“WHO ARE THEY?” A QUESTION OF VITAL IMPORT.
How often, in our democratic land, the query which forms our caption has caused the aspirants after aristocratic distinction to shudder, and how silent become their voices of high pretension, when, by some unfortunate remark, or the recalling of some reminiscence, they have been forced to take a retrospective glance into the past for a few generations. Happy are they if memory does not wake up a sturdy ancester pounding the leather upon his lapstone, or that necessary craftsman, the tailor, plying his busy needle upon the shop-board. The morbid desire of us republicans to be ignorant of the vulgar callings of life, is often very amusing; and the struggles to rake up a pedigree, to give character to growing prosperity, has often caused more trouble and vexation than the building up of a fortune, which it was necessary thus to adorn.
“Who are they?” was the general query at a soiree given by a high United States' officer, at the city of Washington, a short period previous to the death of the lamented General Harrison. The parties who called forth the query were a western member of congress and his highly gifted lady. The member was in the prime of life, of acknowledged talents in his profession, and betrayed, in his manners, the high breeding of a gentleman. A conscious power lent ease to his frankness, and the men of the west clustered around him with pride. His lady, simply attired, attracted all eyes; her distingue figure and intellectual face proclaimed her a peerless woman, and when she smiled a ray of heaven's own light beamed forth from human eyes. There was a kindness in her smile which won hearts before they knew her; there was no hollow mockery in it; it came forth from a happy heart, and where its influence fell, good feelings sprung up and sweet thoughts clustered; but—Who is she? Ah, that's the question; and how often the inquiry was passed from lip to lip during that evening! Amid the throng in which they moved, and wherever they lingered, an admiring coterie surrounded them. The husband was a strong man in the political world; had accepted a seat in congress more to gratify his friends than in accordance with his own wishes, and his party felt strengthened by his presence. His lady, ever distinguished at home, was now creating no small sensation at Washington; but—“who are they?” That all-absorbing question remained unanswered, even to the close of the evening, and they departed, leaving it still an “open question.”
Judge W. had been seen conversing very familiarly with them, and an anxious company soon surrounded him, uttering, the query, “Who are they?” He informed them, that it was Mr. H. and his wife, Mrs. H., of M————. “Oh! they all knew that, but what was their family?”
“Upon my life, ladies,” answered the good-natured Judge, “I don't know; but if you will only wait until to-morrow evening, I will endeavor to find out.”
The task of postponing curiosity, though difficult, was, nevertheless, unavoidable; and the party broke up with a living hope, that ere another day had ended, the important query would be solved.
“Who are you? H.,” said the Judge to his friend the next day, as they sat conversing together in H.'s parlor.
“Well, that is a hard question, Judge,” replied H.—“but perhaps Mary can answer that question better than I can;” and calling his wife away from a boquet of flowers which she was arranging in a vase; he took her hand in his, as she leaned affectionately over his shoulder, and repeated the inquiry—“Who am I, Mary?—the Judge wishes to know.”
“I think I can inform you, Judge,” replied the wife, “for he is not a whit changed since the day he taught me my first lesson in the 'free school' of L. He is Henry H.—formerly assistant teacher in a down-east free school, and now, the Hon. Henry H., of M.; moreover, the husband of Mary H., formerly a factory girl in that same town, but now, I need not tell you, Judge, the Hon. Mrs. H., also of M.; I have really become quite enamored of this title.”
“It is true, Judge,” continued Mr. H., “I first beheld Mary at a free school, taught her her first lesson, learned another from her eyes, and never became satisfied until I possessed the book, that throughout life I might continue to peruse the beauties of the page. But come, Judge,—now that you have traced our pedigree, give some account of yourself; from what ancient stock have you sprung?—Who are you?”
“I am the son of Adam!” (a laugh here interrupted him,) “not the Adam spoken of in the Bible; I mean old Adam W., a shoemaker of Albany, who once used his stirrup rather lavishly upon me, and for which good office, I left him one fine morning, without bidding good by. I will not relate to you the many changes of fortune which befel me, until I found myself upon the bench, in a United States' court, instead of the bench in my father's shop. Suffice it to say, that my good parent, until his dying day, expressed the opinion that it was a good thing I took to the law early, for I was fit for no useful purpose.”
At Secretary E.'s on the next evening, a crowd surrounded the Judge, but all wore upon their countenances an air of incredulity—the Judge's story of the “factory girl” “wouldn't go down.”
“It's a fact, ladies,” said the Judge; “just about the time I was learning to make shoes these people were in the situations I tell you.”
They all pronounced the Judge a wag, and would not believe the story. A matron, more resolved than her friends to sift the truth of the matter, applied to Mrs. H., herself, and told her what a fib the Judge had been telling them.
“I assure you it is true,” replied Mrs. H.
“Yes, but my dear, the best of families have been reduced,” says Mrs. Enquiry, “you are, no doubt, descended from the 'Pilgrim Fathers.'”
“I have every reason to believe so,” answered Mrs. H. “I told you so,” said Mrs. Enquiry, exultingly, to her circle of acquaintances; “she is a daughter of one of the 'Pilgrim Fathers.'”
The wheels of government, which had well nigh ceased to move during the pendency of this important question, received a new impetus from the intelligence, and the republic was pronounced “out of danger,” for its “heads of wisest censure” had discovered who they were!—