The Atlantic Monthly, Vol. I, No. 1, Nov. 1857

V >> Various >> The Atlantic Monthly, Vol. I, No. 1, Nov. 1857

Pages:
1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 | 17 | 18 | 19

The lower portion of the graveyard is set apart as a sort of
potter's-field, where negroes, Indians, and stranger-paupers are buried.
This region is bordered by a little jungle of poke-berry and elder-bushes,
sumachs and brambles, so dense and thrifty that they overtop and hide the
fence; and there is a tradition among the school-boys, that somewhere in
the copse there is a black-snake hole, the abode of an enormous monster,
upon whom no one, however, has ever happened to set eyes. Here, with but
few exceptions, the graves are marked only by low mounds of turf, overrun
with matted wild-blackberry vines, where the lightest footstep, crushing
through the crumbling sod, destroys the labors of whole colonies of ants.
But farther up the hillside, headstones and monuments stand so close
together, that, at a distance, there seems to be scarcely room for another
grave.

Near the summit lie the early settlers of the town; and in a conspicuous
place upon the brow of the acclivity stands a row of tombstones several
rods in length. These mark the graves of an ancient and honorable family
of townsfolk. At one end, a thick slab of red sandstone, of uncouth shape
and rude appearance, leans aslant, partly buried in the mellow soil. The
moss and lichens, with which its roughly cut back and edges are overgrown,
have been removed from its face, and the quaint inscription is distinctly
legible, whereby the curious idler is informed that "Here lies, in y'e Hope
of a Joyfull Resurrecion, y'e Body of Maj'r Iohn Bugbee, an Assistant of
y'e Colony & A Iustice of y'e Peace. Born at Austerfield, in y'e County
of Lincoln, England. Dyed Feb. y'e 9 AD. 1699 AE. 72." Close by the side
of this venerable grave is another, which the stone at its head announces
to be the resting-place of "Mistress Mindwell Bugbee--Consort of Maj'r
Iohn Bugbee and youngest Daut: of Sir Roger Braxley, of Braxley Hall,
Lincolnshire, England." Then follow, in order of time, the headstones
which mark the graves of successive generations descended from this worthy
couple. Some of these are so defaced and weather-worn, that in aspect they
seem even more venerable than the monuments of the founders of the race.
Nearly all of those erected before the beginning of the present century
bear quaint devices,--some of cherubs, all wings, and blank, staring faces;
some of hour-glasses, some of masonic emblems, and upon one of two are
rudely carved, ugly death's heads and crossbones. Two thirds of the way
down the line stands the first marble headstone. It is taller than its
neighbors, and, though spotted with weather stains, it bears a deeply
graven inscription, which seems as legible as the day it was cut, full
forty years ago. In the grave at the foot of this stone lies buried another
Major Bugbee, the great-great-grandson of the first Major. The commission
of this gentleman, signed by John Hancock, President of the Continental
Congress, still hangs in a frame against the wainscot, over the mantel,
in the parlor of the great gambrel-roofed house, whose front-yard fence
and garden palings form, for almost half the way, the eastern side of
the village square. The late master of this dwelling, Doctor Bugbee, who
was the eldest son of the Continental major, lies at the end of the long
platoon of dead, in the newest grave of all the range, over which a marble
obelisk has been erected, in memory of the name and many virtues of the
deceased, who departed this life, as the inscription attests, on the 7th
day of September, 1843, in the fifty-seventh year of his age.

Near by this spot, with its drooping boughs shading the monument I have
just described, grows a weeping-willow tree, of such great size, that its
top, from half way up, can be plainly discerned from almost every corner
of the village green; and it is, withal, of such perfect symmetry of
form, that on a moonlight night it resembles a fountain, as its leaves,
fluttering in the breezy air, and turning their silver linings to the
moonbeams, seem to sparkle like spray and drops of falling water. Behind
this tree is placed a rustic bench, where, on a pleasant day in June, one
may sit and look forth upon as pretty a landscape as can be seen in all
Hillsdale County, or, for that matter, in all the State as well. Before you
lies the declivity of the hill upon which the village stands. At its foot
begins a verdant plain of interval meadows, dotted here and there with
graceful elms and stately hickories, each standing alone in its ring of
shadow, the turf everywhere bespangled with dandelions and buttercups, and
changing its hue from shade to shade of vivid green, as the wind sweeps
over the thick growing verdure. Through these meadows flows a sluggish
brook, in broad meandering curves, crossed at each turn by rustic
farm-bridges, with clumps of trees fringing the deeper pools. The plain
is skirted by a country road, bordered with majestic trees, and with
farm-houses standing all along its winding course. Beyond, the land rises,
and the slope is checkered, to the foot of the hills, with arable fields.
The view is bounded by the craggy sides of the great hills which separate
this quiet vale from the broad valley of the Connecticut. Here, all is soft
and tranquil beauty. But just beyond the rugged barrier of those western
hills lies a grander landscape, of wide extent, through which flows New
England's greatest river, and crossed from end to end by New England's
busiest thoroughfares, dusty with the tread of commerce, and bordered with
growing cities and thrifty, bustling towns. Here, reclining on this rustic
bench, in the shadow of the willow branches, among the tombstones of the
silent dead, you may dream away the sultry afternoon, and hear no sounds
but drowsy noises that dispose to rest and quiet; the whispering of the
wind in the treetops, the droning pipe of grasshoppers and locusts,
the distant cries of teamsters to their cattle, the shouts of children
loitering home from school or gathering berries in the sunny fields, the
whetting of a scythe in a far-off meadow, or the music of the blacksmith's
hammer upon his ringing anvil.

Four times a year, during the brief terms of court, the usual stillness
that pervades the sober village is enlivened by the presence of a scanty
crowd. Then, for a week, judges, jurors, suitors, and witnesses flock
together; and sometimes, in the winter season, when farm work is not
pressing, the neighbors throng by scores into the court-house, to hear
the wordy harangues of the lawyers in some notable cause. Likewise on
town-meeting days, the stores and tavern bar-rooms about the square are
filled with a concourse of the sovereign people from the more rural
districts; and at the annual cattle show and fair all Hillsdale comes up to
Belfield. Then, I warrant you, if it chance to be a pleasant Indian-summer
day, there is indeed a crowd, and for a while the little capital contains
a greater number of living souls than all the county besides. From early
twilight till sunset blazes on the western hills the square and street
are densely thronged. A Babel of strange noises fills the dusty air: the
lowing of cows and oxen; the bellowing of frightened calves; the plaintive
bleating of bewildered lambs; the fierce neighing of excited horses; the
yelping of curs; the crowing of imprisoned cocks, responding to each
other's defiant notes; the sing-song clamor of itinerant auctioneers,
standing on their wagons and displaying their tempting wares to the little
knots around them; the din and hubbub of the busy, moving, talking,
jostling multitude,--shouts, laughs, cries, murmurs, all mingled together,
till confusion harmonizes; and above all, the constant clanking of the iron
handle of the old town-pump, which never ceases all the livelong day. At
nightfall the uproar lessens, and as the evening wanes, the unaccustomed
sounds diminish, though till midnight, ever and anon, the tired and sleepy
citizens are startled from their dreams by whoops, hurrahs, snatches of
songs, and outbursts of rude laughter ringing through the frosty air and
mingling with the clattering of horses' feet and the whirring rumble of
swift-revolving wheels, as some party of roystering blades, excited by deep
potations, drive shouting homewards from the village inns.

Excepting on these unfrequent occasions, Belfield Green is as free from
bustle as if it were a hamlet whose name was never seen upon a map. The
time has been, however, when it was a busy little mart, the centre of trade
for an extensive district. In yonder low-roofed store that stands upon the
square, near by the great gambrel-roofed house of which mention has already
been made, the second Major Bugbee increased a handsome patrimony till it
grew to be a great estate; the share of which that fell to his two eldest
sons, the Doctor and his younger brother, James, they in time, by gainful
traffic in the same old place, made more than equal to the entire estate,
of which a quarter only came to them. Thousands and tens of thousands of
tons of golden butter and cheese, hundreds of thousands of bushels of rye,
oats, flaxseed, buckwheat, and corn, millions of eggs and skeins of linen
and woollen yarn have been bartered at Belfield Green by the country folks,
in exchange for rum, molasses, tea, coffee, salt, and codfish, enough to
freight the royal navy. Time was when folks came twenty miles to Belfield
post-office, and when a dusty miller and his men, at the old red mill
standing on the brook at the foot of the valley, took toll from half the
grists in Hillsdale County. But that was long ago, when people who lived
twenty miles away from Hartford went to the city scarcely twice in a dozen
years,--in the good old days of turnpikes, stage-coaches, and wayside
taverns, before railroads were built to carry all the trade to great,
overgrown towns and cities. Now-a-days, as I have said, it is hard to find
a village of its size and rank in all the land, which is more quiet, at
ordinary times, than Belfield Green.

CHAPTER II.

Every community has its quota of great men; and in this respect a country
village is often, in proportion to its numbers, as well endowed as the
capital itself. So Belfield has her magnates whom she delights to honor.
Chief among them used to be numbered the late Doctor John Bugbee, a worthy
gentleman, now gathered to his fathers in the ancient burying-ground behind
the meeting-house. He was not, to be sure, esteemed by all, especially the
women, to be so great a man as the Reverend Jabez Jaynes, A.M., who, by
virtue of his sacred office and academical honors, took formal precedence
of every mere layman in the parish. But with this notable exception, Doctor
Bugbee was the peer of every other dignitary, whether civil, military, or
ecclesiastical, within the borders of the town.

But when I say the Doctor was a great man in Belfield, I do not mean to
aver, or to be understood, that, in person, he was of colossal bulk or
stature; neither is it true that his intellect was of a quality so far
superior to the average of human minds as to make him a giant in that
respect. It would be great presumption in so humble a penman as myself to
choose, even for the hero of my tale, a man of eminent distinction. So I
make haste to confess, that, doubtless, there were at least a score or two
of his fellow-townsmen as well endowed by nature as the Doctor. But above
many of these persons he was elevated by accidental circumstances and
acquired advantages to a position which rendered him a man of greater mark
and influence than they. He was descended from a most reputable ancestry,
and, being a professional man, of polite address and handsome fortune, it
would have been strange indeed, if he had not been highly esteemed in the
community where he dwelt. Besides, he was a man of sense and taste, witty,
jovial, talkative, and of such extremely easy good-nature, that, if it had
not been for the tact and shrewdness of his brother and partner in trade,
who managed the business of the firm, the Doctor's income would have
diminished, instead of increasing, as it did, year after year. As it was,
his practice as a physician scarcely paid for his horsekeeping and the
medicines he dispensed, though for a while he was a favorite physician in
all that region; growing in the good-will of the people, until, as a mark
of their esteem, he received a nomination to the General Assembly. At first
there was such an outcry of dismay from the old ladies of the parish, that
the Democrats came near defeating him, though the Whigs had a sure majority
for every other name on the ticket. But having triumphed over this outburst
of stubborn opposition, the Doctor speedily became the most popular
politician in the county, if frequent election to office was a true test of
public favor. For it turned out, that, instead of the mortality happening,
which the Democrats, and their allies, the old women, had predicted would
prevail, there never had been known a healthier season within the memory
of man. And always afterwards, whenever the worthy Doctor was chosen to
represent the town at Hartford or New Haven, there seemed to be a special
interposition of providential mercy, inasmuch as in all his professional
round, none ever sickened unto death during his absence; though it
sometimes happened that the population of the town would be increased by
one or two. In course of time, therefore, his fame as a statesman even
rivalled his reputation as physician, and all parties were brought to join
in voting for him with the most cordial unanimity.

In his youth the Doctor had been reckoned a handsome young fellow, and, to
the day of his death, he preserved his good looks to a wonderful degree. A
cheerful temper like his is a famous preventive of gray hairs and wrinkles.
So the jovial Doctor never seemed to grow old; and at fifty, his erect
form, smooth, ruddy cheeks, curly brown poll, and merry blue eyes made him
look younger than many of his neighbors who were his juniors by a dozen
years.

When a very young man, not quite twenty years of age, and before he had
finished his course of professional study, the Doctor had taken to wife his
cousin, Miss Naomi Bugbee, who had lived in his father's house ever since
he could remember; for the young lady was an orphan, with a good estate,
and during her minority had been her uncle's ward. The bride was not an
uncomely damsel, neither was she distinguished for beauty; and between the
ages of the happy young couple there was quite a difference; a circumstance
by no means unusual, and which would not have been mentioned here, but
for the fact, that, in this case, it was the bride who was the senior of
the pair. Some people said she was ten years older than the Doctor; and,
for a wonder, these gossips had the evidence of the registry to back
their statements. In fact, the youthful bridegroom had been very tenderly
dry-nursed, in his infancy, by his bride; and a certain sound spanking
which she gave him when he was just coming four, because he insisted
upon crying and keeping awake, one evening, while his mother was gone
to a wedding, instead of going to sleep in his trundle-bed like a good
boy,--this chastisement, I say, had been one of the earliest and most vivid
of the bridegroom's recollections of his childhood. But though he had not
forgotten this grievance, he had doubtless forgiven it with all his heart;
thereby setting an example worthy of imitation by the fair Naomi, who,
indeed, was doubly bound to exercise forgiveness and forbearance towards
her lord; for, whatever might have been the faults and failings of the
youth to whom she surrendered the ripened harvest of her charms, it
certainly did not lie in the mouth of one to complain of them unduly, who
had enjoyed such rare and excellent opportunities to train up for herself a
husband in the way he should go.

There was not wanting at that time in Belfield a class of spiteful people,
who, doubtless, being inspired by envy at beholding the felicity of the
happy pair, affected to laugh and sneer a good deal at what they jeeringly
called Jack Bugbee's marrying his grandmother. But, as if it had been
specially ordered on purpose to confound these ill-natured jokers, this
union, the object of their ridicule, was most signally prospered, and in
due time the Doctor himself put his wife to bed with a pair of nice little
girls.

Not long after, the twins were christened at the meeting-house, a great
crowd attending to witness the ceremony. To the elder girl was given
the name of Amelia. Upon the other was bestowed the equally desirable
appellative of Cornelia. While they were babies, both were considered
remarkably pretty children; at least, so everybody told Mrs. Bugbee; but
as they grew in years and stature, it became more and more apparent, that,
although each resembled the other in figure, features, and expression, so
strongly that you could not see one without being reminded of the other,
none would ever be at a loss to distinguish between them; for Amelia
promised to be as extremely handsome as her sister seemed likely to be
homely. Indeed, Amelia was a beautiful counterpart of Cornelia, resembling
her in the same wise that a flattered portrait, painted by some shrewd and
skilful limner, will sometimes resemble the rich and ugly original, in
which, while the likeness is faithfully portrayed, all the harsh lines are
softened, and even blemishes are transformed into beauty-spots, or made to
serve as foils.

Besides these twins, other children, from time to time, were born to the
Doctor and his spouse, all of whom died in infancy. The love of the parents
for their first-born seemed to redouble at each of these bereavements. The
mother, especially, would scarcely suffer her darlings to be absent from
her sight; and when, at last, after infinite persuasion, she was induced to
let them go to the Misses Primber's great boarding-school at Hartford, she
used to ride over to see them as often as she could invent a pretext. It
was with the greatest reluctance that she consented to this separation; but
in those days it was indispensable that a young woman of good family should
spend at least a twelve-month at the Misses Primber's famous establishment,
where all the rough hewing of less skilful teachers was shaped and
polished, so to speak, according to the most fashionable models then in
vogue. It was while the twins remained at this notable seminary that they
executed those wonderful landscapes, in Reeves's best water-colors, which
used to decorate the walls of the parlors in the Bugbee mansion, and which,
I dare say, still hang in tarnished gilt frames in some of the bedchambers.
It was there they filled the copybooks of French exercises from Levizac's
Grammar, which Miss Cornelia still carefully preserves in a bureau drawer.
There they learned to play and sing "Days of Absence," "I'm A Merry Swiss
Boy," and many other delightful melodies, the which, even now, Miss
Cornelia will sometimes hum softly to herself. Besides acquiring these and
sundry other accomplishments, Miss Amelia found time to carry on a secret
epistolary correspondence with a good-looking young law-student, (of whom
more extended mention will presently be made,) and also to contrive many
meetings and walks with him, of which nobody was cognizant but her sister
and some five or six other bosom friends and faithful confidants. But
Miss Cornelia, though as well inclined thereto as her sister, having,
nevertheless, been able to find no lover to occupy her thoughts, and with
whom to hold amatory interviews to fill her leisure, was fain to devote all
her spare moments to the reading of romances and novels, of which, though
rigorously interdicted, a great number were in the house, in possession of
the Misses Primber's pupils; and when this supply was exhausted, she had
recourse to a circulating library near by; being often put as nearly to her
wits' end to devise expedients whereby to smuggle the contraband volumes
into her chamber, as Amelia was to fulfil, at the time and place of tryst,
the frequent engagements which she made to meet her lover.

Accordingly it came to pass, that Amelia's heart became affected in such a
way and to that degree that she was never heart-whole again so long as she
lived; and Cornelia's head was filled with such an accumulation of romantic
rubbish, that, to this very day, a mighty heap of it remains,--mingled, to
be sure, with ideas of a more solid and useful quality. For when a woman
lives a maid during those years in which most of her sex are busy with
the cares attendant upon the matronly estate, fantastic notions, such as
I have mentioned, are not so apt to be excluded from the mind, and in
this way many girls of good natural parts are spoiled, merely for lack of
husbands. With the exception of this inordinate liking for the romantic
and mysterious,--by which she was sometimes betrayed into follies and
absurdities that provoked a little harmless scandal or ridicule,--Miss
Cornelia has ever been held in good repute among her neighbors as a
kind-hearted, obliging, sentimental little woman.

At last, at the end of a year, the young ladies came home from the
seminary, having fully completed their education; an event which filled
Mrs. Bugbee's heart with ineffable satisfaction. When the loving mother
reflected, that, for a long time, if it pleased God to spare their lives,
she should now enjoy the pleasure of her children's presence, her bosom
overflowed with happiness. Though she looked forward to their being married
as to something quite likely to happen in the course of time, yet such
events are always uncertain, and they appeared to her to lie so far ahead
in the vague distance of the future, that these anticipations caused her
no serious disquiet. For the girls were but eighteen years of age, and it
seemed hardly a twelvemonth since the time when they used to wear their
hair curling in their necks, and to go hand in hand to the district school
in pinafores and pantalets.

The good lady's chagrin, therefore, was excessive, when, the next Saturday
morning but one after her daughters' return, Amelia came into her bedroom,
where she sat darning a stocking by the window, and after so much
hesitation that her mother began to wonder, suddenly put her arms about her
neck, hid her blushing face upon her shoulder, and in that position softly
whispered a confession, that a certain young gentleman, with whom she had
become acquainted in Hartford, had told her he was very much attached to
her indeed; that she was not wholly indifferent with respect to him, and
that, in fact, she loved him. While Mrs. Bugbee remained speechless with
surprise, Miss Amelia proceeded to say, that it was highly probable the
young gentleman would that very afternoon take it into his head to ride
out from Hartford to Belfield; and perhaps he would also request permission
to visit her regularly, with the ultimate purpose of asking her hand in
marriage; in which case, she said, it was to be hoped her parents would not
refuse his modest petition; for that the young gentleman was a very good
and worthy young gentleman, a law-student of extraordinary promise, of as
old and respectable a family as any other in the State, and, withal, a
young gentleman in no wise given to bad habits of any kind whatsoever, but,
on the contrary, distinguished for his exemplary morals and sober conduct.
All this Amelia uttered very earnestly; but, strange to say, made no
mention of the quality which, as much as all the rest, had attracted
her regards; namely, the young gentleman's good looks, for which he was
somewhat noted, and of which he was not a little vain.

When the Doctor returned that day from his morning ride among his patients,
his wife took him aside into their bedroom and related what has just been
set forth. The Doctor listened with grave attention till his wife concluded
her story; but when, at the end of it, she began to lament, he turned the
thing off with a laugh, and giving her a hearty kiss, endeavored to soothe
her disquiet. "Well, well, mother," said he, "why, let him come, let him
come. It's only a year or two sooner than I expected, and may be it'll be a
flash in the pan after all. I think I must have seen the young fellow in at
Squire Johnson's; and at any rate, I'm pretty sure I know his father. When
he comes, we'll just invite him right over here to spend the Sabbath, and
by the time he goes away on Monday we'll know the twist of every thread in
his jacket. If he's the right one to make our girl happy, we ought to be
glad she's found him; and if he a'n't, it'll be all the harder to make her
listen to reason, unless we show reason ourselves; and, surely, it would be
unreasonable to be set against him, before we've even seen him or heard him
say a word."

When Mr. Edward Talcott (for that was the young gentleman's name) came over
from the tavern, where he had left his horse and portmanteau, and with much
secret trepidation and assumed boldness had walked up the wide flagstones
which led from the street to the green front door of Doctor Bugbee's
mansion, it was opened, at the summons of the brass knocker, by a little
black girl, who vainly strove to hide a grin behind a corner of her long
check apron. Before the visitor had time to utter a word, Amelia, blushing
like a rose and looking handsomer than ever, came tripping into the hall,
and after a whisper, which Dinah, who tried, failed to overhear, and the
purport of which, therefore, I cannot relate, ushered him into the parlor,
and presented him in due form to her mother, and also to her grandmother,
Madam Major Bugbee, as she was styled by the townsfolk,--a stately old
lady in black silk, who, being hard of hearing, and therefore incapable of
mingling in the conversation that ensued, regarded the new comer through
her gold-bowed spectacles, during the remainder of the afternoon, with a
furtive, but earnest attention which was quite embarrassing to the object
of it.

Pages:
1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 | 17 | 18 | 19