Part 4

It was dark when we arrived. I had ordered the coachman to set me down at Brown's--but I was informed that there was not a vacant room in the house, and also that every other hotel in the city was full. This overflow of company as I afterwards ascertained was caused by the assemblage at Washington of the Chesapeake and Ohio Canal Convention, adding some hundreds to the ordinary visiters of the period. To add to the discomfort of wanting lodgings, it was raining with great violence, and I dreaded a drive through the interminable streets of the federal metropolis. Our lady companion had observed that she was to be dropped at the residence of some relative, and moreover stated that it was a boarding house. But she avoided proposing that we should quarter with her; and not until I had seen her safely within the house, and was returning to the stage, did she mention our plight to her relative. The latter was immediately urgent that we should remain at her house, declaring that she had several unoccupied rooms, which were entirely at our disposal.

This new position of affairs was highly gratifying, and we anticipated all the comforts of a good supper, and comfortable lodgings, with a satisfaction which can best be conceived by those to whom those commodities have, at times, been wanting. My wife was safely seated in the well warmed dining room, the baggage deposited in the hall,--and I took the opportunity afforded by a delay in the appearance of supper, to step across the street, and inform the gentlemen with whom I was engaged, of my arrival, which was a day or two later than they had anticipated. On my return to the boarding house, to my utter astonishment, I saw my wife standing at the street door, in her bonnet and cloak, while my trunks were piled upon the steps.

Hey dey, said I, what does all this mean--why are you not warming yourself at the fire, instead of standing here muffled up, as if your journey was now to commence instead of being ended?

We cannot remain, said she, in a tone of chagrin.

Cannot! What is the reason? Are the people mad here, as well as on the road?

It would seem so. I had scarcely been five minutes in the house, when the landlady, who was at first so eager that we should lodge with her, changed her mind, and informed me that she could not accommodate us.

But she will not turn us out supperless, I hope, such a night as this?

I am not so certain of that. She appears to be infected with the same disease under which all our travelling companions have labored. People seem actually to avoid us as though we carried the plague about in our garments. She bowed me out of the dining room with as little ceremony as she would have shewn to a mendicant.

Well, well, said I, come in out of the air, and I will reason with her. So saying I led the way to the principal apartment in the house, which served as parlor, drawing room, and dining room--where the landlady soon made her appearance. She was a small, thin-faced woman, her form wiry and attenuated; her motions rapid and nervous; countenance much wrinkled, and of most forbidding expression, and a voice from which no art could have extracted a sound bearing the remotest relationship to harmony. Her dress was evidently suited to the season, when members of congress are seeking quarters for the winter, and when those who have them at disposal, are interested in putting the best possible face on every thing appertaining to their establishments. Her costume was, a silk frock, stretched upon her bony frame, and a yellow gauze turban, of monstrous size, decked with crimson ribbons, perched upon the top of her head, which thus seemed enveloped in "fire and brimstone:"--These awkwardly worn habiliments betrayed the fact that the lady had passed the day in attending the calls of the law-givers of the land, with the laudable design of enhancing the value of her accommodations, in the eyes of some rustic Solon, but newly caught, by the genteel appearance of their mistress.

I addressed this formidable figure, with an inquiry whether we could not remain with her for the night, referring to the state of the weather as rendering it almost impossible to make search for lodgings that evening.

The lady eyed me with great scrutiny, and there was an elevation of her nasal organ, while looking at me, which distorted to a more hideous expression than was natural, her weather-beaten visage.

"Indeed," said she, "you can't stay, and that's all about it. Three _members_ have just sent down to say that they would take the rooms what they look'd at this morning, and that they must be fix'd up this very night. So you see you can't stay. It a'nt my fault--and so I can't say no more about it."

"Then we _must_ look for other lodgings. But you can give us supper. The members of Congress have not bespoken _that_ also, I presume."

"Well--no. You _can_ eat your suppers here I spose."

"And this lady can remain here until I can obtain other quarters."

"Well, I've no particular objection to her sitting here awhile."

Just then supper was served, and we partook of it. Our travelling companion was at the table, but scarcely recognized us, and the landlady was barely civil. When the meal was over, I requested the latter to allow a servant to accompany me in my search, as I was ignorant of the location of the principal boarding houses. Her son, a pert lad of about thirteen, volunteered to pilot me, and without delay we sallied out.

It occurred to me as we passed up Pennsylvania avenue, that I had forgotten to deliver a message of some importance to my employers, when I called to announce my arrival, and I turned a little out of my way to the office of the N---- I----, where, while I was closeted for a few moments with one of the editors, my juvenile guide remained in the clerk's office.

On leaving the office, I was surprised at the altered tone of the lad.

"You had better go back," said the manakin: "it is too late to get lodgings to-night. My mother can keep you as well as not."

"But she has refused to do so, and insists that it is out of her power."

"Never mind that. Go back with me--I'll work the old woman over. See if I don't tell you the truth."

"You are a promising lad," said I, "but a little too forward. Let us go on."

Finding me determined to prosecute the search, he yielded, and we called at several houses; but all were full. Against my will, I was forced to return, with the resolution of making good my quarters for the night, at any rate, with or without the consent of the lady of the house. My guide assured me that he could "manage the old woman," and told me to give myself no uneasiness on the subject.

After a dreary walk, we reached the house. There sat my wife with her bonnet still on, for no one had asked her to remove it--and there sat the lady in the brimstone turban, and fiery ribbons, in whose ugly visage the words "_turn out_" seemed written, in characters not to be mistaken. As we entered, the boy motioned his mother, who joined him at the door, where they held a whispering colloquy for a few moments. While they were thus engaged, I learned from my wife that there had been no change in the sentence of exclusion, altho' no new lodgers had made their appearance.

The whispering ceased, and the landlady approached me. What was my astonishment at perceiving that the gorgon face, before so hideous with frowns, was puckered into the queerest attempt at a smile that was ever before witnessed on the human countenance.

But this was not all. Not only did her face exhibit these convulsive efforts, but the form approached us, curtseying with a most unhappy imitation of grace.

The devil is in the hag--said I internally. What new trick is to be played now? I was not long in suspense. The boy had kept his promise it seemed, for he or some one else, actually had "worked the old woman over." She affirmed that she had just received messages from the three _members_, stating that they were not in haste for the rooms--and she assured us they were entirely at our service.

We knew that this was a fiction; but we were fatigued, and disposed to take the good the Gods provided for us, without much question. We were shewn to our apartments and slept soundly, forgetting all the vexations of the day.

The next morning, after having exhausted ourselves in wonderment at the freaks which had been played off upon us, I left my wife, to make some calls in the city. I had not been long absent, when she received a visit from Mrs. M., our travelling companion, who, after the usual salutations had passed, seemed struggling to suppress a disposition to laugh, which my wife took to be another mad freak, to be classed with those she had previously witnessed.

The propensity at length overcame her, and she burst into a fit of uncontrollable laughter, which lasted for many minutes.

Indignant as my wife was disposed to be, at such an unexpected explosion of mirth, from a lady who had for two days treated her with haughty reserve, if not absolute contempt, she bore it with patience, and awaited in silence the conclusion of her visiter's merry humor, and such explanation of its cause as she might choose to give.

Every thing must have an end--and the lady at length ceased her laughter, from absolute exhaustion.

"My dear madam,--she gasped out--my dear madam--this is very rude--very rude indeed. You must be surprised at such conduct, and I beg your pardon but"----

"It would be an unnecessary dissimulation, to say I am not surprised; but I presume I shall soon learn to be surprised at nothing."

"You really then, think you have been associated for the last few days, with persons little better than bedlamites."

"I have certainly been exposed to strange conduct."

"Well, I have come to explain the whole mystery. Do not be offended at my mirth. I could not resist it. The laugh was more against myself than you--and the whole affair is so ridiculous, that you will laugh too, when you know the truth."

"I own that I have a strong curiosity to be acquainted with the cause of the strange treatment we have met with. I presume it arose out of some mistake."

"Entirely, entirely--and then a blunder so ridiculous--so uncommon! Excuse me, but really I must laugh--ha, ha, ha. But I will keep you in suspense no longer; besides, I wish you to laugh _with_ me, and therefore I will tell you my story. Listen. You remember that at Newcastle, you and your husband took one of the first stages. Myself and children were seated in another, in company with Mrs. R., (the pretty, talkative woman with light hair,) two members of Congress, and a young naval officer. We had scarcely started, when Mrs. R. commenced with her usual volubility, running over the various persons who had fallen under her observation in the steamboat. At last your turn came to be criticised: 'Did you observe Mrs. S.,' said she, 'the lady with black hair and blue eyes--rather pretty, and at first I took her to be quite a genteel personage.' Yes, I replied, I had been introduced to you, and was to place myself under the protection of your husband, from Baltimore to Washington."

"'Did you ascertain any thing of their standing and character,' said Mrs. R."

"Not a word said I. My friend Mr. H. told me they were genteel people, and their appearance warrants his opinion."

"'Well, really,' said Mrs. R., 'how easy it is to be deceived by people that one knows nothing about. You would not believe it--I am sure I would not, if Mrs. S. had not told me with her own lips--I say, otherwise, I would not have believed that Mr. S. was going to Washington in such a _menial capacity_.'"

"What!" said I.

"'_Menial capacity?_' said one member of Congress."

"'_Menial capacity?_' echoed the other member."

"'I took him for a gentleman,' said the naval officer--'Confound the fellow's impudence.'"

"But, said I, you must be mistaken, I'm sure. I am to go to Washington with him."

"'There must be some mistake,' said the two members of Congress, and the young naval officer, all in a breath."

"'Why we have engaged to make up a game of whist with him this evening,' said the latter."

"'Certainly!' said one member of Congress."

"'Certainly!' said the other member of Congress. 'Oh, there must be some mistake, my good madam. _Menial capacity!_ Impossible!'"

"'No mistake at all,' retorted Mrs. R., with some asperity. 'I tell you I had it from Mrs. S's own mouth, and she owned it after a good deal of hesitation and reluctance. I put twenty questions to her before I could get an answer.'"

"Well, said I, if you are so well satisfied that you are right, we are interested to know who and what these people are. I do not choose to travel under the protection of a man of _menial capacity_."

"'Yes, yes,' said the naval officer, '_what_ the deuse is the fellow. I should not wonder if he were a pick-pocket, or a black-leg, to judge by his easy impudence.'"

"'Very likely,' said one member of Congress."

"'I have not a doubt of it,' said the other member. 'But let us know, if you please madam, what he is.'"

"'As I said before, I would not have believed it if Mrs. S. had not told me herself,' said Mrs. R., hesitating."

"'Oh, no doubt you are right,' said the naval officer: 'but please let us know who it is we have been so familiar with.'"

"'Well,' said Mrs. R. 'Mrs. S. told me that her husband was going to Washington to be _Porter_ to the Senate.'"

Here my wife interrupted Mrs. M. with a fit of laughter almost equal to that with which Mrs. M. had indulged herself in the outset.

"So," said the former, "Mrs. R. mistook the word _Re_porter, for that of _Porter_,--an important omission."

"So it would seem," rejoined Mrs. M. "But let me go on."

"'_Porter to the Senate!_' exclaimed every voice."

"'A fellow who runs errands for the Senators, fetches and carries bundles, &c., I suppose,' said the naval officer."

"'I can't conceive what station he is to fill,' said one of the members of Congress, 'unless it is that of _old Tobias, the black man_, who kindles fires, and carries messages.'"

"'That is it I dare say,' said the other member."

"'We must cut him,' said the naval officer."

"'To be sure.'" "'To be sure.'"

"So it was settled by all present that you were to be cut without benefit of clergy."

"I should not have consented to place myself under your protection, continued Mrs. M., but that I had no choice. Knowing no other person with whom I could travel, I reluctantly accompanied you; and I trust," said she, laughing, "that on the road, I shewed a very laudable aversion to the contaminating society of a _Porter_ and his wife."

"No one can deny you that merit," said my wife.

"Well, I cannot ask your pardon for it. There was no malice in the mistake, and I am almost as much annoyed at it as you can be. After you arrived here last night, the landlady insisted on knowing what business brought your husband to Washington; and I reluctantly told her what I had heard. At the bare idea of lodging a _Porter_, her feathers bristled up like those of a Barbary hen. Her yellow turban looked blue at the idea of such an indignity. She protested that she would have no _Porters_ in her house, nor no such rapscallions as had the impudence to go about dressed like decent people, to take in the flats. And so, my dear madam, you were turned out without much ceremony, and might have spent the night in the street, but for the information obtained by the boy at the office of the N---- I----, which, by giving another syllable to the profession of your husband, shewed beyond a doubt that you were entitled to christian treatment. You know the rest, and I trust we shall all of us when we remember these blunders, acknowledge the IMPORTANCE OF A SINGLE SYLLABLE."

S.

Extracted from a Virginia Newspaper, Printed in 1775.

ON SLEEP.

O sleep! what though of death thou art To be an image said, I wish thee still with all my heart, The partner of my bed.

Thy company, soft sleep, then give, While in thy arms I lie; How sweet! thus, without life, to live! Thus, without death, to die!

For the Southern Literary Messenger.

THE COTTAGE IN THE GLEN.

In traversing that region of country in the wilds of Maine, that borders one of her finest rivers, if you look carefully on your right hand as you pass through the town of ----, by the post-road, you may observe a cart-path leading directly into a thick wood, where the trees tower in majesty and beauty to the very clouds, and look as if they had thus stood ever since the day when "the heavens and the earth were finished, and all the host of them." Were it not for this same cart-path, with its three ridges of bright greensward, and its four lines of dusky brown, you might doubt whether the silent grandeur of the forest had ever echoed to the voice or the footstep of man.

There is something truly grand and impressive in forest scenery. The lofty trees stretching high toward heaven; the graceful and majestic waving of the branches, breathing nature's own soft music, which scarcely removes the impression of profound silence--or which, to parody the words of Milton, "just makes silence audible;" the deep, and seemingly "boundless contiguity of shade," and the awful solitude, make man shrink into himself, and feel that he is in the presence of the Eternal. The weak spirit of a creature frail as man, is soon overpowered, if it give itself up to the impressions naturally produced by contemplating, in solitude, the grandeur of creation. The first feeling is delight,--next admiration,--then wonder,--then awe,--and then oppression;--and when it arrives at this point, the sight of such a little cart-path as I have mentioned, is a great relief to the feelings: for it shows that a being having passions, and feelings, and sympathies like his own--as short lived, as dependant, as insignificant as himself, is, or has been near. The deep shade has been penetrated; the solitude has been interrupted; and an unbroken and eternal silence has not forever reigned in the forest.

If the reader wishes, we will follow this path, and see whither it will conduct us. Its course is a little devious, probably to avoid the trunks of the trees, for not one appears to have been felled to shorten the distance, which is about three fourths of a mile, under the unbroken shade of the same noble woodland. Now the path begins to descend a little, and by almost imperceptible degrees, you arrive in a valley lying between two lofty ridges, that become more and more abrupt as you advance; and when you have proceeded about the fourth of a mile, they seem nearly perpendicular on either side. And their summits being crowned by the lofty trees of the same far stretching forest, adds much to the apparent depth of the valley, and you feel as if verging towards the centre of the earth. That little ripling stream in the valley, beside which we have been walking, now begins to widen, and presently expands itself into a mimic lake, restrained on the one hand and on the other by the mountain side, leaving just room enough on the left for the unbroken cart-path. Your ear is now assailed by the sound of rushing waters, and a roof appears beyond the lake--so that a habitation of man is near. No, it is a mill; the dwelling house is sixty rods below: there it lies, on a beautiful swell in the narrow valley, made, it would seem, on purpose for its site--and the again diminished stream is softly murmuring by its side. That is the Cottage in the Glen. If you please, we will descend, and take our station in front of it. Before we turned that angle to attain this spot, you were about to exclaim, "This is the very home of solitude, shut out from the rest of creation." But look straight down the valley, and far--far off, see the picturesque and busy village of ----, and the sparkling waters of the river. The valley is so straight and narrow, and widens so gradually towards its mouth, and the banks on either side are so precipitous, that it produces the same effect on the scene beyond, that a tube does in viewing a picture. Is it not beautiful! Now if you will climb with me to the foot of that tree that stands part way up the bank, we will be seated in the shade, and I will give you a sketch of the inhabitants of the cottage.

* * * * *

Mr. Kirkwood, a native of Massachusetts, and head of the family, is now upwards of seventy-five years of age; and until verging towards sixty, was decidedly a man of the world. He was educated at Harvard University, and at the age of twenty-eight, when he married, was a good scholar, a finished gentleman, and a successful lawyer.

"There is a tide in the affairs of men, Which, taken at the flood, leads on to fortune."

Mr. Kirkwood seized the favorable moment, and his wealth rapidly increased. He wished to be rich; not to hoard his wealth--but that he might be enabled to procure all the indulgencies and elegancies of life, and move at the head of society. His wish was gratified. He became rich; lived in splendid style; and his house was the favorite resort of the wealthy, the elegant, and the fashionable. His wife was a model of good housewifery, propriety and politeness; and his only child, a son, was all that the heart of a man of the world could wish. Highly gifted by nature, and favored with every advantage for the cultivation of his talents, young Kirkwood was ushered into society, elegant in person, elegant in mind, and correct in morals. It was generally conceded that whoever obtained him, would gain a first rate prize in the matrimonial lottery. Of course, there was no little competition among mothers who had daughters to dispose of; and young ladies who wished to dispose of themselves. But the lovely, well educated, and retiring Mary Bust, engaged his affections without seeking them; and in winning her heart, and securing her hand, he insured his own earthly felicity. Gentle by nature, polished and enlightened by education, unblemished in reputation, and thoroughly well principled, through the assiduous care and unwearied instructions of wise and pious parents,--she was all a man could wish for as a wife, companion and friend; all he could wish for as the mother of his children. The son's choice gave perfect satisfaction to his parents; and when in the course of a few years, the young wife gave successively to the arms of her husband, three sons and a daughter,--there seemed to be around this family, a confluence of all that constitutes the felicity of earth.

But, alas, in the tide of men's affairs, there is an _ebb_ as well as _flood_; and this the Kirkwood family now began to experience. The elder Kirkwood had just begun to discover that his affairs were in some confusion, when his wife was suddenly snatched away by death. It was a heavy blow, and he felt it as such. But men seldom die of grief! Millions have buried the wife of their youth, and been very comfortably supported under the bereavement; and so was Mr. Kirkwood. Indeed he had little time to spend in unavailing sorrow, or in brooding over the memory of the departed one; for the clouds of adversity became more and more dense about him, and he soon found that the combined energies of himself and son, could not avert the storm. Poverty seemed coming upon them "like an armed man." In the meantime, two of the blooming grandsons were in quick succession conveyed to the tomb; and just as the storm burst upon them in all its fury, the younger Kirkwood followed his mother and his two children to the world of spirits. After this tempest of adversity, Mr. Kirkwood stood like an oak, scathed by the lightning,--its verdure blasted, and its branches scattered abroad. He sunk, overwhelmed, and gave way to the most hopeless despondency.