CHAPTER XII.

  “Then the wine it gets into their heads,
  And turns the wit out of its station;
  Nonsense gets in, in its stead,
  And their puns are now all botheration.”

  The Punning Society.

Guert Ten Eyck looked at me expressively, as the sleigh whirled round an angle of the building and disappeared. He then proposed that we should proceed. On ascending the main street, I was not a little surprised at discovering the sort of amusement that was going on, and in which it seemed to me all the youths of the place were engaged. By youths, I do not mean lads of twelve and fourteen, but young men of eighteen and twenty, the amusement being that of sliding down hill, or “coasting,” as I am told it is called in Boston. The acclivity was quite sharp, and of sufficient length to give an impetus to the sled, that was set in motion at a short distance above the English church; an impetus that would carry it past the Dutch church—a distance that was somewhat more than a quarter of a mile. The hand-sleds employed, were of a size and construction suited to the dimensions of those that used them; and, as a matter of course, there was no New Yorker that had not learned how to govern the motion of one of these vehicles, even when gliding down the steepest descent, with the nicest delicacy and greatest ease. As children, or boys as late in life as fourteen even, every male in the colony, and not a few of the females, had acquired this art; but this was the first place in which I had ever known adults to engage in the sport. The accidental circumstance of a hill's belonging to the principal street, joined to the severity of the winters, had rendered an amusement suited to grown people, that, elsewhere, was monopolized by the children.

By the time we had ascended as high as the English church, a party of young officers came down from the fort, gay with the glass and the song of the regimental mess. No sooner did they reach the starting-point, than three or four of the more youthful got possession of as many sleds, and off they went, like the shot starting from its gun. Nobody seemed to think it strange; but, on the contrary, I observed that the elderly people looked on with a complacent gravity, that seemed to say how vividly the sight recalled the days of their own youth. I cannot say, however, that the strangers succeeded very well in managing their sleds, generally meeting with some stoppage before they reached the bottom of the hill.

“Will you take a slide, Mr. Littlepage?” Guert demanded, with a courteous gravity, that showed how serious a business he fancied the sport. “Here is a large and strong sled that will carry double, and you might trust yourself with me, though a regiment of horse were paraded down below.”

“But are we not a little too old for such an amusement, in the streets of a large town, Mr. Ten Eyck?” I answered, doubtingly, looking round me in an uncertain manner, as one who did not like to adventure, even while he hesitated to refuse. “Those king's officers are privileged people, you know.”

“No man has a higher privilege to use the streets of Albany, than Mr. Cornelius Littlepage, sir, I can assure you. The young ladies often honour me with their company, and no accident has ever happened.”

“Do the young ladies venture to ride down this street, Mr. Ten Eyck?”

“Not often, sir, I grant you; though that has been done, too, of a moon-light night. There is a more retired spot, at no great distance from this street, however, to which the ladies are rather more partial. Look, Mr. Littlepage!—There goes the Hon. Capt. Monson, of the ——th, and he will be down the hill and up again before we are off, unless you hurry. Take your seat, lady-fashion, and leave me to manage the sled.”

What could I do! Guert had been so very civil, was so much in earnest, everybody seemed to expect it of me, and the Hon. Capt. Monson was already a hundred yards on his way to the bottom, shooting ahead with the velocity of an arrow. I took my seat, accordingly, placing my feet together on the front round, “lady-fashion,” as directed. In an instant, Guert's manly frame was behind me, with a leg extended on each side of the sled, the government of which, as every American who has been born north of the Potomac well knows, is effected by delicate touches of the heels. Guert called out to the boys for a shove, and away we went, like the ship that is bound for her “destined element,” as the poets say. We got a good start, and left the spot as the arrow leaves its bow.

Shall I own the truth, and confess I had a momentary pleasure in the excitement produced by the rapidity of the motion, by the race we were running with another sled, and by the skill and ease with which Guert, almost without touching the ground, carried us unharmed through sundry narrow passages, and along the line of wood and venison loaded sleighs, barely clearing the noses of their horses. I forgot that I was making this strange exhibition of myself, in a strange place, and almost in strange company. So rapid was our motion, however, that the danger of being recognised was not very great; and there were so many to divide attention, that the act of folly would have been overlooked, but for a most untimely and unexpected accident. We had gone the entire length between the two churches with great success,—several steady, grave, and respectable-looking old burghers calling out, on a high key, “Vell done, Guert!”—for Guert appeared to be a general favourite, in the sense of fun and frolic at least,—when, turning an angle of the Old Dutch Temple, in the ambitious wish of shooting past it, in order to run still lower and shoot off the wharf upon the river, we found ourselves in imminent danger of running under the fore-legs of two foaming horses, that were whirling a sleigh around the same corner of the church. Nothing saved us but Guert's readiness and physical power. By digging a heel into the snow, he caused the sled to fly round at a right angle to its former course, and us to fly off it, heels over head, without much regard to the proprieties, so far as postures or grace was concerned. The negro who drove the sleigh pulled up, at the same instant, with so much force as to throw his horses on their haunches. The result of these combined movements was to cause Guert and myself to roll over in such a way as to regain our feet directly alongside of the sleigh. In rising to my feet, indeed, I laid a hand on the side of the vehicle, in order to assist me in the effort.

What a sight met my eyes! In the front stood the negro, grinning from ear to ear; for he deemed every disaster that occurred on runners a fit subject for merriment. Who ever did anything but laugh at seeing a sleigh upset?—and it was consequently quite in rule to do so on seeing two overgrown boys roll over from a hand-sled. I could have knocked the rascal down, with a good will, but it would not have done to resent mirth that proceeded from so legitimate a cause. Had I been disposed to act differently, however, the strength and courage necessary to effect such a purpose would have been annihilated in me, by finding myself standing within three feet, and directly in front of Anneke Mordaunt and Mary Wallace! The shame at being thus detected in the disastrous termination of so boyish a flight, at first nearly overcame me. How Guert felt I do not know, but, for a single instant, I wished him in the middle of the Hudson, and all Albany, its Dutch Church, sleds, hill, and smoking burghers included, on top of him.

“Mr. Littlepage!” burst out of the rosy lips of Anneke, in a tone of voice that was not to be misunderstood.

“Mr. Guert Ten Eyck!” exclaimed Mary Wallace, in an accent and manner that bespoke chagrin.

“At your service, Miss Mary,” answered Guert, who looked a little sheepish at the result of his exploit, though for a reason I did not at first comprehend, brushing some snow from his cap at the same time—“At your service, now and ever, Miss Mary. But, do not suppose it was awkwardness that produced this accident, I entreat of you. It was altogether the fault of the boy who is stationed to give warning of sleighs below the church, who must have left his post. Whenever either of you young ladies will do me the honour to take a seat with me, I will pledge my character, as an Albanian, to carry her to the foot of the highest and steepest hill in town without disturbing a riband.”

Marv Wallace made no answer; and I fancied she looked a little sad. It is possible Anneke saw and understood this feeling, for she answered with a spirit that I had never seen her manifest before—

“No, no, Mr. Ten Eyck,” she said; “when Miss Wallace or I wish to ride down hill, and become little girls again, we will trust ourselves with boys, whose constant practice will be likely to render them more expert than men can be, who have had time to forget the habits of their childhood. Pompey, we will return home.”

The cold inclination of the head that succeeded, while it was sufficiently gracious to preserve appearances, proved too plainly that neither Guert nor myself had risen in the estimation of his mistress, by this boyish exhibition of his skill with the hand-sled. Had either of these young ladies been Albanians, it is probable they would have laughed at our mishap; but no high hill running directly into New York, the custom that prevailed at Albany did not prevail in the capital. Small boys alone used the hand-sled in that part of the colony, while the taste continued longer among the more stable and constant Dutch. Of course, we had nothing to do but to make profound bows, and suffer the negro to move on.

“There it is, Littlepage,” exclaimed Guert, with a species of sigh; “I shall have nothing but iced looks for the next week, and all for riding down hill four or five years later than is the rule. Everybody, hereabouts, uses the hand-sled until eighteen, or so; and I am only five-and-twenty. Pray, what may be your age, my dear fellow?”

“Twenty-one, only about a month since. I wish, with all my heart, it were ten!”

“Turned the corner!—well, that's unlucky; but we must make the best of it. My taste is for fun, and so I have admitted to Miss Wallace, twenty times; but she tells me that, after a certain period, men should look to graver things, and think of their country. She has lectured me already, once, on the subject of sliding; though she allows that skating is a manly exercise.”

“When a lady takes the trouble to lecture, it is a sure sign she feels some interest in the subject.”

“By St. Nicholas! I never thought of that, Littlepage!” cried Guert, who, notwithstanding the great advantages he possessed in the way of face and figure, turned out to have less personal vanity about him than almost any man I ever met with. “Lecture me she has, and that more than once, too!”

“The lady who lectures me, sir, will not get rid of me, at the end of the discourse.”

“That's manly! I like it, Littlepage; and I like you. I foresee we shall be great friends; and we'll talk more of this matter another time. Now, Mary has spoken to me of the war, and hinted that a single man, like myself, with the world before him, might do something to make his name known in it. I did not like that; for a girl who loved a fellow would not wish to have him shot.”

“A girl who took no interest in her suitor, Mr. Ten Eyck, would not care whether he did anything or not. But I must now quit you, being under an engagement to meet Mr. Worden at the inn, at six.”

Guert and I shook hands, for the tenth or twelfth time that day, parting with an understanding that he was to call for us, to accompany our party to the supper, at the previously appointed hour. As I walked towards the inn, I pondered on what had just occurred, in a most mortified temper. That Anneke was displeased, was only too apparent; and I felt fearful that her displeasure was not entirely free from contempt. As for Guert's case, it did not strike me as being half so desperate as my own; for there was nothing unnatural, but something quite the reverse, in women of sense and stability, when they admire any youth of opposite temperament—and I remembered to have heard my grandfather say that such was apt to be the case,—wishing to elevate their suitors in their pursuits and characters. Had Anneke taken the pains to remonstrate with me about the folly of what I had done, I should have been encouraged; but the cold indifference of her manner, not to call it contempt, cut me to the quick. It is true, Anneke seemed to feel most on her friend's account; but I could not mistake the look of surprise with which she saw me, Cornelius Littlepage, rise from under her sleigh, and stand brushing the snow from my clothes, like a great calf as I was! No man can bear to be rendered ridiculous in the presence of the woman he loves.

Near the inn I met Dirck, his whole face illuminated with a look of pleasure.

“I have just met Anneke and Mary Wallace!” he said, “and they stopped their sleigh to speak to me. Herman Mordaunt has been here half the winter, and he means to remain most of the summer. There will be no Lilacsbush this season, the girls told me, but Herman Mordaunt has got a house, where he lives with his own servants, and boils his own pot, as he calls it. We shall be at home there, of course, for you are such a favourite, Corny, ever since that affair of the lion! As for Anneke, I never saw her looking so beautiful!”

“Did Miss Mordaunt say she would be happy to see us on the old footing, Dirck?”

“Did she?—I suppose so. She said I shall be glad to see you, cousin Dirck, whenever you can come, and I hope you will bring with you sometimes the clergyman of whom you have spoken.”

“But nothing of Jason Newcome or Corny Littlepage? Tell the truth at once, Dirck; my name was not mentioned?”

“Indeet it was, t'ough; I mentioned it several times, and told them how long we had been on the roat, and how you trove, and how you had sold the sleigh and horses already, and a dozen other t'ings. Oh! we talket a great deal of you, Corny; that is, I dit, and the girls listened.”

“Was my name mentioned by either of the young ladies, Dirck, in direct terms?”

“To be sure; Anneke had something to say about you, though it was so much out of the way, I can hardly tell you what it was now. Oh! I remember: she said 'I have seen Mr. Littlepage, and think he has grown since we last met; he promises to make a man one of these days.' What could t'at mean, Corny?”

“That I am a fool, a great overgrown boy, and wish I had never seen Albany; that's what it means. Come, let us go in; Mr. Worden will be expecting us. Ha! Who the devil's that, Dirck?”

A loud Dutch shout from Dirck broke out of him, regardless of the street, and his whole face lighted up into a broad sympathetic smile. I had caught a glimpse of a sled coming down the acclivity we were slowly ascending, which sled glided past us just as I got the words out of my mouth. It was occupied by Jason alone, who seemed just as much charmed with the sport as any other grown-up boy on the hill. There he went, the cocked-hat uppermost, the pea-green coat beneath, and the striped woollens and heavy plated buckles stuck out, one on each side, governing the movement of the sled with the readiness of a lad accustomed to the business.

“That must be capital fun, Corny!” my companion said, scarce able to contain himself for the pleasure he felt. “I have a great mind to borrow a sled and take a turn myself.”

“Not if you intend to visit Miss Mordaunt, Dirck. Take my word for it, she does not like to see men following the pleasures of boys.”

Dirck stared at me, but being taciturn by nature, he said nothing, and we entered the house. There we found Mr. Worden reading over an old sermon, in readiness for his next Sunday's business; and sitting down, we began to compare notes on the subject of the town and its advantages. The divine was in raptures. As for the Dutch he cared little for them, and had seen but little of them, overlooking them in a very natural, metropolitan sort of way; but he had found so many English officers, had heard so much from home, and had received so many invitations, that his campaign promised nothing but agreeables. We sat chatting over these matters until the tea was served, and for an hour or two afterwards. My bargains were applauded, my promptitude—the promptitude of Guert would have been more just—was commended, and I was told that my parents should hear the whole truth in the matter. In a word, our Mentor being in good-humour with himself, was disposed to be in good humour with every one else.

At the appointed hour, Guert came to escort us to the place of meeting. He was courteous, attentive, and as frank as the air he breathed, in manner. Mr. Worden took to him excessively, and it was soon apparent that he and young Ten Eyck were likely to become warm friends.

“You must know, gentlemen, that the party to which I have had the honour of inviting you, will be composed of some of the heartiest young men in Albany, if not in the colony. We meet once a month, in the house of an old bachelor, who belongs to us, and who will be delighted to converse with you, Mr. Worden, on the subject of religion. Mr. Van Brunt is very expert in religion, and we make him the umpire of all our disputes and bets on that subject.”

This sounded a little ominous, I thought; but Mr. Worden was not a man to be frightened from a good hot supper, by half-a-dozen inadvertent words. He could tolerate even a religious discussion, with such an object in view. He walked on, side by side with Guert, and we were soon at the door of the house of Mr. Van Brunt, the Bachelor in Divinity, as I nicknamed him. Guert entered without knocking, and ushered us into the presence of our quasi host.

We found in the room a company of just twelve, Guert included; that being the entire number of the club. It struck me, at the first glance, that the whole set had a sort of slide-down-hill aspect, and that we were likely to make a night of it. My acquaintance with Dirck, and indeed my connection with the old race, had not left me ignorant of a certain peculiarity in the Dutch character. Sober, sedate, nay phlegmatic as they usually appeared to be, their roystering was on a pretty high key, when it once fairly commenced. We thought one lad of the old race, down in Westchester, fully a match for two of the Anglo-Saxon breed, when it came to a hard set-to; no ordinary fun appeasing the longings of an excited Dutchman. Tradition had let me into a good many secrets connected with their excesses, and I had heard the young Albanians often mentioned as being at the head of their profession in these particulars.

Nothing could be more decorous, or considerate, however, than our introduction and reception. The young men seemed particularly gratified at having a clergyman of their party, and I make no doubt it was intended that the evening should be one of unusual sobriety and moderation. I heard the word “Dominie” whispered from mouth to mouth, and it was easy to see the effect it produced. Most eyes were fastened on Van Brunt, a red-faced, square-built, somewhat dissolute-looking man of forty-five, who seemed to find his apology for associating with persons so much his juniors, in his habits, and possibly in the necessity of the case; as men of his own years might not like his company.

“And, gentlemen, it is dry business standing here looking at each other,” observed Mr. Van Brunt; “and we will take a little punch, to moisten our hearts, as well as our throats. Guert, yon is the pitcher.”

Guert made good use of the pitcher, and each man had his glass of punch,—a beverage then, as now, much used in the colony. I must acknowledge that the mixture was very knowingly put together, though I had no sooner swallowed my glass, than I discovered it was confounded strong. Not so with Guert. Not only did he swallow one glass, but he swallowed two, in quick succession, like a man who was thirsty; standing at the time in a fine, manly, erect attitude, as one who trifled with something that did not half tax his powers. The pitcher, though quite large, was emptied at that one assault, in proof of which it was turned bottom upwards, by Guert himself.

Conversation followed, most of it being in English, out of compliment to the Dominie, who was not supposed to understand Dutch. This was an error, however, Mr. Worden making out tolerably well in that language, when he tried. I was felicitated on the bargains I had made with the contractor; and many kind and hospitable attempts were made to welcome me in a frank, hearty manner among strangers. I confess I was touched by these honest and sincere endeavours to put me at my ease, and when a second pitcher of punch was brought round, I took another glass with right good-will, while Guert, as usual, took two; though the liquor he drank, I had many occasions to ascertain subsequently, produced no more visible effect on him, in the way of physical consequences, than if he had not swallowed it. Guert was no drunkard, far from it; he could only drink all near him under the table, and remain firm in his chair himself. Such men usually escape the imputation of being sots, though they are very apt to pay the penalty of their successes at the close of their career. These are the men who break down at sixty, if not earlier, becoming subject to paralysis, indigestion, and other similar evils.

Such was the state of things, the company gradually getting into a very pleasant humour, when Guert was called out of the room by one of the blacks, who bore a most ominous physiognomy while making his request. He was gone but a moment, when he returned with a certain sort of consternation painted in his own handsome face. Mr. Van Brunt was called into a corner, where two or three more of the principal persons present soon collected, in an earnest, half-whispered discourse. I was seated so near this group, as occasionally to overhear a few expressions, though to get no clear clue to its meaning. The words I overheard were, “old Cuyler”—“capital supper”—“venison and ducks”—“partridges and quails”—“knows us all”—“never do”—“Dominie the man”—“strangers”—“how to do it?” and several other similar expressions, which left a vague impression on my mind that our supper was in great peril from some cause or other; but what that cause was I could not learn. Guert was evidently the principal person in this consultation, everybody appearing to listen to his suggestions with respect and attention. At length our friend came out of the circle, and in a courteous, self-possessed manner communicated the difficulty in the following words:

“You must know, Rev. Mr. Worden, and Mr. Littlepage, and Mr. Follock, and Mr. Newcome, that we have certain customs of our own, among us youths of Albany, that perhaps are not familiar to you gentlemen nearer the capital. The trut' is, that we are not always as wise and as sober as our parents, and grandparents in particular, could wish us to be. It is t'ought a good thing among us sometimes, to rummage the hen-roosts and poultry-yards of the burghers, and to sup on the fruits of such a forage. I do not know how it is with you, gentlemen; but I will own, that to me, ducks and geese got in this innocent, game-like way, taste sweeter than when they are bought in the market-hall: our own supper for to-night was a bought supper, but it has become the victim of a little enlargement of the practice I have mentioned.”

“How!—how's that, friend Ten Eyck!” exclaimed Mr. Worden, in no affected consternation. “The supper a victim, do you say?”

“Yes, sir; to be frank at once, it is gone; gone to a pullet, a steak, and a potatoe. They have not left us a dish!”

“They!” echoed the parson—“And who can they be?”

“That is a point yet to be ascertained, for the operation has been carried on in so delicate and refined a way, that none of our blacks know anything of the matter. It seems there was a cry of fire just now, and it took every one of the negroes into the street; during which time all our game has been put up, and has flown.”

“Bless me! bless me! what a calamity!—what a rascally theft! Did you not mark it down?”

“No sir, I am sorry to say we have not; nor do we apply such hard names to a frolic, even when we lose our supper by it. It is the act of some of our associates and friends, who hope to feast at our expense to-night; and who will, gentlemen, unless you will consent to aid us in recovering our lost dishes.”

“Aid you, my dear sir—I will do any thing you can wish—what will you have me attempt! Shall I go to the fort, and ask for succour from the army?”

“No, sir; our object can be effected short of t'at. I am quite certain we can find what we want, only two or three doors from this, if you will consent to lend us a little, a very little of your assistance.”

“Name it—name it, at once, for Heaven's sake, Mr. Guert. The dishes must be getting cold, all this time,” cried Mr. Worden, jumping up with alacrity, and looking about him, for his hat and cloak.

“The service we ask of you, gentlemen, is just this,” rejoined Guert, with a coolness that, when I came to reflect on the events of that night, has always struck me as singularly astonishing. “Our supper, and an excellent one it is, is close at hand, as I have said. Nothing will be easier than to get it on our own table, in the next room, could we only manage to call old Doortje off duty, and detain her for five minutes at the area gate of her house. She knows every one of us, and would smell a rat in a minute, did we show ourselves; but Mr. Worden and Mr. Littlepage, here, might amuse her for the necessary time, without any trouble. She is remarkably fond of Dominies, and would not be able to trace you back to this house, leaving us to eat the supper in peace. After t'at, no one cares for the rest.”

“I'll do it!—I'll do it!” cried Mr. Worden, hurrying into the passage, in quest of his hat and cloak. “It is no more than just that you should have your own, and the supper will be either eaten, or overdone, should we go for constables.”

“No fear of constables, Mr. Worden, we never employ them in our poultry wars. All we, who will get the supper back again, can expect, will be merely a little hot water, or a skirmish with our friends.”

The details of the movement were now intelligibly and clearly settled. Guert was to head a party provided with large clothes-baskets, who were to enter the kitchen, during Doortje's absence, and abstract the dishes, which could not yet be served, as all in Albany, of a certain class, sat down to supper at nine precisely. As for Doortje, a negro who was in the house, in waiting on one of the guests, his master, would manage to get her out to the area gate, the house having a cellar kitchen, where it would depend on Mr. Worden to detain her, three or four minutes. To my surprise, the parson entered on the execution of the wild scheme with boyish eagerness, affirming that he could keep the woman half an hour, if it were necessary, by delivering her a lecture on the importance of observing the eighth commandment. As soon as the preliminaries were thus arranged, the two parties proceeded on their respective duties, the hour admonishing us of the necessity of losing no time unnecessarily.

I did not like this affair from the first, the experiment of sliding down hill, having somewhat weakened my confidence in Guert Ten Eyck's judgment. Nevertheless, it would not do for me to hold back, when Mr. Worden led, and, after all, there was no great harm in recovering a supper that had been abstracted from our own house. Guert did not proceed, like ourselves, by the street, but he went with his party, out of a back gate into an alley, and was to enter the yard of the house he assailed, by means of a similar gate in its rear. Once in that yard, the access to the kitchen, and the retreat, were very easy, provided the cook could be drawn away from her charge at so important a moment. Everything, therefore, depended on the address of the young negro who was in the house, and ourselves.

On reaching the gate of the area, we stopped while our negro descended to invite Doortje forth. This gave us a moment to examine the building. The house was large, much larger than most of those round it, and what struck me as unusual, there was a lighted lamp over the door. This looked as if it might be a sort of a tavern, or eating house, and rendered the whole thing more intelligible to me. Our roystering plunderers doubtless intended to sup on their spoils at that tavern.

The negro was gone but a minute, when he came out with a young black of his own sex, a servant whom he was leading off his post, on some pretence of his own, and was immediately followed by the cook. Doortje made many curtsies as soon as she saw the cocked-hat and black cloak of the Dominie, begging his pardon and asking his pleasure. Mr. Worden now began a grave and serious lecture on the sin of stealing, holding the confounded Doortje in discourse quite three minutes. In vain the cook protested she had taken nothing; that her master's property was sacred in her eyes, and ever had been; that she never gave away even cold meats without an order, and that she could not imagine why she was to be talked to in this way. To give him his due, Mr. Worden performed his part to admiration, though it is true he had only an ignorant wench, who was awed by his profession, to manage. At length we heard a shrill whistle from the alley, the signal of success, when Mr. Worden wished Doortje a solemn good-night, and walked away with all the dignity of a priest. In a minute or two we were in the house again, and were met by Guert with cordial shakes of the hand, thanks for our acceptable service, and a summons to supper. It appears that Doortje had actually dished-up everything, all the articles standing before a hot fire waiting only for the clock to strike nine to be served. In this state, then, the only change the supper had to undergo, was to bring it a short distance through the alley and to place it on our table, instead of that for which it was so lately intended.

Notwithstanding the rapidity with which the changes had been made, it would not have been very easy for a stranger to detect any striking irregularity in our feast. It is true, there were two sets of dishes on the table, or rather dishes of two different sets; but the ducks, game, &c., were not only properly cooked, but were warm and good. To work everybody went, therefore, with an appetite, and for five minutes little was heard beyond the clatter of knives and forks. Then came the drinking of healths, and finally the toasts, and the songs, and the stories.

Guert sang capitally, in a fine, clear, sweet, manly voice, and he gave us several airs with words both in English and in Dutch. He had just finished one of these songs, and the clapping of hands was still loud and warm, when the young man called on Mr. Worden for a lady, or a sentiment.

“Come, Dominie,” he called out, for by this time the feast had produced its familiarity—“Come, Dominie, you have acquitted yourself so well as a lecturer, that we are all dying to hear you preach.”

“A lady do you say, sir?” asked the parson, who was as merry as any of us.

“A laty—a laty”—shouted six or seven at once. “The Tominie's laty—the Tominie's laty.”

“Well, gentlemen, since you will have it so, you shall have one. You must not complain if she prove a little venerable,—but I give you 'Mother Church.'”

This produced a senseless laugh, as such things usually do, and then followed my turn. Mr. Van Brunt very formally called on me for a lady. After pausing a moment I said, as I flatter myself, with spirit—“Gentlemen, I will give you another almost as heavenly—Miss Anneke Mordaunt!”

“Miss Anneke Mordaunt!” was echoed round the table, and I soon discovered that Anneke was a general favourite, and a very common toast already at Albany.

“I shall now ask Mr. Guert Ten Eyck for his lady,” I said, as soon as silence was restored, there being very little pause between the cups that night.

This appeal changed the whole character of the expression of Guert's face. It became grave in an instant, as if the recollection of her whose name he was about to utter produced a pause in his almost fierce mirth. He coloured, then raised his eyes and looked sternly round as if to challenge denial, and gave—

“Miss Mary Wallace.”

“Ay, Guert, we are used to that name, now,” said Van Brunt, a little drily. “This is the tenth time I have heard it from you within two months.”

“You will be likely to hear it twenty more, sir; for I shall give Mary Wallace, and nobody but Mary Wallace, while the lady remains Mary Wallace. How, now, Mr. Constable! What may be the reason we have the honour of a visit from you at this time of night.” 22

22 (return)
[ In this whole affair of the supper, the reader will find incidents that bear a striking resemblance to certain local characteristics portrayed by Mrs. Grant, of Laggan, in her memoirs of an American Lady; thus corroborating the fidelity of the pictures of our ancient manners, as given by that respectable writer, by the unquestioned authority of Mr. Cornelius Littlepage.—EDITOR.]