The lost hunter: A tale of early times

by John Turvill Adams

"Ah, ha! I understand. Yet, I feel my chivalry a little roused at the idea of opposition. But, on the whole, Faith, I will accept your pledge of affection, and stick to my colors like a man and a doctor. And, to exhibit my confidence, you may, meanwhile, flirt in moderation with William Bernard. You will get tired of it when the novelty wears off; so I shall escape, and it is better that you should tease him now than me hereafter. But, dear me, here we are at your door."

Mr. Armstrong and the minister had waited for them on the step, and the four entered together. Shortly after Pownal arrived, and somewhat later the family of the Bernards.

We should deceive our readers if we left them to infer from the jesting talk of the doctor that any mutual attachment existed between Miss Armstrong and William Bernard. It was because his suspicions were so vaguely expressed, and herself so unconscious of any feelings of the kind, that Faith had not thought it worth while to notice them. She and young Bernard had known each other from infancy; they had attended the same school; the intimacy betwixt Faith and Anne, and the friendly relations of the two families equals in wealth and station, had brought them frequently together, but nothing could be further from the fact than that any engagement existed between them. They treated one another, indeed, like brother and sister; but if any warmer emotion was felt, it was not by Faith. Her engrossing affection for her father seemed to exclude all rivalship. The meeting exactly expressed the footing on which the families stood. Mr. Armstrong shook hands cordially with all, and in a few words uttered his pleasure at welcoming them; Mrs Bernard kissed the cheek of Faith, with almost the feeling of a mother; the greeting of the girls' was like that of sisters, and Faith extended her hand to William Bernard, with a smile, but without a blush.

Though utterly unlike, it would be difficult to conceive of two more beautiful creatures than Faith Armstrong and Anne Bernard. The dark hair of Faith, the large black eyes, the nose slightly aquiline, an expression of countenance ordinarily composed, though not sad, but which could be lighted up into enthusiasm, and a graceful dignity that marked every action, while it seemed only a necessary part of herself, forcibly reminded one sometimes of the heroines of the ancient Scriptures. So in her youthful years, before her eyes were fully opened to the vision, and before to the sound of the clanging timbrel her voice responded to the triumph song of the children of Israel, might have looked the prophetess, Miriam.

No contrast could be stronger than that presented by sweet Anne Bernard. Light colored hair fell in graceful curls around an oval and perfectly regular face, of the most delicate complexion. So thin, so almost transparent was the skin, that the veins seemed hardly hidden, and a very slight emotion was sufficient to suffuse it with a tint that needed to fear no rivalry with the rose. No heaven could be bluer than the soft eyes that seemed "to love whate'er they looked upon," and whether dimmed with the tear of pity, or flashing with mirth, revealed a pure, but not a timid spirit. But among features which all were beautiful, if one could be called more beautiful than another, it was the mouth, and white as snow were the regular and perfectly formed teeth which the crimson lips concealed. Her figure was rather below than above the ordinary height, and its roundness indicated the most perfect health. Let not this description be deemed a picture of romance. Those acquainted with the beautiful daughters of New England will acknowledge its truth, or, at least, confess, it errs not on the side of exaggeration.

The intermediate time between the arrival of the company and the serving up of dinner, was spent by them in such conversation as usually takes place on occasions of the kind. Somebody has said, that two Americans cannot meet without talking politics, but we can vouch for the fact, that although Mr. Armstrong, the doctor, and divine were federalists, and the Judge a democrat, having spent several of his early years in France, where he was supposed to have imbibed his sentiments, not a word on the subject was uttered. A reference or two was made to the minister's discourse; the flourishing condition of the country and its prospects adverted to; and some items of domestic news and village anecdotes narrated. Such was the conversation of the elders: as for what passed between the young people, we know there was some laughing, but have forgot what they talked about. We regret this irreparable loss, and promise to be more attentive for the future.

Al length, the ebony disc of Felix's face, rising pleasantly above a snow-bank of neck-cloth, appeared at the door, and announced dinner, when Mr. Armstrong offering his arm to Mrs. Bernard, preceded his friends into the dining-room. Faith accepted the Judge's escort, and Pownal tried to wait on Anne, but somehow or other (and we suspect her of complicity in the affair), the divine secured the prize.

Before the company sat down, which was in an order having reference to their supposed tastes and attractions, at a request from the host, an appropriate grace was said by the minister, which happily avoided the extremes of too much brevity on the one hand, and of too great prolixity on the other; or, in other words, it was neither irreverently short, nor impertinently long.

The dinner was of that kind which still graces the hospitable boards of old Connecticut. At one end of the table a roasted turkey, which had been stuffed a couple of days before, in order that the spices, composing a part of the ingredients, might penetrate and flavor the flesh of the noble bird, turned up his round full breast to the carving-knife; at the other end, another turkey, somewhat smaller, boiled and served with oyster sauce, kept company with her mate, while near the centre, which was occupied by bleached celery in a crystal vase, a mighty ham balanced a chicken pie of equal size. Besides these principal dishes there were roasted and boiled fowls, and ducks, and tongues, flanked by cranberry and apple sauces, and mashed turnips and potatoes. On the sideboard (for be it remembered, it was "when this old cap was new," and a practice which now is considered, at least, questionable, was then held in all honor, and its neglect was never dreamed of, and would have drawn down an imputation of nigardliness and want of breeding) stood bottles of wine, and flagons containing still stronger liquors, together with a large pitcher of delicious cider. Upon the removal of the first course followed various kinds of puddings, and pies, and custards, and tarts, and sillabubs, and they, in their turn, were succeeded by apples and different sorts of nuts, with raisins and figs, with which the repast was concluded. Such was an old Thanksgiving dinner. The present preliminary soup was unusual or unknown. It was an array capable of supplying the wants of a much larger company, and but a small part could be consumed, but it was the fashion, and it still continues. They were celebrating the bounty of Providence, and it was meet that the liberality of man should be in harmony with it. Felix, grave and decorous, as became the importance of the occasion, and his assistant, multiplied themselves into a thousand waiters, sedulous to anticipate the wants of the host and his guests.

The conversation, which at first ran in several distinct rills being confined to each one's immediate neighborhood mostly, and interrupted by the serious business of dinner, seemed gradually, after a time, to unite its various streams into one common current. The attention of the doctor was first attracted from an unsuccessful attempt to quote to Mrs. Bernard Shakspeare's famous recipe for cooking a beef-steak by an observation of Mr. Robinson to Mr. Armstrong, at whose left hand he sat, the seat at the right being occupied by Mrs. Bernard, next to whom sat the doctor.