AN INTERESTING CEREMONY.
The little sleepy town of Nyack had hardly waked up on the following morning, when the news of Tite's arrival was rung in it's ears. Marvelous stories, too, were told concerning the amount of money he had brought home, and the different countries he had visited. The inn-keeper declared at the breakfast table, intending that Mrs. Chapman should hear it, that he could say of his own knowledge, that the young gentleman had brought gold enough home to build a castle, have a coach of his own, and live like a gentleman in the city all the rest of his life.
"Has he really brought home so much money?" enquired Mrs. Chapman, raising her eyes and looking at Bright with an air of astonishment. "The young gentleman never mentioned it last night. Well, after all, there's nothing like young gentlemen of his class seeking their fortunes away from home. To say the least, it will give the young gentleman a fixed position in society."
"Yes, my dear," rejoined Chapman, "I always had a good opinion of the young gentleman. I always knew he would distinguish himself if he had a chance—"
"Good opinions are always plenty enough," interrupted the schoolmaster, who was a boarder at Bright's that week, "when a man has money and don't need good opinions."
Chapman made no reply. Indeed he was not prepared for such a thrust from so poor a fellow as the schoolmaster. He understood, however, what was meant by it, for he had gone into court only a few weeks before and given such testimony as showed himself a knave and a hypocrite, though it saved Hanz Toodleburg from ruin.
Mattie noticed the impression made on her mother by what Bright had said, but preserved a dignified silence. She felt that she had gained the price due to her constancy, had risen above the vanities and temptations designed to distract and mislead her, and by following the dictates of her own clear judgment would soon secure both happiness and fortune.
Breakfast was scarcely over at Hanz Toodleburg's before the neighbors, one after another, began to drop in to shake Tite by the hand, and welcome him home, and say "God bless you." Many of them brought little presents, to show how true and heart-felt was the friendship they bore him. And when he went down into the village he found himself surrounded by friends, all anxious to shake his hand, and to welcome him back, and to hear something concerning his voyage. In short, he was an object of curiosity as well as respect, for at that day there was a mysterious interest attached to a young man who had been a voyage round the world, it being associated with spirit and daring of a remarkable kind.
But it was not these friends Tite stole away and went down into the village to see. It was Mattie, at the mention of whose name a blush always colored his cheek. The two lovers had arranged for a morning walk, and were soon seen coming from the house together, smiling and happy. Mrs. Chapman had condescended to see them to the door, and her ponderous figure quite filled the space. "Don't forget, my daughter," she said, as they were leaving, "don't forget to bring the young gentleman back to dine with us. We can't promise him anything very nice; but he is welcome, you know, and must try and accommodate himself to our changed circumstances."
There is to me nothing more beautiful to contemplate than the picture of two young lovers brought happily together after years of trial and disappointment, themselves representing what there is good and pure in the human heart. It is then we seem to see the heart liberate itself from guile, and truth and right rejoice in their triumph over wrong. There was just such a picture presented by Mattie Chapman, the true-hearted American girl, and the active, earnest, persevering, and modest, American boy, just at this moment.
The day was bright and breezy, and there, high up on that hill overlooking the Tappan Zee, under that clump of trees, with their embracing branches forming a bower, in the very spot where they had liberated their hearts and pledged their love, and bid each other a sad adieu on the morning Tite sailed on his voyage, the young lovers were seated again. Hour after hour passed, and still they sat there, for Tite was recounting his adventures; telling Mattie the story of his strange voyage, and listening in return to her recital of what had taken place during his absence. Indeed, so earnestly were they engaged relating what had happened since they had been separated that they quite forgot dinner; and on returning to the house, found Mrs. Chapman in a state of great anxiety. It was not that they had been absent so long; but the young gentleman would find things cold and unsatisfactory. The truth was, Mrs. Chapman had dressed herself with a view to a little display, and was a little disappointed at not having the opportunity to make it before a full table. Mr. Bowles, too, had been ordered to appear bright and nice, in his new livery and top-boots, to wait on the family at dinner, and show, by his attentions to the young gentleman, that he was a well-brought-up servant. In fine, the lady so embarrassed the young gentleman with her attentions, that he was glad when dinner was over. I ought not to forget to mention that Chapman, though he was less demonstrative, took several occasions to assure the young gentleman of the high respect he had always held him in—especially on account of his father and mother.
Tite went home when dinner was over; but returned again in the evening, for there was an attraction there he could not resist. And it was then that Mrs. Chapman joined their hands, invoked a blessing on their heads and called them her children.
"I always did like the young gentleman—I am sure I always did," she added, with an air of condescension. "My daughter knows I always did. It was not on the young gentleman's account that I entertained a little misgiving (just a little) in reconciling the family connection." Pausing suddenly, the lady turned to Mattie in a somewhat confused manner: "My daughter, my daughter," she returned, "you must overlook a number of little things. You will—won't you? Now, don't say I am vain. But it was such a queer—yes, such a vulgar and very common name to carry into society."
"There's just one favor I have to ask, my daughter. I am sure the young gentleman won't object to it—I am sure he won't." Again Mrs. Chapman paused, and seemed a little confused.
"Certainly, ma, certainly," replied Mattie, with a pleasant smile, "anything to please my dear mother."
"Well, then," resumed Mrs. Chapman, mildly: "There'll be no harm in changing the name a little—just a little, for the sake of the effect it will have on society. The young gentleman, I am sure he will (he has got the means to do it, you see) set up a nice establishment in the city, and (looking forward a little, you know) you will have a set of society of your own. Things change so, you see. You wouldn't mind changing the name so that it will read Von Toodleburg? T.B. Von Toodleburg would be so much nicer."
I may mention here that such was the name the family took and flourished under at a subsequent period, as will appear in the second series of this work.
"Fix things, name and all, to your liking, my dear mother," replied Mattie, laughing heartily. "I don't believe Tite cares anything about it."
"Never was ashamed of my name," replied Tite, with an air of indifference, "never was. But it doesn't matter much what a man's name is. They used to call me all sorts of names at sea."
"Another little harmless request," resumed Mrs. Chapman, with a condescending bow. "You see there is Bowles. Bowles is such an excellent servant, and so very respectable. He has such a presentable appearance when in his livery. I have great respect for Bowles—he understands me so well. You won't have any objection to his having a fixed position in the family, will you?"
Mattie blushed, and drawing her mother aside, whispered in her ear: "We can settle such matters, my dear mother, when others of more importance are disposed of."
"But you know, my daughter," she returned, with an air of great seriousness, "he has done so much to make these common country people understand what our position was in the city."
Two weeks were passed in making preparations for the wedding. And now the day was come, and that ceremony that was to unite two loving hearts for weal or woe, which was to seal their fortunes in one bond, was to be performed in the little old church, quietly and unostentatiously, by Dominie Payson, for it had been settled after some reluctance on the part of Mrs. Chapman, that the job could be done by that worthy divine, and the world think none the less of the young people.
Nyack, my reader must know, was in the best of humor that day, and when it was four o'clock, appeared in a smiling face, and dressed in it's best clothes. Chapman, I may also mention, forgot his misfortunes, and for once appeared neat and tidy, and in a happy mood. Indeed he had kissed and congratulated his daughter several times during the day. He had also unburdened his heart by telling her how happy he felt that the family had escaped disgrace in the city. He had, indeed, something to be thankful for, since Gusher had been taken back to New Orleans, tried, convicted of his crimes, and sent for two years at hard labor in the penitentiary.
Mrs. Chapman, remembering that such events did not occur every day, resolved not to be outdone by any of them. She was sure a little display would not be wasted; and had spent four hours "getting herself elegant." She had more than half a suspicion that there would be some New York people present, and it would not do to be outshone by them in magnificence of toilet. Nor must I forget Bowles, who appeared shortly after breakfast in his new livery, with a tall hat half covered with a band and buckle, white gloves, and bright new boots and breeches. Bowles was a figure of immense importance, and contemplated himself with an air of amusing gravity, as he moved up and down in front of the house, much to the amusement of the visitors at Bright's Inn. A bunch of flowers had been provided for his button hole; and he was to drive the happy couple to and from church, an honor he seemed to appreciate fully.
There was an interesting scene, too, at Hanz Toodleburg's little house. Instead of making bridal presents of costly jewelry and works of art, as is now done, the worthy settlers sent the groom's father presents of a very different character. Hanz had found enough to do during the morning in receiving these presents and thanking the donors. There was a pig from farmer Tromp, a barrel of apples from neighbor Steuben, a big cheese from farmer Van Beuskirk, a ham from the widow Welcker, a pan of new-made sausages from farmer Deitman, and a bushel of dried apples from Dominie Payson. In fine, one sent a cow, another a sack of wheat, another a barrel of cider; and in that way they had well neigh stocked Hanz's larder for the winter.
It was now nearly time for the ceremony. Neatly, but plainly dressed people were seen treading their way toward the little church, while around its door a number of bright-faced children, all dressed so neatly in white, and with their hands full of flowers, stood ready to greet the bride and bridegroom. In short, the worthy settlers had come from all directions to witness the ceremony. There were rustics, in their simple attire, sauntering through the old church yard, or leaning listlessly over the paling. And there in the old belfry sat Jonas, the ringer, with his bald head and his weeping eyes, ready to ring out a merry peal as soon as the bride and bridegroom came in sight.
A laughing, happy throng of people filled the little church as soon as the door was opened. Then Dominie Payson took his place at the altar; and Hanz and Angeline, representing age beautified by simplicity, walked slowly up the aisle, and took their place on one side, followed by Critchel, the inn-keeper and the schoolmaster, who stood just behind them. A few minutes later and Mrs. Chapman, arrayed in all the majesty of her best wardrobe entered, accompanied by her meek little husband, and took their places on the opposite side, presenting such a contrast of characters. The picture only wanted the central figures now.
A few minutes more, and there was a sudden, anxious movement on the part of those inside. All eyes were turned towards the door. The bridal party had arrived. Old Jonas was ringing his bell. The children at the door were tossing flowers at their feet; and their voices were heard singing a sweet and touching song. Then the bridal party advanced up the aisle, the bride dressed in simple white, and with flowers in her golden hair, and looking so sweetly. And as they took their place before the altar, there was something so full of love and gentleness, of truth and purity, in that sweet face as Mattie looked up and calmly surveyed the scene, that it seemed as if earth had nothing to compare with it.
And as the simple, but impressive ceremony proceeded, and the young lovers once more pledged their love, and made that solemn vow never to separate until death comes, and knelt in prayer to sanctify it; and as the Dominie blessed them, and pronounced a benediction, and as the soft rays of the setting sun played over and lighted up that beautiful face, it seemed as if some gentle spirit, sent from on high, was hovering over the scene and whispering Amen.