in this street, the sleighs that were whirling past, filled with young men and maidens, the incessant jingling of bells, the spluttering and jawing in Low Dutch, the hearty English oaths of serjeants and sutlers'-men and cooks of messes, the loud laughs of the blacks, and the beauty of the cold clear day, altogether produced some such effect on me, as I had experienced when I went to the theatre. Not the least striking picture of the scene, was Jason, in the middle of the street, gaping about him, in the cocked-hat, the pea-green coat, and the striped woollen stockings.

Dirck and myself naturally examined the churches. These were two, as has been said already,—one for the Dutch, and the other for the English. The first was the oldest. It stood at the point where the two principal streets crossed each other, and in the centre of the street, leaving sufficient passages all round it. The building was square, with a high pointed roof, having a belfry and weathercock on its apex; windows, with diamond panes and painted glass, and a porch that was well suited both to the climate and to appearances. 20

We were examining this structure, when Guert Ten Eyck accosted us, in his frank, off-hand way—

“Your servant, Mr. Littlepage; your servant, Mr. Follock,” he cried, again shaking each cordially by the hand. “I was on the way to the tavern to look you up, when I accidentally saw you here. A few gentlemen of my acquaintance, who are in the habit of supping together in the winter time, meet for the last jollification of the season to-night, and they have all express't a wish to have the pleasure of your company. I hope you will allow me to say you will come? We meet at nine, sup at ten, and break up at twelve, quite regularly, in a very sedate and prudent manner.”

There was something so frank and cordial, so simple and straight-forward in this invitation, that we did not know how to decline it. We both knew that the name of Ten Eyck was respectable in the colony; our new acquaintance was well dressed, he seemed to be in good company when we first met him, his sleigh and horses had been actually of a more dashing stamp than usual, and his own attire had all the peculiarities of a gentleman's, with the addition of something even more decided and knowing than was common. It is true, the style of these peculiarities was not exactly such as I had seen in the air, manners and personal decorations of those of Billings and Harris; but they were none the less striking, and none the less attractive; the two Englishmen being “macaronis,” from London, and Ten Eyck being a “buck” of Albany.

“I thank you, very heartily, Mr. Ten Eyck,” I answered, “both for myself and for my friend”—

“And will let me come for you at half-past eight, to show you the way?”

“Why, yes, sir; I was about to say as much, if it be not giving you too much trouble.”

“Do not speak of tr-r-ouple”—this last word will give a very good notion of Guert's accent, which I cannot stop to imitate at all times in writing—“and do not say your fre'nt, but your fre'ntz.”

“As to the two that are not here, I cannot positively answer; yonder, however, is one that can speak for himself.”

“I see him, Mr. Littlepage, and will answer for him, on my own account. Depent on it, he will come. But the Dominie—he has a hearty look, and can help eat a turkey and swallow a glass of goot Madeira—I think I can rely on. A man cannot take all that active exercise without food.”

“Mr. Worden is a very companionable man, and is excellent company at a supper-table. I will communicate your invitation, and hope to be able to prevail on him to be of the party.”

“T'at is enough, sir,” returned Ten Eyck, or Guert, as I shall henceforth call him, in general; “vere dere ist a vill, dere ist a vay.” Guert frequently broke out in such specimens of broken English, while at other times he would speak almost as well as any of us. “So Got pless you my dear Mr. Littlepage, and make us lasting friends. I like your countenance, and my eye never deceives me in these matters.”

Here, Guert shook us both by the hand again, most cordially, and left us. Dirck and I next strolled up the hill, going as high as the English church, which stood also in the centre of the principal street, an imposing and massive edifice in stone. With the exception of Mother Trinity, in New York, this was the largest, and altogether the most important edifice devoted to the worship of my own church I had ever seen. In Westchester, there were several of Queen Anne's churches, but none on a scale to compare with this. Our small edifices were usually without galleries, steeples, towers, or bells; while St. Peter's, Albany, if not actually St. Peter's, Rome, was a building of which a man might be proud. A little to our surprise, we found the Rev. Mr. Worden and Mr. Jason Newcome had met at the door of this edifice, having sent a boy to the sexton in quest of the key. In a minute or two, the urchin returned, bringing not only the key of the church, but the excuses of the sexton for not coming himself. The door was opened, and we went in.

I have always admired the decorous and spiritual manner in which the Rev. Mr. Worden entered a building that had been consecrated to the services of the Deity. I know not how to describe it; but it proved how completely he had been drilled in the decencies of his profession. Off came his hat, of course; and his manner, however facetious and easy it may have been the moment before, changed on the instant to gravity and decorum. Not so with Jason. He entered St. Peter's, Albany, with exactly the same indifferent and cynical air with which he had seemed to regard everything but money, since he entered “York Colony.” Usually, he wore his cocked-hat on the back of his head, thereby lending himself a lolloping, negligent, and, at the same time, defying air; but I observed that, as we all uncovered, he brought his own beaver up over his eye-brows, in a species of military bravado. To uncover to a church, in his view of the matter, was a sort of idolatry; there might be images about, for anything he knew; “and a man could never be enough on his guard ag'in being carried away by such evil deceptions,” as he had once before answered to a remonstrance of mine, for wearing his hat in our own parish church.

I found the interior of St. Peter's quite as imposing as its exterior. Three of the pews were canopied, having coats of arms on their canopies. These, the boy told us, belonged to the Van Rensselaer and Schuyler families. All these were covered with black cloth, in mourning for some death in those ancient families, which were closely allied. I was very much struck with the dignified air that these patrician seats gave the house of God. 21

There were also several hatchments suspended against the walls; some being placed there in commemoration of officers of rank, from home, who had died in the king's service in the colony; and others to mark the deaths of some of the more distinguished of our own people.

Mr. Worden expressed himself well pleased with appearances of things, in and about this building; though Jason regarded all with ill-concealed disgust.

“What is the meaning of them pews with tops to them, Corny?” the pedagogue whispered me, afraid to encounter the parson's remarks, by his own criticism.

“They are the pews of families of distinction in this place, Mr. Newcome; and the canopies, or tops, as you call them, are honourable signs of their owners' conditions.”

“Do you think their owners will sit under such coverings in paradise, Corny?” continued Jason, with a sneer.

“It is impossible for me to say, sir; it is probable, however, the just will not require any such mark to distinguish them from the unjust.”

“Let me see,” said Jason, looking round and affecting to count; “there are just three—Bishop, Priest, and Deacon, I suppose. Waal, there's a seat for each, and they can be comfortable here, whatever may turn up herea'ter.”

I turned away, unwilling to dispute the point, for I knew it was as hopeless to expect that a Danbury man would feel like a New Yorker, on such a subject, as it was to expect that a New Yorker could be made to adopt Danbury sentiments. As for the argument, however, I have heard others of pretty much the same calibre often urged against the three orders of the ministry.

On quitting St. Peter's, I communicated the invitation of Guert Ten Eyck to Mr. Worden, and urged him to be of the party. I could see that the notion of a pleasant supper was anything but unpleasant to the missionary. Still he had his scruples, inasmuch as he had not yet seen his reverend brother who had the charge of St. Peter's, did not know exactly the temper of his mind, and was particularly desirous of officiating for him, in the presence of the principal personages of the place, on the approaching Sunday. He had written a note to the chaplain; for the person who had the cure of the Episcopalians held that rank in the army, St. Peter's being as much of an official chapel as a parish church; and he must have an interview with that individual before he could decide. Fortunately, as we descended the street, towards our inn, we saw the very person in question. The marks of the common office that these two divines bore about their persons in their dress, sufficed to make them known to each other at a glance. In five minutes, they had shaken hands, heard each man's account of himself, had given and accepted the invitation to preach, and were otherwise on free and easy terms. Mr. Worden was to dine in the fort, with the chaplain. We then walked forward towards the tavern.

“By the way, Mr. ——,” said Mr. Worden, in a parenthesis of the discourse, “the family of Ten Eyck is quite respectable, here in Albany.”

“Very much so, sir—a family that is held in much esteem. I shall count on your assisting me, morning and evening, my dear Mr. Worden.”

It is surprising how the clergy do depend on each other for 'assistance!'

“Make your arrangements accordingly, my good brother—I am quite fresh, and have brought a good stock of sermons; not knowing how much might remain to be done in the army. Corny,” in a half-whisper, “you can let our new friends know that I will sup with them; and, harkee—just drop a hint to them, that I am none of your puritans.”

Here, then, we found everything in a very fair way to bring us all out in society, within the first two hours of our arrival. Mr. Worden was engaged to preach the next day but one; and he was engaged to supper that same day. All looked promising, and I hurried on in order to ascertain if Guert Ten Eyck had made his promised call. As before, he was met in the street, and the acceptance of the Dominie was duly communicated. Guert seemed highly pleased at this success; and he left me, promising to be punctual to his hour. In the mean time, we had to dine.

The dinner proved a good one; and, as Mr. Worden remarked, it was quite lucky that the principal dish was venison, a meat that was so easy of digestion, as to promise no great obstacle to the accommodation of the supper. He should dine on venison, therefore; and he advised all three of us to follow his example. But, certain Dutch dishes attracted the eye and taste of Dirck; while Jason had alighted on a hash, of some sort or other, that he did not quit until he had effectually disposed of it. As for myself, I confess, the venison was so much to my taste, that I stuck by the parson. We had our wine, too, and left the table early, in order not to interfere with the business of the night.

After dinner, it was proposed to walk out in a body, to make a further examination of the place, and to see if we could not fall in with an army contractor, who might be disposed to relieve Dirck and myself of some portion of our charge. Luck again threw us in the way of Guert Ten Eyck, who seemed to live in the public street. In the course of a brief conversation that took place, as a passing compliment, I happened to mention a wish to ascertain, where one might dispose of a few horses, and of two or three sleigh-loads of flour, pork, &c., &c.

“My dear Mr. Littlepage,” said Guert, with a frank smile and a friendly shake of the hand, “I am delighted that you have mentioned these matters to me; I can take you to the very man you wish to see; a heavy army-contractor, who is buying up everything of the sort he can lay his hands on.”

Of course, I was as much delighted as Guert could very well be, and left my party to proceed at once to the contractor's office, with the greatest alacrity; Dirck accompanying me. As we went along, our new friend advised us not to be very backward in the way of price, since the king paid, in the long run.

“Rich dealers ought to pay well,” he added; “and, I can tell you, as a useful thing to know, that orders came on, no later than yesterday, to buy up everything of the soil that offered. Put sleigh and harness, at once, all in a heap, on the king's servants.”

I thought the idea not a bad one, and promised to profit by it. Guert was as good as his word, and I was properly introduced to the contractor. My business was no sooner mentioned, than I was desired to send a messenger round to the stables, in order that my conveyance, team, &c., might make their appearance. As for the articles that were still on the road, I had very little trouble. The contractor knew my father, and he no sooner heard that Mr. Littlepage, of Satanstoe, was the owner of the provisions, than he purchased the whole on the guaranty of his name. For the pork I was to receive two half-joes the barrel, and for the flour one. This was a good sale. The horses would be taken, if serviceable, as the contractor did not question, as would the lumber-sleighs, though the prices could not be set until the different animals and objects were seen and examined.

It is amazing what war will do for commerce, as well as what it does against it! The demand for everything that the judgment of my father had anticipated, was so great, that the contractor told me very frankly the sleighs would not be unloaded in Albany at all, but would be sent on north, on the line of the expected route of the army, so as to anticipate the disappearance of the snow and the breaking up of the roads.

“You shall be paid liberally for your teams, harness and sleighs,” he continued, “though no sum can be named until I see them. These are not times when operations are to be retarded on account of a few joes, more or less, for the King's service must go on. I very well know that Major Littlepage and Col. Follock both understand what they are about, and have sent us the right sort of things. The horses are very likely a little old, but are good for one campaign; better than if younger, perhaps, and were they colts we could get no more than that out of them. These movements in the woods destroy man and beast, and cost mints of money. Ah! There comes your team.”

Sure enough, the sleigh drove round from the tavern, and we all went out to look at the horses, &c. Guert now became an important person. On the subject of horses he was accounted an oracle, and he talked, moved, and acted like one in all respects. The first thing he did was to step up to the animal's head, and to look into the mouth of each in succession. The knowing way in which this was done, the coolness of the interference, and the fine, manly form of the intruder, would have given him at once a certain importance and a connection with what was going on, had not his character for judgment in horse-flesh been well established, far and near, in that quarter of the country.

“Upon my word, wonderfully good mouths!” exclaimed Guert, when through. “You must have your grain ground, Mr. Littlepage, or the teeth never could have stood it so well!”

“What age do you call the animals, Guert?” demanded the contractor.

“That is not so easily told, sir. I admit that they are aged horses; but they may be eight, or nine, or even ten, as for what can be told by their teeth. By the looks of their limbs, I should think they might be nine coming grass.”

“The near-horse is eleven,” I said, “and the off-horse is supposed to be——”

“Poh! poh! Littlepage,” interrupted Guert, making signs to me to be quiet—“you may think the off-horse ten, but I should place him at about nine. His teeth are excellent, and there is not even a wind-gall on his legs. There is a cross of the Flemish in that beast.”

“Well, and what do you say the pair is worth, Master Guert,” demanded the contractor, who seemed to have a certain confidence in his friend's judgment, notwithstanding the recklessness and freedom of his manner. “Twelve half-joes for them both?”

“That will never do, Mr. Contractor,” answered Guert shaking his head. “In times like these, such stout animals, and beasts too in such heart and condition, ought to bring fifteen.”

“Fifteen let it be then, if Mr. Littlepage assents. Now for the sleigh, and harness, and skins. I suppose Mr. Littlepage will part with the skins too, as he can have no use for them without the sleigh?”

“Have you, Mr. Contractor?” asked Guert, a little abruptly. “That bear-skin fills my eye beautifully, and if Mr. Littlepage will take a guinea for it, here is his money.”

As this was a fair price, it was accepted, though I pressed the skin on Guert as a gift, in remembrance of our accidental acquaintance. This offer, however, he respectfully, but firmly resisted. And here I will take occasion to say, lest the reader be misled by what is met with in works of fiction, and other light and vain productions, that in all my dealings, and future connection with Guert, I found him strictly honourable in money matters. It is true, I would not have purchased a horse on his recommendation, if he owned the beast; but we all know how the best men yield in their morals when they come to deal in horses. I should scarcely have expected Mr. Worden to be orthodox, in making such bargains. But, on all other subjects connected with money, Guert Ten Eyck was one of the honestest fellows I ever dealt with.

The contractor took the sleigh, harness, and skins, at seven more half-joes; making twenty-three for the whole outfit. This was certainly receiving two half-joes more than my father had expected; and I owed the gain of sixteen dollars to Guert's friendly and bold interference. As soon as the prices were settled, the money was paid me in good Spanish gold; and I handed over to Dirck the portion that properly fell to his father's share. As it was understood that the remaining horses, sleighs, harness, provisions, &c., were to be taken at an appraisal, the instant they arrived, this hour's work relieved my friend and myself from any further trouble on the subject of the property entrusted to our care. And a relief it was to be so well rid of a responsibility that was as new as it was heavy to each of us.

The reader will get some idea of the pressure of affairs, and how necessary it was felt to be on the alert in the month of March—a time of the year when twenty-four hours might bring about a change in the season—by the circumstance that the contractor sent his new purchase to be loaded up from the door of his office, with orders to proceed on north, with supplies for a depot that he was making as near to Lake George as was deemed prudent; the French being in force at Ticonderoga and Crown Point, two posts at the head of Champlain; a distance considerably less than a hundred miles from Albany. Whatever was forwarded as far as Lake George while the snow lasted, could then be sent on with the army, in the contemplated operations of the approaching summer, by means of the two lakes, and their northern outlets.

“Well, Mr. Littlepage,” cried Guert, heartily; “that affair is well disposed of. You got goot prices, and I hope the King has got goot horses. They are a little venerable, perhaps; but what of that? The army would knock up the best and youngest beast in the colony, in one campaign in the woots; and it can do no more with the oldest and worst. Shall we walk rount into the main street, gentlemen? This is about the hour when the young ladies are apt to start for their afternoon sleighing.”

“I suppose the ladies of Albany are remarkable for their beauty, Mr. Ten Eyck,” I rejoined, wishing to say something agreeable to a man who seemed so desirous of serving me. “The specimens I saw in crossing the river this morning, would induce a stranger to think so.”

“Sir,” replied Guert, walking towards the great avenue of the town, “we are content with our ladies, in general, for they are charming, warm-hearted and amiable; but there has been an arrival among us this winter, from your part of the colony, that has almost melted the ice on the Hudson!”

My heart beat quicker, for I could only think of one being of her sex, as likely to produce such a sensation. Still, I could not abstain from making a direct inquiry on the subject.

“From our part of the colony, Mr. Ten Eyck!—You mean from New York, probably?”

“Yes, sir, as a matter of course. There are several beautiful English women who have come up with the army; but no colonel, major, or captain, has brought such paragons with him, as Herman Mordaunt, a gentleman who may be known to you by name?”

“Personally too, sir. Herman Mordaunt is even a kinsman of Dirck Follock, my friend here.”

“Then is Mr. Follock to be envied, since he can call cousin with so charming a young lady as Anneke Mordaunt.”

“True sir, most true!” I interrupted, eagerly; “Anne Mordaunt passes for the sweetest girl in York!”

“I do not know that I should go quite as far as that, Mr. Littlepage,” returned Guert, moderating his warmth, in a manner that a little surprised me, though his handsome face still glowed with honest, natural admiration; “since there is a Miss Mary Wallace in her company, that is quite as much thought of, here in Albany, as her friend, Miss Mordaunt.”

Mary Wallace! The idea of comparing the silent, thoughtful, excellent though she were, Mary Wallace, with Anneke could never have crossed my mind. Still, Mary Wallace certainly was a very charming girl. She was even handsome; had a placid, saint-like character of countenance that had often struck me, singular beauty and development of form, and, in any other company than that of Anneke's, might well have attracted the first attention of the most fastidious beholder.

And Guert Ten Eyck admired,—perhaps loved, Mary Wallace! Here, then, was fresh evidence how much we are all inclined to love our opposites; to form close friendships with those who resemble us least, principles excepted, for virtue can never cling to vice, and how much more interest novelty possesses in the human breast, than the repetition of things to which we are accustomed. No two beings could be less alike than Mary Wallace and Guert Ten Eyck; yet the last admired the first.

“Miss Wallace is a very charming young lady, Mr. Ten Eyck,” I rejoined, as soon as wonder would allow me to answer, “and I am not surprised you speak of her in terms of so much admiration.”

Guert stopped short in the street, looked me full in the face with an expression of truth that could not well be feigned, squeezed my hand fervently, and rejoined with a strange frankness, that I could not have imitated, to be master of all I saw—

“Admiration, Mr. Littlepage, is not a word strong enough for what I feel for Mary! I would marry her in the next hour, and love and cherish her for all the rest of my life. I worship her, and love the earth she treads on.”

“And you have told her this, Mr. Ten Eyck?”

“Fifty times, sir. She has now been two months in Albany, and my love was secured within the first week. I offered myself too soon, I fear; for Mary is a prutent, sensible young woman, and girls of that character are apt to distrust the youth who is too quick in his advances. They like to be served, sir, for seven years and seven years, as Joseph served for Potiphar.”

“You mean, most likely, Mr. Ten Eyck, as Jacob served for Rachel.”

“Well, sir, it may be as you say, dough I t'ink that in our Dutch Bibles, it stands as Joseph served for Potiphar—but you know what I mean, Mr. Littlepage. If you wish to see the ladies, and will come with me, I will go to a place where Herman Mordaunt's sleigh invariably passes at this hour, for the ladies almost live in the air. I never miss the occasion of seeing them.”

I had now a clue to Guert's being so much in the street. He was as good as his word, however, for he took a stand near the Dutch church, where I soon had the happiness of seeing Anneke and her friend driving past, on their evening's excursion. How blooming and lovely the former looked! Mary Wallace's eye turned, I fancied understandingly, to the corner where Guert had placed himself, and her colour deepened as she returned his bow. But, the start of surprise, the smile, and the lightening eye of Anneke, as she unexpectedly saw me, filled my soul with delight, almost too great to be borne.

19 (return)
[ The population of Albany could not have reached 4000 in 1758. Its Dutch character remained down to the close of this century, with gradual changes. The writer can remember when quite as much Dutch as English was heard in the streets of Albany, though it has now nearly disappeared. The present population must be near 40,000.

Mr. Littlepage's description was doubtless correct, at the time he wrote; but Albany would now be considered a first-class country town, in Europe. It has much better claims to compare with the towns of the old world, in this character, than New York has to compare with their capitals.—EDITOR.]

20 (return)
[ There were two churches, of this character, built on this spot. The second, much larger than the first, but of the same form, was built round the other, in which service was held to the last, when it was literally thrown out of the windows of its successor. The last edifice disappeared about forty years since.—EDITOR.]

21 (return)
[ I cannot recollect one of these canopied pews that is now standing, in this part of the Union. The last, of my knowledge, were in St. Mark's, New York, and, I believe, belonged to the Stuyvesants, the patron family of that church. They were taken down when that building was repaired, a few years since. This is one of the most innocent of all our innovations of this character. Distinctions in the House of God are opposed to the very spirit of the Christian religion; and it were far more fitting that pews should be altogether done away with, the true mode of assembling under the sacred roof, than that men should be classed even at the foot of the altar.

It may be questioned if a hatchment is now hung up, either on the dwelling, or in a church, in any part of America. They were to be seen, however, in the early part of the present century. Whenever any such traces of ancient usages are met with among us, by the traveller from the old world, he is apt to mistake them for the shadows “that coming events cast before,” instead of those of the past.—EDITOR.]