The town of Buckwheat consisted of about two thousand inhabitants, who were chiefly devoted to agriculture. It derived its name from its producing a large quantity of that particular kind of grain which is famous for feeding poultry and making flap-jacks. It consisted of two villages, which bore the titles of Up-town and Down-town. In the former portion, there dwelt several families of some wealth, who had removed thither from the city of New York, during the war of the revolution, to escape from the dangers and anxieties of that period. These families, having similar tastes and habits of life, naturally associated together, and were hence called the aristocracy.
The leader of fashion among this portion of the community was a dashing widow, by the name of Mrs. Million. She was rich, and so long as she was flattered and permitted to have her own way, she was hospitable and good-natured; but if thwarted, or if her superiority in all respects were called into question, she was haughty, ill-natured, and vindictive.
While such was the state of things at Up-town, there was also a natural association formed by the people in that portion of the place called Down-town. “Birds of a feather flock together,” says the adage; and, accordingly, the Down-towners, being drawn together by similar tastes, habits and condition, associated with each other, and were called the democracy. For a long time, these names were not in use in Buckwheat, and the people, whatever inequality in their condition might exist, got along very peaceably together. But when they began to call each other names, such as aristocrat and democrat, a feeling of hostility grew up among them, and it was not long before bad blood was excited between them. Hitherto, all things had gone on peaceably; every person was at liberty to do as he pleased, provided there was nothing improper in his conduct; but now that these ugly names had got in among them, there was a great deal of scandal and back-biting abroad. It really seemed as if the introduction of these two words—aristocracy and democracy—into the good old town of Buckwheat, did as much to break up the peace and harmony of the people, as if two evil spirits had taken up their residence there, and had exerted themselves to set the inhabitants by the ears.
Thomas Trudge was naturally a fair-minded, honest, good-hearted fellow, and, left to himself, would never have made any trouble in the world. But his partner, Bridget, was restless, meddlesome, and ambitious. She was always talking about the Up-towners, and nothing happened there, but it was the occasion of some sour and satirical reflection upon her part. She kept an especial watch upon Mrs. Million, particularly at the meeting on Sunday. Her dress was then thoroughly scanned, and if she ventured to come out with a new bonnet, gown, frill, or even ribbon, the amiable Bridget was sure to exclaim somewhat in this manner: “Shame upon that Mrs. Million, to be perking herself up in church with her new finery, to attract the attention of the whole congregation! What is Mrs. Million, that she presumes to catch all the best of the minister’s discourse—the corn and the kernel—and leave nothing but the husks for such people as we are. Oh, it’s because she’s rich, I suppose! But the tables will be turned, by and by. ‘Every dog must have his day!’ Dives had his, and Mrs. Million is having hers; but there’s another world to settle these accounts in!”
It must not be supposed that Bridget Trudge was a bad woman, even though she indulged in such spiteful words; her bark was a great deal worse than her bite. But still, people who get into the habit of talking harshly, will ere long feel and act harshly—and so it was with Bridget. She had been so accustomed to indulge her love of scandal towards the Up-towners, that she seemed to hate them; and as to Mrs. Million, she felt as if she owed her some particular grudge; and this was the more curious, from the fact that Mrs. Million had always treated Bridget with kindness, and had made her various presents of considerable value. Nothing, however, in the conduct of the Up-towners, could satisfy Mrs. Trudge. Their behavior, in her view, was all wrong. She accused them of being extravagant, worldly-minded, dissipated, and, what was ten times worse than all, aristocratic.
Entertaining such views as these, it may seem strange that the first idea of Mrs. Trudge, after she had settled it in her mind that they were rich, was, that she would become one of the Up-towners, join the aristocracy, and out-dash Mrs. Million. Her first great manœuvre was developed on the second Sunday after the drawing of the prize. Her husband went in his usual dress, but Mrs. Trudge appeared in all the glory of her new changeable damask, decorated with figures in gold. It was made in the height of the fashion; and as she flaunted up the broad aisle, you might have fancied that she was going to a masquerade. An enormous red satin bonnet, with huge bunches of ribbons, red shoes and a tall fan—though it was now November—served to aid the conceit. The little Trudges followed their mother, fantastically attired, while Tom, the pedlar, in his rusty, brown suit, brought up the rear.
The Scottish poet, Burns, has said a great many good things; and among these is the following couplet:
“Oh! would kind heaven the giftie gie us
To see oursels as ithers see us.”
Mrs. Trudge supposed that on the present occasion she was exciting the admiration of all Buckwheat; that she was provoking the envy of the proud Mrs. Million, and that she was conquering the respect of the Up-towners. The text happened to be the story of Lazarus in Abraham’s bosom, and was used by the preacher to show the compensations which are to be made to the humble Christian in a future world, for the sorrows, suffering and poverty of this. Mrs. Trudge made a curious, though flattering application of the text to herself. “Yes, yes,” said she, internally, “the poor shall be comforted—those who have suffered shall have the reward. I have endured poverty and suffering, and now I am taken to Abraham’s bosom.” She enjoyed great satisfaction in this view of the case, and, for the first time in her life, fondly fancied that the preacher intended to bestow upon her the comforts of Scripture.