“Herman Mordaunt has a good estate, and very little of it has gone for plate, Jason; that which you saw is old, and came either from Holland, or England; one home, or the other.”
“Oh! Holland is no home for me, boy. Depend on it, all that plate is not put there for nothing. If the truth could be come at, this Herman Mordaunt, as you call him, though I do not see why you cannot call him 'Squire Mordaunt, like other folks, but this Mr. Mordaunt has some notion, I conclude, to get his daughter off on one of these rich English officers, of whom there happen to be so many in the province, just at this time. I never saw the gentleman, but there was one Bulstrode named pretty often this forenoon,”—Jason's morning always terminated at his usual breakfast hour,—“and I rather conclude he will turn out to be the chap, in the long run. Such is my calculation, and they don't often fail.”
I saw a quick, surprised start in Dirck; but I felt such a twinge myself, that there was little opportunity to inquires into the state of my friend's feelings, at this coarse, but unexpected remark.
“Have you any particular reason, Mr. Newcome, for; venturing such an opinion?” I asked, a little sternly.
“Come, don't let us, out here in the highway, begin to mister one another. You are Corny, Dirck is Dirck, and I am Jason. The shortest way is commonly the best way, and I like given-names among friends. Have I any particular reason?—Yes; plenty on 'em, and them that's good. In the first place, no man has a daughter,”—darter à la Jason,—“that he does not begin to think of setting her out in the world, accordin' to his abilities; then, as I said before, these folks from home” (hum) “are awful rich, and rich husbands are always satisfactory to parents, whatever they may be to children. Besides, some of these officers will fall heirs to titles, and that is a desperate temptation to a woman, all over the world. I hardly think there is a young woman in Danbury that could hold out agin' a real title.”
It has always struck me as singular, that the people of Jason's part of the provinces should entertain so much profound respect for titles. No portion of the world is of simpler habits, nor is it easier to find any civilized people among whom there is greater equality of actual condition, which, one would think, must necessarily induce equality of feeling, than in Connecticut, at this very moment. Notwithstanding these facts, the love of title is so great, that even that of serjeant is often prefixed to the name of a man on his tombstone, or in the announcement of his death or marriage; and as for the militia ensigns and lieutenants, there is no end to them. Deacon is an important title, which is rarely omitted; and wo betide the man who should forget to call a magistrate “esquire.” No such usages prevail among us; or, if they do, it is among that portion of the people of this colony which is derived from New England, and still retains some of its customs. Then, in no part of the colonies is English rank more deferred to, than in New England, generally, notwithstanding most of those colonies possess the right to elect nearly every officer they have among them. I allow that we of New York defer greatly to men of birth and rank from home, and it is right we should so do; but I do not think our deference is as great, or by any means as general, as it is in New England. It is possible the influence of the Dutch may have left an impression on our state of society, though I have been told that the colonies farther south exhibit very much the same characteristics as we do, ourselves, on this head. [16]
We reached Satanstoe a little late, in consequence of the delay at Lilacsbush, and were welcomed with affection and warmth. My excellent mother was delighted to see me at home again, after so long an absence, and one which she did not think altogether without peril, when it was remembered that I had passed a whole fortnight amid the temptations and fascinations of the capital. I saw the tears in her eyes as she kissed me, again and again, and felt the gentle, warm embrace, as she pressed me to her bosom, in maternal thanksgiving.
Of course, I had to render an account of all I had seen and done, including Pinkster, the theatre, and the lion. I said nothing, however, of the Mordaunts, until questioned about them by my mother, quite a fortnight after Dirck had gone across to Rockland. One morning, as I sat endeavouring to write a sonnet in my own room, that excellent parent entered and took a seat near my table, with the familiarity the relation she bore me justified. She was knitting at the time, for never was she idle, except when asleep. I saw by the placid smile on her face, which, Heaven bless her! was still smooth and handsome, that something was on her mind, that was far from disagreeable; and I waited with some curiosity for the opening. That excellent mother! How completely did she live out of herself in all that had the most remote bearing on my future hopes and happiness!
“Finish your writing, my son,” commenced my mother, for I had instinctively striven to conceal the sonnet; “finish your writing; until you have done, I will be silent.”
“I have done, now, mother; 'twas only a copy of verses I was endeavouring to write out—you know—that is—write out, you know.”