“Hold your tongue, you fool! what do you keep ’terrupting me for? Where was I? Well, then, it fetched a sithe—sich a sithe!—I couldn’t stand it no longer; so I called master out. ‘There, sir,’ says I, ‘now I hope you’ll believe your own eyes’—for he always laughs and ri-dicules at witches and ghosts, and all them sort o’ things. So I tell’d him—and out he goes. I see all the time he was skeared enough, only he was ’shamed to show it afore me; but when he got to the barn-door, he set up sich a laugh—you might a hearn him into your house. I ’clare it made my hair stand on eend to hear him. ‘Here,’ says he, ‘Vi’let, your woman without a head is changed into a cow’s hind legs and tail!’ and sure enough, it was the beast then, but I know’d well enough what it was afore. Howsomenever, it wan’t no use a telling him; so I takes a skillet of biling water, that was on the fire, to bile some eggs—for our folks must always have some mess o’nother hot for supper, to keep me at it slaving from morning to night; not but I likes a little bit o’ suthen comfortable myself afore I goes to bed, and the most part on it comes into the kitchen. So I was going to fling it on to her, to see what she’d turn into next; but master tell’d me to let her alone, for the barn wouldn’t miss a little hay. Did you ever hear any thing so ’diclous! I tell’d him—”
“Aunt Vi’let! Aunt Vi’let!” was now heard from the kitchen-door; “the cakes is burning, and mistress wants to know if breakfast wont be ready soon.”
“And why don’t Flora take the cakes out of the oven, then! Can’t nothing be done without me?” cried Vi’let. “For the laud’s sake, give me my frying-pan, and let me go, or I shall have the whole house arter me.” She went into the kitchen in a hurry, took up her cakes, and fried her flap-jacks.
After their morning devotions, the Fayerweather family, in high spirits, gathered round the breakfast-table. This was laid in the western room, before an open glass-door, which looked into the garden. The cool morning breeze, after frolicking among the flowers, found its way in at the door, and mingling its stolen perfumes with those of the coffee and chocolate, played antics with the table-cloth.
I might here describe the breakfast; but as there was nothing appertaining to it which greatly differed from a modern one, I will just ask the reader to imagine his or her own family circle—which is, doubtless, the most agreeable in the world—in the best possible humor, and with excellent appetites, before a repast exactly suited to the taste of each individual of said family, seasoned by all the wit and liveliness possessed by each, in a peculiar degree, and my task will be accomplished in the best possible manner.
From this memorable period, all George’s accustomed avocations became tedious and disagreeable to him. Greek and Latin, in both of which he had made an unwilling progress, under Master Goodwin, of the grammar school, to prepare him for college, he now actually loathed; and his father found he must give up the hope nearest his heart, of ever seeing his eldest son distinguished in one of the learned professions.
“Well, my boy,” he said at last, “if, as you say, you are convinced you can never make a scholar, as it is not my way to drive a nail that will not go, I consent to your giving up Greek and Latin; though I did hope to see you in one of the professions which your grandfathers followed so creditably. As to your going to sea, remember, it is wholly against my inclination. I shall expect you to continue at school two years; then, if you make such progress in general learning, and in studies connected with navigation, as to give me reason to hope seeing you something above the mate of a Marblehead skipper, I will then consent, though I should much prefer your going into a counting-house in London.”
The youth, satisfied with the hope of obtaining his father’s consent to his following the sea on any terms, promised faithfully to do all that was required of him; and, moreover, possessing some common sense, a quality not usually abounding in characters of his stamp, he set his mind to applying itself with energy and perseverance to the studies dictated by his father and Master Goodwin.
During the two years specified, two events of note occurred in the Fayerweather family; one was Amy’s marriage. This was conducted with all the state due to so important an occasion. The time for Amy’s “walking bride,” as it was termed, for the three Sundays succeeding the wedding, happened to be unfortunately in the early spring, the first Sunday falling on Easter, near the beginning of April. The bridal procession, consisting of the happy pair walking arm-in-arm, four bridemaids and as many groomsmen, set off from Mr. Fayerweather’s and paraded the whole length of Essex street to the end of St. Peter’s, where stood the church of wood dedicated to the same saint, lately replaced by a handsome gothic edifice of stone.
The bride was attired in a rich white satin; her fair neck shaded by a tucker of costly Brussels’ lace, a ruffle of the same falling over her dimpled elbow. Her sharp-pointed shoes, with heels three inches high, were of white brocade, with a silver flower in the toe, and brilliant paste buckles, nearly covering the instep. Any thing in the shape of hat, bonnet, cloak or scarf would have been altogether outré on such an occasion. The large fan which it was customary for the bride to carry, and to hold up gracefully to shade her face, was mounted with white leather on which was painted, in lively colors, the wedding train of Isaac and Rebecca; Rebecca in a sacque, with triple ruffled cuffs, and Isaac in a full-bottomed periwig; walking side by side, through arches festooned with flowers, followed by six pairs of young nymphs holding the Jewish bride’s train; whilst a winged Cupid, with bow and arrows, and a Hymen, with his torch pointing to the church in the distance, marshaled the procession. A pair of turtle-doves, imagined to be cooing, sat on the arch directly over the heads of the happy couple. This fan was the wonder and admiration of the élite of Salem.